Warning: Shit Writing Ahead

I write a lot of different imagines for a lot of different fandoms Requests: OPEN

[abibliophobiaa]

You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

——

Unexpected pregnancy. Strangers to friends to lovers. And then they were roommates. Forced proximity.

rockstar!eddie munson x pregnant!reader.

——

Chapters:

Chapter One - Halloween

Chapter Two - Miscommunication

Chapter Three - Roommates

Chapter Four - Elena Munson

Chapter Five - One Bed

Chapter Six - A Date

Chapter Seven - Tumble

Chapter Eight - Feels Like

Epilogue - Family (tba)

[peachximagines]

Just read this all in one go, can’t wait for the epilogue 🥳

[joelscruff]

boyfriend's dad!joel masterlist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

status: ongoing pairing: joel miller x f!reader summary: moments between you and your boyfriend's father, joel miller, who you have a secret relationship with. no outbreak, no use of y/n. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: age difference (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 40s), daddy!kink, praise kink (use of babygirl), dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, oral (both f and m receiving), facials, creampies, cheating

1) safety

summary: you find yourself falling for your boyfriend's father.

2) stress relief

summary: joel has a deadline he has to meet. perfect time for you to try cockwarming.

3) quickie

summary: joel is your boyfriend's dad and you're fucking him in secret. that's it.

4) snack break

summary: joel needs you to be quiet.

5) prove it

summary: joel shows you how much he cares about you (in a slightly depraved way).

6) words

summary: you and joel are left reeling from your boyfriend's discovery.

7) wait

summary: it's been a month since your boyfriend discovered your relationship with his father and a month since you've seen joel. it's starting to take its toll.

8) needy baby

summary: joel takes care of you in every way you need.

fic tag

playlist (made by @springwidow)

[cruelfvkingsummer]

Joel x Reader: for the things they hold dear (one shot)

Plot: He can't say he loves you -- he doesn't need to.

Tags: kinda dark, fucked up love, kinda toxic, possessive, controlling, AGE GAP (unspecified but mentioned a lot), nasty smut, breeding kink, like literally nasty, violence, blood, God is like his literal enemy, calls you 'mama; sugar; sweetheart',there are mentions of blood while doing the nasty, daddy kink (mentioned a few times), joel is emotionally constipated but hey who can blame him, unbeta'd

Playlist I listened while writing this.

Your old man is a mean, mean man.

Hardened by the cruel apocalypse that befell him, he punished anyone who dared to cross an inch into the line he had drawn as revenge to the rest of the world for all that he had lost. Old testament God punishment.

He lost a lot and he acted like it. Mean. Bitter. Dominant.

But everything that was ripped away from him had bloody, ragged claw marks on them.

That was just the kind of man he was. He fights for the things he holds dear – would pound mountains into dust if that’s what it took. He wasn’t losing anyone or anything anymore – not without a fight to death.

Especially you.

The sweet, young, little thing that not only crossed all his lines but completely obliterated it with your insistence to make a home in his heart. He tried – God, he tried – to keep you away. To not touch your soft body with his bloody rugged hands but you refused to let go. Catching him at the small moments he let his guard down and chipped away at his stone heart until you had made it yours.

He never says it – doesn’t say the three words you would fall in your knees for to hear. But he never had to. People might say you were stupid for even looking at him, idiotic for catching his eye, and suicidal for running straight into his arms when he opened it.

Because he was a mean, mean man – but God, you loved him the same. Loved him even more knowing he would turn on the world to stay by your side.

The rest of the world may not know it and he may think he does a good job at hiding it but the grip on your waist as he leads you on the dangerous street of the apocalypse, the biting kisses he leaves all over your body almost as a stamp every night, or the gentle finger that carefully removes stray pieces of hair out of your face as you drift off to sleep told you he would fight God himself if it meant he get to keep you in this lifetime.

Even just in this lifetime.

“You enjoying yourself, daddy?” you whispered, pulling on his belt loops so you can wrap your legs around his waist, wanting him as close as possible to you all the time.

He scoffed, finishing the rest of his bottle and placing both his hands on the table you were sitting on to cage you in, “You know I hate crowds, mama.”

Even until this time the endearments – an inside joke, a secret dream – still makes your stomach warm.

It came from one of your late-night trysts where, in your drunken pleasure, you had begged him to cum inside.

“Soon, sugar, I promise,” he gasped, unrelenting in his thrust which got deeper once the word slipped out your mouth. “Gonna make you a mama. I’ll find a nice cabin, far, far away from everyone and I’m gonna keep you full, okay? When it’s safe – for you and the little ones.”

You remembered the tears streaming down your face at the thought that even at the end of the world where everybody thought you were an idiot for loving a man who will never be able to love you as much, he decided to prove them wrong by daring to dream a future for the two of you. No matter how hopeless and unrealistic it may have been.

Even though he might try to pretend he didn't remember a single word when he woke up with the worst hangover he had experienced in a while.

“Why are you here then, old man?” you teased, giggling at the kisses he was slowly pressing into your neck as he drowned out the rest of the drunken club behind him.

If you hadn’t slipped out of his apartment, he liked to lock you in when he got home late, leaving nothing but a note and one of your pretty panties letting him know exactly where you were and what you weren’t wearing he would’ve been more than satisfied to spend his entire night listening to you talk about your day while he suckles on his trusty whiskey.

Satisfied with the new hickey he had tattooed just below your ear, he kissed your grinning lips, “Heard there was something sweet in the menu around here.”

You couldn’t even snark an answer back as he had already roped you in a deep kiss that just got more inappropriate as time passes by. His hand gripping your waist hard enough to make you gasp so he could snake his dominating tongue into your mouth, “They were right,” he growled. “The fucking sweetest.”

Joel doesn’t like you working – would risk his life fighting clickers every day if it meant you stayed home like he wanted you to. Where he knew it was safe.

It infuriated you at first. Your first job wasn’t even dangerous and you wouldn’t feel too good bartering the rations he worked so hard for with pretty clothes and trinkets that caught your eyes. So, at your insistence he pulled some strings and found you a job cleaning and maintaining a small pub every morning while the owner was gone, making sure you were already home or he was already picking you up before the sun could set and the men could arrive to drink the rest of their lives away.

He'd been at their shoes before. He knew what they would do just for a sweetest piece of you in their hands.

And the first time he slipped and forgot to check on you when you went overtime to cover up a sick mother's shift and found you wincing when some drunken asshole tried to drag you to him, he had decided to make an example out of him to everyone.

It wasn’t until three men were holding him back and finally saw the bloody pulp, he had made out of his face that he turned his eyes to you.

He expected a lot – fear, disgust, horror.

Instead, a familiar haze in your eyes and a shudder in your breath greeted him and he knew then you were so fucking perfect.

You liked it. You liked the violence and goodness was it the only thing he was good at anymore.

You liked seeing how strong he was and just how reliable -- how protective, how territorial. You liked the craze look on his face and how his jaws locked as he threw one heavy punch right after the next with the clear intent to kill this man who had dared to redden an inch of your soft skin, he bruised with his kisses every night.

“Joel …” you whimpered, and he swore every man in that bar held their breath with him.

Wiping one of his less bloody hands on his pants he reached out for you, “Come here, suga’.”

And like the stupid little girl you were, you ran into his arms.

Just like you always do when he calls.

You heard shouts and drunken screams behind the door but you were too busy running your hand on his hair and cradling each side of his face to deepen your kiss to care. Even more when he dragged you off your seat that you were basically getting lifted by his crotch, making you whine as you humped his rough jeans.

“D-Daddy, “you whined. “Want you.”

“Not here, sugar,” he muttered strictly yet made no effort to stop kissing you. “Bed.”

He didn’t give you another chance to protest as he lifted you off your seat and into the separate room where the bed he had made himself was situated. It was in a room with no windows and where you felt safe the most. It was where he likes to hide you and stare at you from the couch on the other side of the room, calming his ever-running head by letting himself physically see that you were safe and right in front of him.

That you weren’t some fucked up, beautiful illusion he had made in his head so he doesn’t go crazier than he already is.

You were here, in his territory. You were real. You were safe. And you are so fucking beautiful.

“L-Luh you,” your words were muffled with his tongue but it made him crack a semblance of a smile as he busied himself by making sure you were as naked as possible. The blood in his knuckles smeared on your breast, waist – a small patch just under your eyes that he was quick to wipe away. “So much.”

So fucking beautiful.

He made a soft sound as he watched you spread your legs in submission, the splatches of red in your skin making him harder than he already was.

[You're safe.]

He ran a clean finger up your slit.

[You're real.]

He pushed your legs to your chest and pressed a deep kiss in your sweet, sweet cunt that he would eat until his last days in this god-forsaken land.

“You’re so beautiful, sugar,” he rasped, not letting you get a word in as he plunged his entire length to you in a single thrust, hand pressing into your mouth to muffle your scream of pleasure.

He grinned cruelly as your eyes rolled to your skull – he really was so mean.

He was like an animal, if you didn’t know better you would’ve thought he was infected as sucked and bit on whatever piece of skin he could reach, his beard irritating your skin.

But you doubt even the worst of the Clickers would be as ravenous as him.

The entire room sounds pornographic. The wet smack of his heavy balls on your skin as his cock bullied your cunt, your muffled moans, and his eyes that were nearly red in desire as he refused to even blink – too drunk of the pleasure in your face.

When you felt your climax coming your forced your eyes open and with just a single look he knew exactly what to do.

“Just like we practiced, okay baby?” he whispered and you nodded.

Gently, he guided your hands around his waist, one of his hands beside your head, the other cradling your head into the crook of your neck where a familiar scar reopened when you bit into it. When you were right where he wanted you he doubled the speed and intensity of his thrusts, the bed creaking in protest as the two of you chased your highs that were muffled into your own skins.

It was animalistic but so full of pleasure especially as you reached your peak and he followed you with just two more thrusts burying himself so deep inside you until you whined from sensitivity.

He comforted you with gentle shushes, the hand cradling your head gently rubbing your hair until you were done sobbing and choking over your own cries.

“Luh you so much, so much,” you mumbled.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, flipping the pillow under you and laying your head on the cold fresh sheet.

Pulling out, he removed his flannel and shirt, just now realizing the contradiction of your nakedness and the nearly full gear in his body.

Finding it too tiring to go to the bathroom, he used his shirt to wipe whatever spilled out of your pussy, making sure to be gentle and to press a kiss in your knees every time you whined like a baby.

A few minutes later you were already calling for him, eyes closed and arms raised, making him chuckle when he slipped out of his clothes and into your arms, flipping the two of you off so you were laying now on his chest.

Your fingers immediately playing with the greying hairs on his chest.

“Hey,” he called but when you tried to look up he pushed you under his chin.

“Joel?”

“I …” He should say those three words – the words you were begging to hear but he couldn’t. He might never be able to find the courage to say it. Saying it would mean everything was out in the open. Saying it would mean he has something to lose.

He’s so tired of losing people.

He wasn’t gonna risk it with you.

So he doesn’t say it but he doesn’t have to.

He cleared his throat and you let him find his words and form his thoughts despite your confusion. Finally, after a long moment of silence you felt him let out a breath, cupping your cheek and looking down at you, and – ah, he really doesn’t have to say it.

It was written all over his being.

“I found us a cabin up north.”

Hiiii!

Im not fully back, still in the middle of the internship but I had gotten so obsessed with Joel I just needed to write this. This story was inspired by A LOT of amazing works I have read especially @toxicanonymity and @softlyspector (who actually gave me the idea about Joel being so territorial about the people he loves) so please check out all their works!

Also this song is inspired by a lot of lana del rey song but the title is from "How to disappear"

Enjoy,

tia xoxo

[beelmons]

The downfall of Spencer Reid

(An interactive story, choose your ending)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit, 18+, minors are discouraged from interacting with this story. Summary: This is just smut, you f*ck Spencer senseless, or does he f*ck you? That’s up to you! A/N: This is an interactive story! There are four different endings, you get to choose what you do or don’t do to Spencer! At the end of the post you will find different links, each link leads to other posts and a continuation to the story depending on the choice, some choices won’t allow you to come back, so be careful with what you pick! A/N 2: I cooked this up as a stupid idea. Posts on the options are not up for reblog as to not spoil other people reading the story. I do not know if this format is at all good, but let me tell you something, I had one hell of a time making it, it was super fun, let me know what you think and if you have feedback, tell me in my asks! Thank you to @cassiemartzz​ and @ihavemanyhusbands​ for always cheering me on on my writing <3 

Everybody knew the downfall of Spencer Reid had a name and face. He would always portray himself as the nerdy genius boy that wouldn’t hurt a fly, always innocent, ever naive. Until you came along and showed him the wonders of life. Most importantly, the wonders of a sex life. 

His world was turned upside down, he had become your servant, loyalty at your mercy, doing as he was told just as long as he got access to the sweet relief of your body. People around him knew that you had put a spell on him, because everyday at 6 o’clock sharp he would be gone, and god himself couldn’t find him, because he was gone to be lost in you. 

Keep reading

[luveline]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

༺༻

The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate. 

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in. 

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out. 

"Hotchner." 

"Hi, handsome," you say softly. 

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey." 

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth. 

"What do you need?" he asks. 

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?" 

"You're outside." 

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume. 

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says. 

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him. 

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep." 

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner." 

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here. 

"Yeah, please. If you want to." 

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay? 

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome." 

"Bye." 

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency. 

Maybe you should. 

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person. 

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature. 

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head. 

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV. 

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?" 

"A little," he concedes sympathetically. 

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck. 

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say. 

"You sure?" 

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips. 

"I'm good. Better, if you would…" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down. 

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close. 

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own. 

"Slow down," he chides gently. 

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings. 

He gives you a short, hard kiss. 

"Hotchner." 

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency. 

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll. 

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight." 

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess. 

"You're not telling me something." 

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?" 

"I think that's obvious." 

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron." 

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am." 

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt. 

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror." 

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks." 

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses. 

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not. 

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does. 

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings. 

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue. 

It's you. 

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest. 

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same. 

You're not sure anymore. 

"Yeah," you say roughly. 

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey." 

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off. 

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would. 

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant. 

But what? 

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect. 

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices. 

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting. 

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side. 

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?" 

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back. 

Phase two, your clothes. 

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them. 

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit. 

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'. 

"I know," he says. 

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break. 

"You like them?" you ask worriedly. 

"What makes you think I don't?" 

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?" 

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them." 

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point. 

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears. 

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm. 

"Hi," you say, unsure. 

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously. 

You startle. "No, of course not." 

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?" 

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-" 

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him. 

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur. 

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-" 

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up." 

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make." 

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?" 

"No." You smile as you say it. 

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector. 

"You didn't even try." 

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are. 

"Don't make fun," you beg. 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"  

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. 

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?" 

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long." 

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum. 

"Oh, don't." 

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry." 

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart." 

"I did miss you," you relent. 

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too." 

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine. 

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow. 

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites. 

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria. 

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes. 

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask. 

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning. 

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No." 

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes." 

"I'll do it in the morning." 

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?" 

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something." 

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back. 

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. 

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?" 

"Depends." 

"On what?" 

"You know I care about you." 

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way. 

"Do you know how much?" he asks. 

"Is that a trick?" 

"No." 

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting. 

"Yeah, I know how much." 

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways." 

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you. 

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too." 

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?" 

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together. 

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look. 

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too." 

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears. 

"I'm not," you say quickly. 

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow. 

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them." 

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown. 

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday." 

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home. 

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath. 

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could." 

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No." 

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together." 

"That's not going to work." 

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up. 

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there." 

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile. 

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness. 

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him. 

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice." 

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it. 

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-" 

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?" 

"I love your voice," he says agreeably. 

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time. 

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later. 

Mostly because Aaron pushes you. 

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater. 

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall. 

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves." 

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it. 

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you. 

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss. 

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter. 

Your lips buzz. 

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back. 

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into." 

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain. 

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom." 

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

— 

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick. 

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill. 

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile. 

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs. 

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her. 

She steps into your path. 

"Sorry," you say again. 

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks. 

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes. 

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side. 

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!" 

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake. 

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only- 

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you." 

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you." 

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?" 

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared." 

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?" 

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun." 

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement. 

"He really doesn't talk about me?" 

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me. 

You pretend to check your watch. 

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance. 

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says. 

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes. 

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered. 

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline. 

You're beautiful. 

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it. 

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower. 

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-" 

"Are you sure?" 

"...Are you okay?" 

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody. 

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?" 

"What's wrong with your clothes?" 

"You tell me, detective." 

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels. 

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you. 

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it. 

"I don't understand." 

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you." 

You wipe your wet face with mean hands. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you." 

"No. I don't wanna see you." 

"Honey-" 

"Leave me alone, Aaron." 

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry. 

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing. 

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive. 

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling. 

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either. 

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking. 

It's him. Shocker. 

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone? 

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this. 

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad." 

"What else?" 

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things." 

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks. 

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day. 

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted. 

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would. 

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees. 

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain." 

"I met Emily Prentiss." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like." 

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad. 

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like." 

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me." 

"Yes." 

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely. 

"Yeah, honey." 

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face. 

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?" 

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising. 

"Then why?" 

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off." 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues. 

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself." 

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him. 

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over. 

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin. 

"How long have you felt like this?" 

"Like what?" you ask wetly. 

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance. 

"I don't know." 

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch." 

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches." 

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is." 

"They know about the lunches?" 

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry." 

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. Can we go home?" 

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again. 

You watch him drive. 

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't. 

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding. 

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep. 

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty." 

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam. 

—

+1 

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper. 

You can't believe you're here. 

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself. 

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here. 

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you. 

All eyes on me. 

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen. 

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you. 

"Don't punish me." 

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing. 

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur. 

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine." 

"What part is that, Agent?" 

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start." 

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

[poppy-metal]

Canon things part 3 lmao

* Eddie coming up behind you when you’re washing dishes/making food etc and just wrapping his arms around your waist, chin resting comfortably on your shoulder

* Gently swaying back and forth, leaving soft kisses against your neck and humming which you feel more then hear cause his chest is pressed against your back

* Eddie being overwhelmed by many happy emotions when he notices the small casual things you do for him. eg buying his favourite snacks before they run out cause you noticed they were low, washing his vest when he’s sleeping (the boy will literally be anxious if his awake cause “what if the machine damages it??”) but he’s very thankful you washed it (he loves the smell of your washing detergent), emptying the ashtray in his van, rewinding his tapes because he forgets but gets miffed when he has to spend the next minute or so rewinding it etc

* Eddie’s hand is constantly in contact with you. Sitting next to him in a booth? Hand on Thigh. Sitting across from him? Hand clasped in yours. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch? Hand on ankle. Laying in bed? Hand on boob.

* After the whole upside down ordeal with the death scare whenever you’re sitting with him you have your fingers pressed around his wrist. For a brief moment when he was dying in your arms you couldn’t feel his pulse and it was the most scared you’ve ever been so now feeling his pulse is a source of comfort. When he notices you fidgeting beside him he places his hand in your lap.

* Eddie resting against the headboard, your back pressed to his chest with his guitar in your lap, his arms fence you in as he reaches around to position your fingers on the neck, he uses his other hand to strum along the strings. He looks at you with an adoring expression when he sees how excited you get when you make a tune. His fingers gently correct yours when they move slightly off centre, twenty minutes later you can almost make out the song he’s trying to teach you.

* Eddie learning your favourite song on guitar to surprise you, he doesn’t care if it’s a pop song your shocked and happy expression makes it worth it

* Eddie sitting in the back of your car pouting because Dustin called shotgun first and “s’not fucking fair” huffed under his breath, meanwhile Dustin is wearing a smug smile

* Buying Eddie his own popcorn when you go to the movies “I didn’t ask for popcorn?” “Yes I know, but you always end up finish MY popcorn before the movie even starts and I’ve had enough” “what’s yours is mine baby” “not my fucking popcorn, munson” eats your popcorn anyway just to be a brat

* Eddie on the phone with Gareth and you walk in in nothing but a towel, he doesn’t notice until you’re standing directly in front of him, he scrunches his face in confusion before you drop the towel. Eddie shutdowns mid sentence and you can hear Gareth on the line calling his name

Some nsfw stuff

* when you and Eddie moved in together you agree on a ‘free use’ policy. you’re at the kitchen counter reading a magazine, Eddie strolls up behind you and pushed you forward, flips your skirt up, kicks your feet apart and moves your underwear to the side before sliding right in

* Eddie stitching a new patch onto his vest and you straddle his lap, directing his arms around you before cuddling into his chest and nuzzling his neck, he continues to stitch while you use him to get yourself off

* After talking about it you and Eddie are both very into somniphillia, Eddie’s favourite thing is fucking you gently so you don’t wake up and filling you to the brim with his cum, you only realising what happened when you wake the next morning, thighs sticky

* Going to a venue to watch corroded coffin perform, Eddie got there earlier to practice so he hasn’t seen your outfit: you made a crop top of the bands logo that accentuates your soft features and a short skirt, Eddie is instantly hard, he hasn’t got time to properly fuck you so he drags you to the bathroom and lifts your skirt, his tip leaking when he sees your lace white panties with his name scrawled in them (his favourite) he moves them just below your pussy before pulling out his aching cock, he presses his tip against your clit and starts to fuck his fist, you let out small breathy moans that drive him crazy. His head falls into the crook of your neck and he clamps his teeth down, you let out a startled yelp followed but a whine, Eddie licks over the bruising skin before marking you more. He hears someone announcing his band and knows it’s time to go, he speeds up his thrusts, you have to hold the sink to ground yourself, he comes in record time when he hears Gareth make an awkward comment on stage about their lead guitarist not being there, he kisses your cheek and pulls your panties up in quick succession before rushing on the stage, he makes a joke about needing to piss which makes a few people in the crowd laugh. When you come out of the bathroom Eddie swears he could get hard again, you look ruined, neck bruised, his hand print on your hip where he held on for dear life and he can’t help the smug smirk whenever he notices you squirm, you’re very turned on and your damp panties are not helping.

CAN I BE NORMAL FOR ONE SECOND!!!!!!

[luveline]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve harrington is your boyfriend now. your boyfriend. and having a boyfriend means doing lots of new things, like dinner dates and movies, cuddling on the couch and kissing — lots of kissing. but there’s one thing you guys haven’t done yet, and steve’s just asked you to spend the night. [17.3k words]

warnings SMUT 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff heavy, new established relationship, first time, an overload of intimacy and affection, p in v sex, pet names, steve being the most loving dork on the entire planet and r being equally infatuated, mentioned that r has stretch marks, proofread not perfect

this is a companion to have you seen her? you don’t have to read it to understand, but if you want to it’s here <3

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Inside a sea of flowers lies a girl. Her skin glows with colour, the reflection of pigments. Sunspots of darkest red buffeted by buttery orange, indigo stretching into magenta, whites; endless whites ranging from creamy ivory to the violet shine of snow in the nighttime.

It's as if the flowers themselves bloom over your skin. Steve blinks and everything settles, your skin returns to skin, the reflections fade from focus. You stretch your leg out absentmindedly and lean forward to follow the book resting against the top of your thigh, entirely distracted.

The room smells as bright and fresh as the florist's itself. The flowers he'd given you, more than he could ever name, permeate everything. Most remain in good condition two weeks later, where some wilt despite your dedicated care.

Your fingertips are pin-pricked by the thorns of a rose's stem, injuries sustained in the hours you've spent preening each bouquet. You bring one such fingertip to your lips and suck lightly for a moment like it'll draw the small pain from your skin.

He leans against the doorway and takes in your appearance indulgently. Plaid pyjama bottoms hug your thighs. Your socked feet wiggle along to the sounds of your Walkman, music loud enough that you've missed his entrance.

He doesn't want to scare you into flinching and ruin the content little bubble you're in but he's certainly not about to turn around and leave after waiting all day to see you, no matter how selfish it might be to disturb you. I'm only human, he thinks.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. You don't hear him.

Steve bends at the waist to unlace his shoes before stepping onto the plush carpeting of your room. He weaves between vases and skinny buckets, repurposed cookware and every mug you own, worried that one wrong move will domino your intricate arrangements and spill flowers everywhere.

You catch sight of him before he's made it to your side. You flinch as he suspected you would, only a small jump but a jump nonetheless.

Steve's face creases in sympathy as you pull off your headphones, orange foam padding around your neck. "I'm sorry," he says, expecting you to be at least a little peeved at his sneaking. "I knocked, I swear."

You abandon your book carelessly and are only slightly kinder to your Walkman as you tug the headphones from your neck.

"Steve," you say, smiling.

"That's me. Hey."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, white sheets rumpled in your wake as you scramble to your feet. Steve doesn't know who does what first but he opens his arms and you've opened yours and you fit into the circle of his embrace like you were made to.

"Sorry to scare you," he says.

You're not as confident as he is. Where Steve throws his arms over your shoulders, quick to press his mouth to the skin of your forehead, your hands draw tentative lines up his back.

To be touched so carefully is numbing in the best way. Steve wonders how his affection for you can continue to grow, more when you laugh half-breathless into his chest and look up, pinning him with your bright gaze.

"That's okay," you say, your happiness to see him palpable. It makes his chest hurt.

Steve puts some space between you to hold you at arm's length, one hand clasping your shoulder and the other following the curve of your neck.

He feels almost too happy to speak, like the words won't come out right. You seem to feel similarly, smiling wide, your lips pressed together tightly.

"I missed you," he says finally. Your reaction emboldens him; your eyes crease with pleasure and he has to duck down for a kiss.

Just one, pressed chastely to the skin left of your cupid's bow. You lift your chin in reaction, your hands searching up towards his shoulder blades.

"I missed you too," you say.

He decides to push his luck and kiss you properly. Your lips are warm under his and your cheek is aflame under his hand as he cradles your face.

"Haven't been lying out in the sun again, have you?" he asks as he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open.

"Huh? No, I've been reading inside all day."

"Good. You'll get sick, you sunbathe so much," he chides with no real heat.

He squeezes your face mildly and you steal another quick kiss. Steve would let you steal as many as you want to no matter the duration, but you stick to just one.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. You don't wait for an answer, skirting around him.

His hands miss your skin as soon as you're out of reach. He follows you to the kitchen like a lost dog hungry for scraps – scraps of your voice in the shadow of your exhale, any small flash of your skin, the back of your wrist as you pull open the refrigerator door. Steve situates himself by the sink so he can see your face. Your arms quickly grow heavy with fresh vegetables and a precarious china dish, a familiar carafe slipping in your fingers.

"Here," he mutters, reaching for the glass carafe with both hands.

"Thank you," you say, giggling. "Thought I was gonna drop it."

You set everything down on the clean counter. The sun kisses your skin where it shines golden-orange through the window. A bouquet of tulips sits in the sill, thin petals translucent and bright like the bulbs are made up of sweet maraschino cherries.

"I would've caught it."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Super fast reflexes. LaRusso style," he says, putting down your carafe. Fruit slices and rose petals bob on the water's surface.

"The Karate Kid?" you ask, pushing up your sleeves.

He smiles as you walk towards him. "Exactly. You like that movie?"

You turn on the faucet and wash your hands without looking, your eyes drawn to his face. "I loved that movie. I've only seen it twice, though. Once at the movies, once with Dustin."

"You watched it with Dustin?" he asks.

Your eyes flit between the sink and his face as you turn off the faucet and shake your wet hands over the basin. "Yeah, and his mom. She's really nice, you know?"

"She's a real treasure. It's her kid I'm not too sure about."

You laugh and he loves it, less when you flick your still-wet hands at him and pattern him in tap water.

"Stop, idiot," he protests, leaning away from you.

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather."

"Sure."

You grin over your shoulder and flounce to the counter where your wooden chopping board resides. He's desperate to be close to you but doesn't want to look it.

It's too early to show her how much of a total loser I am, he thinks, turning to the sink and washing his hands so he can help you make dinner and steal some closeness.

"Did you have a crush on him?" he asks.

"Dustin?" you ask, horrified.

Steve laughs and rubs the slippery bar of soap between his palms. "No, weirdo, Daniel LaRusso. The Karate Kid."

"Nah, Mister Miyagi was more my type."

Steve drops the bar of soap into the basin and struggles to pick it back up, only pausing in his panic when he hears your self-satisfied giggling. It's infectious.

"That's so sick. Dude was ninety years old," he says, rinsing the suds off.

"I'm kidding!"

You're still laughing to yourself when he joins you. You've already chopped the inedible tops off of three long carrots and peeled them. You start to cut them into uniform batons, your quick peeling and knife work both impressive and daunting to Steve, who's only just weaned himself off of a steady high school diet of TV dinners and chips.

He shakes his hands at you. Flecks of water hit you and shine on your skin like the fine mist of morning dew, a dampened flower. You smell like one, though Steve supposes that's inevitable when you're sleeping surrounded by a crush of petals every night.

"Can I help?" he asks.

You blow a raspberry. "I should kick you out."

He flicks more water at you and you hide your face in your shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek pulled cruelly.

"Don't hide."

"Stop flicking me."

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather," he says dryly.

Finely spritzed, you open your eyes just enough to see him through your lashes, smiling like you wish you weren't. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, mostly because they're dry enough now that any flickage is negligent, and because you're much too pretty to be hiding away. The sun has begun to set, its descent marked by a gaussian blur spreading across the countertops and cabinets, your arms blanketed in a glow. Steve finds your face practically dietific to begin with – the light makes you something else entirely.

He wants to say something too heartfelt, say, Fuck, you're so pretty.

He's not that brave.

"You want a drink?" he asks.

"Yes please. You know where the cups are?"

He grabs two glass cups from the cabinet othweise pillaged for makeshift vases to your left and you cut the celery, a small lull in conversation filled only by the crisp crunch of your preparations and the slosh of Steve's pouring. The flower petals have bled their pigments into the carafe's cold water and turned it a transparent vermillion, something so quietly inordinate that he can't not mention it.

"The water's purple, babe," he says.

"Huh?" you ask. You hold the cutting board aloft, your knife guiding chopped vegetables into a shiny metal colander.

"The water," he says, punctuating his claim with a sharp click as he puts your glass down in front of you.

You discard your knife distractedly. "Oh. It must've been the rose petals."

"Can we still drink it?"

"Sure we can. Rosewater is really good for you. Though I'm not sure if this counts as rosewater, actually, I think you have to steep the petals in hot water first."

You shrug your shoulders and bring your glass to your mouth.

Steve frowns. "Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. He doesn't want you to get sick, especially from flowers he brought you.

You get a crease between your eyebrows, lips pursed quizzically. "I'm sure. You worry too much, Stevie," you say.

It's like being struck. You've never called him that before.

The nickname had sounded easy as breathing for you to say and had felt easier, felt right, like you'd used it a hundred times before.

He laughs, says, "Fine, but if you turn purple don't say I didn't warn you," and proceeds to work himself into a poorly contained frenzy.

He takes the colander to the sink and washes the carrot and celery sticks more thoroughly than he needs to whilst he composes himself. He listens with ears made keen by his racing heart as you turn on the stove. The fan hums. There's a loud crackling as you peel back the aluminum foil covering a medium sized casserole dish.

"I forgot to ask you, you like buffalo wings, right?"

He turns off the faucet and almost misses your question, too busy thinking So she called you Stevie, are you twelve? Get a hold of yourself, you-

"What?"

"I can make something else, if you don't."

Steve shakes the colander to drain any excess water as he reassures you. "No, that's okay. That's perfect. I love wings, and I'll love them double if you're the one making them." After all, you make a mean BLT.

The oven door swings open and he turns in time to watch you bend at the waist and insert the dish of chicken wings, your eyes narrowed. Adorable.

You straighten up and dust your hands off, bumping the door closed with your hip. "Awesome. Here, let me-" You take the colander from his hand like you're going to whiz away and then evidently change your mind, stuttering to a jolting stop. "Thank you," you tell him earnestly.

"You're welcome. You did all the hard work," he says, caught off guard.

"Super hard work, cutting up some carrot sticks," you say, mock-agreeably.

Steve reaches out to pinch your side. "Just because you made it look easy doesn't mean it is. It would've taken me double the time to make something, and it would've been, like, a grease fest," he says. "You already made the chicken, too, so that's more hard work you're not thinking about."

"The chicken marinades itself," you admonish lightly. You step on toes to kiss the high point of his cheek. "But thank you."

You turn to tip your veggie sticks into a bowl with a quarter inch of water at the bottom. Steve prods your kiss mark unthinkingly, the skin tingling from a combination of your gifted kiss and the affectionate tone you'd used.

"I got all kinds of dip. Hummus, artichoke and spinach, tahini, ranch. Do you like those?" you ask hopefully.

If he didn't he'd try and find a way. "Who doesn't like ranch?"

"I'll make fries too, okay?"

He really, really likes you.

-

Steve still looks kind of silly eating at your small kitchen table. You're in the seat that's crammed against the refrigerator and he's in the opposite. You're so close that your calves keep touching, often enough that you both forgo apologies in favour of sending the other a small smile. Less of an 'I'm sorry,' and more of a 'We touched again,' a confirmation that he's real and you're real and you're eating a home cooked meal that you made together.

He's so handsome, so ridiculously lovely, and the food is good but not good enough to keep your attention. Not when Steve takes a sip of water and his arm moves, the muscle beneath his skin shifts, pulls taut, and his shirt tightens around his bicep and you're just as hopeless as you were the very first time you'd invited him in.

He's saying something and it must be pretty funny because he's laughing, a chesty, giggling thing that sounds boyishly happy, like he just can't help it. You're not sure what he's laughing at but it's enough to set you off, infectious as it is.

"So Robin's in the back pretending to search for this movie that doesn't exist, and I'm thinking, shit, maybe I should call the police. Because he's got both hands in his pockets and, whaddya know, one pocket is like bulging out."

"Steve?" you ask, trying to sound forceful, befuddled that he's laughing at all. "Someone came into the store with a gun?"

His laugh peters off. "No," he says reassuringly. "Klondike bar."

He chews through a big mouthful of celery and you dissolve into giggles.

Cleaning up with Steve ends up being just as fun as cooking. He stands at your side with a hand towel wiping off dishes as you wash them, hip to hip.

"I can wash them," he says.

"That's okay."

You pass him a wet plate. He wipes it dry and sets it to the side. It could only be five minutes of this before you're done. Weirdly, you wish it had taken a little longer.

It's nice to spend time with him.

"I was thinking you could come over to my place tomorrow, if you wanted to."

Your heart flutters and you're hit with the realisation that you might get to do dishes with him tomorrow, and again, that today isn't a one off. That Steve likes you enough to kiss you and buy you flowers and invite you over.

"I've never been to your house," you say.

"I know. It's supposed to be really hot out tomorrow until seven. I thought you could sunbathe for an hour and I could keep an eye on you, you know. We can get takeout, listen to music," he continues, his voice soft, a melodic cadence to his suggestions.

Why is he trying to sell you on it? You hand him the last plate and twist, holding your dripping hands in the basin.

"I'd love to," you say, smiling. "Though I resent the idea that I need to be supervised."

"I just don't want all those brains to turn to mush." He puts the plate down on top of the others and reaches for your hands without saying anything, eyes on your face as he dries off your fingers gently. "Though you were super adorable when you had heat stroke. All clingy and giggly," he teases.

"Heat exhaustion," you correct. You feel like there's water in your ears.

"Mh-hm."

When your hands are to his satisfaction he swings the towel over his shoulder and takes them into his own, your fingers hooked gently over his. He rubs the fingernail of your index finger and then moves up, smoothing a path over your knuckles. He arrives at your pinky finger and wraps his index finger around it, massaging the length of it with the pad of his thumb.

"Are they still hurting?" he asks, hushed.

"A little bit. Not really, though. It's like after a splinter."

He holds your hand open, palm bared, his thumb pressed to the bottom of your last three fingers as he bends to look at your fingertips. Every touch, every detail, every movement he makes feels urgent to you, your heart racing fast as a mouse's.

"Poor girl," he mumbles to himself. He looks up and sees what must look similar to panic on your face. "Are you sure they're not hurting you? They look sore."

You're gonna say Yes, I'm sure, but he straightens up and brings your hand to his lips before you can muster the strength. He kisses your smattering of tiny injuries and grins when he's done, your entire body awash with a dizzying pleasure.

His hair is falling in his face. You take your kiss-warmed hand from his grip to tuck the longer strands behind his ear. Your heartbeat plays loud. You worry he can hear it.

You stall with your index finger shaking over his skin. Steve covers your hand with his, the look in his eyes unreadable, and you know he's going to kiss you.

You shut your eyes. His breath warms your lips as he closes in, his nose sliding against yours slowly. Your anticipation is a hand closing around your throat, at first a welcome touch and then dizzying breathlessness, an aching for the brush of his lips. He squeezes your hand where it cradles his cheek.

"Breathe," he whispers in bemusement. "Breathe, baby."

You suck in a breath and lift your chin as Steve knocks your nose with his and crosses the distance, his lips parted just slightly. Your head moves back under his kiss, your eyes screwed too tight. Steve takes your hand from his face and guides it over the slope of his shoulder until you're cupping his neck, his fingertips trailing down the length of your arm and moving under, palm to your shoulder blade. He pulls you in, makes the softest little sound against your lips that tickles madly and has a warmth like the setting sun filling your chest.

He kisses slow and sweet, his lips a softness against yours. You can feel as he starts to smile, as he takes your face into his hand, almost pulling at your skin in efforts to be impossibly nearer.

He laughs first, a huff that fans over your twin smile. You can't help but join in as you search up, ardent and excited, laughing into his open mouth until every kiss is a struggle.

"Y/N," he says. It doesn't even sound like your name. He could've said babe or baby or sweetheart and it would've burned the same.

"Do you have to go home?" you ask knowingly, reluctantly opening your eyes.

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

It's getting late, a warm Thursday evening becoming night. The street lamps outside burn yellow-white in the darkening sky and the flowers on the sill have lost their shine. Steve is the brightest thing in the room.

He checks his watch and frowns. "I probably should."

"But I'll see you tomorrow?" you check.

"Did you wanna stay the night? I'm not working Saturday."

You have the first thought that most girls your age might have at a new love asking that question: sex. For a moment, a split second of a moment, Did you wanna stay the night? becomes Do you wanna have sex with me?

You give him a guilty smile and he mistakes it for something else. He says, "You don't have to, I can drive you home. And uh, you know, I would…" You bring your hand back to his face. "We wouldn't do anything you don't wanna do."

"I know," you say quickly. "Yeah, I wanna stay the night." Which is scary to admit. Scary to want.

Whether anything happens or it doesn't, you want to go.

You walk Steve out and he kisses you goodnight chastely. You watch him all the way to his car and wave as he drives away, standing in the doorway until his tail lights are a mere suggestion of white in the distance, small and bright as a pearly star.

-

Robin shrieks as her chair reclines back as far as it can. "Shit, why does it go back this far?"

Steve is more than tired from a full day of work and while he loves Robin to the point of dying for her, he can't handle stupid questions. His short fuse is further shortened by missing you, and he groans.

"You fucking reclined it all the way?"

Steve watches in the rear view as she raises her eyebrows and hugs herself with both arms. "It went down too easy, is all I'm saying."

"That's all?" he asks.

He knows exactly what she's implying and he refuses to feed into it, even when she hums to herself happily. Her happiness lasts for only a few seconds before she's springing up and giving herself whiplash.

"You haven't actually fucked in this seat, right?"

"Christ, Robin."

Her nose wrinkles. "Have you?"

"No! No, I haven't done anything in here… in a while. And me and Y/N haven't-" He bites his tongue.

"You haven't?" she asks. There's no teasing to be detected in her voice, only curiosity.

He keeps his eyes on the road but his thoughts travel elsewhere. You're so close he convinces himself for a second that he can smell your sweet floral scent, a hundred different flowers clinging to your skin. He lets himself sink further, imagining the feeling of your cheek under his hand and the softness of your skin and fine hairs, the shape of your eyes as he leans in.

"Loverboy?" Robin asks expectantly.

Steve clears his throat. "What?"

"Ew, you're being disgusting."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to," she says, and then laughs. "In deep, huh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! I'm serious, you like her. And it's nice," she draws the word out hesitantly, "to see you happy. I guess. After I broke your heart, and all."

He doesn't blush like he might have before. Steve had liked Robin, a lot, and it was easy to understand why: she's the first real friend he's ever had. He's more than over his crush now, platonic (with a capital 'P') suits them well.

"Thanks, Robs," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"You're welcome." She whistles. "So, you haven't fucked?"

Steve turns his face. "Don't you think that's, like, a private thing?"

"I'm your best friend."

"Y/N is an entire other person who isn't your best friend."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody."

Steve knows that. He sighs to himself, conflicted. He doesn't wanna kiss and tell but he does need advice. "She's staying over tonight."

"Ah, huzzah!" Robin cheers. Steve worries his eyes might get stuck inside his head from all the rolling. "And you're gonna…"

He chews his lip. "I don't think so. I think I scared the shit out of her when I asked her to spend the night."

"I doubt that, she still said yes. But, you know. Not all of us lose our V-card when we're in junior year."

He hadn't even thought about that. "Shit. Having a girlfriend is terrifying."

Robin laughs and throws the seat back up. "If she's scared, it might not even be about hooking up. You've been together for, what, a week?"

"Two weeks today."

Robin nods thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Forget about sex and everything and just have fun."

"I'm not a nympho." He isn't. He doesn't care if you want to hook up or not (though care might be indelicate – he won't lie and say he hasn't thought about it).

"I know. I'm just saying, there's no point worrying about if you will or won't."

He takes the turn onto Robin's street. Her house comes into view, and he suddenly realises, "I wasn't worried until you brought it up!"

"Then forget I said anything!" she shouts back, laughing.

Steve laughs too as he pulls up at the curb outside of Robin's house.

"It's fine," he says decidedly. He's still worrying about it because if you do want to hook up he's not exactly in practice right now, but underneath it is that building anticipation, an excitement. "Fuck, she's so fucking pretty, Robin."

"Sure is, idiot," Robin agrees, unbuckling and kicking open the door. "Wear a rubber or your kids will be pretty, too."

She closes the door with a smug smile.

"You're awful!" he calls at her retreating figure. She waves over her shoulder and doesn't look back.

Steve drops his head into the wheel and startles himself when it beeps.

By the time he's pulling up outside of his house he's forgotten all his sex-related nerves, any anxiety occluded by a want to see you. He rushes to clean up the huge mess he's made over the week in the kitchen and the smaller mess in the living room, soda cans and take out and all the gross things he'd rather die than have you see.

He throws open every window and heads out to the back yard to make sure the pool is actually swimmable. The sun is high but falling. The day's most punishing heat is over. Perfectly safe for sunbathing.

He doesn't have anything fancy but he fills a jug with water and tops it with badly cut orange slices to cool in the fridge while he waits for you.

Steve stretches, smells himself, realises he smells like sweat and checks his watch in alarm. Your visit is fast approaching but if he does it quickly he can shower before you get here.

He's not right. He's still in the shower when you knock the door. Steve almost kills himself as he scrambles over wet tiles. He's still basically soaking as he drags his clean clothes on, hair sopping and quickly saturating the neck of his shirt.

You smile when he opens the door, though your smile quickly fades. "I'm sorry, were you showering? I know I'm early, I just wanted to see you."

You look like you always do – pretty, so pretty, your hair a little messy, your shirt crinkled at the bottom, the slit in your skirt showing a tantalising stripe of your thigh. A breezy, thin outfit for the hot weather.

Steve couldn't say why but he needs to kiss you badly. He takes your shoulder into his hand to hold you in place and kisses the corner of your smile, your cheek, the small stripe under your earlobe. He lingers there for longer than the others, feeling the ever-present heat of your skin beneath his lips. He presses a second kiss over the first and then pulls away.

"Don't be sorry," he says. He pats your face. "I'm glad you're early. I wanted to see you more, I swear."

"You make everything a competition," you grumble, though your eyes evidence your bliss.

Steve leads you into the living room and you drop your backpack onto the couch. The sight of it makes him fawn, because you really are staying the night and you look cute and you'd wanted to see him. It's enough to make him ecstatic. It likely shows on his face.

You turn on your heels, taking it all in. "You have a really nice house, Steve."

"I'd say thank you, but it's all my parents'."

"Where are they?" you ask.

Where are they usually? He doesn't really know. "Chicago, I think? My dad's on business and mom always goes with him, so…"

You turn your eyes from the open patio door and back to Steve where he stands in the middle of the room towel drying his hair. "Lucky me, I get you all to myself," you murmur.

"Do you wanna take your shoes off?" he asks. "There's water in the fridge. Are you hungry?"

You peek up at home where you've bent down to unstrap your sandals and smile. "I'm good, Stevie," you say softly.

When you've stepped out of both sandals you hold them by the straps and they dangle from your hand, swaying with your steps as you walk towards him.

You look up at him and tilt your head to one side. Always charming, Steve's fondness for sky rockets.

"Are you okay?" you ask, a murmur, raising your hand to his bicep. Your fingers slip under his sleeve. "You seem frazzled. Long day?"

It felt endless, knowing that you'd be waiting for him.

"I'm fine. I'm good. I'm great, actually. Got a whole night with my girl."

"And tomorrow, too," you say, sounding as happy as he feels.

"What are we gonna do with it all?" he says teasingly.

Again, a flash of that nervous smile. He hadn't meant to insinuate anything at all. He's about to clarify when you bring your hand to his collar and kiss him.

Steve really likes your hands, he's fascinated by them, the way you move them and the way they feel, their tentative but tender touch as you feel along the ridge of his collar bone. You come to a stuttering pause as he kisses you harder, the wet of your tongue addictive as he opens you up.

He takes your face into both hands and pushes your face to one side so he can move in closer, thumbs careless where they press into your cheeks. You taste like something sweet and the sound you make is sweeter as he dedicates himself to your top lip, a quivering breath as he slows.

He tries not to feel smug at the lost glaze in your eyes when they blink open.

Your bottom lip shines. He wipes it clean with his thumb. "You wanna go sunbathe now?" he asks mildly.

You nod like he thought you would, slow, but then there's a sudden clarity on your face. "I brought you something."

You move out of his reach and he follows. You're only stepping towards the couch where your backpack rests, unzipping it and in no rush as you pull your pajamas out and lay them on the cushion. He tries very hard to pretend he hasn't noticed your underwear, a pair of pink lacy panties, but he thinks maybe you can tell as you turn to him with a tupperware of cookies in your hands.

"More flower shortbread?" he asks happily. "You spoil me."

"I think you're someone who deserves to be spoiled."

Steve's mouth goes dry. He holds his hands out for the tupperware and hugs it to his chest, throwing a hand around your shoulders to tug you close. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome."

He takes your hand and pulls you out into the backyard. You beam, your head tilting back to take in the warmth of the fading sun.

Steve drags two sun loungers close together and you waste no time in stretching out on one.

You bloom.

There's no other word for it. You unfurl like the petals on your beloved flowers. Your body relaxes completely. Steve reaches across the gap to take your hand again and they hang between your languid bodies.

You're smiling as you balance your red shiny Walkman across your chest and click play, adjusting the volume until the feminine scratch of Cyndi Lauper echoes over the concrete space of his backyard. You close your eyes soon after, and Steve knows he might not get as much conversation out of you as he craves but it's worth it to see you like this, to hold your hand.

He struggles to open your tupperware with one hand but doesn't consider letting you go, eyebrows furrowing at the stubborn lid.

When it clicks it's loud and he inhales fast, worried the entire thing is gonna topple off of his chest and your perfect shortbread biscuits will be destroyed. Flower petals adorn the top. Steve picks them off while you're not looking – they're beautiful, of course, and don't taste like much, but the texture is super weird.

"How was work?" you ask.

He takes a big bite of shortbread. "It was fine. I mean, it was fucking boring as hell. We watched Back to the Future again."

"I've never seen that movie."

"Never?"

"No. Is it good?"

He squeezes your fingers and pushes the rest of the shortbread into his mouth. It's not too sweet. You've dusted the tops with fine sugar that melts in his mouth and the crumbly texture is awesome, better than any store bought cookies he's ever tried.

He swallows and lets his head fall back, greedy enough to pick up a second one. "Wanna hear a story?"

You turn your head towards him and your eyes crack open. "A good one?"

"Depends on your politics."

You close your eyes. "Tell me."

"The first time I saw Back to the Future was at the Starcourt mall with Robin. We were high out of our minds, total whitey's. And I had a concussion, so I was… worse."

Your eyes open fast. Your one shoulder lifts, like you might have to protect him from something. "What?" you ask, frowning.

He pulls your hand towards him, a tug, not to come closer but more in an everything is okay, kind of way.

"It's fine. Anyways, we laughed our asses off and left before the end. The first time we watched it sober I thought it was the wrong movie."

"Why did you have a concussion?"

He shakes the tupperware at you until you take one. Only when you've bitten into it does he answer, though he's not entirely truthful, "It was like, you know how there was a fire?" he asks. You nod. "Well, everything in starcourt was fucking janky, and we went down this one elevator shaft and- concussion." He explains without explaining. He doesn't lie.

No way is he ready to tell you about all the weird shit he's had to deal with. Not yet. He doesn't wanna scare you off or scare you at all, and the upside down shit is fucking terrifying.

You take his explanation without any suspicion and he feels a little guilty.

"You should get workers comp," you say, brows pinched.

He chuckles and rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. Being cared about like this is so weird, he thinks. How mad and worried you are over something that happened before you knew him makes him feel hot, something electric and melting on top of his chest.

"You wanna be my lawyer?" he asks, grinning.

You reach for another shortbread. "I wouldn't know the first thing about it."

"You'd look cute in a suit, though."

"Shush," you mumble. You roll your thumb over your shortbread until the flower petals fall off. "They're so pretty but they feel so weird. Maybe I shouldn't put them on there."

He looks at the scattered flower petals on the floor to his left where you can't see them. "Nah, I like 'em."

You glow. "If you like them I guess I'll leave them on there."

"That's generous. You'd never be a good lawyer."

"Lawyers can be generous! They do stuff for free, right? Pro-bono. Like that one movie last year, with the guy who kills his wife, but he doesn't kill his wife, but he totally does, um…"

"Jagged Edge."

"Jagged Edge! Exactly."

"Was she pro bono?" he asks sceptically.

"Maybe not," you say, and laugh. "That movie sucked."

"Better than Back to the Future."

You choke on a laugh and pull your hand out of his to dust yourself off. He misses your touch but doesn't complain, clicking the lid back onto your tupperware and hiding them under the lounger from the heat. The sunshine is amazing, not too suffocating but definitely warm enough to melt him into jelly. He'd been a little worried about wearing shorts rather than jeans but you hadn't mentioned anything.

He combs his hair out of his face and wonders if it looks awful. It probably does. Only the strands closest to his neck feel chilly with damp, half dried by the sunshine.

"Steve," you say shyly.

He turns back to you and you're sitting up, one leg off the lounger.

"What?"

"Can I… you don't mind if I take off my shirt, do you?" you ask.

He's quick to assure you. "No way, beautiful. Throw it off."

You huff a laugh and cross your arms. Steve's fascinated by the way you take off your shirt, how you've dragged the front over your face where he would've grabbed the back and pulled indelicately. Your back arches and your chest moves up as it comes off.

You're wearing some sort of animal print bikini top underneath, a cheetah or a panther or something. Steve watches the curves of your breasts rise as you breathe in and then snaps his gaze to your face, guilty. You aren't looking at him, busy fiddling with the Walkman in your lap.

"Do you have anything you wanna listen to?" you ask him offhandedly. "I brought this and A Night at the Opera, but if there's something else you wanted to-"

"Night at the Opera?"

"Queen?" you ask.

"Like Hammer to Fall?" he asks.

You turn to face him entirely, skirt ruffled by a gentle breeze. "That's their new one. Night at The Opera is from, like, '76? '75? It has that really long one. And there was," you start giggling, your words all jumpy and honeyed, "there's one called 'I'm in Love with my Car.'"

"Sounds like an album for me. I'll go get it."

You spring up, something he can't read on your face. You look fucking insane shirtless, all soft and shiny, the lightest sheen of sweat illuminating the hills and dips, the slope of your shoulder, the lengths of your arms. "No, I'll do it. I'll get the water at the same time."

He watches you pass back into the house from over his shoulder. "It's in the fridge!" he calls.

"I guessed!"

He wonders for a second why you'd sounded nervous before remembering your underwear. His cheeks go a similar colour as he tries not to think about it, only he can't not think about it. They had not constituted a great deal of fabric, and then he's wondering how much the current ones are made up of and feeling guilty for that too.

She's my girlfriend, he thinks. I can think about these things. Not, like, obsessively. But in passing. God, she's fucking beautiful. He descends into a panicked reasoning.

Steve scrubs his face with his hand and looks out over the pool. It's been a while since they used it. He can't say he wants to use it after last time, and he definitely wouldn't consider any night time swimming but if you want to splash around in there in the daylight hours he's not gonna stop you.

You flounce back onto the patio with the cold jug in your hands and two glasses hugged to your chest, the cassette in the other. "Here, Stevie, can you-"

"Yeah." He stands up. He takes the cassette and jug from you and you manoeuvre the glasses into your hands. "Swap?" he asks.

You swap one glass for the cassette and the two of you sit down in tandem. Steve pours water for you both as you take Cyndi Lauper out, the cold a blessing. He holds his glass to his face and sighs.

"It's still hot even though it's late," you say knowingly.

"Endless Indiana summer." You're struggling with the cassette, your lips puckered in confusion. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I think I jammed it."

He watches you struggle with the lip that doesn't wanna open. "Pass it over?" he offers.

You pass it as soon as he asks, moving to sit by his side. He's very gentle with the small machine that you've once or twice affectionately monikered your 'baby'. He doesn't know a lot about tech and doesn't know why he offered. It had felt automatic. You had a problem and he just wanted to fix it.

The button that usually opens the door is pressed down, but the door is closed. He digs his fingernail under the button and pulls it up until it pops back into place and tests the play button.

The cassette starts to spin.

"Sticky button," he says easily.

Your thigh presses into his. "You're a genius, Harrington."

"That's Steve to you, babe."

You laugh and shift ever closer, until your arm is pressed to his arm, both perspiring lightly and too warm to really be touching like this. He should pull away, or you should. One of you should.

"Whatever you say…Harrington," you murmur through the corner of your mouth, smiling so nicely that he can't be bothered to argue.

He tucks his hand between your arm and your naked chest and pulls it toward him. You drop your head against his shoulder and turn the Walkman in your hand.

"How's your brain? Jello?" he asks lightly, flexing his fingers against the crook of your elbow and resting his head on top of yours carefully

"Jello pudding pops," you say wistfully. "You remember those? I haven't had one of those in years. Think they still make 'em?"

Your question is out of the blue. Enough to worry him some more.

He brings the arm furthest from you to your head and brushes his pinky finger up from your eyebrows to your hairline. "You feel warm."

"I'm perfectly fine, nelly."

"I'm allowed to be nervous. You were kind of out of it last time."

"We've barely been out here for thirty minutes," you argue with barely any heat.

His hand smooths down to your neck and then back up. He pulls your cheek back with his thumb and then drops his hand. "Just tell me if you feel sick, okay?"

"I promise I'm fine."

"Jeez," he groans, his lips barely parted. A fond annoyance. "Think a guy was asking the world."

You let your weight lean on him, the hand of the arm he's hugging moving around his back until you've found his side. You move it up and down sluggishly.

Like this, Steve has a perfect view of your lovely shoulder. One hidden behind, the other bared.

"You're beautiful," he says.

You tense up and he hates it, bringing his hand to your coveted shoulder. He rubs a line up the soft slope, the curve of your neck and then down again until you've relaxed.

"You… can't even see my face," you murmur. Your breath is a small hot patch into his sleeve.

"I don't need to see your face," he says, feigning a frustration he doesn't feel. "Think I haven't stared at you enough to know? And I was talking about your shoulders."

You laugh and drag your face up. "My shoulders?"

"Well I can only see one. But I assume the second is just as nice."

"You're weird," you say.

There's a certain weakness to it. He thinks maybe you need to hear him say it again. He doesn't hesitate.

"You have nice shoulders."

You shake your head almost imperceptibly. Steve takes the player from your lap and turns it down by half, putting it on the floor with the water jug.

Your legs poke into his as he encourages you towards him.

"Come on," he says, "I don't bite, babe. 'Less you ask me to."

"You'd like that, you sicko."

He laughs and really bundles you up, a too warm hug where your face presses to his shoulder and his hovers above yours. He squeezes and drags his hand down your arm, rough but not cruel.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Shh, I'm busy."

You've wrapped your arms around his waist loosely. Steve tugs your thigh over his until your legs are overlapped, as close as you can be while sitting side by side like this. He'd pull you completely into his lap if he thought you'd let him.

He can feel your smile.

His hand soothes a kinder path over your arm before he gives in. Shyly at first, Steve drops his mouth to your shoulder and leaves it there, barely a kiss.

Don't be a loser, he thinks.

Cautious but sincere kisses. He drops them in a uniform line down your arm, your sunned skin hot under his lips. Kisses not meant to be anything but kisses, little worships, a scattering of affection. Indiscriminately. His mouth passes over blemishes, beauty marks, the fine hairs at the top of your arm. You curl tighter around his waist.

He kisses back up the hill of your shoulder and his lips part. He sucks very, very gently, kissing the same spot until he's adorned your skin with shiny crescent moons. He doesn't know how long he kisses you for. He doesn't want to stop, or pause, or do anything but this.

His hands have moved to your back. One toys with the tie of your bikini top unthinkingly, the other rubbing your shoulder. You're limp in his arms.

He rubs his nose against your shoulder for long, quiet minutes. Perfumed by a thousand flowers and yet you still smell like yourself underneath it, your skin an indescribable scent and secret, something he selfishly doesn't ever want to share. Steve can't make himself move from you and you don't seem inclined either.

He groans. "Alright, you hungry?" he asks.

Your fingers stretch across his back. "Maybe."

"I'll call Mazzio's. What do you want?"

"Anything."

Steve pulls back to give you a fierce look. "Just tell me. I gotta know your favourite toppings. S'like, a boyfriend thing."

"A boyfriend thing?" you repeat, smiling wide.

You tell him what you like and he squeezes your shoulder, disappearing into the house to call the pizza place. When he returns you've laid out in his lounger, your eyes closed like you're sleeping. The worst of the heat has fallen away and cloud cover threatens to give you the chills.

"Come inside?" he asks from the doorway.

"No… come and give me another hug. It was nice."

"I bet it was," he mutters, a feigned irritation that's completely overturned by how quickly he does what you tell him to.

The lounger isn't big enough for both of you. Steve's already laughing as he climbs on top of you, careful but not really as he crushes the fabric of your skirt with his knees and thighs and wraps his arms tightly around your neck, rubbing your foreheads together roughly.

"This what you meant?" he asks through a grin.

"No."

-

Steve's bed smells of him unequivocally. You're trying to withhold from lying down and sniffing, wondering curiously if that's something you're 1) allowed to do, and 2) supposed to want to do. Is it odd to like the way he smells as much as you do? That familiar bergamot, the almost smokey undertone of lavender, cedar. It makes you feel doped up. Your happiness has you heavy-limbed.

"You head up, okay? I'm just gonna lock the door," he'd said.

So here you are, backpack at your feet. After greasy takeout and an entire movie holding hands you think you're probably as content as it's possible to be in this body and in this life.

You hear Steve's footsteps up the stairs and lie down flat against his pillows, turning your face to sniff indulgently, the fabric cold under your cheek.

He walks in and he's all rumpled clothes and smiles, his hair in total disarray like you've never seen. As soon as he's crossed the threshold he's pulling off his polo and you think Oh fuck, that was quicker than I imagined this happening. Your heart feels fit to explode but he's barely looking at you, his sights set on the huge oak dresser at the end of the room.

You watch his arms as he walks past, your heart a hummingbird as Steve says, "Did you pick a movie?"

You gawp at what you can see of his naked chest, the side of a pec. You've never seen him undressed like this. Your distraction leaves you quiet, and Steve turns to you with a soft looking t-shirt in hand.

"Baby?"

"I didn't," you say, your voice scratchy. "Uh, sorry. I just laid down and…forgot."

He bends forward a little before he puts the shirt on and his entire chest moves. You can't help but look at it. Steve has… Steve has pecs. Pillowy-

"Y/N?"

"Sorry," you say, blinking hard.

"Are you tired or something?" He turns back to the dresser and opens a different drawer and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. "Don't look," he says teasingly.

You avert your eyes.

"Do you wanna change?" he asks when he's done, leaning back against the dresser with his arms crossed.

You don't know what Steve wants, if he wants to hook up or if he doesn't, and you don't mind either way. (A bad lie – you really, really want to.) (But it's cool if he doesn't want to.)

You won't be upset if he doesn't make a move, but if he does you'd prefer to be less sweaty.

"Can I shower? Not to wash my hair, just…"

"Sure you can."

Steve holds out his hand and you take it, grabbing your backpack as he pulls you off of the bed and into the bathroom. He drops your hand as fast as he'd taken it to open the cabinet under the sink. "Listen, the shower doesn't work. Well, it does, but the hot water only gets lukewarm and I don't know how to fix it. But the bath works fine. Uh…" He pulls a basket of girly toiletries out. "You can use whatever you want, my stuff or my mom's, whatever."

You stand by the tub. "She won't mind?"

"It's fine. I'll have to get you stuff next time you stay over." He moves you to the side with his hand on your hip and you look up as he moves down, turning the faucet. He holds his hand under the stream and messes with the temperature until he's satisfied. "Sorry. I should've thought about all of this before I asked you to spend the night."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I didn't think about any of that stuff either. It's like I said, I- I just wanted to see you. Wasn't thinking about shower gel."

You laugh awkwardly. It ebbs when he grabs your shoulder and gives you a little shake. "Half as much as I wanted to see you."

He ends the shake with a good rub of his thumb.

"Want me to get in with you?" he asks with a smirk.

You laugh and start shoving at his chest playfully. "Get out," you whine.

He puts his hands up in surrender and you close the door between you, unsurprised when his voice rings out against it. "You come here often?" he asks.

"Do you?" you ask. Your voice sounds loud.

You strip off your clothes and your bikini top and slip into the water.

"Every morning for the last twenty years."

"What do you recommend?"

"The three in one."

You gawp and giggle, horrified at his suggestion. You know he's lying, his hair's too nice to use something like that. There's a few seconds of silence where you shudder at the new heat and rub yourself down.

"Which shower gel is yours?" you ask, looking between bottles unsure.

"Just use whatever you want. What movie d'you wanna watch?"

"Can't you choose?" you ask, bringing each gel to your nose until you find the one that smells like him. You lather the soap between your palms and run it over your body.

"I picked the last one."

"And you're good at it!" You reason, laughing loudly at your own joke. Steve's reluctant chuckles echo from the other side of the door.

You go to ask, Why are you still standing there, dork? But you're afraid that asking will make him move, and you like him too much to want that to happen.

"You were half asleep, how do you know it was good?"

"You were rubbing my hand!" you argue.

"You liked that?" he asks. His tone is honest.

You cup water in both hands to wash off your shoulders. You don't want to answer and give yourself away. Of course you'd fucking liked it, is he kidding? Boys. No, you think, not boys. Steve.

And after the stunt he'd pulled in the back yard, too. The nerve.

Warm water laps at your naked stomach. You think about his lips running over your shoulder and how tenderly he'd held you. Suddenly the water feels scorching, and you climb out over the lip as Steve says, "How much longer?"

"Stop stalking me."

"You're taking forever."

It's barely been five minutes. You go dizzy with pleasure at the idea that he might miss you so badly, the implication that he likes you that much.

You wrap a towel around yourself and squat down to sort through the contents of your bag for your pajamas and underwear.

"I'm getting dressed," you inform him, putting your clothes on the counter so you can dry off.

"I've never been any good at that," he says.

You pull your underwear over damp thighs and laugh under your breath so he can't hear it and get spurred on. "At getting dressed?"

"Right. Just awful. You should see me in the mornings, it's like, what limb does this go on?"

You stop scrubbing the towel over yourself to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm trying. You're dodging the punchline."

"Wouldn't you want me to teach you how to take them off, rather than on?"

"How presumptuous!" You can hear his smirk.

"What was the punchline?" you ask, eager to draw the attention back to his bad joke rather than your suggestion.

You pull your shirt over your head and step into your pyjamas pants, tying the strings into a neat bow.

"Well, because you're so ridiculously nice I thought you'd offer to teach me how to do it, and then I'd get to say something like, 'Baby, I'm a visual learner.'"

"That's awful," you mumble, bent at the waist as you hop into your socks.

He hears it anyways. "Say it to my face."

You look yourself over in the mirror. Fresh faced, shirt sticking to your damp chest, pajama trousers high on your hips. You tug your shirt over the waistband. An entirely normal outfit for a normal night.

You open the door and Steve falls onto his back into the bathroom, looking up as you look down. He must've been sitting with his legs hiked, too much weight on the door to fall in readily. You laugh guiltily.

"Are you okay?"

He blinks. His eyes look impossibly wide.

"Steve?" You tilt your head to the side.

"You look killer," he says.

You mime like a slasher over his prone body and try to do the sound effects. Steve giggles and you decide it's your new favourite sound. He covers his face with his hands, one shoulder lifting from the floor with the force of it. You've never heard him laugh like this, all high pitched and gasping.

You can't decide whether you want to kneel down and kiss him or kneel down and pretend to stab him to death. You think the latter will make him laugh some more and you'll do anything for that next hit, falling to your knees with a threatening hand poised above you.

When Steve laughs really hard his mouth opens in a big smile, all his top teeth on display and shining.

You drop your hand to his chest, having lost all steam. The need to tell him how handsome he is, pretty, lovely, beautiful, all of it, is maddeningly high. You don't want to ruin the moment and you won't, spreading your palm flat over his chest and leaning down.

"I'm gonna kill you," you murmur, lips barely parted as you look between both of his eyes, memorising their flush of dark lashes. You drag your hand down his torso. "Why are you laughing?"

"I mean, if I'm gonna die-" He blows a big puff of air up his face and his hair moves like sea grass. "I'm okay with it being you who kills me."

"You'd let me kill you, baby?" you ask, still quiet, bemused and endeared and on the precipice of something big.

"I'd let you do a lot worse," he says.

You brush the hair out of his face. "I don't wanna do any of that stuff."

"Good. I was getting nervous. Here, give me-" he lifts up off of the ground to kiss you once. A chaste peck that leaves you a smiling mess.

You climb off of him before he has to ask and put your hand out to help him up. He takes it but doesn't need it, surprisingly lithe as he stands and pushes you back into his room. You laugh when he encourages you none too gently into his bed again. He flips on the TV, swaps the VHS out for one you can't see and then joins you at the top, lying down with a suffering sigh.

He stretches and groans. You ogle him.

"What's the movie?"

"Don't laugh?" he asks.

"No, I won't."

He shifts so you're two halves of a heart curved towards each other. "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." You nibble the inside of your lip. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"Am I laughing, Steve?"

"Just about," he grumbles.

You don't know why but it feels more than natural to curl up towards him. Any insecurity is fixed quickly when he pulls you close, one arm behind your head and propping him up tall, the other coming over your waist loosely, his wrist to your hip but his fingers not touching you.

You have to turn your neck to see the TV across the room. After a few minutes it aches and you consider moving, then Steve manoeuvres to press his lips to your head and you forget all about it.

His shirt's ridden up. His stomach is soft from the way he's on his side, and you can see the dark trail of hair leading from his navel that disappears into the plaid of his pants.

You reach out to slip your fingers under the hem and wrap your arm around him, feeling the croft of silky hair at the small of his back. You trail up, your finger bumping over the smoothed ridges of horizontal stretch marks.

"Can you feel that?" you ask.

Steve slowly moves his elbow. His face level with yours, he asks, "Can you feel this?" He scratches his fingers lightly over your hip.

You giggle with your mouth closed. "Yeah, I guess it was a stupid question."

Steve moves back and you turn to look at him. You're very close. You're in bed.

"Wasn't stupid," he says quietly.

You raise your brows and incline your head to his until he's laughing.

"It was misguided," he allows.

"I don't know why- I mean, I have enough stretch marks. I know they're not-" you laugh, a bubble of sound that warms his lips, "not dead."

"Maybe yours are special," he teases.

"Wanna find out?"

He laughs and kisses you. Pressure that slowly builds, a chaste pressing of his lips to yours. It's miraculous how quickly your breathing syncs, how you're inhaling at every parting, how your mouths open at the same time. He takes in a big sigh that lights you up and pulls you in like it's nothing.

He dedicates himself to your top lip. There's urgency there that wasn't before, and you're feeling it too. His mouth a crescent of heat, he takes your lip between his and sucks gently. You gasp and your hand twists in his shirt.

"Shit, sorry," he says, "I haven't done this in-"

"It's okay. It's okay, I liked it."

"Yeah?"

You huff against his lips. He's smiling as he does it again. You shudder at the feeling of his teeth, his careless nipping, your hands searching for comfort.

Everything goes slow. He kisses slow, he touches slow. His hands move over your back, slip under your shirt and climb up. Not looking for anything, just looking.

Your hand climbs over his chest. You brush your fingers through the ends of his carefully before pushing up, weaving into the soft strands at the back of his neck. You rub his thumb over his skin in time with your kisses.

Steve encourages you onto your back. You feel a heat growing in your chest, somewhere lower, as he hovers over you, his lips pushing you down into a space that doesn't exist. Your fingers are busy learning the back of his head, fingertips moving over his scalp, scratching lightly as you trail back down to hold him in place.

You kiss up. Steve's hand knocks your shirt up your chest as he squeezes the skin just below your breasts, breathing hard.

He hesitates. His fingers pinch your shirt as if he's going to pull it back down.

"Steve," you murmur. "It's okay."

He kisses your cheek without looking at you, his eyes on your naked skin. "You sure?"

You bring your knees up until they brush his hip and push them away from him, petting the hair out of his face. "Yeah," you say, smiling.

More kissing. Steve ducks down and holds your face steady in one hand, giving you short-lived, wet kisses as his fingers approach your chest. He pauses, watching your face as his fingertips bump into the swell of your breast. "Okay?" he asks.

You lift your chin. "It's fine, Harrington."

"Steve," he corrects steadily, the pads of his fingers ghosting under your nipple to caress the side. His thumb rubs a quarter circle just underneath and you feel the soft skin perk up.

"Steve," you utter.

From there you endure some of the worst kisses of your life – worst as in, life changing, as in sticky, as in everything you've ever wondered about and more. You know you're hopeless. You feel yourself melt into nothing as he massages your peaking nipple, laughing into his mouth when he squeezes and hitching when he squeezes harder.

He pushes the small nub between his index and middle finger and his teasing stutters. He holds you like this and kisses you and you don't know how much time passes. With him, time feels implausible. Like a guideline you ignore.

When you think you might be more him than yourself he pulls away, leaving your lips hot and bruising.

"Can I take this off?" he asks, pulling the hem of your shirt over his finger. His eyes are so brown. You can't believe how brown they are.

"Please."

"Don't- You don't have to say please with me. Not with this, okay?" He rubs his hand over your breast and presses it deep into your heart. "Not with anything."

"You'll regret that," you say, heat like nothing you've ever felt in your chest and the tips of your ears.

"I don't think I will."

He kisses you again like he just can't help it and sits up enough to work your t-shirt from under your back. The excitement gets mixed up with enough insecurity then to make you nauseous.

Steve drops your shirt onto the floor and plants his hands on either side of you. "Oh, you're fucking pretty."

His eyes take you in. It surprises you when he spends half the time staring at your face, entirely too much of it at your eyes. "You know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me enough, Stevie," you mumble, aflame.

"Wanna hear it again?"

You don't say anything. His eyes bore into yours. His lashes kiss.

His grin is practically dietific as his lips curve up. "You're beautiful. 'So fine and pretty,'" he says, almost but not quite singing.

"You're just as handsome," you say, bringing your hands to his defined cheeks. You smooth your hands over his face and ears and hair, holding it all away from him. "You're…" You drop your hands to the curve of his neck and follow over his trap muscle. "You're amazing."

"Stop," he says. You take it for 'keep going'.

"Handsome sounds too formal," you mutter, almost to yourself, "but it's true. You're handsome. More than handsome, you're- you're funny and kind and-" You shake your head. "I think you're the first person I've ever wanted like this."

You don't mean to get emotional. 'This' comes out so rough it burns, and you swallow it all down, blinking fast.

"Like 'this'?" he asks.

He brings a hand to your face, holding your cheek like you're made of solid silver, like you might bend under his touch.

"Like this," you say again. "If you want to."

"I want to," he says, nodding happily. "Of course I do."

You laugh and he laughs. There's a gap where you're both thinking, Oh, we're doing this.

And then Steve's in motion.

He pulls his shirt over the back of his head and you're starstruck. His hair's a dark mess, the ends cast light by the TV. You reach up to smooth them down and it's too late, Steve's ducking down for a smattering of heavy kisses across your lips, one corner to the other. His nose taps into yours and you turn your face to accommodate him, his tongue a wet heat as he pushes it into yours. You reciprocate as best you can, eyes closed tight and hands all over the place. You start at his collar. One hand runs over the twisting of chest hair over his pecs and the other holds his face to yours. He curls his fingers around your wrist, the other paying some much needed attention to your neglected breast. He plays until both nipples are aching and then some.

He spreads your legs and your heart skips as he puts his knee between your thighs, lips starting a ruinous journey downward. He sets kisses like tiny sparks of heat against your jaw and under it, nose dragging down your neck as he turns. You cup the back of his head as his lips part, as he takes your flesh between his teeth and sucks tenderly.

"You smell like flowers," he says, kissing his half-hearted hickey.

"Some idiot bought me a florists," you tease.

His hand slides under your back. His knee presses to the bump of your cunt. "Best decision that idiot ever made," he says, words soaking into your neck, smothered.

You roll your hips shyly against his knee, a negligible friction as he rubs your back and scandalises your neck.

You lift your hips high and he gets the idea very quickly, fingers pinching at fabric until your thighs are out. He tries to move away and you hold him there, dazed by his ravenous attentions.

He laughs and strokes your arm. "I'm gonna take them off, okay?"

You drop your hands from his hair sheepishly and he moves back onto his knees.

"Pretty panties," he says. You don't think he's teasing.

"I thought you might like them," you tell him honestly.

"I do. They're dainty," he says, sliding your pajama pants off of your ankles. "Almost don't wanna take 'em off."

You feel a little bit nervous and decide to direct your attention to his own pants. There's a noticeable bulge at the seat of them. Your cunt twinges at the sight.

Steve's hands worship at your ankles. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

"This is the first time you're seeing me like this. I'm just nervous."

He pulls your foot onto his thighs and fiddles with the elastic of your sock. "If you could see what I'm seeing, I don't think you would be."

You try to imagine yourself as he sees you. Mostly naked and kiss mussed after a day of sun and fun and his affection, the dopey, slightly shy smile, with one arm crossed under your breasts and the other picking nervously at the lace of your underwear.

"You're fucking killer." He mimes a stabbing motion and you giggle. "I don't have to let you kill me, seeing you like this might just do it."

You let him keep your ankle in his lap but bring the other leg up, folding it across your thigh to hide your cunt from view. His eyes dip to the twin globes of your ass and he groans. Your ears strain to hear it.

"Are you gonna take them off?" you ask, eyes on the curve of his dick, eyebrows raised cheekily.

"You don't wanna take them off for me?" he asks. Your startled expression makes him giggle as he slides off of the bed and hooks his thumbs in the waistband.

He kicks them off, his boxers tighter than you'd pictured. You hike up on your elbows and bring your knees together, biting the inside of your lip as his hand drops to his cock. He readjusts the sizable length and a hiss of breath escapes him as he does.

"Fuck," he groans. "Shit, you're fucking- you're fucking everything."

You rub your thighs together coquettishly. "Come back and kiss me?" you ask. He takes a step forward. You tilt your head towards your shoulder. "Are you gonna take those off too?"

You had your suspicions, but the real thing makes your heart stop.

Steve kicks out of his boxers and holds his hands out. You spread your legs and he climbs on top of you, hands braced above your shoulders until he's negotiated himself into the gap. You feel the curve of his cock press into your stomach as he kisses you.

You try your best to be casual and let him kiss you, but you're curious and excited and you can't not think about it now that it's happening.

You stroke your hands down his back and leave them loose at his waist. "Steve," you whisper, breaking the kiss early.

"You wanna touch me?"

"Please?" you whisper.

"What did I say about please?" he murmurs. He doesn't sound very scolding.

"That I don't have to say it."

He leans back on his haunches. "So don't."

You sit up, hands between your laps and wringing. "Uh," you reach out. "Tell me if I do something wrong?"

He softens. "Sure, baby."

You lean in and Steve pulls you closer by the calves. Your hand trembles as you take his cock into your hands. He's thick. Fat. Girthier than you'd thought he would be and twice as hairy, though trimmed neatly at the outskirts, you slide your hand down to the underside of his shaft and pause.

When you align your hand, bottom of your palm to the very start of his shaft, the tip of your index finger misses the tip by two whole inches. You encircle him curiously.

"Spit in your hand," he says gently.

"Oh."

You spit into your hand and press it back into his cock, spreading it with loose strokes over veined ridges. The curls of his pubes brush your hand as you reach the bottom. The entire length of him jumps.

You're honestly dazzled. You laugh out of the corner of his mouth and look up at him with a happy smile. "You're packing a lot of heat here, Harrington."

He looks relieved. "Do you know how fucking scary it is when your girl has your dick in her hand and gets the giggles? I started second-guessing everything I thought about myself."

"I can see why you're popular with the ladies," you murmur, eyes bright with mirth as you dip down and kiss the tip where a dot of precum wells.

"Oh, don't, baby."

"Huh?" You sit up tall. "Do you wanna stop?"

"The opposite. I don't know how long I'll last, especially," he pulls you by the chin to his lips, "in this pretty mouth."

More giggles. He swallows them in their entirety, hand wrapped around your wrist to pull your fingers from his length. Your hands go limp, languid under his gentle kisses and featherlight touching.

You pull away from each other but fight to kiss anyways, cheeks aching with a smile as he steals one, another, a handful of sweet, catching pecks.

You pout as he pulls away.

"D'you wanna lie back?" he asks, hand behind his neck. He rakes his fingers through his hair.

You lie down with his pillows under your head.

Steve smooths his thumbs against the waistband of your panties.

"It's okay," you say, wiggling your hips from left to right encouragingly.

He drags them down. Over the slopes of your thighs and the hills of your knees, he slides them down to your calves. He pulls them off one ankle and they hang off of the other. You lift your leg and let the dampened pink fabric fall onto his rumpled sheets.

He crawls forward, hands hooking under your knee. "Lemme see you, babe."

You bring your legs up and spread your thighs, feet between his knees.

He takes his cock into his hand and tugs. "Fuck," he says, eyes heavy, "fuck, are you wet?"

"You've been kissing me for hours," you say bashfully.

"I'd kiss you longer if you're gonna let me. Can I touch you?"

You push your palm down to your cunt and spread yourself just slightly, more to get used to it than to tease him. "Yes, please."

Steve crawls until you're close and you settle your legs either side of him. He does as you'd done, pushing his thumb to the small well of slick at your entrance and spreading you open with his fingers. "Fuck," he says again. "Shit, baby. Look at you…"

He pushes his slick-wet thumb into the waiting bead of your clit. "There?" he asks.

You remember to breathe. "Yeah," you say, eyes drifting closed as he familiarises himself. You drop your head into his pillows, neck aching. "Right there."

"Aww," he says sympathetically, free hand pressed flat to the inside of your thigh, holding you open. "You have the cutest fucking pussy ever. Shit, i'so wet, you must have such a crush on me."

You smile to yourself and hide your face in a pillow that smells like him. "A huge one. It's kind of embarrassing."

"I bet it is."

His fingers probe your clit. It pulses under his touch, swollen and sensitive to every brush of skin.

"Can you come kiss me some more?"

He looks like he wants to argue.

"Please, Stevie."

Steve reaches over your chest and pulls open his nightstand, procuring a new box of rubbers. You flick his chest. "Is that a new box?"

"Maybe."

You kiss his shoulder and he rips one open with his teeth. "How many's in there?"

"Enough, you minx." He rolls it on.

Kissing. His weight pressed over you, his cock against your mess of slick. You whine as he grinds down into you hard, his tangle of dark curls a blessed friction.

His hips jerk back and the tip of his dick hits into your clit.

"Are you gonna tease me all night?" you ask.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, dropping his head next to yours, his arm wrapping around your neck. You turn your face to his. His eyes are closed and his smile is nearly peaceful, though the crinkle between his brows speaks to his growing desperation. It's as casual as any cuddle with him before. "I could."

"But you won't."

"No, I won't."

Steve gives you one last kiss and situates himself between your legs at full height, pushing your legs back until the tops of your thighs kiss the bump of your stomach. He takes his cock into his hand and guides the tip down the length of your crease. His head bumps your entrance.

You let one leg fall to the side, arm crossed under your rising chest, looking at Steve with bright, adoring eyes. He's beautiful above you, pumping his cock with one hand. The other plays at your weeping hole, fingertips dipping inside two at a time.

You clench around his fingers as they ease in.

"Shit, you're tight. You okay?"

You nod voraciously.

He spreads his fingers wide, his eyes rolling back showfully. "Fuck, babe… Gonna spread you wide open, yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Want you inside."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows are furrowed, a certain stress to his voice.

"Are you gonna make me say please?"

He takes your thighs into both hands and lines up. His grin is both salacious and adorable, a familiar mischief adorning his pretty features. "Never."

The stretch is a lot but he takes it slow. Really slow, his hands on your skin and constantly measuring your reaction. Which must be a super ego trip for him, because your face goes slack with pleasure and you have to focus a lot of energy on smiling rather than frowning; there's somethingwonderful about being this close to him. His cock pushes into you and you gasp with every gentle intrusion, every half inch of space he takes until he's halfway inside and staying there.

He bends over you and takes your face into his hand. You hadn't realised before you met Steve how often your face could be held by someone, and how safe it could make you feel. How the brush of someone's fingertips over your cheek could tickle and somehow you never want to move away. He pulls his hips back, rolls in, and your eyes crease with pleasure, lashes touching as you squint.

He smells like everything you're used to. He must be thinking the same thing as you, because he smiles, and says, "You might as well be a flower for how much you smell like one."

Bergamot. He touches something sensitive, gummy walls stretched around him. You whine under your breath.

Lavender. "Make that sound again?" he asks.

Cedarwood. The murmur of the TV fades away entirely. The only things you can hear are you and Steve. You; your panting, the high warping of every breath as his thick cock works you open. Steve; a panting all his own, a scratchy roughness. You try not to make too much noise in efforts to hear him.

The slightest hint of citrus. An impression. Maybe his breath, something lingering from the orange-infused water you'd sipped on earlier. His breath fans out over your collar as he bottoms out, a sound like a hiccup ripped from him.

You wrap your hands around his back. "Oh my god, Stevie."

"How's that feel? That okay?" He stays very still. "Pretty baby, taking all of me right now." He starts to move his hips in leisurely circles.

You pull him down for a kiss, a world away from being able to answer intelligibly. You're so full it aches, so full – the blunt tip of his cock pushes into your sweet spot and you have to break the kiss to gasp for air.

"Feels so good," you whisper, rubbing his back unhurried.

A shiver courses down your spine as he pulls out to push in again. The sound is filthy, an erotic slapping as his thighs hit into yours and he moans. He fucking moans.

"Fuck, Steve. Can you go faster?"

Steve forces his forearms under your shoulder blades and his forehead presses to your collar, lips sluggish as they kiss your chest. He pulls your nipple into his mouth as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically, sucking and nibbling and twisting, his ministrations sending little bolts of pleasure down to your throbbing cunt.

He kisses hickey after hickey into your chest. You're too busy getting fucked out to notice, lavished by his mouth and numbed by his cock. Every thrust starts to hit deep, and every thrust pulls an unintelligible sound from you. Panting turns to moaning, moans turn to mewls.

"Hear how wet you are? Do you hear that?" Steve asks as he pulls away. He flicks at your bruising nipples and pouts when you jump. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Not my fault you have the cutest rack ever."

"Steve!" you cry, flushing with an embarrassed heat.

"What? It's fucking true." He takes your hips into his hands and hits in hard, cock prodding your spongey g-spot unapologetically. "Cutest pussy, too."

He brings his hand down to your cunt and slows his pace, thrusts shallow and eyes wide as he spreads you open. You can feel your hole shaping around him, the stretch as he opens you up. His thick fingers press into the bead of your clit and he starts to draw, tight messy circles in time with his thrusts.

"Taking me so well, babygirl."

You cup your aching tits and feel them sway with every thrust, every hit of his thighs into yours. A sticky mess grows between you that leaves your clit wet with slick. Steve fights to find purchase as he spreads your lips, thumb coming up to pinch at it.

He moans and looks up at the ceiling, his throat bared as he rolls his hips and pulls you onto his cock. "Fuck…" he groans, beggy and out of breath.

You stare at him, unabashed in your rabid attraction.

"Fuck, Steve," you say between hitching breaths, "I'm lucky you're mine."

His gaze jumps to yours. He snaps his hips and you squeal happily. "Say that again."

"I'm lucky you're mine," you say without missing a beat. It's true.

He holds your hips in an iron grip and ruts into you, deep-seated and unrelenting. He's barely a half-inch back when he's rubbing back in, moulding you to the shape of his cock. Dark curls press into your clit as he leans forward.

"You wouldn't believe how perfect you look on my dick." He grinds down, pulls out and thuds back in.

Your face screws up.

"You like that, baby? You want me to do it again?"

You nod and open your arms. Steve falls into them, letting you wrap him up in a grip so tight you can feel the suggestion of his ribs, his chest hair scratching your chest as he repeats the motion. You squeeze your eyes closed and whimper into the top of his head, hands pulling at his back as he rocks in again and again and again.

"Y'making such a mess on me."

You're not surprised. Every thrust into your sopping heat sounds loud in the quiet of his room, and your slick is everywhere. Wetting the thatch of pubes around his cock, the insides of your soft thighs.

"Steve, can you- can you-"

He presses his fingers back to your clit. "This? Sorry, you're just gripping me tight, I had to hold onto something," he apologises, sounding a short fall from reverential. "I got you."

Your sticky thighs start to shake as he fucks into you, the quick rub of his fingers against your clit tightening the coil inside you until it's snapping hard. You can't even warn him, chasing the circles he's making with your hips as you force your face into his pillow and fall apart.

You want to hate the sound that you make. It's an embarrassing combination of a squeal and a breathless gasp, only partially muffled by the fabric under your lips. You find yourself unable when Steve chokes on his words, stuttering, "F-fuck, oh fuck, sweetheart, you sound like- like heaven. You fucking feel like it, clamping down on me."

Steve fucks into that extra snugness and you can see on his face that he's close.

You blink out of the haze of your climax and cover Steve's hand where it teases your overstimulated clit, pulling it up and around your neck. You slide your arms around him and scratch up his back lightly, his hips staggering into yours as you say, "You gonna cum too, baby? Please?"

"Fuck," he groans through gritted teeth.

You clench your walls down around him and the drag is insane, better when he gets his final burst of energy and fucks into you with big, rough thrusts, your knees clamped around his hips. His teeth close around your shoulder and he bites you, maybe harder than he means to, a white hot pain that lasts a split-second, his hitching breaths hot in your skin. His hips slow and his entire weight falls into your tummy, wrought with post-orgasm aching.

You rub his back, damp with perspiration.

He kisses an apology over his cruel hickey.

"Fuck," he whispers.

His kisses move up and he moves too. You both hiss – disturbed, sweaty, blood still pumping fast. He's only adjusting for the height advantage, his mouth at your ear.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You have a lot more to say, but you need a second.

Steve makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. "Can I go get a towel? I'll be right back."

"Yeah, Stevie. Whatever you wanna do," you say lightly, rubbing his back and hoping each pass of your palm implies the depth of your fondness.

Steve is cautious as he climbs off of you. You close your eyes and bring your hands to your sweaty face, fingers over your eyes before pushing them to either side of your forehead to stare at his ceiling, entirely blissed and in disbelief.

Steve climbs over you with a towel in hand. You can feel the warmth coming off of its wet corner.

He drops it onto your stomach and you go to pick it up. He grabs your hands in both of his and holds them, joined, against your shoulders. "I'll do it, but just-" He ducks his face to yours. "Let me kiss you."

You smile happily and close your eyes, fingers flexing in his grip as he brushes his lips against yours, at first gently and then with an enthusiastic pressure. You're worn out from everything and can't respond how you want to, but if Steve minds he doesn't say anything, hands squeezing your hands and his lips all lazy and curled up against yours.

Your chest hurts.

Steve keeps a hold of one hand as he breaks the kiss in favour of cleaning you up though quickly drops it to take your shaky thigh into his hand. Spread wide, he wipes every trace of slick he can find, especially kind to your centre.

He's already discarded the condom and wiped himself down. You reach out to stroke the start of his damp snail trail as he throws the towel on the floor next to your discarded clothes. Pulling the sheets where they'd fallen to the bottom of the bed over your naked bodies, Steve slouches onto his side.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his chest with infinite tenderness.

You turn into his hold and ram your face into his skin, hand searching for the tempting curve of his bicep.

He drops a kiss into your temple and then another. You feel surprisingly awake, his body a hot and heavy thing beside you.

"Do you feel like talking?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," you say, giggling. "Yeah, sorry. God, Steve."

He bends at the waist to cuddle you like he's shielding you. "I know."

You lie there in his embrace and you can't stop thinking about it. That was perfect. That was fucking perfect. Right? You want to ask him. You'd never felt that pretty or pleased before in your life.

"God, that was fucking perfect," Steve says.

You rub your nose against his chest and giggle, an overabundance of joy bubbling messy at the surface. "I was just thinking that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh my god."

"I'm kind of pissed off. Like, if that's the standard, how am I gonna live up to this every time?"

Every time, you think.

"Maybe we just got really lucky. We're never gonna have sex that good ever again," you theorise.

He starts laughing, big, contagious chuckles that boom from the centre of his chest and catch you by surprise. He sounds as happy as you feel.

"Don't jinx it." He rubs his hand over your shoulder blades.

You kiss his chest lazily and he slinks down under the sheets with you, dragging you up until your face is eye-level with his. His eyes are closed and you close your own, moaning as he crushes you to his chest and starts to pat your back.

It's an immense domestic pleasure. You couldn't explain why, but the continuous, steady rhythm of his firm patting makes it easier to calm your racing heart.

"You look really beautiful," he says.

"Your eyes are closed."

"So? You looked beautiful when I closed them. I just want you to know. And your sounds… God, I'm gonna be touching you all the time if that's what you sound like."

"I love how you sounded too." You rub his chest with your knuckle. "I love that you sounded like that for me."

"Because of you."

"I meant what I said. I'm really lucky."

Steve pushes his hand behind your ear and draws your face from his. You open your eyes and find him already looking at you, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for telling me?"

"Shut up! You know what I mean. I'm lucky to have you."

"If you're lucky I'm fucking blessed."

"I've never heard you swear that much."

"And it's entirely your fault," he jokes.

You're okay with that.

You tuck yourself into Steve's neck and trace the lines of his body. The small roundness of his Adam's apple and the ridges of his collarbones, the small dip between his chest muscles and the line underneath his pec. You go to just below his ribs before needing your hand between his torso and his arm, hugging him like he's hugging you.

The hickey he'd given you on your shoulder twinges, reminding you of his maltreatment. You place your lips against his throat and mouth lazy kisses until he sighs in content. When you know you've lulled him into a false sense of security, you take his skin between your teeth and nip.

"What's that for?" he asks in bemusement.

"You tried to take a chunk of me."

"Shit," he says.

You kitten lick the tiny welt you've bitten into his pale skin and he tenses. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, wondering if he likes that, and deign to give him a smattering of wet, sloppy hickeys to find out.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, fingers brushing over the small embeddings of his teeth in your shoulder.

"Not really," you say, mouthing up until your nose is to his cheek. You close your eyes as he turns his head. You can feel his breath against your lips. "No, I like it, anyway."

Your arms slide over his back as he pulls back to take you in. You stare at each other, not sure how to say anything that hasn't already been said or anything that hasn't been felt. He looks pretty and ragged, perfect hair mussed and dainty brown lashes in damp triangles. The dim lighting shadows his face, the lightest brightness under the well of his eye.

"I wish I was one of the old masters."

He smiles. "What's that?"

"Like, the great artists. Painters, masters of their craft. Like the guy who painted The Girl with a Pearl Earring."

Steve starts to shift onto his back. You lay your arm across his chest and hold your weight off of him. He doesn't like that very much, pulling you in with one arm crossed over the small of your back, the other held high but loose. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, fingernails sliding over your skin. "Is painting something you like to do?"

Your heart melts at his genuine interest and his willingness to listen to something seemingly tangential. "I wish I could paint like they could. I would paint you."

"Yeah?" he asks, clarity brightening his face. His eyes are lined with pleasure.

"I would. The," you raise your hand to his face and start to trace each feature as you go, "bridge of your nose. The slopes here," his brow, the dip underneath, careful of his eye, "your cheekbones. Your lips. This line here, and this one. This one, too."

"Are you trying to tell me I have wrinkles?" he jokes.

"Only this one." You smooth the pad of your thumb between his eyebrows. "Though I think it's inevitable."

"Oh you do, do you?" he asks, abruptly loud. You're startled into giggling, dropping your hand over one of his eyes in your shock. He kisses your palm.

You fall silent. You take your hand to his jaw and press the invisible remains of his kiss to his cheek as you lean in.

"I think… I think I'd want to paint you. Just so people know," you murmur, touching your forehead to his, "that you were this handsome."

You wait for him to laugh and he doesn't. Like the trepidation of a sneeze that doesn't come, you feel off-kilter.

"Steve?"

He shushes you and kisses you for the hundredth time tonight. You could happily take another hundred, eyebrows pinching up at his silence.

He kisses you until you forget what you'd been saying, until the aching in your abdomen can't be ignored.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you announce regretfully.

"Yeah, okay. Want me to come with you?"

You laugh and climb off of him. His hand reaches for you as you go, his fingers catching yours until you pull away. You grab the damp towel and your sleep shirt off of the floor, slipping it on as you walk away. Steve acts like he's been grievously injured.

In the bathroom you clean up properly and pull on the spare underwear you'd had the foresight to bring. You stretch until you moan.

"You okay?" Steve calls.

"Stop listening to me in the bathroom, perv."

You can hear him stand. His footsteps in the bedroom. You shiver in the cool bathroom and smile at yourself really hard in the mirror.

When you return he's done the same as you, changed into new boxers. You stare at his thighs unabashed as he steps into his pyjama bottoms, yours rescued and folded on the end of the bed. Steve holds his hands out at your approach and tugs you towards him, not hugging but close. He pushes your shirt up to your ribs and you struggle to see what he's doing, craning your neck.

"What?" you ask.

He follows the impression of a stretch mark down your skin. "Did you feel that?" he asks genuinely.

You'd more than felt it. He pulls up the waistband of your panties thoughtlessly and traces another stretch mark. "You're pretty," he murmurs.

You hug him hard enough that he has to take a step back to avoid falling over. His hands stop their studying, braced at your waist and walking you backwards toward the bed. He pushes you down and you fall onto your back, clinging to him as he tries to pull away.

"Come on," he says, laughing, "I'm gonna get you something to drink. Let go."

"Whatever," you grumble.

Steve disappears downstairs and you sit up, eyes bright like you're seeing his room for the first time all over again. Fast Times at Ridgemont High looks to be nearing its end. You switch off the TV with a triumphant smile and move your attention to his dresser, where the cassette player you'd 'loaned' him sits. You're half hoping Van Halen II will be inside but it must still be in his car. Your disappointment ebbs quickly when you see what's really inside.

Steve has the good graces to blush when he returns. You've clicked play and sit with the tape deck in your lap, beaming. "American Pie?" you ask knowingly.

"It's a good album."

He presses a cold glass of water into your hands and you sip feverishly, best pleased when he sits beside you, thigh to your naked thigh.

"Softie."

He dips his fingers into his glass and flicks you. It feels good and you move back encouragingly. He indulges you, flicking cold water over your face and neck until you're finely misted as a flower in the morning dew.

The best part of American Pie starts to play. You gasp as Steve pulls the glass from your hand and sets them heavily on the dresser, hands wet with condensation as he sews your fingers together and pulls you up.

"What are you doing?" you ask curiously.

His shoulders move back. "Dancing?"

"You wanna dance?" you ask. Your legs are tired – his must be double.

"You're old enough," he says, encouraging your hands from side to side.

You were gonna give him what he wanted anyways, but that small smile toying over his pretty pink mouth spurs you on. You jump on toes and follow his lead.

-

Steve digs a short fingernail into the deep orange skin of what he thinks is a tangerine and watches as citrus spritzes into the air. It leaps from the fruit with every slice of rind he pulls away, and his hands quickly smell of it.

You lay in the grass with his sunglasses perched over your nose. Steve worries you might be sleeping, your smile demure and your arms still where they've crossed over your chest. Your cotton dress blankets the grass around your thighs, the hem waved as the thin edge of a peony petal.

"You better not be sleeping, Y/N," he warns.

You'd definitely been dozing. You hide it well, your hand hardly trembling as you stretch it across the grass towards him. "I wasn't."

"You know what happened last time."

"You're here to protect me."

He can't argue with that. Orange juice stains his fingers as he splits the segments apart, pulling white pith from the flesh until each slice is clean. He drops two into your hand. "For you."

"Thank you," you say, sounding genuinely excited. You sit up slow and your dress falls down enough to expose the top of your breast where Steve had hickied at a risk of excess the night before.

He moves across the grass until your knees knock together and presses his hand to your forehead. You're definitely hotter than you should be but not about to burst into flames. Steve ushers more tangerine into your hand and reaches for the grocery bag to grab your drink and put it in your lap. You gasp at the sudden cold and gasp again when he pulls the strap of your dress up your shoulder. There’s no hiding the worst one at the meeting of your neck and shoulder. Every time he looks at it, he blushes.

"Was I flashing?" you ask worriedly through a mouthful of fruit.

"Not really? But, uh, you know. Hickey."

"Ohhh," you say knowingly. "Well, that's your fault."

"Did I say otherwise? Have some water. We're gonna have to go soon, it's too hot."

"Steve."

"I'm serious."

"Let's just go buy one of those little hand crank fans."

"So I can crank it all day? No way."

"You'll dictate-"

"Dictate!"

"-my sunbathing but won't crank a little fan for me? What kind of relationship even is this?"

"Stop it," he says concisely.

Your lips pull into a self satisfied smile and you drink your drink like he'd asked you to. "What are we gonna do after?"

You'd woken Steve up early, before the sun had really come out, a vision and perfect and everything he'd known you would be in the mornings. Hands on his shoulders, you'd kissed him until he'd stirred, skipping kisses over his neck and chest.

"Ba-by," you'd whispered, dragging the last syllable, your voice croaky with tiredness, "let's go get breakfast."

Breakfast at a sticky diner that consisted of pancakes with too much syrup and whipped cream on strawberries. You'd dragged him into the fancy grocery store across the street and filled a basket with fancy drinks, pretzels, lip balm and a net of tangerines.

Now, hours later, sweaty from the outpour of ultra-hot sunlight and your company, Steve doesn't know what's left to do that could be any better than this.

He spread his legs and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind his ear. "What do you wanna do?"

You twist the cap back onto your drink and push onto your knees, grass crushed. "I don't know. Anything. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, so you can keep me as late as you want."

He doesn't feel bad when he says, "Could I keep your for the night again?"

You hesitate. He doubles down.

"I'll take you to your place and you can get some more clothes. And I'll make you something better than takeout, if you want," he promises, thinking of your home-cooked meals, the evident love poured into each one.

"No, it's not-" You smile at him, your eyes soft. "Of course you can keep me. But I'm not staying up to dance with you again." You yawn to drive the point home.

He breaks grass between his fingers. "Fine, no dancing."

You nod in agreement and take his shoulder into your hand, throwing your leg over his to straddle his thigh. You look comfortable despite the 'w' shape you're in, settling down with a harrumph of breath.

Steve tries not to think about the silk of your underwear against his leg, but of course he does. The pink colouring his cheeks isn't from the sun.

You look shy but happy as he grabs your hands, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. "We can make something cool for the weather," you suggest lightly, the skirt of your dress ruffled by the breeze. "Sanwhiches. And something sweet for dessert 'cos we didn't have any yesterday."

"I don't know about you, but I think I had more than my fair share of dessert."

You drop the top of your head into his chest. "Sicko."

"A little. When it comes to you."

You start to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, humming something very quietly. The Waterboys or something like that, your lips pressed together tightly. You lashes flutter and you rub your cheek with your shoulder.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm just really happy," you confess.

What's he supposed to do? Not kiss you silly? He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you in.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

[luveline]

hi! I saw your post about soft/fluff things and I was wondering what you would think about steve with a girl who is accidentally touched starved so Steve, could be bestfriend!steve who has feelings or boyfriend!steve, always makes it a point to hold her face when he's talking to her because she just melts? I just love your Steve (and your remus and peter)

this is the cutest! tysm for ur req i hope it's okay ♡

You're holding a small glass under the faucet. The water quickly overflows. Steve's in the middle of a train of thought babble and doesn't notice at first, his back to the sink basin, aimless chatter echoing through his empty kitchen. 

"So, I try to tell the guy. It's an adult section. I can see that you're an adult but the system needs to know that I saw an ID or I could lose my job, and I'm not gonna risk that so you can watch Redhead Babes Gone Wild in secrecy, and he…Y/N?"

"I'm listening," you say. 

Steve pulls your hand from under the flow. The water is freezing cold, your fingers like ice cubes. He sets the glass aside and dries your hands off, trying to keep the small line of concern from his brows as he does. 

You're perturbingly quiet. A knot works its way into Steve's chest as he massages your cold hands in his, attempting to start his story from where he left off but drawing blanks, worried by your distracted state.

"You wouldn't lose your job for him, so he…?" you work out like the words are hard to say. 

He smiles gratefully, bringing his hand to your face as he talks to give you that little bit of grounding you need.

"He gets furious, starts shouting at me, and tries to drag Robs into the whole thing. Keith comes out of the office-"

"He was actually there?" you ask, voice weak. 

Steve grins brilliantly.

"He was actually there. He comes out and point blank calls this guy a pervert, which makes him even more mad." He strokes the length of your cheek mindlessly, eyes on yours as they start to shutter. "Keith says he'll call the police and the guy runs off." 

"Anti-climatic," you murmur. 

Steve squeezes your cheek gently. "Not quite. He runs off, but what does he take with him?"

"What?" you ask, smiling like you know.

"Redhead Babes Gone Wild." 

You're relaxing under his hand. He likes this part, reassured in knowing he can give you some relief and settle your agitation, your despondency with a loving touch. He brings the other hand up and cradles your face, taking advantage of your closed eyes to ogle the lines of your face, your small wrinkles, your fine hairs, your dots and your skin and your lashes where they kiss your under eye delicately.

"You didn't get it back?" you murmur. 

"No. Worse, some guy comes in the next day requesting it. We had to tell him to come back next week." 

Your head drops slowly until his hand is sandwiched between your shoulder and your soft cheek. 

He rubs a sweeping line over your other cheek, too affectionate, not that you'd ever deny it. 

"The redheads are gone," you mumble. "Not sure about wild." 

"Gone hostage," he furthers. It's an awful attempt at a joke and still you laugh, hands twitching at your sides. "You… do you want a hug?" 

"Please," you whisper. 

He pushes his hand from where it's been leveraged to cup the back of your neck and the other joins it, wrists crossing, the heat of your chest flush with his. You wrap your arms around his back and sigh so quietly he almost misses it.

"Babes gone forever," he says as he pushes his chin over your head. "Gone fishing. Gone camping. Babes gone kidnapping? Kidnapped. The babes are gone, whatever way you look at it." 

He laughs so loudly his throat burns, pulling back to pat your face. "Rest in peace, redhead babes." 

Your laughter plants a seed of heat in his chest, and your attempt to get closer waters it. He's a vestibule of blossoming fondness as you needle your arms around him tight enough to make him ache and say, "Babes gone but not forgotten." 

"Rest in peace," you agree. Steve doesn't mean to brag, but the affection definitely makes a difference, your smile a deitific sight.

[ddejavvu]

First Time Jitters - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 3.5K / navi / preview

Summary: You express to Spencer how nervous you are to lose your virginity, and he assures you that you don't have to do anything you don't want to. But you do want to, and you're grateful for his help while he guides you through your first time.

Contents/Warnings: smut (18+, minors dni.), self-doubts, reader gets nervous, gentle, soft sex, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It wasn't that you were avoiding sex. It just had never come up with anyone. It hadn't even really come up now, with Spencer, it had just happened.

Lips had met, hands had wandered, and now you were here.

Now you were here, his hand cupping the back of your neck as the other rested on the back of one of your thighs, kneading gently into the soft, pliant flesh. It felt good, it really did. It felt better than it ever had before, because you were definitely not deprived of the feeling of his hands on you, but it was different now.

You were completely naked, your clothes strewn haphazardly along the floor beside Spencer's own. You were pretty sure that his tie had ended up alongside your panties, and you weren't sure how it had happened, but the blue of your panties made the red of his tie pop.

He had neglected shaving for a few days, a healthy smattering of stubble raised from his chin. It resulted in a delicious scratching sensation against your face, combined with a tummy-twisting tickle as his mouth moved against yours, and you made a promise to yourself that you'd never let him near a razor again.

With every shift of his fingers against your flesh, you felt heat pool in your core. Your stomach was bottoming out, waves of ecstasy lapping at your insides as you gripped at his rugged cheeks, desperately tugging him closer. You were almost ashamed of how eager you were to have him, but from the way he'd nearly torn his boxers in two trying to free himself from them, you knew he was just as agitated.

Spencer broke away from the kiss to smear messy kisses down the side of your neck, starting along your jaw and ending at your collarbones. His tongue pressed hot, wet splotches of saliva against your skin, and as soon as his lips traveled further down the spit dried, a cool, stiff sensation that directly opposed Spencer's heated mouth.

Now that you weren't being kissed dizzy, part of your brainpower returned. You glanced down, your eyes skimming between Spencer's legs and widening at what you found.

You'd never seen it hard. He was big, (you assumed; you hadn't had much experience giving people boners), and the desire flickering through your belly stuttered at the sight.

He was too big. There was no way you'd be able to fit him inside of you, at least not comfortably. You knew that sex would most likely sting at first, that there could be a light burning sensation when you got started, but you were fairly certain that Spencer would split you in half if he went even remotely fast.

All at once your blissful reverie came crashing down, and his hand prying your thighs apart was unwelcome. Fear pulsed through you where lust once did, shutting down your desire and igniting panic.

"Spencer," You whimpered, your hands shooting out to push against his chest, "I'm scared."

He stilled, his eyes flitting to your own from where they'd been glued to your neck. You squeezed your thighs together, and he took your hint, removing his hand and bracing it on the bedsheets instead.

"What are you scared of?" His voice was soothing and subtle, and he inched forwards slightly, his face over your own instead of pressed into your throat. The relaxed position calmed you down even more than his voice had, your anxiety lessening slightly at the familiar comfort of your lover.

"What if it hurts?" You felt hot, sticky tears brimming in your eyes and you brushed one away angrily, ashamed that you weren't able to embrace the moment.

"It might sting a little bit at first," Spencer mused, "But you can tell me, and I'll stop." One of his nimble fingers came up to brush away the second tear down your cheek, much gentler than when you'd done it. His eyes were practically sparkling, and the sweet adoration that radiated from him as he comforted you lessened your panic.

But something sinister was still nagging at you from deep inside. Your frown deepened at the thought of edging Spencer like that, disappointment brewing in your belly as you tried overcoming your fears to no avail.

"Hey," Apparently you'd become lost in thought, because Spencer brought your attention back to him, "If you don't want to do this, that's okay."

Shame clouded your thoughts and you shook your head vehemently, "No, it's not okay."

"Yes," Spencer urged, more adamancy in his voice than you'd ever heard there before, "It is. You don't owe me any of this. Understand? If you're scared, and you don't want to do this, we won't." He gave you one of his signature sweet smiles, the familiar sight nearly breaking your frown.

"I just," You mumbled, your cheeks flaming, blinking rapidly to get rid of your tears, "I've never- Spencer.."

He raised his eyebrows at you, concern still lingering in his eyes.

"Spencer it's.. it's big."

You felt your chin tremble slightly at the humiliating admission, wanting to be just about anywhere else at that moment.

"Hey," Spencer's eyes never left yours, no judgement apparent in his expression, "That's okay. If you're not ready for this, we can wait. We don't have to at all, if you don't want to. You're in control."

You nodded, reaching up once more to smear a tear across your cheek, "I- I want to, I just.."

"It's okay." Spencer repeated, "Any hesitation is hesitation enough for us to stop."

You made up your mind and scooted out from under him, sitting up against the headboard. Your eyes lingered on Spencer as he nodded reassuringly at your decision, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before pulling away and fumbling for his boxers that laid by the nightstand.

Once your panic had died down, residual desire lingered within you. The fear of being torn apart apparently hadn't smothered your lust, only covering it up until it was gone. You watched Spencer's hard cock bounce as he strode across the room, your belly resuming some of its twisting and turning at the sight.

He was big, too big. That scared you, the prospect of his cock buried in your cunt, hard and fast enough that it injured you. But your cunt wasn't the only way you could take Spencer's cock, and you'd be damned if you didn't quell the desire burning in your belly.

"Spencer," You called warily, watching him stuff one foot in his boxers, "Wait."

"Hm?"

"Can I.." You glanced down at his cock, now softening, but still hanging thick and heavy between his legs, "I want to taste you."

You watched him stiffen at your bold remark, your heart leaping in your chest as he hardened once more.

"Are- Are you sure? Remember, Y/N," He peered concernedly at you, "You don't owe me anything. You don't have to-"

"I want to." You urged, your tongue coming out to glide over your lips, "Trust me, Spencer, I want to."

He let his boxers fall to the floor again, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed and watching you with rapt attention as you kneeled before him. Your throat felt dry, which was odd considering the copious amount of saliva that was pooling in your mouth, coating your tongue and threatening to spill from your lips.

You reached for Spencer's cock tentatively, feeling him twitch lightly under your fingers. You watched the muscles in his stomach tense at your slight touch, giving you the confidence you needed to continue. Clearly, he liked what you were doing.

You licked your lips once more, feeling Spencer's eyes track the movement eagerly. His fingers curled into fists, tangling the sheets beneath him as they did.

You parted your lips slowly, anticipation thrumming through your veins. You let the head of Spencer's cock push past your lips, your tongue pressing lightly against the slit.

Despite only suckling on the head, Spencer was a mess. He clearly hadn't been ready for this, or was severely touch starved, because with every soft shift of your lips around his cock, or twitch of your fingers against his length, he let out a breathy groan.

You thought he was going to explode when you let some of your drool seep out from between your lips, swiping it up with your fingers and soaking your palm with it. You dragged your slick hand up and down his length, bobbing your head experimentally on the head of his cock so that he slid halfway into your mouth.

"Fuck-," Spencer swore harshly, one of his hands flying instinctually to the back of your neck and putting minimal pressure there, pushing you further onto his cock. He seemed to realize what he'd done, exhaling long and loud as he released the pressure, his hand now resting limply on your neck.

"S-Sorry," He mumbled, his chest rising and falling rapidly, "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." You hummed, barely taking your lips off of his cock to speak, "I liked it."

His eyes shot open, and he stared down at you with hooded eyes. You pointedly suckled the head of his cock once more, blinking up at him expectantly.

"Can... Can I do it again?" His fingers twitched against the back of your neck, and you nodded eagerly, his cock bobbing in your mouth.

He needed no further confirmation, gripping the back of your neck and pushing your head further onto his cock. He was a tad overzealous, his hips unconsciously accompanying him so that his cock hit the back of your throat harshly, eliciting a choked gag from you.

Spencer tugged you off of his cock, his eyes wide and frantic as he stared at you, "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- Are you okay?"

"Stop interrupting me," You huffed, emboldened by your success as you wriggled out of the grip, "I told you I wanted to taste you."

He froze at your words, but you didn't. You dove forward again, determination swelling in your chest as you took him in your mouth again, sucking harshly around the head of his cock before inching forward on his length.

You found that you didn't gag as terribly the second time, though the sensation of Spencer's cock against the back of your throat was one you'd have to (read: love to) get used to. You felt his hand press once more against the back of your neck, this time unashamed and confident as he kept pressure there.

"God," He panted from above you, "You- You're uh, enjoying this, aren't you?"

You whined softly around his cock, swiping your tongue over his slit.

"You're drooling," He mumbled incredulously, swiping up a string of saliva that seeped out of your lips, "And I'm not even inside of you."

He let another few seconds of silence pass, the only sounds in the room being the lewd sounds of your lips on his cock. Then you felt his hips jut upwards, bucking further into your mouth while he pushed your head down once more.

He forced his cock as far into your mouth as possible, his voice raspy and rugged as he breathed, "I- god, just think about what you'd do if- if I was inside of you."

You weren't even sure if he was aware of how close he was, but the telltale twitch of his cock on your tongue paired with the tensing of his thighs gave him away. You slipped out from under his hand in one quick swoop, his cock falling from your mouth with a pronounced pop.

His eyes flew open from where they'd been scrunched shut, his stomach caving in on itself as he struggled to breathe.

"Y/N," His voice was strained, and you watched him use every single ounce of self control that he had, "Is there... are you okay? Something wrong?"

"Mhm," You struggled back onto your feet, your knees burning from being pressed against the scratchy carpet, "You're not inside of me."

His brows furrowed, his lips scrunching together as his chest residually heaved.

"Y/N, really, we don't-"

"I'm not scared anymore," You breathed, steadying yourself on his shoulders while you sunk into his lap, your breasts squished against his chest, "If you rip me in half, you rip me in half, but at least I'll know what it felt like to have you cum inside of me."

Spencer's head fell back, the most sensual groan you'd ever heard falling from his lips. His hips jutted up to meet yours before you'd even settled on him, and his hands shook as he tried guiding his achingly hard dick into you.

"No, not- careful," You hissed, a slight but manageable burning sensation accompanying his cock as it easily slipped through your entrance. You were gushing slick enough to completely coat his cock and then some, and by the way his fingers were digging into the flesh of your thighs, it felt good.

"Y/N, holy shit," He panted, his brows scrunched even further as his lips moved at light speed, "Please, fuck, I can't take this for very long, you're too-"

"Just let go," You whimpered, the bliss that had been brewing beneath your belly for the entire night now searing your insides as Spencer's cock sunk completely inside of you.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, and you braced your knees on the mattress to gain leverage enough to start moving. Just the feeling of being nestled snugly on his cock might have been enough to send you into your orgasm, but you wanted more. You needed more.

You slowly began bouncing on his cock, the tip pressing against the most impossibly deep part of you that you could fathom. The sensation was unmatched, nothing you'd ever experienced felt as good as Spencer's dick grating against your walls and prodding at your g-spot.

And it didn't hurt. You had soaked your panties through, and the excessive amount of slick that you'd produced was more than enough to ensure that you were stretched and lubed for Spencer. The most of anything that you felt besides ecstasy was a strange pressure, the feeling of Spencer's cock pressing against your walls and keeping you open, but it was far more pleasant that unwelcome.

"Spencer," You gasped, your mouth gently falling open as he lifted your hips and brought you back down again, "Oh my god, this is- don't stop!"

You knew that you were probably doing more than he was, the simple gyration of your hips helping him lift you. But none of the logic mattered, all you could do was blissfully babble about the warm, heated sensation that spread through your body.

"I have to- I'm sorry," Spencer panted, "I can't wait!"

You nodded breathlessly, leaning forwards to press your sweat-dampened forehead against his own. He peeled his eyes open, his hips stuttering in their fluid rocking motions against your own as his orgasm began to take over, the kiss that you pressed to his lips just what he needed to melt.

The sensation of Spencer cumming inside of you was something that you'd committed to memory right then and there. The thick, sticky spurts of cum that pumped your hot cunt full, then oozed out around his cock sent you rocketing towards your own climax, a strangled whimper escaping your throat that Spencer swallowed.

"Let go," He panted, the end of his command turning into a muffled groan against your lips, "Let go, Y/N, cum for me, please."

His tongue dipped into your mouth the second he was finished talking, rolling languidly against your own and short-circuiting your brain. When your hips landed back on his lap, each time you were bounced up and down, you felt sticky traces of cum on his thighs, and you could only imagine the mess you'd managed to make. One of his large hands left your hips, the other lifting more forcefully to make up for it. You didn't even have time to question where he was about to put it, though, because only a second later his thumb was pressing gently against your clit, rolling in soft circles against the sensitive flesh.

If you hadn't been cumming before, you were now. You had assumed your orgasm would wash over you gradually, sensually, calmly. But the explosion of ecstasy inside of you was anything but, ripping a strangled scream from your throat as the extra stimulation threw you over the edge.

"Spencer!" Was all you could manage to babble, your mouth hanging open as you frantically bounced faster on his cock, riding out your orgasm as hard as you could. It helped Spencer, too, as you milked his cock for every last drop of arousal you could manage to ride out of him.

His hand came to rest in that familiar position on the back of your neck again, and he pressed you to him forcefully, his beard once again scratching at your face as he ravaged your mouth. He was everywhere, buried inside of you, pressed up against you, invading every ounce of your brain so that all you could think was how much you needed him. The sweet, hazy bliss that consumed you after your orgasm began subsiding only made you more needy, and you whimpered weakly into the kiss, your tongue lapping at his lower lip.

The slight burn that accompanied Spencer’s cock wasn’t due to lack of experience, now it was overstimulation. You slowed to a stop on his lap, gingerly settling your hips over his and leaving his cock buried inside your weeping cunt. You felt overwhelming fatigue take over your brain, your desire weakening as the kiss turned gentle.

He felt your muscles relax, your fingers no longer digging into the flesh of his shoulders, and he leaned into the kiss, nudging his nose against yours before breaking away. You exhaled shakily, your head instinctually coming to rest on his shoulder, your eyelashes fluttering against his neck.

"That was..." Spencer breathed, "Wow."

"Wow." You let out a weak giggle, your lips brushing against his skin and lithely pressing kisses there.

"Are- Are you okay? I know you were scared before, was it- was it good?"

"Spencer," You exhaled a shaky laugh against his skin, "I just jumped you, and you're asking if I'm okay?"

"I'm just making sure!" Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes fondly at your teasing, "Just because you did it doesn't mean you liked it, and I just want to make sure you did like it, because I don't think I could live with myself if I just sat there and-"

"Spencer," You lifted your head off of his shoulder, slumping your forehead against his mouth to shut him up and smiling when you felt him press a kiss to your skin, "I liked it. It was phenomenal. You were phenomenal, I- wow."

'Wow' seemed to be the word of the day, and Spencer parroted you with a soft smile on his face. His lazy hum against the flushed skin of your forehead sent thrums of fuzziness down your spine, the cozy, warm feeling of being slumped against your boyfriend quickly becoming one of your favorite feelings in the world.

"Do you want to clean up, or stay here?" Spencer murmured, careful not to break the hazy bliss in the room.

You hummed thoughtfully, experimentally adjusting your hips over Spencer's and feeling his cock shift inside of you. The ache of overstimulation was nearly nonexistent anymore, and all that came from the movement was the undeniably wonderful feeling of being full.

"I wanna stay here," You mumbled against his chest, pressing a lazy kiss to his pec, "Just for a while."

"I was hoping you'd say that," He admitted, his cheeks flushing even more than they were, "This feels.. this is perfect."

You nodded against his chest, continuing to pepper soft, sweet kisses along the expanse of his slightly sweaty skin. You felt his hand come up to brush along your back, his fingers tracing intricate swirling patterns over your skin. Every once in a while, his hands would skim over a particularly ticklish, sensitive spot, and he let out sweet giggles at the shivers that it sent down your spine.

"I love you, Spencer," You hummed into his chest, taking your arms from where they were lazily slumped at your sides and wrapping them securely around Spencer's waist, a lovesick grin on your face.

"I love you too, Y/N," Spencer's voice was strong but gentle, complete and total honesty contained in it, "More than anything, I hope you know that."

You felt his fingers press gently into your back, tracing a heart into your skin. You felt his lips press against the crown of your head, slightly crooked against your scalp. You felt his arm around your waist, softly pressing you into him as you draped yourself comfortably over his lap.

"I do, Spence," You let your eyes fall shut, your smile only growing, "I know."

tags: @sunflowermotel @moonquartz69 @reveriemgg @marauderssimpcuzwhytfnot

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 | eddie munson x reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | maybe you're a little spoiled, but the fact of the matter is, you're used to getting what you want. you want eddie, and he wants you— that means you're going to do whatever it takes to stay together. if only you knew how far he would go to keep you.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | 8.6k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | smut (18+ only; including some dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, and referenced loss of virginity), graphic violence/murder, kidnapping, abusive parents (verbal and briefly physical), innocent reader, innocence/corruption kink, assorted crimes escalating in severity, controlling/toxic relationship, starts consensual gets fucked up quickly, yandere!eddie, romeo and juliet goes bonnie and clyde

THIS IS A DARK FIC. eddie's dark, smut's dark, whole thing's dark (by the end at least). it's not for everyone. if depictions of SA, murder, and manipulation sound like they might be triggering for you, please do not hit 'keep reading'.

"That boy is no good for you," she hissed.  "That boy is no good at all."

"Mama, don't say that!" you whined, sounding just like the impetuous child she'd accused you of being moments earlier.  "He's good to me and he loves me!"

"He's good to you because he wants something from you," she insisted.  "He says he loves you because—"

"He doesn't just say he loves me," you interrupted.  "He really does, Mama."

"Oh, does he?" she sneered, stepping up closer to you.  "He doesn't only love you with words, does he?  What else does he do?"

Her line of questioning made it obvious that she already knew.  The terror of that realization made your eyes sting with tears.

"Don't tell me you spread your legs for trailer trash," your mother warned, and your fists clenched at your sides.  Rage gave you the courage to look into her eyes and you found her own fury there— but it couldn't beat yours, not when you had your love for Eddie in your heart, telling you what to do.

"He made love to me," you informed her though your teeth, "and I—"

You didn't get a chance to finish your thought before the back of your mother's hand collided with your cheek, spinning your whole head to the side.  It stung especially hard where her massive diamond ring had cut your face, and when you pulled your hand away from where it held your tingling skin, you saw little dots of blood on your fingers.

You started to sob loudly, so much louder than you already had.  You were crying so hard you couldn't even form words.

"Okay, that's enough," your father decides, getting up from where he'd been sitting in his chair, staring disapprovingly at all that had been going on.  When you told your parents that Eddie Munson was your boyfriend and that you would not be attending equestrian summer camp in Cape Cod this year because you wanted to stay with him, your mother was the one who had flown into hysterics while your father had just sighed and sat down, looking overwhelmed.  You didn't see him looking like that too often, since he was such a respected businessman who handles so much every day, but it made sense that he was out of his element here.

"Daddy," you sobbed, running to him and colliding with his sweater-vest-clad torso, "Daddy, please, I love him…"

"I… I know, sweetpea," he sighed, "but… sometimes what we feel and what is expected of us don't….match up."

You buried your face into his chest, soaking the argyle cotton with your tears.  "Daddy, he's not a bad person.  He's so kind and he takes care of me—"

You heard your mother scoff, but thankfully she didn't interrupt you.

"You'd like him if you met him," you promised, pulling back enough to look at your father with hopeful, if teary and bloodshot, eyes.  "Daddy, if you really gave him a chance—"

"Sweetpea," he said, such an adoring pet name losing its charm when he said it so sternly, "it's too late for that.  You had sex with this boy, didn't you?"

You choked, looking away.

"Just don't make me go to camp this year, please," you sighed.  "Please, Daddy, I wanna stay in Hawkins—"

"So you can do what?  Spend more time with this boy who doesn't even have the respect to come speak to me himself and ask me for permission to court you?" he frowned.  "Ride around in his decrepit van?  Get pregnant?"

You let go of the tight hug you'd had him in; you'd spent your life crying to your Daddy about whatever upset you, and up until now, you'd pretty much always gotten your way.  Eddie used to make fun of you, call you Daddy's little girl, call you spoiled rotten— but you never really understood what that meant, until now.  Until you felt so stupid as you realized he wasn't as kind as you thought he was.  He'd buy you anything, he'd let you skip a Latin lesson because you wanted to run around outside or not eat your greens because you didn't like them, but that wasn't love.  You always thought he was proud of you, and that was why he liked to show you off at debutante balls and dinner parties.

But it had never been about you… it had been about him, and his perfect family.  His beautiful wife and demure, well-behaved daughter.  You were more like a porcelain doll to him, dressed up in little silk outfits and put behind glass.

You stepped back, bewildered and heartbroken by the way he was looking at you.

"You asked not to go to Cape Cod this summer?  You won't," he informed you, but his tone made it obvious this was not going to be good news.  "You'll go to a Catholic program for wayward girls—"

"No," you blurted out, under your breath.

"In rural France—" he continued.

You couldn't breathe, you felt like you were going to faint.  "No, no no no…"

"—where you can practice your French, relearn your morals," he added, especially pointedly, "and spend time with the nuns.  They'll set you straight."

"Daddy, no!" you yelped.  "I won't go!  You can't make me go!"

"I absolutely can!" he bellowed in return.  Daddy was scary when he was angry, his voice was loud and echoed around any room, and you'd always run away and hid when you heard him yelling at a business partner who made a mistake or a housekeeper who broke something… but the way he spoke next was nothing like that.  No yelling, no stomping his foot or pointing his finger, just a red face and breathing heavily through his flared nostrils.  It was much scarier.

"If you act like a whore, you get treated like one," he informed you with searing coldness.  "You remember that when you're with that boy, telling him that you will never see him again—"

"I hate you!" you choked out with your sob, shoving your father away before running for the door.

You heard your parents calling after you, but you tumbled out onto the porch and down the steps, grabbing your bike where you'd left it leaning against the whitewashed wood.

It was sort of tricky to ride a bike while constantly wiping tears away, but you made it all the way to Eddie's trailer without falling off.  You nearly jumped off your bike to run to his door, never properly braking and just letting it fall on its side— the little bell dinged quietly when you dropped it, like a weak protest to the mistreatment, but you ignored it as you stumbled up to Eddie's door and knocked frantically.  

It was a little too cold out for just your yellow dress and a cardigan, but you hadn't been planning to be out this late.  You'd been planning on getting out of going to summer camp in Massachusetts, going to bed with a smile on your face, and waiting until after school tomorrow to tell Eddie the good news.  God, you were so stupid…

Shivering and clutching your arms across your chest, you knocked rapidly on the door again— and Eddie finally swung the door open.

"I was just— oh, princess, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for you instantly as you started to cry harder again.  "Are you okay?  Please tell me everything's okay…"

"Everything's…" you started, sniffling and trying to compose yourself enough to speak intelligibly while he ushered you inside, "everything's gone wrong, Eddie, it's so wrong…"

"Hey, shh," he soothed, pulling you into him and guiding your head to rest on his chest.  His hands rubbed your back and you sighed, melting into him.  "Just tell me what happened."

"I-it was going to be a surprise," you explained.  "I was going to get out of equestrian camp this summer, and I was going to stay here— with you!  We were gonna have the whole summer together… a-and it was gonna be perfect." 

Eddie sighed; he must've realized where this was going, to a certain extent.

"But when I asked my parents if I could miss camp and stay home, they… Mama knew, she asked about you right away… I'm not much of a liar, Eddie, you know that."

In fact, he told you all the time.  I know something's wrong, don't try to pretend.  You're not a very good liar, princess, I know you want me.  Don't lie, princess, I can tell you're getting wet…

"She said the most awful things," you whimpered, "and Daddy… he said he was going to make me go to France, just to keep me away from you.  H-he called me a whore."

"He what?!" Eddie snapped, lifting your head away from his chest to look down at your face with wild eyes.  "Princess, how could he say that to you?"

"I— I don't—"

You stopped when he reached up, holding your face and carefully swiping his thumb over your right cheek.  You remembered there were cuts there, and you glanced down at the floor sheepishly, focusing on his dirty combat boots standing on either side of your shiny white Mary Janes.  "Did he hit you?" Eddie asked, seriously and softly.

"No…" you whimpered, getting nervous to tell him the truth as he waited silently for the rest of your answer.  "Mama did."

He sighed slowly, saying so much with just one breath.  You'd realized you'd never really seen him angry before, not genuinely.  But the weight of his breath showed how furious he was.  "Those people…" he trailed off.  Shaking his head, the anger seemed to fade and he gave you a gentle kiss right on your wounded cheek.  "This pretty face, all cut up… it's just not right, princess."

You shut your eyes as he kissed your lips next, as tender and gentle as ever.  If only your parents could see this, if only they could understand how sweet and patient he was with you, then maybe they wouldn't be trying to ruin your life.

"I can't let you go back to that house," he informed you.  "If you go back there, they may not ever let you back out again— they won't let us see each other again."

You blinked up at him as he carefully wiped your tears away.  

"So, don't go back," he pleaded.  "They'll hurt you again— I can't let that happen."

You chewed your lip for a second.  "Eddie, I can't stay here, they're going to send the police for me— they probably already have…"

"Then they won't find us here," he decided.  "We'll go somewhere!"

"Where?"

"Anywhere!  Wherever you wanna go.  We'll drive there together and it'll be the way it's meant to be— us, just us."

He pulled your face closer and kissed your forehead, squishing your cheeks in his ringed hands.  "Eddie," you mumbled, wincing playfully.  "Are you offering to kidnap me?"

"Offering?  Princess, I'm deciding," he grinned, grabbing you at your shoulders as you started to laugh a bit through your tears.  "Just tell me where we're going."

You bit your lip as you thought about that.  In a way, you were proving your parents right: this boy was about to steal you away, take you far from Hawkins in his beat-up old van, with no money and no plan.  

"Come on," he encouraged, "you know just as well as I do that we're meant to be together.  Forever."

It was a promise you'd made, just before he took your virginity.  You were raised to believe that was something you saved for your soulmate, and though you knew it was certainly not what your parents would want for you, not being married yet didn't bother you much.  Before Eddie, waiting never felt like a chore— and then suddenly it was excruciating, and he'd stopped you from taking things further more than a few times due to his fear that you would regret him being your first time.  And then there was that perfect night, just over a week ago now, on a blanket by Lover's Lake.  It was everything you thought it was supposed to be— sweet, sensual, beautiful— and so much more.  And you'd sworn then that this was it, that there was nobody else for you and that you'd hold each other for the rest of your lives.  Maybe it was your girlish naivete, but in your mind it was all but an engagement.

And this?  Escaping together, fleeing your parents and Hawkins and everything you'd ever known?  This felt like eloping.

You looked into Eddie's eyes, warm and brown and waiting for your answer with that sparkle in them like almost always.  "Um…" you stalled, "well, when I was little, my whole family went to the beach in California.  I've wanted to go back, see the ocean again…"

He grabbed you by your face again and kissed you, eyes shut tight; you could taste his latest cigarette and you could smell his aftershave, you could feel his optimism in the way he moved his lips against yours.

When he pulled back, he had another massive smile on his face that made the anxiety just melt away in a moment.  

"Everything's gonna be alright now," he promised.  "It's gonna be how it's supposed to be: us, together, with nobody there to stop us."

You nodded, still sniffling as you recovered from crying, and smiled as he kissed your tears away.

"I-I'm just gonna grab some stuff," he decided, "and we're gonna leave tonight.  We'll be in California by Saturday."

~ ♡ ~

Not having had a chance to pack your own clothes, you'd been borrowing Eddie's for a while.  You didn't exactly feel like yourself in a Motörhead shirt, but you loved being wrapped up in the smell of him.

That first night, Eddie had driven for fifteen hours straight before you insisted that he get some rest.  The mattress in the back was straight from his bedroom in the trailer, so it brought some much-needed familiarness to such a foreign situation.  

Breakfast at hole-in-the-wall diners all along the highway, stops at scenic outlooks and parks where you could stretch your legs, nights spent pulled over in the woods so you could sleep in peace (or, maybe, not sleep at all)… it was all a routine now, and the luxury of your old life was just a collection of memories now.

At times, you missed your family, your friends from school, your room and your shower and your favorite stuffed animal.  But being with Eddie all the time was worth it, and you’d seen more of the country than ever on your road trip adventure.

“Can I help you find something, sweetheart?” a woman asked, and you turned to see an employee with a plastic name tag— DARLA, it read— watching you peruse the aisle of pre-packaged snacks.

“O-oh, no, thank you,” you smiled.

“You seem pretty young to be here by yourself,” she noticed.

“I’m eighteen— and I’m not by myself,” you assured, “my boyfriend’s here— he’s just using the restroom.”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded.  “Your… parents know you’re here, don’t they?”

You wrinkled your eyebrows together.  “Of course,” you lied, “we’re driving to visit them now, while we’re on break from college.  Wh-why do you ask?”

“I’m sorry to pry, honey,” she sighed, “I just saw something on the news, and you look a little bit like this missing girl out of Indiana—”

You didn’t even hear what she said after that, you didn’t even stay to listen— you stormed across the gas station store, towards where a small TV mounted under the corner of the ceiling was showing the morning news.  It was just politics at first, until the banner across the bottom of the screen changed to DRUG DEALER KIDNAPS INDIANA GIRL.  You nearly screamed when you saw a picture of you, and a picture of Eddie, next to each other in the superimposed graphic.

“This news coming out of Hawkins, Indiana,” the reporter read, “the parents of an eighteen-year-old girl—”

Eighteen, as in, an adult, who left consensually, you wished you could yell at the TV, but all you could do was start to numbly cry.

“— are asking national authorities for assistance in locating their daughter, who disappeared from their home Wednesday evening.  Local police suspect that a known criminal in the area, Eddie Munson— who is also missing— may be responsible and is wanted for his potential involvement.”

You saw the door to the men’s room start to open, and before Eddie could walk out, you dashed over to him and shoved him back in, locking the door behind you.  “Hey!” Eddie protested, though he gave you a tilted grin as you pinned him to the wall.  “Hey,” he purred, apparently misinterpreting your intentions with locking yourselves in the bathroom together.

“Eddie, oh god,” you breathed, “I—”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching down to hold your face.  “Did something happen?”

“I— the news,” you managed to choke out, “we’re on the news, they’re saying you kidnapped me—”

“Well, I mean,” he shrugged, “I sorta did—”

“Eddie, please,” you whimpered, “this— this is really bad… the police are looking for us.  Both of us.”

You weren’t sure how this happened, but you could guess; the Hawkins police probably, rightfully, told your parents that a woman of majority leaving her parents’ home is not a crime, and neither is having a boyfriend that they dislike.  And then your parents flashed their money around until someone listened, and they managed to convince some sheriff that because Eddie had a past with the law, you were in some kind of danger.  And then they took their money to any news station that would take it, and spread the story across the country.  You were supposed to make it to the beach today, but you weren’t sure if it was safe to go anymore, or where this news was being shown…

“I don’t wanna go back,” you cried quietly, and he clicked his tongue sympathetically as he pulled your head into his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he promised, “you’re not going back.”

“They’re gonna find us, Eddie, they’re gonna take me away from you—” you began to rush, your head swirling with thoughts and your heart pounding with anxiety.  He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look up at him, and you tried to calm yourself a little with your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Nobody can take you away from me,” he insisted sternly.  “Ever.  Do you hear me?”

You nodded, and he softened a bit, kissing your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you.

“We’re gonna work this out,” he stated confidently.  “We’re gonna figure something out, okay?  And everything’s gonna be how it’s supposed to be.”

Quickly, he had a plan, and he told you all you had to do was keep watch.  He told you to stand near the back of the gas station, and stop anyone from coming to where he’d parked the van.  He never told you why, but you figured it would make sense soon.  Nervously tapping your foot, you tried not to look suspicious— or noticeable at all, really, with your face all over the news now— and waited for Eddie to finish whatever he was doing.

You could hear what he was doing, but you couldn’t quite tell what it was… just random clinking and banging of metal, not much to work with.  “Okay, finished,” he announced, and you turned the corner to find him smiling as he stared at the back of his van, a screwdriver tucked under his crossed arms.  “Voila!”

Stepping next to him and looking at the back bumper with him, you reacted instantly to the sight of a Nevada license plate.  “Wh— how did you—?” you began, but you glanced over to a beat-up old truck with a missing tire that was apparently abandoned behind this gas station— specifically, you saw that it suddenly had Indiana plates.

“It’ll slow them down,” he promised, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving the top of your head a kiss.  “Told you I’d work it all out, didn’t I?”

You swallowed, a little nervous to know he’d had to take these measures for your sake.  Up until now, you hadn’t actually done anything wrong… this, though, was an actual crime.  Still, a lot of people do little things like this— like dealing weed, like making an illegal U-turn or being late to get their registration done.

That was what you kept telling yourself as you sat in the passenger set, legs curled up to your chest while you bit your nails and blankly watched the Nevada desert roll by: that this was normal.  That this was all fine.  Not great, maybe, not ideal; but fine.

“Hey,” you heard Eddie’s voice, and it tore you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” you mumbled, and he kept his eyes on the road as he swatted your hand away from your mouth.

“Don’t do that,” he corrected.

“Sorry— m’just nervous,” you admitted.

“What for?” he wondered.

“I mean— this is all pretty crazy, Ed,” you admitted.  “I knew my parents weren’t going to understand, but getting the police involved?  I just didn’t think it would be like this…”

“Listen, princess,” he sighed, “I get it.  It’s scary— and your parents, they’ve been, like, over you your whole life, telling you what to say and how to dress and how to conform and everything… so they seem like this huge threat, like you can never really escape them, right?  But you can.  You did.”

He gave you a glance, as long as he could while driving on the highway, and you offered him your best I’m-totally-not-freaking-out smile in return.  

“And the cops?  Cops are no big deal,” he scoffed.  “Deal with ‘em all the time.  Still, if you wanna throw them off a little more, I could always do something to, you know, look different—”

He reached up with one hand to tousle his mane of wavy hair for a second, and you gasped.  “No, Eddie,” you interrupted, “not your hair— you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, “you’d miss it too much, I know.  So would I.  Maybe we should cut your hair, though…”

You nervously reached up to your own hair, suddenly self-conscious about it in more ways than one.  “You think so?” you pressed quietly.

“I mean, if you’re up for it,” he shrugged, “but like I said— we’re gonna be fine.  It’s really not that bad, princess— people go ‘missing’ all the time, and they’re really just going somewhere new like we are.  And speaking of somewhere new…”

He pointed to the road ahead, and you saw the sign: Thanks for visiting Nevada— and then you saw the next one— Welcome to California.

“We made it,” he smiled.  “Just a few more hours until we reach the ocean.”

But the sun had already set, and the last tints of orange were leaving the sky— the desert would be in total darkness in less than ten minutes.  “Should we pull over for the night soon?” you asked.  Something about being late made you especially nervous, even though if you were thinking more clearly, you might’ve realized that night was the safer time to travel while on the run from the law.

“If you want to,” he offered.  “You wanna cuddle, don’t you?”

You nodded, and he smiled wide.

“Of course you do,” he hummed, “just lemme find a good place to park the car and we can go to bed, okay?”

When he pulled off the highway, kicking up clouds of red dirt with his tires on his way to a good, shady spot to rest for the night, you leaned back in the seat and shut your eyes.  It’s going to be okay— Eddie said so, it’s really going to be alright…

“Come on, hop on back,” he suggested as he put the car in park and turned off the engine and headlights.  You climbed over the console first, plopping down onto the mattress in the back with a sigh.  He smiled at you as he followed you, climbing on top of you as his necklace dangled over your face.  With his hands on either side of your head, he bent down to kiss you, sweet and familiar; it made you feel better, and took your mind off of your worries.

You reached up to start trying to push his denim jacket off his shoulders, and he moved his kisses down to your neck.  “Oh!” you gasped when he grazed his teeth over your pulse.  It almost hurt, it was almost too much— but then again, you were wrapping your legs around his hips, so it must not have bothered you that much.

A quiet, but deep, chuckle from him echoed inside the crook of your neck, just before he pulled away to look down at you again.  “You look so good in my clothes,” he smiled, reaching up under the borrowed shirt to touch your waist, “but you look better without them.”

You giggled as he helped you take the shirt off, groaning a little at the sight of your bare chest underneath.  He instantly latched onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it as his hands held onto you a little tighter, and you relaxed into his embrace with a sigh.  

“Princess,” he mumbled against your skin, reaching lower to start tugging your panties down, “fuck, you’re beautiful.  And you’re all mine, huh?” 

“Yeah,” you breathed.  “Yours— forever.”

You’d started saying that, since the first night on the road; you were just so ecstatic to be together, not having to hide it anymore or worry about your parents or sneak out quietly in the middle of the night.  The problem was, that was sort of what this thing had become, in the end: hiding, worrying, sneaking in the middle of the night.  Wasn’t that what you were doing right now?

That thought fell to the back of your mind as he gently opened your legs, taking off his own clothes hastily before slotting his body right up to yours.  “Eddie,” you moaned as he slid his cock over you, soaking his erection quickly in your arousal.  You never kept your resolve for long when he teased you like that.  “Please, I-I need you…”

“Where?” he asked.  “Where do you need me, princess?”

“M-my… in my—” you choked, struggling to say the word.  You managed to get it out (he’d been helping you get more comfortable with all this, slowly), but only when you whispered it: “my pussy…”

He laughed a little, and it made you feel even more insecure until he pushed his cock inside you— and then you weren’t thinking about anything else but how incredible it felt.  “Aw, so innocent,” he cooed, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes as he began to move his hips back and forth.  “Not as innocent as you used to be… guess I ruined you, didn’t I?”

You whined.  “N-no, you didn’t— you made me perfect, Eddie…”

Laying down over you, he kept himself propped up on one bent arm as the other reached for your thigh, squeezing the delicate skin every time he filled you to the brim.  “Fuck, you are perfect,” he agreed, “and so tight for me, always… still feel like a virgin, princess.”

You moaned far louder than you meant to when he started to suck on your neck, reaching up to grab onto the backs of his shoulders as your back arched harder.

“Y’don’t act like one anymore, though,” he added with a short laugh.  

Grabbing your hips, he pulled you up to meet his own, forcing you to take him deeper than before— and you choked on your whine, digging your nails into his back. 

“Not too much, is it?” he panted.  “You can take all of me, right?”

Admittedly, you hesitated, but you did nod and he kissed your cheek.

“I know you can,” he agreed.  “Such a good girl for me, yeah?  Gonna take all this dick in your little cunt?”

The next thrust hit so deep, and so hard, that tears immediately sprung to your eyes— but you nodded again.

“C’mon, baby, say it,” he encouraged.

“I— I’m gonna take it all,” you promised, your own voice higher and more wavering than you expected it to sound.

“Yeah you are,” he grunted, fucking you faster, and you buried your face in the space between his neck and shoulder— you gasped in breaths against his skin, and he held you a little tighter.

His pace was speeding up, making your whole body rock as it was forced to go limp.  “E-Eddie,” you sobbed.  He started to kiss just under your jaw, and you knew that he knew how close you were— and yet, you still felt the need to announce it.  “I’m gonna come, Eddie!”

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, “let it happen, princess— just come on my cock, fuckin’ soak me.”

Whimpering, your thighs started to shake and your head fell back.  It gave him the perfect view of your face: he watched you with dark eyes and a mouth gone slack as he fucked you through your orgasm.  He told you before that you scrunched your whole face up right before you came, and that he thought it was adorable.  You were still a bit shy about it, but you did like knowing that he loved the way you reacted to how he made you feel.

“That’s it, fuck,” he praised, and you felt his fingertips dig into your skin a little harder.  He slipped one arm under your neck, grabbing you at your shoulder, and used it to keep you steady as he started fucking you even harder, and faster… just ruthlessly, really.

“Eddie!” you shouted.  You were trying to get him to slow down, but the words just wouldn’t come out, it was all screaming moans as he relentlessly slammed into your spot— more sensitive and swollen than ever, having just come and all.

Hoping to get your message across non-verbally, you reached down and tried to push on his thighs, but he was so much stronger than you and it didn’t seem to deter him at all.  “You can take it,” he insisted under his breath, his own groans getting louder as he chased his release.

You dug your nails into his skin, not even really intentionally— you just needed a break, just a moment to process everything.  Your eyes were shut tightly, but you heard him growl as his hands moved down to yours.  He grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them down on either side of your head, rubbing his thumbs over your palms soothingly.  

“Don’t fight it,” he ordered, “I know what you need.”

And god, he was right— he changed his pace, slower if not quite slow, passionate and focused.  You breathed more naturally then, giving into the onslaught of sensation while he kissed you again.  His kiss was just as gently dominant as everything else, his tongue exploring deep into your mouth— like he was trying to taste every sound of pleasure you made.  You were babbling your affections from the moment that he broke away from your lips.  "I love you, Eddie," you sobbed softly, "I love you so much…"

"Shh, I know, princess," he whispered back, "I love you, too."

He didn’t take much longer to come, filling you with a long, low groan and a whisper of your name.  He released your wrists eventually, opting to hold you tightly instead.  In a moment he seemed to gain all his energy back, rapidly shifting from panting and exhausted to peppering kisses all over your face.  “Eddieeeee,” you whined, but you were laughing, too.

“Love you so much,” he mumbled.  “God, you can’t even imagine how much.”

“I bet I can,” you replied.  “I bet it’s how much I love you.”

“No, no— more than that,” he decided.

“What?!  Eddie, don’t say that,” you frowned.

“It’s true,” he insisted.  “I love you so much that this pretty little head of yours would explode if you knew—” he accented his statement by holding his fingers up to the side of your head and spreading them, making a pshh sound through his teeth to do his impression of an explosion. 

You laughed and shoved him lightly on his bare chest.  “You’re silly,” you mumbled, laughing more as he nuzzled his face against you, tickling you with the tip of his nose and his fluffy hair.

That was the way you fell asleep, tangled in his arms.  You never slept as well as you did when he was holding you, even on a ratty old mattress in a beat-up van in the abandoned desert, even separated from your loved ones and so painfully far from home.

~ ♡ ~

The knocking didn’t wake you up— only Eddie grabbing you and shaking you awake, whispering to you in a rushed voice, made you begin to stir.  “Princess,” he snapped, and you awakened as quickly as you could.  It was still pitch dark outside… except for the flashlight shining into the driver’s side window.

“E-Eddie, what’s going—?” you started to ask, but he pressed a finger over your lips before pulling the blanket up to your neck.

“There’s a state trooper outside,” he informed you, just as there was another knock on the window, and your eyes went wide but you remembered not to say anything.

“Stay in the van,” Eddie hissed.  “Don’t move or say anything until I come back, you hear me?  Stay in the van.”

You nodded quickly, blinking away the watering of your eyes.  He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before he tossed the blanket over your face and hopped back up into the driver’s seat.

Another knock on the window made you startle with a jolt under the blanket, but you did your best to stay perfectly still and completely silent.  “I’m sorry, sir— is this a no-parking zone?” Eddie asked as soon as he’d started rolling the window down.

“That’s not the issue— I was just noticing that your van matches the description of a suspected kidnapping out of Indiana,” the officer explained.

“Oh!  Huh, that’s… actually not that unlikely, is it?  A lot of cheap old vans out there on the road,” Eddie pointed out.

“Yes, but yours has a hole in the bumper, in the same place the one we’re looking for does,” the officer replied.

You struggled to keep your crying silent; was Eddie going to be arrested because of you?  This was all your fault, you knew it—

“You don’t know anything about a missing girl, do you?” the trooper pressed.  “Eighteen years old, about yea high—” you stopped paying attention as he continued rattling off a few basics of your description.  They’d been right on your tail the whole time, hadn’t they?

“No, can’t say that I do,” Eddie answered.

“Well, then it shouldn’t be much trouble if I search the back of your van, right?” 

You shuddered, biting down on the blanket over your head and praying that Eddie would find some way out of this.  “Honestly, officer, it’s a bit inconvenient— I was just sleeping here and now I’m being asked about some girl, but I don’t know anything about that.  I’ve been living out of this van for weeks, so it’s like you’re asking to search my home.  And I really would just prefer to get back to sleep, honestly, I’ve got a lot of driving ahead of me tomorrow—”

“It won’t take long,” the officer insisted.

“That’s not my concern,” Eddie replied firmly.  “You don’t have a warrant and I’d just prefer that you leave.”

“Your lack of cooperation could be considered probable cause,” the officer shot back.

“Only if you don’t care much for the constitution,” Eddie spat.

“And if I call the station and have them run your plates,” the trooper countered, “they’re going to come back to this vehicle, correct?  Not to say, a 1967 Ford that reported its plates stolen this morning?”

There was a silence.  A long, terrifying silence.  Eddie said nothing.  You weren’t even breathing.  The trooper was the one that spoke next.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.” 

You heard the door open, and shut.  Steps around the vehicle outside, some talking you couldn’t make out.  Knowing you were alone in the van, you let yourself start to quietly weep.  It’s over, it’s all over—

The unmistakable, deafening sound of a gunshot outside made you scream in shock.  “Eddie!” you shrieked, jumping up and using the blanket to cover your nudity as you hastily swung open the van doors from the inside.

You weren’t ready to see it, to see your boyfriend bleeding on the road, to see that cop point the gun at you next— you weren’t ready to imagine how your life would go on without him.

So, maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t what you saw.  But what you were looking at instead terrified you possibly even more.  Eddie was standing there, holding a revolver, still as a statue as he looked at the officer on the ground beneath him.  The man on the ground was still alive— breathing shakily, wide-eyed and shivering violently as his hands moved towards the growing patch of deep-red blood on his chest, but still alive.  The click of the revolver turning made you look at the gun again, seeing Eddie aim it once more and begin to press down on the trigger.

It was like a horrible nightmare, the way you opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out.  The second gunshot was so loud, it forced you to wince— which spared you from seeing the exact moment that hole appeared in the trooper’s forehead, the moment his expression went blank and his whole body went limp.

When you opened your eyes again, Eddie was looking back at you over his shoulder.  “I told you to stay in the van,” he reminded you flatly.

“E-Eddie,” you breathed, feeling light-headed and sick all of a sudden.  “Eddie, what… what have you done?”

He turned to face you, stepping over the body and slipping the revolver back under his belt; you instinctively moved back when he took a step towards you, and his expression changed.  “Princess…” he sighed, sounding heartbroken— like he couldn’t believe you were scared of him, but how could you not be?  You didn’t even know he had a gun in the van— you didn’t know he could ever hurt someone.

You swallowed thickly.  “Eddie,” you whispered, one more time.  “What did you do?”

Something entirely new flashed across his expression— it reminded you of the way he looked when you told him that your mother hit you.  But this was much, much worse, because this time, it was directed at you.  “What did I do?” he repeated, livid.  “What did I do?”

You started to cry harder, your ears still ringing from the gunshots, as Eddie stormed up to you, grabbing you by your shoulders roughly.

“I did what you told me to,” he insisted, raising his voice.  “I saved you!  And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster!”

“No,” you cried, “no, Eddie, I’m just scared— tell me you didn’t really kill him…”

“What are you scared of?” he laughed— actually laughed, at a time like this, though he didn’t seem particularly amused anymore as his lips curled into a snarl.  “You didn’t mean it, did you?  When you said you loved me, you were lying—”

“No!” you denied, sobbing so hard that it was barely intelligible anymore.  “Eddie, I swear—”

“When you said we’d be together forever,” he continued, his jaw tight and his nostrils flaring.  “I meant that, I meant every fucking word, princess.”

“I know,” you agreed, “I know— me too, Eddie, I love you!”

“Really?” he breathed, holding the sides of your face as you sniffled helplessly.  “Do you really love me, princess?  Don’t lie to me.”

“I love you so much,” you promised, “I’ve only ever loved you… I’m just so scared, I don’t understand—”

Your voice was starting to break, and he soothed you with a shhh and a kiss on the height of your cheekbone.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, switching back and forth between each cheek, “it can be scary, being in love for the first time.  I said nobody’s ever gonna take you from me, princess, don’t you remember that?”

You nodded, but when you glanced away from where his eyes were boring into you, you could see behind him the lifeless hand of the man he’d killed, the puddle of blood navigating through the cracks in the dusty orange earth.

“Hey, don’t look at that,” he corrected you, turning your face so you’d have to look up at him again.  “Look at me— that doesn’t matter.  This, you and me, this is the only thing that matters, okay?  I love you.  I love you.”

Swallowing only seemed to make the lump in your throat bigger.

“Do you fucking hear me?” he growled.  “I love you!”

“I-I love you too!” you finally choked out.

He slammed his lips onto yours, holding you there long after you tried to push yourself away from him.  “Now,” he announced when he pulled back, “get back in the van.  We need to go.”

~ ♡ ~

When you got sick on car rides, Mama always told you to look out the window.  Well, you couldn’t see out the window from where you were curled up in a ball in the back of the van, your limp body jumping and swaying each time Eddie hit a bump or a turn— but somehow, you didn’t think getting in the passenger and looking at the desolation of rural California was going to help with this particular bout of nausea.

“Come on, come back up to the front,” Eddie pleaded.  “I miss you, princess!”

You said nothing, burying your head into one of the pillows strewn over the mattress.  It smelled like him— it reminded you of how it felt when you were only safe in his arms.  Now you just cried all the time.

When the vehicle came to a stop, and Eddie got out, you wondered if maybe he was just getting gas.  Until the back doors opened and he stood between them, arms stretched out wide to each handle, giving you a pouty look with a tilted head.  “Poor thing,” he cooed, climbing in with you and shutting the doors behind him.  You turned away, you even tried to scoot up closer to the wall, but obviously there was nowhere else to go as he laid down behind you and started to run his hands over you through the thin blanket.  “I know you’re… not happy right now.  Just tell me how to make you feel better.”

You tried to shrug him away, but his fingertips tickled your waist a bit while his whole body moved a bit closer, trying to coax you out of your hiding place.

“Princeeeesss,” he sing-songed, leaning in a little closer to kiss the back of your neck where the blanket didn’t cover it; you flinched and pulled it up over your head, only for him to yank it off of you roughly.  “Hey,” he snapped, “don’t do that.  Don’t act like I’m not here.  Talk to me.”

Sighing, you rolled onto your back and gave him a quick look— it was all you could stand right now— before you stared up at the rusted ceiling of the van.  “What do you want me to say, Ed?” you breathed.

“I want you to say that you’re not mad at me,” he admitted.  “I want you to say that you still love me.”

You let out a long breath, reaching up to rub your eyes with the lowest part of your palm, just by your wrist.  “I… I’m not mad, Eddie, I’m—”

“Scared, I know,” he finished for you, “you only told me a thousand times.”

You groaned and turned away again, curling up even tighter as he started to backtrack instantly.

“N-no, come on, don’t be like that,” he protested, sliding up behind you and spooning you even though his touch sent a rush of conflicted feelings through your body.  “Princess, please— you can’t do this to me, you can’t treat me like this!  You’re gonna kill me, I can’t take it— I can’t take not holding you, not kissing you…”

To emphasize his point, he started to kiss a trail along your neck; and as much as your mind swirled with confusion and fear and hurt, your body did respond to it.  There was a warmth between your legs, a cry for something familiar and comfortable that only he could provide. 

He turned you on to your back again, looking down at you with a tilted, sympathetic sort of frown. “Okay, so maybe I can’t make you happy right now,” he relented, “but…”

He moved a little closer, holding your waist with one hand as he mouthed at your neck.

“But I know I can make you feel good…”

You turned your face away, but he reached up and guided it back with a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a soft, patient kiss.

“I know you didn’t forget this, princess,” he breathed in between moments of slotting his lips with yours.  “I know you can’t forget that we’re made for each other.  You can feel it, can’t you?  When we make love.  It’s so right…”

You didn’t stop him when he pulled you closer, when he climbed on top of you, not even when he slipped his tongue into your mouth.  You were just about ready to give into it, actually, when his hand started moving lower; and you instantly fought to push his hand away while it was slipping into your shorts.  “Eddie, don’t—” you whimpered, but he brushed your hands out of the way and got back to what he was doing.

“No, don’t do that,” he instructed you softly, “I’m just making you feel better, princess— I’m gonna make it better…”

As his fingers expertly explored you, finding those familiar places right away and exploiting them for all they were worth, you shut your eyes tight and struggled to relax beneath him.  You knew if you opened your eyes, you’d find him there, staring down at you with those eyes.  You could see it all: the way his eyes looked when you first met and he made you feel so dizzy and strange and special; the way they looked when he took your virginity— no, when you gave it to him, when you begged him to have it— that night on Lover’s Lake, under the stars, promising you that this was forever; the way they looked when he told you he was going to whisk you, save you from a summer of solitude in France, that forever wasn’t just real, it was now; the way they looked at you over his shoulder, the gun still in his hand, the world completely still and quiet for a moment, once the sounds of an innocent man begging for his life were silenced.

You didn’t know you were crying, until you felt him kiss your tears away.  “You’re doing so good,” he praised, “just like that— so good for me, you’re so beautiful…”

Hoping for a moment of comfort, you clung to him tightly, the building pleasure forcing you to let all of your emotions out; you sobbed, openly, and let every touch awaken your body and silence your mind.

“There you go,” he cooed, holding you tighter in return, “come on my fingers, princess— nice and easy, you know how, just let go—”

Whining his name, the first one hit you.  ‘The first one’ because, immediately after that, he held your legs open and climbed on top of you and fucked you, taking you to the edge again as you held onto him for dear life.  He didn’t stop talking for more than a moment the whole way through it, promising you that he was going to keep you safe, begging you not to leave him, reminding you of every time you’d told him that you loved him and that you were his.

When he was finished, he kissed all over your shaking body, whispering about how perfect you were.  “Do you feel better now, princess?” he asked quietly when his journey of kisses brought him back up to your collarbones.

“I… I feel…” you panted.  You didn’t know where to start.  “Sleepy,” you finally decided, and you felt him press a smile to your cheek.

“Then fall asleep,” he offered, “I’ll wake you up when we get there, okay?  Get some rest… you’ve earned it.”

You were exhausted physically and emotionally, so it didn’t take more than a minute or so once Eddie started driving again for you to lull into dreamlessness.  Sleep was a welcome reprieve from existence, from thought and fear and pain.  From trying to figure out if you were Eddie’s lover or his prisoner.  From remembering how simple, how idyllic your life used to be— no, not perfect, but much easier.  From imagining what would happen to you if the police found you again; from wondering what would happen to them if the police found you again.

It was just a shame you didn’t get to sleep longer.

~ ♡ ~

“Wake up, princess,” his voice gently wafted into your ear.  “We made it, baby, look…”

You blinked your eyes open, feeling Eddie’s arms wrapped tightly around you— a little too tight.  Maybe he still thought you’d run.

But where would you run to?  All you could see out of the open back doors of the van was ocean, and sand.  The beach was empty; and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.  “We’re here,” he told you, kissing your cheek as he held you from behind, cradling you and resting his chin on your shoulder.  “This is it— me and you, together.  And we can go wherever you wanna go next.”

Shivering slightly, you felt your eyes water again.  “I… I wanna go home.”

You should’ve been afraid that it would make him angry, but by now you were so numb… you just said it without thinking.  He didn’t get angry, though, at least not on the outside.  He just laughed a little and told you, “princess, we are home.”

He seemed to get a little more serious, sighing as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re my home,” he belabored the point, “you’re my everything, princess.  I know this is hard… love is hard, especially when it’s real.  Just remember that you love me, okay?”

A gentle kiss landed on your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw.

“Remember when we promised forever,” he continued, and as tears rolled silently down your expressionless face, he pressed his lips right up to your ear to speak directly into it.  “And remember that if your parents come for you, I’ll kill them, too.”

One of the arms that he’d had crossed over your chest reached up, his thumb wiping your tear away on the opposite cheek from where he’d pressed his face up so close to yours— you could feel his hot breath on your skin, and it, along with his body holding yours so tight, kept you from shivering in the chilly morning breeze over the beach.

“You believe me, right?” he whispered, and you nodded slightly.  “Good,” he cooed as he kissed your cheek.  “I love you so much, princess… you can’t imagine how much.  Your pretty little head would explode.”

He held his fingers up to your head, and stretched them out in a mock explosion, hissing the sound into your ear: pshh…

[eddieandstevesmcuwh0re]

Smoke Session

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Trope: best friends to lovers

Rating: R, minors DNI 18+

Warning: marijuana use, unprotected sex (don't be dumb), thigh riding, dry humping, p in v penetration, slight oral sex f receiving (doesn't go on for very long), daddy kink, slight dumbification/degrading, name calling (slut, pathetic), Eddie Munson being a cocky little shit.

"Listen, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, angel. I'm just saying that it's surprising that we've been friends for years and you've never once smoked with me." Eddie was in the middle of trying to explain to you why everyone at school believed you were also a stoner.

"Surprising?" You knew the route you were going to take this in. Annoying him.

"Yes."

"To you?" Adding a little smirk to your face.

"No, angel! I'm saying, to everyone else it is hard to believe that you don't smoke." He's already exasperated with you, so you decide to stop that game before it starts. You're going to replace it with a new one, though.

"So, let me smoke with you then." You'd been thinking about asking for a while, wanting to just try it since you were 20 and have never even been drunk let alone high on any drug. When you think about that statement, yeah, it is kind of surprising how close you and Eddie really are.

"No. Absolutely not." He went into protective mode, as you expected him to, immediately."

"Eddie! I just wanna-"

"Nope! You are not smoking just to please some randoms from a school you don't even go to anymore." He says as he's already trying to put out his joint so that you don't get any ideas.

"Please, Eddie. It's not because of that, I just wanna try it." You turned on your next strategy for getting him to give in: flirting. It worked most of the time, why wouldn't it today? "Will you teach me?"

As you were sat there looking up at him with you little doe eyes and your lips pouted, he almost gave in. Almost. He's played this game too many times in the last week and you'd already been messing with him too much today. He doesn't play well with brats.

"Are you trying to use your looks to get me to give you drugs?"

He's never blatantly put it in words before, you didn't think he knew. That put you off your game just slightly, but only enough to make you shift a little, pushing your boobs out of your top a little more by accident.

"Maybe." You slid one hand onto his clothed chest, lightly gripping his Hellfire t-shirt before moving it down slowly. Eddie caught your hand before you had time to go much lower.

"Oh, sweetheart. All that's gonna get you is fucked." His voice was so low, yet so big. It held power over you that you weren't expecting, at least not today. "You thought I didn't know what you were doing every time you use this little strategy of yours? Baby, I knew. I knew enough to wanna bite that bottom lip you pout out until you whine for me."

He put his thumb on your bottom lip, that you had begun to chew on, and pulled it out from between your teeth. You did whine for him, just like he wanted. "That's a good girl." You let your head rest in the hand that was still craddling the side of your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb then made you look back up at him. "You wanna tease me into letting you smoke? Fine, angel, I'll give you a little taste."

He grabs your hips and pulls you to sit on his lap, feeling your warmth through the cotton of your panties. It was normal for you to only wear one of his big shirts and underwear, you wish you'd worn shorts this time. Knowing that he can feel you how much you want him already makes you get even more shy. Eddie reached over to the ashtray beside his couch to grab the joint he was working on and hold it in front of your face, keeping his other hand firm on your thigh.

"Alright, baby. Pulling straight from the joint the first time is a little difficult, and I don't want my little baby getting hurt. You're gonna try shotgunning first." Your breath hitched in your throat for two reasons. 1. Eddie calling you his little baby sent shivers straight down your spine. 2. You knew what shotgunning was, and you'd be lying through your teeth if you said it wasn't something you'd been wanting to try with him for a while. Eddie noticed the change in your breath and smirked, but kept walking you through what was going to happen next. "I'm gonna take a pretty big pull, since I think you can be a big girl and take it. Try not to fight it, okay? Don't hold it in too long just to impress me, it'll hurt. Understand?"

You nodded, but that wasn't good enough for him. He grabbed your thigh a little harder and said "Use your words. I told you to be a big girl."

"Yes, Eddie, I understand."

"Good girl." That sent another shiver through you that went straight to your core. You're sure you were soaking through your panties at this point, but you didn't have the will to care.

You watched as Eddie took his pull from the joint and, as always, he looked so pretty doing it. You loved watching him smoke. The way his chest rose as he breathed in and held it for a while. The way it fell and he sighed as he exhaled all the smoke out, tilting his head back to lay against the back of the couch or his headboard depending on where you were. Your train of thought was broken as you felt Eddie grab your head with both hands, he must've put down the joint while you were in a daze, and pull you in closer. You opened your mouth and, as he breathed out, inhaled the smoke right from his mouth. It tickled slightly as you felt it going into your throat, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle.

"That's it. Hold it just a second longer then breath it out for me." Eddie's coaching and comforting you with those words coupled with his thumbs drawing circles on your thighs. You did as he said and let the smoke out of your lungs, timed perfectly so that you didn't have to cough. "Good girl, you did so good for me." His praise made you grind against him involuntarily. It didn't go unnoticed, he just chose not to comment on it for now.

"More?" You asked him, again giving him those doe eyes.

"Nah, baby, I said I'd give you a taste. You need to be sober for what I'm about to do to you." Your mind went into a state of constant running as you bucked your hips up again. "Yeah, let's start with that since you seem to like it so much. Grind on my thigh, angel." He moves his right hand down to your hip to help guide your movements as his left reaches for the blunt again, bringing it up to his lips.

"You look so pretty when you smoke, Eds." You whined out for him, putting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Aww, thanks sweetheart. Figured I'd give you some eye candy while you get yourself off." His attitude was way too cocky, you would figure out a way to humble him later. Right now, it was the last thing you were worried about. All you could focus on right now was him, his smell that you loved so much, and the feeling of his demin jeans on your pussy.

You rocked back and forth on him until he finished off the joint, coming so so close but not able to make it over the edge. "Eddieeeee" you whined out for him, hoping he'd get the message and take pity on you.

"What's wrong, honey? You were so ready to push those tits out and tease me earlier and now you can't just get yourself off? Pathetic." He quickly grabbed your hips and flipped you both over, making sure to position his bulge right over where you needed him most, and grinded into you. "Thought you were gonna be a big girl for me? If I have to do it for you, baby, it's not gonna be gentle." He kept grinding into harder and harder each time as he spoke. All you could do was wrap your legs around him and take it, already completely fucked out by him and he'd barely touched you. Unhappy with your lack of verbal response, Eddie wrapped his hand around your neck and gave a firm squeeze to wake you up. "What's it gonna be, princess? Am I gonna have to get rough with you?"

You moaned at the feeling of your airway being just slightly constricted and stuttered out "I want it. Please, daddy."

Eddie let out a loud grunt at the nickname. It surprised him, but now that he'd heard it he didn't want you to call him anything else.

"Daddy, huh? You want daddy to be rough with you?" He felt you grinding your hips up to meet his harder and faster while he'd almost He felt you squeezing your legs around him tighter, signalling that you were getting close and he could've cum just watching how badly you wanted him. "Tell me, baby. Tell daddy you want him while you cum just from humping me like the dirty little slut you are, yeah?"

"Daddy, I want you! I want you so bad, fuck!" You screamed out as you finally came, throwing your arms around Eddie's neck to keep him close as you rode out your high. You couldn't believe you'd just cum from rubbing yourself on his clothed cock, but it just felt so good.

"God, you made such a mess. My pants are all wet." He looked down to see himself, but then he caught a glimpse of you. He almost lost control at the sight of your panties, so soaking wet that he could almost see through them. "Oh, baby. You definitely don't need these anymore." He peeled them off of you and threw them somewhere in the trailer. You couldn't care less where they'd gone.

Eddie moved down your body to put his face right in front of your pussy, watching it continue to throb and clench around nothing from your orgasm. Before you could even realize what he was doing, you felt him start licking you all over. The feeling was so much you felt your back arch off the couch as you tried to push him away. He only stayed on you for another couple seconds before he pulled away on his own and started rubbing your thighs to soothe you.

"Calm down, angel, I got you. I just needed a taste. You looked so pretty, I couldn't help it." He came back up to your face and hovered his lips over your own. "Taste yourself, sweet girl." He whispered as he finally connected your lips together. It was a slow but extremely passionate, lustful kiss. One you had both been waiting for for a long time. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and it didn't take long for him to win the fight for dominance.

He took your hands and slid them above your head, intertwining your fingers and holding them there while he grinded himself into your pussy again. It felt so much more heightened now that you were bare, but you didn't want this again. You wanted all of him.

"Pleaseeee, daddy, no more. Want you inside me, pleaseeeee." You whined up at him inbetween kissed he kept stealing from you.

"Stop that. Big girls don't whine. You want something from daddy, you better ask nicely like a good girl." He kept grinding into you, knowing that it was driving you crazy.

"Please fuck me, daddy. I want you so bad." You were able to get it out without any moans and he seemed satisfied.

"Okay, pretty girl, I've got you." He finally stopped torturing you and pulled off his shirt and pants. As soon as he pulled out his cock, your eyes went wide. It wasn't even that you thought he was too big to fit, he just had such a pretty dick. "Like what you see, angel?"

"Yes, daddy." You responded with no hesitation.

He chuckled, smiling down at you and wondering why he hadn't done this sooner. You were just so cute. "Well, let's see if you like what you feel." He thrusted into all in one go, you could feel every vein on him as he sat inside of you. You moaned out so loud you were sure his whole neighborhood heard, not that you cared. If anything you wanted them to know that this man was absolutely ruining you. When did you start thinking like that?

You started clenching around him as you got used to his size, causing Eddie to lose his resolve bit by bit. "Shit, honey, you gotta stop that. I'm trying to be nice with you and that pussy squeezing me is not helping." You leaned up to put your lips by his ear.

"I said I wanted it rough, didn't I, daddy?"

That was all he had to hear for me to start pounding into you, giving you all he had, and you were happy to take every bit of it. You felt his fingers digging into your hips as he held you and you hoped they'd leave marks for you to admire in the coming days. He heard your moans and whines for "more" and "harder" and "faster" as they were bringing him to the edge sooner than he wanted. He lifted one of your legs from its place around his torso to rest over his shoulder, hitting you at a deeper angle that made you scream impossibly louder, and started rubbing hard circles on your clit.

"Fuck, Eddie, please!" You screamed out. You hadn't noticed that you used his first name until you felt a hard slap on your pussy and a hand around your throat.

"What was that, sweetheart? 'Cause it wasn't my name, that's for sure." He was still pounding into you and giving hits for your sensitive bud, not intending to stop until you corrected yourself.

"Daddy! Fuck, I'm sorry, daddy. Please." He stopped slapping you but started pounding into at an even harsher pace, hitting that spot deep inside you every single thrust.

"Look at you, begging and you don't even know what for. My good slut." He started rubbing your clit again and the combination of it with the torturous speed of his hips sent you into your second climax of the day. Your hips bucked up as you came and Eddie didn't stop moving. He just kept fucking you as you begged him to slow down.

He put on hand on the back of your head as he bent down and connected your sweaty foreheads together, looking straight into your eyes. "One more for me, angel, just one more. Gimme one more and I promise you're done, baby. Can you do that for me?" This is the sweetest he'd been since you started and it made you agree to give him what he wanted. "Thank you, baby. Such a good girl. My good fucking girl."

His hand never left your head, eyes never left yours as he kept fucking you deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. You could feel him twitch inside you as you squeezed him. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, but he wanted you to cum with him. He put his thumb back on your clit, this time with more pressure and a quicker speed, trying to get you right there with him. "C'mon, angel, can you get there for me? I'm so close, I wanna feel you milking me while I cum. Please, baby, give it to me."

Hearing his words and feeling how he was abusing your poor, fucked out cunt was enough to give him the last orgasm he wanted from you. You came around him with a silent scream, atill looking him in the eyes as he held your head against his own. "Fuck, yes, angel that's it. Doing so good for me, baby. I'm cumming, you're making me cum, sweetheart." You were still having aftershocks from your own orgasm as you felt him shooting his load deep inside you, groaning something about your "sweet, tight pussy" as he did so.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck as you still held onto him as tight as you could while you shook, needing something to ground you to reality.

"Come back to me, angel. Let me see those beautiful eyes." You heard him whisper to you in the sweetest voice you've ever heard. Your eyes fluttered open to find him staring straight down at you while he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. "There she is. There's my girl."

"Yours?" You asked once you regained control of all your body functions, reaching up and covering the hand on your face with one of your own.

"I mean, I hope so. I just fucked the shit out of you and I've been in love with you since the 8th grade." There's the classic Eddie, again. Blunt, as always.

"Yeah, Eddie, I'm yours. I love you too." You kissed the palm of his hand then pulled his head down to catch his lips in a much sweeter kiss than the ones you'd shared moments earlier. You pulled away with a mischevious smirk on your face. "Does this mean I can smoke some more, now?"

Eddie rolled his eyes and reached an arm over your head to produce another joint. "You can have 2 more hits. I want you to stay my little angel, can't corrupt you too much."

"Your dick is still inside me." You said in the most plain tone possible.

"My dick is not a drug."

"I beg to differ." You tried to steal the joint out of his hands but he moves too fast for you.

"You beg for a lot of things." He uses a sultry tone as he kisses you again.

You'd settle for watching him smoke as long as it meant that you were his and he was yours.

Note: I already ✨partake✨ but I would gladly pretend to not if it means Eddie teaches me how to like this.

[peachximagines]

Princess Five 2

A/N: This was very delayed and I’m so very sorry, but there will be updates. Also, I am big-ignoring the end of Season 3 because I started this before the season came out and I got some big plans. 

Hopper was livid. I managed to get home by 11:30 but the foreign jacket wrapped around my shoulders reeked of alcohol and cigarettes.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Hopper yells. I fidget with the silver zipper. “I let you go out once, Jesus Christ, once and you come back smelling like some boy?” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. I want to speak but I feel as though I’m being choked. I want to yell that Billy’s not some boy, that he gets me and that the time we talked was the most normalcy I’ve felt since closing that fucking gate. But I didn’t. The words stayed trapped behind the prison bars that was my tongue. I bow my head, staring at my shoes.

Keep reading

[peachximagines]

Be real, does anyone want this updated? I’d gladly start to write for Stranger Things again, but is anyone checking for Billy?

[two-red-lungs]

Ok but like I saw your post about wanting more asks about Eddie nsfw scenarios and then I saw you were willing to write for sub! Eddie and I was like😳

Okay but like imagine Eddie just being overstimulated as you ride him. He just looks so out of it and a little in pain, but as you go to get off him he just keeps asking for more. My man is Pussy DRUNK😫 so you just give him what he wants while calling him your sweet prince or good boy.

And like the heat of the moment he just calls you mommy by accident but it’s like HOT- JJSNSBSBSBS UGH JUST MANY THOUGHTS ON BRAIN PLS HEAD FULL OF EDDIE-😖

Oh LORD this ask got me wildin', hold on folks this is gonna be SPOICY: this shit goes out to all my dommes that wanted to fold Munson like a birthday card the second they saw him.

Speak Up (Sub!Eddie x Fem!Reader NSFW)

Summary: You like pushing Eddie to his limits. Coincidentally, he happens to really fucking like being pushed there.

Content: Dom/Sub play, orgasm denial, overstimulation, Eddie pussydrunk hours, derogatory language, mommy kink

Word count: 2.9k

You were... kinda relentless. But by god, was he into it. The drive-in movie was supposed to be a cute date, a quiet evening spent cuddling in his van under a scratchy, smokey blanket and generally just allowing the both of you to act like the world's most cute and cliche couple.

But you were bored. And you could hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat on his warm skin as you leaned against him. So of course the black-and-white slasher projected up on the parking lot billboard took a backseat to you slowly, idly trailing featherlight fingertips up and down Eddie’s thighs, ghosting just barely under the hem of his shirt to feel his soft abdomen.

Soft, Teasing. For hours. And every time he hummed or shifted or adjusted, subtly asking for more, you pulled away as punishment. Leaving him breathing unevenly, staring at the rolling movie credits with his cock pressed hard and painful against the metal zipper of his pants.

You gave him a look. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You'd never seen him drive back to his house so quickly, so recklessly. Your nails dragged softly across the denim of his crotch as he screamed down the backroads: his jaw was tight, knowing saying anything meant those fingers flitting away. Poor baby.

And then you spilled into the night, tumbling out of the van, Eddie all over you, sloppy hot and enthusiastic mouth roving your neck and jawline affectionately while you fumbled with the door keys and pulled both of you into the trailer. Attached at the mouths as you bumbled your way down the hallway and into his room.

"Please, please, c'mon." Eddie was already saying. Begging, equal parts aroused and fearful. It had been a few weeks since you'd actually let him cum, after all. The poor man was walking on eggshells, the slightest breeze giving him a half-chub.

It had been fun. Pulling him into the public park bathrooms and putting your lips around his cock, getting him just to the peak and leaving him dry, zipping him back up and making him drop his head onto your shoulder with a pitiful, desperate whine. Letting him rut against your thigh on the bed while you read, the friction enough to feel good, desperately so, but not enough to get him there.

"Behave." You nipped at his lower lip and put two hands on his broad chest, giving him a curt shove that sent him falling ass-backwards onto his messy mattress. You saw the resulting dizzy, toothy smile that followed: he ate this shit up, every time. Getting tossed around, getting felt up. God, the guy fucking thrived on the attention.

How you were ever lucky enough to find someone like him, you'd never know.

You popped a cassette in the player, letting Misfits music rocket through the room. Eddie just looked up at you from his thrown position on the bed, all sprawled limbs and open hope on his oval face, too desperate to even contest your personal taste in music he normally disparaged. 

“You gonna be good?” You asked him, shucking off your jacket, getting up onto the bed between his knees. Hands wrestling with your pants, yanking them down. He nodded, wild mane bobbing. “Gonna do everything I tell you?” Even more enthusiastic nodding.

“Yeah- shit, yeah, I am. I swear.” He couldn’t get the words out fast enough when you rolled your shirt off yourself.

“We’ll see.” You lurched forward, crawling over him, forcing his back even harder against the mattress, until your core was over his hot, kiss-bruised mouth. His pupils blew wide at the sight, entranced. Long, strong fingers twitched at his sides. Waiting to be told what to do. 

“Go on. Eat up.”

“Jesus. Jesus. Okay.” He got out, tongue wetting his lips. Shaky fingers pulled your underwear to the side, and then one of his hands was curling around your thigh and bringing you down against that mouth, against the fluid heat and agile tongue that warmed you with gusto. He licked and sucked and nibbled, flicking expertly against your clit and running the flat of of the dexterous muscle down your slit. 

He felt like sin. So enthusiastic, so greedy to taste you, to feel your weight around his head. You grabbed a handful of his wild hair with a sigh, rocking your hips against his mouth. He groaned into your folds and simply took it, moving in tandem with you even as you ground your clit against his nose and slicked up his chin and cheeks with arousal. 

“Fuck, Eddie, good boy. Good fuckin’ boy.” You huffed. “Finally putting that smart-ass mouth to good use.”

Eddie slurped at you as best he could with your weight bearing down on him, hazily content to let you use him. Gazing, dazed, up at you, chocolate-black eyes glassy with dumbed contentment. 

“You going brainless, baby?” You cooed, heat coiling dangerously tight in your gut at the sight. “Love tasting my pussy that much?”

He hummed out an affirmative mmmmmm, long and low, fingers resettling around your thighs as you rocked against him. Use me, his half-lidded eyes said, use me like a toy. It really was a pity his mouth was preoccupied: you knew he’d be saying all sorts of stupid, pussydrunk things right now if it wasn’t. 

“Love this mouth, baby boy. Love it.” Fuck, you were close. Really, really close. You put both hands on his head, tensing your thighs, using your muscles to ride his saliva-sloppy lips and grind down onto his tongue. “Gonna cum on it. You want that?”

Another mmm, Eddie kneading your thighs hopefully, encouragingly. His rings glittered in the low lamplight.

“Good, fuuuuck- fuck.” Your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, making you clench down around his head. Eddie held his breath, let himself be smothered as you spilled wetness all over him: dribbling down his pale, flushed skin, into his mussed hair.

When you finally lifted up off him him shakily, he took a ragged, heavy inhale. Catching his breath even while a stupid, ditzy smile threatened to split his wet face in two. “Shit.” Was the only word he could summon up.

Like you nearly asphyxiating him had been the best high he’d ever ridden.

Seeing him there, thoughtless and mindless and shiny with your arousal, it fucking did shit to you. This beautiful man rendered brainless from your cunt. “Clothes. Off.” You ground out, hungry and sweaty and wanting more than fucking anything to get that sweet little swollen cock inside of you.

He writhed messily, tangling himself up wildly and kicking off his pants, wrestling with his shirt like it was a public enemy number one before getting to his knees to wriggle out of his underwear. His cock bobbed in the air, weeping and dark.

“Oh, baby.” You breathed. He was so swollen, so cherry-bright, it looked like it hurt. “Fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Eddie let out a shaky, nervous laugh. “Maybe a little.”

You leaned into his personal space, staring down at his cock. “Give yourself a pump for me, sweetheart.”

Eddie wrapped a veined, lithe hand around his own dick, hissing through his teeth when his grip traveled the length: from the crying head to the base nestled in wirey curls, and back up again. Starting to travel back down. 

“I said a pump.” You warned. He whined brokenly. 

“C’mon. Please. Please? Just one more.” He cajoled, voice wobbling. So close to an orgasm he could probably taste it, after waiting for so long. After being so good for you. It probably wouldn’t take very much to make him fly over the edge into oblivion.

“Aww, poor baby.” You cooed. Talking down to him like a child, pulling strands of his sweaty hair away from his face. “Got nothing on your mind but your dick, huh? Can’t think about anything other than how good it feels?” You paused. “Fuck your fist, baby boy. Slow. Real slow.”

“Shit. shit.” He said again and again, complying. Braced with one hand on the mattress, hunched over himself, rolling his hips up into his dry grip. Gasping sharply when the head of his sensitive cock rolled over the warm, smooth metal of his rings. 

“Feel good?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. Really fucking good.” He shivered when you ghosted hands over his shoulders, his back, watching him pump himself. Pressing occasional soft kisses to his shoulder, his sweat-tacky neck. 

It only took him a minute to press his lips tight, fighting his hazy pleasure, before speaking up. “Gonna cum, angel. Really soon.”

“Don’t.” 

He whined lowly, but didn’t stop fisting his cock.

“Eddie, hands off your dick.”

He let go just before he spilled over, groaning in abject frustration, guttural and low. Gripping handfuls of the sheets while his purple-red cock twitched hopefully, seeking sensation.

“Close one?” You chuckled. He just hung his head, curtain of dark hair obscuring his face. You paused. “Color, baby?”

“Green.” He said quickly. “Green, so green, just... fuck. Really close one.”

“Good job stopping yourself, then. Would’ve been a one-way ticket to a dry month.”

Just the hint of such a cruel punishment had him huffing and flushing. He lifted his sweaty head. Shit, you were so fucking weak for this big doe eyes, those plush lips, the fine dusting of stubble on his jaw. 

“Okay.” You tousled his hair. “Okay, honey. You’ve been so good for me. Lay back.”

Eddie looked like he could cry in relief at your words, letting you guide him onto his back, head nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. The dusting of brown hair across his soft, muscular navel made a direct, tantalizing pathway down to his desperate cock. A dribble of milky precum dripped down its veiny side.

When you swiped it away he jumped, head thumping against the mattress. “Christ. You’re torturing me.”

You grinned. “Kind of the point, baby boy. Good thing you love it so much.”

He brought his own hands to his head, exhaling hard when you rolled the shiny condom down his length. When you gave his cock a few soft tap taps with the flat of your palm, just shy of painful, his abdominal muscle curled and he groaned helplessly. 

“See?” You crooned. “Desperate. Stupid, desperate boy. Going so fucking brainless the second I touch your cock.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Eddie groaned, voice absolutely wrecked with arousal.

When you finally sank down on him he looked fucking possessed, back arching and hips stuttering underneath you, face crewing up in incredible pleasure. 

“Shitfuck, angel-” He was gasping as you started to furiously fuck him, hips swiveling relentlessly, cruelly. So fast you knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it. “S-slow down, please, I’m gonna-”

“Don’t cum.” He throbbed inside of you, piercing and burning-hot and perfect, and you knew you were setting him up for failure. He knew it too. You slam slam slammed down onto his narrow hips, the wet sloppy sound of your pussy sheathed around his cock lewd and loud as all hell. “Don’t cum, baby boy.”

He was scrabbling at your legs now, blunt nails hard and terrified, like if he squirmed enough he could evade the tidal wave of pleasure you could see building, spring-coiled, in his form. Terror on his flushed face.

“I can’t, I- I can’t-” He gasped out.

And then Eddie was cumming, cummung for the first time in ages, looking like someone was performing a goddamn exorcism on him, hips thrusting so hard up into you he nearly bucked you off. His eyes practically rolling into the back of his head, pants and groans going completely mute, choked by the orgasm you could only imagine was basically erasing his brain.

You paused on top of him, feeling his cock pulse pulse pulse inside of you, watching his soft, pale chest rise and fall rapidly under your splayed fingers. His eyes were wide, shocked, mouth falling open as he tried to steady his breathing. Trying to recalibrate his systems. 

You gave him exactly fifteen seconds. And then you were back to it, starting to slowly, agonizingly slowly roll your hips on his soft cock. Chasing the phantom sensations of pleasure it shot through you, feeling his soft, warm head rutting against that perfect spot that made your legs turn to jelly.

“Oh god, ah, shitshitshit-” Eddie was back to babbling dumbly but this time it was desperate, overwhelmed and oversensitive, almost agonized. He dug his nails into your legs, teeth clenched and bared, eyes squeezed shut. 

It must have been torture, the overwhelming sensation of your gummy, soft, gushing pussy clamping around his exhausted cock. You didn’t stop, continuing to softly roll over him, his length slipping in and out of your heat uselessly. 

“Aww. Did you think we were done?” You crooned. 

“Fuck, it feels- christ, please, it’s so much-” Eddie sounded like he was in genuine distress. 

All at once you stopped, stomach dropping. “Too much.” You realized. 

He looked like a kicked puppy at your words. “No. No!” Eddie panted out quickly. “No. Keep...keep going.” He paused to swallow, hard. Eyes skating away from yours in shame. “I like it.”

“Oh.” You replied softly. Low heat in your stomach rising, rising, rising until it was a fucking inferno. “Oh baby boy.” You growled. 

All at once you were back to bouncing on him, watching is muscles contract involuntarily at the overstimulation. Watching him shuddering and shaking and biting down so fucking hard on his lower lip to keep himself quiet. Letting you wreck him. Letting you ruin him. Offering himself up to you.

“Such a good fucking boy for me, fuck.” You snarled. You dragged fingernails down his chest, hard: Eddie gasped. You pistoned against him, relentless, grabbing his wrists and tugging them. Making him feel owned. “Willing to do anything to get a little more of my pussy, huh? You love it that much? You that brainless for it?”

All he managed to do was bob his head, letting out a pathetic moan, still shaking. It must have hurt, must feel so good, pleasure and pain in equal portions. He was starting to get hard inside you again. 

“Say it.” You were incensed, obsessed with that broken, useless, sweaty expression on his sweet face. “Say you love it, baby boy.”

“Fuck, mommy-” He whined out. Eddie’s eyes snapped open. He shut his mouth with a clack of teeth against teeth. 

...What? Your domineering hip-rolls slowed. Were you hallucinating? Did he just...?

“Sorry.” Eddie sounded mortified. “Shit, uh. Sorry. Sorry.”

Oh, this guy is all sorts of freaky. Fuck. I love it.

“How long have you wanted to call me that?” You murmured to him. Punctuating your question with a long, forceful roll that pushed him into your wet pussy until his arousal-soaked curls pressed against your clit. 

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few times, wrists still clutched tight in your hands. 

“...Do you like mommy fucking you?”

He reacted visibly, stiffening under you. Cock twitching from where it was trapped in your wet heat. 

Another button to press. This was... perfect. So perfect. How was he real? How was he so wonderful? “Because mommy loves this cock.” You started up the brutal pace again, and shit, your own orgasm was way closer than you expected. “This is mommy’s cock. Her baby boy’s so good for her, isn’t he? So hungry for her pussy, so hungry to be fucked.”

“Shit, angel, shit-” Eddie was back to his usual talkative self, face beet-red, “k-keep talking like that, jesus, please-”

“I want you to cum for mommy.” You growled. He was so hot inside you, so perfect, scraping your spongey-soft walls, flickering pleasure lighting you up from the inside. “Can you do that, baby boy? Can you cum for mommy?”

You managed exactly ten more brutal strokes before his awed, pleasure-drunk face made you race over the edge, orgasm hitting you so hard you choked on your own words. You barely felt Eddie follow you over, hands in your grip curling around your own wrists. Holding one another like lifelines. 

You collapsed onto him, panting like a marathon runner. Sweaty skin against sweaty skin, his cock soft and extra-spent inside you. 

It was silent for a long time, save for the thrashing drums and wild guitar: the music felt faint, compared to the blood roaring in your ears. Eddie was hot under you. A comforting slab of skin and muscle. 

God, he was so good for you. So good. 

With exhausted limbs you hauled yourself off him, peppering his panting face with kisses. Spitting some of his hairs out of you mouth with a soft pah and making him weakly chuckle. 

“You okay, hon?” You asked him eventually, a hand softly pressed to his bare, tattooed chest. 

“...I think my, uh, legs might not work anymore, angel. But other than that?” He cracked a sweaty, disbelieving grin. Like he was the lucky one, not you. “I’m fuckin’ great.”

You pressed your forehead to his, warmth and affection making you feel like you were queen of the goddamn world. “Love you.” You murmured. 

“Love you too, angel.”

“Ah-ah.” You chided. When he raised his eyebrows in confusion, you smiled smugly. “It’s mommy, now.”

He groaned and laughed defeatedly. “Oh, man. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Never.”

[rosalinrabbit]

The Water Lilies (2/2)

Part Two

Part One

Pairing: Dom!AaronHotchner x Sub!Fem!Reader 

Warnings for Part Two: Smut, fluff, insecurities, age gap, phone sex, praise kink, daddy kink, mutual masturbation, porn, sex work, dirty talk, no y/n, light dom/sub, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, vaginal fingering.

Summary:  Aaron can't keep his mind off of his girl, and soon finds himself standing in an art gallery.

Word Count: 4.6k

SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI

Aaron was desperately trying not to think of you while he did his job. Cases were often gruesome and ugly and complicated, he hated the thought of you being mixed in with all of it.

The most recent one involved young women. He couldn’t help but see you in them. He still wasn’t sure if the person he saw had been you, but nonetheless, the case was hitting him harder than it might usually.

In his downtime, he kept replaying the call he had with you a few nights before he left. When you had been super needy, and decided to turn to him to satisfy you, begging for him over the phone and coming undone with a cry of his name. Nothing had ever sounded more beautiful.

Rossi had been keeping a watchful eye on him throughout their time in Oklahoma.

“So… who is she?” He asked as he set his drink on the small table in Aaron’s hotel room.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Dave,” Aaron sighed. 

“Young, college student, matches the case profile probably… based on your weird behavior this week.”

Aaron was so tired he didn’t even try to deny it.

He just nodded.

Rossi smiled.

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’ve never felt like this,” he admitted. “She’s… incredible. Insanely smart, talented, sweet…”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“She’s very shy. And I… I don’t know, I’m worried I’ll scare her away or something. And she’s young.”

Rossi shook his head. “It’s not that. Try again.”

Aaron shot his friend an annoyed look. “You know me way too well.” He leaned back in the chair, thinking of you. “I’m worried she doesn’t want what I want.”

“There we go. But Aaron, you’ll never know unless you ask. Is it worth it to pretend you aren’t feeling a certain way? You seem to like her. I think you have good judgement, and that you should tell her.”

“How?”

The older man took a sip of his drink. “You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” He took his glass and stood. “Night, Aaron.”

“Goodnight Dave,” Aaron mumbled, deep in thought.

He waited a moment before calling you.

“Aaron, hi,” you yawned after picking up.

“Sleepy?”

“Mhm… finishing a paper... Or at least I was trying to. I think I might have fallen asleep and didn’t realize it. How’re you?”

He smiled when your words slurred together. You tended to get less coherent the sleepier you were, but always, always asked about his day. Even though he could never really tell you about it.

“I’m alright.”

“Hmm. You don’t sound as alright as you could be. Bad case? Bad FBI-related things?” You asked, having zero comprehension of what he was really up to since he didn’t tell you much. “Is your son ok?” You eventually murmured in a worried tone when Aaron didn’t respond right away.

“Oh, no, he’s fine. He’s doing really well, actually. It’s just… just this case. They’re usually bad, but this one got to me a little…”

“This is crass of me but… just how scary is your job?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question.

“It’s very serious. It never isn’t serious. It’s a lot. I’m sorry I don’t tell you much about it, but… I don’t want you to have to think about those kinds of things.”

“You don’t want me to worry?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I tend to do that anyway, but… Want me to get your mind off of it?”

“Always, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell me about your paper?”

You hummed and began reading part of it to him. He was just happy to listen to your voice, and would interject to ask questions here and there or for clarification. He could hear you writing notes as you went through.

“I’m sorry if this is boring,” you laughed about five minutes in. “I feel like I haven’t really brought it together yet, and it’s all slurring around in my brain.”

“You’re never boring.”

“Tell that to my friends who beg me to shut up any time I see art anywhere. We could be on the subway, I’ll see an ad and I’ll start analyzing it… which is so unnecessary, I know, but I can’t help it! Doing it so much all day has ruined my brain.” He laughed at your response, laying flat on the bed, still dressed as his phone was laying next to him. “You know, I’ve never seen you smile. That was what I kept thinking about when you were talking at GWU. Even though I knew your voice, I’d heard you laugh, I didn’t see you smile once during that lecture you gave. You looked very serious.”

“I don’t really smile often.”

“You should. You’re already very handsome, so I’m sure it’ll only make you look better,” you teased.

“You give me too much credit.”

“No, I think I don’t give you enough… Seriously. I think you smiling would be my new favorite art piece.”

“Really? That’s extremely generous. Especially coming from you.”

“I have good taste!” You retorted with a laugh.

The two of you were silent for a moment.

“Hey, Aaron?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for taking care of me. And listening to me…”

“Oh-of course. Thank you for doing the same.”

“Of course,” you whispered. “ Umm… Do you come back soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That’ll be nice. I’m sure your son will be very happy to see you.”

“Yeah… the weather is supposed to be a little warmer this weekend, I think he was wanting to have a sleepover with a friend, though.”

“Hopefully he can have a sleepover and spend time with you,” you murmured.

“Yeah, it would be nice. I’m hoping I don’t get called away again too soon. Are you working this weekend?”

“Yeah, and Friday. Won’t be too bad, though. Just short shifts that I volunteered to take. Not like I had much else to do aside from finishing assignments… most of my friends are busy. If I have free time, I might upload another video… I don’t know yet. Do you have plans?”

“Only to watch said video if you do upload it,” he joked. Well, he was entirely serious.

A knock sounded from the door.

“Hotch?” It sounded like it was Reid.

“Hang on,” he spoke quietly into the phone. “Just a second, Reid,” he called, clicking the button to mute himself just in case Reid mentioned any details about the killings. He was sure you didn’t want to hear those without any kind of warning.

He went and opened the door. “Hey. We were going to go grab dinner. Do you want us to bring something back for you?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Aaron spoke, clearing his throat slightly. 

“Who are you on the phone with?”

“Just a friend of mine,” Hotch said a little too quickly.

Reid gave him a bit of a look. “Oh, ok. Well, we’ll be back soon!” He turned and walked down the hall.

Aaron sighed and closed his door, walking back over to his phone and unmuting himself.

“You still there?”

“Mhm. Do you have to go?”

“No, just one of my agents asking me if I wanted dinner. I told him to get me whatever. We’re all around each other so much I think they can guess what I will and won’t eat.”

“They sound great,” you hummed happily.

“They are great. I have a great team. Have to be careful, though. They are all profilers. Reid remembers everything he’s ever read or heard.”

“Reid?”

“Yeah. You may have heard of him. I know he does lectures at the universities fairly often. And he spends a ton of time in museums.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled into the phone. “I do attend a lot of lectures…” He heard shuffling of papers that were likely scattered on your table. “Oh, it’s almost 7! You should call your son.”

Aaron smiled that you knew what time he usually called Jack.

“You’re right. Can I call you back after?”

“Only if you play with me,” you teased. “I need a distraction.”

“I will, but you have to be patient,” he told you sternly. 

“Yes, sir.”

He knew you knew how weak it made him when you called him that in such a sweet voice.

“I’ll call you back soon, baby.”

He called you back as soon as he ended his phone call with Jack. Not that he was in any rush, but Jack was already half asleep.

“Can I please please play with myself, daddy?”

He chuckled darkly at your impatience. “Why should you be allowed to, baby?”

“I’ve been so good, I promise, I’m almost finished with my paper,” you mewled. “I need you…”

“Touch yourself, then. Go ahead. Let daddy hear you.” You gasped as you finally touched yourself. “Slide two fingers in, princess.”

“Mmmf, fuck! Daddyy…. Want your hands!”

“Aw, are yours too small, princess? Don’t reach deep enough?”

“N-no! They don’t!”

Aaron had pulled himself out of his slacks and was stroking along to your desperate whimpers and panting.

“Do you have a toy?”

“In-fuck, in my drawer…”

“How big are your toys?”

“Biggest one is-is se-seven inches, I think, never had much more…”

“Daddy is bigger than seven,” he murmured darkly. “But I’ll have to do for now. Go get it. Take your fingers out.”

You whimpered and he heard rustling before you settled down again. “I have it.”

“Line it up underneath you,” he rasped, paying attention to the head of his cock. “Run it against your slit.”

“Ah, ah, daddy… please let me have it… need your cock so fucking bad!”

“Are you begging, sweetheart? So impatient… pretending like your silly toy is daddy’s thick cock underneath you?”

“Need it so bad! Please, daddy! I’m so fucking wet, it’s going down my thighs,” Aaron threw his head back at your cries, desperate to be seated inside you.

“Sink down on it, princess.”

“Mm-ah!” He heard the sharp gasp you let out from being breached and split open.

“Grind on daddy’s cock like a good little slut.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, please! It’s so deep, feels so good!”

Aaron was working himself furiously and he could hear your desperate movements. “Such a pathetic little girl. So desperate for cock. Are you always such a slut, or just for me? Hmm?”

“J-just for you! I only need you!”

“Oh?”

“I swear, daddy! I only touch myself thinking of you, only crying out for you when I cum, only need you, daddy!”

“Good fucking girl… oh fuck… Are you going to cum, baby? Gonna cum on daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, daddy! Please cum in me, wanna be marked, wanna be owned! Ah!”

You came with a loud cry, and Aaron couldn’t help but cum to the gorgeous sound of you cumming in real-time. Hot spurts of cum landed on his hands and his thighs as he heard your mewls. He reveled in your labored breathing on the other end afterward.

You let out little whimpers. He gently asked what was wrong, and you mumbled, “sticky… tired… need to clean up…” 

He wished he could clean you up himself, and tuck you into his bed, crawling in next to you with your body heat against him all night.

When you finally managed to mumble a coherent ‘goodnight,’ you also mumbled something else into the phone. “Need you, daddy. Get home safe… Come back safe…”

He hung up and thought about what Rossi had said to him earlier.

‘Tell her.’

—

Aaron was sitting on the jet the next afternoon, and Reid was talking about some sort of art exhibit with Prentiss. Aaron’s ears perked up a little, but he tried not to show it.

“Yeah, they discuss in depth analysis and everything! There are a few new guides there helping with the program and they’re really good. One of them was very helpful for insight in historical facts and methodology…”

“What museum?” Aaron asked without looking up from the file in his hands. Reid answered quickly before continuing to talk about a piece that he had found interesting. 

Aaron thought back to how you seemed to recognize Reid’s name.

Helpful new museum guides. 

When the plane landed, Aaron told everyone to take the next two days off after what happened in Oklahoma. He went home and got changed, knowing Jack was with Jessica for another night, and got in his car.

—

It was a fairly gray day for D.C. as he entered the museum, growing quiet since it was nearly closing time. It was someplace he had been before, long ago, but never really appreciated.

He knew that at the end of your shifts you liked to pick a piece to examine more closely before leaving. He wondered which one it would be, if you were here like he thought you were.

A few rooms and halls later, and he heard light footsteps. And then, there you were. He was certain of it. Now, he knew for sure that you were the one in the purple sweater at the lecture he gave. The same woman he passed on the street.

You had a lanyard around your neck that he couldn’t read with your back partly to him, and were leaned on your toes slightly to get a better look at the painting as you walked back and forth in front of it. You looked impossibly soft, wearing a pink sweater and a white skirt, head tilted to the side. 

He knew then.

“What piece is it today?” He called out softly, not wanting to startle you. 

He saw your body freeze and tense, trying to analyze the situation. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you…” He spoke, trying not to sound hurt as he considered leaving, but your body slowly relaxed as you recognized his voice. You turned your head to face him, looking into his eyes and blinking in utter disbelief. When he smiled at you, your face relaxed, and you gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“I was kinda wondering when you’d come find me,” you replied, allowing him to walk closer to you. “Since you’re an FBI agent, and all.”

When he stopped next to you, you turned your head back and used your hand to point to a specific part of the painting, and began to tell him what you thought.

He listened carefully as his eyes flickered between you and the painting and he was certain his heart almost stopped the moment he felt your smaller hand easily slip into his. He squeezed it as you looked back to him.

“I’m… I’m not good at this sort of thing, Aaron.”

“What sort of thing?” He ventured, gently.

“Well… I… I don’t know what this is, between us,” you whispered. You didn’t know what to say. “I-I’ve grown really attached to you. I think about you all the time, and I think that this could be referred to as a relationship. But the thing is, I haven’t been in any sort of relationship for almost two years now… and I honestly don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “I just know that I… I feel extremely drawn to you. It’s never been a customer and provider sort of relationship to me,” you whispered the last part as though you were afraid of his reaction.

“Well, to start,” he shifted his entire body to face you, and you did the same. “Tell me your name.”

You immediately broke into a smile and covered your mouth with one hand. “Oh my god, I’m sorry!” You laughed. “How did I forget about that…” you smiled shyly, and gently told him your real name.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

You blushed and tentatively moved closer to him, looking into his eyes as he studied yours.

“I thought it was wishful thinking that someone as young and as popular as you would ever think of me as anything more than a customer. I think I’ve completely fallen for you anyway, despite believing it to be impossible.”

“How could you fall for someone like me? Who you’d never seen before?”

“Easily, when someone has a personality like yours. When someone has passion like yours, is so caring for a stranger like you are, with someone who has the sweetest voice I had ever heard like you have, everything. Everything about you. How could I not?”

You were looking up at him with wonder. 

“And you still want me?”

Aaron almost laughed. You were easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on, and you were doubtful that he could want you?

“Seeing you only made me want you more, not less. Nothing could make me stop wanting you. I know I’m older, I’m a widow, I’m a father, I’m a lot of things someone your age wouldn’t ever look for, wouldn’t ever want-“

You shook your head and stopped him from going further by moving a hand up to his face, to rest on his cheek.

“I guess we both see each other a lot differently than we see ourselves… you’re older than me, yes, but that doesn’t bother me. None of that does. You’re Aaron. You’ve been there for me ever since we started talking. I know I’m young, but I’m old enough to know what I want, too. And I- I want you. All of you.”

Your faces were inches apart, and as Aaron gently leaned down to close the gap between you, to press his lips against yours, you wrapped your arms around his neck and his encircled your waist.

It felt like everything. It was intense, longing, happy, just everything. You could have cried over how happy you were.

When you pulled away, he was smiling at you. Not the soft, gentle smiles he had been giving you before. A big smile.

“I told you you’d look even more handsome if you smiled.”

It only made Aaron grin even more, and he kissed you again before an announcement came over the speakers saying the museum would be closing soon.

You both stared at each other for a moment, Aaron’s arms still holding you.

“I suppose that’s our cue to leave… do you have anything else to do for work before you leave?”

You shook your head, already unwilling to let go of him. His big hands on you were everything you were wanting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together. Without even meaning to, you were pressing yourself further into him.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he told you gently.

“Daddy?” You murmured, looking up at him.

“Baby?”

“C-could you… um…”

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he encouraged, smirking down at you a little. 

“Please,” you begged, the dam finally breaking. “Please take me home and fuck me. I’ve been wanting you since the moment I heard you. When I saw you for the first time, I thought I was going to cum on the spot. Everything about you, I just… I need you.”

“Good girl,” he said as he brushed his thumbs over your face. You parted ways briefly as you went to the back to clock out and promised to meet him by the front door.

You did as you promised and nearly knocked Aaron over when you threw yourself back into his arms so he could walk you to his car. Aaron felt some sort of pride well up within himself, feeling as though you were finally his as you clutched his arm.

The entire ride home you had your hands on his arm or his hand, trailing down and touching him as though you couldn’t quite believe he was yours to hold onto.

It was working him up the entire time, making him feel as though he was about to lose control.

When he closed the front door behind you he pinned you against the wall and kissed you fervently, your soft lips complying to his demands and you let out a desperate whine. He was quick to enter your mouth with his tongue and your hands reached up to his shoulders, holding on as one of your legs was slowly being hiked up his thigh.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, pulling him closer when he moved to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck, sending shockwaves throughout your body. 

“What is it, baby? Tell daddy what you want.”

“Please fuck me, fuck me against the wall,” you begged. “Take me. Make me yours,” you whispered into his ear as your hand traveled to the bulge that was pressing against your leg, thick and hot. He picked you up suddenly, your legs wrapping around him as he nipped at your neck. 

“I’m proud of you using your words, but I’m not claiming my good girl against the wall,” he rumbled as he carried you up a set of stairs, your hands all over him and undoing buttons on his shirt. He opened a door and you peeked up to see what you assumed to be his bed.

He leaned over to place you down on the soft mattress, and you didn’t let him pull away as you claimed his mouth once more. He was taking your heels off as you continued working on his shirt, groaning as you revealed his toned chest. He didn’t have defined abs or anything, but you could easily tell he was strong. He moved to undoing the zipper on your pencil skirt, even rolling you over to find it, pull it down, before rolling you back. You let him manhandle you as much as he wanted, it was only turning you on more. He kicked his own shoes off and climbed over you, one hand traveling down to slip under your completely ruined underwear and against your clit. He started making gentle circles that had you bucking against him.

“Are you gonna beg me to cum in you? Want daddy’s raw dick inside you?” You nodded, looking at him with big doe eyes and gasping when he pressed down a little harder. “Are you on birth control, baby?”

“Mhm, I have an IUD. Cum in me as much as you want,” you moaned as he entered you with two fingers.

“Oh, I will, princess.” He continued to work you on his hand until you couldn’t hold out anymore. His fingers were curled to massage your sensitive spot and you were falling apart. His fingers felt good, better than you’d imagined, but you wanted more.

“Please don’t tease! I just need you in me,” you gasped as he bit your neck, causing you to grind against him in his grip even more. “There’s time for you to tease me later…”

“You always have been impatient… but none of your toys are as big as me. I need to get you ready first.”

“I’m only impatient with you,” you moaned into his mouth as your hand moved to undo his pants and you grasped his cock, much thicker and longer than your toys. “Oh, god, so big…” you pumped his length up and down as he continued toying with your clit. He pulled your underwear aside and you lined him up with your entrance, panting, absolutely desperate, still bucking against him as he played with you. The tip was pressing into your entrance, and it felt fucking euphoric. He moved to grip your hips tightly as you wiggled, trying to take him further, and at that moment he noticed you were so worked up that you had been dripping all the way down your thighs and likely wouldn’t last long before cumming. He finally gave in and shoved himself all the way inside of you, causing you to cum instantly around him. “Ah, Aaron!” You cried, clinging to him as Aaron focused all of his energy into not following suit as your walls convulsed around his cock, pulling him in tighter.

“Oh fuck, baby, I didn’t know you were that desperate for my cock… I would have found you a lot sooner if I knew.”

You were moaning and clenching around him as he held you, willing himself not to give in to the impossibly wet and tight heat trying to milk out his cum. 

When you regained your composure slightly, you shocked him by moving against him, moaning as he starts hitting your spot. “Mmmh, need you…”

He pulled your top off quickly, gripping one of your breasts roughly and kneading it as he began to thrust upward into you. Both of you were panting, hard, and he was so focused on how well you were swallowing up his cock in your tight heat that he was entirely losing focus, and losing control. He began going faster, nearly rentless and you spurred him on, begging, tearing up his shoulders with your nails.

“Fuck, baby, so fucking perfect, so tight… you’re dripping, staining my clothes. So messy. Do you like getting used like a toy? Having daddy’s cock spearing you open as he fucks you? Give me your hand…” you did as you were told and he placed it on your lower stomach, and you could feel him moving inside you, causing your eyes to flutter closed. “Such a good, good little slut… do you want daddy to cum inside of you? Do you want my big, raw cock to breed you? Hm?”

Aaron would happily admit how much your breeding kink turned him on, even if you were on birth control. It drove him absolutely insane.

“Fuck, yes!” You cried, tears streaming down your cheeks over how much pleasure you were in. “Daddy, please breed me! I’m yours! Belong to you!”

“Look at these tits, I bet you’re extra-fucking fertile.”

“Fill me with your cum, daddy! I need it!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Are you going to cum with me?” You nodded as you rocked your hips against him fiercely, eyes locked on his as he fucked you harder than you’ve ever had been in your life. He moved to work his hand against your clit as you saw pure white in your vision, mouth dropping open and crying loudly as you felt your second orgasm sneaking up on you, feeling his hips stutter as he prepared to spill in you. 

“Oh god daddy, cum in me! Please, please, please! Oh!” you cried, pulsing around him again as your cum coated his cock.

He kissed down your neck and groaned as he released inside of you, the hot ropes of his cum were coming out with so much force that you could feel it inside of you.

Aarons arms were still encased around you as you tried to catch your breath.

“Mmh..” you mumbled as he kissed your cheek. 

“Let me clean you up, princess,” he said softly as he pulled out, and you instantly missed his length, but he kissed your face to make up for it as he began to pull off your remaining clothing. You had only just realized that your bra and underwear were still on, as were his pants. In the frenzy to get him inside of you, you’d skipped a few steps along the way.

He left briefly to get a towel and wiped in between your legs before changing and pulling the covers up for you to climb into bed. You complied, but moved slow with sore limbs as he helped you. He climbed in after, and you rested your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “You met me officially just an hour or so ago and already I’m falling asleep in your bed…” 

“You’re always welcome to sleep here,” he assured, brushing hair from your face. “Please don’t feel sorry for it. Maybe we did this a bit backwards, but I don’t regret it. As long as you’re here, I’m happy.”

You smiled at him sleepily. “I’m happy, too. I’m not letting you go now, you know.”

“Same for you, baby. But for now, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[wilbur-rabbit]

Closer Part 2

Life Changes series fic

Summary: You get sick on a case and Aaron wrestles with his feelings

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 4500+

Warnings: fluff, angst, Hotch thinks too much

A/N: Sorry part 2 took so long for me to get to you guys! I hope you enjoy!

Life Changes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

I hope you enjoy! Please like and reblog!

Your eyes scanned one of the reports for the third time as you tried to get your brain to process the information. You sniffled from the congestion that was not only causing a stuffy nose but had also given you a headache from all the pressure. The team was bouncing theories off each other, but you couldn’t focus on what they were saying through the pounding in your head. You brought your hands up to your temples, closing your eyes and rubbing with your fingers hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

As you were massaging your temples, Hotch glanced over at you, not for the first time during the case, his brows furrowed as he watched you try and fight through how miserable you felt.

He had been debating for the last hour on sending you back to the hotel, but he didn’t know if he was jumping the gun. Ever since the two of you had shared a bed together, he felt himself gravitate towards you and he couldn’t decipher if his need to send you home came from the boss side of him or from the side of him that ached as you massaged your temples. On more than one occasion, he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch you. He would long to wrap his arm around you or take your hand. He knew that he let his gaze linger on you for too long, but he didn’t know how to stop himself.  

Now seeing the pain etched across your face, finalized his decision regardless of his feelings. As your boss he couldn’t let you to continue to work when you felt as bad as you clearly did. He wanted to send you home, but he knew you would refuse plus you wouldn’t be able to take the jet. He hated the thought of you having to trudge through an airport with the way you felt. So, the hotel would have to suffice.

You didn’t notice someone sit down next to you, until you felt a warm hand against your forearm. You looked up and saw Hotch sitting next to you, concern clear on his face. You were surprised to see him next to you. Since the incident with the bed the two of you had been avoiding each other, or he had been avoiding you.

“I’m sending you back to the hotel,” he told you.

“Hotch, I’m fine. I need to stay here and help-,” you cut yourself off with a sneeze in your elbow. When you brought your head back up, you saw a sympathetic smile on Hotch’s face.

“I appreciate your dedication, but you are clearly miserable. You need to get some rest.”

You were already shaking your head which made it pound harder causing you to wince. You hoped Hotch didn’t notice.

“I can’t just go lay in a hotel room all day while you guys are working,” you protested.

“You can and you will,” Hotch responded rising to his feet and extending his hand to help you up.

“But-,”

“You don’t want to get the rest of the team sick, do you?” He cut you off with a raised eyebrow, knowing that was the one thing you wouldn’t fight him on.

You sighed knowing he had you there. You placed your hand in his, ignoring the flutter in your chest and you hoped the warmth spreading through your cheeks was interpreted as part of your sickness.  Once you were to your feet, Hotch let go of your hand, instead placing his on the small of your back.

The rest of the team looked over at you even though you knew that had been eaves dropping during your and Hotch’s entire conversation. They all gave you sympathetic looks and hoped you get well soon, Morgan going as far as to ruffle your hair. Unfortunately, the glare you gave him in response you knew wasn’t as intimidating as you hoped if his cheeky grin was anything to go by.

Hotch led you out of the police station, hand still guiding you on your back. You expected him to hand you the keys to an SUV and send you on your way but instead he directed you to the passenger side opening the door for you.

You looked up at him in question.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you drive yourself, did you?”

You gave him a blank stare because that was exactly what you thought. At your stare, he shook his head a small smile on his face.

“Well, I’m not,” he urged you forward with his hand at you back, helping you into the SUV.

Once he got into the SUV, he glanced over at you and see your arms tightly wrapped around your torso and he sees that you are shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?”

You looked up at him, about to respond that you are fine, but the concern written across his face urged you to tell the truth.

“A little, yeah.”

Hotch leaned over the center console, lifting one of his hands towards your face, “May I?”

You nodded, not sure what exactly he was asking. You watched his face as he gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. You realized he was checking your temperature and the gesture brought a smile to your face through the haze of sickness.

“You are warm,” he started pulling his suit jacket off.

You weren’t sure how to respond, confused as to why he was taking off his jacket. Then he placed it over you as a make-shift blanket. Hotch’s warm scent wafted over you and you sighed contently, pulling the jacket tighter around you. You looked up at Hotch, now only in his white button down and tie. You might have admired him more openly than you normally would, your self-control out the window.

“Thank you,” you told him.

He had put the SUV in reverse and started backing out. He put his right hand on your seat as he turned and looked out the back window as he steered with is left hand. You openly admired how his shirt stretched across his chest and even if you were thankful for the jacket, you wanted to be wrapped in his arms instead.

He glanced over at you from your comment and his lips turned up, “Of course. Now get some rest. I am going to stop and get you some medicine then we will head to the hotel.

“Okay,” you murmured, not needing to be told twice as your eyes slipped closed and you started to drift off.

The drive to the nearest pharmacy was quick and Hotch made sure to park as close to the door as possible. He left the vehicle running, to ensure that you stayed comfortable, and locked it as he ran inside to grab what you would need. When he got back out to the vehicle, you were still asleep, not even noticing he was gone. He could hear how congested you were just from your breathing, and he hated seeing you so sick.

What he liked a little bit more than he should, however, was the sight of you wrapped up in his jacket. He leaned over and pulled it up to your chin. His hand lingered close to your face, wanting to stroke your cheek, but he pulled back at the last second. That wasn’t appropriate for him to do. He was your boss, nothing more. No matter how much he wished for it to be more. He shook off the thoughts and headed to the hotel. You needed to rest, and he needed to get back to the case.

You felt pressure against your shoulder, lightly shaking you and you heard your name being called. Forcing your eye lids back, you saw Hotch leaning towards you in the SUV.

“Hey,” he said gently. “We are at the hotel. Let’s get you inside.”

He got out of the vehicle, coming over to your side to help you out. He took the jacket off you, and you mourned its warmth immediately. He offered his hand to help you down, before holding out his jacket for you to slip your arms into. Your chest warmed, despite your fever and you gratefully put your arms in to the jacket. He settled it on your shoulders, and you notice how big the jacket was on you, the sleeves completely covering your hands and the hem reaching your thighs. You snuggled into it with a smile on your face. Hotch reached back into the SUV to grab the plastic bag sitting on the center console, before shutting the door and leading you inside with a hand on your back.

Once the two of you were in your hotel room, you went and sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself to keep out the chill, and Hotch sifted through the medicine he had bought for you. When he had the medicines sat out for you to take, he grabbed a cup from by the coffee pot the hotel provided and went into the bathroom to get you water.

You appeared to be nearly asleep sitting up when he got back into the room. He grabbed the medicine and from the desk and knelt in front of you, wanting to get you feeling better and for you to be able to rest. Hotch quietly called your name, causing you to startle and look down at him.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I’m just so tired.”

“No need to apologize,” he told you holding his hand out so you could take the pills. “Take this and then we can get you into bed so you can sleep.”

After you popped the medicine into your mouth, he handed you the water and you downed the cup, thirstier than you realized. Hotch took the cup and set it down on the ground when you were done before starting to untie your shoes and taking them off. You watched him, surprised by how much he was helping you. You were appreciative of his help but through your hazy head you felt whiplash from his back and forth. One moment he was holding you in bed then he was borderline ignoring you unless it was about work and now, he is handling you with the utmost care. What a confusing man.

When he was done and he looked up at you from his spot on the floor, your heart leaping in your chest. Your hand twitched at your side, longing to reach out to him.

He rose and helped you to the side of the bed, pushing back the covers so you could get in. You went to take off his jacket to give it back to him, but he stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“You can keep it, so you stay warm.”

“Thank you.” You looked up at him, and he squeezed your arm before helping you to lay down.

“Get some rest,” he told you. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they were already drooping. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nodded and murmured, “Okay.”

Hotch watched your eyes slip close and your breath deepen. He stayed there for a moment, wishing he could do more to help you. He thought back to the morning on the previous case when he held you. How he had dropped a soft kiss on the top of your head and a feeling tugged at his chest with the want of doing it again. Before he could act on his feelings, he turned and left the room.

The rest of the team was aware that Hotch wouldn’t been on his A-game for this case. They also knew it was because you were back at the hotel trying to recoup while he was here trying not to worry about you. When he had guided you out of the police station with a hand on the small of your back, the team had tried not to stare. However, as soon as the two of you were out of the building, they turned towards one another.

“They have to be a thing, right?” Prentiss started. “There is no way they aren’t.”

“Either that or they are both so in denial that they don’t realize that their feelings are mutual,” JJ added.

“They have been walking circles around each other for weeks and it has only gotten worse since the last case,” Morgan said. “Can we just lock them in a closet together until they figure it out.”

Reid looked slightly mortified, while Prentiss and JJ nodded along liking the idea.

“Okay, no more conspiring about our friends,” Rossi interrupted. “We have work to do.”

“You know something, don’t you?” Morgan said, putting his hands on the table and leaning towards Rossi.

Rossi looked up from the file in his hands, glancing at each of his teammates before looking back down at the file.

“I know nothing.”

Groans rang out from the three conspirators and Reid looked surprised.

“Really?” he asked. “You always know what is going on.”

“Well, I don’t this time and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you guys. Let’s get back to work,” there was finality in Rossi’s tone and the team knew he would talk no more about the subject.

Once everyone was back on task, Rossi looked in the direction you and Hotch had went and shook his head. He did know there was nothing to tell, except Aaron’s feelings and he wouldn’t divulge that. He was certain Aaron hadn’t bit the bullet and told you how he felt, even though to everyone on the outside your feelings were clear.

Rossi shook his head of thoughts of his friends and went back to work.

When Hotch made in back to the police station, everyone looked up when he entered, clocking his missing suit jacket right away. Everyone but Rossi traded looks, wondering where it was even if they all had a good idea. Rossi was the first one to speak up.

“How is she?”

“She is sleeping,” Hotch responded. “She has a fever, so we stopped and got her medicine. I think she has a sinus infection.”

“She is probably going to be out the rest of the case then,” Morgan said.

“Sinusitis can take up to ten days to recover from and in some cases could take a couple of weeks for the symptoms to fully go away,” Reid relayed.

Hotch’s chest constricted at the thought of you taking that long to recover. He hated seeing you so miserable and even though he was sure that Reid was correct in his facts, he hoped that he was wrong.

“We will have to play it by ear,” Hotch said. “I will check on her, but for now we need to focus on the case.”

Everyone got back to work, but they all hoped that the two of you would figure out your feelings and confess.

Even though the team wanted to comment on how distracted Hotch was they kept them to themselves. Even when Hotch would check his phone more often to see if there was a notification from you. Not when he made two cups of coffee out of habit, but you weren’t there to give the other one to and he had to pore it out. Or when his mind was clearly somewhere else, you, and Morgan had to say his name more than once to get his attention.

Around one in the morning, Hotch decided to call it. When the team made it back to the hotel, everyone noticed how Hotch went to your room first, knocking softly, before using a key to get in. The room was completely dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw you still curled up on the bed, blankets surrounding you. He set his brief case down on the desk in the room and quietly made his way to the bed. You were clearly asleep your mouth agape to counteract your stuffy nose. He saw a peek of his jacket underneath the blanket, that made his heart swell that you had kept in around you. He sat softly on the side of the bed and laid his hand gently on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Hotch murmured and shook your shoulder lightly to wake you up. He didn’t want to, he wanted you to rest but you need to take more medicine if you hadn’t already.

Even in your hazy state of sickness, you were still a light sleeper and almost right away you scrunched your eyes together, before starting to blink them open. Hotch soothingly rubbed your shoulder as you came to and when you finally looked up at him and gave him a loopy smile, his heartbeat skipped in his chest.

“Hi,” you croaked.

“Hi,” he returned, still caressing your shoulder.

“What time is it?” you asked, as your rubbed at your eyes.

“A little after one. The team is turning in for the night.”

You immediately brought your hand down from your face and looked up at him with wide eyes, which caused concern to flood him.

“I’ve been asleep for that long?” you asked. “I only meant to take a short nap then I was going to go back. I’m sorry.” The words flooded out of you and his concern melted away.

“There is no reason for you to be sorry,” he said gently.

On its own accord his hand that had been resting on your shoulder moved up to your face, cupping your cheek and his thumb moved softly against your skin. He marveled at the feel.

“You need the rest so you can get better, if Reid is to be believed you will most likely be out the rest of the case.”

You stared up at him, a dazed look in your eyes that he took as being from your sickness before he realized his was still caressing your cheek. He immediately pulled away and cleared his throat, it suddenly feeling dry.

“Would it be okay if I check to see if you still have a fever?” he asked, trying to bring attention away from his inappropriate behavior. At least touching your forehead to check for a fever had a purpose.

You gave him a faint nod, the look he saw before still swimming in your eyes. He quickly checked your forehead with the back of his hand and tried his best not to linger.

“You don’t feel as warm as you did this afternoon, so that is a good sign.” Hotch rose from the bed and your eyes followed him. “You should probably still take so more medicine though.”

“Yes, please,” you replied, and he could hear to congestion in your voice.

He quickly grabbed the medicine he had given you earlier and filled your cup back up with water. When he made it back in the room, you were sitting up against the headboard, he suit jacket still on you. He had seen it earlier and he thought you were just using it for a blanket but seeing you in his clothing made him feel like you were his. He shouldn’t feel the way he did seeing you in his clothes. Especially when you clearly didn’t feel the same.

Shoving away thoughts that he shouldn’t be having about one of his subordinates and handed the water to you, before placing the pills in your palms. This time he stayed standing, needing to keep some part of this exchange professional even though he knew that had already been thrown out the window.

After you chugged down the remainder of the water after downing the medicine, he took the cup from you and filled it back up. When he gave it back to you, you gulped that one down just as quickly.

Once you were finished you looked up at him with a tired smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

He watched as your eyes started to droop and he knew he needed to head to his room so you could get more rest, even if all he wanted to do was stay.

“You need to get some more rest,” he told you and he smiled as you forced your eyes back open to look up at him. “I’ll come check on your before we head back in.”

“Okay,” you murmured, quiet enough that Hotch could barely make out your voice. “Thanks, Hotch.”

You moved back down into your bed and snuggled into the blankets. Hotch’s hand twitched at his side, and he couldn’t help himself as he stepped forward and placed his hand back on your shoulder as it had been before.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he forced himself to pull away and leave the room.

When the case finished a couple of days later, Hotch was relieved to be able to get you back he into your own bed. He had checked on you every day, making sure you ate and were taking your medicine. Hotch had gone to help you pack your things while the rest of the team went to the plane so everyone could head home. When he let himself into your room, you were sitting on your bed brushing through your wet hair, having just showered. Hotch’s mind flashed to images of you in the shower and he forcefully pushed them away. Now wasn’t the time, nor were his thoughts appropriate, not that it had been the first time that had happened.

You had looked up, when he walked in, and you gave him a tired smile. You had improved in the last couple of days but being up and around exhausted you and your congestion wasn’t quite gone yet.

“Are you ready to go?” Hotch questioned after he returned your smile.

You shoved your brush into your go-bag that was sitting next to you. “Yup. I’m ready to have something else to look at but these four walls.”             “I can imagine.” He chuckled, walking to the bed, and grabbing your go-bag.

You stood and went to grab it from him, not wanting him to feel obligated to carry your things, but Hotch moved the bag out of your reach. When you looked up at him, about to protest, he raised his eyebrow at you a small smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth. It was a challenge if you ever seen one and if the circumstances were different, you would wipe that smirk right off his face. All your ideas weren’t appropriate to want to do to your boss, so you cleared your throat and thanked him.

When the two of you made it to the jet, everyone had already boarded, and they immediately started asking how you were feeling. You reassured them that you were feeling better, just not completely back to normal.

“Well, you better be fully recovered by the next case.” Prentiss said. “The case wasn’t the same without you.”

You took a seat next to the window and Hotch sat down next to you, much to your surprise and delight.

“I will be on the next case no matter what. Laying in a hotel room for days wasn’t fun.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hotch said, getting his paperwork out so he could work on it during the flight.

You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you aren’t fully recovered you will have to sit out the next case.”

You mouth was agape, “I already feel better. You can’t make me stay home.”

He stopped his task of looking through a case file and looked down at you. He was met by your sad eyes and furrowed brows, and he felt himself wanting to cave.

He sighed and turned back to his file. “We’ll see.”

You grinned. “I’ll be ready for the next one. I’m practically healthy as a horse already–.” You cut yourself off with a sneeze.

“Bless you,” Hotch murmured but his eyebrow was raised again and the smirk from before was back on display.

You rolled your eyes, before sneezing again.

 The rest of the team looked amongst each other, surprised Hotch was being so obvious and that you were being so oblivious.

The flight was a quiet one. Most of the team was sleeping, making up for the lack of it on the case. The only ones awake were Hotch and Rossi, who sat across from one another. You had long since fallen asleep and when you did your head had lolled to the side and came to rest on Hotch’s shoulder. This wasn’t the first time this had happened but that didn’t stop Hotch’s heart from swelling.

Rossi witnessed the look that Hotch gave you and he knew in that moment that Hotch’s feelings had crossed over a line that he wasn’t sure he could come back from. Aaron was in love with you. His behavior on the case while you were sick, pointed to that fact as well but when Rossi saw the look of love in Aaron’s eyes as he watched you sleep, he knew.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I think it bears repeating,” Rossi started, and Hotch looked up at him. “Do something about that. She feels the same way, its obvious.”

To emphasize Rossi’s words, you shifted closer to Hotch your face buried in Hotch’s neck. The feeling of your breath sent a chill up his spine.

“I don’t know if I believe you on that,” Hotch said. “But that’s not the only reason I won’t say anything.”

Rossi didn’t miss the finality in Hotch’s word use, but he kept quiet to let him continue.

“She deserves better than a widowed old man.” Hotch stated. “I am her boss and even if she does feel the same way, us being together is going to affect her career more than it would affect mine, no matter what I think on the matter. Relationships amongst agents in the same unit are frowned upon and they would most likely move her from the BAU. She loves this work. I won’t do that to her.”

Hotch turned away from Rossi and looked down at you again and his heart ached at the thought of never being able to be with you because he knew he didn’t deserve you, but he wasn’t going to ruin your career when you could do so much better.

“I think you are wrong,” Rossi responded. “But I will respect your decision.”

Rossi sighed, as he watched Aaron and took in his words, hating that his friend viewed himself that way. He figured a lot of Aaron’s view on the potential relationship had to do with the age difference and having lost Haley in the way he did, even if he didn’t bring that up. He hoped Aaron would be able to work through it. Rossi knew from Aaron’s words that if the two of you were to get together then it would have to be up to you.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my work let me know!

Tagged: @suhke3, @wanniiieeee, @kajjaka, @iwillmakeyoucraveme, @twilightlover2007, @alinasophie, @katieslotherford, @stiles-argent24, @myriaos, @nvttiara, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @rousethemouse, @pandorasdreamings, @rosaliedepp, @jori21, @ssamorganhotchner, @hearteyesmotherclucker, @sunshinexhotchner, @hotchnerxo, @breadforhowl, @thenewnormalforensicator

[hotchaways]

sometimes i think about aaron and start crying because he isn’t real 👍🏻 and by sometimes i mean at 3 in the morning

[ladylibby]

As it Seems - Sixteen

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Summary: The BAU is accustomed to change – different cases every day, agents coming and going, roles changing – so the addition of a new member, an Administrative Liaison, should be no different. But the moment you arrive, everything changes for the better (Hotch just doesn’t realize it at first)…

Chapter Summary: You and Hotch go on your first date. 

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Warnings: Sexual Content 

Just because you know the ending of something doesn’t mean you know how it ends. It’s why you don’t mind it when Reid accidentally spoils long TV arcs or the end of whatever book you’re reading. Sure, you’d prefer the surprise, but even when it’s anticipated, you can still enjoy it. There are always surprises in the minutiae, always more to be found in the experience than in expectation. 

So just because you know what’s going to happen tonight, you don’t know how it’s going to happen. Knowing and yet not knowing fuels your excitement– leaving you nervous and a little giddy as you get ready for your date. 

You’ve walked past La Vie a few times, it’s on the same block as your favorite coffee shop downtown. The restaurant is really fancy– the clientele are senators and foreign dignitaries and you heard the secret service have even cleared it out once or twice for the President and the First Lady. It’s that kind of fancy. 

Honestly, you don’t think anything in your wardrobe is nice enough for this place, but your bank account cannot support buying a new dress that would be on par with Michelle Obama’s fashion sense, so you settle for the classiest dress in your closet– your mother’s wine-colored gown, the same one you wore to the FBI banquet in the fall. You’d prefer to wear something Hotch hasn’t seen you in before, but maybe he won’t remember the dress at all. The two of you weren’t as close then, you were still with Jay at the time, and anyway, you’re pretty sure there will be plenty more dates in your future where you can surprise him. For tonight, the banquet gown will have to do. 

You’re just putting on a pair of pearl-drop earrings – also inherited from your mother – when there’s a knock on your door. You pad out into the living room and down the front hallway, the hem of your dress swishing around your still-bare feet. 

It’s seven-thirty, exactly when Hotch said he’d pick you up, but you check the peephole anyway. Just to be safe. 

Sure enough, he stands in the hallway, his tall frame warped by the fish-eye view. Still, your breath hitches slightly in your chest, a swirl of nervous excitement igniting in your stomach. 

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