summary from the subconsious staring, the two share a moment that they both were to scared to say
w/c 1.02k
being apart of the party for so long you couldnt not notice him.
the way he would stumble over his words from time to time, the way he would emphasize his speeches with his hands, the way his lisp got a little clearer when he was speaking about something he loves, and just how engulfing it was when he licked his lips in between breaths.
he was your best friend, why were you so mesmerized? you shouldn’t be. you can’t be.
just like every thursday, the four hour campaign drove to an end. with smiles and hearts racing you all packed up your stuff.
even while shoving your books into your backpack you couldn’t help but have your eyes drawn to him. talking with eddie with the biggest smile on his face. his plump lips sitting so perfectly.
quickly snapping your head out of it you flung your bag over your shoulder. pushing your chair in you stumbled out of the room, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone left in the room.
making it out to your car, you huffed quietly. you were majorly questioning yourself on the drive back to your home.
small scenarios filling your mind as you drove on autopilot.
his lips pressing against yours, pulling you in.
feeling his tongue move against your own.
those plump and soft lips in every place you could imagine.
god what was wrong with you? placing your car in park you wandered into your room. a strange feeling of desire and guilt filming your body.
yes, course you’ve thought of maybe dating dustin. but that would never happen. neither would kissing him. he’s not into you like that. totally not.
slumping onto your bed, you rested your arms on your head. a soft sigh falling from your lips as you tried to repress the blush filling your face.
but just as you felt yourself calming down, your doorbell rang through the thin walls of the house.
quietly getting up, you padded around the halls before making it to the door. opening it gently, not knowing who could be on the other side.
“you left your journal at hellfire” he spoke as your eyes moved up to meet dustin. that same blush filled your face as you reached for the book in his hands.
“thanks” you mumbled.
“you good?” he pestered “look like you saw a ghost” a small chuckle escaped him. that same smile you had seen so many times filling his face.
“uh- yeah yeah. i’m fine, just out of it i guess” you replied a small smile now mirroring his own.
“well you can always talk to me about anything you need” he conversed “i mean it.”
your eyes watched his lips as he spoke. the syllables moving past his lips in the most mesmerizing way possible. feeling like you were lost in a trace, you nodded softly. your eyes seemed to be locked on his lips.
what you didn’t know was that he connected some dots rather quickly. “you’re staring, y/n” he chuckled as he inched closer.
snapping out of it, your eyes met his “i wasn’t. you’re seeing things”
“so you’re saying i just imagined you staring at my lips for like two minutes?” he teased with a grin.
“yup, you’re hallucinating” i sputtered as you started to leave.
slipping your hand off the door knob as you moved, you mentally cursed yourself. but before you could get any further, his hand slipped into yours.
pulling you back before you could retreat, your wide eyes found his.
your heart raced as he gazed at you. the heat of your hands intertwined sent a shudder through your body. you felt your heartbeat quicken as the atoms in your hand buzzed against his.
"dustin?" you muttered quietly, almost like a whisper. as your eyes were flickering between his, you felt the atmosphere shift.
"you were staring." he stated again. "like you always do."
"i don't always stare. i never do, don't know what you're talking about." you mustered. he stepped into the house like he had millions of times before. the door clicking shut behind him as he enunciated his words.
"you're lying to both of us here." he chuckled softly.
"nope," you replied, heat rising to your ears behind your hair. you had no idea what to do now. while reading his emotions and thoughts had become second nature, that switch had just malfunctioned and turned off.
with that switch off you missed him inching even closer.
"y/n" he started. with a gulp you nodded, "hmm?"
"please tell me i'm not just imagining this.. this force, urge? look, i don't know exactly what it is. but," he let out a sigh. "if my hypothesis is right..." he continued. your eyes fluttering as you took in his phrases. practically brain dead you had zero chance of giving your normal witty comeback.
"what hypothesis?"
"that this is more than just zoning out.. more than just i always got something in my teeth or whatever." he chuckled. "cause i really want that to be the truth.."
your eyes focused on his lips as he spoke, "want what to be the truth?" you mustered.
"that i'm hopeless and have a hyperfixation on your lips," you chuckled dryly as red dusted your cheeks. "is it?" he questioned.
dropping your hand from his, you threw it up. "yes!"
"i'm a weirdo who can't ever seem to not think about kissing you or making out with you whenever i fucking see you!" you exclaimed.
it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders with that but another was plunged deep in your stomach. "fuck, i didn't just say that.."
"you definitely did," he replied "and i'm so fucking glad you did."
"what?" you mumbled as you turned to face him. with a small tilt of your head to find his, his lips found yours. in a harsh and messy kiss his hands found your waist. your hands wrapped around his neck as you pulled back, staring at his lips for a second before finding his gaze.
"holy shit." you whispered as your forehead leaned against his.
summary: Chandler decides he likes marking you. You let him.
warnings: MDNI, marking, possesive behaviour, p in v, oral f. receiving, praise, overstimulation, kinda dominate!chandler
masterlist
----
July 29th, 1994
You don’t even remember whose idea it was--probably Phoebes--but by 9:30, the four of you are crammed into a booth at a sweaty club with sticky floors, glowing cocktails, and a DJ who refuses to play anything recorded after 1991.
You’re already halfway through your second drink, something aggressively pink and aggressively strong, and you feel it: that buzz that makes the room sparkle, your limbs lighter, your smile permanent.
Phoebe’s on your right, animatedly explaining how she thinks she might’ve accidentally astral projected during an orgasm last week.
Rachel leans across the table, eyes wide. “Wait. Were you alone or with someone?”
“Alone,” Phoebe says, nodding solemnly. “Which makes it even more impressive.”
You laugh so hard you nearly snort your drink. “We are not calling it a solo-cial departure.”
“Why not?” Phoebe grins. “It’s poetic.”
Monica returns from the bar with four vodka sodas and a little cup of lime wedges. “Okay,” she announces. “We are hydrating and dancing. In that order.”
“Where’d you get those?” Rachel asks, eyeing the limes.
“The bartender likes me,” Monica shrugs. “He said I look like Demi Moore.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Demi Moore if she developed a type-A fixation with cross-contamination and meal prep.”
Monica rolls her eyes and hands you one of the glasses. “Oh shut up. You’re lucky I even let you borrow my shirt tonight.”
You smile innocently and glance down at your (her) shirt. A black silk blouse, cut low and just loose enough to look effortless, tucked into your shiniest mini skirt and paired with sheer tights. Add the bold lipstick, the shimmer on your collarbones, and the heels Rachel insisted on, and yeah--you look good. Good enough that the bouncer didn’t even ask for ID. The bartender either.
Which was a bit of a letdown, honestly. You’d even brought your fake again--Catherine Wexler, age 23, the very same you used on Chandlers birthday.
“Still can’t believe I didn’t get carded,” you murmur into your drink.
“Oh please,” Rachel says, bumping her knee into yours under the table. “In that outfit? They probably assumed you own the place.”
You smirk, cheeks warm. Chandler would’ve said something like that. Or at least muttered something filthy under his breath. He definitely would’ve stared. And then stared again. And then made a joke that wasn’t really a joke.
You smile into your glass.
Rachel clocks it immediately. “Oh my god. Is that a Chandler face?”
“No,” you lie.
Phoebe grins. “You totally just imagined him seeing you in that outfit.”
Monica leans in, eyes scanning you like she’s assessing a centerpiece. “Well, to be fair, that top does frame them perfectly--it’s a very balanced presentation.”
You hold up your hands. “Can we not psychoanalyze my tits in a public venue?”
“Oh, we like your tits,” Rachel says brightly, finishing her drink. “You should see the way he looks at them. Like they’re a limited edition vinyl box set.”
You raise an eyebrow, smug as hell. “Oh, I know the way he looks at them. I’ve seen it. Up close. From several angles.”
Rachel chokes on her drink. Monica groans. Phoebe claps.
“Oh my god,” Monica mutters, half-laughing, half-mortified. “Why did I let you borrow my shirt?”
“Because you’re a generous soul,” you say sweetly. “And because deep down, you wanted me to look like a slutty little homewrecker tonight.”
Rachel raises her glass in salute. “Mission accomplished.”
Phoebe leans in, grinning. “Seriously though, he's like, obsessed. Yesterday when I visited you guys during lunch he looked like he was about to snap a pencil in half.”
You sip your drink innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Chandler’s a perfect gentleman. Very professional. Extremely respectful of my role as his subordinate.”
“Ew, don't say that?” Monica nearly spits her drink.
“Oh no,” Rachel says, eyes wide. “You did not just say that word while looking that smug.”
Phoebes laughing too hard to be useful now, nearly tipping over in her chair. You bask in it, flushed and glowing and absolutely not sorry.
The music shifts, louder now, and you down the last of your drink, buzzing warm and golden from the inside out.
“Okay,” you declare, setting your glass on the high-top table with dramatic flair. “Enough sitting around. Let’s dance.”
Rachel raises a brow. “Since when do you drag people onto dance floors?”
“Since this outfit deserves to be seen in motion,” you shoot back, already grabbing Monica's hand. “Come on. It’s girls’ night. That means no wallflowers.”
Phoebe beams. “I love when she gets bossy.”
The four of you push through the crowd, weaving past clumps of strangers until the floor opens up just enough to move. Lights swirl above. Synths kick in. Some club remix of Madonna’s Into the Groove.
You lift your arms and let it wash over you, the pulse of the bass syncing with your heartbeat, the shimmer on your collarbones catching flashes of colored light. You don’t need a partner. Not when you’ve got Rachel doing ridiculous high-model twirls beside you and Phoebe shimmying like she’s communing with spirits and Monica laughing harder than she has in weeks.
You dance like you’re not thinking about anything. Not work. Not boys. Not complicated friends-with-benefits setups. Just the beat, and your best friends, and the kind of night that makes you forget tomorrow exists.
Rachel sings along dramatically, eyes closed and hair wild. Phoebe spins into you like a cyclone. Monica does that confident, slightly awkward move she thinks is sexy but mostly looks like aerobics. You love it. You love them.
By the time the next song starts you’re all sweaty and glowing and slightly breathless. You don’t care. You’re alive. You’re young. And for once, you’re not overthinking a thing.
The four of you spill into the apartment sometime after 1 a.m., laughing too loudly for the hour, all limbs and glitter and tipsy chaos. Monica shushes everyone like she isn’t the loudest, and Rachel drops her heels by the door with a groan of pure relief.
“That was so fun,” Phoebe sighs, spinning in a slow circle like she’s still on the dance floor. “I feel spiritually exfoliated.”
You smile, still warm from the drinks and the dancing. “You’re so weird.”
“Yes I am,” she replies, twirling and flopping onto the couch.
You exchange a sleepy grin with Monica before slipping into your room, unpinning your hair as you go. The apartment’s quieter now--doors clicking shut, the sound of water running, the soft murmur of Phoebe asking if there’s leftover pad thai.
The door clicks shut behind you and your heels come off with a sigh. Monica’s black shirt rides high on your waist, the slinky fabric still clinging to your skin. You’re sticky with sweat, slightly windblown, and feeling really good for someone who danced for three straight hours.
You walk over to your stereo, flick your hand over the jewel cases on the shelf, then slot in The Queen Is Dead. The Smiths, because you’re dramatic and romantic and still humming with energy. You press play.
The opening lines play out when your bedroom door opens again.
"Hey,"
You jump a little, startled.
Chandler is leaning against your doorframe, casual as ever, one hand braced above his head like he’s been there for a while. He's in his post-10pm uniform: an old t-shirt and sweatpants. His eyes sweep over you in one slow, deliberate drag.
“How-- how did you know we were back?”
“I heard the door. And Rachel complaining about her feet.” He steps further into the room, eyes still on you. “I figured I’d give it a minute before I came over. Didn’t want to interrupt a sacred post-club debrief.”
You laugh, brushing your hair off your neck. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“Yeah, I thought I would too,” he says, voice low, edging closer. “And then I figured I'd want to see your little outfit tonight.”
His gaze drags down your frame again--your makeup smudged just so, borrowed shirt clinging, too short skirt riding up.
He exhales, almost a groan. “Jesus, you look--fuck.”
Your breath hitches, and just like that, the temperature in the room spikes.
You stare at him, still halfway between the stereo and your bed, hair falling in messy waves, cheeks pink from the heat of the bar and his eyes on you.
“You look…” He exhales again, like the words are hard to find. “So good. Like, I don’t even know where to start. That top--those legs--your mouth--”
You raise a brow, teasing. “Did you black out just now?”
"Maybe a little,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “Seriously, I bet half the guys in that club wanted you tonight.”
You shrug, letting the compliment soak into your skin like lotion. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter.”
“No,” he agrees, stepping closer. “Because I get you.”
That makes you laugh--soft and delighted and tipsy-warm. “Okay, territorial.”
“I mean it.” He’s close now, brushing his fingers down your bare arm. “You could’ve had anyone tonight, but instead you’re here, in this tiny little outfit, standing in front of me.”
You wrinkle your nose, grin widening. “You’re lucky I didn’t get arrested.”
“Arrested?”
“For impersonating someone over twenty-one.” You raise your chin proudly. “I didn’t even get ID’d. Not by the bouncer, not by the bartender.”
Chandler gives you a slow, deliberate once-over. “Yeah, no shit.”
You laugh again, hand on his chest now, fingertips playing with a loose thread on the collar of his shirt. “The girls wouldn’t shut up about you, by the way.”
“Oh yeah?”
You lean in conspiratorially. “Apparently you look at my tits like they’re a limited edition vinyl box set.”
He huffs a laugh, eyes dropping instinctively to your chest. “Okay, they’re not wrong. But for the record?” He tilts your chin up, gaze locking with yours. “It’s not just your tits I’m obsessed with.”
Your breath catches. Your smile softens. “You’re being sweet.”
“I’m being honest.”
You giggle, warm all over. “Don’t get too sappy. We’re just supposed to be friends, remember?”
“Right,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Just friends.”
Your heart stutters, and you're kissing, lips brushing his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands find your waist, pulling you in, and you melt against him as his mouth meets yours fully--hungry, hot, possessive.
You gasp into the kiss, fingers curling in his shirt, and that’s when his mouth starts to trail lower. Over your jaw, down your neck, slow and reverent and aching with want. He murmurs something that might be your name, or just a curse, right before his lips find that sweet spot just below your ear and suck.
You gasp again, hips shifting forward, one of your hands gripping his shoulder.
“Chandler--wait--” you manage, voice unsteady.
He stops instantly, pulling back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed. “What? What’s wrong?”
You laugh, breathless. “I’m all sweaty. I’ve been dancing for like three hours. I'm covered in glitter and smell like tequila.”
He grins, sliding his hand down your back. “You could smell like a Dumpster and I’d still want to bite you.”
Before you can respond, he’s back at your neck, nipping and sucking below your jaw. You let out a shaky moan--until your fingers tug his hair again, stopping him one more time.
“Nowhere visible,” you whisper, breath catching.
His eyes spark.
“Oh,” he says, voice rough with delight, “you’re fun.”
And then he lifts you--effortless, like you weigh nothing--and carries you the few steps to the bed. You laugh through a little gasp, arms wrapping around his neck, legs instinctively tightening around his waist as he lays you down.
He follows you down without hesitation, mouth already dragging along your collarbone.
“Just so we’re clear, you started this. I’m just the helpless victim of your slutty little outfit.”, he murmurs against your skin, voice low and wrecked.
“You’re the one who keeps showing up in my room like a stray cat with boundary issues.” You tease lightly, hands tangling in his hair.
He hums against your collarbone, kissing you there with something far too soft for the way he’s already tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “you shouldn’t leave the window open.”
You laugh--just a breath--and then the shirt is gone. So is your bra, a moment later, as he unhooks after no less than 3 attempts.
“Jesus,” he mutters, like he’s never seen you topless before. Like you’re new again under the lamplight glow and Morrissey's voice spinning quietly behind you. His hands are all over--raking up your sides, cupping your tits, thumbs dragging slowly over your nipples just to watch you twitch. And then his mouth replaces them. Hot, open, greedy.
You gasp as he sucks a hickey just beneath your breast. Another lower, over your ribs. A third just above your belly button. You don’t even care how loud you are, how wrecked your voice already sounds.
He doesn’t rush. If anything, he slows down--lazy drags of his tongue, soft open-mouthed kisses that burn into your skin like permanent ink. Every time he bites down, just enough to leave a mark, you jolt and whimper and clutch tighter at his hair, but he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t even look like he wants to.
“Chandler,” you breathe, thighs twitching where they rest on either side of him. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look up. “If you don’t--”
“Shhh. I’m keeping my promise.” he mutters against your skin, mouthing at your stomach like he’s tasting something rare. “Nothing visible. Just making the most of my real estate.”
He lingers there, at your stomach, for what feels like forever. Sucking little bruises into the soft skin, dragging his teeth just enough to make your breath hitch. You fist your hands in the sheets, head tipping back against the pillow, every nerve in your body lit up like a fault line.
“I swear to God,” you mumble, breathless, “you’ve been at this for ten minutes.”
“Nine,” he says calmly, hands stroking slow over your thighs. “But I love that you’re keeping track.”
You groan, frustrated and ruined and so insanely turned on you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing any contact you can get, but he just pins you gently with his hands and keeps his mouth exactly where it is--nibbling along the seam of your torso, biting just above your waistband now, where skin meets the shiny hem of your skirt.
“You know,” you pant, “most people consider foreplay an appetizer, not a full tasting menu--”
“Shhh,” he says again, smiling against your belly. “I’m eating with my eyes first.”
You let out a desperate little laugh--half a plea, half a whimper--and he finally glances up at you.
His pupils are blown, lips red, voice like gravel. “You’re so hot when you beg.”
You shoot him a withering look, but it melts when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your skirt at last--slowly tugging it down, knuckles grazing your thighs, only for his eyes to darken the second he sees the sheer black tights underneath.
The smile he gives you is downright wicked.
You spot it instantly. “Don’t you dare rip them.”
“Me?” he says, feigning innocence as his hands skim higher. “I’d never. I respect tights. Tights are… sacred.”
“Chandler.”
He leans in, kissing just above the waistband. “I’ll buy you new ones.”
And then, without hesitation, he rips straight through them--fingers curling in the fabric, tearing it apart like it offended him personally.
You yelp, half scandalized, half aroused. “Those were new!”
“They were in my way,” he murmurs, dragging the shredded remains down your legs, voice low and reverent now. “And you--" his hands glide back up, settling on your hips as he pulls you closer “--are so worth it.”
He tosses the shredded tights somewhere behind him, not even bothering to look where they land. You expect him to move between your legs, to finally--finally--give you what he’s been building toward for what feels like a lifetime.
But of course he doesn’t.
Instead, he lowers his head and kisses the inside of your knee.
You actually let out a noise of protest, halfway between a moan and a sob. “You asshole.”
“Mmm.” His teeth graze your thigh, just above the bend. “You say that like it’s new information.”
His hands slide up your calves, then thighs, palms warm and possessive, and he settles between your legs like it’s his birthright. And then he goes right back to his mission: leaving a constellation of bruises across your skin, soft and savage, sweet and cruel.
He kisses your inner thigh, then licks a long, slow stripe to the edge of your underwear.
You gasp.
He moves away.
“You’re killing me,” you whisper, voice wrecked.
“At least you’ll die glowing.” He murmurs, kissing a little higher.
You groan, burying your face in your arm as he marks you again, a little higher this time. His tongue flicks over a particularly sensitive spot, and you jolt, hips bucking up involuntarily.
“Chandler,” you plead, breath ragged. “You’re so close.”
“I know,” he says cheerfully, dragging his mouth to the opposite thigh now, starting all over again. “It’s honestly impressive how patient I’m being.”
“You are the least patient man I know.”
“Yeah, well.” He bites down gently, then soothes the spot with his tongue. “Guess that makes you special.”
His fingers trace slow, maddening circles into your hips as his mouth works lower--then higher again--every touch deliberately avoiding the place you’re desperate for. He sucks another hickey just beside your underwear and stays there, tongue swirling, hands gripping your thighs to keep you from writhing out of his hold.
You can’t stop the way your thighs clench. Can’t stop the whimper that escapes you.
He hums, clearly pleased.
"You’re shaking," he murmurs against your skin.
"Wonder why."
He kisses closer, smug look on his face.
Still not there.
You sob out a broken laugh. “You are the worst.”
“And yet…” His breath fans hot over the soaked fabric of your underwear, but he doesn’t move. “You’re still letting me.”
You yank at his hair. “Because I hate myself.”
“No you don’t.” His voice softens, but it’s no less smug. “You love this.”
You don’t respond--can’t, really. Because he’s right and you do and he knows it. So he keeps going. Another hickey. Another kiss. Another filthy murmur into your thigh, making your stomach clench and your whole body tremble. Your panties are ruined, your nerves are fire, and your pulse is pounding in every part of your body. And still--still--he doesn’t give in.
But he’s getting closer. His tongue drags over your inner thigh again--just below the edge of your underwear--and he kisses you like it’s the last place he ever wants to be. He sucks another hickey there, slow and deep and sinful, and your hips jerk helplessly.
“Chandler.”
“Hm?”
“That’s enough.”
He lifts his head just barely, blinking up at you innocently. “Is it?”
You reach down, grab his face in both hands, and pull him up until his body is flush against yours and his mouth is on your own. It’s messy, desperate, hot. All tongue and teeth and need. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your legs hook around his hips, and you kiss him like you’re trying to make him feel everything he’s doing to you.
When you finally break for air, he’s panting, eyes glazed and lips shiny.
“You should let me mark you up now,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Be fair.”
He laughs, delighted. “Fair? You think I’m playing fair?”
You pout. “Come on, I’m good at it.”
“Oh, I know you’re good at it,” he says, grinning, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “You leave bite marks, not hickeys. And you put them in the most visible places.”
“Exactly,” you say sweetly. “Poetic justice.”
“Uh-huh.” He presses a kiss to your chin. “You want me to walk into work Monday with your teeth marks on my neck?”
You smile, saccharine and unrepentant. “Little collarbone dent never hurt anyone.”
He kisses you once more--quick and smug--before sliding back down your body, mouth dragging heat over your skin.
“Nice try,” he murmurs against your hipbone. “But I’m not done.”
“Chandler--”
He sucks another hickey into the soft skin beside your hip, then another just below the curve of your thigh, where no one but him will ever see it.
You gasp, hands tangling in his hair again. “You’re not fair.”
“Nope,” he says, far too pleased with himself. “But at least I’m consistent.”
Your fingers pulling at his hair, thighs shaking, heart hammering as he keeps going, determined to ruin you in the slowest way possible.
And you let him. Because even though it’s torture, you love it.
You barely register the latest hickey blooming on the inside of your thigh before you’re gasping, thighs twitching beneath his palms.
"Chandler--please--"
He hums low against your skin, lazy and amused, like he could keep this up forever. Another kiss to your hip. Another infuriating pause.
“God, look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his nose along the edge of your underwear, breathing you in. “Dripping. Shaking. Completely wrecked. And I haven’t even--” he nips gently at your hipbone “--touched you yet.”
You let out a broken sound, half whine, half breathless laugh. “Then maybe you should, you smug asshole.”
That makes him laugh. Really laugh. But it’s rough now, breathless.
"Only because you asked so nicely."
His fingers hook into your waistband, dragging your panties down slow, baring you inch by inch. His breath stutters as he takes you in, hands spreading your thighs wider.
“You’re--” He breaks off, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. “You’re unbelievable.”
You open your mouth for a quip, but before you can form a single word, he dives in.
Your whole body jolts like it’s been struck. His mouth is hot and greedy, tongue parting you with a groan so deep you feel it echo in your stomach. You cry out, back bowing off the mattress, hands flying to his hair as he licks you with slow, devastating precision. It’s not sweet anymore. It’s filthy. He’s not trying to tease you now--he’s consuming you. Moaning into you like he’s starved.
“Fuck--Chandler--” you gasp, trying to pull away from the overstimulation, but he just grips your thighs harder, anchoring you to him. His mouth works you open, tongue flicking over your clit in firm, focused strokes that have your vision blurring.
It builds fast. Too fast. But you can’t stop it--don’t want to.
"Don’t stop," you gasp, voice breaking, trembling all over. "Don’t you fucking dare--"
He doesn’t. He doubles down.
And then he slides two fingers into you, curling them perfectly while his mouth never stops moving-- and you shatter.
It’s loud. Full-body. Dizzying. You cry out his name, legs locking around him as you ride it out, shivering and clutching his hair like it’s the only thing tethering you to the planet. Chandler groans against you like he’s the one coming. Like just making you fall apart has ruined him too.
You don’t know how long you lay there, pulsing and breathless, but when he finally lifts his head, his lips are wet, his pupils blown, and he looks like a man undone.
He takes one long look at you-- sprawled out, flushed, glistening-- and exhales a low, shaky breath.
Then, without warning, he pushes himself up and says casually, “Well. That was fun. I should probably head out before traffic gets bad.”
You blink, still halfway in the clouds. “…What?”
He’s already standing, pretending to look around for his shirt. “Yeah, I mean -- I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. Taxes. Laundry. Maybe cry in the shower.”
“Wait--what?”
You sit up fast, heart still racing from your orgasm and now also from sheer panic. “You’re leaving?”
Chandler turns just enough for you to see the twitch in his mouth -- he’s barely holding in his grin.
“You asshole.” You grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest and hits the floor. “You’re such a dick.”
He grins fully now, smug and glowing. “Took you long enough.”
You glare, breath catching as he makes his way back toward the bed.
“I just--” you huff, collapsing back into the pillows with a pout. “You can’t do that to a person who’s literally still seeing stars.”
“Oh, but I can,” he says, climbing onto the mattress again, bracing himself above you. "Especially when she looks like this."
His mouth brushes yours, teasing and warm.
"God, look at you," he murmurs, eyes tracing your face like he can’t believe you’re real. "Still shaking. And all because of me."
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
"Oh, honey,” he breathes, grinning as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, “it’s already there."
Then his hand slides back between your legs --and this time, he’s not teasing. But you stop him.
A long, frustrated groan escapes your throat.
He pauses instantly, concern flickering. “Too much?”
“No,” you whine. “The album’s over.”
He blinks. “Wait, seriously?”
You flop your head back on the pillow with a dramatic sigh, staring at the ceiling. “That’s 38 solid minutes of you not fucking me.”
Chandler, still hovering over you, glances toward your CD player. The silence is deafening now that The Smiths are gone.
“You dragged that out for the entire runtime of The Queen is Dead,” you continue, voice flat. “You turned Morrissey into foreplay.”
Chandler laughs-- cackles, really-- as he drops down to kiss your jaw. “I didn’t know we were racing the discography.”
You shove at his shoulder. “Pick something else, jackass.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says obediently, hopping off the bed, shirtless, and beelining for your stack of CDs. “Let’s see what pairs well with utterly ruining you.”
You throw a pillow at him again, but it’s half-hearted. You’re still boneless.
He skims your collection, hips swaying just enough to be distracting. “Fleetwood Mac? No, too emotional. Bauhaus? No, I’m not trying to hex you. Ah.”
He holds up a disc triumphantly. “Space Oddity. You’re welcome.”
You grin. “You’re such a slut for Bowie.”
He shoots you a wink. “Takes one to know one.”
The opening notes of Space Oddity fill the room just as he climbs back onto the bed, crawling over you with a purpose now--his mouth dragging down your neck, his voice warm against your skin.
“Okay, no more teasing,” he murmurs. “You’ve waited long enough.”
“Thirty-seven minutes,” you remind him, breath hitching as his hand skims your waist. “I should file a complaint.”
"File it with my tongue--"
You cut him off with a kiss, fast and a little messy, your hands already moving to his sweatpants. He groans into your mouth as you fumble with the tie, urgency taking over now that the teasing’s finally behind you. He lifts his hips helpfully, letting you shove them down, his boxers going with them.
And then--without warning--you flip them, swinging one leg over his hips and straddling him. His eyes go wide, hands automatically gripping your thighs as you smirk down at him.
“Hey--woah--what’s happening?” he teases, breathless and grinning.
“Shut up,” you mutter, lowering your mouth to his skin.
You kiss down his chest, just soft and slow enough to make him squirm a little, and then you move lower--trailing kisses down his stomach, your fingers dancing over the sharp lines of his hips. And then, with a wicked grin, you sink your teeth in just above his right hipbone, sucking a perfectly dark mark into place.
Chandler gasps--more surprised than pained--and then laughs, all low and stunned. “Jesus--okay--”
“See?” you murmur, your lips still on his skin. “I can hide them.”
You press your tongue over the bruise you just left, proud of your work. “Not everything I do is a bite to the neck, you know.”
“I can see that,” he says, a little breathless, a little wrecked. His hand curls around your hip, thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. “And here I thought I was the only one who liked claiming things.”
You press another hickey on the opposite side, slower this time, feeling his muscles tense beneath your lips. You don’t stop until you’re satisfied, until he’s marked just enough to prove a point--but not enough to make him suspiciously sore tomorrow--not like you will be.
Then you reach over to your nightstand and pull open the drawer, fishing out a condom. He watches you with dark eyes, still catching his breath when you tear the foil and roll it on him yourself, deliberately slow, deliberately smug.
“Still complaining?” he asks, voice rough and a little shaky.
You look up at him with a smirk. “We’ll see.”
You line yourself up and sink down slowly, your mouth dropping open as he fills you, inch by inch. The stretch makes your thighs tremble, your nails pressing into his chest for balance as you settle on top of him, already overwhelmed by how deep he is from this angle.
Chandler’s hands are everywhere--your hips, your waist, your thighs. He’s looking up at you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or beautiful in his life.
"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, his voice low and wrecked. "You feel so good, baby--"
You try to move, riding him slowly at first, but it’s useless. You’re wrung out, legs shaky, arms barely supporting you. Your body’s still humming, your orgasm having left you melted and soft and so sensitive.
After a few uneven rolls of your hips, you whimper and brace yourself against his chest again, frustrated.
Chandler watches you for a moment, eyes dark and a little amused. "You look like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time."
You groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. "I hate you."
"No, you don’t." He grins and runs a hand down your spine. "C’mon, let me help. You're too pretty to be working this hard."
“Shut up--"
But before you can finish, he flips you easily, holding you steady as he rolls the two of you over. You gasp at the shift, head falling back against the pillows, heart racing as he settles between your legs and pushes back in, all at once, deep and perfect.
"Oh my god--"
"There we go," he murmurs, voice hot against your jaw. "Don’t worry, I’ve got it from here."
You try to sass him, but the words die in your throat the second he starts to move.
His thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate, like he’s trying to feel everything--but his eyes won’t stay still.
He keeps flicking his gaze down your body, drinking in every hickey, every flushed inch of skin he spent the last forty minutes worshipping with his mouth. His pupils are blown wide, mouth parted, like he still can’t believe you let him do this.
"Jesus," he mutters, fucking into you with a steady grind, his hand sliding up your ribcage. His thumb brushes over a dark mark just under your breast, and he groans under his breath. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”
You arch into his touch, whimpering. “Like what?”
He leans in, voice low and rough in your ear. “Like you’re mine.”
A whine escapes you before you can stop it, thighs clenching around his hips. “Chandler--please--”
His hand wraps under your thigh, angling you even deeper, and you cry out as he drives into you again. “You don’t have to beg, honey,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice that does nothing to hide how wrecked he sounds. “You earned it tonight.”
He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple. But his hips are unrelenting, grinding deeper with every thrust. “You let me touch you,” he whispers between kisses. “You let me take my time. Let me mark you up just the way I wanted.”
You’re nodding, panting, nearly crying with how desperate you are.
“And now,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look down at you, at the wild mess he’s made of you. "I’m gonna make you come again. Just like this.”
You clench around him, gasping, and he feels it--groans like he’s losing control.
"Chandler--please, I need--"
He cuts you off with a kiss, but his hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit. “I know what you need,” he breathes, fingers circling perfectly. "I’ve got you, baby. Just stay with me."
You’re trembling under him, breath catching on every thrust, every perfectly timed circle of his fingers.
“Fuck,” you whimper, voice wrecked. “I--I can’t--”
“Yes, you can,” he breathes, barely holding it together. “You’re so close. I can feel it.”
And he can. The way you tighten around him with every roll of his hips, every sweep of his fingers--it’s like your body’s begging for it even before your mouth does.
“You’re doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe, with want. “Look at you--marked up, falling apart, and still taking me so well.”
You moan, loud and desperate, fingers digging into his back like you’re trying to anchor yourself. His hand doesn’t stop moving. Neither do his hips. Bowie’s voice is in your ear, but all you can hear is Chandler telling you to stay with him.
Your body tightens. Your breath stutters. And then it hits you, Harder than the first. Blinding, breathless, a second orgasm tearing through you like it’s been building for hours--which, in a way, it has.
You cry out, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle tensing as you shatter beneath him. Chandler groans, holding you close as your walls pulse around him, clenching so tight he nearly follows you right over the edge.
“Fuck--fuck, baby,” he grits, burying his face in your neck. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
You’re shaking. Gasping. Boneless under him, tears pricking at your eyes from how intense it is, how good he made you feel.
And he just keeps holding you through it, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your hair. Whispering quiet, reverent things between his own ragged breaths--because watching you come undone like that ruined him, too.
You’re still fluttering around him, every little aftershock making you gasp, whimper, tremble beneath his weight. But he doesn’t stop. Not yet. His thrusts are slower now, but deeper—more desperate. He’s chasing his own high now, gritting his teeth as your slick heat pulses around him, dragging him closer with every broken sound you make.
You whimper again, body twitching beneath him.
“Shhh, I know,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your cheek. “I know, baby. You’re so sensitive right now. But you can take it.”
You nod even as your thighs tremble, even as your hands fist in the sheets.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked. “You’re doing so fucking perfect for me.”
You feel it--the way his hips stutter, the way his rhythm falters as he loses his grip on the edge.
And then, with a low, broken moan of your name, he pushes deep, stills, then comes. Hot and helpless inside the condom, buried in you to the hilt as he trembles with the force of it.
His breath catches. His whole body shudders. And he slumps forward, catching himself just barely on his elbows before he crushes you completely.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing--his, ragged and hot against your neck. Yours, shallow and high, like your lungs haven’t caught up to your heart.
Then he presses a kiss to your cheek. Another to your collarbone. One more, just above a still-blooming hickey on your chest.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours, eyes still shut. “I’m gonna be riding that high ‘til, like, November.”
You let out a dazed laugh, fingers pushing gently through his damp hair.
“Yeah,” you breathe, still catching up to your own body. “That was… a lot.”
He stays inside you for a moment longer, breathing hard against your shoulder, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin even while his body slowly winds back down.
Then, carefully, he pulls out, earning a soft, overstimulated whimper from you. He murmurs an apology as he slips the condom off and ties it, tossing it into the small trash bin beside your nightstand.
The second he straightens up, your hand finds his wrist and pulls him down again.
Your lips crash into his--tired, messy, a little desperate still. He smiles into it, breath still unsteady as he kisses you back, cupping your cheek.
“Well, someone is needy,” he murmurs smugly, when he finally pulls back just enough to speak. “Did I not absolutely wreck you like I promised, or…?”
You roll your eyes, but you’re too blissed out to even fake being annoyed. “Shut up.”
“You’re welcome,” he teases softly, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead.
You sink back into the pillows with a groan. “Okay, I need a shower. Or a bath. I don’t think I can stand.”
"Good,” he says smugly, already pulling on his boxers.
You swat lazily at his hip. “Go be a decent human and run it for me.”
“Oh, you mean this human?” he says, pointing to himself as he steps toward the door. “The one who just gave you 38 minutes of foreplay, a god-tier orgasm, and carried your soul out of your body with his penis?”
“God-tier orgasm?” you echo, face buried in the pillow. “You really are riding this high until November.”
He winks. “Bubble bath, coming right up.”
And just like that, he disappears out the door--still smug, still shirtless, humming something under his breath as the faucet turns on.
You smile to yourself, muscles aching in the best way, skin still buzzing with every hickey, every touch, every teasing word.
summary one side of the bargain getting held up, it just happens so that music may be the thing that brings the two of you together
w/c 1.75k
chapter 3 ; happy accidents
and with those words that eddie had uttered, gareth basically froze. his eyes flew wide as he imagined the scene. there was no way in hell. there was no way that he would purposely go out and probably publicly embarrass himself. especially considering how the morning had gone.
“never in my right mind am i gonna do that” he mumbled as he slipped him head into his hands.
just as soon as his shoulders sunk, eddie’s had slapped down. “man, all or nothin!” leaning down towards the shell of his ear, “just imagine it, gareth. havin the girl of your dreams right in your hands. she’s just a few words away”
jeff snickered slightly at the sight of the two. the plan unfolding right before his eyes. he watched as geared churned within gareth's mind. as his eyes lit up in the slightest bit he felt the thoughts as his eyes dimmed with shake of his head.
"can't.." he mumbled. "probably thinks i'm a creep if i talk to her after bulldozing her earlier."
eddie ruffled his hair at his words, "y'know, i do have an inside source.." he spoke as his eyes flickered over to oakley. the two of you seeming to be highly engrossed in your work sprawled across the table.
as a small smile filled your face at the words of your friend beside you, he felt hope flush over his frame.
"they come in here all the time," eddie spoke once more. "i can do my end of the bargain now, get some insight for you. and then, you get to make your move." as gareth's blue eyes flickered to eddie's dark ones he muttered quietly. "okay, then."
with a small push off of gareth's shoulders he ventured over to oakley. a smirk was etched across his face as he slipped into the seat right next to her.
"hey oaks." he spoke as her eyes stayed down and towards the game of tic-tac-toe they were still going at. "eddie," she greeted. "what do ya want?" she questioned.
his chin rested on his palm as his vocal cords moved. "i wanna try us again, for real this time. my days feel as bland as pop music without you. please, be mine again?" he basically begged. her eyes fell off of the game and came up to meet his. just as you watched silently, next to the brunette girl. your eyes flickered to the table he had come from. meeting gareth's eyes, you panicked and suddenly found the table very interesting.
you listened as you heard oakley pretend to weigh out the pros and cons of getting back together with him. both of you knowing that she would go back to him either way.
neither of them could really pull away from each other. they found a way every single time to make their way back to each other. no chance they would actually stay apart for long. kind of strange and slightly toxic, but thats what worked for the two of them.
lifting your gaze back to the two next to you, you really wished you hadn't. your eyes fell upon their lips interlocking just like they never left.
"god not right here you freaks!" you groaned with no real heat behind it.
a cackle fell from the boy as oakley kicked your shin. "we are in the library and we are still at school. but what's off the table for you two." you mumbled. noting how they could never take their hands off of each other when they were together. it was insanely hard to not notice.
"jealous much?" eddie teased with wicked grin. the said grin basically got a growl in reply. "get out of here, super senior." you grumbled as you brought your attention back to your note book. the note book that was filled to the brim with stickers from your favorite bands, movies, shows, and really anything you got your hands on.
"i'll take my girl with me too then" he snickered. you sighed as his hands found their way around your best friend's shoulders. fitting together like a puzzle piece. just as the two of them started standing up the loud scream of the bell slit through the air of the library.
oakley quickly packed her stuff up to bolt out of the door, hand in hand with eddie.
you took your time cleaning up your things. shoving things into your cramped backpack you silently hoped that the two of them would actually last this time. you didn't want to be the one oakley was going to fall back onto. just like she had the many times before. you prayed that they would prioritize communication this time around.
・・・・・
as the next week passed, you didn't forget about the other morning. being you, you continued to overthink the whole time. you snuck around the school cautiously. you avoided the blue eyed boy in hopes of stopping another run in. watching the halls where you knew he lurked. the map that you had made to hopefully see him for the past few months, you clung to so you wouldn't see him.
embarrassment radiated through your body every time you caught a glance of the back of his head. you couldn't stand it.
gareth couldn't seem to bare it either. even while he was embarrassed too, he wanted to see you. he needed to build up the courage. eddie had talked with oakley about you. he got the inside scoop of your big fat crush on gareth. eddie wouldn't let the boy know that right off the bat. he wanted to watch him get nervous at the thought of talking to you.
the slight information that eddie did tell him was very slim, but could be one of the most monumental news to learn about. the information that eddie had told him was very small. even though the news were just teeny tiny, he had composed a plan.
your favorite band was coming into town soon.
while they weren't the most popular band on the planet, but they did tickle your fancy. gareth hadn't heard about them at all. but you bet your ass, as soon as he heard the news he rushed to the record store.
even though the two of you knew each others school schedules like the back of your hands, neither of you ever had the guts to run into each other outside of school. so there was no way that either of you would somehow run into each other in public right?
it was one of the stormiest days in hawkins that anyone had seen in a hot minute. as you rushed into work for your shift, you quickly made your way to the back. clocking in and setting all of your stuff down you let out a sigh.
replacing the newly finished cassette in the player with the newest album from oingo boingo.
as you placed boi-ngo in the player the whole store seemed to change in an instant. with home again blasting you grabbed a box of new releases and moved over towards the shelves to put them away. the door chimed as you sorted out the cassettes,
"welcome in!" you spoke as you kept your head down and organized.
when eddie had mentioned to gareth that you liked music. he didn't know that you liked music to the point where you worked at the only record spot in town. he thought he just meant you listened to it when you did homework or whatever. he truly underestimated your liking.
gareth noticed that you seemed preoccupied to he scattered away as quick as he could.
on a mission he walked towards the 'o' section. he was hoping he would be able to be in and out as fast as possible. not only was the reasoning behind hunting these cassettes embarrassing, but having to talk to you to check out? that takes the cake.
as his fingers scan the titles he lands on the one and only. picking up their newest, boi-ngo, as well as scanning others.
as you finished stocking the new releases you noticed someone over by your favorite section. you moved your way over, not really paying attention to the person over there but speaking as you approached.
"nothing to fear, only a lad, and dead man's party are pretty good too."
his eyes snapped up at the syllables that came from your mouth. your own eyes moved up towards the boy you had become so engulfed in.
"uh, i'll take your word for it." he chuckled nervously.
you nodded meekly before retreating. a blush filling your face as you mumbled to yourself. a small smile on your face at the tiny interaction.
you hadn't known that he was interested in oingo boingo. maybe he had already known that those albums were good and you just embarrassed yourself for no reason. you sighed silently as you moved behind the counter. drumming on the cold surface, you hummed to the song echoing throughout the store.
gareth had picked out the three other albums you had mentioned. he wondered to himself if it would look weird to just be buying their whole discography, so he moved to get an album he had been eyeing up for a little bit.
he made his way up to the counter, now carrying 5 cassettes. the ones you had known pretty well as well as the newest van halen album.
you cleared your throat softly, "will that be all?" with a small nod he assured your question.
"didn't know you liked oingo boingo" you chuckled softly, trying to start a conversation.
as you rung him up, he scratched his neck nervously. "yes and no? honestly, i haven't listened to them but i was planning on going to their concert in a few weeks."
your eyes lit up at his words. "you're going to see them too?"
with a small smile and a nod, you spoke once more. "si guess i'll see you there, then."
"i guess so" he chuckled. "also, i wanted to apologize" your eyebrow raised at the statement. bagging up his cassettes as he spoke, "uh for running into you last week, wasn't paying attention to where i was going"
with an almost silent giggle you replied, "no worries, i wasn't paying attention either. happy accidents i guess." you mumbled the last part as you handed him the bag.
your fingers brushed his as you handed him the bag, "happy accidents." he replied.
I know so many people (and I included) hated the st5 ending so I wanna point out the good parts because we all got screwed.
spider flayer was so cool imo even tho jt was an underwhelming fight and over super quickly & vecna got victimized for no reason
spider flayer was awesome tho hush
el being an absolute badass, will snapping vecnas arm off, and Joyce chopping the mofos head apart
the soundtrack & score honestly
purple rain. purple rain.
more context on the abyss / in between and world building lore (and as someone who hasn't seen the play or read any books yet im happy over that because I feared so many plotholes)
boy dad hopper with will 💔 and him giving mike a motivational speech
Dustin's speech against non conformity and flipping the principal off after calling him a square and revealing a shirt wirh hellfire lives on it
max skating again
Karen's scars 💔
the older teens talk on the rooftop
robin joking nancy joined the navy
hop and joyce finally for their date at enzos
JOPPER PROPOSAL 💔💔💔💔
DND GAME FOR THE PARTY AND MAX JOINING.
max raging over dungeons and dragons i love her
the mage of st markovia half representing el 💔 and Mike's dramatic acting and the party's cheers
stancy didn't happen
BITCHY MADWHEELER I LOVE THEM
lumax got their movie 💔
the epilouge of the game reflecting everyone
dustin and Steve being besties forever and ever
will actually accepts himself and is happy!!! (fuck wannabe epilouge boyfriend)
MIKE BECOMES A WRITER
and lowkey him turning into ted as a closeted queer man raised in a conservative family is so angsty to me
el doesnt die. and they all realize it. she lowkey becomes Dora the explorer but im so glad shes now alone, independent, free and doesn't rely on a man for happiness. she found her waterfalls
theres some plotholes and untied things (painting for example) but I genuinley (after the dissapointment of vol2) enjoyed this, and the stairs being a metaphor for the party growing up and moving on to bigger things genuinley made me sob
it starts wirh dnd and ends wirh dnd 💔💔
im very upset ab byler qnd mileven being fucked, the writing in general, but considering the other options we could've gotten i need to be happy with this. the queerbait was bad and real but for the sake of the show outside el, mike and will I am genuinley happy
I wish Murray died tbh but hey thats just me
idk felt like there could've been more sacrifices to be made
and vickie vanished apparently like damn
but I feel in my opinion the ending was as good as we were gonna get considering what got set up for s5
fan theories and fix it fics will forever solo s5 but I need to congratulate the actors on their work as well
gaten, sadie and caleb truly carried this season on their backs and dont act like they werent amazing as fuck this season
heroes kinda felt like salt in the wound in the end I gotta be fr
rest in peace kali, you deserved so much better my girl
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
2087
