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kiszkathecook · 3 months

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Can't hurt me

part II [coming soon]

Pairing: Neighbor!BuckyBarnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're the one that takes care of Bucky after missions, only this time he asks for a different kind of relief.

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injuries; Bucky being needy and begging; a tiiiiny bit of angst because Bucky doesn't really care about his wellbeing; SMUT, +18 ONLY, MINORS DNI; smut while injured; shower makeout; oral (m and f receiving); cum eating; handjob; fingering; a lot of feelings here; pls let me know if I forgot something

A/N: I'm really sorry about the shitty ending, it took me three days to think about it and I couldn't come up with anything so it is what it is, but I promise I'll make up for it in part two.

If you like this fic, please let me know :)

When the Winter Soldier himself, or the man formerly known as him, moved to the apartment across from yours, you were the only person in the whole building who didn’t ignore his presence. Of course, you and Bucky Barnes weren't best friends. During the first month of his moving in you would merely exchange polite greetings when you crossed paths in the hallway, but at least you didn’t immediately flinch and/or look away as soon as you saw him. Sometimes he even attempted some compliments, as he was still trying to rediscover the charming soldier he once was, but that was it.

At least until the day you came home to discover your supersoldier neighbor sitting in front of his door, drenched in blood and barely clinging to life.

As you approached your apartment door, your heart skipped a beat at the sight that unfolded before you. There, in front of his own door, sat Bucky, his figure hunched over, covered in a chilling crimson. Panic surged through your veins as you rushed to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Hello? Hey, Bucky!" You snapped your fingers in front of his face, desperate to rouse him from his dazed state. But all you received was a feeble murmur in response. Panic washed over you. "Oh shit, you're... Oh, gosh. Fuck."

Frantically, you rummaged through your bag, searching for your phone to call an ambulance. Your trembling fingers made the task of finding it more difficult, but after a moment of frantic searching, you finally located the device. Your hands shook as you dialed the emergency number, your voice trembling with urgency.

"I'm calling an ambulance right now," you reassured Bucky, your voice laced with concern. "We'll get you to the hospital, and everything will be alright. Just hold on."

But you were about to hit the call button, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, cold vibranium fingers encircling you. Startled, you looked at Bucky, confusion etched on your face.

"No hospital," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"Barnes, sir? Sergeant-" Unsure of what to call him in this moment, you cleared your throat, trying to find the right words. "You're... you're seriously injured. You need medical help. It's okay, they can-"

"I'm not dying," he interrupted, mustering a firmer tone. "No hospital."

You hesitated, torn between your instinct to seek professional medical assistance and Bucky's adamant refusal. With concern etched on your face, you watched as he took the phone from your hand and gently placed it back into your bag.

"So what do we do then?" you asked, a mix of worry and confusion in your voice. "Have you seen yourself? You're covered in blood-"

"The serum will help," he managed to say, his voice strained. "Just... just let me rest."

You vaguely remembered reading about the super soldier serum and how it enhances healing abilities. While unsure of the extent to which it applied in this situation, you decided to trust him, realizing that he probably knows more of his own condition than you do.

"Alright then," you relented, your voice still filled with concern. "But let's at least get you inside. We'll find a way to make you comfortable. Can you try to get up? I'll help you."

With a mix of determination and concern, you carefully offered Bucky your hand, guiding the barely alive man to your couch.

The next day, Bucky woke up feeling a lot better, and you were glad. After you made him coffee, Bucky addressed the blood-stained couch situation and as much as you assured him you could clean it, he didn’t leave your apartment until you agreed to let him take you to a store so he could buy you a new one. “It’s the least I can do, doll,” he said, and you chuckled at the unusual pet name. With the new couch in the living room, you pestered Bucky until he agreed to inaugurate the furniture with you. So on a Wednesday night, he brought some snacks and you two watched The Hobbit, then proceeded to stay up until early-hours talking because Bucky, as the huge nerd he is, had to point out every single difference he recalled from the book - which he proudly announced he’d read in 1937, when it first came out. You didn’t complain, though, it was kinda nice to see this side of the man you only knew through the news and people’s opinions.

Next you knew, you two were inseparable. You quickly learned that Bucky needs a routine, so Wednesday’s nights became movie nights, and Sunday afternoons became dedicated to reading sessions together, then Tuesday mornings were designated as "breakfast with Bucky" time. Soon, there wasn't a single day when Bucky didn't show up in your living room. Your apartment became his second home. You became his second home - though you didn’t know that.

But of course, Bucky’s life wasn’t simple like that, and as much as he cherished your friendship, there are some things that he can’t control. Oftentimes, Bucky would come home in the same state he was on that first day, and although the sight started to become strangely familiar, it never ceased to break your heart. That’s why every time he showed up battered and bruised, you’d take him in and patch him up. You both know you don’t have to, and Bucky tried to convince you countless times that he just needed to rest, that the serum would do all the work, but you didn’t listen. You clean his wounds and stitch him up because that’s the only way you found to tell him that you care, and Bucky willingly lets you do it because he knows it eases the concern you feel about his dangerous lifestyle. So you’re the one Bucky seeks right after week-long missions or brutal battles, if not to help patch him up then just to let you know that he’s okay.

Tonight is one of those nights. When he knocked on your door at 3 am, the disheartening sight of Bucky, once again drenched in blood, almost made you collapse to your knees and plead for him to stay out of fights, to do something else, to stay in your living room and never leave again. But war is all Bucky knows, and as much as you recognize the unfortunate reality of the situation, you don't want to take away one of the few things that gives him a sense of familiarity in this modern world, so you swallowed the overwhelming urge, like you do every time, and helped him get to your bathroom.

The chamomilla scented steam invades your nostrils as you use the soap to gently wash all the blood away. You feel Bucky’s muscles slowly relaxing under the warm cascade of water, and he lets some relieved sounds escape through his lips. If someone had told you months ago that you would eventually find yourself in this very situation, you would have scoffed in disbelief, yet here you are now. You’re not really sure what you did to earn Bucky's trust to such an extent that he feels comfortable being so vulnerable with you, and the thought brings a dangerous warmth to your chest.

These showers are always innocent. You help Bucky clean the blood, leaving the intimate parts for him to clean, and then you take care of his wounds. It’s tender and respectful. But Bucky is not exactly the ugliest man you’ve seen and, well, you’re only human. Sometimes, it gets hard to ignore those not-so-innocent thoughts your brain insists on having. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself - the man is dripping blood on your bathroom floor and there you are, thinking all those nasty things, wanting to touch him in a way you’re not even sure he wants to be touched by you.

Little do you know, Bucky struggles just as much as you do in managing his own thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, he has to stop you from rubbing your hands too much around his torso, because he’s scared he’s not gonna be able to control himself if you keep going. It’s torture, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to stop coming here every time he gets injured. He could stop. He could stay away for a few more days after missions, just enough time for the serum to do its magic and he doesn’t have to go through this, but he can’t. Because everytime he gets injured, he finds himself looking forward to your touch. He barely cares about the pain anymore, because he knows he’ll get to feel your silky skin against his, even if it’s just for brief moments. So usually, he comes back and lets you do your thing while he makes a hell of an effort not to stare at your peaked nipples through your wet shirt - Bucky doesn’t know if he should be upset or glad that you don’t take your clothes off, because seeing you naked would probable make the task impossible, but it’s not like he doesn’t want to - and holds himself back from returning each and every touch you give him, in a very specific, very not-innocent way.

Usually. But today is different.

Today, Bucky was reminded that his wounds go way beyond the ones on his skin. Today the soldier needs another kind of care, one that’s a little bit more effective for his pain than bandages and stitches. And, honestly, he’s a bit tired of holding himself back. That’s why, without warning, he wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you a little bit closer so he can rest his head on the top of your shoulder. You don’t move for some time, which makes him doubt his action, but soon he hears your gentle voice.

“We’re almost finished, and then you can rest.” You say, placing your hands and his back to hug him, but not applying pressure on the bruises.

“I need you.” He says, his mouth on your neck sending vibrations through the area and making a shudder travel down your body. “Need you to take care of me.”

“I am taking care of you, Buck.” You manage to say, fighting the urge to glue your body on his. He’s in pain, you have to remind yourself.

But he tilts his head back, cupping your face with his flesh hand so you don’t take your eyes off of him. “Not like this,” he whispers.

For a moment, you simply stay there, suspended in time, lost in the intensity of the moment. His proximity sends a shiver down your spine as you hear Bucky's heartbeat racing, and you're acutely aware of the weight of his gaze on your face. You can see the pain etched in his features, but there's something else there too, something that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a raw, unfiltered emotion that you can't quite put into words, but it's there, simmering just beneath the surface.

The more you look into his eyes, the more you understand. The person in front of you is a broken man, momentarily defeated by the demons that come to haunt him ever so often, and his eyes are begging you to make those demons go away. He’s asking you to give him the only thing that could possibly make him forget this pain that is so much worse than the bloody cuts, to fill his senses with the only sensation stronger than the fear that's been luring behind his eyes ever since he stepped foot in your apartment tonight.

You gently place a hand on his cheek. His body tenses at your touch, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But then he relaxes, leaning into your hand as if you’re the only thing that can offer him solace right now.

"I don't want to make it worse," you whisper softly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

"You can't," he whispers back. "Many things... and many people may hurt me, but not you. Never you."

Bucky's words hit you like a ton of bricks, the weight of his complete - almost blind - trust is overwhelming. He had been through so much, faced so many torture and pain, yet here he is, willing to give you all that’s left of his trust.

“Please,” is the only thing he whispers, but it’s enough. Slowly, you raise another hand to his face and bring your lips to his. The kiss is tender, carrying an air of uncertainty, as if exploring uncharted territory. It holds the unmistakable essence of something new and unfamiliar, yet it overflows with raw and intense emotion.

“We still have to finish cleaning you up.” You say, breaking the kiss, and Bucky attaches his mouth to your neck, giving you permission to continue doing your thing.

Bucky gives you small kisses as you continue to cleanse his torso with soap, trying to avoid applying pressure on his still open bruises. You focus on each area with care, gently wiping away any dirt or blood while checking to ensure that he is comfortable throughout the process. As you rub the soap all over his body, Bucky starts caressing your hips, slowly going up and exploring your body like he always wanted to do. He can feel your stomach trembling with his touches and kisses, and it almost makes him go feral.

“Do you like this shirt?” He whispers in your ear.

“Why-” but before you can even think about your question, impatient as always, Bucky tears your old shirt in half, ending the outrageous fabric that was separating him from his greatest desire. You don’t care, though, because Bucky’s clear desperation only turns you on more.

“I’ll buy you another one.” He mumbles, but you’re not sure he’s paying attention to his words.

Continuing your work, you pay special attention to the intricate details of his vibranium arm, taking your time to meticulously clean between the plates from his fingers all the way up to his shoulder - careful not to miss a single spot like you’ve seen him doing multiple times - while Bucky distributes lingered kisses along your jaw down to your neck, until your right nipple is inside his mouth, and you have to hold back a gasp of surprise - but, of course, Bucky’s not having that.

“Wanna hear your noises.” He whispers and lightly passes his teeth through your nipple, getting you to moan out loud this time.

Satisfied, Bucky licks his way back up until your mouth, biting your bottom lip almost too hard and then kissing you passionately soon after. His tongue invades your mouth as he swallows every single one of your breaths. Reluctantly, you break the kiss. You finish the vibranium and go back to the flesh, working on the scarred skin on his shoulder, gently rubbing the soap, then brushing your fingers, and then your lips. The blood is almost entirely gone, leaving behind only the ugly outline of his wounds, which you start kissing lightly, earning a guttural moan out of Bucky’s throat.

Slowly, you slide your soaped hand through his body until you reach his rock hard length, carefully circling your fingers around him. One pump is enough to make Bucky moan loudly.

“Fuck, doll-” but you shush him with a kiss, invading his mouth with your tongue as you pump his dick. Bucky grips your hips like his life depends on it to hold himself back from bending you over and fucking you senseless. No, he wants to enjoy the moment. He wants to learn what you like and let you take care of him how you want.

You continue kissing his cheeks, then his neck until you reach skin around his bruises and then lick the water drops down his torso until you’re on your knees in front of him, staring at his huge length in all its glory while he leans his back against the wall to remain standing.

“Well, I’m glad at least one part of your body was left untouched.” You joke, looking up at him with a playful smile.

Bucky can’t help but chuckle at that, and you notice it’s his first genuine laugh since he arrived home. Good. “Gotta protect what’s yours.”

“Mine?” You ask, just wanting to hear him say that again.

“All yours.” He smirks, completely aware of your intentions.

Before the conversation can go any further, you slide the tip of your tongue through a prominent vein along his cock, and Bucky’s words are lost in his breath. You circle your lips around his pink tip, sucking a little, and the noises he makes are like music to your years. You proceed to slowly slide your entire tongue through his length one, two, three times, taking your sweet time while Bucky drops his head back and rolls his eyes. He raises his flesh hand to the back of your head and despite the context, his movements on your hair are gentle, like he’s somehow trying to thank you for everything, though he’s too busy moaning to say the words. You see that as an encouragement and take him deep inside your mouth, making up and down movements with your head and sucking as hard as you can while you massage his balls with your fingers. Involuntarily, he starts jerking his hips up into your throat.

“Babe, fuck-” he tries, but gets lost in the feeling when you fasten your movements.

It’s too much. The warmth, the feeling, the softness. Everything is too much, and Bucky is coming inside your mouth before he even realizes it.

“Oh, fuck- Shit, I’m sorry-” Bucky starts apologizing, but he immediately stops, watching in awe as you take a drop of cum that slipped off your mouth with your thumb and sucks it back into your mouth, swallowing everything he gave you.

Bucky helps you get up and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. You’re a little surprised when he presses two vibranium fingers in your clit, starting tiny circles. Despite the electric jolt that it sends through your spine, you hold his wrist.

“Bucky, you don’t have to,” you whisper.

“You don’t like it?” He asks against your lips.

“No, I do. It’s just-”

“Then let me make you feel good.”

You moan loudly when he inserts his two fingers inside your aching cunt, the sensation better than anything you could have ever imagined.

“So wet, baby. Is it all for me? Did you like sucking my dick that much?”

You try to say “yes”, but it sounds more like a whimper since Bucky had just found your special spot. Realizing it, he rubs his fingertips over and over again against the spongy area, and your legs start to shake. But as you’re about to warn him that you’re close, he stops.

“Not yet,” he whispers before you can complain, “wanna taste you.”

And that’s how you end up in your bed, lying naked in soaked sheets with Bucky’s face between your thighs, almost screaming as he moves his vibranium fingers in and out while sucking and licking your bundle of nerves. Soon, you feel that familiar heat in your lower belly.

“Bucky, I’m gonna-” you’re interrupted by a moan escaping through your throat.

He only hums in response, sending vibrations through your whole body and bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your eyes roll back as the pleasure gets to its peak, and you feel like you’re floating while Bucky happily cleans you up, the sensation of his warm tongue touching every single part of your pussy, inside and out, riding you through your orgasm.

When you come back down from your high, Bucky’s hovering over you, a mixture of lust and gratitude taking his features. He gives you a long chaste kiss.

“Told you, you couldn’t hurt me.”

You smile at his words. “Will you let me stitch you up now?”

“What if we just…” he covers you both with your blanket and hugs you tight, “forget about the stitches?”

“Buck…”

“You know I don’t need ‘em, doll.”

“But-”

He interrupts you with a kiss. Then another. Then one more. “Just today.”

You sigh, defeated, but snuggle up inside his arms.

Bucky gives you a long kiss on the forehead, whispering a very low “thank you” before you both fall asleep.

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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idkidk just some more ramblings before I’m off to read for the rest of the night (tw: angst, anxiety)

He knows when you keep busy like this that something is wrong. Preoccupying yourself with whatever task your hands latch onto until you wear yourself out. Something that can go on for days, even with a smile on your face.

But, your eyes.

He sees a sadness there that breaks his heart. A sadness you don’t want to burden him with because you’re not even sure of the cause.

Eddie watches as you flit around the kitchen from his seat at the island, day two of baking your little heart out. Something you love doing, making treats that make others happy. Baked goods that make you happy seeing what you can create with your hands.

But, he knows.

He knows with every quiet sigh you let out, every flicker of sadness you let wash over your face you think he doesn’t notice.

You’re talking a mile a minute about what you have left to do and how long it’s going to take, but it’ll be worth it.

And so he sits there with you, watching as you make shapes out of sugar cookie dough and ramble on about seemingly nothing.

“Why don’t you let me help you, sweetheart?”

His words so soft as if he’s afraid of startling you. Your head lifts, eyes taking in the warmth of his.

“Think I can manage some dough and cookie cutters while you make the next batch?”

Take my hand, sweetheart.

“Yeah, okay.”

You return his lopsided smile with one of your own, sending his heart racing.

And you both worked together, as a team. Eddie helping you in any way he could.

It was enough to know he was there.

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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So many little moments

Soft smiles shared from across the room as Eddie sits with Robin and Steve talking about the next gig he has coming up. His eyes catch yours as Robin turns to Steve, sitting with an elbow on his knee and his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Twinkling eyes sending a quick wink your way before jumping back into the conversation.

Fingers brushing as Eddie passes you a cup of coffee, fixed just the way you like it, as you give his hand a quick tap tap before he’s on his way back toward the kitchen. His woodsy scent filling your senses as he passes by, sending you yearning.

Sinking into your spot on the couch as you sip your drink, listening to another one of his stories— full of moving hands, impersonations and that smile showing off his dimpled cheek. Your eyes full of affection, zoning in on Eddie and his raspy voice as it blankets you in a comforting warmth.

And when he finally, finally, sits beside you. Equipped with two cookies, one already in his mouth, the other held out toward you. Your favorite. You take the treat from his hand as your other hand reaches out to wipe your thumb along the corner of his mouth, getting rid of some crumbs left behind.

Whispered words and amusement filling his eyes as he leans toward you, eyes focused on your mouth, “you’re gonna give us away, sweetheart.”

You shyly smile at his words, biting into your cookie, looking around to see no one paying a bit of attention to your corner of the room.

For now you’re safe in your little bubble made for two. Something so new after years of being labeled as just friends. Something that’s just yours, without the fuss of everyone knowing just yet.

Soon

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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y'all are just out here with your ghostface!eddie fics making me wonder stuff about myself...@reysorigins and @reidsbtch you know what you did. cw: knife play talk. 1K 18+ MDNI

You were staring at Eddie.

Not exactly out of the ordinary, you probably stared at him about as often as you breathed. But this time it wasn’t his face or his body that had you mesmerized, it was what he was holding.

The knife wasn’t anything remarkable, it was just a nice-sized one you’d found with him a few years back at a flea market. It was actually a somewhat prestigious brand, as you discovered from a quick search of the name etched into the blade. It was tarnished and dull, but the handle was solid and it had a decent weight to it, so you had bought it at a fraction of its retail price.

It quickly became one of Eddie’s favorites after you polished it up and gave it a nice sharpening, so you’d seen him use it plenty of times before. But this time…this time, for whatever reason, it was really doing something to you. Something about his hand wrapped around the handle, tendons in his forearm flexing as he sliced through vegetables with ease.

Your mind clouded with a vision of him standing flush against your back, his hot breath in your ear and rippling across your neck, his bulge grinding roughly into your ass, your arms held behind your back to pin you in place and those same tendons flexing as pressed the cool metal edge of the knife to your chest. Or even your neck.

Wait, what?

The shock you felt at thinking such a thing came on almost as quickly as the thought itself had, Stuff like that had never really been your thing. You weren’t even sure exactly what you were fantasizing about. Being captured? Powerless? Completely at his mercy? Under his control?

Maybe it was pavlovian. You’d been watching an awful lot of slasher movies lately, Eddie’s request, and it almost always ended with you being railed on the couch after burying your face in the warm solidity of his chest and breathing in the scent of his cologne when the movie got too scary.

Or maybe it was a lingering effect of all those videos floating around during Halloween of buff, shirtless guys wearing Ghostface masks, doing suggestive body rolls against door frames or menacingly tilting their heads to the side as they strode towards you over the sound of guitar strums in that menacingly slow gait.

“Baby? You okay?”

You blinked rapidly, coming out of your daze when you realized Eddie was speaking. The knife had dropped to his side and he was watching you curiously with those big, rounded eyes.

“Huh? What did you say?”

He just smirked and you glanced down at the small plate in his hand he’d extended towards you. Sitting on it was a little pile of green pepper pieces he always gave to you as a snack whenever he cooked with one. It had been happening for years now, ever since the first time he saw you munching on the tops after he cut them off and set them to the side to be discarded.

“Oh, thanks. Sorry, I was just…”

You took the plate from him with shaky hands, setting it down next to you on the kitchen island. Your voice trailed off, brain having gone so fuzzy you couldn’t even come up with an explanation why you spaced out. Could you even tell him what you’d been thinking?

Eddie just smiled. He knew that look.

“What’s up, baby?” he asked, cocky as he leaned against the counter. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. Eyes darting madly up to look at the ceiling, the fridge—anywhere but at his face as your cheeks radiated with heat from the blood pumping underneath your skin.

“Come on, now,” he purred like a wild animal, low and predatory. “Don’t be shy…what got you all worked up?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers now wrapped so tight around the edge of the countertop that you thought you might snap off a hunk of granite.

“It’s, um…the knife,” you finally said, letting your head drop to look almost guiltily at the floor.

Eddie’s brow lifted with interest as he raised the offending object and twisted it back and forth, the shiny blade flashing as it caught the light. It made your shoulders shake as a wave of shivers ran down your back, skittering over your skin.

“This knife?” he asked slyly. “This one right here?”

He then ran one finger slowly down its spine and even though you knew he wouldn’t cut himself toying with the safe edge, the sight made your pulse race and your thighs clench as arousal pooled between them nonetheless.

“Don’t tease me,” you pleaded with him softly, glancing up through your lashes as your head still hung in shame.

“Sorry, sorry.”

He let out a gentle chuckle and placed the knife down before he moved to close the distance that was between you. He placed his palms down flat on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in with his arms. His head dipped to catch your gaze, forcing you to look into his eyes and see there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in the warm brown pools.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” he said, the tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours.

You shook your head. “Neither did I,” you murmured sheepishly.

“Well, I’ve never done it before,” he admitted. His eyes were half-lidded now, staring at your bottom lip as you gnawed at it nervously. “But maybe tonight we can do some research?”

A soft gasp burst out of you as he pressed his lips to the hinge of your jaw and let them trail further down along your neck. You nodded fervently, breathless as you tipped your head back to give him more access. More excited shivers ravaged you as he reached your collarbone and you exhaled a needy sigh as the tip of his tongue began to trace it.

“Hey, Eddie?” you whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he murmured, lips still placing wet kisses along your neckline.

“You don’t still have that Ghostface mask…do you?”

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read, tears are running down my face

22 August, 1894

My love,

I hail from the toughest place you can imagine.

I want to be gentle, I want to die gently. Though it seems as life gets harder, I have to get harder to match.

I hope you will not have to know, but fear you already might, the violence it takes to become gentle once more. You are the gentleness that comes not from the absence of it, but from it in sheer abundance. I wish one day to know this kind of sweetness though I have not remained kind despite my anger. I have not removed my teeth nor refrained from bearing my claws. I hope you will forgive me not be gentle with me.

I did not know my father well, but I know I wear his anger. It feels both familiar and terrifying. Sometimes I fear myself, for my body is both familiar and terrifying in that same sentiment.

I can feel the red hot terror seep through my veins in time with anger, though every day that terror grows to be replaced with nothingness. The ease in which I hurt and the ease in which I kill are cousins in a terrible, perverse family.

I know that someday I will die. And I know that I will die a violent death. I know that if you are able to love me that long, you will have to witness it.

And I vow that when death finally does decide to take my hand, that I will be holding you with the other.

If you will have me,

Steve Harrington

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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I saw this tweet, and it just got me thinking about rockstar!eddie being a dad and having his little one rushing on stage to see him.

Also, I'm not great with making gifs still, so ignore the terrible quality.

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU w/ Steddie x Reader. 🫶🏼

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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How are the Eddie’s reacting to their girl getting a tattoo? And what do you think each one would get?

i honestly don't think any of them would act negatively lol. i think they'd all be like "oh cool" and maybe more excited depending on the tattoo, like if it was for them or something.

i remember we kinda talked about how sweet girl definitely has nipple piercings, and it shocked the fuck out of eddie the first time he saw them lol. i think along with that we said she'd have like a little arrowed heart with his initial on the inside on her bikini line.

and nb!reader has one for her girls. a bouquet, with each of their flowers in them but it would be hidden. i think she'd have eddie's name tattoed on her ring finger, probably his signature.

and i think modern!eddie's mean girl would have a tramp stamp idk. like i think she'd have one and eddie fucking loves it.

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kiszkathecook · 4 months

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eddie who's cynical and grumpy only because he hasn't had proper aftercare. most people just roll over or leave when they're done and those that do stay to cuddle, it's Eddie holding them and never the other way around. He doesn't want to admit that it makes him feel dissatisfied afterwards, like the sex wasn't even worth it, because he got laid, that's the point, why complain? But there's just something... missing (and I figure aftercare wasn't as talked about in the 80s so he isn't really too sure what that something is)

Until a night with reader where they have absolutely mind-blowing sex, parting with heavy breaths and as Eddie's heart rate starts to slow back down to normal again, he's waiting for reader to grab their clothes, roll over on their side, something that breaks the connection and makes his heart drop. But they don't, reaching out a weak hand (because they're sluggish waiting for their soul to return to their body) to rub his arm. A gentle back and forth, which feels nice, but Eddie's suspicious. What is this, why are they doing it, and why does it feel good?

And then, "Can I play with your hair?" (from the muse prompt lol) and he's agreeing with a shrug and when reader starts to card their fingers through his curls and massage his scalp, Eddie melts. It's like a whole brain recalibration. His icy heart getting thawed out just because someone made sure to take care of him too. And if reader wakes up earlier in the morning just to ask how he likes his eggs? Eddie's already decided that he's gotta lock them down.

+18 mdni

cw: p in v sex, cockwarming

It’s you tipping over the edge into orgasm, choking his cock with your velvet walls, soft whine spilling from the back of your throat, that takes Eddie with you.

As he comes, he burrows his face into your neck. Your hands reach for his skull to draw him closer, and he unintentionally bites down a bit too hard on the soft skin of your neck.

You let out a gasp, fingers seizing in his hair, and he’s quick to pull his mouth up, kissing and soothing over the spot he’s left with his teeth.

“Shit, sorry, sweetheart,” he pants, the affection slipping out despite himself.

“It’s’okay,” you mumble out in one word, limbs going to putty, hands extricating themselves from his hair.

Eddie rises to his elbows and moves to gingerly pull out but you stop him, fingers flying up to dig into the meat of his biceps.

“Wait, can you- will you just stay in? For a little bit?”

You’re not kidding, he can tell- you’ve got a wounded puppy look that he’s dying to change. Eddie sinks slowly back into you, rotates his hips a bit so you take less of his weight, and settles his head on your collarbone.

A big, dreamy sigh, from you- like you’re perfectly content because of how close Eddie is.

His eyes flutter shut when you begin tracing light lines with the pads of your fingers over his bare back.

“What’cha doin’?” Eddie murmurs into the skin of your sternum.

Up his spine, circling under the curtain of hair against his neck, down the spine again; looping and rhythmic. Your hands don’t slow as you whisper “Lovin’ on you, weirdo. Hush.”

You can feel the well of his dimples against your skin as he smiles.

“Can I play with your hair?” you ask quietly, and before he’s even finished nodding you’ve got both hands winding into his dark locks.

You start gentle, thumbs at his temples, light touches against his scalp, but when your hands find the roots you give a short but hard tug.

The little flash of pain goes straight to his dick, and he bucks into you with a low groan, half filled-out already.

“You gonna give me another pretty mark to look at?” you purr.

Eddie lifts his head from your chest and grazes his teeth into the opposing side of your neck just below your ear, in tandem with a sharp snap of his hips.

He catches your clit beneath his thumb and grins wicked when you moan, pulling up again to look down at you as he says, “Gimme another one of your pretty orgasms and we’ve got a deal.”

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