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lighteyed · 11 months

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you and i (back at it again) / steve harrington

summary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: inspired by this tik tok because i nearly shed a tear also this is my first time posting in awhile be nice pls

He watches his friends reunite with their families, mournful. He stands alone and contemplative by a cop car, the various spots of bruising and swelling on his face beginning to pulse with pain the more his adrenaline began to fade out of his bloodstream. The cops at the station said they'd called his parents house, his house, but no one had picked up. He knew they were home. He kicks a rock near his his foot, shoving his hands in the pockets of the bloody uniform he was still wearing. He wants a shower. He wants to go to bed. He wants to go to bed with the serenity of someone who knew they were loved. He wouldn't be able to do that if he went home. The word home a loose term.

"We can take you home if you need a ride, son," one of the cops says to him. Steve kicks at another rock. Home.

"That's alright," Steve says dismissively, ignoring the tight twist in his chest. "Someone will have gotten in touch with my parents by now. I'm sure they're on their way." The cop looks doubtful. Steve hates that he looks doubtful. Steve hates that he's also doubtful. "Couple more minutes," he swears. He knows he might as well walk his ass home, though.

He leans against the hood of the car, rubbing at his jaw. His hand comes away bloody. He's about to accept the cop's offer for a ride, maybe, he figures, he'll just go to Robin's and sit there for as long as her parents will have him, when a car comes careening into the lot like there's not fifty officers of the law standing around, the tires screeching loudly across the gravel. It's barely at a stop, practically still moving, when you throw the door open and throw your body out of it.

"Steve Harrington, what the fuck?" You leave your car door open, leave it in the middle of the road, still running, to get to him in time. He gazes at you, and it's a stupid look in all honesty, mouth agape, his brown eyes big and tragic looking, his face torn up and swollen. He wasn't expecting you. Why would he have been? You'd been broken up for a few months now and he was still nursing his wounds from it, knowing it was supposed to be for the best; you felt like he was hiding things from you and he knew that he was, hiding all the stuff about the Upside Down, not wanting you involved, wanting you safe. And in a way he was glad for it. He'd gotten through this with you unscathed, and who knows what would have happened if you guys had still been together. When he looks at you, though, when he allows himself to be pulled in closer, your hand coming up to graze his cheek, examining every scrape on his face with softness and worry, he allows himself to want. To miss you.

You tilt his face back, scrutinizing his features. He keeps his eyes on you. You showed up for him. No one else but you. You were here. "The fire is all over the fucking news and I didn't know if you were working tonight so I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from someone and then your friend Robin called and said you were waiting here for someone to come get you so I just came in case and- and what happened to your face? And where are your parents?"

He shakes himself out of his stupor. "They didn't answer the phone." But you did. You answered and you were here. A wave of pure love rushes through him. He knew a thing or two about being alone, had felt that way for as long as he could remember, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with or how many parties he threw, but you were here, and he wasn't alone. Steve wraps his arms around you in one sudden movement, an outpouring of affection he hadn't realized he'd been reserving for you. Always you.

You stand there for a moment, processing, before you respond, leaning into his touch. The sirens wail around you. Neither of you move. He's safe. You breathe relief into the embrace, holding him tighter to you. He's hardly talking, and usually he's the one talking the absolute most, but he's stunned, both with what's just happened, what he's borne witness to, and with the way you care about him despite everything, more than anyone he's ever met, and the way he cares about you and how could he ever, ever let himself let you go? How could that ever happen? It's all he thinks about as he holds you, feeling safer than he's felt in awhile, the smell of your hair and your skin filling his brain with serotonin.

"Am I taking you home?" You pull away, staring up at him, his ruined face that is still so painfully gorgeous, still so hard to look at. Your hand is remains poised on his cheek. It's warm and welcome.

"No, no, your house, please," he brings his hand up to meet yours.

"I got you, c'mon, honey." He turns and thanks the officers who'd been waiting with him before letting you lead him to your car. He keeps his hand on yours. It tethers him to reality. He's here and he's okay. Or he will be, soon. He's here and he's safe, at the very least. He's not trapped and being tortured. No one's going to hurt him. He's got your soft hand in his and he's okay for right now.

The drive to your house is silent, but it's not awkward. You try to keep your eyes on the road as much as you can but you can't help that they keep finding themselves back on Steve. You've never seen him so reserved. You're sure it was more than a fire that happened back there, and you're sure he won't tell you a thing about it. You drive one-handed the whole way home. You let him need you.

At your house, you get your bathroom set up for him to shower, placing fresh towels on the rack for him, laying out your products on the counter. He would've been able to find them regardless, but you busy yourself with it anyway. When you go into your bedroom to tell him the bathroom is ready, his shoes are off and put into the corner he used to always put them in, and he looks exhausted. "I didn't bring clothes to change," is the first thing he says.

"That's what you're most concerned about?" You give him a funny look. You open your closet and rummage around on the ground for a second before tossing him a pair of his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stares at them in his hands. "I didn't know if I should give them back. So I just... didn't." He smiles a little. The first you've seen all night.

"Thanks," he waves them in the air before retreating down the hall. The door shuts and the shower squeaks on.

The way you loved Steve was unconditional, as much as you wish it wasn't sometimes. Even when he was pushing you away, even when he kept things from you, you'd always be there for him. He didn't have anyone in his corner like that. And you wanted to be. It wasn't something you felt obligated to do. You cared about him, and so you went to him. He'd do the same if the roles were reversed. It was unconditional because even when being there for him hurt, you still stayed. You still loved.

When he comes back into your room, his hair dripping but clean, God, he feels clean, his face devoid of dried blood but bruised and wounded, you're waiting for him with a first aid kit and a fresh ice pack. You must've heard the water shut off and gotten everything ready for him. The old sweatpants and t-shirt smell more like you now than they do like him but he's not complaining in the slightest. Something about you keeping them instead of throwing them away or lighting them on fire makes him think maybe there's hope. Not that you had a bad break up to begin with, it was more sad than angry, nothing that warranted a clothes burning, but still. Still, still, still.

He sits down where you indicate, rubbing his towel across his head to soak up the sopping water. His face is flushed from the hot water. You sidle up next to him with the medicine and bandages and try not to get too caught up in him. He places the ice pack on his puffy, blackened eye. He doesn't get it, this gentleness. He doesn't think he deserves it, really. After everything, does he deserve it? Does he get this peace?

"You're fidgeting," you mutter, narrowly missing the spot you were aiming for.

"Oh, sorry," he lifts his chin up a bit more and tries to sit still. You're so patient and kind and it makes him ache a little. You take care of him and it's not for any reason other than you caring about him. He's not used to anyone caring about him. "Are you sure this is alright? You don't wanna... be alone?"

"No, I wanna make sure you're okay," you answer easily, as easy as breathing, swiping medicine across his wounds with the lightest touch you can manage. He hisses in pain, and you wince, feeling it, too.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to, Steve, I promise." You pat his cheek, another gentle, affectionate maneuver from you. If he's okay, you're okay. He takes this in. He thinks he really feels his heart expanding.

As you start dabbing at his other wounds, you speak, finally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he replies, blinking up at you with his good eye.

"Was this..." you hesitate. He probably won't answer. "I don't doubt there was a fire but this..." you gesture to his face. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than just escaping a fire, Steve, you look seriously fucked up."

"What, you don't think I look pretty anymore?" He smiles again and you roll your eyes at him, but you smile back all the same.

"You're very pretty, Steve, but you have a black eye and there was blood all over your face and you're all cut up." He swoons just a little when you call him pretty. He's got an ego, what can he say? He continues smiling at you, a little high off painkillers, a little high off being here with you. If he's gotta be tortured he may as well get you back out of it.

"You look pretty, too, y'know," he says softly, his free hand twisting a strand of your hair around.

"Dodging the question I see," you raise your eyebrows at him but say nothing else. It was to be expected.

He takes a deep breath, looking up toward the ceiling, thinking maybe all this time he's just been stupid and silly for not telling you sooner, maybe he could've been with you all this time if he'd just told you, maybe it wouldn't have been the end of the world to have you involved. Maybe it would all be fine. "I wanted to keep you safe from all of it. See what happened to me? It could've been you, if you had been there."

"I would've wanted to be there with you," you insist. "You know I would."

"I do," he nods. "And that's why I don't involve you, babe, if something happens to me it doesn't matter to anyone but if something happens to you-"

"Why would you say that to me? You think I wouldn't care if you died?" You take his face in your hands, and he drops his ice pack. "Steve, are you an idiot? It would matter to those kids you spend all your time with if you died. It would matter to Robin, and to your family even if they take you for granted, and it would matter to me. I love you so much you moron, you can't say it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter. I go out of my mind worrying about you, don't tell me you don't matter."

His head spins, in the best possible way. The pain from his wounds doesn't register. Your hands on his face registers. You words register. Everything else is background noise. "You still love me?"

Oh. Your face warms. It's not like it had been that long since you'd called it off, it should've have been a surprise to him, but hearing you say those words makes him light up. You see him light up. "Yeah, of course I do, it doesn't go away just 'cause you won't tell me anything about your life," you grumble, taking your hands off him.

"Hey," he whispers, grabbing for you before you can tear yourself away from him. He brushes the hair back from your face. He has that look in his eyes that make people fall to their knees. Heavy-lidded and tender. Soft. Loving. "I love you, okay? I do. That's why I try to protect you. I'll tell you anything you want." He knows it now, for real, that he can't lose you again. Not this time. "C'mere, come back." You let him pull you in. "I'll tell you anything, please don't leave me, okay?" You shake your head at him. Never, never. He's pleading, desperate. When he moves to kiss you, the desperation is laced in it, he's lurching forward and he's hungry and yearning and your lips meet soft and fast because he wants to savor it after so long.

The disconnect of your lips sends him reeling, he wants to dive back in for more, for more of everything, but you stop him. "It's me and you, okay, always. But you gotta let me all the way in this time." You tap his heart lightly. "All the way, Steve. Everything."

He leans back. He is hesitant and bruised and bloody, a little bit broken, but mostly he's in love. Mostly he wants to give you the world. So he takes your hands in his. He tethers himself to reality. And he talks.

#trying to convince myself posting is FOR FUN i don't have to want to VOM from nerves every time i go to post...#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things x reader

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s4no · 6 months

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TOKREV: BDSM CLUB, PT. I

+ feat: manjiro sano, ken ryuuguji, takashi mitsuya, chifuyu matsuno, kazutora hanemiya, keisuke baji, tetta kisaki & hanma shuji

+ cw: fem!reader, each character will have their own cws, MDNI !!

+ summary: what they get up to at a bdsm club.

+ a/n: repost from my old account! all characters are aged 21+ @enchantedforest-network @bitchcraftinc

ಇ 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗝𝗜𝗥𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗢. + cw: unprotected sex, mentions of plan b manjiro sano walks into the club like he owns the place— and he could if he wanted to, a thick stack of crisp hundred dollar bills tucked away inside the pocket of his jeans. he doesn't even glance at the girls until he's had a drink or two, but once he loosens up a little, he's there to have some fun. he usually searches for one of two types of women. on one hand, he enjoys the sweet, shy kind. the kind that unevitably fall apart on his cock, tears brimming in their eyes as the babble incoherently. but sometimes, he finds the biggest brat on shift and spends the rest of the night taming her into submission. while condoms are highly recommended, they're not required, and as long as manjiro has been coming to the club, you've never seen him use one. you usually lose count how many times he cums inside you, your stomach bloated and filled with his seed. each time he finishes, he just ends up fucking it back inside you. after all, he's giving you more than enough to pay for plan b.

ಇ 𝗞𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗬𝗨𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗝𝗜. + cw: implied size difference draken always recieves a warm welcome when he comes to the club. the girls swarm to his side to bat their lashes and ask him where he's been, why he didn't come around to see them earlier. and he always assures them that there's certainly enough attention to go around. he doesn't even get halfway through a drink before there's a woman seated in his lap, another sucking bruises into his neck. once he's had a taste of all his options, he typically chooses one girl for the night— which happens to be you tonight. he takes you to a private room and doesn't waste any time putting a condom on and bullying his thick cock inside of you. he thinks it's endearing the way your legs start to tremble halfway down his length, how you whine that it's just too much. with a smirk on his face, he assures you he'll make it fit and thumbs your clit until you loosen up enough for him to sink in all the way.

ಇ 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗜 𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗬𝗔. + cw: cock warming, spreader bar (r), impact play (r) mitsuya is friends with everyone at the club. from the bartenders to the dungeon master to the security, he chats them all up before indulging himself. when he finally sits down, he beckons you over and tells you he'd like his cock warmed while he enjoys his drink. he makes you do all the work of unbuckling his belt and stroking him until he's hard, straddling his torso and lowering yourself onto his length. once you're situated, he sips his drink and lazily plays with your clit, tsking when you start to squirm. it seems like eternity before he finishes his drink, and he revels in the way your pussy pulses around him with need. lifting you off him, he leads you over to one of the walls, choosing his weapon of demise: a spreader bar. he secures it between your knees and commands you to keep your hands planted on the wall while delivering brutal slaps to your soaked cunt, chuckling lowly when your body jolts from the impact.

ಇ 𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗙𝗨𝗬𝗨 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢. + cw: voyeurism, oral (g), exhibitionism baji practically has to carry chifuyu into the club. it doesn't matter how many times they go, his nerves always get the best of him. he's a complete mess, blushing and staring at the floor. at least, until he gets a little liquor in his system. once he's more relaxed, he finally lets his eyes wander around, watching various pairs play with each other. he doesn't even realize he's been staring until he looks down at his lap and notices the large bulge in his pants. he looks so cute, sitting there all flustered like he doesn't know what to do with himself. that's when you approach him, leaning down and placing your hand over his erection, whispering how you can take care of his little problem. it's all chifuyu can do to keep from falling out of his chair as you pull his dick out and take it into your mouth, head bobbing as your hand pumps the base. his eyes squeeze shut as pleasure trills up his spine, and when he opens them, he finds himself being watched by multiple people. it has him cumming much sooner than he anticipated.

ಇ 𝗞𝗔𝗭𝗨𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗔 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗬𝗔. + cw: marking (r), nipple clamps (r), handjob (g) kazutora is a wild card depending on how much alcohol he consumes. at the beginning of the night, he's calm and collected, composed as he picks you out from the girls walking around the room. leading you to one of the velvet couches, he takes his time marking you up, placing clamps on your peaked nipples and covering your chest in lovebites in the shape of a 'K'. however, the more he drinks, the more his composure starts to slip away. all of his teasing begins to backfire and soon he's whining as you grind down against his cock. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, and you find it adorable how desperate he is, how his hips needily buck up against you. you're quick to pull his dick out, smearing the precum over the tip until he's begging for release. his head lolls back as you jerk him off, and the sounds that escape him are downright pornographic. pathetic whimpers and deep groans fill the space between you, and his entire body shudders as he shoots his load, cumming all over your hand.

ಇ 𝗞𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗝𝗜. + cw: collaring & leashing (r), butt plug (r), pet play during the first hour, baji usually hangs out with chifuyu, sipping his drink and pointing out girls he finds attractive. they watch a couple of stripteases and pole dances, tucking dollar bills under bra straps and into the waistbands of lacy panties. hell, baji may even get a lap dance. but the true fun doesn't begin until baji beckons you over and secures a collar around your neck. he undresses you slowly, until the collar is the only thing you're wearing, and then he runs his hands over your curves, groping and squeezing your soft flesh between his fingers before pushing them into your mouth. once they're nice and slick, he draws them out only to start prodding at your ass, easing his middle finger inside your puckered hole. from there, he stretches you open enough to fit a butt plug, one that vibrates with a bunny tail attached. you're his pet to ruin for the night, and after he's done playing with you, he proceeds to connect a leash to your collar and lead you around the club, letting everyone get a good look at his cum leaking out of you.

ಇ 𝗧𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗞𝗜. + cw: gloryhole, spitting (r), slapping (r), choking (r), fingering kisaki has a routine when he goes to the club. every single night, he walks around and scopes out the available girls in search of the perfect one. admittedly, he's not entirely sure what exactly he's looking for. but he needs her to be perfect. each time he doesn't find her, he takes his frustration out on whomever is working the gloryhole. he fucks the mouth of a nameless, faceless girl, tossing the money onto the floor when he's done. but eventually kisaki finds her— you. from then on, he only goes to you, abadoning the gloryhole and ignoring every other woman that approaches him. sometimes he comes in while you tend to other clients, and it always unnerves you because he sits down and watches you. waits for you to finish, stewing in anger. the moment your client leaves and he gets his hands on you, you learn the extent of his jealousy. he's ruthless, delivering harsh smacks across your cheeks and spitting into your mouth. with three fingers stuffed inside your cunt and his other hand wrapped around your throat, he taunts you about your previous client and makes you beg for forgiveness.

ಇ 𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗝𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗠𝗔. + cw: handcuffs (r), oral (g), face-fucking, deep throating as soon as hanma steps foot into the club, he wants to get his dick wet. he grabs himself a drink and a girl, restraining her hands behind her back in a pair of cuffs. he forces you to kneel before him, sucking him off while he converses with the other men, acting much too casually for someone getting head. other than a couple of commands, he doesn't offer any help, giving you free reign until he's close. when he satisified with your efforts, he rises to his feet and tangles a hand in your hair, holding your head in place while he fucks your face. with each thrust of his hips, the tip of his dick slams against the back of your throat, and you can't help but gag around him. but if you try to draw away, he retaliates— holding your head down so your nose is pressed against his pelvis. he's amused by the way you start to thrash, spit dribbling down your chin and making a mess on your chest. only when you completely submit to him does he graciously cum down your throat.

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mochimooon · 2 months

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handsy - jean kirstein x reader 18+

Jean really likes to finger-fuck you. 'Nuff said. notes - established relationship. this came to me suddenly one morning and possessed me to write this on the fly. Zero plot, barely edited, minor POV switch, just filth :) warnings - explicit content, vaginal fingering, pervy! jean word count - 1800+

Jean is a handsy man. Or rather he’s a shameless perv – your words not his.

Then again, it’s hard for Jean to deny that. He can’t help it, never with you, not with the body you have. Moreso, he loves touching you.

The feel of your body, molding into his touch. The softness of your flesh, the roundness of your tits so fun to grope and pert nipples, too cute to not pinch. And then there’s that neck of yours, always adorned with a chain or necklace that calls his attention, a vampire that needs to sink his teeth into. He can’t forget those legs of yours. How they bend and stretch, looking so pretty wrapped around his waist and neck.

It's no secret, Jean loves to touch you in the most lewd ways. He calls it worship, you call it shameless.

To-may-to, to-mah-to. Because despite your bravado, you enjoy being spoiled by him, fending him off with lighthearted attempts.

But there is a line that you’ve been forced to draw, one that Jean crosses again and again and again.

It’s just not fair, he thinks. Of course, he’s more than thrilled to have you in any way that he can, but he wants to draw his own line that crosses over yours. Because pray tell, why it’s such an issue that Jean, more than anything else, fucking loves to finger you.

After you had swatted his hand away for the nth time during a dinner date, you demanded to know why he wanted to finger you constantly.

It was the first time, Jean had to think about it. There’s just something so naughty about sneaking his hand where it shouldn’t go. It’s perverted, he acknowledges that, and that’s what makes it the most fun. Something everyone’s taught— keep your hands to yourself. Jean likes doing the opposite with you.

The feel of your pussy pulsing around his digits, walls clamping down on his knuckles, it makes Jean delirious.

Jean’s a glutton for every single response you make. From the various ways you utter his name.

With a surprised gasp, “Jean!”

An annoyed, click of your tongue. “Jean…”

A hushed tone. “Jean.”

When you’re cumming on his fingers, moaning out, “Jean!”

Annoyed, worried, aroused, Jean loved every bit of it. Seeing your face screwed with pleasure despite bad timing (again your words. There’s no such thing as bad timing for him), nothing you could say or do would deter him from not fingering you.

The cycle never ends. He slides a hand up your skirt or dips his fingers into your jeans, and his touch makes itself at home in your wet pussy, all while you try to bat him away.

Today is no different. At a party with close friends, Jean had been extra touchy-feely with you, forecasting his habit. He managed to stave off for a few hours as you mingled with others, while he gave you some space only to resurface like an overactive puppy in desperate need of a walk.

But midway through, he snatched you up the stairs and into Connie’s bedroom, hands lifting the end of your dress.

You smack his chest. “Jean – no! Bad!”

He snorts, dropping his hands in feigned innocence. “Baby, I’m not a dog.”

“Yes, yes, you are. We’re at a party, just cool it for tonight or else.”

He dug his hands into his pockets, but you keep a close eye on them. “What do you mean or else?” His voice drips with curiosity, wiping away his impish grin.

“Or else, no touching for a while. No sex.” Jean’s mouth drops, but you cut him off. “I’m not messing around. You can’t just finger me with other people around.”

“Why can’t I finger you here then?” He sways on his heels, looking around to indicate how it’s empty. “I was on my best behavior. Didn’t slip my hand up your dress once tonight.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “No, but you were very touchy. Didn’t you hear Sasha tell us to get a hotel?”

He steps forward, hands still buried in his pockets. He’s being cautious, you can tell because you step back. “What’s wrong with wanting to touch my girlfriend?”

You clench your jaw to stop you from repeating the same thing. It’s a strategy that has worn you down in the past. Jean will beg, ‘but why not?’ on loop, using that charming smile of his to pepper kisses along your face, and your vestige would melt every time.

No, you tell yourself, watching him closely, ready to grab his hands when they leave his pockets.

He looms closer, gaze spilling onto your face. “I just want to touch you. I mean, look at you.” Light brown eyes rake you up and down. “You deserve an orgasm looking that good. Are you saying you don’t want one?”

It’s not fair how weak you are to the look he gives you. And the simple words of wanting to spoil you twists in your mind and curls down to your stomach, lighting that familiar spark.

No. You need to stand firm. This is good for the both of you. “It’s not going to work this time.”

“But – ”

“Uh-uh.” You shake your head. “It was cute the first couple of times, but I’m drawing a line.”

He pouts, a plea in his eyes.

You avert his gaze, unable to trust yourself, and it takes more restraint when Jean steps closer, kissing your hairline.

“Let me make you feel good. I just want my baby to relax.” He trails his lips to your forehead, down your nose in an innocent gesture, then finds your jaw. “C’mon. Say yes.”

You bite back a mewl, conflict only making you warmer. No matter how many times he’s touched you, Jean leaves you spellbound like the first time you met.

“Say yes…” he purrs into your lips.

The words steep into your mind, so close to reaching your tongue. But you catch the sound of others walking by, reminded of where you are. You blink, taking stock of the bedroom. Jean, however, doesn’t care about any of that, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Jean…”

“Uh-huh…” His voice trails towards victory.

“Not here.”

He pulls back, throwing his head back with a deep sigh, a look of defeat. You bristle with regret, yet stunned that Jean actually relented.

He lowers his head, a glimmer flashing in his gaze that sends a shudder down your spine.

It’s too late to stop his hands; they’ve freed themselves from his pockets and grab hold of your hips. You expect to be thrown on the bed, only for the floor to jostle in your sights.

Jean holds you securely over his shoulder, hooking an arm along the back of your knees. The other is on the move, lifting your dress and pulling your underwear off.

“Jean – ” You wriggle, though afraid you’ll fall.

Jean’s too strong to let that happen, even more determined to keep you in his clutches. Your panties are slipped past your ankles and tossed somewhere you can’t see. He pats your bare ass, giving the side a kiss.

Without preamble, you feel the drag of his finger along your slit, whining out.

“You’re soaking. You see, you just need an orgasm.” Jean’s tone is shadowed with lust.

“Jean, wait – ” you gasp, unable to negotiate, cut off with the push of two fingers. Your pussy flutters, stretching with a sting that sculpts around his knuckles. “Ah –”

“I’ll make you feel good.” Jean’s fingers pump into you deeply, the pad of his thumb reaching for your clit.

“Ah – ah – ” You’re already so dizzy, melting like clay at Jean’s deft fingers. It’s a first to be finger-fucked like this, but he’s skillful as always, you can’t blame this man for wanting to finger you. He’s a master at it. “Jean—”

He hums, pulling back his fingers until the tips tease your entrance. You miss the fullness of his touch already and you wriggle again, clutching onto the back of his shirt. “I’ll keep going, only if you say you love being fingered by me.”

You whimper, finding a way to grind down onto his fingers in the position you’re in. It feels impossible, only reaching the brush of his fingertips.

“Say it,” Jean says, pressing onto your clit. “Say, ‘I love it when you finger me’.”

You don’t know what it is about this time that hits different. On his lap, on your back, on your feet, Jean never fails to make you come undone on his hand. But over his shoulder, reliant on his hold, your stomach burns, your pussy dripping.

“Say it,” Jean repeats. “I want to touch you bad. But I want you tell me that you love getting fingered by me.”

You feel one finger plunge inside, nowhere near enough. “Jean, please, finger me.”

“Gladly, but that’s not what I want to hear. C’mon, don’t be stubborn. We don’t have all night. The party’s going to end in an hour, and Connie will need his bedroom at some point. Of course, I can always tell him that we’re busy.”

You scoff but it’s strained. Doing a sweep of your surroundings, you’re dizzy, voice lost.

“C’mon. You can do it. Just tell me you like how I finger you…”

You moan at the press of his fingertips teasing your hole. The moment drags out and you ache for reprieve. “I – I love – when you finger me – ”

“That’s my girl.” Triumph laces Jean’s murmur and he rewards you with three fingers, thrusting into you while his thumb rubs at your center. “You deserve an orgasm now.”

Your fingers claw Jean’s shirt, toes-curling as you’re struck with ecstasy. You moan out, wrinkling Jean’s shirt to stabilize you.

The moment passes, a crashing of a wave returning to the sleepy ocean. You fall limp, boneless and satisfied.

Jean slides you to your feet, keeping you steady. You peer up behind a lidded gaze, gratitude in your smile.

He strokes your face, taking his soaked fingers in his mouth. “I could finger-fuck you every second of every day.”

You smile weakly, leaning into his chest. The moment is short-lived. Your back sinks into the mattress with Jean crawling over your body, prying your thighs apart.

You give him a dumbfounded look, slow to realize what he’s already had in store.

He cups your pussy, teasing your entrance again. He flits a look up, mischief caught in his eyes. “Give me another one and I’ll keep my hands to myself for the rest of the night.” You’re too weak to argue, already bucking your hips at the renewed pleasure Jean pumps into you. His words evade you, as you and Jean both know that keeping his hands off you is a false promise. You swallow your pride, because he's not wrong, you wouldn't dream of him keeping his hands off you.

543 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 9 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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houseoflibra-if · 4 months

Text

"House of Libra? It's best not to talk about them, lest you wish to end up silenced like how they once were."

House of Libra.

Once the peacekeepers of the kingdom, now reduced to nothing but a lost tale. They were well respected by many for maintaining the balance of the lands, yet betrayed by those who wished for too much.

However, without House Libra keeping the balance alive, the world succumbs to the ire of the Zodiac Aura. A powerful dose of magic pulses through the lands, mutating anyone without protection. But protection can only last so long, and it's only a matter of time before the Aura consumes the lands whole.

Your family remains as one of the only branches of House Libra left alive. Due to the natural essence of your house, your family is less affected by the Zodiac Aura. No matter, as House Libra grows smaller, the world continues to eat itself alive.

It's up to you to restore the peace in the lands, for you were born under the Equinox sky.

"Never forget my words, little star. This House may have fallen, yes, but we will rise again."

House of Libra: Resurgemus is an upcoming interactive fiction inspired by the zodiac signs. You will have the freedom to explore the story and its characters with depth, so questions and various asks are greatly encouraged! This series will be 16+ (TBC), on Twine.

Features:

Play as a male, female or non-binary person. Have the freedom to choose your appearance based on what you like.(Please take note that I am a new writer, as such I do not have much experience with writing non-binary characters/pronouns. Please bear with me!)

Shape your character and personality, should you be kind, cold or a sassy boss, the choice is yours.

Build relationships- or break them if you wish. The choice is yours, but your actions will have consequences.

Have a say in the way your back story is woven. Choose your desired trauma that will affect certain plots of the story.

Choices matter. Your actions and words will influence the ending you achieve, so be wise with how you wish to shape your story.

Romance ranges between the 4 given options, shower them with your own type of affection for they will adore you nonetheless. Or you could lead them to their deaths. Woopsie.

Choose your relationship with your family. Are you a loving family? Or do you constantly need family therapy? Choose their fates as well (but don't kill all of them, that's kinda mean.)

Gain new skills and various powers that will aid you in your journey. But be warned, will they great power comes great responsibility. And a greater chance of messing things up.

Various endings will (hopefully) be available based on your choices.

This IF will be more focused on interactions and choices compared to stats. I don't think I plan on having stats. Maybe a sanity bar, but I'll see how well the coding goes.

Romance Options

Avira/Aurelius Lozenges, [RO]

Age: 26

The eldest child of House Leo, Avira/Aurelius is the epitome of the zodiac's charms. Charismatic, ambitious and loyal to a fault, there's no wonder why they're called by the admirable title of House Leo's Golden Lion. They are expected to take over the ruling throne once their father retires.

Although, with every envied perfect child comes a chamber of secrets, and they are no different. Guarded eye(s) and tense shoulders, they seem constantly restless under judgmental gazes of everyone in the kingdom.

Perhaps, you may be able to give them the freedom they long for. After all, a lion in a castle is still a caged lion.

Romance trope:

Love at first fight

Tame a wounded beast

Cocky/Arrogant -> Soft/Sweet

Castora/Castor Dioscuri, [RO]

Age: 24

The renowned child of House Gemini, they are known for their sharp mouth and playful personality. Castora/Castor remains as the number one It Girl/Guy of the kingdom as they're not only captivating in nature, but they too posses a brilliant mind like no other. Having them on your side would be quite advantageous, no?

There's something off putting about them though, as the House of Gemini have always borne children that are twins no matter how different. Yet, Castora/Castor remains as the only member of House Gemini to be born alone.

Will you dig deeper into their depths? Or will you drown in their eyes, just like everyone else? With them, you are never alone.

Romance tropes:

Slow burn

Frenemies -> lovers

Closed off heart that's waiting to be loved

Esme/Esmeray von Aquaria, [RO]

Age: 28

Some people call them cursed.

And to others, they were simply unlucky as a child for straying too far.

Esme/Esmeray is a child of House Aquarius, yet they couldn't despise it enough. Known for being one if the most influential houses due to their unyielding intelligence, a child of House Aquarius must be perfect in the eyes of others.

Yet Esme/Esmeray is the exact opposite of that. Cursed by the effects of Zodiac Aura when they were younger, they carry the mark of the Waxing Moon. This affected their life despite protection given, and they will not rest until they slay the beast that hurt them so.

They have a cold and distant personality, paired with one of the brightest minds in the kingdom only to be rivaled by the child of House Gemini. Will you be the one to thaw this icy heart? Or will you suffocate in the depths of Aquaria?

Romance trope:

Grumpy/sunshine

Cold -> absolute simp

Heated arguments and soft confessions

Nyoka Constello, [RO]

Age: same as player character

The forgotten children of the banished zodiac. Nobody remembers how this House used to flourish as they are now called the Followers of Ophiuchus. Scorned by the lands and cursed by the stars, the last surviving followers live in hiding. Now, they are nothing but tales woven in time.

Well, that's for everyone else. Nyoka just so happens to be your childhood friend, having been born under the same moon and stars aligned. They used to be docile and caring, but times have changed and so have they. Don't fret, little star, for they still have a soft spot for you.

They have an unusual appearance, with a long and sturdy sea-snake tail paired with sharp semi-curved horns. Their dark eyes seem to pull you in, rivaling the stars above.

But the mutation is spreading, and they've no clue how much time they have left. Save them, if you must. Or watch the one you once loved die.

Romance trope:

Angst. Just angst. And maybe fluff.

Childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers

"Perhaps we were soulmates in another life."

Here are some things you need to know:

I am a new writer (this is my first interactive fiction project.) so not everything will be smooth sailing.

I estimate the demo to come out mid this year, but personal matters may change some things.

This is my passion project. Please don't expect me to dedicate all my time onto this as I have a life as well.

I'm very new to coding, so learning twine will take a while. I'll have to do a few test runs before releasing the demo.

I adore feedback and asks about the game. It helps me improve as a writer while getting to build my characters more.

I want to have fun with everyone, so hateful criticism will not be tolerated. Treat me with respect and I will return the gesture.

That's all for now (I think). Have fun reading!

Demo (TBA) || Character Post (TBA) || World building (TBA)

Credits to Doshiart on picrew for the character portraits!

#twine if #twine #twine game #interactive fiction #romance #fantasy #ro #House of Libra:Resurgemus #HOLR #upcoming #interactive novel #interactive game #wip #if

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evilminji · 6 months

Text

Gold can be exchanged for goods and services (o.o )

Pariah's Keep probably has a shit ton of Precious Goods from various places.

Danny is become King?

If Danny becomes King... then the Zone will somewhat obey him. The Crown and Ring could EASILY tell him where the next natural portal is, where it opens up, and for how long. How many there are. Could probably make a few.

Probably WAS supposed to be making them. Consciously. But, well, Coma(tm).

Would probably count as Kingly Duty to filter and collect. Clean Ecto goes out for souls that remain, a Gateway home for those that wish to LEAVE, so forth and so on.

Effectively, being The Grim Reaper. You don't CAUSE Death. You just guide the way home. If folks so choose.

And that's neat! Horrifying, but neat! And Danny can TOTALLY see how it would eventually drive him completely breakfast cereal fruity nuggets! LUCKILY, he's got a vaguely bro's/Mentor thing going with the ghost who has ALL OF POSSIBLE TIME flowing through HIS head! So Danny should be Gucci!

The headaches suck though.

But WHAT... to do with all this Gold and valuable Space Goods? Most of these aren't even recognized currency on earth! Like the Shells. You could buy a mansion with one of those... on the right planet. On Earth? Pretty paperweight. Hmmmm >.>

Wait.

WAIT!

<o> *points to top of head!* CROWN! It can? Predict and make PORTALS!

Portals lead any WHERE and any WHEN!

Gold... can be exchanged for goods and services. He remembers, holding a gold brick, about to eat so, SO much pizza.

But WAIT! I hear you wondering! Surely, you mean? Within his past? The history and region of space he knows, right? Ha ha :) Nope! Cowards.

Danny is on the alien otter's planet, trading those sweet, sweet Shells for some snacks no human could eat and a shawl for his sister! He's hiding, badly, behind a food stall in the Martian market place. Hoping future hero J'onn Johnes doesn't notice him.

Lying to the Space Cops, bout where his untraceable Space Money came from, on an alien trading satellite. The Green Lantern's not buying it. Oh noooo >.> sudden Fright Knight. Looming Menacingly by the loading doooocks. Everyone's upset! Definitely not related to him! Better go check on that! :) *gets the heck out of dodge* (my king. Please stop using me as a distraction.) (No promises)

But! It's all fun and games? Until your human friends get sick. Like... REALLY sick.

And then you suddenly remember time and space mean nothing to you. One 15 minute flight that way, two doors, a quick flight of stairs, and a literal child's play place slide? You could be in the 32nd century.

That disease is AT BEST, an unpleasant afternoon, there.

Here, your friend could die.

You trade a student two Spanish dubloons. They have no idea what they are. Just like the look of them and know they're real metal. They walk into the pharmacy for you. Don't question your "social experiment paper" lie.

You're back in less then an hour.

The screaming argument about ethics and mortality lasts hours.

She still takes the medicine. Gets better. Won't talk to you for months. Because why does HER life matter more? Why bend the rules for HER? And you can't bring yourself to say what pulses as Truth from both Crown and Ring.

You could because she didn't Matter. Time... would not notice, nor change. She was in no way pivotal to the flow of history, must one more ant beneath its unrelenting march. Mattering only because those who love her CARE. Because one or two little things might change for the better.

But it takes the shine off of it, a little.

Being able to go to the FUTURE. Watch movies and see aliens and humans alike in the crowd. Read books and dance to songs from people who won't be born for hundreds of years. Eat snacks from the farthest reaches of the cosmos. Or the early BCs!

And that's BEFORE other time travelers clock him as That Shopping Guy. The one who keeps popping up... buying things. For what? Unknown. Probably dinner. Half the time it's food. Trinkets. Once it was a really, REALLY nice goat. (His aunt was THRILLED.)

It probably drives Bart crazy. Because NO ONE knows anything about the guy? Everyone just universally goes "oooh yeah! HIM! Yeah, he sure does Exsist(tm). Very... present and exsistant." Like that's not CRAZY! He has so many question. So Many! What is he even BUYING!? Why? Is there an order? Or is he winging it?!

*pulls out list* he needs ANSWERS!

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #thinking with Portals AU

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powerfultenderness · 11 months

Note

Heelloohh! It kenat stop itching my brain so imma share it to everyone, Neighbor könig startling Y/n as y/n let out a questionable sound, and the following nights neighbor könig's he dreamt about that... Please powerfultenderness! THANK YOU!!!!!

🤭 Ooooh boy!!! König's dreams!

Gonna drop a Mature 18+ rating on this one because of those dreams!

König tried to say hi to you, but you ignored him, walking down to the mail room and humming to yourself. He followed you, about to speak up again when he noticed the white earbuds you were wearing. Ah! You couldn’t hear him! A wicked smile crossed his face as he dropped back a few steps while you blissfully continued on your way.

He waited until you had closed your mailbox, attention fully on sorting through the various letters in hand, before he pounced.

“Got you!” He shouted as quickly pulled you in his arms, lifting you in the air enough that your feet swung from the ground.

“Aieee!”

You squealed, mail flying through the air, and kicked your feet out at nothing. Your hands clasped down on his arms as you looked up and behind you to the laughing mad man.

“König! Let me down!”

Still laughing, and with his arms still around you, he set you back on the ground. “You should pay more attention!”

You rolled your eyes and popped your earbuds out and stuffed them in one of your pockets. “Stop laughing!”

Of course that only had him laughing harder, practically leaning on you to keep himself upright.

“König!” You whined and tried to wiggle out of his hold, not very successfully, the man had an iron grip (and chest!).

“Ok! Ok! Sit down, my little bunny.” He once again lifted you from the ground, not nearly as high in the air, and gently sat you down on the table that was pushed against the wall under the mailboxes.

For just a quick moment he was standing between your knees, your thighs spread wide just to accommodate him, and you let out a quiet gasp and whimper in that short moment. He stills, big warm hands grasping at your thighs and you panic. You quickly pull away from him and slap your hands over your face, “it’s not funny, König!” You whine and sniffle and-

“Shit! Are you crying?” He jerked away, as quickly as if he’d been burned and started to fret around you, unsure if he should touch you again.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

A sob racks your body and you hiccup and gasp for a breath.

“I’m sorry, my love! I’m so-” he was leaning down enough to peek at your face, still mostly hidden by your hands, enough to see that you were holding back a smile. “You’re laughing!!” He jumped back and pointed an accusatory finger at you!

You finally let go and dropped your hands from your face as you threw your head back in laughter. “Ahahhahahaha!!! That’s what you get for scaring me, you big jerk!”

You must have looked like two maniacs just sitting in the mail room laughing like crazy, but neither of you could care at the moment what any passerby would think of you.

He helped you gather your fallen mail, and grabbed his mail while he was there too, and the two of you still shaking in laughter, walked you back to your flat.

Flowers. Pretty flowers that faded from sight as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin of your neck. “So beautiful.”

You gasped, arching into his touch and whimpering as he nibbled and lapped against your pulse point.

“König,” your arms were around his neck, hands clawing at the back of his shoulders like your life depended on him. Good, he growled as his lips traveled up your neck to your face, you needed him, he pressed his lips against yours, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He needed you.

You squeezed your thighs around his waist and let out another erotic whimper. You pulled back from him, he tried to follow, but you gently pushed one hand against his chest to stop him. “König,” you whispered and glanced shyly away from him. He didn’t like that. He nudged your chin so you were looking at him again. “What?”

“Can I sit on your face?”

His eyes rolled back and he groaned, hips grinding into you. “Yes! God, yes! Please!”

He picked you up from the mail room table and turned around to set you on his bed, hands flying underneath the skirt of the pretty dress he bought you to pull down your panties, black lace finding a new home in his pocket.

Then he climbed on the bed, laying down while simultaneously pulling you, giggling the whole time, on top of him. You sat up, knees spread apart so that you were straddling his chest. He ran his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt high against your waist, the fabric pooling down your center. “Come here,” he tried to get you to move higher on him, but you ignored him and leaned down instead.

You softly pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss. “König.”

He gladly returned your kiss, but upon its natural conclusion he once again tried to entice you to move, just a little more.

“König.” You repeated with a breathy sigh.

“What?”

“König!”

“WHAT!”

“Jesus, man! Wake up, it’s go time!”

“Fuck!” König shook the dream from his mind for now, focusing on the mission before him. But the second he had a moment of free time, his thoughts went back to that dream.

[More neighbor König]

#wybwtjmiadz #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #neighbor!könig #konig x reader #blurb #lmaooo even in his dreams!!!#when he called her my love in german #she didn't understand it.#she mostly uses context clues when he speaks german to understand him. and just assumes his nicknames are common friendly nicknames

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its-pip-art · 4 months

Text

Chokehold

Astarion x Tav (f)

Warnings: NSFW 18+, minors DNI, smut, blood, p in v sex, fingering, blood drinking, slight praise kink, slight pain/injury kink, porn with no plot

Summary: Astarion gets a little bit TOO into Abdirak's demonstration of torture on Tav in the Shattered Sanctum. Has to immediately steal her away and sort himself out

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes: I was going to write a whole fic about Astarion and my Tav, Antillia and this was one of the plot points, but I woke up this morning and wanted to write it. So if I ever get around to writing the fic I'll re-write this scene and add more delicious, angsty, lovey stuff into it - this is just bare-bones shit. Plus lack of character description in this makes me shake because I wanted to keep it as vague as possible so it's easier to project yourself/Tav into it.

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Astarion throbbed against the leather of his trousers, the once gentle want for her now burgeoning desperation. It was becoming painful. Each strike committed against her made him pulse with desire. His eyes followed the pretty rivulets of blood that escaped her broken skin. “Keep going.” He urged, doing everything he could not to moan her name.

Tav braced against the final strike and she could do nothing but yelp and tremble in the wake of it. She drew in ragged breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

“You have earned her love, sweet thing. Loviatar is so very impressed.”

Astarion watched Tav dangerously as she composed herself and thanked the man with an earnest smile (oddly misplaced, he thought, given the circumstances). The first moment after they stepped out of the room Astarion seized Tav’s wrist and dragged her off to the side. “We have to go.” He hissed.

Tav stared at him bewildered and with growing worry that her odd encounter with Abdirak had inadvertently caused trouble somewhere else in the sanctum, “is something wrong?” She could feel him shaking against her. She held his gaze, the brilliant red giving way to black, his pupils were so dilated…

Astarion held her arms, mostly to steady himself but it was all undone when the cool wet of her blood finally deigned to touch him. His eyes flickered shut from the exquisite sensation, and when they opened they were dark. The light started to disappear between the two of them as the distance closed. His body tipped towards her. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Tav lit red with the abruptness of proximity and his command. “Right now?” She asked in a hoarse whisper, but a wry smile broke through at the vulgar thrill of it. “The torture stuff got you going, didn’t it?” She felt fervour lighting within her when Astarion smiled at her, that dazzling smile.

“Immensely so.” Astarion whispered. He felt a little bit of comfort from the way she flushed, knowing that he was soon to get what he craved. He shot a glance over his shoulder, both Karlach and Shadowheart hadn’t gone with them into the priest's room, and for that, he was eternally thankful. He straightened up, clutched Tav’s wrist and began the search for a secluded room - a secret place for him to indulge wholly in his biting desire. He led Tav quietly and quickly through meandering passageways, leaving behind the thrum of the main hall until the sound became just a hum, and then, nothing.

Tav gazed around the silent room that was lit only by a few candles and she leaned against one of the sarcophagus’s, which eased the strain on her back greatly but did nothing to aid her mounting hunger. She watched Astarion pull various crates and large objects in front of the door to block it. “Is that necessary?” She was joking, and only a little concerned. But before she could utter another word he was between her legs grasping her throat, and the wind was well and truly knocked out of her.

Astarion’s expert fingers began to release the leather straps and laces that kept him from her deliciously soft skin. He eased the thick shirt off and his eyes danced over the crest of her shoulders, where he could see the beginnings of her wounds. “Show me.”

Tav’s skin stung with goosebumps at the demand and she turned her back on Astarion, her stomach twisting with pleasure at the gasp that came from him. She flinched at the coolness of his touch, one hand resting on her waist and the other carefully tracing the fresh lines in her back. “Ah-!” She gasped when the hot flat of his tongue dragged along her upper back. She felt a thump between her legs immediately and she braced herself against the hard stone tomb.

Astarion sighed with the instant gratification of her blood flooding his tastebuds - the most beguiling and richest of wines, and as always, utterly dizzying. He nudged his hips against her and his determined cock pressured his leathers once more. He tightened his grip on Tav’s waist, eliciting a strangled whine. Silently he guided her to face him, beguiled by the way she gazed at him…breathlessly wanton. “Darling…” he said so softly as his raptured gaze devoured her heaving chest, his fingers carefully tracing down her clavicle where old marks healed from their last tryst covered her supple breasts. He bent to kiss them, admiring how pillowy they were and how they juxtaposed his hardness so wonderfully.

Tav watched Astarion kiss and kneed at her, her brows knitted in a deep but pleasured frown as his teeth plucked at her stiff nipple. She raked her fingers through his wicked curls and guided his lips to hers, finally tasting him. The advance quickly deepened and she could feel his teeth teasing at her bottom lip, the weight and heat of his body pressed against her. A rough hand pulled her flush against him she could finally feel his tortured cock press against her stomach. As if he heard her plea she was lifted and perched atop the sarcophagus and his rigidness lined up perfectly with her wetness. She reached quickly into his trousers and gripped him, laughing into his kiss at the reaction. “Astarion…” She pressed her forehead against his as she began to work her hand up and down his shaft.

Astarion managed to steal a glance at her as she sighed out his name, the dim candlelight danced in her eyes and her skin was pricked with sweat already. He pulled quickly at her trousers and threw them behind him and he pushed her forcefully onto her back and he fucked his fingers into her, devouring her expression as she convulsed beneath him. “You are soaking, love.” He nipped mischievously at her jawline and slapped away her searching hand. “Not yet.” He warned.

Tav threw her head back and her back involuntarily arched as Astarion continued to viciously pump his fingers into her. She wanted to take control somehow. She considered her next move carefully, which was extremely difficult to do in her current situation, she could quite easily carry on as she was - he was excellent with his hands. But she wanted to be filled.

Once again she lulled Astarion’s lips to hers and held him in a kiss as she reached across herself to drench her fingers in her blood. She broke the kiss and slipped her fingers into his mouth and he groaned, clamping his lips around them and sucking. Tav felt her legs begin to shake from the sensation of her quickly building orgasm but she disrupted his rhythm and it receded. She took the chance to untangle herself and spin beneath him so that her bare arse pressed against his pulsating cock, she pushed back further and grinned when he moaned - an aching moan. “You said you wanted to fuck me,” she glowered over her shoulder at him, “so fuck me.”

Astarion could have finished there and then at the sight of her eclipsed by shadow - his shadow. His hunger for her grew, but not only that, the pleasure in denying light any access to her - he was greedy for all of the spaces it had touched in the past. He wanted the sun to envy him, to resent his sinful kisses, his decadent touches and his maddening caresses.

He pushed his fingers back inside of Tav briefly and used the wetness to lubricate himself with a few languid pumps. His rapacious hands rocked her onto him, setting a brutal pace. His scarlet eyes burned into her back at the redness of her skin, he felt no shame for the ecstasy her pain had brought him. For a moment the only sound other than their laboured breathing was the slapping of his hips against the meat of her arse, and if he wasn’t so offended by her silence he would have enjoyed watching her ripple in the wake of his thrusts. But Tav had a habit of being a nearly silent lover, mostly due to fear of being overheard - which did not line up with Astarion's depraved need to hear her scream his name. He took a fistful of her hair, wrapped his other hand beneath her torso and pulled her up so his lips could meet her ear. “We have a rare opportunity, love, you can howl and you won’t be heard.” He wasn’t entirely sure that was the case, but he wanted her to sing, needed her to sing.

Tav shuddered against him as his nimble fingers closed around her throat. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, and as Astarion had confirmed before, he was able to hear it. The first rumbles of vocal pleasure began to thrill out of her, slightly performative to begin with, but even those made Astarion rut harder against her, prompting a genuine and searing wail of pleasure. She was released back onto resting on her elbows, allowing her to drive some of the motion against him - the response of which made her keen loudly.

“That’s it,” Astarion growled in praise as he marauded every depth of her. “Good girl.” He sharply inhaled as Tav pounded back at him. He hunched over her, desperate to be as close to her as possible. He pushed his fingers into her mouth and when they were sufficiently sodden he took them to her folds and began to circle her throbbing clit. The reaction to which was a delicious buck of her hips that all but destroyed her grasp on control - he now had it back.

Tav grasped desperately for anything to hold onto to centre herself as Astarion mercilessly fucked her. Her skin was white hot and her vision was clouding. “A-Astarion-…” She managed shakily.

“Yes, love?”

Tav could feel the spread of heat in her stomach, the rope pulled taught. “I’m going to…” She couldn’t manage the last part, her lungs needed air and she was becoming delirious.

“What, darling? You’re going to what?” Astarion relished the way she writhed and reared against him, his fingers worked more ferociously now - agitating her further.

“Cum.” Tav choked out, “I’m going to cum.” She was burning up, searing. She could feel Astarion's hot breath on the back of her neck, his teeth seeking a spot to sink into her. And instantly it all fell apart, the rope snapped the moment he bit into her. “Gods, Astarion!” She cried and mumbled and mewled as her body succumbed to rhapsody.

Astarion drank from her blissfully, her clenching and undulating coupled with the exquisiteness of her blood tipped him over the edge and he emptied himself into her, his pace eventually slowing to a tired stop. He kissed the tip of her ear and nipped the lobe. “You’re a dream.” He sighed into her hair.

Tav laughed. “So are you.”

#astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion romance #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader

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fushigurro · 5 months

Text

𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆 𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗗𝗢𝗠!𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / mommy kink, mdlb vibes / handjob / edging / crying / mentions of punishment / technically gender neutral aside from reader being called ‘mommy’ / almost 1k words

idk y'all. i can no longer deprive my mommy domme spirit of what it needs. if it's ooc... just look away. I NEED THIS OKAY. and he needs to be punished and then babied a lil bit. it would fix him. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BOY!!!!!

Your ribs might as well be fused together given the way you’re pressed so tightly to each other’s sides, skin welded to skin as blood pulses life throughout the both of you. It’s the moments like these that make you realize he’s more human than most would like to believe.

You can see it in the way that very same blood causes him to flush various shades of pink and red, can feel it in every tremor of the muscles that work so hard to hold him upright. Satoru Gojo is more of a human being than ever when he’s in your grasp, and that’s precisely why he’s always so eager to be within it.

The bed is plush beneath him but it doesn’t compare to the comforting sensation of your arm secured around his waist to keep him close, making him feel warm and enveloped even as the crisp air nips at his exposed skin. Your other hand is wrapped around the red, weeping mess that is his cock, hard and throbbing to the point it causes pain, because you’ve already edged him three times and are now heading for a fourth. Though he’s hoping that perhaps this time you’ll bring him to the edge and let him tumble over it.

Legs spread, Satoru’s head thuds against the wall behind the bed as he swallows thickly, panting as your palm continues to squelch along his length with every slow and precise stroke. His face is wet with tears and he has one hand fisted into the sheets while the other spreads along the inside of your thigh and grips for purchase.

Where he once was so incredibly vocal, he is now reduced to a being that can only offer soft sobs and whimpers in reaction to your loving torture, and this is how you’re able to tell that he is at his limits. You’ve broken him with your steadfast yet gentle punishment, edged him until he’s bleary-eyed and obedient like a needy child, and your efforts have been successful, so you think there’s no need to drag things out for much longer.

“Mommy, p-please…” he begs in a whisper, voice warped by tears and hips struggling to refrain from bucking up into your hand. Satoru has repented for his earlier transgressions and has since lost the attitude that had gotten him into this situation. You’re starting to feel rather merciful towards him now.

You turn your head to press your lips against his temple, soothing him with a kiss there and mumbling, “Shhh, I know, baby.”

Satoru shudders at the feeling of your warm breath and words floating around his ear, and he’s fallen deep into a space that fills his head completely with fluffy clouds and stardust. He needs you to give him permission to let go, to finally give in to the pleasure you’ve been withholding from him.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” you ask, tasting the salt of the tears upon his cheek.

Satoru breathes in a small gasp, hips twitching as he nods enthusiastically. “Mhm, yeah—yeahyeahyeah,” he answers you with desperation, suddenly filled with hope that you’ll give him a much-needed orgasm. “I’ll be good, mommy, promise.”

You grin at the way he slurs his words and vows to be obedient despite his insolent nature. “Alright then,” you reply, your permissive tone like music to his ears as your hand continues its rhythm. “You can go ahead and cum for me, Satoru.”

He immediately releases a moan of pure relief and lets his eyes roll to the back of his head, muscles finally relaxing now that he doesn’t have to fight off impending release. He can simply float in a cloud of bliss and let the pleasure wash over him when it finally comes, which is going to be much sooner rather than later at this rate.

Satoru’s grasp on you tightens along with his balls and abs, lungs struggling to breathe properly as your hand picks up its pace a hardly noticeable amount—but it’s enough for him, and that’s evident by how he pants and moans in little ‘ah, ah, ah’s that fill the air.

“That’s it, angel; give it to me,” you goad gently, and that’s all it takes. With one final choked cry, Satoru tenses up and releases ropes of cum that land hotly on his thighs, his stomach, and your fingers, painting them sticky white. It drives him into an even more mindless state than before, and after he’s done sobbing out his pleasure, he begins to crumple into you regardless of his size.

White hair tickles your neck as he makes a home there. “Messy boy,” You giggle lightly and grant his cheek with a kiss, admiring the way he’s covered the both of you with such a heavy load. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Satoru tucks his face further into your neck with a pout. “Mm. You’re mean.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully shake your head. "Oh yes, I know. I’m just the meanest mommy in the whole wide world," you reply jokingly. "I never ever let my baby cum or give him kisses or hugs or snuggles afterwards. I'm just the absolute worst."

All he does is huff against you and stay silent for several moments afterwards while you rub a comforting hand along his arm. After his body’s gone slack and breathing has evened out into a slow tickle along your skin, you begin to suspect that he’s about to doze off.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, baby. We still need to get you cleaned up.”

Satoru shuffles and whines, wrapping an arm around your waist and trying to force his oversized body even closer to yours in protest.

“Uh uh, don’t whine,” you warn with a slightly firmer tone. “No more attitude today. Not unless you want another punishment.”

#dividers by @cafekitsune #satoru gojo x reader #sub!gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #cw mommy kink #my writing.#re: satoru gojo

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slut4starwarssmut · 3 months

Text

MDNI

CW: smut, virginity loss (reader), fauxcest, soft dom, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), drug use, alcohol, fingering, swearing, mostly smut barely plot

AN: i was too lazy to proofread but, i did put in effort to make it look pretty :)

Hanging out with Stepbro!Sam again because your parents thinks it’ll keep him out of trouble. He knows you’ll tell them everything so he has to be on his best behavior or get grounded.

Tonight he’s reluctantly taking you to a party, and he hates the idea of his little sis stopping his fun.

When you get there you immediately decide this isn’t your scene; people making out, the smell of weed and the loud music. It totally isn’t your thing.

You’ve been mindlessly swiping through your socials as to not feel so out of place, when he snatches your phone instead replacing it with a beer.

“Don’t you wanna at least try and have fun” he scoffs, tucking your phone into his back pocket.

You try to refuse, reminding both yourself and him that you’ll be grounded if you get caught drinking, but your protests are silenced when he lifts the cup up to your lips and forces you to take a big gulp.

You screw your face up “God Sam, tastes horrible.” but it only encourages him to make you drink more.

Sam disappears for a moment, before returning with an already lit joint. taking a deep inhale before blowing the smoke into your face. You cough disgusted by the thick smell. “Can’t snitch on me for smoking anymore, not when you smell like it too.” he smirks while studying your curious gaze.

“Wanna try?” You attempt to refuse but he’s already pressing it up to your lips, stroking the back of your head with his other hand.

You take a big deep inhale trying to mimic the way Sam had done it. Unfortunately for you it doesn’t go as well and you splutter up a chesty cough.

“Oh, poor baby” he coos, debating if it was the pet name he used or the weed that has you blushing like an idiot.

“Look at you, misbehaving. Can’t tell on me anymore, can you?” he winks before pressing the joint back to your lips “again.”

As the night goes on you feel increasingly confident with Sam protectively guiding you through the house with his hands steadily placed on your hips.

“I’m really tired Sam, we should go home” you slur while making dizzy eye contact with him.

“m’kay princess, let’s go” he’s says, taking your hand.

The drive home was a blur, sat in the passenger seat giggling as you held your fingers out the slight crack in the window.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart” he states before taking you inside and up the stairs.

He steps inside your bedroom with you and you mumble something about wanting to get undressed and that he should go, but he ignores it, undoing the zip at the back of your dress and slowly pressing chaste kisses onto your pulse point.

“Sammy, what’re you doing?”

“getting you ready for bed princess” he states plainly, before slipping your dress off you leaving you in just your pretty lace set.

He continues to kiss down your neck and shoulder pushing you forwards, till your knees meet the edge of your frilly bed. He spins you round, eyeing the front of your bare body and your slightly timid expression.

“We shouldn’t do this Sam”

“shh, you know i’m just looking after you.” he answers, hands placed on your hips drawing small circles with his thumbs onto your stomach.

You move into his touch, reluctantly giving into what he wants. He dips his head, allowing his lips to be level with yours breathing against them before pressing them onto you. His kisses are wet and sloppy, swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, politely asking for entry.

Too jaded for you to notice. He asks verbally “open” to which this time you comply. His tongue wraps around yours gently massaging.

He pulls away laying you down on top of your pretty floral bedsheets adorned with various stuffed animals and pillows and removing his shirt.

“Are you still a virgin?” he questions and you nod frantically. The idea of it amuses him. His perfect lil sis, that he wants to corrupt so bad.

Sam brings his thumb to the wet spot on your panties, “are you sure darling” he chuckles “you’re soaked.”

He hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you into the bulge in his pants, encouraging you to let out a slight whimper.

He drops to his knees, not breaking eye contact with your panties. Leaning in he presses a sloppy kiss onto your mound. “gonna take these panties off ok?”. you reply with a nod, head too fuzzy to let any real words come out.

He bundles the panties into his pocket before returning his gaze to your slick. He rests the side of his face on your thigh inches away, while bringing his finger up to run up to your slit. “ever been fingered baby?” he groans while kissing the soft skin of your thighs.

You crane your neck to look at him “m’never!” you whine, clenching around nothing begging to be filled. With the admission he plunges his finger into you, and you respond by grabbing his hair and tugging hard. “shhh, you’re ok my love” he coos and your walls flutter around him, needy for more. He obliges working you open with a second finger, this time placing wet sloppy kisses on your pulsing clit.

You muffle your moans with your fist, remembering not to be too loud. You can feel him let out a breathy laugh against you. “you’re taking me so well princess, are you sure you’re a virgin?” He knows you most definitely are, Sam just loves to see you get all flustered and defensive.

“your cunts so sweet, here come taste it” he rises up from his kneeling position, smiling to himself with how already fucked out you look.

He kisses you, this time more deep and aggressive making a point to bite down on your lip opening your mouth wide enough to spit into it.

“You’re so fucking well behaved for me, you know that right?” there’s almost a hint of aggression to his voice now, possessed by his need for you.

You’re too overwhelmed to speak, you have been since he first kissed you. all you can do is whimper at the way his bulge is tucked in between your heat, rutting himself into you.

“You want me too fuck you baby?” he questions, smirking when you nod desperately.

“Ask for it.”

“p-please fuck me Sammy” you whine, barely comprehending what you’re asking him for.

He stands, quickly removing his belt, followed by his jeans and boxers. His thick erection slaps against his lower stomach. It’s big you think, or at least bigger than you thought it would be. Tip blushed and leaky precum, and the base decorated by dark trimmed hair.

He returns to his previous position, arms bracing himself either side of your head. Length pressing against your slick cunt.

“You ready baby?” he questions, almost amused by your wanting expression.

“Just be gentle” you mutter, he smirks at this as if he knows something you don’t.

Almost painfully slow he nudged into you inch by inch, it’s a dull, burning kind of pain. But nothing that isn’t bearable. He stops when he’s halfway inside you- not that you know that, to you, you’re stuffed to the brim.

He holds himself there for a minute, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead.

“Doing so so well my love.” he looks almost pained, as if he was the one currently getting impaled.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, want me to move?” he doesn’t wait for your response only groaning when he drops his hips, sliding fully into you.

Tears start to well as sam starts to move, he kisses you hoping it would provide an ample distraction to how you’re puffy cunt is bullied by his thick cock.

“my little good girl takin’ me so so well aren’t you” he looks down at you grinning at the way your little pupils have dilated, and how your swollen lips tremble with every thrust.

The feeling of him inside you is becoming more and more pleasurable, Sam senses it too, speeding up his thrusts. There’s a feeling building up in your lower tummy and he can tell, bring his hand down to tease your little nub, as you tangle your hands into his dyed hair.

“You gonna let go on my cock baby? C‘mon do it, cum for me” his verbal affirmation was enough, your heart raced and your mind went fuzzy as you had your very first orgasm on your stepbrothers cock.

The tight grip of your cunt along with the sensation of you tugging on his hair sent sam into overdrive, his thrusts growing messy and desperate. He let out a final grunt before cumming inside of you, leaving you even more full than you thought possible.

He collapsed onto you, his chin in the crook between your neck and shoulder. Both of you attempting to regulate your breathing.

He rose onto his forearms before pressing a wet kiss onto your lips. “Not so much of a good girl shoes now, huh?”

#hayden christensen #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam x virgin reader #stepbrother!sam monroe

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qtboni · 8 months

Note

Heyyy I love your writings so much I wanted to ask if maybe you could write a ghost x reader story with angst to fluff maybe where the reader gets tortured in front of him or gets kidnapped idk

╰﹒ 𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐀 !

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X Reader

C/W: fem!reader, angst to comfort, violent themes, kidnapped/captivity, restraints, choking/strangling, asphyxiation, death (minor), explicit words, inaccurate spanish dialogues, bit of canon divergence. w/c 3.4k

Ghost could only hear the ringing in his ears as a firm hand connected harshly in his head. "C'mon, pinche pendejo," A woman crouched in her knees infront of him, a snarky smile etched in her face. She looked like a predator waiting for her prey to break, and she had no intention of making it easy for him. "We were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there... Who?"

Valeria. Ghost concluded in his thought.

"Go fuck yourself." He grunted as a reply and averted his gaze elsewhere. It was clear he wasn't interested in giving out any information. His insulting statement made the woman's smirk to drop as an irritated expression took place.

"If I were you," Valeria replied, her thick accent sipping through. She snickered as she taunts him by tilting her head to the side, faking a pity expression. "I'd be careful with my words."

"Why would I, ya lil' fucker." Ghost hissed, his brows furrowing as he glared at her with a menacing expression. He tried to move his tied wrists and legs, but the rope was too tight. His frustrations boiled at the feeling of helplessness, the tight bonds threatening to cut off his circulation.

"Because?" She replied with a deep chuckle, her eyes gleaming with a malicious glint. In one swift motion, she grabbed him by his vest and forced him to look up at her. "I have your pequeña princesa right here." Her words were punctuated by a self-assured smirk, her expression daring him to defy her command. His muscles were tense, his hands curled into fists as he struggled against his bonds, the tight rope digging into his wrists and legs as he tried to break free.

'Princesa?' He thought, his mind racing to make sense of her word. But then it clicked.

You.

Ghost took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure in the face of her teasing. ’She's playing with me,’ He thought as he tried to keep a cool head, but her words and expressions were certainly having an effect on him. There was no way Valeria had caught you. He was sure you left with the team!

"So?" Valeria's voice brought him back to where he was. The woman infront of him smiled widely in a sadistic and disturbing manner, her eyes glinting with evil intent. "Tell me. Ask my question,"

"You're a fuckin' lunatic if you think I'll give up intel," He fought against his rising emotions, thinking to himself. She was just messing with his head for sure. But his heart beat at a frantic rhythm, each pulse hammering against his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. "Don't even fuckin' know what you're on about,"

Disappointed, Valeria clicked her tongue. But it was not out of annoyance, no. There was something sinister beneath her snobbish grin, as if she was toying with Ghost and was enjoying it. A series of sinister chuckling enveloped the dark lit room. He could see from the corner of his eyes that a leather roll was unwrapped in the table situated at the side, revealing a collection of various knives, razor blades, tiny tools that were nonetheless can convey damage to one's body.

"No?" Valeria turned away from him for a moment, locking eyes with one of her minions on her right. "Then, I suppose I have no other choice but have you believe me that I stick to my words, hm?"

"Fuck you," He spits even if his heart tightened with dread, thinking for the absolute worst. She's lying. You can't possibly be here. He watches as the woman turned back to him with the same wicked grin, gaze still piercing him like a dagger. "Sit comfortably, yeah?" She continued, speaking as if her decision was already made. She smirked as her words sunk in at Ghost, the thought of harm coming to someone else sending a chill down his spine. "You'll need it."

"I don't f-"

"Wanna know why, cariño?" She cuts him off with a mock, leaning even closer to him. She didn't give him a chance to reply back as her hands wrapped around his covered jaw, her touch causing the skin under to burn with a mental flare. Then she whispered into his ear, her words a slow and teasing drawl. "I'll torture her up real good, and make you... Well," She paused to consider for a moment, before a slow grin spread across her face. "You'll just have to see for yourself." A dark amusement flickered in her eyes, the thrill of his helplessness evident in her tone.

With a rough pat on his cheek, Valeria stood up, her expression serious and professional. "Tráela En," She ordered the men to her side, who immediately obeyed. With a quick glance back to Ghost, the men piled out of the room with Valeria, their footsteps echoing in the hallway outside.

With the men having left the room, Ghost thought of how he could try to escape the restraints that held him down. He wiggled his arms in an effort to free himself from the ropes, but they held firm. His eyes darted around the room frantically, his brain desperately working to develop a plan for escape.

Ghost tried to wriggle his tied up wrists free, but the ropes stubbornly held tight. He took in a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind in order to develop a strategy that could help him escape. He strained as he worked at loosening the ropes, his muscles straining under the effort, and still the bonds refused to budge. With every attempt to free himself, he was met with increasing levels of exhaustion. Time was his enemy here, the clock ticking steadily away. He continued to strain at the ropes, but still they refused to budge. His skin was growing damp with sweat, his breath heavy and raspy. He had to escape, he had to.

Ghost was too focused on freeing himself, his gaze glued to his bound hands, his thoughts locked in a desperate cycle. His focus on escaping the ropes made it impossible for him to notice Valeria entered, his heart racing as her presence suddenly became apparent.

"I was looking forward to this," a raspy voice purred. He snapped turned his head forward, his eyes snapping towards Valeria's boastful stance and... fuck, it's you. The familiar scarf, covered in dirt and dust. Its little ghost drawing, once vibrant and colorful, was now dull and worn, the image haunting him. Even the sound of the heart keychain strapped to your belt was enough to draw him out of his daze, the item bringing back a flood of memories of you.

This can't be.

—

"Yer fuckin crazy," A rough voice was heard amidst the throbbing pain present in your head as you were haphazardly thrown.

You winced as your body collided with what felt like cold asphalt, and tears of anguish welled up in your eyes. Despite the familiar voice you recognized, your covered vision made it difficult to make out anything. The sedatives forced upon you while in captivity made you dizzy and disoriented. As the sack was removed from your head, the full impact of your surroundings flooded your senses. The voices around you were loud and numerous causing white noise in your ears, their words indecipherable to you as your mind struggled to grasp your current situation.

"Don't fuckin' hurt her!"

A sharp yank on your hair jarred you out of your trance, forcing you to look up from the ground. The sound of your lieutenant calling out your name registered in your mind, forcing you to come back to reality. As your eyes met those of Ghost's frantic eyes behind his mask, your heart raced, your anxiety flaring up once again as you quickly assessed what was happening.

Valeria's grip on your hair grew tighter, a cruel and sadistic grin spreading across her lips as your pained gasp filled her with pleasure. "You were expecting someone else, weren't you?" She said to Ghost, her tone dripping with sarcasm and malice. She leaned in closer, her cruel glare inches from your face as she whispered into your ear with a mocking tone, "Too bad. Que te voy a matar." She chuckled, her breath tickling your ear as you winced in pain.

"Just give it up, Valeria," He gritted his teeth in anger. But she laughed, her voice echoing in the room as she turned to Ghost. She held his gaze for a moment, studying his expression. Then, she turned back to you, a cruel grin spreading across her lips. "Oh, you poor thing," she chuckled, her tone dripping with condescension. She softly carressed your scalp as if creating a faux sense of security. "Is this affecting you," She said to Ghost as she ran a finger down your cheek, the sharp pain of her nail digging into your flesh drawing a quick wince from you. "Or do you have anything else in your mind besides this?"

"Fuckin' leave her out of this." Ghost clenched his jaw, desperately trying not to show any more signs of weakness. He tried to stay composed as Valeria leaned in closer to you, her teasing smile growing bigger with every passing moment. He swore the nerves in his arms were bulging out of tense.

You winced at her touch, but you didn't dare to speak as your jaw locked and your muscles tense as you tried to ignore it. Valeria laughed again, moving a step back so she could face him again. "Oh, but I do love the way she look when she's in pain," she said, her tone playful as she studied your tears streaming down your face. "You really should have told me what I wanted to know." She chuckled, moving closer to you again, her hand moving in a gentle caress along his cheek. "It's okay, little sweetheart," she whispered, her voice full of deceiving sweetness.

She has a cruel glint in her eyes as she studied your expression. Her hand gently moved towards your cheek, then her nails started digging into your skin and you gritted your teeth, trying to hold in the cry of pain that was forming in your throat. "Speak, bitch," She spat on you, eyes narrowed with annoyance. You didn't respond, determined to close your mouth. Whatever this was, you're on your lieutenant's side. "No?"

It was only as Valeria let go of her grip on you that you realized how numb your muscles felt. Your legs felt like they were made of lead as you tried to scurry away, but the effects of the torture had left your body limp. Unable to move, unable to escape, you watched helplessly as Valeria went over to the side and grabbed something, the glinting object catching your eye.

You met Ghost's gaze and saw him return it, the terror evident in your expression as he silently implored you to try harder to escape. As if you were the one who has their limbs tied up. "How amusing," Valeria came up between you both, playfully swaying the sharp material in her hands. "It seems like our little friend is too strong-willed for our torture to affect her."

You weren't given the chance to react at all when the knife had already slit your arm. Everything went silent as the stinging sensation was too much to bear. You screamed out as the cold metal pulled out, leaving your blood to gush out of your flesh.

"You fuckin' bitch!" You heard Ghost yell out as he struggled in the chair, attempting to break free from its constraints. Your ears were greeted with the sound of the chair's loud creaks and groans. The noise seemed to echo through the room as he yanked against the ropes, his movements growing more frantic as the sounds turned into small shouts of effort. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Give me información, pendejo." was all Valeria stated.

As Ghost's struggles continued, your weak and fatigued body could barely muster the energy to keep your eyes open, let alone attempt to help him. He called out for your help with more desperation, his shouts growing louder and more frantic as the knife sliced at your bruised skin again and again.

"S-Stop!" Your body was paralyzed with fear, your mind paralyzed in shock, unable to process what it was witnessing. You wanted to run, to do anything to make it stop. But all you could do was watch, your tears falling down your cheeks. Your body had betrayed you. "Please..."

"Valeria!" Ghost shouted, no, he tried to call for her to stop when your body convulsed as another wave of sobbing washed over you. Two strong hands squeezed your throat, your breaths coming out in shallow gasps. You tried to comply, but the words coming out of your mouth were so slurred and incoherent, it was impossible to understand. You felt like you were on the verge of passing out, your mind and body exhausted from the pain and stress of Valeria's torture.

"Let go!" You choked out the words between the hands on your throat, your strength fading. You tried to pry her off but Valeria's grip only tightened, cutting off your air. As you struggled, she pressed her hand hard against your face.

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice a cruel taunt. Your vision was blurring as your eyes rolled back, a hand over your mouth stifling your desperate screams. Her voice felt far away, as if you were under water.

"Let... please... let go..." you managed to wheeze out desperately. As you fought against the darkness in your mind, your strength waning, you felt your awareness fading away. You felt as if you were floating, weightless and free all over despite the cold temperatures of the air around you. You felt peaceful, your senses fading and your consciousness slipping as you lost your grip on reality, slowly surrendering to the embrace of the void, your world fading away.

As you began to slip away, the world around you began to dissolve into a blur. It was all splotches of black, the darkness slowly consuming your senses. In your distorted vision, you saw something casting a shadow over you. It was hard to tell what it was, but you tried to focus your eyes on it, your irises dilating in recognition. The blurring slowly faded away, your senses sharpening as you glanced over Valeria's shoulder.

There, the person moved quickly, seizing Valeria's arms, yanking her away from you and tossing her aside. He turned to her with a fury in his eyes, ready to throw hands. The world came back to you with a sudden jolt, your lungs inhaling deeply as your eyes popped open. The colors of the room and the chill of the air on your skin became tangible as you registered the sharp pain of the ground beneath you.

With your eyes squinting, you see how she smirked at him, her gaze confident even as Ghost's body trembled with rage. He stepped forward, grabbing Valeria by the hair and twisting it, using his full strength to force her to the ground. He yanked her by the hair across the floor, his grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes filled with hate, his body trembling with anger, as he slammed her face-first into the floor.

"How dare you," he spat, his voice hoarse and raw. "How dare you lay your dirty hands on her!" Ghost's voice was thick with rage and loathing, his words pouring out in a torrent of fury. But Valeria smiled coolly, looking at him dead in the eyes as he continued to pull her across the floor. She didn't try to fight it, allowing herself to be dragged, but Ghost didn't let up. He didn't release his grip on her hair, even as her body bumped and dragged across the floor.

Ghost pulled Valeria forcefully against the wall, pinning her against it as he kept a firm grip on her hair. She tried to move, to squirm free from his grasp, but he didn't let her. She grabbed the knife that was tucked into her belt, the blade glinting in the light, and tried to stab him in the back. Ghost caught the movement in his peripheral vision, and he quickly grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm in a painful maneuver. The knife dropped from her hand as she let out a cry of pain, the blade falling to the floor with a soft thud.

Ghost looked down at Valeria, her expression twisted into a smirk as she glared up at him in defiance. In that moment, he felt his rage flare, his emotions taking over. Ghost brought his face right up to Valentina's, his expression filled with cold malice and hatred. "What?" He asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "Did you think I *wouldn't* finish you off?" He grabbed hold of her hair with both hands, his expression feral as he looked into her eyes.

Ghost twisted Valeria's arm sharply, and before she knew it, he had her in a chokehold. He tightened his grip, his face filled with rage as he looked into her eyes. She struggled desperately, trying to fight him off, but Ghost's strength was overwhelming. He held on tight, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter, his grip tightening with each breathe. She coughed and gasped for air, her eyes filling with a mixture of fear and regret. And then, a moment later, she was gone. The sound of her body hitting the floor broke the silence as Ghost released his grip, letting her fall to the ground. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood above Valeria's motionless body, his breath catching in his throat.

"Lt..." You managed to choke out as you cleared your throat, trying to get his attention to you. Your hands were shaking, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He slowly turned to look at you, eyes filling with sudden concern. As the pain and anger disappeared, he was overcome by fear and anxiety, the thought of losing you too much to bear.

He rushed towards you, his heart pounding in his chest. There was no hesitation, his arms enveloping your body in a tight embrace. His embrace was tight and firm, his body pressed up against yours with his warmth radiating from him and his breath filling your ears. The adrenaline pumping through his body still, and you trembled in his arms, clinging to him for reassurance.

"We need to leave fast, love," He murmured, absentmindedly calling you a petname, as he took notice of the bruises and bleeding cuts marring your body. Without another word, he lifted you into his arms, your body limp and weak, and carried you. "Not for long before those suckers come here,"

You hummed as a reply, too tired to form words as you rested your head on his firm chest. You felt him adjusting you a bit when his hand came in contact with the cuts you had on your arm and you hissed, body curling up to comfort yourself. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice gentle. He stayed close to you, letting you lean into him as your body trembled. The fear began to fade, and you felt his warmth surround you, his arms a source of strength and comfort.

As Ghost, with you in his arms, walked outside, you were both silent. The cold air and the rustling of your clothing movements were the only sounds you heard, the sounds of the outside world muted and hazy. Ghost's grip around you was firm and protective, and you felt his body against yours as the cold air brushed back your hair. There were no words spoken between you, the air filled with silence and Ghost's gentle breathing, his warm presence beside you.

Suddenly, Ghost's voice filled your ears and it sent your heart fluttering. "Swear on my word," He gently whispered in the volume of what he should only hear. The heat of his embrace still radiating around you, his arms still wrapped around you, protecting you from the world. "I'll never let you get hurt again."

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fourmoony · 2 months

Note

Hiii I hope your doing well !!! I was wondering If you could do james and reader (established relationship) where they are out together somewhere with new people and (like me) reader has a lovely thing called anxiety, I feel like he'd notice right away despite being the opposite. (I'm a sucker for james entirely i need some sweet encouragement from him) I don't know what it is but I tend to feel totally invisible and lonely in Public places, despite being with friends or ppl that i do know. For some reason ppl tend to acknowledge everyone else n leave me out, which I've struggled with for a very long time unfortunately !!

So if you can somehow incorporate that, for me and anyone else who's ever felt that way, that would be great :)) I'll leave it up to youu ♡♡ p.s. I'm obsessed with ur writing

thanks for requesting, angel! <3 1.6k f!reader modern!au

as someone with an overwhelming friend group, learning the difference between not being included and having friends who will just talk into the abyss and if you can keep up, cool, was key lmao

James' hand hasn't left your thigh since you sat down at the table, a sweet encouragement that you relish in. It's a grounding touch, encouraging squeezes here and there when you manage to involve yourself in the conversation. Even when your food had been served, James' touch didn't falter as he stabbed rather uncoordinatedly at his pasta with his left hand.

His thumb moves in small circles against the inside, a distracting touch only in that his hand is dangerously close to disappearing under your skirt. You worry someone will see, get the wrong idea, and that will just send you spiralling for weeks, the awkwardness heavy in your chest. You're an over-thinker, you analyse everything, every movement, every tick of someones jaw, the light of their eyes, the tone of their voice. It's a blessing and a curse, really, your ability to instantly sense change within someone.

You can't help but notice the way that the conversation has carried on without you. Sirius and Remus are bickering, a fire in their eyes that you know very well means they're enjoying it despite their exasperated stances. Further down the table, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene are gossiping about someone they went to school with, yelling excited agreements about the person in question, the injustices they must have committed against the girls. Even Peter is louder than normal, caught in a heated debate with James about the upcoming Six-Nations game.

There's not a conversation happening that you feel equipped to join, nor one you've been outright included in. James has assured you multiple times, too many times, in your opinion, that his friends are just loud. You know this - knew this when you agreed to dinner. You love them all. They've always been kind, never cruel. But in the lulling moments, where you realise just how much of an outsider you are in comparison to a group of people who've known each other for over ten years. They grew up together, learned valuable lessons together, have memories that were key, intrinsic moments in their lives. They have a history that you're not a part of.

Sometimes, that feels impossible to compete with. Even when James reminds you that his friends aren't not talking to you, they're just... talking. They're the kind of people to talk to fill a silence, and if you're listening, great. James often calls it 'talking into the abyss'. None of his friends ever actually require a response when talking, they're the kind of people to just keep going until interrupted. Sometimes, even when interrupted.

The table is a loud cacophony of everyone interrupting each other and it has your palms slick and pulse beating in your neck.

The waiter has long since abandoned trying to get you all to close out, even as the dessert plates have been cleared and all that's left are the half-empty, warmed glasses of various alcohols that remain on the table. James must feel you shift in your seat, because he squeezes your thigh in acknowledgement, his eyes flicking away from Peter for half a second. When they land on you, his head turns, conversation long forgotten. Peter doesn't seem fussed, just turns to try and split up whatever row Sirius and Remus are pretending to have.

"All good?" James asks, eyes soft.

His brows are hooked in the middle where they're furrowed, body shifting to face you easier. You nod, lips rubbing against each other. You're scared to talk, scared to be betrayed by your own voice. You've held your own most of the night, you don't want James to forcibly enter you into a conversation. It's not fair on him to have to deal with you, like this.

You should know better, though. James only frowns. It doesn't suit him. Your boyfriend is bright like the summer sun, always smiling, always cheerful. He's the colour between yellow and bright, pure light. Frowning doesn't suit him. It hurts your heart.

His head dips, close to your ear, voice soft as he asks, "You wanna head home?"

"No," You shake your head, frown matching his, "No, Jamie. I'm okay."

His lips press to your cheek, soft and warm, and then he smiles. The heavy feeling in your chest eases a little, just looking at him. James often thinks he has to be proactive to help you in difficult social situations. You've never had the guts to tell him all he has to do is smile real nice at you and just a smidge of that grey cloud budges.

James groans, loud and obnoxious and makes a show of stretching. You avoid looking pointedly at the way his top pulls up his waist at the movement, heat swirling in your cheeks from the mere idea of his skin being on show. Conversations halt for the impending goodbye, and you swear you see relief on Remus' face at not having to be the first to bear the bad news marking the end of the night. He gives you a warm smile that you return, another smidge of that anxiety lifting.

"You off?" Sirius asks over his pint glass.

James nods, "Shattered, yeah."

There's a mixture of goodbye's to both you and James as you sling your coats on. James makes half-hearted plans to see everyone at some point over the next week, gives both of your cuts for dinner to Sirius in cash, squeezes your hand in delight when Lily declares that she'll text you tomorrow to see about coffee. There's a look in her eyes that says she hopes this time you'll accept. She's asked multiple times, sometimes through James, sometimes texting you, herself. She never seems put out when you politely give her some excuse or other, never asks questions as to why the idea jars you so much. You're glad, because you wouldn't have an answer as to why.

The air is cool against your flushed skin when James holds the door and ushers you outside. The sky has turned a dark, midnight blue and you silently wonder how long you actually spent inside the little restaurant. The door swings closed and James is at your side, hand immediately in yours and spreading a calm warmth all over you.

"They really love you, you know?" James speaks thoughtfully.

You should've known your boyfriend would want you to talk about it. You've never had anyone who cares enough, before. But you're trying. Same as he is.

"I love them too. You just," You sigh, shoes scuffing along the pavement as you walk towards James' flat, "You know how I get after too much social interaction."

Your boyfriend hums in acknowledgement, thumb rubbing a soothing pattern across the back of your hand. "I know, lovie. I just wanted to remind you."

"I'm sorry we had to leave."

James halts walking, tugging you back until you're facing him. A passer by mutters something under their breath at the two of you standing in the middle of the street. James doesn't pay them any mind, but your pulse thunders for a fraction of a second at the risk of conflict. James squeezes your hand, "You don't have to apologise. I'm happy you came, and I was ready to leave, anyway."

"You didn't say anything until you noticed I wasn't talking to anyone, though." You counter.

James is silent for a moment, trying to garner the words. Then, "I love when you involve yourself in conversations with my friends. It makes me happy to see you all together. But I'll never force you to do more than you're willing to. We were in there for three hours, love. Any normal person would be exhausted of them, by then."

You huff a laugh, turning to pick up a walking pace again. James follows, allowing the silence to overcome you both as you think of a response. He's so patient, always so patient and sacrificial. You wonder if he'll ever tire of that. The thought scares you.

"Is it too much, for you?" You ask, then clarify, "To feel like you're always keeping an eye on me, saving me from social situations just because I can't function normally."

James' immediate answer is No.

Simple. Plain. It's all the answer you need, but he goes on, anyway.

"Everyone has their thing. Remus is a lot like you. Sirius brings him out of his shell, sure. It's why they're always bickering. But for years, Remus used to just... brood. Wouldn't talk, just observe. Maybe for different reasons, but it was the same thing. He's still here."

You smile. Remus has always been rather lovely to you, almost like he knew, somehow, that his friends can be overwhelming. That social settings can be overwhelming. "So it doesn't annoy you?"

You feel like a child asking for reassurance, but you know James will always give you it, no questions asked. And he means it, too.

"Never. You take part in as much as you want, I'll never be upset with you for saying you've had enough." He tells you, his flat appearing in the near distance.

"I think I'll go for coffee with Lils this week." You announce, feeling pleasantly calm with the admittance.

It doesn't send a spike of anxiety through you like it did when she first asked. Not when you know James won't be cross if you have to leave early, or call him from the bathroom for a get-out. If you become exhausted, if you don't want to be social anymore, it'll be okay. You're sure Lily will understand. You hope she will.

As much as an effort as James' friends have made with you, you feel it necessary to make some in return.

"She'll be over the moon, love." James says, pulling you closer to his side and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You smile at the affection, feeling the clouds lift as though James' personality singlehandedly batted them all away. The sun after a storm. You're grateful for it. For him.

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astroboots · 10 months

Text

Issue #11

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel brings you gifts.

Word count: 3,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Stark’s courier service arrives at your hotel the following day, a crew of four brawny looking men dressed in overalls, carrying in some 13 boxes of equipment, which take up the majority of the floor space of your luxury suite.

It finds residence in the seating area of the hotel room. Fancy looking gadgets of shiny chrome and colorful LED lights that look like they were stolen from the movie set of Back to the Future.

Miguel sets up shop, turning the pink girly vanity dressing table into an impromptu workbench. It’s where he’s been seated most of the last 36 hours, hunched over the tiny little table tinkering with the watch and various futuristic looking mechanical gears at all hours of the night.

The laser scalpel he’s using might be soundless, but Miguel sure isn’t. Last night, you’d been constantly woken up by his growling as he trashes another expensive looking tool with an angry growl. Pacing the room for a few minutes, mumbling and complaining about the cheap quality of Stark tech and how primitive this world is. Then he's right back at it, sitting back down on the little pink velvet ottoman to continue tinkering.

Tonight is no different. You’re in bed, scrolling your phone to unwind before going to sleep, when you hear him grumble again then stab the laser scalpel into the surface of the table.

Peeling off the fluffy comfortable quilt wrapped around you, you make your way over to him before he destroys any more fancy furniture you can never dream of affording to replace on your modest salary.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, as you stand behind him.

“Bastard’s tagged the thing with a receptor that feeds information about any modifications made back to him. It’s booby trapped so that if I try to remove it, the whole thing will disintegrate.”

You lean over to peer at the desk over his shoulder, observing the arc reactor that's pulsing like a beating heart with a glow of blue.

“Does it matter? Let him have your technology.”

In the reflection of the vanity mirror, you can see the small muscle in his jaw tic with irritation.

“No,” he says flatly, picking up the scalpel again from where it’s wedged into the table. “We can’t risk him getting a hold of inter-dimensional technology. I don’t want Stark to be able to locate and come after you.”

Oh Jesus, not this again.

“I already told you, I’m not interested in Tony Stark." You resist the urge to roll your eyes at part two of Miguel's unwarranted jealousy feud with Stark. Didn’t the two of you have a heartfelt conversation about this?

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He's grinding down on his jaw with irritated anger at whatever it is he’s thinking but not sharing with you. “We can’t trust him.”

“He’s a superhero, Miguel, just like you. If we can't trust him, then I don't know who we can trust.”

Miguel's mouth pulls into a grim and tight line at your words. For a brief moment, you think you catch a hint of fear on his face, before he breaks eye contact and turns away, back towards the bench. It takes you by surprise because you didn’t think Miguel was scared of anything.

“Tony Stark is one of the good guys,” you try again.

You rest a hand on the edge of his shoulder, trying to help placate his unease. “He’s an Avenger, remember? It's their job to protect the world.”

It dawns on you when you hear the words from your own mouth. The reason why he doesn’t want Tony Stark to be able to keep tabs on you and come after you.

The Avengers are meant to protect the world from any threats, and right now one of the greatest threats to this world is… you.

“Oh,” the tiny sound punches out of you as a yawning pit of uncertainty and fear opens up in your stomach.

One in every 40 New Yorkers will have a run-in with Superhero in their time in the city.

You've just always thought that, if your turn to encounter the Avengers came, it would be as a grateful civilian saved from the clutches of evil. You never thought it would be because you were the danger the world needed saving from.

Miguel must sense the moment the realization hits you, because he sets aside his tools and takes your hand, gently stroking the palm of it with his thumb.

"You have nothing to worry about, it’s just going to take some time," he murmurs, and he looks up at you with such warmth it makes the anxiety in you thaw slightly. "I'll be done with it soon.”

He eyes the arc reactor, not letting go of your hand. "Try to get some sleep."

You fall asleep to the white noise of tinkering metal and Miguel’s frustrated murmured curses. The noises should annoy you, but they don't. You find it oddly comforting, being able to hear Miguel move around in the same room as you when you’re in bed. Know with every fiber of your being that his presence means you're safe and easily drift fast asleep.

You don't know how long you stay asleep for or how much sleep you manage to catch before you feel the bed dip beside you.

"Hey," a voice softly cajoles you. There's a warm palm on your shoulder, gently nudging you awake. But you're not prepared to wake yet. Too comfortable in the haze of sleep to give it up.

You bury your head into the pillow, hoping to shut out any interference that's trying to keep you from your sleep.

"Cielito," the gentle voice tries again. "Wake up."

Grumpily and with great resistance, you strain to turn your head, squinting your eyes awake to see Miguel's face filling your vision.

It’s dark in here save for a small lamp left on in the far off corner. In this muted light, his scarlet eyes are illuminated with an otherworldly brilliance. If you had been more awake, you would have wanted to take a second or two to marvel at how beautiful they are.

"I got something for you," he says.

There’s a barely contained eagerness in his voice as he speaks, and sleepy as you are, it peaks your interest. You blink your eyes properly open, adjusting to the dim dark to see two small boxes set next to your pillow.

"Miguel, it's..." you flick your wrist towards you, when you remember the watch is no longer there. It’s odd how naked you feel without Lyla as your constant companion on your wrist.

You awkwardly prop yourself up on an elbow with great effort to figure out time the old fashioned way, glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

In a bright glaring LED, the digits announce: 01:00.

Past midnight?! Has he lost his mind?

"It's one in the morning! Why are you waking me up after midnight!?"

Unbothered by your outrage, he continues to lean across you to drag one of the boxes closer.

"I'm finally done modifying the parallel universe traversal device, so I got you something to celebrate."

You blink up at him in surprise. When he said he’d be done soon, you didn’t think he meant tonight.

“It’s from that place you wanted Stark to take you," he says, opening the box one-handed to reveal a gaudy looking golden donut waiting for you.

Then he drags the second box over, setting it next to the first and flips the lid open. Inside are half a dozen cinnamon-sugared donuts.

"And these are regular old donuts, from the Lower East Side for fifty cents each. We can do a comparison test. If that ugly golden donut is tastier, I’ll chop off my arm.”

You snort out a laugh. His one-sided feud with Tony Stark is alive and well you see. You don’t understand why this has become such a point of contention for him. Stark had never actually suggested he was going to get you golden donuts.

Before you have the chance to dig in, Miguel puts out his hand, palm up, on the mattress in invitation. "Give me your hand first," he instructs.

You oblige him, placing your hand in the middle of his, and he wraps the familiar watch around your wrist. Except it’s not as familiar as you remember it to be. It’s considerably chunkier now to accommodate Stark's arc reactor that sits in the middle and if anything it looks more like a cuff bracelet than a watch.

But you don’t mind, you’re glad to have the comforting weight of it back on your arm, wrist no longer feeling quite so naked.

“It’s bulkier than I would’ve liked. But there’s no helping how primitive Stark’s tech is,” Miguel snarks, clearly pleased with himself even though the man he’s bitching about isn’t even in the room to hear his clever insults.

In the gloomy light, the bright blue gem of the arc reactor shines back at you like a precious jewel. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were wearing jewelry fit for royalty.

"I like this upgrade on the watch. It’s pretty.”

"Not a watch," Miguel corrects, but he's not scolding you. The fondness in his voice is plainly there.

Looking up you meet his eyes to see the open affection that's there for you. Your face warms under his unwavering attention, until you have to duck your head down, unable to hold his gaze anymore.

You reach over the bed, to busy yourself, bypassing the golden donut to pick up one of the plain cinnamon ones. In the corner of your eye, you catch his lips curve into a smile as you take a large bite of the regular-non-golden donut.

He would gloat about that, wouldn’t he, the overgrown childish brat. You grin around the mouthful, as the sugar melts onto the tip of your tongue and you moan loudly at the perfect warm cinnamon that floods your senses.

Miguel is still smiling at you warmly, face propped in his broad hand as he watches you eat, and the heat in your face reaches an almost feverish pitch under his gaze.

"So what's next?" you force yourself to ask him over a muffled mouthful to distract yourself.

"Get some rest, sleep in. We'll take this for a few test drives in the morning to make sure it works the way it's supposed to, and then I'll take you to my home world."

There's a jittery sensation. A mix of exhilaration, excitement and anxiety blending with the sugar in your stomach at the unknown that waits before you. Even though you knew this day was coming since your visit at Wong, now that the time has come you're nervous.

The only world you’ve ever known is your own. You’re hardly an intrepid traveler. During your gap year in Europe, the use of the metric system was a culture shock for you. You can't even begin to imagine what it'll be like to travel to another alternate reality.

But you’re going to have to do it—and keep doing it, if Wong is correct.

Will you need to get a whole new wardrobe to fit in with the fashion trends of each universe? Will you have to learn new languages? Will there be a thousand sets of unfamiliar customs and quirks you’ll have to learn to adapt to?

…Will Miguel be there for any of it?

Biting down on your lip, you try to stave off the tight knot in your stomach.

One thing that's become clear is that even if Miguel takes you to his world, you won’t be able to stay there for very long. You aren’t going to be able to stay anywhere for very long.

Even if he intends to give you Lyla for good or build you another device that allows you to jump from world to world... what then?

Will he come with you?

Or will you be left to travel by yourself from one unknown world to another?

The loneliness of that fate makes your stomach hurt. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that you want him to come with you more than anything, but you have no right to ask that of him. Not after everything he’s already done for you.

Like he can read your mind, Miguel gives you an appraising look.

"Once we're in Nueva York, we'll stay there for as long as it's safe," Miguel says, leaning across your lap to snag a donut from the box next to you for himself, and you try to ignore the heat that goes skittering through your leg when his arm brushes past your knee. "Then we'll jump to the next location."

You watch him scarf the cinnamony treat down in two mouthfuls, barely chewing. Your heart leaps excitedly until it jumps all the way to your throat.

"We?"

He grins, crumbs of caramelized sugar dotted on the curve of his lips. "I can't leave you by yourself, can I?"

Your mouth opens and closes, then opens again and you leave it there, hanging in the air, probably looking incredibly dumb and speechless.

You don’t know what to say to him. Don’t think there are adequate words in the English dictionary capable of expressing how happy it makes you to know that you’ll have him by your side. 'Thank you' seems incredibly lacking.

Somehow despite that you are both sitting down, he still dwarfs you and from your seated position you barely come up to his shoulders. You don’t quite know why you do it, but you move before you think, getting to your knees to lean up and place a small kiss on his cheek.

A faint pink tinges his cheeks at the small contact. Then it’s his turn to duck down. He scoots over, bringing the smaller donut box closer to you.

"Eat your golden donut," he says.

You peer up at him. The way his mouth pulls into a tiny and almost shy smile, and happiness buzzes in your chest at the sight.

A dopey smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch him. The way he rubs one broad hand over his jaw to hide his reddening face from you.

Taking the box from him, you look down at the shiny pastry. If your words are failing you, maybe food can speak for you instead. You pick up the golden donut in your hand and hold it out to him.

“You go first,” you offer.

There’s not a second of hesitation from Miguel. He leans down and takes a large bite of the gilded pastry, fangs first, puncturing the soft, squishy dough.

The whole thing bursts, and you squeal with laughter as the champagne flavored jelly filling squirts across his bottom lip, onto your fingers and drips onto the sheets below.

“Miguel, you’re making a complete mess!”

You lick up the sticky jam from your fingers as you watch him. There’s dust of gold smudging against his cheeks and even on his nose as he takes another bite. You’re tittering with amusement at the sight of him.

“Here you got some–” you bring your thumb to help him wipe at the corner of his mouth.

For a man who doesn’t like casual touches, sneering even at the idea of handshakes as a greeting at work, he doesn’t seem to mind yours.

Miguel lets you rub off the flecks of gold from his cheek, eyes dropping half-closed in contentment. His jaw moves under your hand as his mouth drops open, then he presses his lips to the inside of your palm.

It’s a barely there touch, but it has warmth furl from the middle of your stomach and blooms outward, spreading to the rest of you.

In this gigantic Wyoming king-sized bed, Miguel is seated close enough to you that your knees touch. He’s close. So close that you can feel the heat rolling off of his big body.

Somehow that's not close enough, because you close the remaining distance between you, until your knee is pressed against the firm inside of his thigh, his broad shoulders brush against yours.

It wouldn’t take much now. If you leaned up at this moment. If you tilted your head upwards even slightly. Your lips would be on his.

You shouldn’t, the small voice in your head warns. Kissing him is probably not a good idea.

He might not feel the same. Kissing him might change something irreparably between you, and then who will you travel the outer limits of the universe with?

But... if you're going to die tomorrow or the next day or next week, then what does it all matter anyhow? What’s a little bit of rejection when the end of the world is hiding right behind the next corner.

You tilt up and press your lips to his top lip, then the full lower one. It’s chaste and brief, and only lasts for a second. But for a first time it’s familiar and intimate in a way that it can only be with you and Miguel.

His lips are warm and dry and slightly open under the press of yours and it sends a fluttering warmth from the tip of your nose to the end of your fingertips.

You pull back with the tiniest movement, nose still brushing against his, as you gather the courage to look up at his face and try to find out if you just made a terrible mistake.

Those scarlet eyes are staring down at you in that familiar way you catch him doing sometimes. When he thinks you're not paying attention to him and his eyes lingers on your face.

His thumb catches behind your ear, face inching closer, and then he’s kissing you back. It’s sweet and electric, the sensation surges through you with a giddiness that makes your toes curl.

Miguel presses his lips to yours and holds you there. Long consecutive kisses that don't let you pull up for air. His other hand gently cups your face, thumb stroking the apple of your cheeks like you’re the most precious thing his big hands has ever held.

You want this to last, that it could always be like this. You want it to be you and him.

This man who brings you cupcakes when you’re crying. Who saves you the best portion of the food that he likes even though he’s a glutton. Who folds you paper flowers and leaves them on your desk to make you smile when you’re having a bad day at work. A man who stays by your side through the end of the world and never asks you for anything in return.

You love him.

One large hand covers the back of your neck. He tilts you back, like he’s trying to shield and protect you as he holds you. Holds you like he’s never going to let go.

Then he stops.

Why is he stopping?

He stiffens above you, the whole of his back tensing. You chase his lips but he is already pulling back and away from you.

Your eyes open to the muted darkness of the room.

In front of you, Miguel is looking at you with an expression you can't pin down. Eyes wide, and distracted. For a terrifying moment, you think that the look on his face is one of regret.

Maybe he realized he doesn’t feel that way about you after all. Maybe he's trying to find a way to let you down gently.

You pull back and study his face.

No… it’s not that.

His expression is the same distant look he had two seconds before a helicopter crashed into your apartment. The same tension in his eyes that will have him hauling you into his arms to protect you from a rogue vehicle. The same pinch in his brow when he’ll stop a conversation with you mid-sentence because the ceiling is about to cave in and he needs to push you out of harm’s way.

Something is wrong.

A cold sliver of fear crawls up your spine as Miguel’s face turns, and he stares into the empty space of the room beyond the bed.

There’s speck of pink spilling onto the sheets on your lap like the color of the sun on stained glass from the outside.

You follow his gaze in the direction of the radiant dusk pouring in from the window.

It’s too bright for one A.M, enough to be blinding.

Pulling away the quilt from your body, you slide out of bed and walk towards the brightness pouring in from the outside until you’re standing in front of the wide glass panes of the balcony.

You look up at the sky, and it’s not the familiar calm midnight-blue. There are vivid streaks of fluorescent pink and glowing purple staining the sky. There are fractures in the sky like someone took a sledge hammer to it and cracked it wide open.

The cityscape looks like it is folding onto itself. Skyscrapers, bridges, and streets are contorted and warped like badly-folded origami. The impossible architecture reminds you of a M.C Escher painting you saw on a school trip at MoMA as a child.

Outside, the pavements of New York is mirrored where the sky is supposed to be. Silhouettes of skyscrapers spring out from below and above and the vast sky is wedged between. Up is down and down is up and nothing makes sense anymore.

You've seen this scene take place before, when you were under Wong's multidimensional spell.

Your universe is starting to collapse.

The end of the world is here. You’ve officially run out of time.

~ Next Issue

Dedications & Credits:

To @guruan for her endless kindness and incredibly talented. I cannot thank her enough for the art she gifts me with that constantly inspires my little squirrel brain and drives me to write like I am possessed.

And @thirstworldproblemss my babe, my bestie, my moose! Thank you for always being there with your pretty face!! I adore and love you, our friendship and time together brings me endless joy. Thank you for going on this ride with me.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #marvel #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse fanfiction #marvel mcu #oscar isaac #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

Text

Sweet Nothings

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, smut. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: They had agreed to call it quits when Abraham's community moved on from Grantchester, however, the urge to keep in touch is too powerful for either of them to resist.

Author's note: Day five of the Smuffmas prompts - "letters and lingerie". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Abraham had kissed her fiercely, his lips pressed tightly to hers as though he meant to steal the very breath from her lungs. He’d kissed her like it was the last time he ever would, because the reality of it was just that - he was moving on, this would be the last time their mouths would meet with such passion.

She had always known that this was coming; six weeks prior when they had begun their little tryst, they had agreed when his time in Grantchester came to an end, so too would their relationship.

That doesn’t stop the ache in her heart when that day finally arrives though, but she does her best to hold back her tears as she watches him walk away, not wanting to make this any more difficult than it already is. She swears when he looks back she sees a hint of regret cast back at her in the blueness of his gaze. Perhaps that is just her seeing what she wants to see though.

Two weeks pass, and she does her best to carry on as normal, despite the void that Abraham has left behind in her life.

That is until the day a letter passes through the letterbox, landing softly on the doormat. It’s addressed to her, though she doesn’t recognise the handwriting. Tearing it open, a warmth spreads through her chest, recognising the sender as she reads it.

Darling,

I know we said that this is it, but I can’t stop thinking about you. The pillow on my bed that you laid your pretty head upon still smells like you. I miss the warmth of you, the way your body fits against mine. I can still picture your smile, still hear your laugh, and I think I’m going crazy without you.

I’m sorry if hearing from me is upsetting for you, I just can’t stand the idea that some other bloke will make you smile, make you laugh, make you moan like I used to. I don’t expect you to write back, but I’d be over the moon if you did. We’re camped up at a place called Yaxley, just outside of Peterborough. If you do decide to write back, address it to the Yaxley post office, and I’ll pick it up. I’ll check every day to see if you’ve written.

Yours, always,

Abraham

The penmanship is a barely legible scrawl, and the letter is riddled with spelling errors, yet she can’t deny it makes her pulse race to know that he’s missing her, so she snatches up a pen and paper and writes back straight away.

Over the following weeks they write to each other frequently, talking about their days, professing their yearning for each other, and with every exchange their words grow more heated and passionate.

She gets an idea when one of his letters states that he is “missing the pretty little pink thing” she used to wear for him, knowing exactly the lingerie set he’s hinting at.

Slipping on the satin French knickers and matching brassiere, the material feels silky soft against her skin. Butterflies flutter in her belly remembering how the last time she’d worn this, Abraham had peeled it off her, his bright eyes following the path of it as it had fallen away from her body.

Setting up the polaroid camera, she takes several photos of herself in various provocative poses - ones she knows will make his blood run hot - jutting out her hip, pushing out her chest, arching her back, accentuating her curves and all of his favourite places to touch her.

Once she is satisfied that she has an adequately arousing selection, she settles down to write.

Abe,

Enclosed are pictures of that “pretty little pink thing” you love so much. I hope it satisfies your longing, though it does little to sate mine. I ache for the feel of your big, strong hands against my body, and I’m saddened that when this comes off once more it won’t be you that’s removing it.

Remember the last time I wore this? I do. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of you on top of me, the feel of your lips against my skin, the wonderful ache between my legs as you moved against me.

I’d give anything for just one more night with you. I fear you have ruined me for all other men.

Yours forever.

The envelope she drops into the postbox the next day is thicker and heavier than usual, and she grins excitedly, imagining the smile on Abraham’s face when he eventually opens it.

For the next week, her gaze is fixed on the letterbox each morning, waiting for his reply to drop through, but nothing arrives and the disappointment she feels mounts by the day, sadness and embarrassment causing a heated feeling in her cheeks and a heaviness in her chest.

She has all but given up on the idea of him ever replying, thinking she has made a fool of herself, or worse still, that her letter has gotten lost, when one evening there’s a knock at her front door.

Strong arms wrap around her, and once more her breath is stolen away, as Abraham’s mouth descends upon hers, backing her up into the living room as he kicks the door closed behind him.

He cups her cheek, keeping her close to him when they eventually part for air, his chest heaving. “Couldn’t find the right words for what those photos made me wanna do to ya, so thought it best I just show you.”

She squeals as he throws her over his shoulder, carrying her towards the bedroom and depositing her onto the bed as though she weighs nothing. Propping herself up on her palms she looks at him in wide eyed excitement as he looms over, his darkened gaze roving over her form before moving to follow her.

He bumps her nose with his as he plants a hand either side of her head. She can feel how hard he is already through his trousers, as he presses himself against her, and it makes her core throb with want.

“First,” he whispers, “I want you naked, no flimsy underwear compares to the feel of you bare against me.”

She gasps, as he all but tears the clothes from her body, the barely audible pop of buttons and seams lost to the desperate need she feels for him as she pulls at his shirt and trousers in turn. Sighing in pleasure at the sensation of his skin against hers once more, she feels a sense of relief. Having him like this is like returning home after a prolonged absence.

He kisses her, and she whines when he pulls away, the gesture all too brief, though she is quick to giggle as his lips trail a path from her neck, all the way down her body until he’s positioned between her legs.

“Then,” he continues, eyes flitting up to meet hers. “I’m gonna taste you, see if you’re sweet as I remember.”

Her head falls back with a moan as he licks a line with the flat of his tongue from her opening to her pearl. The rumble of appreciation that growls within his throat vibrates through her, and she buries her hands in his hair, certain she is ruining the carefully waxed and styled coif, though he is making her feel too good for her to care.

His hands grip her thighs as alternates between lapping at her with quick precise movements, and fucking her with his tongue. As she feels herself on the crest of her pleasure, he pulls away, and she cries out in frustration.

He grins as he moves back up her body, his chin slick and shining with her arousal.

“Now, I wanna feel you squeeze around my cock until you peak,” he murmurs, lining the head of himself up with her and pushing slowly forward.

Her mind goes blank as he presses inwards, only able to focus on the stretch of him inside of her, causing her to arch against him.

“I want every thought to be gone from your mind, every thought but how good it feels when I fuck you,” he continues, keeping his thrusts slow and steady, “So that that’s what you’re thinking of when I leave again and ask you to come with me.” As she feels the pressure begin to build in her lower belly again, she knows there is no way she can say no to him. Letters just won’t be enough anymore after this, she needs all of him.

#abraham x reader #ewan mitchell #abraham grantchester #grantchester abraham #abraham x you #abraham x y/n #abraham imagine #abraham smut #abraham fan fiction #abraham fanfiction #abraham fan fic #abraham fanfic #grantchester fan fiction #grantchester #grantchester fanfiction #grantchester fan fic #grantchester fanfic

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bingwriterxo · 11 months

Text

party - part 2

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you and vada continue things...not in your best friend's pool

warnings: smut (character is 18+), 18+ (minors DNI), fingering, cunnilingus

word count: 1350+

author's note: more vada more vada more vada

part 1

The moment you stepped into Mia's house, there were various greetings thrown your way.

"Hey, Y/N!"

"Y/N! Looking good."

"You got any weed on you, Y/L/N?"

You ignored them all in favor of trying to tug Vada through the crowd, keeping her pulled close to your back to assure yourself that she was still there. You were trying to be quick, hoping that no one would comment on the fact that your hair was leaving a trail of water or how you and Vada were wearing almost nothing except for your underwear and the towels wrapped around your bodies. You especially didn't want to run into Mia and have to explain that--oh, us? We were just gonna go fuck in your guest bedroom. No biggie, right?

Unfortunately, life never worked quite the way you wanted it to.

You were halfway down the hall, the guest bedroom's door open and in sight, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat and heat building in your stomach when you thought about what was to come, when Mia stepped out of the bathroom and directly into your footpath. You came to a sudden stop, and Vada flew into your back, groaning at the force.

It took Mia a moment to realize that it was you she had almost run into, but when she did, her face lit up. "I've been looking for you!" she slurred excitedly. "Where have you bee--" She cut herself off as she looked over your shoulder, and you could visibly see the moment she understood what was happening because she immediately glanced down at your attire and then back at Vada, her eyes widening in shock. "Wait, are you--In my...In my guest bedroom?"

You huffed, knowing that you would never hear the end of this from her. "Shut up, Mia," you muttered, trying to step around her. However, she threw an arm out, catching the wrist that wasn't being held by Vada's lithe fingers.

"Are you serious, Y/N?" she asked, disbelief lacing her tone.

You tilted your head. "Well, it was either your guest bedroom or in your pool, so..."

Mia chuckled and let go of you. "Then be my guest," she said as she pointed toward the bedroom. You rolled your eyes as you stepped past her, tugging Vada with you. "Just...change the sheets tomorrow, okay?" Mia called out after you, and you offered her a lazy thumbs up before you pulled Vada into the room and slammed the door shut.

"Well, that was both humiliating and--"

You didn't get to finish your sentence as Vada pushed you up against the door, her lips feverishly pressed to yours. You moaned at the feeling, reaching up to wrap your arms around her shoulders, and your towel fell to the ground. Vada immediately took advantage of this newfound nakedness, her hands gripping your hips and fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

When air became a problem, you pulled away, and the brunette simply busied herself with dipping her head down to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your skin. You sighed, leaning your head to the side to give her more room.

"Fuck, that feels good," you groaned when her teeth ran over your pulse point, and she took your words as the sign to suck at the skin there, which rewarded her with a whimper.

Vada's hands started to roam your body, sliding from your waist to your ribs to your back, and when she reached the clasp of your bra, she pulled away. "Can I...?" she asked, and you nodded quickly. She fumbled with the clasp for a moment, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated, and you giggled softly.

"Do you need help?"

"No!" she huffed. To distract you, she pressed her lips to yours again, and that was enough for you to forget about the fact that she was struggling to take your bra off. After a minute, you finally felt the tension of your bra loosen, and you dropped your arms to help her take it off.

Vada stepped back, eyes trained on your chest, and you blushed beneath her stare. She was breathing heavily, her hair was a bit mused from your hands, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "You are so fucking pretty," she said before gripping your waist and spinning you around. She walked forward, forcing you to move backward, until your knees hit the bed and you sat.

You looked up at her with wide, waiting eyes, and you gulped as she climbed onto your lap, straddling you with ease. Your hands fell to her hips, and you gently pushed them upward toward her chest, resting just beneath her own bra. She quickly got the hint and threw it off, and you were the one left staring.

"Wow," you mumbled before leaning forward, taking one of her nipples into your mouth. She gasped and arched forward, her fingers wrapping themselves in your hair as you sucked. You brought a hand up and played with her other nipple, fingers circling and pinching it lightly.

"You are...really good at this," she sighed. You hummed into her, and she whined, her hips bucking up. "I can't believe this is really happening. You know, I've been thinking about it for a while, honestly, and I--"

You cut off her rambling as you pulled away, grabbed her by the waist, and flipped her onto the bed, leaving you lying between her open legs. "Do you always talk this much during sex?" you teased before kissing the inside of her thighs.

She shook her head. "No, not really, but--"

You reached up for her panties. "Is it okay if I take these off?" you interrupted.

"Definitely," she breathed out. You bit back a grin as you dragged them down her legs, throwing them somewhere behind you and being met with her pretty, wet cunt. She was practically dripping onto the comforter.

You glanced up, took in her fast breathing and half-lidded eyes, and then leaned forward, licking a stripe up her folds from her entrance to her clit. You moaned at the taste of her bittersweet arousal, and she groaned, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Oh, shit," she cursed. You did it again, and again, exploring her pussy with your tongue and simply enjoying yourself and the sounds that she was making. "Fuck, Y/N." Her fingers tightened in your hair, and you decided to turn it up a notch.

You took her clit between your lips and sucked, smiling to yourself as she whimpered, her hips bucking against your face. You brought a hand up, slipped a finger between her folds and into her entrance, and sucked harder when you felt her walls clench around you.

"Ohmygod," Vada rushed out. You were gentle at first, thrusting your finger into her softly as she moaned and whimpered above you. Your tongue swirled circles around her clit, never straying from the bud. "Harder, harder, please!"

You slipped a second finger into her, humming when her back arched, and began a brutal pace, offering her no mercy as you fucked her relentlessly. You reached your free hand up, squeezed her breast, took her nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she moaned, voice high. You thrusted into her harder, curling your fingers, and sucked on her clit hard. Her back arched and her walls squeezed you impossibly tight as she came, a shuddering groan slipping past her lips. "Fuck."

However, you didn't relent, instead continuing your ministrations through her orgasm. Vada didn't seem to have any complaints as she was quickly whining beneath you again, her hips rolling against your face. It didn't take long before she was pushed over the edge of another orgasm, her thighs clenching around your head, and you gently pulled out of her once she caught her breath, dipping down to clean her up a bit before tugging yourself upward.

You pressed your lips against hers and moaned when her tongue ran across your bottom lip, knowing she could taste herself on you. When you pulled away, she was staring up at you with blown pupils and swollen lips.

"That was really good," she said. The she smirked, wrapped her legs around your waist, and flipped the two of you over. She sat above you, looking down. "But it's my turn now."

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell #vada x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #the fallout #vada cavell smut #jenna ortega smut

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teacupcollector · 1 year

Text

The Art of Misdirection - Part 2 (Task Force 141 x Reader)

Main Masterlist Modern Warfare II Masterlist

A/N: I wanted to go into how each character feels about Misdi so there is a POV swap. I don’t know if it will make sense but I hope it does! A/N: I made my own divider because I couldn’t find one. I hope it looks decent.

A/N: I also want to thank you for all the love and support! I didn’t expect the first part to take off the way it did. I hope you enjoy this part! A/N: Also I forgot who, but someone kind of guessed what happened which I found funny because it was like they read my mind lol.

Summary: Joining the 141 was a wild roller-coaster. Everyone had been apprehensive to you joining due to your age, but you are here to prove them wrong. Now as of this mission and maybe your last they are going to figure out what your nickname means.

Johnny was insistent that we go down and look at the person we just shot. I decided that we wait a minute or so to see if there was any more movement before I allowed Gaz and I to go. I have no idea what compelled them to look, but I found myself being compelled as well. Johnny stayed above and kept an eye out for us just in case. If it weren’t for his injured leg I would be the one keeping watch since I am the better shot, but in any case I wouldn’t let Gaz go by himself in case there were more enemies out there. You can easily become overwhelmed with: A. The lack of cover. And B. The brightness of night vision. Not saying that night vision is bad. That is what helped us spot the movement of this rat in the first place, but if an enemy were to shine a light it could be blinding.

“Why would there only be one person out here LT? It is odd.” I hear Gaz say. “Could be a scout...” I grunt back. “Yeah... Maybe... But wouldn’t it be best to have a duo or a trio of scouts? It’s suicide to be out here on your own. Especially with you here.” I hear Gaz chuckle. I stay quiet as we continue to approach. I suddenly feel my hands twitch in discomfort and my brow suddenly break into a sweat. As we approach the body... The body I shot down. We see an American flag velcroed on their chest. “No... No, no, no!” I hear Gaz exclaim as he immediately rushes to the only person this could possibly be.

I follow in step with him as we approach her. I feel my breath hitch as I see the dark pool of liquid through my night vision. Some coming from her head and some coming from other various injures. Gaz kneels down next to her head on her left side. Her head is currently turned to the side to the right, which is where the blood is coming from. “Y-You fucking shot her! She’-” “Hush it Garrick! We need to be quiet... Sound travels fast here.” I say in a hurried and hushed tone as I kneel next to her on her other side. I lift her head to see if the bullet penetrated any part of her head. While doing this I place two fingers on the pulse point of her neck. Blood is still spewing from her head, but she is alive.

“She’s alive sergeant... But just barely. We ne-” “Yeah because you fucking shot her ya’ prat!” Gaz exclaims again but I give him a harsh tap on the head. “Hush it or we’ll all be dead.” I say sternly before passing my rifle over to him. “Hold it.” I say as I take her pack from underneath her legs, put the night vision goggles inside, and put it over my own to carry.

After that I gather her in my arms bridal style before picking her up. Her head falls black as she feels like dead weight in my arms. I slowly and gently as I can reposition her so her head is tucked safely in my chest.

“We need to hurry back and call for a med evac. This mission will have to be put on pause for now.” I say as I begin a swift trek back to base camp. Gaz follows behind, my rifle in hand. I can feel his glare piercing the back of my head. I can’t say I blame him though. I am the one who said she was dead...

The sound of music was cascading and echoing through out the town, as well as through our earpiece. While we were talking to Misdi I was busy putting a tourniquet on Soaps leg. The ambush came to us as a surprise, but we were trying to handle it as best we can. Throughout all the chaos that was unfolding we were separated from Gaz. Now there is even more Chaos. Barbie Girl was playing non-stop in our ears as we hear the sound of a vehicle tearing ass down the street.

“Get ready!” I hear her scream over the music.

I see one of our get away vehicles tear through the road. It begins to take oncoming fire and it swerves before hitting a building. The music still plays from the car outside, but the radio went dead silent. “Corporal! Corporal! Do you copy?” I say into the radio, but all I get is static. I hear both Garrick and Mactavish both try there own radios. That is when I hear Soap say to me: “We have to get down there! We have t-” There is suddenly an explosion which causes the whole building to shake. “We need to get out of here.” I say sternly. “LT we ca-” “We can and we will! She is fucking dead Mactavish!” I say taking his arm and wrapping it around my neck and helping him up.

Due to my height he is kind of elevated slightly. We start heading toward the back of the building and away from the commotion. “I can g-” I again interrupt the members of my squad. “She is fucking dead Gaz, and we need to get going before even more shit hits the fan!” I shout as I kick the back door open and drag Soap out of it. We start making our way Northward out of the city.

“Meet us at the North face of the bell tower” I say to Gaz before continuing to drag Johnny, but he continues to squirm. “Johnny we need to get you out of here stop squirming!” I growl. “She could still be alive back there! She could have gotten away in time and we just left her!” The more Soap panics the more his accent thickens to the point I almost can’t understand him. “Soap she got shot and crashed the vehicle then it exploded, No way she got out of there.” I grunt. “You need to be quiet before we draw attention!” I hiss.

I know I sound harsh, but I need to think of the rest of my team. Soap is injured and I have no idea what Gaz would be doing or what his condition is. Misdi did this for us. I need to make sure we make it out alive, heal up, and maybe go back if there is a body.

‘Jesus... I hope they are dead... for their sake...’

They were very bubbly. All bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ready to work and ready to prove themselves. The complete opposite of me. Completely different then all of us. ‘Fuck... I am already thinking of obituaries.’

Meeting up with Gaz at that moment was hard. His face was twisted in sorrow. Now I am jogging as gently as I can back to camp with a half dead Misdi in my arms. Approaching the camp there is a small fire, a few tents with cots inside, and finally Soap is sitting on a cot next to the fire. We meet eyes and he immediately tries to stand up. “Holy sweet jesus fuck!” Soap exclaims. He begins to limp toward us in a hurry, but I rush past him and place Misdi on a cot. When I look down I can see where her head was placed on my chest there is a big blood pool there. “Get me fucking sheers and Johnny get on comms and call for emergency med evac!” I spout. Gaz hands me some sheers and I begin to cut off her shirt and a portion her pants leg were I see more bleeding. I make sure to keep my eyes on the injured shoulder. The shoulder is dislocated so I turn her on her side to see a bullet wound and not exit hole. “Fuck...” I decide to leave it where it is and move to assess her head.

I take my flashlight from my belt and open her eyes and move the light back and forth. “Her pupils are dilated. She might have a concussion or severe head trauma.” I say as I take my water canteen and remove my gloves.

I pour the water on my hands and get out a first aid kit before squirting the cheap hand sanitizer on my hands. I take some gauze and some wrapping and place it against her head. “The bleed-” “Yeah it is because you fucking shot her!” Gaz spits. “The Fuck?!” He hears Soap shout before entering the tent. “You fucking shot her! What the fu-” “Jo-” “What the fuck is wrong with you!” “WE NEED TO FOCUS ON HER” Gaz cuts in as he finishes wrapping her head. “She needs stitches, but the bleeding is to severe. She is bleeding out right now and you both are being utter twats!” Gaz says as he begins to roll her on your side. Both Gaz and Soap cringe at how limp her left shoulder is. Soap immediately grabs another tourniquet to wrap around her leg that has the injury, though it isn’t to severe they need to look at the elephant in the room, which is her shoulder.

“Did you call for medical?” I ask and Soap begins to speak. “They won’t be here for another hour. They suggested that we take the cars, but I told them that she might be to fragile to move.” All of us sigh. “I don’t know if she has enough time... We are going to have to get the bullet out ourselves. That is the only way we can stitch her up and stop the bleeding...” I say as I roll her fully on her stomach. I slide her bra strap down her crooked shoulder to see the gun shot wound. I take out a flashlight and hand it to Gaz. “Hold it here so I can see.” I say. He does just that and I take out one of my clean knives and a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit. I hear Soap say a small ‘Oh fuck’ before I begin to dig around as gently as I can in the wound. “It’s fragmented and it’s deep... Gaz it is important that you keep your eyes on it, so the flash light doesn’t move...” I can feel my voice beginning to shake.

‘I never wanted this to happen. This happened under my watch. I need to make sure she survives.’ I think to myself The first two fragments have been removed, my hands are now covered with her blood. I can stitch up anyone else. I can cut and slice down anyone on the field, but feeling her blood on my hands makes me uneasy. I am not suppose to feel this way. I need to be calm, collected, stoic, and precise. What I am doing could possibly quicken her death. I need to get through this. Fragment after fragment and I am finally done. Now we need to relocate her shoulder. “Grab a sheet from one of the cots” I say to Gaz as he sets the flashlight down. He looks as pale as a ghost.

He does just that as I gently roll Misdi on her back. After that I go over to my water canteen and pour it on my hands before wiping it on some cloth near by to get rid of the majority of the blood. Afterwards I take the sheet from Gaz and wrap it underneath her affected shoulder in her armpit. I pull both ends across her body. One underneath her and one over her chest.

“I don’t know if you have done this before Gaz, but I need you to slowly pull on the sheet so I can put her shoulder back into place.” I say as I take her arm by the wrist in my hand.

Gaz only nods before grabbing both ends of the sheet. “I will count to three and we gently pull. Got i’?” I say and Gaz nods. “1... 2... 3.”

Both Ghost and Gaz begin to pull and we suddenly hear a pop as it goes back into place. Suddenly there is a groan coming from Misdi. More groaning turns into panic screaming. She attempts to get up and tries to roll off the cot. “She’s Hypoxic! Hold her down!” Ghost commands as I hold her legs down. “No! No, no, no!” Her speech is slurred and her eyes are full of fear. “D-Don’t touch me! Let go!” “It’s us Lass! it’s okay!” I say and limp over and sits on the ground near the head of the cot.

I place a soothing palm on her cheek and turns her head to look at me. “ m'eudail (My dear) It’s me...” my voice turns soft in an attempt to sooth her. I use my thumb caresses the apple of her cheek. “J-Johnny?” Tears were collecting in her eyes. “Mhm. I’m here. I am right here. Now you are bleeding okay? We need to stitch ya up. Can we do that?” I ask.

Her eyes are glazed over with tears and confusion, but she nods. “Can ya roll over for me Lass?” He asks as he gently rolls her on her side that has the uninjured shoulder.

Her uninjured hand reaches for me and I take it in my hand. I press it against my cheek before moving my head down so her hand is in my hair. She begins to card her fingers through my hair. She has only does this a handful of times. I always found it funny because she thinks my nickname should be ‘Conditioner’ instead of ‘Soap’ because in her words not mine. “You have the softest hair that any women would want to grab.” She was immediately flustered after I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. She tried to back track, and explain that she wasn’t trying to be inappropriate in fear that she would have to file SHARP paperwork. I chuckle at the memory and I wish I could go into more detail, but I just sigh as she scratches my scalp. She begins to whimper as Gaz begins to clean the wound and stitch it up.

“That’s a good girl... You are doin’ such a good job...” I whisper to her as I reach my hand behind her head and massage her neck at the base of her skull.

While doing this her eyes slide close and her breathing evens out. I continue to whisper praises and soothing words, but I turn my gaze to Ghost and I glare. After Gaz was done he wrapped her shoulder before moving toward her injured leg. The leg went quickly and she didn’t move. Then he moved to her head in which I moved out of the way. She was alarmingly still so I pressed my fingers to her pulse point under her thumb. Her pulse is weak and my heart seems to sink from my stomach to my ass. I am angered when I see Ghost exit the tent. I decide to follow so I stumble to my feet and follow after. I don’t care if he is my superior he is getting a piece of my mind.

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