#also innocent patriots | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harryspet · 2 years

Text

the alpha’s trophy | s.rogers

[Warnings] dark!alpha!steve rogers x reader, omega!innocent!reader, reader is the last omega, military!steve to the max, non-werewolf a/b/o dynamics, kidnapping, praise kink, agegap, size difference/size kink, spanking, oral sex (female recieving), forced orgasms, omega heat, domestic!steve, my attempt at politics

A/N: This probably should’ve been two parts but oh well! (model is @enchated_noir)

In which you’re the last Omega and Steve’s the most influential Alpha in the country.

word count: 9k

taglist: @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan @doozywoozy @oneoftheprettynerds @xoxonotme @winterbuckystan1917 @simpformarvelmenandwoman @hallecarey1

main masterlist

Your bare feet padded against the wooden floor of Bruce Banner’s downstairs hallway. It was past your bedtime, a strict nine-thirty, but some nights you got curious what the bumbling man got up to at night. His office was on the first floor of his brownstone, with double doors leading to a spacious but paperwork covered room. You made sure to tip toe as you peaked inside, thankful that he was probably too much in a hurry to make sure it was closed.

Blue holograms surrounded the room, each one representing a living person and almost each you now recognized. When you first met Bruce, you hadn’t realized just how famous he was and it was too late to be cautious of his sad and volatile past. He’d moved past it, he explained to you, and he was gonna help you control your inconvenient gene as well. That’s what the medicine was for.

Apparently, you had your own inner demon to fight off, “Bruce, all your leads seem to be coming up empty,” That voice was James Rhodes, the Iron Patriot, Tony Stark’s former right hand man, “I’ve spent the last two months combing through mountains in Veracruz using the device and absolutely nothing. Before that, Washington, Montreal, and Savannah. I spent half a year in Cork and never got close to an alert. You’ve been around the world yourself and you still have faith in this thing?”

Bruce always seems grumpy on the mornings after these meetings. He was always the smartest in the room and people could treat him sometimes like he wasn’t, “We have DNA collected from some of the last Omegas that ever existed and we have DNA from perhaps the strongest Alpha in the world. It’s in their chemistry for Alpha’s to find Omega’s and the device is able to completely, although artificially, utilize that ability. It’s a science. A science I have mastered. The problem isn’t with the device.”

“Then what is the problem, Bruce?” Bucky Barnes, you recognized that voice too. He’s the one who gives Bruce the most headaches. You could also recognize him by the energy he gave off, energy you could feel even through the hologram.

“The problem is simply that this crisis is worse than we feared. We haven’t come across an Omega yet because there are most likely less than ten of them left on this entire planet. If that.”

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips and Bruce turned around, meeting your eyes for a second before pretending that he hadn’t noticed you. He didn’t want them to know you were there for some reason.

“He won’t take that as an answer,” Bucky responded and you leaned in closer, gently placing your hand on the knob. You knew Bruce would be angry but you cared more for hearing the rest of the conversation, “If there is even one left, he wants them, and he won’t stop searching. Even if it is a one in a seven billion chance, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce leaned against his desk, his arms crossed in front of him as he blew out a sigh, “There’s always an evolutionary reason for things like this. They weren’t snapped away, they slowly stopped being born and they died out. Tell Steve this or not, I don’t care, but it seems the universe is telling us to move on. Alphas will mate with Betas and Betas will mate with those who are not ranked. The world goes on.”

“Bruce-”

Bruce interrupts Rhodes, “Hey, maybe ask Captain Marvel if she’ll fly you an alien omega from another planet,” The scientist didn’t let the two men get anything out before pressing a button on his computer that ended the call.

You took a step back, wondering if you could make a dash upstairs and avoid his wrath, “Don’t,” You heard his voice on the other side of the door before one of the double doors swung open.

You took a breath, “Hi,” You whispered.

“Hi,” Bruce seemed to smile even though he really didn’t want to. He looked down at your small figure, deciding that, like usual, he just couldn’t get truly angry at you. Although he was a Beta and completely outranked you, he never treated you that way, “I thought you were fast asleep.”

“I was…” You tiptoed around the truth. “I couldn’t sleep and … you never talk much about the stuff you do.”

“You’re curious,” Bruce placed his hand on your shoulders, a comforting and warm feeling flowed through, as he slowly turned you in the direction of the kitchen, “I suppose I can’t blame you for that. You know what always helps me sleep?”

You perked up, looking over your shoulder at him, “Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” He nodded in agreement, leading you into the small kitchen. All the appliances were on one side, a wooden dining table on the other, with a view of Bruce’s tiny yard. There was a small garden outside though all the plants were dead since Bruce was often too busy and not home enough. You wished you could tend to it but you weren’t allowed outside.

You watched as he retrieved the store-bought cookies from the freezer and you helped him separate them on the pan, “I assume you heard a lot of my conversation.”

“A little,” You shrugged.

“Y/N,” He warned, “C’mon, what are you thinking?”

“That I’ve never …met an Alpha before,” You spoke honestly.

“Well, they’re getting rare these days as well. I suppose that’s a good thing that there’s less ego. If you’re lucky, you’ll never meet one.”

You nodded although you still had questions, “But why exactly can’t I meet one?”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, like he suddenly realized how delicate this topic was, “Alphas and Omegas are a natural pair but Omegas are outnumbered. Too outnumbered.”

“You said that there are probably less than ten of us,” You remembered, “Did you mean that?”

“Yes,” Bruce spoked quickly, “But it’s an estimate. It’s been thirty years since anyone has seen a living Omega.”

“But I’m not the last one, right?” You asked, “You could find another? Why don’t you use me to help? I could help.”

“Y/N,” Bruce said, snapping you from your delusions, “It’s a miracle I found you. A complete miracle. And I promised your Grandmother that I wouldn’t experiment on you, that’s the last thing that she wanted. In the wrong person’s hands, that’s exactly what you’d be. She wanted you protected.”

You weren’t sure exactly how you should feel. You had no idea you could be more isolated. It was all you had known. You spent the first eighteen years of your life with Nana and then the next three with Bruce. You’d never gone to a real school or had real friends and yet this was the first time you were truly alone. You were one of the last ones left. There was no one out there to truly understand you.

The two of you sat at the dining table after the cookies cooled off, your legs tucked beneath you, as you leaned over your plate, “Why do you lie to your friends on the blue computer things?”

“I used to call a lot of people my friends. Now things are different and I just don’t agree with the things they stand for anymore.”

“So why do you talk to them?”

“They’re connected to an important person. I can’t really afford to be on their bad side.”

“The man who’s looking for someone like me?” You pressed further.

Bruce hadn’t realized you comprehended so much and he noted that he would have to start taking his meetings elsewhere. Bruce dipped his last cookie in his glass, eating the whole thing in one bite before dusting off his hands, “I think that’s enough for tonight. You won’t be able to sleep with so much on your mind.”

“There’s already so much to think about,” You whined, “I can handle it, I promise. Besides, who am I gonna talk to about it?”

“That’s enough for tonight,” Bruce spoke firmly, “We both could use some rest.”

Once you found sleep it was relatively peaceful but you were jolted awake by your blanket being ripped from on top of you. You didn’t realize your heart could beat so fast and you were immediately angry at Bruce who had scared you within an inch of your life, “Get up,” He spoke aggressively, “Put your things in this. Pack only the things you need.”

He tossed you a black backpack that you had a feeling would not fit enough of your precious knick knacks that you’d acquired over the past few years. You threw your legs over the side of the bed, “W-What’s wrong?” You asked as he made his way to the door, “Bruce!”

“We’ve been here too long, Y/N,” He ran his fingers through his hair, his voice losing breath, “I’m taking you somewhere safe. I-It’s, uhm, everything’s fine. Just pack up and come downstairs.”

You did as he said, grabbing a maroon sweater to drape over your nightgown before grabbing more clothing items to put in the bag. You decided on one stuffed animal, a squishy version of a panda bear, before grabbing a few toiletries from your bathroom including your white pills.

You slipped on a pair of black boots, strapped on the backpack, and hurried your way down the stairs. This moment felt exactly how it did when your Nana’s heart gave out and Bruce was whisking you away to a land you’d never been before.

“Bruce, I’m ready,” You hurried to the bottom of the stairs only to see a gun being pointed at the side of Bruce’s head. The man holding the gun was dressed in black, an arrow strapped to his back, and intricate tattoos decorating his arm. There was another man with dark skin who’s determined look seemed to be replaced by a dropped jaw at the sight of me, “Bruce.”

“God almighty,” The man with the gun spoke, taking me in. Bruce gave you a panicked look and for the first time it seemed like he didn’t have a plan. You did the only thing you could think to do. You turned on your heel and ran back up the stairs, “Go, Sam.”

You made it back to your bedroom, locking it behind you as you ran to your window. There was a pounding at the door but it wasn’t louder than the pounding in your ears. You manage to get it open before your door is completely broken down. You were halfway onto the landing before you were wrapped in strong arms and yanked back inside. You dug your nails into the man until he groaned in pain but he never let you go.

As your hands desperately grabbed at the stair railing, you heard a deafening sound from too close nearby. Sam hurried down the stairs with you in his arms and he finally let you go when he reached the bottom, “W-What did you do?” You scrambled to your feet, looking over the couch to see Bruce on the floor, the carpet around his head soaking with blood.

“Resisting arrest by a government official,” The man declared and you felt your knees give out beneath you.

“She doesn’t smell like one, Clint,” Sam commented.

“He’s probably been feeding her suppressants. Makes sense why we haven’t had a lead in years,” They spoke about you like you were an object and perhaps that’s what you were, “Cuff her, let’s go.”

You didn’t resist as your arms were pulled behind your back and a black sack was hauled over your head. It’s like your body wanted to shut down, to free you from the terror in your mind, and you could barely feel a thing as you were led outside. It was the first time you’d truly been outside for years and you couldn’t even feel the sun on your skin.

You could hear the roaring sound of a large engine and you were lifted inside before a door was slammed shut. You couldn’t tell if you were alive. You told yourself to breathe but breathing led to hyperventilating. There was not enough air in your lungs nor inside the hood over your head and the oxygen ran out soon and your thoughts trailed off to nowhere.

Steve and Bucky sat side by side in the back of the armored vehicle. Fort Lehigh was their destination, newly revamped in Steve’s honor and now the largest army base in the country. Bucky handed Steve a phone displaying a live feed of your room.

His first impression of you was how small you were and how you looked even smaller due to the fact that you were curled up tightly in a ball. The bed wasn’t small and you didn’t seem to lack any blankets, you were just seeking comfort within your own skin.

“How long has she been off the suppressants?” Steve asked, concern laced in his tone that he would only show to his closest friend.

“Almost 72 hours,” Bucky answered.

“And no one has been allowed near her?”

“No, only the unranked, just like you asked. I doubt anyone will make a move against you, they know where your eyes are set.”

“Still, it’ll be hard for any Alpha to resist her when she fully presents as an Omega. I need to make an offer to Capitol Hill.”

After Tony Stark’s death and Thanos’s defeat, Steve became even more of a symbol. Now, he was the highest ranking American soldier and had more political influence than any politician, “They’ll be touted as heroes for giving the last Omega to their most respected soldier.”

“But they’ll still want something to line their pockets,” Steve said, looking down at the small screen. You still hadn’t moved and Steve wondered how much they scared you during the retrieval. Steve cleared his throat, handing the phone back over. The car was getting closer to the center of the base and he’d be face to face with you soon. He adjusted the front of his suit, a darker version of the usual red, white and blue, “Whatever they ask, make sure they get it.”

“Aye, aye.”

The room barely had any blankets or pillows. One pillow and one blanket. You were completely freezing and all you wanted to do was be under a mountain of blankets and stuffed animals. There were no stuffed animals either and you’d probably never see your old ones again. And fuzzy socks. No fuzzy socks. This place was a complete prison.

In a panic you rearranged the room, moving the mattress beneath the bed and laying the blanket on top to create a tent. They never turned the lights off here either so the time of day was lost on you.

The door to your cell creaked open and you assumed someone was here to drop off food but an extremely deep voice said your name. The name vibrated through you, widening your eyes, and raising every hair on your body. It felt as if you were hearing it for the first time.

You didn’t move but the door closed and the footsteps became louder. His smell enveloped the room, warm and woodsy, like tobacco leaf and vanilla. You completely felt him before you saw him. You could picture him as everything about him had already invaded your every sense.

He kneeled down, lifting the blanket that was shielding you in your tent. It was like a scary movie, the murderous villain finally shows him face, only to be extremely handsome. You were still frightened nonetheless. He scanned you fully examining you like one of his missions.

Steve Rogers.

You were surprised when he let the blanket fall and let you be enveloped by darkness once again. His footsteps faded and the cell door opened, “She needs blankets. Soft things. Find whatever you can. And kill the lights at night, no one can sleep that way. Understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve was right. You weren’t tucked away under the bed anymore, you were gathering everything soft they’d given you and creating an intricate nest on the floor. Every pillow was arranged perfectly, contorting to the shape of your body as you finally slept peacefully.

“These young kids have never even seen a young Omega in their lifetime. I didn’t realize they’d have no idea how to care for one,” Steve stood beside Bucky, watching you through the two way mirror.

“It’s a shame,” Bucky shook his head, “I remember when we were younger and we thought you’d turn out to be an Omega.”

Steve smiled, “I proved myself, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bucky nodded, “She could turn out to be something great too. A symbol, I mean. People think the reason we lost so many Omegas is because of how corrupt our society has become. You two … you could represent a transition back to good, American values.”

Steve couldn’t even admit how much the idea of that excited him, “I’ve let you hang around too many politicians.”

“I’m Mr. America, Cap’s Best Friend. Don’t forget that,” Bucky nudged him, “What’s stopping you from just taking her and running?”

“I’m gonna do this right,” Steve responded, “And the suppressants haven’t worn off, I want to be absolutely certain of what she is. Besides that, I’m making other preparations. Everything will eventually go public and people will either want to sell her or experiment on her. I need a safehouse, one much better than Banner’s.”

“What was he thinking?” Bucky asked in disbelief. He was the one who spotted you during the meeting. You were the eyes peeking through the door of Banner’s office.

Steve knew exactly what happened, “He was still trying to be the good guy.” Years ago, he would’ve done the same.

The next time Steve visited your room, you were less on edge but your body was starting to drive you crazy. You had random crying fits even when you weren’t sad and moments where it felt like your blood was on fire. The only thing that soothed you was your pile of soft things.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded in front of him, like a guard, “You had him killed.”

Steve shook his head, “No,” He also didn’t send Clint and Sam there with orders to take him peacefully, “But I’m sorry for your loss.”

You didn’t believe him, that was clear, “He was your friend before he knew me.”

“When you get older, you’ll understand friends often grow apart,” That was something Bruce would’ve said to you.

“And I guess I’ll make friends one day from inside the box I’m forced to live in,” You responded, playing with the fringe on a teal blanket.

“You won’t feel trapped for long.”

Next he was gonna say you’ll have plenty of space to roam, like you were an animal, “You’re the man who was looking for someone like me?”

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N,” You sucked in a breath, “And as my luck would have it, you’re here.”

“What do you want to use me for?”

The captain’s eyes seemed to narrow on you, “What do you think I would like to use you for?”

He was toying with you and you wished you weren’t in such a low position compared to him, “Bruce said bad people would want to experiment on me. He said I was one of the last ones.”

“You are the last Omega, honey,” Steve pushed away from the wall, stalking closer, “And just like Bruce, I don’t want you to be an experiment either.”

“But … you won’t give me my pills.”

“Those pills repress the most special part of you. That’s the part I’m interested in,” Steve crouched down, getting closer to eye level with you, “You don’t know much about yourself, do you?”

You glared at him, and you were angered at what he seemed to be implying. Yes, you were younger and less experienced but you were not stupid. Anger was soon replaced by a new feeling as his eyes settled on your lips. You stood up from the mattress, crossing the room to create more distance.

“What if I don’t want to go with you?”

Steve hung his head for a moment and you could tell that was not the reaction he wanted. He stood next, and you realized just how much bigger he was than you. You were a third of him, his shadow immediately draping over you, a wall of muscle you could barely see past.

“I know that coming off the suppressants is making you feel weird . . . emotional, even, but it’ll pass. You’ll feel normal-”

“I-I’m emotional because you . . . y-you killed my friend and I’m stuck here!” You were surprised you raised your voice but you needed him to hear you. Your voice was smaller than his and your voiced seemed to bounce right off of him and crumble to the floor. Still, your frustrations flowed out, “I don’t know you, I don’t know where I am, and everything here tastes like … l-like cardboard! None of my clothes are here, my panda is gone, and there’s no bad reality television to watch!”

Steve smiled, “Keep going, sweetheart.”

You had the urge to scream but you clenched your fist instead. Steve watched as you began to pace, “This is what I was warned about. Those pills keep me from being w-weak . . . a-and crazy and I’m not supposed to be like this,” Tears stung your eyes before they fell down your cheeks, “I'm not supposed to be here with you.”

“Come here, Y/N,” Your body went rigid as his voice shivered through you. You looked up at him in shock as it wasn’t you who was in control of your movements, “Come closer.”

He’d changed his voice, it had the same deepness but it was now dripping in influence. Control.

A test.

You tried to shake your head but couldn’t. You were still upset, your throat still tight from the crying, and you felt the lack of control was gonna make your mood worsen.

“Y/N,” He tried again and you actively fought it.

“No,” You struggled to say, your voice a whimper, “Please.”

Now, you were desperate. Steve liked that word on your lips and he liked those tear stained cheeks more than he’d probably admit.

“Come,” He ordered again and your body moved towards its Master, “That’s it, good Omega. Good girl.”

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around him and your head rested on his chest. A switch flipped inside you as you were enveloped in his warmth and a part of you seemed to roar awake as his large hands pet the curls atop your head. Your worries faded, your heartbeat evened out, and the flame beneath your skin was extinguished.

It was euphoric.

Steve went into the ice unmated, and once he awoke, all the Omegas were gone. Something shifted within him as well and even he marveled at how quickly nature took its course. The sound of his voice was enough to quell your tantrum. All you needed was to be reminded of your place. You’d have him to guide you and to protect you. Steve would make sure you wanted for nothing.

When you pulled away from his embrace, your hands roamed cautiously over his uniform, feeling every divet and wanting desperately to feel his skin. Your smaller hand grabbed his, your doe eyes staring up at him. What were the chances that the last Omega in the world would be this beautiful?

Steve was curious about your next movements as you led him over to your makeshift bed. You pointed down to the bed, expecting him to understand but he was left guessing, “You want me to lie down, honey?”

You nodded, the relaxed daze you were in had left you speechless. Steve did as you wanted, wondering how it was that he was taking the orders now. Normal, non-hypnotized you, would’ve found it funny watching the monster of a man lay there on a twin sized mattress. Now, all you wanted was to be protected in his embrace. You kept your hand in his, laying down right next to him.

Next, you closed your eyes and found the coziest dreamland.

Two days later, the scientists on the base declared that it was likely that the suppressants were no longer in your system. You were at your most natural state but it couldn’t feel much more foreign than it did. Steve was wrong, the emotional fits continued but now it was due to the fact that he’d left you alone, clinging to a pillow that still smelt like him. You missed him and hated that you missed him.

That morning, your breakfast arrived as well as a stack of folded clothes. You knew it was a sign that you were leaving the room but that brought new fears you hadn’t even considered. You were trading this prison for another but there had to be some way out. Steve couldn’t possibly have everything figured out. But what if he did? And he’d overpower you easily so what was there left to do.

You were beginning to think it might be better to be a science experiment rather than his puppet.

The clothing provided was a pink, floral, knee-length dress and a clean pair of white sneakers. Undergarments were provided, of course, but you wondered if Steve had a hand in picking those. Before you could stop yourself, you brought the dress to your nose, needing to know if he had touched them.

You sensed no trace of him and immediately felt embarrassed that you desired him. That emotion turned to anger and you decided that you wanted to stay a little longer in the white box. You tossed the clothes to the side, focusing on fueling yourself instead. When your food was done, you stared at the two way mirror, a scowl on your face, and you hoped Steve was on the other side.

The door opened again thirty minutes later and you were fully prepared for Steve but a woman entered instead, unranked, and dressed like a lawyer. She smiled at you, her dark hair tucked neatly in a bun behind her hair, as she closed the door behind her, “Y/N, I’m Maria Hill, It’s nice to meet you.”

You scanned her over, unable to even truly imagine how disheveled you must look in comparison to her. She glances quickly over to the clothes that are tossed to the side of the room. “Where’s Steve?”

“He’s going to meet us at our next location but don’t even worry about him, think of me as your advocate. I’m going to explain all the legal jargon so it’s not-”

“Legal?” Your eyebrows raised, “Where are we going?”

“Washington, D.C.,” She said, “A senate subcommittee meeting is being held concerning your … well-being.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand. W-Why does the Senate care about me? Do lots of people know about me? How many?”

“As of this morning, the world knows,” She spoke, although her eyes said that she knew she was delivering devastating news, “Our government has a duty to protect you, Y/N. They’re deciding the next steps they need to make in order to ensure your safety.”

“I’m safe here,” You rushed out, panic beginning to set in, “Just let me stay here. I-I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

“Listen, I know this is frightening but this is your chance to ensure your own freedom,” That snapped you from the fog of anxiety, “You can show them who you are, that you’re your own person with feelings and needs. You can say whatever you want to them. This isn’t the 50’s anymore, the only thing they want to force you to do is to stay alive.”

You swallowed.

You weren’t even sure who you were and you weren't even sure you could even think of words to describe yourself that didn’t seem juvenile. Steve had the upper hand in that arena as well. You didn’t know him well but you could tell he was sure of himself.

You stayed close to Maria the entire time, during the helicopter ride and the car ride to the Capital. As you got closer, you saw thousands of people lined up on the street just to see the line of black limos pass by. There was no hiding it, the world knew your name and there was no hiding your scent.

A group of eight Secret Service agents surrounded you the entire time, up the white steps and into the prestigious building. You couldn’t see much past them. You could only hear the roar of a crowd and the snapping of pictures.

Once you were inside, the agents parted only to let someone into you and Maria’s bubble. You hadn’t seen Steve since you’d cuddle up to him in bed and you didn't realize you’d feel the same euphoria as before just by being a foot away from him. You kept your hands to your side, resisting any desire to reach out and grab him, “You look beautiful, sweetheart,'' was the first thing he said. You could say the same as he was dressed in a fancy black suit, his lapel decorated with several different medals of honor.

Your lips parted although no words left them. That made him smirk.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

You shook your head quickly.

“Good,” He stated, “There’s no need to be nervous when I’ll be there, understand?”

You nodded, feeling like a puppet.

“Tell me you understand, honey.”

“I . . . I understand,” You found your voice and you gave Maria a suspecting look which Steve seemed to notice.

“Is that all, Captain?” Maria asked, “The meeting is starting soon.”

“Yes,” He leaned down to whisper in your ear in that life-shaking, influencing tone, “You’re mine.”

The pictures didn’t stop even as you entered the meeting room. The room was huge with wood walls and expensive looking golden fixtures everywhere. The group of 12 senators sat in a half circle behind a curved wooden desk, elevated a few feet from the crowd. You walked with Maria past several rows of pews filled with people. There wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit, leaving reporters and photographers standing on the sides of the room, snapping pictures, and calling out your name in order to get your take on the situation.

The room felt airless and it made it even worse that you felt you were moving in quicksand. Maria was keeping you upright, tethering you to the planet you mentally felt so far away from, leading you to the second table placed in front of the congress members. When you sat beside her, you wanted to stop yourself from looking behind you but you couldn’t help herself. Like you expected, everyone’s attention was locked on you. From all angles, there was no way you could escape it.

Your eyes met Steve’s who was sitting in the adjacent table to yours, right next to Bucky Barnes. You realized that Steve was going to be a voice in this matter, most likely arguing against whatever you wanted for yourself.

With your feet dangling above the group in the large chair, it was hard to think the two of you were on the same level.

The meeting had started but you felt outside your body and you realized you were only staring instead of listening. Everything seemed to get quiet and you were suddenly back in your body. You had no idea how long it had been since you sat down or why everyone seemed to be waiting.

Maria squeezed your hand which was sweaty and resting on the table in front of you. She leaned over to say, “Senator Ochoa addressed you,” She gave you a reassuring smile, “She wants you to introduce yourself and talk about how you ended up here today. Just stand and share what you’re comfortable with.”

You didn’t know you’d have to stand to speak and you were almost considering falling over and faking a heart attack. Steadying yourself on shaking legs, you suddenly realized you had no idea who that senator was. You scanned their nameplates, your eyes landing on a brown skinned woman with straight white hair.

You were suddenly aware it had been an uncomfortable amount of silence since someone last spoke. Still, you were getting up the courage, deciding to focus on the woman as a way to not focus on the hundred of people whose eyes were on you, “Hi … I’m Y/N … Y/L/N-” Already there were whispers and you looked down at Maria who was urging you to continue, “I-I didn’t know I was coming here today and I’ve . . . never even been in a room with more than 3 people until now. The past few days have probably been the worst of my life but . . . before that, I grew up with my grandmother. She protected me and she homeschool me for my entire life. When she died, Dr. Banner took me in-”

Everyone was in tune to every word you said, like your life was the most interesting thing in the world. Truthfully, your life still wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things and you disliked the seriousness people were now assigning it.

“He kept me safe and loved me like his own. He was . . .” You held in your tears but your eyes still watered, “He was murdered by one of your government officials and now I’m here. That’s my life, Congresswoman.”

She addressed you again, “Thank you, Miss Y/L/N. We’re all aware this environment is abnormal for you, that’s why we had Agent Hill help represent you today. Please feel free to ask questions if you don’t understand something,” You nodded, “If I may continue, in the official report, it says that Dr. Banner pulled a knife on Agent Barton. You mentioned that he kept you safe. Would it be safe to say that he would kill for you?”

“I didn’t know him as a killer, and I was there, I know for a fact that he didn’t try to hurt Agent Barton. There was a gun pointed to his head-” You tried to control your tone, not wanting to come off as angry, although that was all you felt when you thought about how he died, “No, he wouldn’t have.”

Another Senator spoke up, “Miss Y/L/N, isn’t it true that Dr. Banner didn’t clue you in to much of his business? Did you know that he had sold the government fake tracking devices and was sending our agents on wild goose chases around the world?”

“Well …” You couldn’t lie, especially around this many people, “I didn’t know that exactly. I did know that Omegas were being searched for and that . . and that-”

“Did you or did you not know the device was fake, Miss Y/LN?”

You looked down at Maria and she simply told you to be honest, “No, I didn’t.”

You were asked a few more questions and the only thing the Senators seemed to learn was that you knew nothing at all. When it seemed they were getting nowhere with me, they moved to Steve, and many of the Senator’s eyes seemed to light up when the hundred year old man began to speak.

“The matter of today is not to determine the cause of Dr. Banner’s death nor is it meant to decide his intentions. Whether we believe he was right or wrong, the law was broken. It was established years ago, that any Omega must be turned over to authorities,” Steve was confident and precise, “Of course, we’ve never had to actually deal with that possible issue until now. There’s no point in wasting time. We’ll need a plan to keep Miss Y/L/N safe and then procedures in place in case another Omega is found. Miss Y/L/N’s surfacing gives hope for a promising future but we can’t deny that her presence will bring challenges.”

The conversation shifted to one that you no longer felt a part of.

“What’s a sure way that an Omega remains protected?” One Senator asked.

“A mate,” Another one answered.

“Are you suggesting the government play matchmaker?” Senator Ochoa seemed to be one of the few not under Steve’s influence.

“As Captain Rogers said before, Senator, a sole Omega will attract much unwanted attention. Having a mate, a physical bond, would provide the most protection,” You could feel Steve’s eyes on you although you couldn’t face him. You worried he’d gain the ability to control you with his eyes next.

You watched as a debate began between the Senators, some calling it blasphemous but too many suggestions involved sacrificing self interest for the greater good. You turned to Maria who seemed surprised by the direction of the conversation as well. She stood next and you mentally let out a breath of relief as you weren’t sure you could eloquently get your point across, “It must be her own choice of who her mate should be. Arranged matings are not the sort of precedent we want to set in this country.”

“I’m afraid this precedent has already been set, Agent Hill,” Senator Brinkley chimed in, “With the decline in new Omegas during the 60’s, arranged matings were very common and even arranged by local governments. I urge Miss Y/L/N to consider the incentives we’d be required to provide her for her trouble.”

“Her trouble? Money is not something that would compensate for any sort of emotional distress.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Ranked humans are meant to have mates. Omegas are born to be paired with Alphas. It’s in all of our natures.”

You saw Maria running into a dead end and your anxiety grew worse, “I hadn’t realized this was an ambush. I am moving that we schedule another meeting a few days from now. That way we can have more time-”

“Time is of the essence, Agent Hill,” Steve interrupted.

“Captain Rogers is correct,” Senator Neal, the subcommittee chairman, made his final declaration, “We can arrange another meeting soon but the problem at hand must have a solution for now. We simply cannot take the chance of losing our last Omega. For the time being, Miss Y/L/N will be turned over to Captain Steve Rogers. As our most decorated military member and one of our highest ranking Alphas, I believe she’ll be in great care.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” You heard Maria say before you tuned out the world around you.

Being one of the few Omegas, you thought you might be treated as less than but until now you hadn’t realized how true that would be. It was stupid to let the crowds and reporters fool you. They were watching you like an animal in the zoo because that’s exactly what you were now.

When you tuned in again, a calloused hand had wrapped around your tiny one and you were standing in front of a flock of reporters. You looked up at Steve and he had the same confidence and seriousness in his look as he spoke to them. He’d probably have no problem convincing the public that this was the right choice.

You had to walk fast to keep up with him. Maria was gone, you weren’t sure when you had lost her, but now you were surrounded by even more people that you didn’t know. At some point you were sitting in a car listening to Steve talk on the phone to what sounded like a news outlet. Then at another point you were being pulled out of a car and lifted into strong arms. You supposed Steve had gotten tired of your short legs.

It was loud on the asphalt, you heard the whirring sound of the engine as you were carried closer to it. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your head tilted into the side of his neck as you inhaled the most enticing scent, “The hard part is over, honey. You can relax now.”

You ran to what you hoped was the bathroom once you awoke and saw that you were on TV. Your eyes were closed as you wretched but you could still see a scared little girl standing shyly next to the strongest soldier in the world. Why did you let him whisk you away when you could’ve stood up for yourself? Why could you not think for yourself at all when you touched him?

When you finished vomiting into the toilet, you made your way over to the sink, and you saw a figure standing behind you as your eyes first opened again, “Your toothbrush is in the first drawer to the right. All your things are on the right side, mine on the left. The closets are organized the same way.” You opened the door and surely there was a pink, electric toothbrush.

You truly got a chance to look at the bathroom which had tall ceilings, a fancy shower, his and hers sinks, and the impossibly clean mirror in front of you, “I don’t have any clothes,” You countered, adding toothpaste to the tip.

“I had a few things brought from Banner’s house and I had more purchased for you.”

You shifted, not having expected he would go as far to get you clothes you’d actually be comfortable in. You didn’t let that ease you, your stomach still feeling unsettled as you began to brush your teeth. Steve’s eyes stayed on you, watching you as if you might dust away at any moment.

“I know it was scary being seen by all those people,” Steve said, leaning in the bathroom doorway. He almost looked unfamiliar in a black t-shirt and black sweatpants, “You represent something good, that’s all, that’s why people care so much.”

You spit the contents in your mouth into the sink, wiping your mouth as you turn off the water, “You knew how it would affect me but you caused it. Maria said that yesterday–”

“Two days ago, you’ve been asleep for awhile,” He corrected you. Your brows furrowed and you finally noticed the clothes you were wearing. A men’s plaid button up that went all the way down to your knees.

You couldn’t possibly have slept for two days, “You keep using your stupid Alpha voice on me and now I’m losing track of time. The last thing I remember was getting on the plane. I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Your eyes were wide, panic setting in again.

“Y/N, you fell asleep because your body was exhausted and my touch allows for it to relax. You’re not losing your mind, I promise, just learning more about yourself.”

It didn’t make sense. You had no idea that Alpha’s had that power over Omegas, “That doesn’t change what you did. Maria said that the meeting was an ambush. You planned it. You knew what decision they were going to make.”

“Yes,” Steve nodded, “I pushed them in the correct direction.”

You shook your head, “I’d rather be back in the white box than here with you. I’d rather even be where Bruce is now. I hope you know that. Whatever little voice you use, or whoever I turn into when you touch me, that’s not who I am. I hate you.”

You were surprised to see him falter, to see anger threaten to show on his features, and you realized the noble man wasn’t always so stoic.

He straightened himself, his arms still crossed across his chest as he came closer, “I don’t need to use my voice to control you, Y/N. And my voice is not going to be the reason that you’ll do exactly as I say from now on. Would you rather my touch be unkind to you? I can bend you over my lap and show you how unkind I can be. Do you under-”

You caught him by surprise again as you made a break for it, running around him and through the master bedroom. He was stronger but you were much smaller. You couldn’t outrun him but you could exercise what little control you had left.

With tears stinging your eyes, your bare feet padded down a long wooden hallway until arriving at a staircase. Steve wasn’t running but you could hear his heavy steps behind you. You felt you were running through a museum as you began to look around at the decor. You were surrounded by traditional fixtures, moody colors, and a whole lot of war memorabilia.

At the end of the stairs, you saw the front door and ran to turn the knob though it did not budge. You looked through the sidelights, noting that the home you were in was in the middle of a cul de sac and you saw rows of identical looking houses all the way in the distance.

“Y/N!” You kept moving. Steve sounded more annoyed than angry now as he followed you through the kitchen’s swinging doors. You stopped in your tracks, meeting eyes with three people, a woman who was cutting vegetables on a cutting board, a woman who was wiping down a dining table, and a young guy in overalls installing something near the back door.”

You felt Steve’s hand on your shoulder, “Sorry, guys. Y/N desperately wanted a tour. Y/N, this is our chef, Cynthia. Our housekeeper, Amy. And Andrew is taking care of some things around the house, helping us get settled in.”

It looked like he was installing a similar security device to the back door.

It was your turn to say something as both Amy and Cynthia gave you warm smiles. The only thoughts crossing your mind pertained to Steve’s hands on your shoulder, “Will you both be having lunch in the dining room?” Cynthia asked.

“No, just have it sent up in about … an hour,” Steve responded, “Thank you.”

Steve was leading you out of the kitchen and, as soon as you were out of their sites, you were thrown over his shoulder. You expected a cool remark but Steve was quiet as he carried you back up to the room.

He set you on your feet, only to keep his promise by bending you over his lap. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, pinning your arms to your side as he held your body as close as possible. He only had to lift the shirt a small bit to completely expose your body.

“Cynthia and Amy will help us for our first weeks together. Your first real heat will come soon and we’ll need to be together, they’ll be able to keep the house together,” You squirmed as his fingers caressed the back of your thighs, threatening to dip into the gap between your parted legs, “When your heat is much more managed, or when your belly wells up with my child, you’ll take on those duties of maintaining the house. A military base is not where I want us to live forever but it will do for the time being.”

He’d thought all of this over, most likely in great detail, he’d had a chance to process it and he expected that you’d do the same. Still, he gave you little time to panic over that impending doom as he began to lay hard slaps against the bare skin of your bottom.

You screamed, thinking that maybe one of the people downstairs would come to your aid but your hopes weren’t high for long, “Please!” You begged, although you soon grew embarrassed by your own crying, letting the comforting muffle your voice. You didn’t want anyone to rescue you. You didn’t want anyone to know you’d been spanked like a disobedient child as an adult.

“Tell me you’ll be good for me, baby.”

There was no Alpha voice and there was even a sweet mention of a pet name yet this was the most threatened you felt to obey.

“Yes! O-Okay,” You stuttered, choking on a cough.

“Repeat it back to me, Y/N.”

“I’ll b-be good for you, S-Steve,” You could finally catch your breath when he stopped. When he stopped, you didn’t even move yourself, you didn’t even attempt to cover yourself. Steve was the one who lifted you, laying you gently at the edge of the bed with your bottom up.

You laid there motionless, hearing Steve walk away to the bathroom, but your eyes were fixed on the master bedroom door. This would be a bigger cage and you doubted that you wouldn’t feel trapped here like Steve had promised.

The bed dipped beside you and you cringed and squirmed as you felt his hand on your bottom again. He shushed you, holding your upper arm to keep you in place as he lotioned a cool substance over the raw skin.

Steve wiped your tears, pushing the hair from your face in order to admire you more closely. You looked even more beautiful with your wet stained cheeks and he loved the way your eyelashes laid against your cheeks when your eyes were closed.

“Please don’t do that again,” Steve heard you whisper. He grabbed your chin and your eyes fluttered open again. You looked at him in a way he hadn’t noticed before, like you were seeing him for the first time.

Steve didn’t want to argue with you anymore, knowing he could get his point across more clearly with you when he was physical. He brought his lips toward your hesitant ones. Steve knew you wouldn’t pull away, your body wouldn’t let you run away from that sort of pleasure, and he deepened it further.

This wasn’t his first kiss since the 40’s but it sure felt like something new. Steve held your hips and he could sense you get overwhelmed by your wandering hands. He wanted to feel all of you although he knew he’d have to avoid your bottom after his cruel handiwork. He caressed your back, your thighs, and made his way to the back of your neck. He held you in his strong grip, keeping your lips tight against his as he moved his against yours.

His stubble brushed against your skin, tickling you as his lips moved to your neck.

Steve kissed and sucked on your neck and moans and mewls fell from your lips. Steve could tell you were extra sensitive there and it sparked his curiosity. He made it his new mission to find the most sensitive parts of your body, the ones that made your body writhe with pleasure, and one day he’d torture you slowly by focusing on each one.

Steve had to feel between your legs, had to taste and smell you. You were to be his mate, he was the only one to have you in this way, and he’d relish every moment of your first time. He teased your clit with his pointer finger. You closed your legs, an attempt to hide away but he was stronger, “Give yourself to me,” He rasped against your throat, “Or I’ll take it.”

You were already soaking the comforter and Steve heard your words becoming practically incoherent, “I … please … I …so-so … “

Steve pressed your front into the mattress, deciding to take his place behind you, his commanding hands lifting your hips into the air. Your ass was still sore and Steve could feel your fear that he would hurt you again but all you felt was the lips that were just on yours dipping between your legs. He lapped at you furiously, his tongue dipping inside you, licking up and down before it swirled around your sensitive bud.

You moaned into the comforter and Steve rubbed his hard member through his sweatpants. Normally, he might’ve kissed you longer, massaged you longer, or waited until you had a few more orgasms against his tongue but he had to be inside his little Omega.

After he gave you your first orgasm, Steve revealed his cock, wasting no time sheathing himself inside of you.

It felt right, although your body was so much smaller, it was the perfect fit. You’d never done this before but your body was ready, you accepted him with a little bit of easing, “There you go, honey, you’re doing so good,” Your head turned to the side, Steve watched your eyes roll back as he went deep inside of you.

He slowly pressed your hips back down against the mattress, moving in and out of you with ease. He felt every time you tightened around his cock, your body releasing all the tension beneath your skin. Steve removed his t-shirt, beginning to break a sweat although he still had a lot left within him.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asked, going harder.

“Don’t stop,” Was your response which made him smile.

“Ask me politely,” Steve slowed his pace, teasing you.

“Please don’t stop,” You spoke quickly and he could tell you were close to convulsing again, “Please, Steve.”

“Good, Omega,” Steve went harder again, knowing you went crazy when he pulled himself all the way out and shoved himself deeper again, “Good girl.”

“Thank you,” You mewled, “I’m your good girl.”

It wasn’t long before your words coaxed him into his own orgasm. He felt his own sense of euphoria as he released inside you, feeling your warm walls around him until his body allowed him to relax. Steve laid beside your shaking body, caressing your back as he pressed his nose into your hair.

“I’m your good girl?” He heard you whisper and he now realized how much his words meant to you. You wanted his reassurance when you were within your most vulnerable state. He knew you were wrong before in saying this side of you was not the real you.

“Yes,” Steve kissed your shoulder, “You’re my good little girl. Forever, honey.”

part two

#dark!steve rogers #black!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #dark steve rogers x reader #mcu smut #dark fics #bucky barnes #maria hill #alpha omega #alpha/beta/omega AU #a/b/o universe #avengers a/b/o

4K notes · View notes

palmtreesx3 · 1 year

Text

Seeing Stars

I don't often share the words that vomit from my own head, but from what started as Hot Tub Steve appreciation inspired by the artist formerly known as @willowherbal (*insert Hunger Games 3 finger salute in memorial*) and the masterpiece that was Be With You Everywhere - Hot Dog Steve emerged and I couldn't remove the bumbling idiot from the depths of my brain. So thanks for that @sweetsweetjellybean @crappymixtape @superblysubpar

Steve Harrington x FEM!reader

Summary: The crew finally decides it's time to start celebrating the 4th of July again, but Steve Harrington finds he can't stop himself from staring.

References to past trauma, a dash of NSFW, staring, glaring and illusions to a hot tub hook up

Part 2: A Girl Like You

_________

It was hot. Not oppressive. Not stifling. But the kind of hot that has you seeing stars at one in the afternoon. Sunbeams bouncing off pool water, sunglass lenses and sweat glistening skin - not sure if you're more desperate for the cold beer or sticking your hand in the ice cold cooler to grab it in the first place.

Honestly, it's everything you could want for a celebratory, classic, absolutely patriotic 4th of July, but things are different at this particular picnic. It's been a few years, but the innocent holiday full of sparklers, sweet watermelon juice running down your chin and late night fireworks just hasn't been the same since everything that happened that year at Starcourt. It was when everything you thought you knew about the place you grew up changed in an instant and this motley crew welcomed you into their fold. Since then, most have pretended it was any other day, hiding away trying to busy themselves with whatever they can to avoid the Americana laced trauma.

You don't know whose idea it was to finally put a pin in the escapism, and while most tentatively agreed that it was about time you knock down the walls you all built to hide away the day, everyone unanimously also agreed they didn't want to spend it with anyone else that wouldn't understand. So that's how you found yourself here, hiding away for the holiday in the backyard of the Harrington house, poolside with people you grew up way too fast alongside, and others who are now far too grown to be the kids you once cared for. It's still surreal to you to think you can find yourself comfortably sitting here at this house with any of these people - none of whom (save the kids) were you big fans of before that star spangled day from hell all those years ago.

You were splayed out now, towel rolled up under your neck, daydreaming. Trying hard not to have your thoughts float back to all that you've collectively been through and instead on all the things you wish would go right from here on out. Behind a soundtrack of laughing, splashing and American Woman playing loud on the radio, you were grateful for the comfort of these people who turned into lovely friends and imagining the potential of a fresh start ahead after just finishing up your college degree that past spring. Things feeling far enough in the past to even consider what a future could look like.

That sparkling, blinking sunshine brought you back to reality - sunglasses snatched from your face in an instant by a meddling Dustin dashing by. The kids all now playing hot potato with your Ray Bans, you sigh before calling out "After all these fuckin years, you still think you can get under my skin? You know you're not 13 anymore, right?!" They laugh and you smile, because your favorite pastime is giving them as much shit as they can handle.

You squint hard against the blistering sun and in that moment become blissfully aware of the sweat dripping down your body. You casually reach in your bag, grab a second set of sunglasses and pop them on your nose while you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair, considering your next move.

In that moment, your eyes catch on the steam now rising from the grill on the other side of the yard, Steve standing behind it ready to throw on a round of hot dogs to feed the ravenous troops. He's in navy blue swim trunks slung low and cut high, sunglasses perched on his head and a scowl of concentration on his brow. You selfishly pause for a moment to take him in, standing there so much more a man these days than before, but you quickly shake it off like you always have and make your way back over to the coolers, reaching in for a new can of beer and a handful of ice.

Behind the grill, Steve is doing everything he can to hold it together. He's kept himself busy today, lucky enough to be able to hide behind playing host in order to avoid suspicion. His issue isn't even the holiday - he doesn't need the 4th of July to remind him of his torture. He has chronic headaches and a ringing in his left ear to take care of that. His issue is you. You and the new view he has of you now that he's standing there behind the steaming hot dogs.

He takes a moment to gather himself, running both hands through his hair. You've never been one to fall for his charms. Not the King Steve brand nor the genuine yet still cavalier one that came after he actually got his shit together. He never did shy away from poking and prodding and exploring what he could get away with, but you…you always threw it right back at him. Playing what you assumed was a game of banter meant to keep each other on your toes - what he assumed was your attempt to remind him that you never really chose to be his friend. Despite everything you have gone through together, your friendship still felt a mile away from him and any semblance of a chance with you arguably further. He knows how you feel - felt? - about King Steve and he's pretty sure you being in his life is meant to be yet another reminder of what a shit person he used to be. So instead he settles for teasing and friendly yet biting remarks all soothed by his own fleeting glances.

And God damnit if he isn't cashing in on those fleeting glances today. He's pretty sure he's had to duck away inside the house at least twice to hide his half hard cock as he caught a glimpse of you sunbathing, sweat glistening on your tits in your festive red bikini or bending over, ass on full display, leaning deep into the cooler to pass out another round of beers to the group, including the kids who are now old enough for no one to give a shit if they have one, too. It's a challenge he wasn't aware he needed to be ready for. A battle of wills that makes tossing a molotov cocktail at an otherworldly monster seem like child's play.

Yet here he stands, making himself as busy as he fuckin can at the grill while you pass back over with a group to sit down again on the lounge chairs. Someone turns the radio up while you and Robin stand up and start belting out Wilson Phillips' "Hold On" to whoops and cheers from everyone around you. It's in that moment he slides his sunglasses down off his head knowing full well he will not be able to pretend he isn't watching you intently without the safety of his dark shades covering his eyes. He's taking deep breaths counting the hot dogs back and forth and back and forth again to ground himself when you run up next to him, out of breath from the sprint over, the singing, the dancing or all three combined and shove a can in his face.

"Can't forget the grill master, huh? Do me a favor and don't burn the dogs."

" Uh, yeah. Yeah, thanks." He stumbled out. Normally he keeps his composure and plays his role giving you some bite in his responses, but you've already derailed him and he's pretty sure the sun is frying his brain while he's at it. So now you're here, standing there completely thrown off.

"You okay there, Harrington? "

He grumbles out a hum and you leave him be, figuring he may need a few more beers or a whole new personality, because every time you consider dropping the snarky act with him he totally blows you off and can't be bothered to speak to you in full sentences. He's come such a long way and you want to let the past be the past entirely, but you find that you're irritated with yourself for even looking his way when he acts like that, so you come to give it to him harder next time.

Everyone has settled in again with their fresh drinks and full bellies, some playing a card game on the pool deck, a group taking a break from the water spread out in the grass and others bobbing in the pool. You take the opportunity now that the pool is calm and all games of chicken are nowhere to be found and slide in too, deciding to be unbothered by whatever the fuck is going on with Steve. You grab a hold of a float and kick your feet up so you're floating on your belly, arms folded on your float and head turned to the side resting in the cool water. After a best of silence you spin yourself around, ready to strike up a conversation with Nancy about her own post-college plans when you catch it. The sunglasses are just low enough on the bridge of his nose to catch a glimpse of the direction of his eyes and you are one thousand percent sure that before you turned your float around abruptly, Steve Harrington was staring hard at your ass. Fuckin typical.

Your conversations continue to flow, you join in on games of Rummy and races in the pool. You find yourself shoulder to shoulder with Max on your towels in the grass giving the girl the kind of advice you know she needs. And all the while you feel his eyes. You thought the first one was a fluke - of course Steve Harrington would oggle any ass put in his view - but now you're not so sure. Because normally with you, he'd follow up his blatant stare with some kind of bite or tease, telling you to put your ass away before someone uses it as a flotation device. Instead every time you think you might be catching him staring you down behind his sunglasses he makes himself busy and jams another hotdog in his mouth. At this point you think he's eaten at least 6.

It's late now, and the group starts moving inside, picking a movie and settling in cozy spaces to wind down from the day. Everyone falls into their normal movie night rhythms, bickering over movies, Dustin talking through the opening credits and flicking the lights off for the ambiance. You find yourself in your favorite movie night chair, giant Hawkins High Tshirt slung over your now dry bikini, feet with red painted toes hanging over the armrest, when you're certain you feel it again - eyes on you in the dark of the room.

Robins first to fall asleep, unabashed snores falling from her for far too long before Steve nudges her and tells her to go the fuck upstairs and get to bed already. He leaves to set her up in one of the guest rooms and you can hear now that instead of returning to the movie hes clanging around the kitchen cleaning up from the day. The others also start, sun-beat and slightly buzzed, nodding off into a comfortable slumber around you, and you don't hear Steve padding around the kitchen any longer, so you also assume he has packed it in and went to bed.

When you quietly snuck back outside, walking while shedding your oversized t-shirt yet again in favor of a quiet moment in the Harrington's new hot tub under the stars, the last thing you were expecting to see when the shirt lifted over your head was Steve, already perched there in the bubbles.

" I thought for sure you had already gone to bed. " You say into the silence. He has yet to really acknowledge you so now you're even more confused than before.

At this point, you're fully committed, shirt already off so you climb in, with or without his permission to join. Dipping your toes in and lowering yourself into the jets, you catch him looking before he looks away and you've about had it. You know you might come off strong here, maybe a bit bitchy…and the way he's sitting there with shoulders freckled by the sun and his chest hair all on display under the jets has you second guessing your frustrated emotions, but you don't let what's in front of you distract you. You stick to your guns and open your mouth.

"What the fuck is your problem today, Harrington. I know we're not the closest, but I thought we were friends and I'm not sure what I did to offend you?"

" Offend me? I - uh, shit. What do you mean? "

" Well you won't stop staring me down today, so either I did something to offend you or you can't help yourself enjoying this fucking impeccable view. " And as you say it, you genuinely feel that it's just a normal bite back. A tease that is on par for your friendship. It's when you see the look on his face after you say it that changes everything. He looks like a puppy dog. One that's waiting to be kicked after sifting through the garbage. Like a little kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Like he's just been caught red white and blue handed at his own fucking 4th of July picnic because he wasn't able to tear his eyes away from your body. Oh my God.

"I-it's not, I mean...I...guess it is, fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. Y-you just… . "

You watch him stumble over his words - a literal feat for someone who used to wear a crown like King Steve - and see him slowly slink down until only his eyes and nose remain above the bubbling water, shutting himself up without fail. Of course he acts like this with you. How is he supposed to ever convince you he's not an ounce of that old disgusting version of Steve if he can't act civilized around you even when you're in a bathing suit. His eyes closed slowly before he squeezes them tight. He can't will himself to look at you because he's so fucking embarrassed and he doesn't want to talk about it, but you - your not dropping it. You can't.

"Steve, you fucking look at me right now."

He slowly opens his eyes, keeping half his face still submerged in the water to ensure he doesn't say anything else so utterly stupid or make you any more mad at him than you clearly are. He looks at you so intently, directly in your eyes almost without blinking and you don't think anyone has ever seen that far into you before in your life.

"Were you spending the day checking me out?" you say, softer than he expected.

He slides up, ready to explain and admit his transgressions "yeah I mean, listen, I really didn't think anyone noticed, especially you... "

" Oh my God, you really were shoving hot dogs in your face to try and throw me off, weren't you? "

" Holy shit, yeah I ate like 10. Fuck, it was that obvious? That's so embarrassing. I really need to get a grip. You just looked so good today and I was probably just distracted and I'm sorry - " eyes closed again in utter shame, completely word vomiting his explanation to you across the water.

But before he could apologize again or continue his ramble, you moved quickly across the hot tub, slotting yourself low, down at his level and between his wide spread legs. He opens his eyes when he feels you floating in his space, noses almost touching, chins just under the bubbling water, and you are eye to eye now. He hesitates, thrown off by your proximity, before smashing his lips into yours. It's rough and sloppy and the water is sloshing everywhere as he brings you in closer by the hips so your legs settle in on each side of his.

And he can't help it, he breaks away and starts in again on it "I'm sorry, I - oh my God" he gasps out as you cut him off by grinding your bikini clad core down hard on his dick.

"I swear to God Harrington, if you apologize one more time I'm climbing off right this second" he nods, enthusiastically, fervently as you reach down into the water, between both of your legs and give him a nice firm squeeze. His eyes roll back in his head and he gasps.

"I swear I'm not apologizing, but Jesus Christ, I don't deserve this. You - I don't deserve you but not even this little bit - Fuck!" You grab his shoulder tight, holding on to give your hips another firm roll back and forth and decide to get a little soft and card your free hand through his hair as he babbles.

"I know what you see when you look at me - ah, sh-shit" you roll again but he reaches up and grabs both sides of your face to get you to stop and look at him "I know who I was, but I know you like to make me remember it too, so I never thought… I know I'm better. Fuck, I know it, but I don't know why anyone who knows how I was back then even gives me the time of day. "

You reach up and grab the sides of his face, too. Challenging his unwavering eye contact with your own, you lean in and give him the softest kiss he could have ever imagined, raking your hands back through his hair and tilting his head back a bit to look up at you. From this angle he sees the stars behind you and questions what kind of penance he did these past few years to deserve this moment.

✨

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #hot tub steve #hot dog steve #steve harrington is an absolute idiot #Spotify

479 notes · View notes

robthegoodfellow · 13 days

Text

I'm Glad My Dad Died

mungrove | slightly expanded version of fic written for @strangerthingscharityzine | ao3

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy had a secret: he was glad his dad was dead. So glad that even when his mom sold their house in Ocean Beach and moved them to Hawkins, Indiana, uprooting him from his friends and the sea and everything Billy loved, he still wouldn’t go back to the way things were. Given the options—California, dad alive; or Indiana, dad dead—he’d pick the second every time.

He would, even though Hawkins was its own hell. Learned the hard way that among prepubescent country bumpkins, embroidered roses on your shirt and hair like Shirley Temple bought you a one-way ticket to Loserville.

It was the fall of 1979. Disco was dying and former flower children were gearing up to vote for Reagan. Kumbaya over, time to make America great again.

So, yeah—sixth grade sucked, but stuff at home was world’s better. They were living with Aunt Doris—because San Diego was too expensive, his mom said, and wouldn’t it be nice to get a fresh start?

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow.

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music!

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide.

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life.

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five.

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered.

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien.

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off.

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate.

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and…

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead.

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did.

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

#mungrove #when characters meet as kids you know the drill #apologies to jennette mccurdy #eddie munson #billy hargrove #guest appearances from billy's mom robin buckley and pat mckinney

61 notes · View notes

saltydkdan · 9 months

Note

Thoughts on Strohiem? (From Jojo)

It’s… rough. I have OPINIONS ABOUT HIM.

For those unaware, or have forgotten. This particular ask is about the character of Rudol von Stroheim from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. A Nazi Major that is introduced in Part 2 of the series. I have always wanted a proper moment to spotlight how much I dislike this character. And not just how I dislike him as a character, but how I dislike his general inclusion in the story as well.

Listen, I LOVE this series. But even I have my limits. It’s because I love it so much that I critique aspects like this in the first place.

Warning, I’m about to word vomit about this because I’ve been DYING to talk about this somewhere.

BIG DISCLAIMER: These are my thoughts and mine alone. I know there’s a lot of… interesting anime fans out there that might disagree. I’m not here to debate on stuff like this, I don’t want to hear your contradictory thoughts on the subject. If I see a single person say I’m “virtue signaling” by saying I don’t like the Jojo Nazi character, I am going to mail you a pipe bomb (in the hit game Minecraft for Windows PCs)

Stroheim’s existence (or at least, how he currently exists in the story) is not handled all that well in my opinion. Like… not at all. I like to poke fun at it, but I genuinely think Araki fumbled the bag so hard with Stroheim and it's more and more unbelievable the more I think about it over time.

No matter how you shake it, Araki fully wrote a historically accurate Nazi character into Battle Tendency and proceeded to give him a redemption arc and make him a member of the supporting cast. Now of course, I know that Japan has a fascination with a lot of German stuff, so within that context I can kind of get why he exists in the way that he does, but it just feels weird and in bad taste.

Contextually, it makes sense. Do I like it? No. No I do not.

To address the elephant in the room, I get it. Araki really loves to write evil villain characters, and then having them be redeemed, or switch over to the hero's side after a certain point. I actually really enjoy this trope especially in Jojo! It’s one of my favorites. Especially how it’s handled in Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable.

However, writing a redemption storyline for characters like Okuyasu and Rohan is fundamentally different from writing one for Stroheim.

First and most obviously, unlike other characters, Stroheim’s whole character is based on an actual real life totalitarian extremist hate group who committed horrible atrocities across history (and still does to this day).

As if that wasn’t enough, he quite LITERALLY commits horrible atrocities ON SCREEN. Sacrificing an entire room of innocent people to Santana (the first of the Pillar Men) so that the German’s can awaken and study him in their secret lab.

Everything about Stroheim feels like it’s very intentional at the start. He is clearly set as a villain from the beginning, and it works fine. However once he self-immolates and blows himself up to destroy Santana, the story seems to continuously frame him more and more as an ally/hero from that point onward.

After he returns with his cyborg body, the fact that he’s a Nazi suddenly takes a back seat and now he’s continuously just framed as a “patriotic” soldier. Legit, the moment after he shows back up, Joseph internally comments on how he’s “not exactly a bad guy”.

Some people will argue on how it’s a bit more complicated than that, since Joseph also thinks about how he dislikes that he’s a German Soldier. But directly after this, he also states how he’s still happy Stroheim isn’t dead. If anything, from this point onward Joseph acts towards Storheim in a similar way to how he acts towards Caeser. Even if they aren’t best friends, Joseph still has positive feelings towards Stroheim, and I hateeeee that.

In the anime, they even make sure to call him a “German Soldier” and not a Nazi. The avoidance of that word really struck me as them trying to avoid that subject because they knew the way the character was treated was strange.

So anyway, as I was trying to say. Redeeming villain characters is one thing, but redeeming a villain character that is straight up a literal Nazi is something else entirely. Especially when like, not to nitpick, but Stroheim never walks back the more extremist beliefs that he for sure subscribes to.

-And if you’re one of those weirdos who tries to make a point by saying “well, he never outright says what he actually believes in! Maybe he is just fighting for Germany for his own reasons.”

My dude, he’s literally described as a “Patrotic Nazi”. What the fuck do yoU THINK HE BELIEVES IN?

Also as a final addition to this rant, I also don’t quite like how weirdly normalized that Araki makes the existence of “german soldiers” in his story even outside of Stroheim. Nazi’s are weirdly commonplace throughout the plot, and while it contextually makes sense since they kicked off the main conflict, they are almost always weirdly painted as neutral or even straight up good guys (after the Santana fight). Which is just really strange to me.

Like bruh, you mean to tell me that Caeser fucking Zeppeli is casually frieNDS WITH ONE OF THEM? BE FUCKIN FR ARAKI LOL

It also sucks how Stroheim is so increasingly present leading up to the final act. Like MAN, GET THIS MOTHERFUCKER OFF THE SCREEN.

The only good thing about the inclusion of Nazi’s after Stroheim’s initial sacrifice, is that we get to see the Pillar Man murk a shit ton of them on screen. Like, fuck yeah dude. A great way to power scale and show how powerful the Pillar Men are as antagonists, without me feeling bad that they killed a bunch of people to do so.

Anyway, that’s my 2 cents that nobody asked for. I still LOVE Jojo, I think it’s a masterpiece of its genre, but it’s because of my intense love for it that I criticize it’s missteps so heavily. I hope that my wording on this post is done well, I had to re-draft it a second time after accidentally deleting it once, so I have a feeling it’ll come off a bit scrambled.

That being said, thanks for the Ask!

#saltydkdan #salty asks #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #long boys

255 notes · View notes

wingedblooms · 8 months

Text

A different sort of strength

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (acowar)

I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?”

Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” He sighed toward the ceiling. “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.” (Feysand bonus)

Many have assumed Elain is as all she appears: lovely and gentle and sweet. Feyre believes her loving nature is a different sort of strength, and it is. Love is powerful. In Sarah’s stories, love alters fate time and again in every world. But to Rhysand’s point, this perception of Elain—as lovely and gentle and sweet—is incomplete.

When Amren said there’s no going back to human in acofas, I think Sarah was preparing us for her evolution as a character. That’s why she has hinted Elain isn’t all she appears; a different side of her will emerge. Her family intervention is coming and it will push her to grow and embrace all the layers people can’t (or refuse) to see.

That doesn’t mean she will become something unrecognizable. In an interview, Sarah confirmed that Elain is a quiet dreamer, so her evolution will remain true to the different sort of strength she possesses. For example, she may learn to operate as a spy and courtier and ambassador in Mor’s place on the continent. While she can act like an otherworldly soldier-assassin when needed, as Amren once was, Elain doesn’t need to use violence to change fate.

…intelligence is in the knowledge business. Sometimes it might be useless. Sometimes enough to blackmail someone. And sometimes, just sometimes, it influences battles, sways governments, and changes the fate of the world.

In the intelligence world, a spy is strictly defined as someone used to steal secrets for an intelligence organization. Also called an agent or asset, a spy is not a professional intelligence officer, and doesn’t usually receive formal training (though may be taught basic tradecraft).

Instead, a spy either volunteers or is recruited to help steal information, motivated by ideology, patriotism, money, or by a host of other reasons, from blackmail to love. From an intelligence perspective, their most important quality is having access to valuable information. For this reason, a government minister might make a great spy—but so might the janitor or a cafeteria worker in a government ministry. (spy museum)

A spy’s most important quality is having access to valuable information. We already know Elain has access to valuable information through her powers, and her information repeatedly helps and protects others.

she tells her court leaders about Vassa, an ally who brings fire and brimstone to the war effort, and Koschei, a looming threat;

she locates the Suriel from across the world to help Feyre gain critical knowledge,

she miraculously neutralizes Hybern before he can kill Nesta and Cassian (which we will likely learn was planned and executed through a combination of her powers), and

she shares information about Nesta’s interests and skills so they can be utilized by her court and her mate, leading to the consummation of their bond.

Elain has influenced quite a bit and only needed to wield a knife once—a lethal blow that no one expected—to change fate. Her gifts are well-suited for accumulating secrets. She may even be able to gather secrets about people on sight, like other seers.

Spies also try to blend in with their surroundings to avoid getting caught. And in the Hewn City, Eris and Cassian dismiss Elain based on her appearance. Hewn City is described as rotting darkness and Elain wears a dress that leeches the life from her appearance. She looks plain. Boring. And no one really pays her any attention as a result.

In the very next chapter, Nesta is shocked (again) by Elain’s sudden appearance and wonders if she is training with the spymaster or her friends, the spies. I don’t think we’ve seen Nuala and Cerridwen use violence once as spies. They have access to valuable information in their roles as handmaidens and their abilities as wraiths allow them to truly blend into their surroundings. It’s possible Elain has learned to move like a wraith from them and depending on the extent of their powers, she might have also learned how to alter her appearance or even wear different bodies. @offtorivendell and I think this could explain, if it becomes canon, how Elain could’ve appeared as Balthazar to help Nesta and Emerie.

Elain also learned how to prepare food from her spy friends, which is another method to influence or disarm others. We learn Elain is working on an herb garden right around the time she learns how to prepare food. Conveniently, herbs can harm as well as heal. She doesn’t need to wield a sword when she has natural weapons growing in her garden.

As the sweet and gentle gardener, no one would suspect Elain of spying or growing plants that could help her access even more knowledge (or protect herself against potential aggressors). But we know, thanks to Rhysand, that gardeners are used to getting their hands dirty, and we know, thanks to Feyre, that Elain won’t hesitate to wield hers for a pretty result.

#elain archeron #here I go talking about Elain’s evolution again #spy and courtier and ambassador #why choose one when it can be three #a different sort of strength #a different side #nuala and cerridwen #night court spies

170 notes · View notes

ramp-it-up · 1 year

Text

Santa, Daddy

Paring: Chris Evans x Reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: Thanks to a bet with Scott, you are Santa’s Helper for the night.

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI. RPF, SMUT, Lil bit of ANGST. Not Beta’d. Consequences of a bet, Christmas party, suggestive outfit, drinking, getting wasted, continued flirting, dirty Christmas list (sex toys), suggestion of anal, oral (f receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) Daddy kink, Good girl kink, breast play, copious cum, praise, dirty talk.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask.

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

“I triple dog dare you.”

You rolled your eyes as Scott ‘oohed’ at his own dare.

“There are kids in there, Scott!”

“As soon as Chris passes out the presents, they are going to be going home to get in bed for the real Santa. No young minds corrupted..”

Scott was too sure of himself.

You peeked out to the living room where Chris was holding court with the Evans and Capuano clan children. He looked perfect, the padded Santa suit, wig and beard complimenting his pale complexion. And the voice. He was a good actor.

Meanwhile, you were standing in Chris’s bedroom, staring at a box on the bed which contained something his brother, (who was also your first best friend in Boston) ordered for you. You looked down at the skimpy Santa’s little helper costume and bit your lip.

It was all going to be on display out there.

“You owe me one, unless you’re too chickenshit…”

“Fuck you Evans. I’ll do it, but not until the minors are gone.”

“Thank you for honoring your bet. You said you’d serve my drinks, anytime, anywhere, when we bet on the game.”

You shook your head. You had been shitfaced when you came over to Chris’ house for the Patriots-Giants game in August. You didn’t think an innocent bet would cost this much.

“I hate you Scott.”

“I love you too, now I want to see that body ody ody.”

“Shut the fuck up. And get out.”

“Alright. I’ll text you when the kids are gone.”

You looked at yourself in one of Chris’s many mirrors. You weren’t ashamed of your body, and while you weren’t shitfaced just yet, you were mellow enough to not have any of your normal body image issues.

The bathroom was full of the smell of Chris. As you inhaled the scent of him, you thought about the fact that Scott always accused you and Chris of having a thing for each other.

It was ridiculous.

Just because you and Chris shared long looks, you always leaned your head on his shoulder and clutched his arm when you were watching a movie, and yes, he always gave you a forehead kiss goodnight when you left his house but that meant nothing.

There was nothing to Scott’s accusation, except for the fact that you were gone on Chris and wanted to fuck his brains out.

But you knew what happened to the women he brought around. You never saw them again. You didn’t want to lose your friends. Fucking Chris wasn’t worth it. Even if you did have feelings for him.

You turned back to the box on the bed, feeling a different kind of way about wearing the outfit therein.

30 minutes later, five minutes after Scott texted you, you came out of Chris’s bedroom in the outfit.

Scott and company whistled, clapped and stomped their feet when you emerged as Chris stripped off the hat, wig, and beard. When he saw you walking over to the bar with your ass practically all the way out, Chris’s mouth hinged open.

You looked at him over your shoulder and Chris took it as an invitation.

“The bar is open.”

You announced it, and Chris thought that it was a sign. He sauntered over, still in the padded red suit.

You batted your eyes at him as he approached.

“Aren’t you just Santa’s little helper?”

You smiled.

“What would you like, Chris?”

The bet was service with a smile, so you were playing nice. Scott was eagle eyeing you and Chris from across the room.

Chris licked his lips wolfishly.

“I’m not going to say what I’d like, but I’ll have a vodka cranberry right now.”

You served it up while Chris blatantly ogled you. You weren’t mad at him. You tried to keep your mind pure and didn’t flirt as you worked.

“Scott came up with a good bet this time. It seems like we all won.”

Chris’s eyes moved from your black platform high heeled boots with the fur to your barely there black-laced teddy showcasing your apple bottom, to your red hat hanging jauntily off your mountain of hair.

“Holy shit, you’re so hot...”

Chris’s blue eyes tried to capture you as you drank and you pushed away from him and the bar as Scott beckoned you over. You tossed Chris another look over your shoulder as you took Scott a beer.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wonder what else you can take?”

Chris said it half to himself but he saw your smirk in response.

Chris played Santa for a while longer, hosting friends on his lap and asking what they wanted for Christmas. You played helper, standing beside them for pictures. Your turn was last. You looked at Chris’s wide open legs and thanked whatever god was in heaven.

“What do you want for Christmas, little girl?”

You sat on Chris’s lap, as demurely as you could, your ass on one of his large thighs. You knew that you were getting hot and wet by sitting this close to his dick, and you could swear that you could feel it on your leg. You kept trying to scoot off of it, but Chris grabbed you closer. You narrowed your eyes and he grinned as you became sure of what he was doing.

Okay, he wanted to play. You would play.

“Well, SantaChris, I either want a good Daddy with a thick dick or a new purple deep thrusting wand so I can get off. Haven’t had good dick in a while.”

Everyone was busy getting wasted and you were speaking low, so no one heard what you said.

Chris didn’t think you’d come like that. He gulped.

“Uh… ummmm. I- I- I think I can manage that. Deep thrusting you say?”

You managed your best innocent look and batted your eyes up at him. You felt his cock swell on your leg.

“Yes. I like it hard, deep, and rough. Can I also ask for a new vibrating butt plug?”

You tapped your hand on your chin and looked at him questioningly. Chris eyes were dilated and his mouth was open.

“Fuck yeah.”

He practically moaned, then cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes, little girl. Have you been good?”

You smiled at Chris and then leaned in, swerving to his ear as he puckered up for a kiss.

“Well Santa, that's for my Daddy to decide.”

Your sultry whisper made Chris’ brain short circuit and you were up off his lap before he could grab you and take you into his room.

—--

Chris was thankful for the padding in the Santa suit; he walked around for the rest of the night with his cock hard. He always knew you were gorgeous, thick and seemingly soft in just the right places. He knew that body was banging. When he had to jack off, it was frequently to you and after tonight, there was no other choice.

The problem was that Chris didn’t want to ruin the friendship. You were fine, but you were also smart and funny and if he risked hitting on you seriously, you might disappear. You were worth more to him than those random hookups.

As a result, he relished movie nights, ogling you from across the room, and your drunken debates with Scott. Kissing you on the forehead after a fun night with the homies was the closest he came to admitting his feelings.

One day, he promised himself.

But here you were tonight, Christmas Eve, wrapped up seemingly just for him. And the presents you asked for! Surely that was an invitation, right? Or were you just fucking with him?

Damn, he wished you’d fuck with him.

For the rest of the evening, you and Chris did this dance. Literally for your friends’ cameras and private IG accounts when you hammed it up to some christmas music, and figuratively as you two eye fucked each other from afar, your usual cadence knocked into overdrive.

Chris’s Santa outfit came off, bit by bit, until he was in a wife beater, suspenders and the huge red pants and boots as he partied with his friends.

He was walking around, holding his crotch and acting like a frat boy, as he does, and you were loose, giving people lapdances while staring at Chris. The energy was on a thousand as the night ended.

You announced that you were changing while Scott and his boyfriend waited for you. You, them, and Chris were the last four people in his house.

“Do me a favor. Both of you walk your asses to the kitchen and drink at least 12 ounces of water before we leave. I want to see you start sobering up, now.”

“I’m not too wasted, Scotty. My dick is still hard.”

Chris grabbed himself through the red velvet and you giggled as he followed you into the kitchen to get some bottles of water.

Chris watched your mouth wrap around the water bottle.

“Fuck! I want those lips around my cock.”

He practically yelled it as you sputtered your water and coughed.

“What?”

Chris was staring at you.

“What?” He looked at you questioningly. “Oh shit, did I say that out loud?”

The door closed in the living room and you went to see that Scott and his guy were gone.

“Yes, you practically yelled it, and now Scott thinks we’re trying to get busy!”

You went to the door to see Scott’s taillights.

“There goes my ride.”

You stepped to Chris and glared up at him, hands on your bare hips.

“Fuck you Chris, you better get me an Uber!”

Your finger was in his face and Chris stared at you.

“Yes, and no.”

His voice was extra deep and menacing.

“What the hell?”

“I’ll take you up on the first and say no to the second. I’d fuck you in a minute, and I don’t want you to leave.”

Chris stepped to you.

“You feel the same, yeah?”

You tried to step back, but Chris followed you.

“You’re being ridiculous, Christopher.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your hip, not realizing that it enhanced your curves. Chris looked down and licked those cherry red lips. He caught you staring and gave you a sexy side smile.

“Am I? See something you like, Beautiful?”

Your eyes met his and that was a mistake. He saw the emotion in yours and you felt like jello as his deep voice began to rumble through you.

“You want a Daddy to fuck you hard and rough and deep, in all your holes? Did I hear you right?”

He was closer than close now, and your hands were on his chest now, your brain telling you to push him away, but your pussy making you feel up his pecs. You shook your head no.

“A thick Daddy.”

Chris looked up at the ceiling.

“Ohhhh. A thick Daddy.”

You stared at his Adam's apple and wanted to suck it. Chris took one of your hands in his and brought it down to his crotch. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you held his hard, throbbing length.

“That thick enough?”

You whimpered as Chris’s mouth crashed on yours. The kiss was intense, and your mouth was claimed by one of your best friends. Your mind emptied of all thought as Chris’s hands went everywhere on your body, everywhere his eyes had been all night.

“Do you want this?”

You didn’t expect Chris to pull away, but he did, needing to verify your want before he let years of anticipation loose.

“Absolutely.”

Your smile was upside down as Chris threw you over your shoulder and took you back into his bedroom. You were thrown on the bed as Chris reached for his suspenders and disrobed down to his boxer briefs. You licked your lips at the story his stiff cock was telling through his garments and unconsciously let your legs fall open.

Chris fell to his knees and immediately pushed his nose into you, sniffing and giving your pussy pecks through the sequined material.

“Good god, I’ve wanted this forever,” Chris told you as his hands moved up your legs to your thighs, to grasp the crotch of your outfit and tear it.

“Hey!”

“I need to determine if you’re a good girl or not. I’ll get you another outfit, if you want one.”

You leaned up to watch Chris start to devour your cunt with that mouth, tongue collecting your liquid and mouth slurping; it was like a dehydrated man drinking from a fountain.

All the while he kept eye contact until you couldn’t do it anymore. You grabbed his hair, threw your head back, closed your eyes, and moaned as you came into his mouth. Chris brought his thick fingers up to fuck you through it and the prolonged orgasm knocked your flat on your back.

“Mmmmmm. A very, very, very, very, good girl you are.”

You opened your eyes to the sensation of the head of Chris’s cock at your entrance as he tore the rest of your outfit off you. He grabbed your breasts as he slid slowly inside your generous wetness, your face a silent, erotic scream at the stretch.

“Looks like it’s thick enough. Good. Girl. Good fucking girl.”

Chris rolled your nipples and you arched into his hands as he rotated his hips, then slowly pulled out and then in again, fucking you thouroughly, deeply, but slowly.

“Ohhhhhhh. Shit. Dadddyyyyy!!!”

You started gasping for breath at the sensations you were feeling.

“That’s it. Only ever imagined that face as I gave you this cock. Fuck. Reality is so much better than my mind and hand. So fucking tight for me. Taking me so well.”

Chris looked down at your cunt clenching down around him, and the cream you were giving him.

“Suchhhh a fucking good girl.”

He looked back up again.

“And those tits.”

He started pounding even harder and your tits started bouncing.

Your only response was his name.

“Chris!”

“Oh my god this is heaven.”

When his thumb went to flick your clit, was when you lost it all around him again. Chris held your hips and continued to fuck you deep and hard through your orgasm. He held on as you shuddered around him, eyes dilated, and mouth open. You pulsed again as he spit on your clit and rubbed it into your sensitive flesh. He looked up at you. Those blues were piercing.

“Mine.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Shhhhiittttt!”

Chris’s eyes rolled and his rhythm sped up a bit as he almost lost control at your words but he stopped and gathered himself together, letting you both feel the pounding of your cock together. Then he pulled out. He twisted your nipple with one hand and stroked his wet dick with another.

“You are so fucking hot. This cock is ruined for you.”

His voice was so sweet.

“Let me suck my juices off, Daddy.”

Chris’s eyes went wide and his hand seemed to blur as he stroked his cock faster. He twisted your nipple hard, then smacked it.

“No, fuck…. Shit…. no, I’d cum down your throat…”

You had him out of control as you sat up.

“If you want to, Daddy.”

You licked your lips in front of him, but you didn’t move, just stared up with those eyes.

“Holy shit, I want to, fuckkkk, I really wanna, but I’m gonna finish inside you tonight. Turn the fuck around, lemme see that ass. Gotta get a condom…”

“No you don't, Daddy. I have an IUD.”

Chris growled.

“Fucking perfect… on your knees.”

“So goddam beautiful…”

You presented your ass to him and his throbbing member was quickly at your entrance. He sank inside you to the hilt, then grabbed your hair. He leaned down to your ear.

“You like it rough?”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“Hang on.”

Chris drew back, almost completely out of you, then, he starting fucking you. Hard. Deep. Thorough. It was everything you wanted and needed.

“Oh myyyy….Gooood Godddddd!”

You were cumming almost immediately and Chris slapped your ass.

“Shit, this feels so…Ummmmmmm! I can’t…. I can’t stop now.”

He started getting sloppy and you knew he was right there with you.

But you had to ask.

“Can I cum, Daddy???”

Your whiny baby voice pushed him over the edge.

“Absofuckinglutely. My good fucking girllllll!”

Chris emptied so much cum into you that it started leaking out and down your legs as you collapsed on the bed, Chris still inside you. You were still shaking and vibrating as he held you tight, kissing the back of your neck.

“Shit, Chris…”

You couldn’t stop trembling. He held you tighter and pulled the comforter over both of you, half unmaking the bed.

“I know, darlin’. So so good. Damn. Why haven’t we done this sooner?”

He really couldn’t think of a good reason.

“Friendship…”

You were slipping over the edge of consciousness.

“Oh yeah, that. Yeah. Don’t wanna be your friend anymore. You gotta be my girl...”

Chris’s voice was sleepy too.

“Haha….you’re funny…”

You giggled and fell asleep, listening to Chris snore as he softened inside you.

The next morning, you woke up, sunlight slicing through your eyelids and your head. You groaned and rolled over, immediately realizing what happened. You looked around for Chris, who was gone.

You gingerly got up and went to the bathroom, starting the shower to get cleaned up. You were dreading facing him. He was probably just waiting for you to be done to call the Uber.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, he was there, handing you a robe, some aspirin, and some water.

He kissed you on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas!”

You were reticent and replied a subdued “Merry Christmas” in return.

He sighed and shook his head, smiling at you.

“Don’t even overthink it. Yes, we did that, and yes, I said that.”

Chris raised his eyebrow at you.

“Now are you ready to stop fucking around and do this thing?”

You sipped your water and pretended to think as you took the aspirin.

“Well it is Christmas. And it seems my wish has come true.”

You smiled wide and Chris let out a breath.

“Good. Now let me cross that wand off your list. No need for that ever again.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Well then, be a good girl and don’t close your eyes.”

Chris grabbed the tie of your robe and led you back into the shower.

Reblog this shit, Boo! 😘

#dj’salliwant4kchristmas22 #ask dj #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans rpf #chris evans x you #scott evans

918 notes · View notes

tanadrin · 1 year

Text

[epistemic status: a bunch of semi-related thoughts I am trying to work out aloud] It has been noted countless times that reactionary politics rely on a feeling of threat: our enemies are strong and we are weak (but we are virtuous and they are not, which is why they’re our enemies!); we must defend ourselves, we must not be afraid of doing what needs to be done; we must not shie away from power generally, and violence specifically.

And there are lots of contexts--like when talking about the appeal of reactionary politics in the US before and at the beginning of Trump’s rise to prominence, or when talking about hard-on-crime policies that are a springboard to police militarization, or (the central example of all this in the 21st century) the post 9/11 PATRIOT-act terrorism paranoia that was a boon to authoritarians everywhere, and spurred a massive expansion of both control and surveillance in everyday life--where critics of reactionary rhetoric are chastised for their failure to appeal to the other side, because they come off as callous towards their concerns and their real fears and anxieties.

And while this might not be strategically correct, frankly, I think there’s a sense in which it is justified to be callous towards those concerns. Because those concerns are lies. They may be lies borne out of a seed of real experience (9/11 did happen, of course), but the way that seed is cultivated by focused paranoia, by contempt toward cultivating any sense of proportionality or any honest comparison of risk, the way it is dragooned into the service of completely orthogonal political goals (”the CIA/NSA/FBI must be able to monitor all private communications everywhere in the world, just in case it might prevent another 9/11″) chokes off any possible sympathy I might otherwise feel. American paranoia about another couple thousand lives being lost in a 9/11 like event resulted in a number of deaths literally multiple orders of magnitude larger in Iraq and Afghanistan. During the former, some years Iraq was suffering the equivalent of six or seven 9/11s a year.

So, any fear-driven policy must not (for example) say “to prevent disaster X happening again, we’re going to make it happen 270 times over to someone else.” That’s not reasonable. And “fear is a bad basis for crafting policy” is not exactly a revolutionary observation. There’s that probably-apocryphal story of a Chinese professor responding to Blackstone’s Ratio--you know, “better that ten guilty persons go free than one innocent person suffer”--with “better for whom?” Which is supposed to be this trenchant and penetrating question that makes you reexamine your assumptions. But it’s always struck me as idiotic. Better for society! For everyone! Because the law only functions well if it is seen as a source of order and justice, not as an authoritarian cudgel; because a society in which anxiety drives policymaking and legal responses to social ills is one that is in the process of actively devouring itself; because flooding the public discourse with language that dehumanizes criminals and makes it easy to separate the individual from universal principles like civil rights is an acid that destroys the social fabric.

Fear as a germ of reactionary politics manifests itself in lots of ways outside of both historical examples, like fascism, or more recent examples, like US foreign policy during the war on terror. Fear and its link to purity-attitudes, with a low level of scientific literacy in general, drives stuff like the organized anti-vaccine movement. In the Hertzsprung-Russel diagram of political tendencies, I’d argue it’s a big factor in the wellness-to-Qanon track. It’s a big part of tough-on-crime rhetoric, which in the American instance in particular also draws on an especially racialized form (cf. the “Willie Horton” ad). Fear and purity and anti-contamination anxieties are even big in opposition to nuclear power, because most of the public just has a really bad sense of what the comparative dangers of nuclear vs fossil fuel are; and because the former has been culturally salient since 1945 in a way the latter hasn’t, nuclear contamination feels much more threatening than fossil fuel waste, despite by any measurable harm the latter causing far worse problems, even before you factor in any risks from climate change.

I would like to argue in particular that true crime as an entertainment genre, and wellness culture, and fears about child abuse all contribute to reactionary politics--they are in themselves major reactionary political currents--in a way that cuts across the political spectrum because they are not strongly marked for political factionalism. A lot of the rhetoric both from and around true crime entertainment promotes the idea that violent crime exists, or at least can flourish, because of an insufficiently punitive attitude toward crime; one that can only be fixed by centering victims’ desire (or putative desire) for retribution in the legal process, by eroding the civil rights of the accused, and by giving the police and prosecutors more power. Obviously, this is just 80s and 90s tough on crime rhetoric repackaged for millennials; it centers individual experience a bit more and deemphasizes the racial component that made the “Willie Horton” ad so successful, but it posits that there is only one cause for crime, a spontaneous choice by criminals that has no causal relationship with the rest of the world, and only one solution, which is authoritarianism.

Wellness culture leverages purity concerns and scientific illiteracy in ways which are so grifty and so transparently stupid that it’s by far the least interesting thing on this list to me; its most direct harm is in giving an environment for the anti-vaccine movement to flourish, and I’m always incredibly annoyed when people talk about how the medical establishment needs to do more to reassure the public about vaccines’ safety and efficacy. Again, strategically, this may be correct; people dying of preventable disease is really bad. But doctors as a body didn’t promote Andrew Wakefield’s nonsense; doctors as a body didn’t run breathless article after breathless article about vaccines maybe causing autism; doctors as a body didn’t scare the bejezus out of folks in the 90s and then act all surprised when preventable childhood diseases started breaking out all over the place.

Although outside the whole anti-vax thing, I think there are lots of other harms that wellness culture creates. It tends to be fairly antiscientific; in order to sell people nonsense (because as a subculture it exists almost exclusively to sell people things) it has to discredit anything that might point out that it is selling nonsense. Whether the anti-intellectualism that flourishes in these quarters is a result of intentional deceit or just a kind of natural rhetorical evolution probably varies. But it is an important component of wellness culture to be able to play a shell game between “big pharma doesn’t have your best interests at heart,” “you don’t need your anti-depressants,” and “laetrile cures cancer.”

The way in which fears of child abuse are turned into a reactionary political cudgel probably actually annoys me the most; whether it’s Wayfair conspiracy theories, conservatives trying to turn “groomer” into an anti-queer slur, or just antis on tumblr, the portrayal of sadistic sexual threat aimed at children from an outside malevolent force is compelling only because the vast majority of child abuse and CSA comes from within families and within culturally privileged structures of authority like churches, and this fact makes everyone really uncomfortable, and no one wants to talk about it. I remember getting really annoyed during the Obama years when the White House wanted to talk about bullying and anti-LGBT bullying in particular, while studiously avoiding blaming parents and teachers in any way for it, despite the fact that all the coming out horror stories I know are from people’s parents turning on them.

Now, very conservative politics have always opposed dilution of a kind of privilege for the family structure; they envision a family structure which is patriarchal, and so dilution of this privilege is dilution of the status of patriarch. Very insular communities which cannot survive their members having many options or alternative viewpoints available to them, including controlling religions but also just abusive parents who want to retain control over their kids, also bristle at the idea of any kind of general society-wide capacity for people to notice how parents treat their children. But beyond that, I think our society still treats parents as having a right of possession over their children and their children’s identities, especially when they’re young, and bolsters that idea with an idea that the purity of children is constantly under threat from the outside world, and it is the parents’ job to safeguard that purity. The result is the nuclear family as a kind of sacred structure which the rest of society has no right to observe or pry open; and this is a massive engine of enabling the abuse of children. To no other relationship in our society do we apply this idea, that it should be free from “interference” (read: basic accountability) from the rest of society.

Moreover, the idea of childhood as a time of purity and innocence, which not only must be protected from but during which children must be actively lied to about major aspects of how the world works, is one of the last ways remaining to an increasingly secular culture to justify censorious and puritanical Victorian morality. It is hard to advocate for censorship to protect the Morals of the Christian Public, when nobody believes in the Morals of the Christian Public anymore; but “think of the children!” still works as a rallying cry, because of this nagging sense we have that age-appropriate conversations with children about adult topics will cause them to melt or explode.

In many ways, these anxieties on behalf of theoretical children are the ones I am most contemptuous of. Not because child abuse isn’t a serious problem--it is--but because the vector imagined for it is almost entirely opposite the one it actually tends to occur along. People who pretend that the primary danger to children is from strangers are usually woefully misinformed; people who pretend it is from media are either idiots or liars seeking a cover for their craving for censorship.

In conclusion: while it’s not possible to exorcise all our neuroses from our politics, anymore than we will ever exercise all our neuroses from our aesthetics, there are some we should be especially on guard against. A sense of threat, and anxieties which tie into concerns about purity and fears of contamination, are two big ones. These produce policies that are not only badly correlated with the outcomes they ostensibly want, but actually and severely destructive to them, in the same way that invading Iraq was actively destructive to any notion of preventing terrorism, saving American or Iraqi lives, or promoting political stability in the Middle East. And we should hold in healthy suspicion anybody whose politics seem to be driven by similar neuroses. Some merely believe very harmful things. Some are actually actively deceptive. None will achieve any of the higher aims they claim as justification for their beliefs.

#i'm not saying we *must* radically reshape society to destroy the nuclear family #but i am saying i think it would be good for child welfare

442 notes · View notes

saintlike78 · 2 years

Text

The dungeon master’s pretty thing [E.M]

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅

Navigation

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!shy!reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Eddie is pretty sure he’s ruining your reputation, but that’s okay because you’re ruining his right back.

Warnings: fluff and Eddie trying to be cool. There’s a NSFW bonus scene inspired by this song and edit, but it’s marked and doesn’t add anything to the ending, so you can totally read the sfw part and finish there. NSFW (16+) bonus scene includes oral (f receiving), fingering and mention of grinding against the bed.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅

He was ruining your reputation - absolutely destroying it and he knew it. He could feel the judgemental stares of your fellow peers burning the back of his head and he knew you felt it too, he also knew that was why you dipped your head and looked the other way; not in shame, he had learnt, but in shyness and he adored you for it. But no matter how many stares the two of you acquired, he found it hard to give a fuck when he heard that sweet little giggle fall past your lips or the bashful dip of your head when he threw his arm over your shoulder and called you his girl in front of any poor soul who cared to listen. In fact, the thing that made him selfish enough to not care if you lost all of your friends because you spent most of your time with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, was when your face visibly burned and your breathing stuttered, a sweet innocent look in your eyes - all because of a few simple words: “pretty girl”, “my pretty girl”, “pretty thing” and so on - actually just any sentence where him calling you pretty was a part of it - and he fucking loved it.

He had come to the shocking conclusion that it was better than weed and a cold beer; the way you tried shrinking in on yourself, tucking yourself into him to hide your face while murmuring shy little unintelligible things, well, fuck, it just did things to him he couldn’t explain. And if that meant that you lost all of your friends and had to spend all your time with him, he would call you the prettiest girl in the world every minute of every fucking day, so be it.

“He’ll kill me… this is the second time this month,” Mike groaned, peeking through the double doors of the cafeteria keeping a close eye on the leader of the Hellfire club and his possible mood of the day.

Dustin shrugged, ruffling through his backpack for the brown paper bag his mom so caringly had packed his lunch in, “you could’ve been more careful.”

“More careful!? I wasn’t the one who messed up the experiment!” Mike raised his voice, shoving an accusing finger right in Dustin’s chest; happy that the loud noise of the cafeteria drowned out the sound of his voice.

“Hey, what’s with the yelling?”

Both boys turned around with wide eyes to see you staring at them with a raised brow. Mike exhaled in relief, startling you when his arms fell around you in a surprising hug, smushing your still playing headphones against your collarbone.

“Y/n, thank god.”

You stared at Dustin who only shrugged and readjusted his cap. You gave Mike’s back a light tap, “it’s nice to see you too, I guess.”

Mike quickly jumped a foot backwards, realizing his little outburst was nothing but weird. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, muttering a small ‘sorry’.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy that… greeting,” you laughed, clicking off your walkman, “but care to explain?”

Mike’s face burned red as he pointed to his Hellfire club shirt, two large stains running down the front in red and blue, “we had a little accident in science," he said with a wince.

“Oh… uhm, it looks very… patriotic,” you smiled, nibbling lightly on your lip to keep your laugh down.

Mike groaned, stretching the shirt to look at it. Burying his face in his hands he groaned some more before pretending to cry on Dustin’s shoulder.

“Come on, it’s not that big of a deal. Just ask Eddie for a new one… lord knows he has a stash of like a hundred under his bed,” you shrugged, looking past them into the cafeteria to spot the long-haired metalhead in his usual spot, speaking loudly and entertaining the members of his club around the table.

“But this is the second one this month I’ve ruined! And Eddie said to guard the shirt with my life “or else”!” Mike groaned again.

This time you couldn’t help but laugh, “Eddie always says stuff like that… he’s just trying to scare you. I’ve stolen those shirts from him more times than I can count and he never gets mad at me for it… he just grabs a new one.”

“That’s easy for you to say! I don’t think Eddie could get mad at you even if he tried… me on the other hand, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need to try.”

It was Dustin’s turn to groan, rustling the brown bag in his hand, “Mike! Let’s just go and get it over with, I’m hungry! Y/n goes in first and distracts him with a little wink and a twirl and he’ll forget all about it,” he explains, exaggerating a wink whilst pretending to fluff out his imaginary skirt.

Your eyes do a full rotation before you’re pointing a finger at them both, “I’m not a part of this little plan of yours… but I promise it’ll be fine, he’s not as scary as he pretends to be…- don’t tell him I said that he’ll actually be mad at me if I ruin his reputation.”

“If he kills me I’ll come back and haunt you,” Mike pointed a finger right back at you, letting you pass by him with another roll of your eyes and enter the cafeteria first with the two boys right on your heels.

The usual lull in conversation fell over the table as you walked up, Eddie’s eyes instantly falling on you and his mouth clamping shut mid-sentence. Knowing that they now had lost the interest of their club master, the rest of the guys started a conversation of their own, inviting Mike and Dustin to slip into their seats unnoticed. You raised your hand and gave a small wave, weaving in between the tables to get to the head of the table where Eddie had risen from his seat. He stood, with his arms, spread wide and a large exaggerated grin on his face showing off all of his teeth and making his eyes disappear behind his cheeks.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” he greeted wrapping you up in a tight embrace as soon as you stepped into his arms.

“Hi,” you smiled back, feeling some of the air leave you from the tightness of the hug, but burying yourself further into him nevertheless.

He pulled away, only far enough to leave a long peck on your lips and then a small one on your forehead.

You were definitely also ruining his reputation.

“I got lunch for you,” he nodded his head towards the tray, stockpiled with food - way too much, but Eddie was not one to do things halfway.

“Thanks,” you smiled, leaning up to leave a kiss on his cheek in gratitude.

He let the tiniest of smirks graze his lips before he said, “anything for my pretty girl.”

Of course, you couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck and warmed your face. Looking anywhere but his eyes, you focused on his hands, which only made it worse, so you zeroed in on his shirt, staring right in the face of the red devil. Eddie’s hand glided up to rest on your cheek, angling your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes and you found yourself melting even more at the sight.

After a long second of standing in complete silence to stare at each other like lovesick idiots, Eddie finally managed to move, offering you the chair he had been sitting on with a comically ungraceful bow.

“M’lady,” he drawled, pushing in the chair for you after you sat.

Within a moment he had managed to steal a chair from another table - not without complaints - and placed himself next to you, so close your thigh was pressed up against his jean-covered one and he could rest his arm on the back of your chair as you both ate.

The rest of the guys around the table were still going with their own conversation, trying their hardest to pretend they hadn’t witnessed all of the never-ending PDA between yourself and Eddie. It always shocked everyone, including the boys of the Hellfire Club, that Eddie managed to bag someone like you and that you were cool with being so public about it.

The guys liked you; you listened to what they said and pretended that it made sense to you. You weren’t one to judge, even though you had come from the popular crowd - which they of course found odd at first. You were sweet and what the hell you were doing with Eddie was what made the least sense.

Eddie traced his fingers gently from shoulder to shoulder, gliding his hand along the top of your back. He scratched along, letting his fingers dance across your clothed skin until they poked at your headphones still around your neck.

“You been listening to that mix tape I made you?”

You nodded your head, swallowing the bite of food in your mouth, “mmhm… but I still don’t think mixing Fleetwood Mac songs with your metal music is going to make me like it more,” you smiled apologetically.

Eddie held up his pointer finger with a determined look in his eyes, “ah, you’re wrong there, my sweet. Don’t they always say, if there’s a will there’s a way?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “whatever you say, Dr Seuss.”

His hand fell from playing with your headphones to your exposed thigh, the cool metal of his rings igniting goosebumps to form all around your body.

“You cold?” he asked knowingly, having told you that morning that it was too cold to wear a dress that short.

You huffed quietly, turning your head only the slightest to stare at his much too knowing face as he eyed your bare thighs and arms, “yeah… but I don’t want to hear anything about it, smarty pants.”

“So I’m a smarty pants now, huh?,” he laughed, trying his best to cover it with a cough when you gave him a look, “I wasn’t gonna say anything… I was only gonna offer you this,” he grinned, pointing to his leather jacket under his denim vest.

“…But if you don’t want to take it because I’m too much of a smarty pants, I totally get it,” he continued with one hand raised whilst the other still squeezed your thigh.

You rolled your eyes again for what felt like the millionth time that day, “I want it.”

Eddie just stared at you expectantly with one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, I want to borrow it… may I, please, Eds?” You caved, smiling sweetly as you always did at him, deciding to drop the attitude because you really were starting to freeze.

“Of course, you may, baby,” he grinned, smoothing back your loose flying hair, feeling his mind and body melt watching you lean into his touch.

The denim vest was discarded with quick movements, thrown on his lap carelessly as he let the leather fall from his arms and then draped gently over your shoulders, shielding you from the cold of Hawkins high.

“Better?” Eddie asked hopefully, having settled back into his chair with his denim vest on again.

“Much… thank you, baby.”

With a pleased smile, he let his hand find your thigh again, tuning back into the conversation around the table and adding his dramatic takes and opinions in typical loud Eddie fashion.

The conversation flowed, your ears tuned it out, letting you enjoy the white noise of the cafeteria and the loud voice of your boyfriend. You didn’t mind not being a part of the conversation and Eddie knew that - he felt a sort of contentment having you beside him where he could keep an eye on you and keep you safe.

“What’s on your shirt?” Eddie’s voice pulled you from your thoughts and the silence around the table was deafening as everyone zeroed in on Mike and his destroyed shirt.

Mike’s face was beet red, his eyes leaving Eddie’s questioning gaze to look at you. You gave him a slow nod, resting your hand on top of Eddie’s as a minimal distraction from roasting the poor freshman.

“Dustin and I had a little accident in science… so I was wondering if I maybe could get a new shirt?” Mike said wearily, eyeing Eddie’s reaction closely.

“This is how you guard your life?” Eddie raised a brow, “painting America over it?”

“I’m sorry, Eddie… I promise I’ll take better care of the next one,” Mike just about cried, trying to hide it with a very pained smile.

There was a long pause where Eddie just stared - trying to intimidate - but a small squeeze of your hand pulled him from his thoughts. His gaze fell to yours; you gave him a small smile along with a raise of your shoulders. Finally, Eddie let out a long sigh.

“I’ll bring you a new one tomorrow… BUT mark my words Wheeler that’ll be the last one.”

Mike nodded quickly, “yup, got it.”

And with that the conversation flowed again, except this time Eddie leaned in to speak closer to your ear, starting a conversation just for you.

“You’re still coming to mine later right?”

“Yeah… I’ll meet you at Hellfire after band practice,” you spoke back quietly.

Eddie smiled and nodded, “alright… and you’re still sure I’m not qualified for band?”

“I’m sure,” you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I don’t even get why you want to be in band… it’s not really your scene.”

He gave your thigh a squeeze, “well, you’re there… and I really believe this school needs a lesson or two about what real music is… preferably from me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat, “what would this school do without you?”

Eddie laughed, peppering kisses along your hairline, “I don’t even wanna imagine it.”

“Lucas, you need an 11 or above to beat it, don’t take that risk man!” Dustin squealed, shaking Lucas’ arm violently.

You crept into the room silently, noting the tense atmosphere around the table as Lucas debated what to do, looking at Eddie who wore a sly smirk.

“what’s life without a little risk?” Eddie spoke from his place on the throne, his chin in his hand as he observed the huddle of boys.

“You just want us to lose,” Mike rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eddie stood from his seat, “now why would I want my own players to lose my campaign?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE EVIL!… sorry, but you are” Dustin slammed his hands against the table,” don’t do it, Lucas!”

You chuckled to yourself quietly; you didn’t quite understand what was going on, but you did love the enthusiasm - and Eddie’s smug face was also not something to complain about. The leather jacket hanging over your frame smelt like him and it had been like a constant hug throughout the day, keeping you warm.

Shaking your head, you pulled your headphones over your ears whilst gliding down to the floor. The music that flowed through was one of the songs Eddie was trying to train you to enjoy, a Black Sabbath song; it wasn’t half bad, but you definitely preferred when right after that ‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac started playing.

Not even five songs later your headphones were plucked from your head, surprising you. You hadn’t even noticed your eyes slipping shut, but when you opened them to find a smiling Eddie you couldn’t even pretend to be mad about the disturbance.

“You tired there, pretty girl?” he grinned, bending down to extend a hand to you.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, letting him pull you up. Right on queue, you let out a small yawn, making Eddie’s eyes soften.

He tucked you into his warm embrace, petting the back of your head softly, “I bet you are.”

“Was the campaign good?” your voice was muffled against his shirt, but he heard you nonetheless as he stood swaying with you in the empty club room.

“So good! These fuckers won’t even know what to expect next week for the grand finale,” Eddie replied enthusiastically, squeezing you just a bit tighter out of excitement.

You chuckled, squeezing him back around his middle and mumbling into his shirt, “I love it when you get all excited… it makes me happy.”

Eddie peppered kisses on the top of your head, his hand travelling up into your hair to scratch your scalp gently. His stomach was doing all sorts of flips, filling with a swarm of butterflies. If he wasn’t already head over heels in love with you he definitely would be now.

“You getting all soft on me now, huh?” he cooed, holding you tight enough that you could practically merge together.

“Mhmm,” you nodded tiredly against his chest, not even bothering to come up with a counterargument or a witty comeback because why bother lying when you both were well aware of just how true it was.

Eddie hummed and laughed, “must really be tired… - let’s go home, I’ll order us a pizza and I also have a little surprise for you.”

This caught your attention and you let your face angle up to look at his own, eyes sparkling with their usual teasing and mischief.

“What surprise?”

“If I told you it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it, sweetheart?” He asked with a raised brow, leaning down to peck your pouting lips.

“I guess not,” you murmured, letting him interlace your hand with his and pull you out of the school and into his van.

You watched him drive with the windows down, hand on your thigh as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of whatever music was playing from the speakers. Whenever he had the chance he spared small glances in your direction, smiling widely when your eyes met and visible heat covered your face. Small pieces of his hair were flying in his face where they had come loose from the hair tie you had helped him put his hair in before starting the van, he looked pretty and you couldn’t help the small whisper you let into the space.

“You’re really pretty.”

Because he was and he deserved to know it and you were sure no one else would tell him.

Eddie turned his face with a look of disbelief, hand tightening on your thigh as he tried to keep his focus on driving safely.

“What?” he asked incredulously, turning his head back and forth between you and the road.

You looked down at your hand that lay on top of his with a bashful smile, “I’m sorry… I just thought you should know.”

His mouth opened and closed, for the first time ever you’d left him speechless.

The speechlessness didn’t last long before he shook his head with a small laugh, “just wait until we get out of this van.”

Then he was shouting out of the window to no one in particular, “MY GIRL THINKS I’M PRETTY!”

You laughed loudly, squeezing his arm, “Eddie!”

“What? I just thought they should know,” he laughed, parroting your words back to you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you grinned.

“And you’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that right?”

You smiled down at your hands once again, heat travelling all over your body, “I’m starting to get the idea,” you whispered, voice almost drowned out by the wind and music.

“It’s more than an idea, baby… I’m still having a hard time believing that you’re willingly sitting in my van and that you think I’m pretty.”

You shrugged, “well you are.”

He shrugged right back, bringing the van to a halt, “and you are too.”

“Eddie!” You giggled pushing at his chest, the kisses he was leaving on your neck tickling.

He didn’t budge, only breathing a laugh through his nose causing goosebumps to rise along your arms. His lips moved along the expanse of your throat, kissing the underside of your jaw and sucking hickeys into the soft skin.

“Eddie!” You tried again with a whine, “my surprise.”

He groaned against your neck, slowly straightening up and leaving a peck on your nose, “absolutely no patience,” he tsked.

“Says you,” you smacked his chest lightly, “I’m curious!”

He hummed with a smirk, moving from you to rifle through a drawer in his closet.

“Okay, close your eyes,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

A smile decorated your lips before you let your eyes drift close, listening to his shuffling and the sounds that drew closer. You waited patiently, shifting from one foot to the other when the sounds stopped. A small gasp escaped you when you felt his rough hand swipe against your cheek, cupping and caressing it lightly.

“You know I love you right?” He questioned, kissing your cheek and smiling when he felt your cheek lift in a smile against his lips.

“Of course and I love you…- is it a serious gift?”

Eddie chuckled, “a serious proof of how much I love you. Okay, open your eyes.”

You blinked your eyes open, looking from his happy face down to the square object in his hand. It took you a moment to recognize it as a vinyl and you would have laughed if your first reaction wasn’t squealing and staring at Eddie in shock.

“Oh my god! Where did you get this?!” You squealed, jumping into his arms to give him a quick hug. He didn’t have enough time to react before you were taking the vinyl from him to inspect it, turning it over multiple times to take in the black and white photo on the cover.

Eddie chuckled, placing a hand on the small of your back, looking over your shoulder at the vinyl like he hadn’t bought it, “I have my ways.”

“It’s been sold out for months… oh my god, Eds! I can’t believe you bought me the Tears for Fears album,” you were smiling so wide it hurt. You touched the song names with your finger, looking over your shoulder at him with wide eyes.

“Proof of how much I love you,” he confirmed with a huge smile of his own, “and we can even listen to it now.”

“Really? You, Eddie Munson, are going to play Tears for Fears on your record player?” You chuckled, reaching a hand up to check his temperature on his cheeks and forehead.

Eddie laughed, taking your hand in his to kiss the back of it, “I’ve forced you to listen to enough Black Sabbath, I think I owe you one.”

“The whole thing?” You looked at him pleadingly, letting him turn you in his arms and pull you into him, careful not to crush the record between you.

“Of course, baby… the whole thing,” he smiled, taking the record from you and walking to his record player.

You followed close behind him, like an excited puppy, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, looking as his ringed fingers carefully fished out the record and placed it on the player. The needle scratched and within a second the familiar clinking of ‘Shout’ travelled out through the speakers and into the air of Eddie’s room.

You giggled excitedly, “thank you! I love you!”

Eddie turned in your arms and chuckled, “you’re welcome and I love you.”

You giggled when his arms found their way around you, moving your body and dancing with you in front of his record player.

“Still tired?” He asked with a chuckle when, despite your happy face and movements, you tried to stifle a yawn by hiding your face in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry… it’s just been a long day,” you mumbled with a smile into his shirt.

Eddie smiled softly, squeezing his arms around you and walking you the short distance backwards to his bed, “no need to apologize, I know why you’re tired,” he said with a knowing smirk before lowering his voice, “we didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Heat crept up your cheeks and you nodded.

“Hellfire shirt?” You asked to distract yourself from your embarrassment. Eddie just nodded knowingly, turning only to fish a Hellfire shirt from under his pillow.

His hands worked slowly and gently on the zipper on the side of your dress, looking in your eyes as he helped you out of the light garment. He smiled when you lifted your arms out of instinct letting him help the shirt over your head with practised ease. He placed a long kiss on your forehead as soon as it was visible and you smiled lovingly up at him.

“All ready for bed,” he grinned, toeing off his shoes and stripping out of his shirt and jeans quicker than you thought possible.

He guided you down under the blanket, coaxing you close to him and into his arms.

“You didn’t get pizza,” you mumbled, feeling guilty that your tiredness messed up his dinner plans.

“Don’t even worry about it… I was actually still full from lunch," he smiled, placing a kiss on your hairline and letting his hands wander up and down your back as you snuggled closer to him.

“I love you… so much,” you mumbled through your lovesick haze.

Eddie swears he’s never had as many butterflies swarm his stomach before. Your sweet scent filled his nostrils and he felt high just on having you so close. And the best thing about it all, you felt safe with him and you loved him. He felt so content, if he could he would stay like this with you forever; he would without a second of a doubt.

“I love you, my pretty girl.”

!Nsfw bonus scene below!

“I can’t sleep,” you murmured against his warm chest, breathing in the familiar scent of the cologne you had gifted him on his birthday, laundry detergent and cigarettes.

He hummed, caressing your cheek with his thumb, “need help?”

“How?” you murmured groggily against his chest.

He paused like he was thinking, tapping at his chin in thought, “well, I have a few ideas.”

Before you could properly react he was already busy crawling down the bed, pushing the blanket down with him and spreading your legs with gentle hands. Your groggy tired mind perked up quickly as you watched his soft eyes look at the plain black panties that covered your cunt like it was the sexiest piece of lingerie he had ever seen.

Time after time again Eddie always made you feel like the most beautiful and sexy woman on the face of the earth, especially when he swiped his tongue along his lips and ground his hips subtly against his bed.

“Alright, angel?” he asked, looking back and forth between your face and cunt, stroking his thumb against your clit over your panties.

“Mhmm, alright,” you confirmed with a nod, lifting your hips only a smidge, but Eddie understood with a sly grin. He slowly peeled your underwear down and off your legs, throwing them onto the floor with little care for where they landed.

He smiled to himself, rubbing his thumb along your exposed cunt, dipping his finger into your wetness before moving it up to rub your clit slowly. Watching your face closely, he grinned when your mouth fell open and a small whimper slipped out of it.

“You’re always so good for me,” he murmured with a grin, moving his thumb faster and entering two fingers inside you with quick movements.

You nodded, letting a moan tumble past your lips, “good for you.”

“Mhmm, so good.”

He grinned, basking in how the tired fog in your brain directly translated to you becoming the sweetest most pliant thing. His lips met your inner thigh, kissing up slowly as his fingers kept a steady pace in you.

The stretch of his fingers was so delicious, they worked on you with such practised ease. It was hard for you to picture a time before Eddie and his magic fingers; no one had ever taken the time to pleasure you or learn your body like he had. He was perfect, even if he didn’t quite believe it.

You shuddered as the cool metal of his rings touched your warm pussy, covering them in wetness.

The open-mouthed kisses worked slowly from your thighs to replace his thumb on your clit, letting his tongue dart out to swipe over the sensitive nub.

You shuddered and gasped, hands falling down to grip his shoulder and hair to have some kind of leverage.

The Tears for Fears album was long since over, the only sound in the room now was your whimpering moans, Eddie’s low grunts and slurps and the low squeak of his bed from him grinding his hips into the mattress for friction.

You could feel him smile against you, taking your clit into his mouth to suck on it and lick over it. Your hips started grinding against his face on their own accord, chasing that blissful feeling you could feel yourself crawling towards.

“Eddie, I’m close,” you whined, tightening your grip on his shoulder.

He nodded, working his fingers faster into you and moving his other hand up to grab your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. A shudder ran up his back every time he hit the mattress just the right way against his cock, staining his boxers and the sheets with the pre-cum oozing from the tip.

“I know, baby. Come on, I know you can do it,” he spoke softly against your cunt, words slightly muffled and hot.

You moaned, choking on a whine when his moans vibrated across your cunt, the sounds so sexy they acted as the final push for you to feel your thighs shake and tighten around his shoulder. Your body tensed and your hand grasped his tightly, trying to get away from the pleasure, but Eddie was eager to help you ride it out. His long moans warmed your cunt and matched the sounds of yours leaving your mouth.

He let you ride it out as long as you could, pulling his fingers from you so gently, but it still caused you to whimper. Gentle kisses were placed on your thighs before he slowly began getting up and off the bed.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You asked in a panic, eyes wide and tired tears already starting to form.

He cooed, bending over to coax you to lay back down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “just to get cleaned up, angel, won’t even be a minute… I promise.”

You furrowed your brows before looking down to see a visible wet patch on his boxers and a sheepish look on his face when he noticed you looking.

It was your moans and the tightening of your cunt around his fingers that did it, he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to and he definitely didn’t want to.

“It’s just what you do to me,” he grinned, scurrying to the bathroom to clean himself up and ruffle through his drawers for a fresh pair.

He returned less than two minutes later, helping you into another clean pair of boxers he had fished from his drawer, kissing both your hips before sliding them up.

And then, there you were again tucked up against him under the blanket with his hands running up and down your back gently. This time however you could barely keep your eyes open, but you tried, wanting to enjoy every possible moment with the soft version of the long-haired metal head.

It didn’t last longer than 30 seconds, the low sounds of Eddie’s hums and sweet praises lulling you to sleep quickly.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅

A/n: to be notified of future work follow @saintlike78slibrary and turn on notifications ☀️

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things s4 #stranger things spoilers #stranger things 4

2K notes · View notes