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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

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I See You, Darling (3)

[Astarion x reader] As I mentioned in a previous post, this came along surprisingly easier than the last one. The same can’t be said about the quality though maybe– sorry for that. :,DDD|Word count: 2.6k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, one sex joke (lol), the normal warnings that you’d associate with the game

Part 2 here!!

Next Part here!!

As an outsider to most of everyone’s problems, you find your place by helping in whatever way you can. Even if that may be at the expense of your own comfort, but at least it’s been fun so far.

Alternatively: Reader can't catch a break from anything, can they?

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Being resident camp caretaker was surprising, for lack of a better term. You were away from the stresses of technology, corporate assholes, and disappointing family with your choice to pursue unpractical careers. Instead living the “cottagecore lifestyle” of foraging for food and cooking with a cauldron that those from the digital world claimed to be the best. What they failed to mention were the incessant pests coming in to nibble through rucksacks if you were not careful, and the occasional swarms of ants or flies coming in to nip at your flesh.

The experience was a mixed bag, so it would seem. But the tired smiles that the group would give you when you greet them with a warm and filling meal was always a comfort that you would have.

And it would seem they needed it now more especially than ever.

Your band of misfits planned to venture out and defeat the goblins at their camp in order to aid the tieflings’ journey to Baulder’s Gate. Per your instruction, you convinced the more solipsistic members of the benefits of eradicating the sect. Namely, they wouldn’t hinder you as much in the future if they were taken care of. Hence your plan to slightly increase the amount of portions for supper tonight.

By twilight, you had a good broth steeping in your cauldron. The camp having returned just a few moments prior from an earlier excursion. You were making a pottage that the others have expressed their enjoyment for. A stew of sorts that you had made when you had quite the number of items that would have spoiled before consumption had you not done anything about it. A mixture of fruits and meat, stewed in a consomme of a pig’s head and various mushroom caps.

This time around, you’ll be using fresher ingredients to hopefully lift their spirits.

As you’re chopping up fruits, you think about all that’s happened to you and possible explanations for why your character suddenly ceased to exist in order to make room for you. What’s more is that no matter how many nights pass, you never end up waking from your dream. Which you fear is lasting longer than your usual ones.

Your working theory is that whatever force, be it magic or fate, tethering you to this world is also responsible for removing Tav. Astarion claimed that he couldn’t remember the finer details when you had confronted him. And so you settled with that hypothesis. That like how a thread that unravels opens a seam in a garment, a new thread must be used to darn the cloth together again.

You laugh at the disgustingly poetic analogy you created in your head. You fear that you’re becoming more and more deranged as—

“My, aren’t you busy?” The intrusive voice causes the knife to slip out of your hand a bit, thankfully only cutting off a portion of your index finger’s nail. Your shoulders, that were raised in alarm, release their tension after feeling the sudden chill leave your body.

“Astarion,” Exasperated, you put the knife down on the cutting board to catch your breath for a while.

“I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped sneaking up on me when I’m doing something dangerous.”

The high-elf offers a mischievous smile in response. “Very sorry, pet. But it’s hardly my fault when you’ve barely been paying attention to me.” There’s regret in his words, but not in his tone.

Because while perhaps it’s an odd interest, he enjoys hearing the quickened pace of your heart. The pulse getting louder, as it stays that way for longer.

“I’d feel sorry for doing so if you were too, but you’re not.”

You laugh out, breath still shaky but steadying slowly, as you pick up your knife again.

“I heard you’re part of the encampment that’s finishing off the goblins by midmorn.” Chopping the rest of the fruits, you feel his presence move from behind you to off to your side so you can see him from your peripherals.

“Hm? Yes. Although I would have preferred if we didn’t do this at all. It’s too much work, and the goblins could be entertaining! Killing useful spoils seems like an awful waste.”

This must be the reason why he approached you, to persuade you to call off the hunt. And his unfading smile supports that thought. When you voice said thought, it earns you a playful scoff.

“Don’t you have anything else on your mind other than the parasite lounging in it?”

The mood is light as you say this, the banter welcomed by you both.

And as you continue to converse, a few eyes begin to follow the two of you. They’ve never really seen Astarion interact with you for this long, at least not away from your private spaces. And even less without hushed voices. The interlocution is definitely a welcome spectacle to them.

“On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.” He says, proudly. Gesturing to himself with one hand, and the other held high like he was swearing an oath.

Your closed mouth drops into frown, eyes wide, and your eyebrows skew upwards. A very undignified, but small, squeak coming from the back of your throat. You swore you heard someone groan in disappointment from far away too.

You know full well that the look of shock that you were sporting was by no means attractive, but the flagrant revelation, though not at all out of character, was shocking to have directed towards you. You’ve been trying to romance the elven vampire with your character, only to end up nowhere. Therefore you are completely unsure if the dialogue he was spewing was completely a figment of your imagination, or is, indeed, canon.

The elf in question has seen this expression of yours before. Quite often, too. And while he doesn’t think it a, “pleasant sight,” it is rather… charming to him.

Whether it be on purpose or not, people have the tendency to be on guard around him, preserving any twitch and sound that could give them away to themselves. Not that much had ever evaded him before with his naturally cunning behavior. But this clearly unscripted response, with the blatant confusion swimming in your eyes, is a rather refreshing sight to see.

“I see–” you clear your throat to lower your voice back to its normal octave. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to uh, bring those thoughts into fruition! Uh–,” You slide the rest of the cut fruits off of your cutting board and into the stew.

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Something I should know?” You turn to face him. He laughs at first, but then his brows furrow in question, as if he did have something to say and forgot about it or thinks it is no longer an appropriate time to ask. He shakes his head and says something along the lines of, “letting you do all the hard work” and returns to his tent.

But you are not left alone for long as another member of your little ragtag team joins you to ask about dinner. To which you ask them for which meat would be better to toss into it.

—————————

After dinner, your little rapport concerning the plan and new findings with everyone is adjourned. Some thanked you before they left, and others simply walked away. From what you have learned from them, the Archdruid that was taken prisoner by the goblins was named, “Halsin.” He was a topic of interest as they said he might be able to aid you in your search for moonrise and understanding the Mindflayer worms.

Wyll had also approached you alone after dinner and offhandedly mentioned a dead boar being on the road. He had planned to return to camp with it if it could have been useful, but he had claimed that the animal had been unnervingly light. As if half of its weight was no longer there despite seemingly just keeling over for no reason.

You take note of that in one of your many journals, including additional information about the Archdruid and their kind in general. The book appearing more and more like the game’s quest booklet, with the exception of a few crossouts and colored ink to emphasize each quest’s urgency and relevance to finding a cure. When you successfully rescue the druid of the grove, it seems you will have to move out quite soon after, so you fixed up your pack just a bit to make it easier later on.

You look around, everyone seems to be in their respective areas. Doing whatever it is they usually do with the exception of Astarion. Though he has been known to either sneak off or hide away from time to time in his tent, so you think nothing of it.

You return to the communal chest, tallying up the remaining supplies and inspecting the wares. You sort the tradeable objects in one rucksack and appraise its worth. The chest also has pieces of gold, some that others have placed, and others you picked up and added. You prefer to let the others keep what they think is valuable to them, and only place what they want to share in the vessel.

If the party’s gold ever runs out, you think that the rucksack is worth a few nights of food when you travel out again. Assured by this knowledge, you placed your writing materials back in, closed the chest, and turned in for the night.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up. But you also don’t really want to. Not just yet.

—————————————

As you slept, you wondered about the longevity of your knowledge of the media. You hadn’t finished the game, and although you’ve accomplished a fair bit of it, you worry about how you will face the events to come. One of the only reasons why you haven’t flinched so much at the terrors that occurred was because you had anticipated them. Braced yourself for the dangers ahead.

You fear what might happen when you no longer have that power at your disposal.

Perhaps it's the worry, perhaps it's the stiff, compact ground that you have yet to be accustomed to sleep on despite the bedroll, or perhaps it's the presence of something suddenly cool that stirs you awake.

But what you did not expect was Astarion’s face hovering over yours to be the reason. Fangs bared, and ready to bite. Your eyes go wide and you let out a small gasp, hands moving up in a gesture akin to clawing at yourself.

The elf realizes that you’re awake now and he curses. Moving away as you scramble upright just like you did all those nights ago. The look of genuine fear at the prospect of being bitten is apparent on your face, and he feels almost guilty to be greeted with it.

“Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you— I just needed, well, blood.” He says it in a panic. Worried that you might run off, losing his only sure chance, and possibly enraging the rest of the camp.

In this moment, you realized the error in your ways. Astarion had been hunting nearly every other night in the same area. And if you were progressing through the events like how the game did, he couldn’t have had the time nor energy to venture too far after feeding from most of the creatures in the vicinity.

‘The exsanguinated boar…’ You remember.

“You’ve been feeding on animals for the past few nights, haven’t you?”

“It seems like word got around then.” Although unknowingly, he’s referencing what Wyll delivered to you earlier in the night.

“I’m not some monster, I feed on boars, deer, kobolds– whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. And with the damned excursion,” He stops himself, complaining is only doing worse for his condition.

“It’s not enough. I feel so…weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” You’re conflicted. You had no problem offering yourself as your character for him to feed on, but even witnessing that through a disconnected screen was enough to make you feel uncomfortable imagining it. You care about him, want to give him what he deserves, but this…

What’s more is that you know what he’s saying is necessary, not at all overstating how dire his need to satiate his hunger is, making it all the more difficult.

He needs to convince you, if he wants to continue on, that is. Without the presence of the illithid, he resorts to more practical means of doing so. Similar to what he did to many.

Noticing the slight tremor of your hands, he takes the chance to slowly kneel down on your bedroll. Closing the distance between you. He takes your hand, now rougher from the work you do, and meets your shaken gaze with his dark eyes.

“Please. I only need a taste, I swear.” He had meant to tell you before dinner, had he not felt the eyes of the others on the two of you. This discovery is not lost on you. He needs you specifically. And you realize it's out of convenience because you’re an expendable resource. If you pass, the group can venture on, but he also still needs you alive for whatever reason. He can’t have the others finding out, not until they trust him.

He needs you to trust him. And this is the only way you can help him in this moment.

With that, you strengthen your resolve.

“I…I trust you, Astarion. But no more than what you need.” A dangerous bet, but you hope it would be worth it.

“Really? I–”

“Can I trust you on that?” The shock on his face fades, and he agrees.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” You lay down, preparing yourself to faint during the process and allowing your blood to flow throughout your body. He observes the rapid movement of your eyes as he drapes himself above you. Your sight flitting from anywhere but him and then returning all the same. No doubt that you fear being at his mercy.

He feels almost sorry that you have to do this for him.

So he graces you with what mercy he can give.

The bite is quick. You would have felt the flesh of your neck parting for him, had he not done so. You feel tears prick at your eyes and start to feel the area from your neck and upwards go cold.

A momentary, sharp pain, that lulls to a chilling numbness in what seems like a matter of seconds.

You feel his body start to grow warmer at your expense and you feel satisfied knowing that you could help him.

When he doesn't stop, you start to worry.

Your breath catches in staccato beats, pulse quickening in tandem. You try to stop him, hands coming up to push or tug, but the heavy sensation that washes over you only permits them to find purchase on his form.

You try to speak, but it seems as if the common tongue does not reach him.

Your mind goes into overdrive, all of a sudden it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore and genuine fear courses through your veins.

You need him to stop, and you try to think of more efficient ways of doing so.

But your mind starts slowing as well. The pain has certainly faded, but the presence of the vampire at your throat reminds you in case you’ve forgotten.

As a last ditch effort, you try to use whatever might appeal to him, to break him out of the trance that he was in from finally replenishing himself.

“Isalhal–” One of the few Elvish words you recalled.

The effort thankfully makes him pull back in shock, stopping him. Your eyes finally close, thankful for the reprieve you're finally granted. You hear a distant, “thank you,” and a more distant “shit” before rest takes over.

You worry about waking up tomorrow.

But for now, you’re thankful that Astarion will be able to fight well.

For himself and for everyone else’s sake.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, and @auszimbo for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #aware!astarion #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#bg3 x reader

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anim-ttrpgs · 7 months

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Composure, Tiers of Fear, and Monsters in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Time to make another post about a cool mechanic in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, this time about Composure, a mechanic that has actually been mentioned a bunch of our other posts because it interacts with a lot of other mechanics, but hasn’t gotten its own post. Hopefully this will make all those other posts make a lot more sense.

So, every PC in Eureka has a Composure of 7. Think of Composure as kind of an emotional HP, though it is not ‘sanity’. Composure loss represents stress, fear, fatigue, and anything else that can make people not quite work at their peak performance.

Here’s how that works:

Normally, a character’s base stats for any skill max out at +3. +3 in Eureka is actually a very good modifier and will make the roll very very likely to succeed, and it represents expertise in the subject of the skill in question.

Composure, however, caps those skills. If a PC has 7/7 Composure, they’re fine, and their skills are unaffected. But a base skill modifier(the modifier that comes from putting skill points into a skill) can never be higher than the level of a PC’s current Composure. So if a PC has only 2/7 Composure, then that +3 becomes a +2. Skills that were already +2 are unaffected, but the PC now can’t make use of the full extent of their skill. Their hands are shaking, sweat is dripping in their eyes, they’re tired, and they’re more likely to mess up because of all this. At 1/7 Composure, their skills max out at +1, and at 0/7 Composure, their skills max out at +0. Thankfully, Composure cannot go into the negatives, but having +0s at best for all rolls is pretty bad.

There are ways to get around the Composure cap, but I’m not going to get into that for the sake of simplicity. You can find the full rules explanation for free in the shareware version of the rulebook on our website.

One way that PCs lose Composure is by making Composure Rolls whenever they encounter something particularly threatening. Failing these rolls takes away Composure. The modifier for these rolls is dictated by their Tiers of Fear.

-3 Horrific: -2 Terrifying: -1 Frightening: 0 Unnerving: +1 Creepy: +2 Obnoxious: +3 Ridiculous:

Tiers of Fear is a little chart on the character sheet that tells you how scared they are of certain things. There are mandatory Fears that must go on this chart, such as gunfighting, but players can also add their own.

What is “horrifying” and what is “ridiculous” varies from person to person. For example, an adventurous whip-swinging college professor who brawls with Nazis on a seemingly regular basis might consider a fistfight Obnoxious and a shootout Unnerving at worst, but any kind of snake is firmly in the realm of Terrifying or worse.

Whip-slinging Archaeologist Example Tiers of Fear -3 Horrific: Snakes -2 Terrifying: -1 Frightening: Monster +0 Unnerving: Witchcraft/Magic, Gunfight, Blood/Gore, Death, Corpse +1 Creepy: Arachnids +2 Obnoxious: Extreme Heights +3 Ridiculous: Fistfight, Melee Weapon Fight

So when gun combat starts, the PCs must first make a Composure Roll with a modifier based on how much they fear getting shot at. A worse modifier, obviously, makes it more likely they will lose Composure points.

There are also ways to lose a flat amount of Composure points, such as by skipping a meal or staying up all night, and ways to restore Composure points, such as eating 3 meals a day and getting a full night of sleep(resulting in a restoration of 2 Composure points a day.) Composure points can also be restored by the PCs comforting each other. See the rulebook for the full rules.

Here’s where it gets really interesting, though.

PCs that are literally Monsters.

Monsters are not limited to +3 in Skills, they’re supernaturally powerful, certain skills can go up to +6 or sometimes even higher. (They can still only put 3 skill points into a skill though. See the full rulebook for rules on how to make a monster PC.) link

Because their skills can go so high, they obviously start feeling the effects of the Composure cap a lot sooner, but for a lot of types of monsters, the way they gain and lose Composure is very different. Vampires, obviously, do not fear guns very much, nor do they have to worry about eating normal food or getting a good night’s sleep. This means that while their opportunities to lose Composure are fewer, they also have fewer ways to gain it… that’s where the part about eating people comes in.

Monsters eat people to restore composure. Not every monster literally “eats” people, but you get the idea. They hunt people and do their thing, or else, organically by the way Composure works, their supernatural powers will start to wane. This gives monster PCs a choice: Do they eat innocent bystanders to keep their strength at its peak, or do they let themselves wither and soldier on weak and helpless in the hopes of sparing more lives?

Note: No, you cannot just eat “bad people” who “deserve” to be eaten. If you have enough time, foresight, and detective skills to effectively and consistently determine if every meal is a “bad person” that “deserves” to die, why haven’t you already solved the whole mystery by yourself then, hotshot? Engaging in one’s True Nature may be a necessity for continued existence, but do not pretend this is an act of heroism.

You can pick up the free shareware version of this game from the download link on our website, or the full version for $5 from our Patreon.

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volterraqueen · 1 year

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Cleaning and Kisses ~ Arthur Shelby One-Shot

A/N ~ After coming out of a depression spell and some health problems, here is a little something for Arthur. I hope you all enjoy! And once again, I apologize for any grammar or formatting issues.

Summary ~ Arthur comes into the Garrison after a slow day. A kiss and sweet moment is shared.

Dedicated to @a-libra-writes . I swear everytime I see them post I get obsessed with the Peaky Blinders again. Never fails. But for real check out her works!! They are beyond amazing.

~~~

It was an unusually quiet night at the Garrison. The tables that were normally filled shoulder to shoulder with men who just got off work, or had nothing better to do were vacant. The handful of stragglers that made their way in sat in booths, spaced out enough for you to know they didn’t want to be bothered. Not that you were complaining anyway, it was a rare treat to have such a slow night after the sun set on the grimy streets of Small Heath.

You took advantage of the lack of customers by taking inventory of the backroom. Taking your time to carefully count the bottles, and dust off the shelves they sat on. From the amount of dust on your rag and all over your clothes, it had definitely been a while. You scribbled a note for Harry, telling him what needed to be ordered. Along with a small complaint about the accumulation of dust that still sat in your lungs.

While that made most of your night fly by, it brought you here. Standing at the bar, cleaning the same glasses, wiping down the same unused tables. While Tommy had forbidden singing, it hadn’t stopped you from humming in the pub. It seemed to be the only sound you could hear this slow night.

Until the door opened.

With how sudden the sound cut into your silence, you nearly jumped out of your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips as the glass in your hand nearly slipped out of your hands.

Your face grew red with embarrassment as you looked up to Arthur Shelby’s amused smirk. Of course it was him. The Shelby who had caught your eye the moment you met.

“After you pull yourself together love, give me the usual ‘eh.” Arthur slid into the bar chair closest to your position. Tapping his knuckles against the wood, as he slipped his blinder cap off.

Within moments a glass and a bottle of some of the more expensive whiskey was in front of the eldest Shelby. With how often he sat with you at the counter, it was second nature. Arthur was quick to pour himself a glass and down it just as fast. Two more followed as the few other patrons paid their respects to Arthur and quickly left the pub. Leaving the two of you alone.

“Better savor that bottle Mr.Shelby. It’s the last bottle until Harry gets some more in.” You teased Arthur, as you walked to the front of the pub, locking the door as the clock struck 10. As you started to do a final wipe down of the tables, Arthur turned in his chair to face you. Letting his gaze linger as you moved from table to table. You couldn’t help but shoot him a wink once your eyes connected.

“Ow’ many times I gotta tell you love? Call me Arthur.” He took another drink and shed his coat, before getting up.

Arthur made his way to you within three strides, eager to be close to you. Coming up behind you, he gently put his bruised and calloused hands on your shoulders. Rubbing them slightly before turning you around to face him. Putting your rag on the table, you hands found their way up to Arthur’s face. You gently cradled his face, and studied it for any new cuts or bruises. With thankfully none to be found.

“No one put their hands on me today love. Jus’ your lovely ones.” Arthur assured you. His eyes strayed away from yours and he shifted his feet. Still not used to someone genuinely caring about his well-being. Taking your hand you calmly smoothed back his hair and brought his eyes back to meet yours again.

You looked up at your lover with warm wide eyes and the sweet smile he fell in love with. It was moments just like this that silenced the demons in his head. That made him just a normal man, with a woman whom he loved more than the world itself. No words needed to be spoken in these private moments. He groaned before leaning down to kiss you.

Arthur’s lips were warm, with a whiskey after taste as he eagerly pressed them against yours. He couldn’t stand the distance no matter how small between you when you smiled at him like that. Absolutely irresistible.

You melted into his kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, just wanting him to be as close as possible, feel every part of him that you could in this moment. Arthur grew eager deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue in your mouth. One hand held you steady on the back of your neck, his other on your hip. It was such an intoxicating feeling. His mouth. His hands. If you weren’t so in the moment the small moans you let out in-between the kisses would absolutely embarrass you.

Arthur’s lips stirred something deep in you. The passion and intensity made you dizzy with love and lust. Just one kiss drove you absolutely mad, pressing your body tightly against his, pulling at the collar of his shirt. A far change from your usually calm demeanor. Arthur’s hand roughly gripping your hip and ever so slowly trying to move your dress up intensified this feeling. But fuck. You were still at work. Much to both of your disappointment, you abruptly pulled away, gasping for air, and trying to regain your posture.

“I gotta put up these chairs and sweep darling. Then I’m all yours the rest of the night.” You murmured. Taking a small step back you smoothed out the wrinkles in your dress, fixed the small bit of hair Arthur’s hands messed with. Little did you know, seeing you all flustered and shy, with swollen lips and desire in your eyes absolutely made Arthur almost primal. He wasn’t going to give you the chance to get too far from him.

You couldn’t help but let out a small squeak as Arthur picked you up and wrapped your legs around him as he made his way to the backroom. “ARTHUR SHELBY!” You playfully yelled at him, lightly wiggling in his arms. He wasn’t listening to your scolding about doing your job right, and how Harry would chew her out the next morning. The only thing on his mind was the smell of your perfume and how good your neck and collarbone felt on his lips.

“Tell you what love, I’m gonna take you back here and bend you over. After you’re fucked out and cleaned up, I’ll clean up out here yeah?”

#peaky blinders #megan writes #one of my husbands #arthur shelby #arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 2 years

Text

so. want to begin by saying that while this post criticizes functioning labels, there are autistics who do like functioning labels for themselves (including me) and they not the problem not the enemy. there are autistics who been forcibly labeled "low functioning" or "severe" who absolutely hate hate being called that, others identify with it. both choice valid and need to be respected. having said that, here is the real post:

if i see another (usually lower support needs) person say "support needs has become the new functioning labels," i'm going to scream.

because. no. no it not.

their reasoning is people now replacing/exchanging “low support needs = high functioning” and “high support needs = low functioning.” and that people assume they low support needs "just because" they can talk, when in reality they have areas or times of having high support needs. (and oftentimes by "high support needs" they misuse it to mean needing help cook or remind shower sometimes...but otherwise can be mostly independent)

here is (how i understand) why functioning labels and support needs labels are different:

functioning labels

functioning labels is about how well you "function" to a mythical (white & white supremacist) nondisabled neurotypical capitalistic standard. it focuses on deficit and problem of the autistic person. it is about how *you* are the problem.

it puts a cap on your ability. other people assess you (with tests not designed for you) and forcibly give you the label. the assessor become the narrator of your story. you lose agency to your own life story.

to use my own unofficial metaphor, a mythical "normal" person have ability 1 to 10, functioning label states a "high functioning" autistic person maybe 1 to 7 or 8, a "low functioning" autistic person 1 to 3. being assigned functioning label say you can only function up to 3. 3 is your potential. that's your max (supposedly). all you can do. (difference is when someone use functioning label for themselves, they are telling their own story and giving themselves a self-identifier, which different from being forced one without the psychologist even bother to understand how you understand yourself and world.)

support labels

support label is of course about how much support you need. it doesn't say anything about your max potential. it doesn’t give you a cap. it shifts from individualistic "your problem your deficit your incompetence" to where community needs to do the work, how much support you need from other people to ensure you meet your potential, wherever that potential is.

it recognizes that each (autistic) individual doesn't exist alone doesn't exist in vacuum. it recognizes that how you function when you don't have your support needs met is not your max ability (because many autistic people don’t have their support needs met).

say, everyone have 1 to 10 again but everyone's 10 is different. support needs model say that while this person without proper support is only achieving 1 to 5, with support they may be able to get to 1 to 8 or 9 or 10. or an alternative system (really up to preference). some people have ability to do 1 to 7, some 1 to 3, some 1 to 12, whatever, because everyone's ability is different and that okay!! as in, for example, regardless of the amount of support i have regardless of how good of a society i live in, i will never be able to live independently speak fluently with mouth words. but even though i may never do 1 to 10 even with best support possible, without support i may only be able to do 1 to 3, with best support i may be able to do 1 to 7. (sorry really awful metaphor that erases nuance like other privilege and oppression faced, bad/good days, it's still a linear scale with a max/cap, but is simplest best metaphor i can think of.) don't know if it makes sense.

can support labels be misused? absolutely. you can’t see a person’s whole life just by what they post on internet. so assuming support needs still bad. but the misuse is not exclusive to "autism parents" and "professionals." plenty of autistic people misuse it too. and people's misuse still doesn't take away how concept behind support needs is an improvement from functioning labels. still doesn't take away the amount of advocacy it took for us to get here.

so no, even though support needs may not be perfect system, but please don't erase the progress and the effort it took.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #high support needs #medium support needs #low support needs #support needs #functioning labels #autism #autistic #actually disabled #actually neurodivergent #long post #loaf screm

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watatsumiis · 1 year

Text

Some Fatui Harbingers height and body type headcanons because I have so much brainrot for them right now it's not even funny oof

General warnings for talk of different body types and weights (all in a very neutral way - except for a brief mention of body insecurity under Scara's entry)

Ok so I'm going to put this list in order from tallest to shortest because that's the way that makes the brain happy - i dont have exact height ideas, but the first three are definitely unnaturally tall in my brain

Technically the tallest would be the big robot that carries Sandrone around but i haven't latched onto them. yet.

Capitano is built like a brick shithouse, he's huge, he's tall and broad and super muscly, but not in a bodybuilder way, think more like Maui from Moana (i do actually headcanon him as being Maori (or at least the teyvat equivalent idk) but that's an infodump for another post. He's the tallest and most physically intimidating, he's got a slope to his shoulders and his quiet demeanour gives him this very scary kind of vibe.

Pierro is close behind, he's quite tall, he'd be pretty close to Capitano's height but he has a bit of a slouch/stoop (perhaps minor scoliosis? i dunno) that makes him shorter, but his attitude and demeanour make him seem taller, so it's not that hard to mistake him for the tallest of the Harbingers. He's not as broad as Cap by a long shot, but he makes sure to layer his clothing to make him seem more physically intimidating - he puts a lot of effort into little visual things like that so he gives off the most commanding aura he possibly can.

Dottore (omega form) is next, he's freakishly lanky, with long, spidery limbs. I'm not sure why, but I keep drawing parallels between him and the ibis bird (which i think is a fun thing to play with, the sacred ibis vs bin chicken type deal), he moves in a very ... twitchy, erratic kind of way. He's very skinny and the long coats he wears definitely lend to that appearance (which he probably does on purpose, he likes being seen as something uncanny, something not quite human, just to throw others off and give him an edge in the interaction).

Childe is within the realms of like, normal human heights, not uncanny. He's lean, but not skinny - he's got a lot of strength that he hides with his clothes (not to make others underestimate him, he doesn't use those kinds of underhanded tactics), but he doesn't go out of his way to hide off the muscle that he's worked so hard to accrue.

Pantalone is slightly shorter than Childe (much to his chagrin), but I can definitely see him wearing high boots just to give him that extra bit of height over Childe because he's petty like that and enjoys lording it over him (the day that Childe figures out how to walk in platform heels it is OVER for him). He's very... elegantly shaped, I think is the word that's floating in my brain, he's got some definite curvature and shape to him that he likes to flaunt a bit with his clothing. He's got some softer bits to him that just show how he likes to enjoy the finer things in life. He's mastered the act of accessorising himself in different ways to suit the situation, he's subtly manipulative like that.

Arlecchino is tall and kind of stocky and definitely has a decent amount of muscle - I can see her having long legs with hip dips (hip dips my BELOVED btw) - she likes giving off a kind of butch vibe (i could actually see her wearing binders on occasion, she's very fluid in the way she presents)

Signora is a little above average height, I can't decide whether she's small and petite or on the broader side, but she's definitely got some curves to her!!

Damslette is sitting a little below average height, I can see her being stocky and a little on the chubbier side, but she's still like... physically small, if that makes sense!

Scaramouche is smack between Damslette and Sandrone - he's small, and definitely gets a lot of flak for it (which he hates). He's proportioned like a younger child, his limbs look a bit too long for his body, and he can sometimes be quite clumsy as a result. He's kind of lean, but definitely has some tubby bits (probably around the hips/thighs/cheeks/tummy/upper arms) that he can be a little insecure about sometimes.

Sandrone is decently below average, she's quite short and very very petite, perhaps even having some kind of chronic illness/pain that makes it difficult for her to walk a lot/do much heavy lifting, hence why she has her puppets do it for her. She's very very tiny and definitely on the skinnier side.

Pulcinella is itty bitty. He's tiny. He's a shrunken old man. If ANYONE in the harbingers complains about their height they get the spiel of "hey at least you aren't as short as Pulcinella!" (unless it's capitano who literally hits his head on doorways sometimes). He looks kind of small and frail, because he is, but he can still kick ass in a fight if it comes down to it! he has no issues with his height

Please don't steal/copy/repost my work!

Likes and reblogs are always super appreciated :D

If you'd like to rant with/at me about any headcanons/ideas you might have I'd love to hear, so feel free to send an ask/dm my way!

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charophyte · 7 months

Text

Jotaro x Reader - Edge

post-p4 Jotaro x reader, gn reader, sub/botttom Jotaro, light bondage, edging, NSFW (minors/ageless blogs DNI), more warnings under the cut

Word Count: 2679

post-p4 Jotaro x reader, gn reader, sub/botttom Jotaro, light bondage, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

You take a step back, ensuring the quality of your handiwork. Jotaro's arms and chest are lightly bound with rope, keeping him sitting still in the office chair. From behind, you can see the tips of his ears starting to go red. “Is this okay, Jojo?”

Jotaro gives an affirmative grunt, still unsure about the present situation. At first you were worried he would right out reject your idea to tie him up and edge him, but he was surprisingly open minded; but now, you're more worried about him being uncomfortable and suffering in silence.

“Are you sure...? You seem—“

“Yes,“ Jotaro assures you quickly. ”I wouldn't let anyone else do this.“ The sentiment almost sounds romantic, but you know he means to reassure you.

“You need to relax,” you chide, walking to the other side of the chair. You adjust the towel beneath him; as bad as you wanted to ruin Jotaro, you didn't want to do so at the expense of your office chair, and using his was out of the question (he was very intent on voicing this concern). “This is gonna take a while, ya know?”

“I am relaxed,” Jotaro states, the skin of his face still contorted and wrinkled by his typical grumpy look.

There was no use discussing this further, you realize. “Fine, I'll trust you too then, I suppose.”

Taking another look at Jotaro, you reach down and put your hands on his bare knees, gently prying his legs apart which makes his body stiffen. “And keep your legs apart, got it?”

Jotaro grunts again, bowing his head to try and hide his expression, though this time he has no cap to hide behind. He's only in his tank top and boxers, so he’s far more exposed than he'd normally like; he huffs when he realizes you're inspecting his shorts.

You run your hands up and down the tops of Jotaro's thighs, laughing quietly at his sheepish reaction. ”Hey, you're gonna be good for me, right...?“

Jotaro swallows hard and nods. When you give him an expectant look, he speaks up. ”Yes.“

”Good.“ You step forward to press your lips to the top of Jotaro's head. He seems to drop his guard, but his shoulders rise up again when he hears you pop open the cap of the lubricant. ”You're in good hands.“

—

Jotaro does surprisingly well when you work him open with your fingers, possibly because you are using way more lubricant than usual. Despite his apparent reticence, his body warms up quickly to your advances, and every time your fingers push into him, you can see the results of his arousal jumping in his boxer shorts. His eyes flutter shut as he relaxes himself for you.

You couldn't help but tease a little. ”I could do this all day if I wanted... looks like you could too.“

Jotaro doesn't respond, but he does pant a bit harder, biting the inside of his lip.

”I hope you won't lose it too soon, that would be a shame.“

”I won't.“ Jotaro replies, speaking under his breath. It's not just bedroom talk: you know he's being genuine.

Though… it did make you want to see how far you could push his resolve.

”Good.“ The praise makes Jotaro's cock jump again. You watch him intently as you remove your fingers from him. “Do you think you're ready to keep going then?”

“Yeah...” Jotaro opens his eyes for the first time in a few minutes, still looking down at you with furrowed brows and a pout. Despite his stony expression, his cheeks are flushed with blood, down to his neck and shoulders, which no amount of masculine bravado could hide.

You sigh fondly before reaching for one of the toys the two of you previously agreed to use. Using one hand to pull back the leg of Jotaro's shorts, you use the other to guide the dildo to his hole; when you press the head of the toy against his asshole, he goes to close his legs, which you stop with your elbows.

“Jojo? Remember what I said about keeping your legs spread...”

Jotaro shakes and grunts, nodding as he grits his teeth. When the toy slides in, he lets out the breath he was holding, and his knees stop bouncing. The rest of the toy easily slides in, going slow as you tease him further.

“See? That's not so bad.”

“Quiet.” Jotaro huffs again, his chest straining against his bonds. When you tease him, you can feel his body seize around the dildo, but you decide to not comment on it.

You just smile privately to yourself and start pumping the toy into Jotaro, listening to all the noises he couldn't hide.

—

Working Jotaro's insides with the dildo is hard work. No matter how much experience you have, it never compares to Jotaro's endurance and willpower. However, you are determined to do this right: doing it the long and hard way.

Jotaro continuously shifts in his seat, restlessly moving his legs, and a sizable wet spot begins to bloom across his boxers, so it seems like it’s working. If you’re being honest, the edging and teasing are almost as hard on you as it was on him; the circumstances his own life put him in make you want to just spoil him and let him finish already.

...But you know this will be so much better for him if you could just make him wait and beg.

Eventually, Jotaro's body flinches hard at a particular press of the dildo, unable to keep his gasp of surprise in. ”A-ah–“

You don't stop completely, but you do slow down the hand pushing on the toy. “Remember what we agreed to...?”

“Agh... I...” Jotaro, who has acclimated to the embarrassment of the situation, becomes flushed again. He moves to throw an arm over his face but instead can only struggle against the ropes around his arms. “Close.”

You stop the movements of your hand until Jotaro's body finishes quivering. After a few moments, you move your free hand to the hem of his boxers, and you watch to see if he has any objections. When he gives a small nod, you let his dick spring free, watching how painfully hard he's gotten: he wasn't even wearing a cockring and it’s flushed bright red.

“Oh, Jojo...” you sigh, and the sound of his name said so sweetly makes him whimper with need, “Look at you.”

Before he can respond, you push the base of the dildo again, and he groans loudly, his mouth hanging open, no longer hiding how he feels.

You’ve brought Jotaro to the edge many times by this point, his embarrassment gone once again. However, your own reservations are beginning to break down, seeing the state you had put Jotaro in, seeing his body sweating, his body shaking, the strings of precum leaking onto his boxers, down his legs, and onto the towel. But despite everything, Jotaro is still able to hold it together.

The tension returns to Jotaro’s body, and you feel the muscles in his body stiffen again. He makes another deep grunting sound, “C-close.”

Once again, you slow down, subtly pushing the dildo in and out of him like before. However, his quivering doesn’t die down, even when you stop your movements.

“I’m close,” It doesn’t sound like a warning, it almost sounds like pleading when Jotaro repeats it. “Oh God–”

Jotaro’s body seizes, curling up as much as his restraints would let him, squeezing you between his formidable legs as he tries his hardest to not come undone. Loud gasps spill out of his mouth as he struggles, and you can feel the dildo being drawn into him as his entire body clenches.

Even with Jotaro’s iron will and nerves of steel, he cracks under the pressure, seeing stars as he comes hard, screwing his eyes shut. His body convulses as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes through his body, each surge sending another shot of semen onto his already sweat-damp top and underwear.

“F-fuck, hnghh—“ He swears through clenched teeth as he tries to hold back his cries as all of the stress in his body is released at once. Even after he’s spent, his taint continues to lightly pulse as he rides out his orgasm.

All the while, you steady Jotaro’s leg with your hand, gently running your thumb as you allow him to come untouched. Jotaro's brow smooths and you take in the sight as his body forces him to totally relax. You rest your other hand on his shin, letting Jotaro enjoy himself for a few minutes before interrupting.

“You okay, Jojo?”

Jotaro opens his mouth to reply, but can only nod.

“Heh, about time.” You stretch the wrist of your dominant hand, rolling the joint around lightly. “I needed a break too.”

“Hah,” Jotaro shuts his eyes, once again making a noise to acknowledge that he heard you.

“Now, do you want me to take the toy out?”

Jotaro hums in thought before shaking his head.

“Mmm…” You thoughtfully look at the toys laid out before the two of you. Grabbing a set of anal beads, you raise them to display to Jotaro, “Wanna try these?”

“I, ah— no.” Jotaro shakes his head again. He swallows to wet his throat before trying to speak again, “I think this is already… more than enough.”

For some reason, your heart swells at this. Maybe you realize that he really is letting you do this to him because he wants it, not because he can’t say no to you…

“I figured as much,” you give Jotaro a genuine smile, “You really did enjoy that, huh?”

“Of course I did.”

You lay your head on one of Jotaro’s legs, rubbing his knee. “Well… let me know when you want to go again. Unless you wanna stop?”

Jotaro shakes his head a final time, adjusting his sitting position. “Just give me a minute…”

—

The third time Jotaro comes, it starts with his boxers being pulled down his leg, exposing the softest parts of his thighs to be pinched and caressed. You drag your fingers lightly through the coarse hair on his legs and groin, slipping your hand under his top, every touch making him shake more and more with desperation.

Occasionally, you stuff Jotaro again with the dildo, watching how his legs subconsciously spread every time the toy is hilted inside him. Even after two intense orgasms, he still leaks whenever his prostate is pressed against.

Whenever Jotaro makes a loud noise or tells you he’s close, you praise him. You even run your fingers around the swollen head of his cock, which at this point is a sore, deep red color.

All you want to see is this man coming undone, and you want to be the one to give him what he deserves.

Your hand lightly touches the base of Jotaro’s cock when he gives the warning again.

“Close.”

At first, your hand closes around the base of Jotaro’s shaft, as if you would keep him from orgasming by force… but then, your other hand moves down to his hole, fucking him thoroughly.

“Close. I, hey, I’m… close—!”

You look up at Jotaro from your position, kneeling down in front of him and taking in the sight of the imposing man losing his composure because of you. Your hand around his cock begins to pump him, still taking your time to draw this out. “Mmm, I know…”

“I— hnghh, f-fuck.” When Jotaro realizes what’s happening, he braces himself. He knows deep down that he should just succumb to his own pleasure, but his stubborn nature keeps him fighting off his orgasm until his last nerve snaps; he never thought he would ever enjoy losing a fight this much.

Instead of hitting Jotaro like a train, his climax crests at the top of a steep hill, and when he finally peaks he’s practically shouting. His hips push up into your hand as you milk whatever’s left out of him, continuing to rub him eagerly as his balls tighten against your hand.

However, you don’t stop your onslaught. You continue to fuck him thoroughly until he’s struggling to escape your grasp, your already soiled hand having his overstimulation drip down your hand and onto the seat. Tears of ecstasy prick the corners of his eyes, pooling as he can’t wipe them away.

Eventually, when you think Jotaro might break his bonds, the chair, or your wrist, you back off, letting him catch his breath as he pants harder than you’ve ever witnessed. Seeing how worn down he is gives you your own sense of satisfaction, knowing that you wore down such an unstoppable force.

Despite his willingness to be bound in the first place, your heart aches watching Jotaro's chest heaving against the ropes that restrained him, and you get up to let him out of his bondage. When his arms are free, you courteously untangle him from the rope while he recovers once again.

“Hey… hey Jojo, you okay? You need anything?”

“Mmhmm,” Jotaro nods, “Water.”

You hand Jotaro the bottled water you brought and watch as he shakily takes it in his hand. You rub one of his arms as he uses the other to drink. “Really got you good there, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jotaro clears his throat, speaking much clearer now. “I’m glad… we did that.”

You smile at him, watching how relaxed his face looks, like he has just woken up from a peaceful sleep. “Me too. I’m surprised you agreed to do this,” you admit. “Maybe next time I can use something else on you.”

Jotaro makes a small chuckling noise deep in his throat, but it just comes out as a rumble. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Fine.” You lean further against Jotaro’s shoulder, letting him lean against you in return. You can feel the sweat on his forehead as he moves closer. “At least let me run you a bath.”

After a painfully long moment of silent contemplation, Jotaro replies, “…Alright.”

—

Walking on shaky legs, Jotaro walks into the bathroom, already nude. You had wiped most of him off, but all of the hair on his body still sticks together with sweat and other fluids. When he sees the already-drawn bath, he sighs with yearning and climbs in, letting the warm water soothe his spent body.

You watch over Jotaro, making sure he doesn't need anything else. He shoos you away when you try to help him take off his top and offer to wash him in the bath, so you just leave him to his own devices as he calms down from the session.

“You’re not gonna fall asleep in there, right Jojo?”

“No.” Jotaro claims, not bothering to look over at you. His reaction seems cold until you see the hint of a smile on his face.

“Okay, I’ll come to get you in twenty minutes, then.” You tease back, turning to leave.

“…Wait.”

You stop, turning to see Jotaro’s arm on the side of the tub.

“You can wash my hair. If you want.”

Stepping back to Jotaro’s side, you laugh quietly, “What, your arms aren’t that sore, are they?”

Jotaro just leans back in the tub and closes his eyes. “I can do it myself–”

Before he can move away, you grab Jotaro’s shampoo, putting some in your hand. You sit, rather uncomfortably on the floor, and reach over to start lathering his scalp. Jotaro closes his eyes and leans back, sighing wearily. “See what you get when you let me tease you?” You huff, massaging the top of his head as he starts to drift off. He looked so tired…

“Hmmm.” Jotaro considers saying more, but he just hums instead. Giving up control to you, he crosses his arms in the bath.

You rinse Jotaro’s hair, making sure to keep the water out of his eyes, gently tracing your hand along his forehead. That’s when you realize he did fall asleep in the bath, letting you take his worries away.

#jotaro kujo #jjba #jotaro x reader #jotaro solo #aeg writes

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little-0tter · 6 months

Text

Caregiver Headcanons:

▫️Emmet & Ingo▪️

▫️ Emmet:

▿

▫️ Works well with older or more energetic littles. He loves running around with them and playing games (as long as they are safe!)

▿

▫️ He'll still work with younger littles. He adores watching over them and guiding them around work with him

▿

▫️ Kinda strict, but it's so you stay safe! Depite that, he WILL fold for puppy eyes

▿

▫️ Tries to have a schedule set for you depending on how old you feel that day, but it often ends up going off the rails

▿

▫️ LOVES taking you around the subways with him, especially when he's working on the battle subway

▿

▫️ He loves seeing you watching him battle against trainers!! It gives him some extra motivation to win!

▿

▫️ Let's you wear his coat + cap every now and again (and might even commission you a uniform of your own!!)

▿

▫️ Always has snacks and water on hand, just in case you get hungry or thirsty!

▿

▫️ Always leaves at least one of his Pokémon with you at all times, especially when you're feeling really little

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▫️ If things are a bit too hectic or crazy in Gear Station, he'll have you stay in his office with some toys, colorbooks, and will have a Depot Agent watch over you until he's done/free

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▫️ On his days off, he'll take you around Nimbasa City, taking you to a few shops here and there, and maybe a bakery at the end for a nice treat

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▫️ When at home, you better be ready for cuddles! Emmett is a MAJOR cuddle bug (and his Pokémon will join in too!)

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▫️ LOVES playing games, no matter the type! Pretend, dress up, hide and seek, puzzles, board games, all of them!!!

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▫️ Gives you nicknames based on Pokemon, "little joktik" being among the most common.

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▫️ Great at storytelling, especially when it's a nap time or bedtime story!

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⚝─────────────────────⚝

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▪️ Ingo:

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▪️ Works best with younger littles, babies, or littles who don't have a lot of energy (I feel like he'd be a bit more nervous with high-energy littles)

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▪️ He'd still work with older or more energetic littles, but he'd be a bit more watchful than he would normally be

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▪️ The stricter of the brothers, but will also fold to puppy eyes

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▪️ He tries his best to keep a schedule for you, like nap time, snack time, play time (if you're not at Gear Station), etc. And for the most part, he manages to stick with it!

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▪️ HE WILL CARRY YOU, YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO ASK. He's more likely to just scoop you up without you having to ask or motion for it

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▪️ Will give you a tour of the offices and subway tracks in Gear Station every time

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▪️ Will keep you on the sidelines of all his battles, ready with healing items for afterwards! He spends a good amount of time teaching you about pokemon care when you're little

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▪️ He will also let you wear his cap and coat. Sometimes you don't even need to ask, he'll just put his cap on your head!

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▪️ His pockets are always full of snacks and water

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▪️ Don't tell anyone, but he also keeps a little plushie on hand for you, even when big!

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▪️ He tends to leave his Crustle or Chandelure with you when he's busy (and his Crustle will let you ride him!)

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▪️ Even if things in the Gear Station get really bad, he'll want to keep you close. He would be devastated if you managed to get lost or separated from him in a bad time

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▪️ Days off with him are normally spent at home, just relaxing

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▪️ He LOVES baking with littles. He will drop everything to bake with you (even if it's pretend)

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▪️ Is great at playing physical games with littles, like hide and seek, drawing games, guessing games, etc

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▪️ Somehow, he's a bigger cuddle bug than Emmett! He will wrap himself around you completely somehow, and his Pokémon will be laying around you

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▪️ Isn't too big on nicknames, but will call you things like "baby," "little one," "tiny," or anything you ask him to call you!

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▪️ Great at reading books, especially when it comes to voices!

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First actual post done!! Requests are open :3

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thecaptdynamite · 9 months

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So doing a OnlyJaunes story on Wattpad, here is the first chapter

Jaune Arc had just turned 18. He was a stalwart lad who had undergone a lot in his life. One of the biggest hurdles was surviving Beacon Academy. You see, he had come here for righteous reasoning. But unfortunately, his means of entering were less than legal. In fact, it was illegal all around. He had spent his money on fake transcripts to get him there.

So the main problem stood as follows: he needed money and fast. Fortunately, he was able to find a way to earn hun so extra lien so he could not have his grades suffer. The job, however well, let's just say he's glad Pyrrha has been helping him work out.

Jaune: "Alright, I'll adjust the lighting a little bit here and here." Jaune is seen adjusting a studio light towards his bed, his scroll on a tripod and him wearing only tight boxer shorts. "Let's see. Maybe I can pose like this." In his hand, he has a button to help him take pictures, in which many of remnant has purchased. You see, Jaune sells pictures and videos of himself on OnlyHunts, a website where beautiful people use their bodies to make money. And since he started, he made back everything and more. "Alrighty, let's try here." He leans a bit, spreading his legs and adjusting his sack to look more plump in the underwear. A quick snap sound popped up, and he went to the camera to check it. He himself liked the angle, though he was cut he had a nicer body thanks to him working put more often, plus his Huntsman training has definitely helped a lot. He did a few more poses, more showing off the Arc Cakes. After about 45 min, he started putting everything away after putting pants on. He uploaded the photos he felt good about first and let time do its thing.

About an hour or so later, Jaune was sitting in Prof Port's class. As he took notes from his stories, his scroll went off on a vibrating frenzy. Luckily, it was in his pocket, and he was able to silence it. A quick smile grew as he had a feeling what it was. While Port turned to the board to write, Jaune pulled out his scroll to take a look, and as he expected, his likes went up on the post he did. Another thing he enjoyed was the compliments he received on his body. Something about helped him cope with his self-esteem issues he obtained due to his family.

AtlasMommy73: Another wonderful set Golden, God I'd love to see you.

IceTips: Please stop teasing and let us see your 2 hander ;).

SpartanStrength: Please just take me.

SpecialSnow: Please come to Atlas so we can melt these caps. ;*

So on and so forth, the thrist was real. As more and more requests for Jaune came to light. Though he wasn't too worried about people finding out because, let's be honest, his friends were as dense as he was in the past. He noticed Pyrrha staring into her scroll hard but paid no mind to it. He then continued his day like normal.

Throughout the day, Jaune felt eyes on hum, he's not sure why, but he felt he was being watched. He turned around to an empty hallway. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued on his way. After a few more minutes, he felt the eyes on him again. Suddenly, he turned around and looked once more only to seek the same empty hallway.

Jaune: "Man, I think I need more sleep." He turned and walked towards the dorms. As he did, a certain redhead was following him, not the one you're thinking if.

???: "Soooo fearless leader, you're the famous Golden Knight?" Jaune froze as he turned around and saw none other than Nora. "Don't worry, fearless leader, I only want one thing." Jaune, starting panicking, what could she want, money? Fame? Dic- "I wanna be your manager!"

Jaune: "Wait, what?" Jaune felt releived, but at the same time, he had an overwhelming amount of dread.

Nora: "You see, Jaune-Jaune, I know that you've been taking pictures. And though you've hidden your face, I can tell. Surprisingly, no one has put two and two together, but I can help edit your photos to prevent that. And even offer to maybe do BG shoots. For let's say 30 percent to see how you like it. Sound good?"

Jaune was at an impass. What did he have to really lose. He knew he could trust Nora, and he was making a good amount of money.

Jaune: "You know what, Nora, you got a deal!" He sticks his hand out for a handshake, but Nora grabs it and hugs him tight.

Nora: "Oh, I can't wait to show you what we can do!"

-if enough are interested I can post the link for you all for the rest.

#jaune x bleiss #weiss x jaune #jaune rwby #rwby fandom #jaunearc #bleiss schnee #weiss schnee

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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Followup conversation with Shadowheart, post-All-of-That-Nonsense.

"My parents. I saw them, spoke to them... and let them go. It's... it's more than I can take in just now. Give me a night, to try and get my head together."

OK, so not really a conversation, just a line, but still. Poor Shadowheart. :( Jennifer English does a tremendous job with these moments where Shadowheart's really conflicted or upset; she gets this little catch in her voice that makes me want to pick her (Shadowheart, that is, though maybe Jennifer English too, idk) up and take her somewhere safe where she won't have to make that sound anymore.

Hector feels really terrible about the whole business, and there are a lot of layers as to why.

a) Shadowheart is upset, and Shadowheart is his friend and sorta-kinda-protege(?) and does not deserve all the shit that Shar has put her through. b) Shadowheart has met and lost her parents simultaneously. Hector has never known his and can't decide if that's better or worse, because there was still something oddly compelling about the expression of pride that her father gave her before he died. c) Hector has met Shar in the "flesh", spoken to her directly - the precise manifestation of everything he was trained to fight against. (And meanwhile, his own goddess has never once spoken to him directly.) d) On some level, even though Shadowheart is free of the curse, this feels like Shar has won simply by the amount of pain she has caused Shadowheart. e) According to the dogma Hector was raised with, it should be considered a victory for Selune instead! She has two new martyrs! Shar's curse has been thwarted! But he can take no satisfaction in that because of what it did to his friend in the process.

Let's get the fuck out of here. Quick glance around the room first.

The only thing of major significance in here is the Mirror of Loss at the back of the room, which presumably was the mirror used to steal away Shadowheart's memories repeatedly:

Narrator: A huge, polished disc looms before you. A mirror - one used by the Sharrans to plunder memories from the minds of others.

"This feels familiar to me somehow. I'm sure I've stood before this mirror before... many times, perhaps..."

Interestingly, one of the options here is a Selunite-specific one to pray to the mirror. I'm not sure why anyone, least of all Hector, would think this would do anything positive, but sure, why not:

[SELUNE][RELIGION] Offer a prayer to the mirror.

We get disadvantage on this because Hector is Selunite, apparently, and it's a DC25 check.

LOL. I could try and spend inspiration on this but honestly this makes more sense under the circumstances.

Narrator: Your prayers fade away into the nothingness of the mirror, unacknowledged.

Sad Hector face! D:

OK, I am actually curious what happens if we succeed this, so backing up, casting Enhance Ability on Hector, and savescumming like crazy.

Narrator: You feel a presence, dark and ancient. It approves of your fealty.

OK, that's not the kind of prayer I thought Hector was offering based on the [SELUNITE] tag, lol. RELOAD.

We also have the option here to offer memories to the mirror; @zenjestrr tells me this would give us a +2 to any attribute, even going over the normal cap of 20. But Hector, obviously, is not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

I think we're done with this place. Let's GTFO.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle

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the-cult-of-russo · 1 year

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Head Like A Hole (part 2)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: cursing, fluff I guess lmao, unhinged Billy-boo, mention of attempted sexual assault and murder.

A/N: I’m just out here writing part twos to these things that no one’s asking for looooool I was working on part 2 for Sorry but this came to me and I have to get this shit out of me or I’d never write it. Sorry if there’s any typos. I use two spell checkers but I swear, whenever I reread my shit after it’s posted, I always find them lmaooo

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You put the cap back on the concealer before staring blankly at your reflection. It wasn't great. It wasn't concealing as much as you’d hoped. The mark was still showing, although it looked a hell of a lot better than the bright purple black eye that it was without it. As your eyes trailed down the floor-length mirror, you grimaced. The bruise on your right side where your ribs were looked awful, and you didn't have enough concealer or time to try to cover that one up. You put your silk robe on, tying it carefully with a wince. Jerry had told you to take some time off to heal, but you didn't want to miss out on the money. It wasn't like you needed it. You had so much stashed away so you could have a lavish retirement when you grew bored of this. Some might say you loved money a little too much. That wasn't the only reason though. Today was one of Billy’s days, not that you’d be doing your normal stuff with him. It had been two months since that night he’d blown your mind and it became routine. He came in on the three days he usually did, but then he’d be with you afterwards, always showing you a good time. Work felt lonely and boring on the days he wasn't here and you always looked forward to seeing him. It was still brutal, kinky and animalistic sex with him, the only change being that he’d stay a little longer afterwards now as you both just lay with each other calmly. He was still paying you $5000 a night, and you felt like $15000 a week was a little much considering you felt like he was servicing you and not the other way around. You’d mentioned it once, that he didn't need to pay so much, but he’d completely ignored your comment so you left it. You didn't know how to feel about Billy coming in today though. Didn't know how he’d react when he saw the state of you. You glared at your split lip, it had scabbed over but was still very fucking noticeable and no amount of lipstick could cover it. You’d be working as a server until you felt better, Jerry’s orders since you refused to stay off work. It wasn't even so much that it would be off-putting to the customers, most of the girls had a mark of some description on them and after Billy was done with you, you’d be covered in them. But Jerry really cared about his girls and he didn't want you to injure your messed up ribs any further by dancing or using the pole. You didn't really mind. You didn't feel 100% and you were in pain, so taking it a little easy would be good for you. The servers usually wore underwear but Jerry suggested wearing your silk robe to cover up the most of your marks, the worst being your ribs. It was thigh high and you’d tied it to leave some nice cleavage. It would have to do. Lucky for you, your regulars would still tip nicely even if you weren't working the pole.

The idea of Billy made you wonder if he’d react at all. You’d bonded in a way. Connected through your deep sexual needs and slightly depraved kinks that you explored together, pushing each other's boundaries to the max. But other than that, you didn't know each other. You’d never asked each other personal questions, you both just didn't cross that line. You wanted to sometimes, of course. There was a lot you wanted to know about the man, he intrigued you. But you didn't ask and neither did he. He was a customer after all and that's all he was and you both knew it. You connected on a sexual level and that's where it ended. But since he wouldnt be watching you dance and there was no way you could fuck him in your current state, you weren't sure how he’d take it. He always turned up acting like if he didn't have you, he’d die. And that pure desperation for you made your blood sing. You had a lot of admirers here but no one had ever made you feel as wanted or needed like Billy had. You heaved a sigh before leaving your back room and making your way out from the back. The club was busy as it always was and you hummed along to the music as you made your way over to the bar. You got some looks but no one mentioned your mildly covered black eye or split lip. Why would they? None of them really cared and anyone curious enough would just chalk it up to someone smacking you about a bit as an extra with sex and move on. They’d think it was consensual since nothing non-consensual happened here. Yet what happened to you was definitely not something you agreed with.

You served drinks with a pretty smile and flirted with the men and as you knew you would, you were making good tips. Your guys were of course disappointed to turn up and realize you weren't dancing for them but they’d been fine with your answer of wanting a rest. It wasn't unheard of for some of the dancers to serve sometimes to get some respite. Dancing was a tiring job and a burnt-out dancer wasn't a good one. But you made sure to recommend girls you knew they'd like to them and to keep their drinks flowing with a smile. You were just returning back to the bar with your empty tray when a hand seized your wrist. You gasped, being spun around and coming face to face with Billy. His dark eyes were wide and burning with intensity as he looked you over. They darted from your eye like he could see right under the make-up at how bad it really was and to your split lip before back to your eyes again.

“Hey! No touching, pal!” the security guy yelled, storming right over to the pair of you. The servers weren’t to be touched. The man was built like a tank, a wall of pure muscle that made him look like a beast next to Billy’s more slender frame. Yet the look Billy shot him was far more menacing than anything the other man could muster.

“It’s okay, Phil. I know him,” you murmured with a smile. Phil squinted a little, looking distrustfully at Billy who still had your wrist in a death grip and who was glaring daggers at him before he looked back at you.

“You sure?” he asked carefully, very vividly remembering what happened to you the night before.

“I’m sure,” you smiled with a nod. Seemingly satisfied, Phil walked back to near the entrance. Billy looked to you then, working his jaw and scrunching his face up a little. He opened and closed his mouth a few times like he wanted to say something but nothing came out. He had that slightly unhinged look in his eyes. The one that when he wore it in the bedroom, you knew you were in for a good time. But these were different circumstances and you weren't quite sure what was going through his head. Before you could say anything, he was tugging you into the back and to your room. He let go of your wrist to open the door as he walked inside and you shut the door, leaning against it much like you had the first time you’d been in here with him. He stood a little away from you, his jaw tight as his bright eyes burned into you.

“Did a customer do that?” he bit out, eyes glittering with rage. You weren't sure if he was upset at the idea of someone else marking you up. No one else really bothered but you were always delighted when Billy would cover you in marks. He seemed to love it, especially when he came back and they were still there but fading. He always went back over them to keep them fresh and bright and you loved the possessiveness of it. He’d even growled at you that you were his a few times and it always made your insides ache. You felt small under his gaze, no lust to bring you together this time. It felt strange and you felt vulnerable. Subconsciously you tugged your robe tighter around yourself as you shook your head.

“No,” you murmured quietly as you took a few tentative steps towards him. You hoped it would make him feel better. To know he was the only one to mark you up like that. But it only seemed to make him worse as his eyes seemed to burn brighter like an inferno and he rolled his shoulder. He was quiet for a long moment, looking like he was ready to snap as he clenched and unclenched his fists by his slides. You weren't quite sure what was going on with him as you watched him warily. He’d never hurt you. Well, not in a bad way anyway. And you knew he wouldn't. But you were well aware there was a darkness in Billy. It's what attracted you to him in the first place.

“What happened?” he asked harshly.

“It doesn't matter,” you shrugged dismissively. You really thought it didn't. It wasn't a work thing, well mostly, it had been connected. But still, you and Billy had never been personal with each other so you didn't see the need to go over what happened.

He looked pissed by your answer. His eyes narrowed to slits as he stalked towards you and you instinctively stepped back until your back hit the door. You gasped with a wince as it hurt your ribs and then he was ripping your robe open, revealing your badly bruised ribs as well as a few other smaller bruises on your torso. His hand came up to your ribs, fingers ghosting over the bruise in a featherlight touch as he glared at it but it still made you hiss, your body instinctively moving away from his before he dropped his hand. His breathing was coming in sharp and you were starting to wonder if he was getting off on it or something. Lust and anger always seemed to blend together with him. But when his dark eyes met yours once more, he didn't just look angry, he looked upset.

“What happened?” he asked again in a growl, his tone telling you that you better tell him and there were no other options.

“Can we uh… can we sit down?” you asked carefully. You'd been on your feet all night and your body was starting to scream at you for putting it through the wringer in your condition. He blinked at you for a moment, eyes seeming to glance at every mark on your body before he nodded jerkily and moved away. You kicked off your heels, feeling the relief instantly before you made your way over to your bed. You sat against the headboard slowly, holding your ribs with a grimace as you did. He came over and perched himself on the side of the bed, far away from you. He wasn't facing you but facing the wall to your left, his arms resting on his legs with his hands clasped together. But then he turned his head to look at you, quirking a brow as if telling you that you better start talking. You hadn't expected him to act like this. You hadn't expected him to act like anything if you were honest.

“I was attacked last night outside the club,” you murmured. Billy took a deep inhale, eyes flaring as his jaw ticked, but his swirling eyes didn't leave you.

“It was some new guy, he’d been by here a few days. He’d watched me dance all night but something felt… off about him. So when he requested me after, I turned him down. Something didn't feel right with him and I always trust my gut. He got kicked out later for touching a server and Jerry told him he wasn't allowed back. When I finished, I was walking to my car and he was waiting for me. It was so dark… I didn't even see him. But he tackled me… Beat me to shit, obviously. He planned to do more than that but he barely got any clothes off me before Phil and the guys heard me screaming. They came out and the coward ran off. But they saved me from some bad shit,” you said shakily. You’d felt off-kilter ever since. You'd always associated sex with pleasure and pain of the good kind but this was something else. You weren’t stupid, you knew rape and sexual assault happened, but you just hadn't expected it to almost happen to you. Jerry worked hard to create a safe space here for you and the girls. Shit like that didn't happen here.

Billy looked back at the wall, cracking his neck a little. You were waiting for him to say something with how hard he pressed you to tell him, but instead, he stood up.

"You should probably get back out there," he muttered. It confused you but it wasn't like you'd expected anything from him anyway. So you nodded, standing up slowly to try and ease the pain in your ribs. He watched you with rapt attention but made no move to help you. You stopped near him, wanting to make something clear to him so it didn't cause any confusion later in the night.

"I uh… we won't be able to… I'm too injured," you murmured, wanting to hit yourself for fumbling over your words. When did you ever have an issue talking about sex? Maybe it was the fact you didn't want to disappoint Billy. You wanted the opposite, you wanted to please him.

"I noticed," he replied, lips curling into a wry smirk, no trace of any of his weird intense anger from earlier. It made you feel a little better though that he wasn't upset about it. You'd hate it if he decided to see one of the other girls instead of you from now on. His visits were the highlight of your week. You knew he'd probably watch others dance until you were healed though. Or the alternative would be for him to not come at all. You weren't sure what was worse and you wondered just when you'd gotten so possessive over a customer. You and Billy walked out of your room and he fell into step beside you as you made your way out into the main area. You were expecting him to go and pick another girl, but instead, he followed you to the bar before sitting there. Something purred inside of you, pleased that he’d rather be here where you’d be passing by all night rather than with someone else. You set off working again and getting drinks from the bar before taking them to customers. You weren't as fast as the other servers in the state you were in and you were steadily getting slower as your ribs started to protest too much.

“Two whiskeys and a bourbon, Mike,” you smiled at the bartender as you stopped beside Billy, holding your ribs for a moment. He nodded, getting the drinks ready for you. Billy moved and you glanced at him as he pulled something out of his pocket. It was some pills and he got one out before handing it to you. You blinked at it for a moment before you looked at him and quirked your brow, making him roll his eyes and snort.

“It's a pain pill. Got it for the… you know,” he muttered as he vaguely gestured to his face, frowning a little as he looked away and refused to give you eye contact. You knew he was sensitive about his scars. Two weeks after he first started coming to you for more than dances, you’d been laying with him after some amazing sex. You’d leaned over and traced one of them and he’d recoiled away from you like you’d burnt him. He’d given you this shocked look, puzzled and bewildered. Untrusting. But you’d looked back at him patiently and when he eventually moved back, you’d done it again and he’d let you. Slowly he got more comfortable with it and now he enjoyed it when you did it after sex. He’d close his eyes with a rare soft smile as he soaked it in.

“Billy, I’m fine,” you shook your head, watching as Mike put the drinks on your tray for you. You gave him a smile in thanks.

Billy stood, all tall and imposing next to you and grabbed your wrist. You noticed Phil look over but since you’d told him you knew Billy and you were clearly unphased by his actions, he made no move to go over.

“Stop bein’ a martyr. Take the damn pill before I take you back to your room, beat to shit or not,” he warned lowly, his dark eyes glaring at you. It was strange the power he held over you with words alone. The way your body ached at them. You were in no condition to fuck him yet you started to wonder if there were any positions that wouldnt hurt too much. A dark smirk painted his lips as if he was reading your thoughts and his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, placing the pill there.

“You’re a tease,” you huffed, popping the pill in your mouth and grimacing as you dry-swallowed it.

“You love it though,” was his cheeky reply and you couldn't help but smile at it as he sat back down. You kept working for a while after that, trying to keep tabs on Billy at the bar. He’d shoot you glances, sometimes with a smirk, other times impassive. You swore he was like multiple people sometimes, you could never get a read on him. When your shift was over, you went into your room to get changed into the clothes you'd worn here. It wasn't anything special, just some leggings, converse, a dark gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie. You were injured, you weren't about to turn up looking like a princess. Once you were ready, you went back out and you were disappointed when you couldn't see Billy anywhere. You’d hoped to at least say goodbye to him. You hated not being able to spend your usual time together, it was like your body craved it now. You sighed even harder when your eyes flit about and you couldn't see Phil either. He’d offered to walk you to your car when you got off after seeing how shaken up you’d been the night before. But you couldn't wait around forever. The pain pill eased some of your pain but not all of it and all you wanted to do was go home. You decided it was time you got on your big girl panties and decided to just head out yourself. You hardly expected Billy to be loitering in the entrance hallway.

“Oh, hey. I thought you’d left,” you said, feeling relieved that he hadn’t. His eyes trailed over your body, right to your toes before back up again.

“You look cute,” he murmured wryly. You glanced down at yourself before realizing he’d only ever seen you in skimpy underwear or nothing at all. You felt far too dressed down now with your normal clothes and you felt your cheeks burn.

“Gotta be comfy,” you shrugged sheepishly and made him chuckle. You weren't sure if you liked the way he made you feel like this. You were never shy or self-conscious.

“I’m gonna walk you to your car,” he stated simply and you shook your head.

“You don't need to do that,” you frowned. You didn't want to inconvenience him.

“I know I don't but I’m doin’ it anyway,” his face and tone were stern, telling you it was final. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a fluttering in your stomach. He was giving you whiplash. One minute he’s demanding to know what happened to you as if he cared, then he acts like he doesn't and now he was making sure you were safe to get home. You didn't know which way was up with him.

“So you’re bossy outside of the bedroom too, huh?” you quipped, eyes alight with mischief. He gave you an amused grin and a lazy shrug.

“Tellin’ me you don’t enjoy it?” he asked, raising a brow as you snorted. As you both made your way to the door, your eyes drifted to the large notice board on the wall. It was full of pictures of guys who weren't allowed in anymore. But you really hadn't thought the guy who attacked you would be on there already. Nor did you think that seeing his face would make your heart falter a little as you saw it.

“That him?” Billy asked lowly, ever perceptive as always. You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you moved to the door. You didn't want to look at it anymore. You hovered uncertainly just at the door, flashes of the night before hitting you. You knew you were safe. You had Billy by your side, yet you couldn't seem to push the door open. Billy seemed to take pity on you as he left first, allowing you to follow beside him. You took an uneasy breath as you walked across the car park in silence to where your car was. But you stopped short, inhaling sharply as you glared at it. Your tires had been slashed and you could have chalked it up to any asshole, but the word whore was keyed into your car and you had a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You glanced over to Billy who was glaring at your car like he was willing it to set ablaze. He rolled his shoulder, tensing his jaw before looking at you with a blank look.

“I’ll take you home,” it wasn't an offer, he was telling you and he didn't wait for you to reply as he started walking off to what you presumed to be his car. You didn't bother telling him he didn't have to because you knew his response. But this was a big no-no. Letting a customer know where you lived was definitely not what any of the girls here should do. But this was Billy and you trusted him. So you obediently followed him, not wanting to get left behind in the dark. Your eyes widened as you saw him unlock his car, a grin spreading on your face at the Rolls Royce Wraith.

“Wow… she’s pretty,” you murmured, drinking her in with your eyes. Billy chuckled, causing you to look at him as he opened the passenger door for you.

“What can I say? I like pretty things,” he shrugged, giving you a pointed look that made your insides feel all hot. You slid inside the car, trying to be careful before Billy shut the door. Before long you were both on your way to your apartment after you’d told him where it was. Ironically, it wasn't far from where he lived apparently. The ride was silent and you felt uneasy. You had no idea what to say. You didn't do personal with each other, yet now there was no sex as a buffer to not make it weird. You felt out of your depth with him like this so you stayed silent.

When he pulled up, you were about to thank him but you never got the chance.

"I'll walk you up," he said as he undid his seat belt.

"Billy…" your protest died on your tongue at the look he shot you. He got out and you opened the door and followed suit. He trailed along with you as you entered the building and the elevator ride up felt tense and uncomfortable. Dealing with him in the bedroom was one thing but this was another entirely. When you got to your door, you pulled out your key and unlocked it, hovering uncertainly.

"Do you wanna come in… I don't mean like… you know, I just…" you felt your cheeks burn as you fumbled over your words. For someone that flirted with men for a living, you were sure as shit having a hard time just talking to him. He looked somewhat amused by your inability to speak like a human as he nodded. You walked inside, holding the door open for him as he came in. You watched as he glanced around curiously and you wondered what he thought of your home. You liked to keep it classy and also nice and clean. The decor was black and white, some touches of your favorite color sprinkled in.

"You want anything to drink?" You asked as you toed your shoes off. He looked at you then and shook his head.

"Nah, I'm good," he stated. Now you didn't know what to do. You weren't quite sure why you even invited him in and no idea why he agreed.

He stepped towards you then and got something out of his pocket before he handed it to you. It was an envelope and you peeped inside, you saw money and you frowned.

"Billy… I told you I can't have sex right now," you muttered, feeling a pang of disappointment as you realized he'd gone to all of this effort simply for that. He tilted his head, regarding you for a moment.

"The extras… they ain't always sexual, right? It's to pay for your time," He asked, raising a brow. You blinked at him slowly for a moment.

"Not all the time," you replied, clear confusion coating your tone. It wasn't often but you'd sometimes get guys paying for your time with no sex involved. It had only happened twice with you personally. One guy just wanted to be cuddled the entire time and the other used you like a therapist as he vented about his wife cheating on him with his brother. You had no idea where he was going with this.

"Right… so you're gonna take the money and let me take care of you," he said with a firm look, eyes burning into you. You didn't really know what to say to that, you were confused by his request. But he took your silence as acquiescence.

"Sit down," he ordered, gesturing to the sofa. You obeyed simply because you really had no idea what was going on.

He peeked into a room, your room, before closing the door and looking in the other one which was the bathroom. Then he disappeared inside. You sat there wondering if you were dreaming because your interactions with Billy had been weird since the moment he'd turned up to the club that night. Then you heard the bath running. He was paying you to look after you and the idea felt so absurd, your brain couldn't comprehend it. You'd gladly let him do it for free but part of you felt the payment made it easier for him. Some kind of transaction instead of him acting like he cared. You sat there patiently for a while before he came back out of the bathroom.

“Come on,” he gestured with his head to the bathroom and you did as you were told, standing carefully and following him inside. Your large bath was full and even had bubbles, you could smell the lavender in the air so you knew just which bubble bath he’d used. You were curious if he’d selected one randomly or if he’d smelt them all and had a preference. Since he’d paid you for this, you stood there, waiting for his next move as you had no idea what he wanted from you. He stood in front of you but wasn't looking in your eyes as he unzipped your hoodie and slid it off you. Then he took off your t-shirt, being careful as he maneuvered your arms out so your ribs didn't get jostled. Next up were your leggings and underwear. Soon enough you were naked but he didn't give you a lustful gaze like he normally did. It felt quite strange. He helped you slowly ease yourself into the bath and you felt relaxed almost immediately at the hot water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, watching him when he moved away and wondering what he was going to do next. He stripped down so you figured he’d be getting in with you. You looked, of course you did, you couldn't help it. The man was godlike to you. And he caught your gaze, giving you a smirk with an amused raised brow that had you snorting and looking away. Your bath was pretty big, you’d paid a shit tonne of money for it. So you knew he’d fit in with you before he even got in and you were right as he climbed inside and settled behind you, his legs either side of you.

There was so much silence between you and you weren't sure how to handle it. You weren't used to it and it made you slightly uncomfortable. Yet you had no idea how to make idle conversation with him. He wasn't like everyone else. You were lost in your thoughts, running through potential things to say to him that wasn't mundane small talk about the weather, when you heard him messing with something on the side of the bath. You turned to look curiously but hissed when your ribs screamed at you. You didn't have to wait too long though to find out what he was doing as he started washing you. It was your lavender body wash too so you were starting to wonder if he did have a preference. It was oddly intimate and such a sweet gesture that you were slightly stunned for a moment as he washed your back carefully. You hadn't known he was capable of sweet with all the darkness you saw in him but you found it endearing. You decided to relax and ease into it, letting him move your arms as he washed them tenderly. When he was done with your arms and back, he rinsed the suds off you before wrapping an arm around your uninjured side. He rested his chin on your shoulder as he reached around and started to wash the front of you too. You turned to glance at him, his face so close to yours. He noticed your movement and his head turned slightly. He was so beautiful. You gave him a soft smile and he gave you one in return, leaning closer to your face before nuzzling your cheek and you swear your heart almost stopped completely. He gave your front the same treatment as your back before he moved away from you and you suddenly felt cold at the loss.

“Head back,” he commanded, yet his tone wasn’t harsh. You did as he said and then he was pouring the nice hot water over your hair. It felt nice on your scalp. You heard the cap of your shampoo pop and then his fingers were massaging your head. It felt really fucking good and your eyes fluttered shut with a pleased hum. He chuckled at your reaction and you melted under his touch. He massaged your head for a while, running his hands through your hair before he sadly rinsed all the shampoo out. You felt him squeeze the excess water out of your hair before he moved your head back to its normal position.

He leaned back then to lay against the back of the bath and he brought you with him slowly. You were lying on him and you could feel his straining cock against your ass but he never mentioned it or acted like he cared. You weren't quite sure what to do now and your mind once more turned to try to figure out what to say. As if he could read your mind, he spoke.

“Just relax,” he said softly, his voice soothing. One of his hands was rubbing soothing circles on your stomach and you willed your body to do as he said. It didn't take much effort. Between all the lavender and your body being a mess, you were exhausted. And it felt nice to just be here like this with Billy taking care of you. So you shut your eyes and your body melted against his. You weren't sure how long you both lay like that, unspeaking but relaxed. The water had started to lose some of its heat and you were sure your fingers were starting to wrinkle. But as you started to drift off to sleep, he carefully eased you to sit up. You blinked tiredly, stifling a yawn as you tried to wake up more. He’d paid for your time and here you were, falling asleep. He moved from behind you and got out of the bath, grabbing a towel as he started to dry himself. You watched with sleepy eyes, admiring him while he wasn't looking as he only put his black boxers back on. He came back over to you then, helping you stand up slowly. He wrapped a big fluffy towel around your shoulders before he grabbed you, mindful of your ribs as he picked you up and plonked your feet on the bathroom floor. You smiled wryly at him and he gave you a smirk before he started drying you. He dried every inch of you and you didn't think it was possible to wish you were healed any more than you did in that moment. He was torturing you. Once he was done, he towel-dried your hair for you and you were grateful. You were far too tired to use a hairdryer. He helped you step into your panties and slipped your t-shirt back over your head, guiding your arms through the holes. Then, he took your hand and led you out of the bathroom and into your bedroom.

Your bed felt like it was screaming at you, calling out to you. But you tried to resist it. He’d paid you a lot of money for essentially doing nothing but sit there and get taken care of. You couldn't be a bitch and fall asleep on him. He led you right to the bed, which would only make not falling asleep harder, but when he moved away, you knew he was waiting for you to get in. You climbed into bed under the covers, laying on your back as your eyes followed him. He moved to the other side of the bed and got in next to you, moving to face you.

“Turn around,” he muttered expectantly. You rolled over slowly onto your unbruised side, wondering what he was going to do next. You felt so sleepy and it was hard to keep your eyes open. You were about to open your mouth to tell him this wasn't a good idea, that you were minutes away from sleep. But then he was pressed against you, his arm snaking under your pillow and neck, wrapping around you. His other arm came around you too, splaying on your stomach, and it wasn't lost on you that he’d strategically avoided the bruise. His body was warm against yours and it felt nice. You’d never cuddled with him before, not even in your post-sex haze after he’d fucked the brains right out of you. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before sweetly rubbing his nose against your neck. You smiled to yourself as your eyes drifted shut.

“Just rest, sweetheart,” he soothed, making you hum softly in reply. It didn't take long to fall asleep wrapped in his arms like that.

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you were aware of was how your body ached like a grade-A bitch. Every inch of you felt like it was on fire and you realized you had no choice but to take a couple of days off to recover. Your body just wasn't ready for work right now and the night before had been a bad idea. You’d go in on the day Billy would be coming in though. You didn't want to miss that. You wondered if he’d offer to take care of you again if you weren't in better shape. Part of you hoped he would. Thinking of Billy, you carefully rolled onto your back and glanced to the other side of the bed, sadly finding it empty. You winced as you forced yourself to sit up, eyes sweeping the room. There was no sign of him, not even a note. And from the silence in your apartment, you knew he wasn't here anymore. You felt disappointment settle in your stomach like a stone. You really hoped to at least thank him for how he took care of you and it wasn't like you had his number to text him. Maybe it was easier for him that way though. He didn't seem the type to do this kind of stuff normally. Maybe he felt uncomfortable and wanted to get the fuck out of dodge. You wouldn't hold it against him, not after how he’d cared for you. He had no need to do that and you still couldn't quite understand why he’d bothered. You sighed to yourself as you forced your body to get out of bed. You needed to call Jerry and let him know you needed a few days off. Your body really wasn't happy with you.

—--------

You leaned against the elevator wall as it went up to your apartment. It had been two weeks and your body had recovered nicely and things were back to normal. Well, mostly. Billy hadn't been by since that night he’d taken care of you. You wondered if things were ruined now. Wondered if maybe he’d been embarrassed or something. All you knew was that you missed him. On all the days he was supposed to come, you watched the door with bated breath, only to find he didn't turn up. You knew it was stupid getting attached to a customer like this, but Billy was different. You connected with him on a level you’d never experienced with any other customer before. You’d broken so many rules with him the night you allowed him at your place. One of the biggest rules at Jerry’s was not to take business home. Customers were never supposed to know where the girls lived. You were also not supposed to conduct business outside of the premises. But you’d taken Billy’s money and allowed him to do what he wanted. But since it wasn’t by the rules, you hadn’t disclosed that to Jerry. Which meant you got to keep every penny as Jerry usually took a small cut of the extra money. You’d be worried something bad happened to Billy with him not turning up once if it wasn't for one thing. Every night you got home from work, there was a single flower laid just outside of your apartment door. There was never a note, nothing to accompany it. Just one single flower. And after two weeks of it, you were slowly assembling a nice bouquet of flowers. There was no way for certain to know if it was Billy but you just knew in your gut it was him. Not many people knew where you lived and you knew it wasn't any of them. But the idea of Billy coming here to leave flowers for you made your stomach flip around on you like a fish out of water. It was an intimate and soft gesture that no one had ever bothered to bestow you before. You had wondered why he didn't just turn up at your place when you were there, he knew what time you got off work. But again, maybe he didn't want to face you. Maybe this was new and strange for him. You honestly had no idea what went on in that head of his. He seemed like he didn't know either half of the time.

As you stepped out of the elevator, you frowned softly as disappointment wrapped around you. There was no flower tonight. You wondered why. Maybe he was done now, maybe there would be no more flowers. You tried not to be bothered by it as you went inside. The flowers were in a large vase on the dining table. It was a mix of lilac-colored roses, wine-colored carnations, white snapdragons, and pink alstroemeria. You idly wondered if he was getting them one by one or if he’d bought a bouquet and was taking care of them as he sent them over to you. Either way, they were beautiful. Your brain had been in non-stop mode since Billy decided to stop seeing you and you hadn’t been sleeping well. The scent of him in your bed had long faded which made you sad and you weren't sure if he’d ever show his face again. So with a deep sigh, you moved into your bedroom and got into your tank and short pajamas. Knowing you wouldn't be able to sleep, you moved back into the living room and turned on the TV as you curled up on the sofa, hoping to find something to watch. You were flicking through the channels feeling bored when there was a loud frantic knocking at your door. You sat up, squinting at the door. The loud rapping happened again so you stood and hurried to the door. When you swung it open, Billy was standing there. Billy who was covered in blood, breathing heavily and a wild look in his eyes like he was about to snap.

“Oh my god, Billy!” you gasped, yanking him inside and slamming the door shut. Your brain was firing off on all cylinders as you lifted his t-shirt, eyes rapidly looking for the wound the blood had come from.

“It's not my blood,” he muttered tensely. He was holding his body tightly and unmoving. You glanced up at his words but your hand was still fisting his shirt. Maybe you should have been scared by his words or the dark look in his eyes. Maybe you should have gasped and moved away from him, cowering in fear. Yet you did neither. You didn't move from where you were, right in front of him.

“Whose is it?” you asked calmly. You weren’t sure if it was the lack of fear of judgment in your tone but his body seemed to relax, but the crazed look in his eyes didn't waver.

“The guy that did that to you,” he stated simply, voice holding a barely concealed rage. You blinked at him for a moment as your brain tried to digest what he’d just told you.

“You killed him?” you asked carefully. Again, you weren't scared. And honestly, you didn't hold any remorse either. The guy wasn't a good person and you doubted you’d been his first victim, nor be his last. Billy’s eyes seemed to dart everywhere at once before they landed back on you and he nodded.

“Asshole hurt you, tried to… I don’t take to kindly to someone fuckin’ with my girl,” he bit out. His words made warmth bloom in your chest as you looked at his raw and vulnerable face. You weren't quite sure what to say because thank you didn't seem enough on its own. So you closed what little distance was between you, leaning up and placing a kiss on his lips.

He didn't move at first. Didn’t react at all like he was in shock. But then his bloodied hand came to your face, his other your waist as he kissed you back. It was the most tender kiss you’d shared with him. There were no feral intentions, no desperate need for each other. It was slow and sweet. When you moved away, you gave him a smile.

“Thank you,” you murmured sincerely. His face lit up at your words, a smile on his own face. It was different to all of the others you'd seen him wear though. It was boyish, almost shy as he ducked his head with a shrug. You weren't quite sure what to do or say now, but your eyes drifted to his blood-soaked clothes and skin.

“We need to get you in the shower,” you mused, already thinking about how to dispose of his clothes. You weren't about to let him go away for this. Not when he’d done it for you. You felt like a weight had been lifted knowing that asshole was dead. Especially after what he’d done to your car. It had been in the shop since and Elissa had been giving you a ride to and from work. You knew he wouldn't have let this go and you’d always be looking over your shoulder. And you’d also had nightmares about it. Something you weren't quite proud of. But now you didn't need to worry, didn't need to fear he’d pop up out of nowhere like the first time he’d attacked you because he was gone. Billy nodded, allowing you to lead him to the bathroom.

“I love the flowers by the way,” you said softly, glancing at him as he stripped.

“Good,” he stated simply, not looking at you. You could see he was feeling a little bashful so you decided not to press it. You moved to turn the shower on, messing with the settings and Billy moved behind you. He settled his hands on your hips, nuzzling your neck sweetly and you smiled. It was strange. Billy had been a whirlwind since he’d come into your life, making you feel things you’d never felt before. He made you feel upside down and inside out and more vulnerable than ever in your life. You never thought you’d find someone to care about you this much, and you knew now that he did care. And you’d admit you cared about him too. You couldn't believe you’d found someone who would do anything for you. Including literally murdering someone. You couldn't lie to yourself any longer, he wasn't just a customer to you, not anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine

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