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corroded-hellfire · 18 days

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Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father.

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground.

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once.

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day.

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room.

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door.

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response.

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter.

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table.

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.”

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile.

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes.

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking.

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms.

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink.

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return.

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.”

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother.

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof.

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side.

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes.

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes.

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out.

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin.

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer.

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention.

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess.

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived.

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them.

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter.

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip.

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten.

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge.

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand.

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her.

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room.

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you.

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye.

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens.

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show.

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet.

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips.

“Comfy, are we?” he asks.

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode.

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar.

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off.

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist.

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.”

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons.

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks.

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap.

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return.

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble.

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you.

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him.

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder.

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair.

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table.

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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enslaughts · 2 years

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juggling blogs is killing me inside but i PROMISE i am here and lurking in my drafts whenever i hop on and am still so excited to write with y’all <3

#out.#ignore all the ooc - posting it's my blog and i'll clown if i want etc etc #becoming my matto across blogs #as i write zero replies but make sure to hop on all of them once a day </3 i am full of so many bad ideas doctors hate me #i've been lurking on my will mostly but five is kicking into gear thanks to tua's season drop but ryan is hovering over my shoulder #at ALL times like an obnoxious little sibling..... go away dude [but don't<3]

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possessmedude · 5 months

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Venom Muscle Possession - Part 1

Ryan was a hot young jock, but he wanted to make more progress on his body. He has been working out every day for over a year and can’t seem to make his muscles bigger. They were a good size, but he wanted them much bigger. He was getting undressed in the locker room when the Venom symbiote noticed him. Venom needed a new host and could sense the eagerness in Ryan. After observing Ryan’s tight body, Venom knew he would be a great new body for him.

Ryan had finished undressing and looked around to the empty locker room. He heard something behind him and he turned to see Venom manifesting into his humanoid form. His jaw dropped as he saw the large, muscular symbiote standing before him. Venom stuck his long tongue out of his mouth and into Ryan’s, going deep into his body. The feeling was euphoric and Ryan clinched his body and muscles. Venom’s tongue snapped back into his own mouth and he smiled. Ryan stumbled and looked back at Venom while admiring his huge muscles. He could feel a connection between his body and Venom’s, a yearning to be one.

“What do you want?” Ryan asked. Venom smiled saying “I need a new host to be my body and you’re the perfect vessel to host me.” “So you want to take over my body?” Venom licked his lips and said “Basically, yes. But it would be my body now.” “Why would I let you do that?” Ryan asked. Venom stepped closer to Ryan, grabbing his hands and putting them above his head and pinning him to the lockers. Venom put his head into Ryan’s pits and inhaled, breathing in his manly twink scent. “I see how you look at the other men in this gym with jealousy over their muscular bodies, and their big cocks. Let me inside you and you’ll be the alpha male, you’ll have all my muscles, and a huge dick.”

Ryan couldn’t believe it, but he looked at Venom with such admiration - he wanted every drop of him inside him. Ryan said “Do it, take my body” and then threw himself at Venom. Venom embraced Ryan’s body and started unraveling and wrapping himself around Ryan’s tight, muscular body.

Ryan felt Venom slithering over his body like a second layer of skin. It felt absolutely amazing, he reveled in bliss as Venom slithered his way up his torso, tightening around his biceps, then spreading to cover his cock and balls, all while caressing them while he spread. Ryan was so excited and loved the feeling Venom gave his body, he couldn’t wait. “Yes Venom, fucking take my body. Give me all of you - I want it all!” Ryan yelled.

Ryan’s body jerked backwards into the locker, with his hands above his head. He wasn’t in control of the parts of his body Venom has spread to. He involuntarily flexed his biceps then felt up his muscles which Venom was making even bigger. The symbiote was spreading up his neck and Ryan began smiling at the thought of another man controlling his body. “Come get me man!” Ryan yelled as Venom’s head hovered in front of Ryan’s face. Venom then shoved his head into Ryan’s face and his classic Venom face formed over Ryan’s.

“Fuck, you feel great Ryan, thanks for the body” Venom said while cracking his new neck. “This is only the first part to make sure you feel good, now comes the good part.” Venom started to turn into goo again and started flowing from all parts of Ryan’s body into his open mouth. With Venom still in control and Ryan in the backseat, Ryan’s body was chugging the symbiote down, even pushing as much as he could into his mouth. Ryan still felt everything and loved the sensation of the cool symbiote sliding down his throat and filling out his big, buff body.

He felt Venom sliding into his leg making them huge, filling his abs with chiseled definition, pumping up his big pecs, and sliding into his arms and making his biceps and triceps enormous.

Then Venom slid into his cock and caused it to grow to a full 13”, followed by pumping into his balls, making them huge and fall with a thud. Ryan’s body groaned and stretched as the remaining drops of the symbiote entered his body.

Ryan’s new incredibly buff body relaxed as Venom settled into his new host. He grabbed his jockstrap and took a deep whiff. “Fuck, you smell like such a man. Well…I smell like such a man.” Ryan smirked. Lifting his hairy armpit to his nose, he took a deep whiff and smiled, with his cock getting erect at the manly smell. Venom’s long tongue came out of Ryan’s mouth and licked his pit and biceps. “Delish” Ryan said, while flexing in the mirror.

Ryan decided to go lift weights in the gym to further bond the symbiote and human body by tearing and rebuilding their muscles together.

Ryan walked out onto the gym floor with manly cockiness. All the guys in the gym stared at him in shock and awe of how quickly he bulked up so much.

A jock named Brock, who used to be bigger than Ryan, approached Ryan in the locker room. “Hey man, what’s gotten into you? What’s your secret?” he asked. “A big boost, want some of it?” Brock responded with a “fuck yeah!” Ryan smirked and said “Open wide”. Brock, confused, did as instructed and opened his mouth wide open.

Ryan grabbed him and started shoving his tongue down Brock’s throat. Brock was confused and his initial instinct was to push Ryan off of him. But he continued to embrace Ryan, and then he felt something entering his mouth. He began to panic but Ryan had him locked in place. Brock felt a second symbiote slithering down his throat and beginning to fill out his body. It spoke to him in his head “You are my new body now. Accept me, let me in. We will be one. We will be as big as Ryan. You want this, you want to have his strength.” Brock was resistant but then started flexing and feeling the strength filling his body. “We will be huge together. Our body will be a beast among men. All men will crave your body, our body.” Brock’s cock started to grow at the arousal. Brock accepted the symbiote and chugged it deeper into his throat.

Ryan released his lips from Brock as the last of the symbiote spawn slithered down Brock’s throat. Brock’s body squirmed around while the new symbiote got adjusted in his body. Ryan watched his symbiote spawn take over Brock’s muscular body limb by limb and enjoyed every second of it. Brock’s body had grown in size and mass similar to how Ryan’s did. The last of the symbiote traveled up Brock’s throat ready to reach his brain and take complete control of his body. Brock was smiling as he felt the symbiote traveling to his head. “Fuck yeah man!!! I’m fucking huge! Give it to me!!” he yelled. Brock’s eyes rolled back into his head and he stumbled backward. A smirk slowly grew across Brock’s face as the symbiote was now in full control. Brock started flexing his muscles and feeling his body, rubbing his cock and balls. “How does it feel?” Ryan asked. Brock said “Amazing” as he continued to flex his huge biceps.

Ryan stepped toward Brock and began feeling his symbiote bonded body. The two began to make out, diving their abnormally long symbiotic tongues into each other’s mouths. Ryan took a deep whiff of Brock’s pits and licked them with his long tongue. Brock shivered in ecstasy at the feeling. Ryan slapped Brock’s naked ass and said “Come on, we have lots to do”.

To be continued…

#male transformation #gaymalepossession #male tf #gay tf #goopossession #malepossession #male body possession #malebodypossession #venompossession #venomsymbiote #venom #symbiotepossession #symbiote

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strangersmunsons · 3 months

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Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 8 Prompt: Rom-Coms 🎟️ ~ 2,400 words Watching a romantic comedy on TV brings back some memories for Eddie. (angst, w/ a hopeful ending)

Eddie taps the lit end of his cigarette into an ashtray, staring at the television screen with tired eyes. The bluish light casts an eerie glow about the room; it feels cold, sterile.

This has been his ritual for far too long now: go to work, come home, and watch some mind-numbing program alone until he falls asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

He yawns, and rubs his stubbly face with one hand. He should get in bed before he passes out on the couch — save his back the trouble — but instead he picks up the remote again, flicking through channels, waiting in vain for something stimulating.

Coca-Cola ad. Late night talk show interview. Some black and white picture from MGM. Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal. Sitcom rerun.

He pauses, thumb hovering over the button.

Eddie switches back to When Harry Met Sally. He rented it from Family Video once upon a time, but he hasn’t watched it in years. It feels like an eternity has passed since then and yet, he remembers it like it was yesterday.

That’s what every memory with you feels like to him; it’s both an old scar and a fresh wound. He doesn’t know what feels worse — the hot, gut-wrenching ache of longing that pains him now, or the knowledge that those memories, no matter how agonizing they may be, might start to fade one day.

But it seems an impossibility; he can recall every detail. He wets his lips, remembering how you had pleaded with him in line to rent this particular film, even though he’d been hoping to see the new Indiana Jones movie.

“Rob Reiner doesn’t make bad movies, Eddie. He did The Princess Bride, remember? Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

He relented, as he always did. Who was he to deny you anything?

But oh, how things change.

Pipe dreams turned to reality. Demo tapes turned to albums. Dive bar gigs turned to international tours. You, bravely avowing that he had to grab hold of every opportunity he could — you told him that no matter where in the world he went, you would always be here, loving him. All the while, secretly, the small pit of fear planted in your stomach was sprouting and unfurling as the distance between you two grew further, and the silences louder.

He should have tried harder. Came home more. Picked up the Goddamn phone. He’d always had to call you; it was too difficult to get a hold of him yourself, to keep track of where he might be, when he was traveling constantly.

And then that awful night, when he’d lost everything. Everything that mattered, anyway.

It was the last time he ever saw or spoke to you. Hours of arguing, pleading, crying; it was the death rattle of the most important relationship of his life. You finally told him what you were afraid of, what you had been afraid of, and that it had come true.

“I’m just a girl from back home, Eddie.”

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were never just a girl to Eddie. Not then, not now. Not ever. But what difference had it made? When the time had come for him to make a choice, he had still walked out the door.

The world was being presented to Eddie Munson on a silver platter. He was young, up-and-coming, successful. A talented musician — gifted, even. He had the right look and the attitude.

Being his partner wasn’t easy. Your support was unwavering, but your lives were going in different directions, it seemed. You both loved each other enough to want the other person to have what they wanted, which were…no longer the same things.

But it was still horrible.

He spent the next few weeks in a near-fugue state, numb and inconsolable. His bandmates whispered to each other in the studio, casting furtive glances over at their supposedly-invincible leader, while the rest of their team offered him pseudo-smiles tinged with impatience, and suggested that he focus on channeling the pain towards his music.

After that, when he had the time, he’d leave LA and come back to the city he’d initially dragged you out to after graduation. He had no idea if you still lived there, but it didn’t matter. It was the last place he knew you to be and so he wandered those familiar streets, looking for you in every person he passed, as though it were likely that he might bump into you at a bus stop, outside the grocery, sitting on a park bench.

It was a luxury he could afford until Corroded Coffin started to fall apart. Disputes between band members, both personal and professional. Declining album sales. Bad management. Once sold-out venues were a struggle to fill. The once-steady flow of cash turned into a trickle, and then the boys were unceremoniously dropped from label, the execs deciding that keeping them around wasn’t worth the expense.

He supposes he could have stayed in the industry if he really wanted to. Formed a new band or begged to join another that was in need of a guitarist, but Corroded Coffin was his baby. The idea of starting all over again or leeching off of another group’s success left a bad taste in his mouth. And the producing gigs and session work somehow felt even worse; he dreaded having to watch others succeed at what he had ended up failing.

Fame had chewed him up, decided it didn’t like the flavor, and promptly spit him back out. His music career felt like a fever dream now. His life before that, with you, was the realest thing he’d ever had.

As he watches Harry and Sally dine together at Katz’s Deli, his mind wanders to the slip of paper stowed carefully away like a sacred jewel, all alone in a drawer of his bedside table.

No, he won’t.

Harry and Sally fall apart.

He won’t dare.

Harry runs through Manhattan to find his girl.

Not after everything he’s done, after all this time.

Harry tells her all the reasons that he loves her…

Eddie abruptly switches the TV off, unable to hear anymore. He sits in the darkness for a moment, aching with bone-weary sadness. What had Dustin told him, as he passed the paper to him across the table over lunch one day?

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

But Dustin was wrong about that. It could hurt him very, very much.

Eddie stands, and pads through the apartment to his bedroom. He sits on the side of the bed, and pulls open the drawer that holds his very last tie to you — a scrap of old receipt bearing your name and phone number. He picks it up with trembling fingers, then lowers it again, terrified that his clammy hands with smudge the ink. The phone seems to taunt him from where it sits atop the nightstand. As though he’s having an out of body experience, Eddie’s arm reaches out beyond his control and picks it up, the dial tone emitting a low buzz in his ear. He stares down at the number in the drawer, as though he didn’t memorize it the second he got it. He doesn’t even know how Dustin found you; but the geeky little shit has his ways.

He punches in the number, heart racing faster with each digit he puts in.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“Hello?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open in a low gasp. Your sweet voice is the same, only slightly marred by the bewilderment you must feel at receiving a call this late in the evening. Embarrassingly, his eyes sting with tears; he can’t speak.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Eddie slams the phone back into the receiver, white as a sheet. He gets up, paces a lap around the room, chugs a glass of water, and finally takes his seat again, trying not to hyperventilate.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he picks up the phone again, and re-dials.

His heart is in his throat now, swollen and beating so violently it threatens to choke him.

Your voice again, slightly more annoyed, though you still sound like an angel. “Hello?”

“H-Hi,” Eddie says hoarsely, and tries to swallow his fear.

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “...who is this?”

“It’s me. It’s…it’s Eddie. Munson,” he tacks his surname on at the end, as though he needs to specify.

Muffled noise through the speaker. The seconds tick by, and Eddie waits with dread for you to hang up.

Finally, you whisper, “Eddie?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“H-How did you get this number?”

He has the phone in a vice grip. “Dustin gave it to me.”

“Why…why are you calling?” He wishes he could see your expression. You sound terrified, like he’s going to bite you through the phone.

How can he answer that? What is there to say, after so much time, after so much pain? I miss you. I love you. None of it was worth it, even when I was on top. Losing you was like being cut in half.

“I wanted to see how you were. How you are, I mean.”

“I’m okay.” The response is quick, automatic. But you don’t elaborate any further than that, and awkward silence prevails again.

Eddie deserves that, he supposes. Sweat trickles down his back, under his arms, breaks out on his forehead. He pushes his damp bangs back out of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipping out as though a day hasn’t gone by where you haven’t been his sweetheart.

“Don’t call me that,” you tell him tersely, sounding pained.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, ashamed. He had no right to do this to you. Drudge up old memories that you probably wanted to forget, or had so already.

“What is this about?” you ask him again, voice shaking.

“I told you,” he mumbles, “I want to know how you are. And I guess…I want to apologize.”

“You want to apologize,” you repeat skeptically, with an incredulous huff. “Now? Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes glazed and wet. A dry sob rattles his chest. “I don’t what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t be…I’m sure you hate me and I don’t blame you, because I do too.” He wets his lips and presses on. “But if I can take this time to say one thing to you it’s that I’m sorry. For everything. I am so fucking sorry. For leaving, for hurting you, for every stupid little thing I did. That’s why I really called. To tell you that.”

“Oh God,” you say, almost to yourself, voice suddenly small. “I — I’m not ready for this.”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, voice breaking, closing his eyes, letting the tears slip over his lashes.

“Are you crying?”

He wipes furiously at his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Eddie can’t lie to you, certainly not now. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Your voice…”

“That — that came out sharper than I meant it to —”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful. I missed it.”

“Eddie…”

“Yeah?”

You start to speak and then falter, struggling to articulate what it is that you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what to say.”

Eddie laughs brokenly. “Funny, because there’s a million things I want to say to you. I just don’t know if I should or not.”

You swallow with an audible click. “I don’t know if you should, either.”

Another silence. Eddie thinks he could pick out the sound of your breathing from a mile away, he’s still so in tune with it. After hundreds of nights spent laying next to you in bed, no other sound could send him to dreaming so quickly or peacefully.

“But why call now? After all this time?”

“I miss you.” The words escape before he has a chance to stop them; he bites his tongue against the rest of them. He considers his next words carefully before continuing.

“I never reached out before, because I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I didn’t deserve to ask you for another chance, and I don’t think I do now, either, but…I was thinking of you tonight. Even more so than usual.”

Your voice shakes. “Does…does that happen often?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “All the time.” The floodgates open; all his woe and regret from the past spills forward. “I am always, always thinking of you. Even when you thought I wasn’t. I know I was a shitty partner, but that didn’t mean — that I didn’t love you more than anything.”

“Eddie —”

But he can’t stop now. “I’ve missed you like hell since that very last night. I loved you so much, a-and I threw it away! How could I bring myself to speak to you after that? Especially after I lost it all? I would — God — I would hate for you to think that I was only coming back to you because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t wanna hurt you again, baby, and I know it would’ve.”

There’s a quiet sniffle on the other line. “It broke me when you left. And now this hurts, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I wish I could make it better. I would do anything to make you not hurt anymore. I won’t ask you for a second chance, but just know,” Eddie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and seals his fate. “I’ve loved you for more than half my life,” he whispers. “I’ll love you until I die.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

Eddie stares at nothing, doesn’t move. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for; eventually, his body moving on autopilot, he hangs up the phone and crawls under the covers. He’s done sobbing, but tears drip down his temples as he lays back in bed, dampening his hair.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, but he hopes he’ll fall asleep soon anyway.

Breathing, quiet and even. Eyelids slightly heavier. He thinks maybe it’s finally within reach.

He’s almost there.

The phone rings.

Eddie blindly feels with one arm, and picks it up from the receiver for the third time tonight.

“Hello?” he asks hoarsely, not daring to believe it.

An angel answers.

“E-Eddie? It’s me again…”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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seeingivy · 8 months

Text

lacy, oh lacy

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: oopsie. mentions of blood/injury. I think drinking is like briefly mentioned at one point.

an: ok. ok. the song line up in this one is so random i swear.

songs mentioned: peace by taylor swift, city of stars by ryan gosling and emma stone, promiscuous by nelly, lacy by olivia rodrigo

previous part linked here

You return home and stay there for an entire month, despite protests from Danny and Sareen. But anytime they try to push back, you remind them.

Your older brother split his head open because someone threw a brick through his window. Because of a situation they got you involved in.

Granted, they’re not fully to blame since you did agree to it, but Levi and Hange vehemently disagree. The two of them were very passionate about the fact that managers have a responsibility to protect their artists and the fact that Danny and Sareen even asked you to do something like this has them fuming. And by them, you mean Levi. He yelled at them on the phone after the pictures dropped.

Regardless, your contract with them won’t be over until the end of the year. The only way you can terminate is if you break the deal with the record company, but then you have to promise them majority royalties that you make with any other songs you release until the two years are up.

Which isn’t bad. You could just not write music for two years. But there’s some sense of loyalty, a need to maintain face so someone else does sign with you later on, you’ve proved you’ll be loyal. And that your records won’t suffer because of internal politics.

But for now, all you’re focused on is Colt and Falco.

Falco, who is quite literally a human cat (in the cute way, not the Catoru Gojo way), is currently nestled up in your lap and fast asleep. After two hours of playing Rocket League, which you actually suck at, and then another two hours of arguing about how stupid the game is (cars playing soccer???), he finally passed out.

Colt knocks, the scar along his hairline bright red, as he hands you a bowl of cereal and settles onto your bed with his laptop. Which he’s been doing often lately - lingering around in your room, never leaving you alone. Hovering.

He’s applying for summer internships, because apparently that’s a thing that normal people and not celebrities do. Not that you would know anything about that.

“Thanks Colt.”

He gives you a hum as he types away on his laptop, his jaw clenched in concentration. But all you can do is stare at that bright red line near his golden blonde hair and how angry it looks. There’s four sets of stitches in place, the area around the entire mark so pink and swollen. And he’s blinking too hard, eyes squinting at the laptop even though the brightness is all the way down. Meaning, his head is still hurting. You make a mental note to call the doctor again tomorrow.

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Quit staring.”

“I’m not staring. And stop being so loud, Coco is sleeping.” you whisper.

“Were you born yesterday? He’d sleep through the apocalypse if he had to.”

You bring your hand down to Falco’s hair, soft under your touch, as he snores into your legs.

“Not lately. Y-yesterday, he came into my room crying in the middle of the night. Said he had a nightmare of glass shattering but it was just someone parking across the street.”

Colt looks over, his glasses resting against his nose, and gives Falco a worried look.

“He just- he was there when it happened, that’s all.” Colt murmurs, voice all quiet.

“You never told me what did happen.”

Colt closes the screen of his laptop and sets the computer in between you, as he readjusts on his side. His hand is now in Falco’s hair, making a mess of his already matted hair.

“I-I was sitting in your room.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I do that when I miss you. Just sit in here, with Chelsea and all these god awful posters you have.”

You smile, reaching forward to squeeze his hand which he rolls his eyes at.

“You’re cute. You miss me?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay, Jesus.”

“Falco came to sit with me too. Also, he totally ate chocolate on your bed and spilled some on the carpet.”

“Remind me to kill him when he wakes up. Is that what’s under that god awful rug you guys put in here?” you respond, grating your teeth.

He ignores the comment all together and keeps going.

“I kept getting a lot of texts from my classmates and stuff like that, like a few hours after. About the pictures of you and the rumors and all that. And I called you and Eren picked up and he told me about how you came to him, all bloody and cold. He told me that you were finally sleeping so he didn’t wake you. Said to call him back if I needed something.”

Sweet, sweet Eren.

“And then I heard it. This rustling, by the side doors. Now, I know that Sandra putting the trash cans back is really loud from your room, but it was Friday. Trash day is on Tuesday. So I peeked my head out the window to see what the noise was and that’s when they threw the brick. It went through the glass and hit me.”

You clench his hand, which he shakes his head at. He’s rubbing small circles into your skin as he keeps going, his voice so hollow it bothers you.

“I fell over. Started bleeding onto your carpet and Falco finally noticed. And, and he was holding my head trying to stop the bleeding. He figured it was the right thing to do after how much Grey’s Anatomy you’ve forced him to watch. Mom and Dad came in and I told them to call Eren and not you, because you were probably still asleep. Eren sent us a security detail super fast, he said it’s the one he’s been using since he was a kid so we can trust them. They got here in like twenty minutes and did the stitches on me.”

You look at him and he wraps his arms around you, Falco meshed in between the two of you. And you stay that way for a while, in each other's embrace, as the guilt sits with you. And when Colt falls asleep too, you reach for your notebook and scribble the lyrics down.

As long as danger is near And it's just around the corner, darling 'Cause it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

You slide out of their embrace, leaving the two of them tangled on your bed as you hike your knees to your chest and sit on the floor to write properly. And when you lift the rug on the ground out of curiosity and piece it all together - that they’re covering up the dark, brown mark of Colt’s blood on your carpet, you keep writing.

I’ll give you my sunshine, give you my best But the rain is always going to come if you’re standing with me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Your phone buzzes three times and you reach for it, sliding it open to read the notification.

eren: attachment, two images

eren: saw you earlier today. ur face card is insane.

You open up the picture, one of him and Lana in Los Angeles with a billboard of you in the back. You had seen them on Twitter, Spotify putting up big pictures of the Ribbons album cover, with Multi-Platinum in shiny letters right next to it.

The first picture is of Eren and Lana blowing kisses towards the billboard of you and the second is Eren choking Lana a few seconds after. The photos are live, so you hold down and watch Eren and Lana move in the picture, Eren’s laugh coming through.

you: please don’t choke my wife. she’s too hot to die young.

eren: i hate you guys. i really do.

you: are you jealous?

eren: you were mine first >:P

eren: how’s falco? he hasn’t responded to my text since yday :/

you: please stop texting my thirteen year old brother. you’re such a loser.

you: idk. he had a nightmare last night about what happened. i don’t think he’s taking it too well.

eren: it’s hard. he’s still so little. how’s colt?

you: his cut looks like it hurts and he keeps squinting at his computer still. i feel like he’s trying to put on a brave face for me or something.

eren: he’s older than you and he’s always taken care of you. he’s going to do that still, and you should just let him. how are you?

You pause.

You’re sick to your stomach. Because all you’ve been able to do is read what people say about you online. And what gets you, is that everyone thinks you’re so fake. And you think so hard, read so much into what they’re saying, that you almost start thinking it’s true.

Is the “I’m a small town Canadian girl an act?” You haven’t lived here in years. And you can’t say you’re not famous anymore - because you’ve literally broken records before, multiple times over. And you’re not really a fraud anymore, despite the fact that you still feel like one. You fake relationships, your friends don’t like you, and…and…..

You’re fake. Your mistakes are on display and some people think you deserve to die for it.

eren: where’d you go?

you: sorry. im trying my best to hold on. i was just writing a song.

eren: LEMME SEE.

you: no.

eren: LET ME SEE.

You take a picture of the lyrics, messily scribbled in your book and send him a picture. And then nearly a minute later, Eren’s name is flashing across your screen and he’s calling you. You quickly walk into Falco’s room and take a seat by his little balcony, sliding the call open.

“Hi Eren.”

“Oh, Y/N. Sweetheart.”

And at the sound of him calling you that, of him calling you sweetheart still, has tears burning down your face and tiny sobs leaving your mouth.

“If the rain is always going to come if I’m standing with you, I’ll just hold an umbrella.”

“Eren.”

“That’s how they feel about it too. Both of them. I know it’s different when it’s me because I understand, because we’re used to this, but they love you. You are enough for them, even if you come with this thing behind you. That you can’t control, mind you.”

“I know that, Eren. But I want them to have that, I want their lives to be peaceful and I want Falco to sleep through the night without waking up. I don’t want to give Colt to get hurt because of me-”

“Every time I call them, all I hear is them worried about you. That you’re going to pull away from them, because you’re scared of hurting them. And-and I told you how much it sucks when you’re on the other side of that. Granted, Zeke’s a sick fuck who did it to mess with me but…please don’t do that to Colt or Falco. You’re going to actually hurt them if you do that. Pull away.”

You pause, taking in Eren’s words. Eren and Zeke. Zeke got canceled and stopped talking to Eren all together. Insulted him, made fun of him, and didn’t say anything at all. And, and it hurt him so bad that when Eren told you, that he was crying.

No. You’re not doing that to Falco or to Colt. God forbid they feel like they’re unlovable because you can’t let them in.

“You-you’re right, Eren. Thanks. That-that actually helps.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I-I didn’t even realize. I forgot that this has happened to you. Are-are you okay? I know this type of thing can be triggering, I should have asked before.” you respond.

He’s quiet.

“Eren?”

“Yeah. It-it wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve-”

“No, no. I don’t mean like, it wasn’t easy and you shouldn’t have come to me. It was more…eye-opening I guess. It hadn’t happened in so long that I forgot about it. It was a harsh reality check when it was you of all people knocking on my door. I hate that I can’t protect you from these types of things.”

“I’m sorry, Eren. You-”

You pause. What do you say? What do you say to him when this is all he’s known? All he’ll ever know? And when you know all too well that there really is nothing he can do?

“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Knowing you’re here with me is enough.”

Fucking mind reader. You hate it when he does this.

“God. Quit reading my mind.”

“Can’t help it. I know you like the back of my hand. And I am saying that in earnest. This shit sucks, I’ve dealt with it forever. But you make things easy. Your presence is enough comfort, okay?”

There’s a beat on the phone call. He doesn’t speak and you don’t either. And you can feel your cheeks burning.

“Eren?”

“Hm?”

“Since when do you call my brothers?” you ask, sniffling.

“Ah, you know. Since it happened. But in all fairness, Falco calls me first most of the time.”

“How many times have you talked to him?”

“Like every day or every other day at least. Kid is so ridiculous.”

“Eren. You don’t even call me that much.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No, it’s not the same if I have to ask you to do it. And plus, your new best friend is probably going to get all mad at me.” you tease, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart. I’ll call you more, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t say yeah like that.”

“Like what?”

“God, Y/N. Quit flirting with me or I’m going to fall in love with you.”

Your heart does a somersault, a cartwheel, a back handspring, and everything in between. Eren throws blankets over your barbed wire and shamelessly flirts with you after like it’s nothing.

The song comes out in the middle of your preliminary press tour for Ten Things I Hate About You and instantly becomes a hot topic the interviewees focus on. You’ve been stuck working all day. You can’t even comment on whether or not the song is about you if you wanted to.

Historia released her latest single, for her new and upcoming album, called Lacy. And everyone thinks the song is about you, that it’s a response to dorothea. And when you get home from the warm lights nearly cooking you on the stage, you immediately run and pull up the video on your computer, Yuuta and Rika taking residence in your room while you do.

The music video is simple, a black and white video of Historia and Eren in a recording studio, singing the song. Eren’s nimble hands are plucking the strings of the guitar and Historia’s sweet, soft voice is carrying the vocals.

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time Watching, hidden in plain sight And ooh, I try, I try, I try But it takes over my life, I see you everywhere The sweetest torture one could bear

You keep listening, focusing intently on how anyone could even connect the song to you. Granted, from what you’re gathering, the song is about someone Historia knows that she idolizes, focuses on so much that it makes her feel bad about herself. Like an obsession.

You are put into constant competition with each other, down to the time your records come out. People make it a point to comment on who would become a triple threat first - her or you - or pigeon hole the tiniest details into some big feud between the two of you. The only time your song leaves the #1 spot on the top of the charts is when Historia releases a new one, the only time her movie falls in popularity is because yours comes out.

But that doesn’t mean it’s about you.

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots You got the one thing that I want Ooh, I try, I try, I try Try to rationalize, people are people But it's like you're made of angel dust

You freeze. That’s where the connection comes in. The ribbons in your hair. Not only is your record literally called Ribbons, but the entire tour, press, even the cover of the album is you with varying colors of ribbons in your hair.

If that’s true, then…Historia stopped talking to you because of it? Because people pit her against you one too many times and it makes her feel bad about herself? You reach for your phone.

you: eren.

eren: y/n. what can i do you for?

you: is lacy about me?

eren: just saw ur lip sync battle with sukuna. i’m inconsolable.

He’s changing the subject. Though, you were waiting for him to bring that up. Your final stop on the press tour before finishing and returning to filming was doing the infamous lip sync battle - with you and Sukuna against Yuuta and Rika. And in true Yuuta and Rika fashion, they did a super lovey dovey rendition of City of Stars, from La La Land. Which only made it funnier that you and Sukuna just sang Promiscuous and made it rain dollar bills on each other.

you: i’m sure your heart is very broken. but quit changing the subject.

eren: it is. i’ll never love again.

you: eren. answer the question. you know how much this entire hisu thing has bothered me.

eren: i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i can’t talk about things historia told me in confidence, as much as i want to.

you: eren. are you seriously telling me that historia stopped being my friend because OTHER PEOPLE were comparing us? that’s so stupid.

eren: don’t pigeon hole the lyrics. you don’t even know if it’s about you. and even if it is, give historia some slack. this entire thing we do is complicated. and she’s always felt things so deeply.

you: you’re a traitor. you’re supposed to be on my side.

eren: sometimes being the devil's advocate is being on your side.

you: don’t quote me back to me. being annoying isn’t a good look on you.

You throw your phone back and replay the song. Four times, each time doing exactly what Eren told you not to do and pigeonholing the lyrics. But you keep going over it in your head. That if it really is about you, then the way you are, the success you have is so obsessive for Historia that it made her start hating herself. That she feels like she can’t compare, so much so, that she’d avoid you all together.

It stings. You were girls together.

The last time you talked to Historia was months ago, when you were still taking your month off and staying with Colt and Falco. And even that was an exception to her normal radio silence and the miles she put between you two.

The call came in the middle of the night, right after you made sure Falco and Colt were both asleep. What you were expecting was Eren - who was too overprotective and kept calling to check if you were okay. But instead, Historia’s name and the picture of the two of you - fast asleep on the couch on the Attack on Titan set - was flashing across the screen.

“Y/N?”

“Hisu? Is it really you.”

She awkwardly laughs.

“Yeah. Hi. I was just calling to check up on you. I would take time off to come see you like everyone else but I’m stuck on set.”

“No problem. I-I’m staying home anyways. With Coco and Colt.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad, you-you never were one to take a break.”

You pause.

“So. Um-”

“You’re okay, right? I-I saw the pictures. The entire thing is really shitty and I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m about to go on release my album in a few months. Then go on tour. ”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching all the press. You’re amazing, I-I’m really excited to listen, yeah? I’ve always been your number one fan.”

There’s a beat. She doesn’t respond right away and the silence sticks in your mind, even if it’s only for a few seconds.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve always been really sweet.”

“You too, yeah?”

“Listen. I have to go. But take it easy, yeah?”

“Okay. Bye Hisu.”

It’s static.

You reach for your phone and pull up the chat between you and her and text.

you: just listened to lacy, hisu. another hit, once again.

And after you can’t help but think about it. Are these the compliments that hit like bullets on skin? She never responds. You take that as a yes.

You stare at the screen, eyes focused on the texts. That have been bothering you for a few days. Five texts, all left unanswered by Eren.

Your novelty is wearing off. Eren’s done talking to you.

You’re making it up. You’re making it up and it’s only because you’re so used to his quick witted responses that it’s bothering you. That he hasn’t responded yet. You read them over again, double, triple checking what you said.

you: saw this ugly toad ceramic at the store. reminded me of you.

you: i’ll buy it for you.

you: i think jean is going to propose to mika. and i know they’ve literally been together since we were fifteen but we are ONLY TWENTY TWO.

you: it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!!!

you: armin and i were thinking of coming down for your birthday! meet all ur lil set friends and see connie again and stuff :’)

It sits with you in a weird way. Because you know that he responded to Armin an hour ago, about his birthday. And said that it was best that you both didn’t come just because of how busy it was, that he’d probably only get to spend an hour with you guys.

Armin is insistent on going anyway. And you just miss Eren. Sukuna pads into the room and finds you like this, with your phone flat on your bed and the way you’re leaning over the covers and staring intently at it.

“Just climb in, why don’t you?” he mutters, falling flat on your bed.

“Hello to you too. Why are you in my trailer?”

“Bored. Lonely. Horny. Take your pick.”

You roll your eyes and side shuffle to make room for him, his stupid musky smell enveloping the air. What you were expecting to be an unpleasant co-star was anything but, because you and Sukuna have slowly been sweeping hearts.

From the way you guys argue during press, how Sukuna shamelessly flirts with you, to your shared need to fight with each other - you’re quickly ramping up the popularity around the rom-com you aren’t even done filming.

“So. What the fuck are you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

“Talk.” he says sternly, lifting his hand to knock on your head.

Absolute caveman.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure.”

“How are you so blunt?”

He turns over, a look of confusion spread on his face. You follow suit and turn over too, eyes focused on the tattoos that litter his skin. All the way around his neck and his arms and on instinct, you nervously reach for your own.

“Are you tired of being a pushover, Y/N?”

“What? I’m not a pushover, I’m just-”

You stop. Maybe not the word you would use, people pleaser seems more like the explanation for it. Maybe if you cared less about Eren, about what he thought of you, it would be easier. Maybe if you wanted him less it would be easier to be his friend.

“I’m going to tell you something and you can’t repeat it to anyone, doll. I’m trusting you here, okay?”

“Okay. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I learned quickly that you can’t let anyone have a pull on you. Because when you do, you’ll do anything. Believe anything. And it’ll be your downfall if you let it.”

You take in his words. And he doesn’t talk for a while, eyes focused on the brown ceiling of your trailer.

“I went a long time without doing what I felt was right. What people were pulling me to do this and that, what I had to do. And when I reached a certain point, I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror.” he says.

“Well, I hardly doubt it was thousands, Sukuna. You’re quite irritating.”

He brings his hand down on your face, laughing. His face is uncharacteristically soft and he resembles Yuuji too much. Granted, they are fucking twins but the expression - it’s one you’ve only seen reflected on his face and never Sukuna’s.

“You’re tolerable when you’re like this, Y/N. You’re always such a pain in the fucking ass.”

“You’re normal like this. It’s nice. You should do it more often.”

There’s a beat. And he’s thinking.

“Being blunt is the only way I’m sure. That I’m being myself, because that’s what’s coming to mind. And in a place where almost everyone is lying, trying to pit everyone else against each other and bring them down for entertainment, honesty is the only way I make it out.”

You nod, sinking in his words. Thinking back to Sukuna, when you met him. When he was on again and off again with Hyla, how he said that he would just get pulled so deeply into things that he didn’t even realize what was going on till he was out of it. That it was blinding.

“So what was bothering you?”

“Ah. You know, the whole Historia thing.”

He laughs.

“Lacy, oh lacy. Skin like puff pastry.”

You snort.

“I can’t even tell if that’s a compliment or not. Aren’t puff pastries really dry and crumbly?”

“I think she meant to say pasty. Like a ghost.” he responds.

“I don’t know, Sukuna. I guess I feel bad. That we’re always in competition and that it seems like my mere existence just makes it hard for her.”

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You know what Historia does when she puts you on a pedestal?”

“What?”

“Gives herself no room to stand next to you. And leaves you up there alone.” he says, the tone in his voice definitive.

You pause.

“When the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Beauty and brains, Y/N. There isn’t a thing I can’t do.” he responds, giving you a stupid smirk.

The pictures drop on Twitter three weeks later, on your last week of filming, and give you a bittersweet reaction. The first one, when you see it, makes your heart drop. Maybe even break a little.

Eren and Hyla, all curled up on a yacht kissing each other. Eren looks great, phenomenal even, and people make no point to keep that information to themselves. He’s getting more and more fit as time goes on, the stupid sunglasses he’s wearing, and his hair long again - people are going feral for Eren Jaeger. And Hyla is Hyla - gorgeous, brilliant, and beautiful.

Granted, this entire feeling is on you for making the assumption. That Eren taking care of you after the Ricky thing, that you guys constantly text again like you used to, is any inclination that he likes you. Especially when he started slipping away.

It’s simple. Eren’s your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. You dropped the ball and let him go and now he’s someone else’s.

You’re fish together because you’re friends, because you get each other. And that alone is a testament to your relationship. That it can’t be replaced.

But it doesn’t make it sting any less. Especially when he gives you no warning beforehand.

But in a nice, karmic way, the second picture makes it all better. It’s Eren throwing up over the side of the boat. Right after kissing Hyla.

Eren and his sensitive stomach save the day. He’s trending for both how great he looks and for how ridiculous it is that he literally vomited after kissing his girlfriend.

“Sukuna. Come here.”

“Hm? What do you want?”

“Let’s send him a picture.” you say, pointing at the pictures.

Sukuna, in true Sukuna fashion, has printed out both pictures and framed them for the trailer.

For Sukuna, the entire ordeal is priceless. Because Eren and Hyla being together is funny, but Hyla being so atrocious that Eren throws up after they kiss is even funnier. He’s already tweeted so much about it that everyone’s dying over Sukuna and how petty he is. Truly, the only person who could get away with this.

You debate addressing the elephant in the room with Eren. Granted, calling a model like Hyla an elephant is almost ironic but, you digress.

If it was a big deal, he would give you a warning. So you shouldn't. But maybe you should tell him you don't care and that it's okay that he's with her.

What are you saying? He doesn't need your permission. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You put the frame against the mirror, making sure Eren can see you and Sukuna laughing in the reflection as you take a picture of the frame. And the fact that Sukuna’s not wearing a shirt, that he’s leaning all over you, should trigger some type of reaction. Or you at least hope it will.

“Give him hell, doll. Stupid prick.” he says, shuffling away back to the other side of his trailer.

You give him a smile as you slide open your phone, sending him the picture. And then you follow and plop onto Sukuna’s bed, which has him nearly trying to cut off your circulation by smothering a pillow in your face.

A gentleman.

you: eren jaeger, the man that you are

eren: FUCKING STOP. JEAN IS ALREADY DOGGING ME ON TWITTER.

you: an instant classic. you are never living this down, my friend.

you: the fact that connie has said nothing yet is almost concerning. this has him written all over it.

eren: tell sukuna i will kill him. he’s got his dirty paws ALL OVER YOU TOO

you: possessive much?

eren: i am a simple man. and you two together has been a sore spot for me since i was sixteen. there’s only so much i can stomach.

you: protect your peace, king. this movie is not going to be easy for you.

eren: WHY?????

you: has a lot of smooching. and you KNOW sukuna gets carried away.

eren: blocked. I hate you.

eren: never talk to me again. i refuse to come to the premiere.

you: hehe.

eren: do NOT hehe me. im going to cry myself to sleep. do you relish in my pain?

you: a little bit. sweet dreams!!!

eren disliked a message.

Sukuna leans over and reads the messages as Yuuji and Rika walk in, with Yuuta and Annie in tow. You give them all a smile as they fall onto the bed with you two, stuck in their own conversations. Annie and Rika are talking about Rika’s birthday that’s coming up and Yuuji’s too busy trying to swipe Annie’s phone, for god knows what reason.

“This is insane. He’s all but fucking another girl on a yacht but talking to you like this? After ignoring you too?” Sukuna mutters, glaring at you.

“It’s not like that. We-we’re just friends. And it’s funny to joke about it.”

“You’re just friends. Yeah, and I’m the Thirteenth Disciple of Jesus, Y/N.” he responds, bitingly sarcastic.

“You and Judas would get along.” you respond.

“You’re being stupid. I’m not buying you ice cream when you come to me crying when he stops texting you.”

“You would. Begrudgingly, probably while hurling a bunch of insults at me, but you would.”

He reaches forward and flicks your forehead. A telltale sign that even he knows he would, because he isn’t rejecting the notion. Yuuta scoots over and flicks Sukuna’s hand off, giving you a smile.

“What are you arguing about over here?” he asks, giving you a warm smile.

“Eren.”

“Oh, I just saw the pictures. Poor guy.” Yuuta says, an awkward hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yuuta. Got a question.” you say, propping up on your elbows.

You explain the whole situation to Yuuta. That you and Eren dated. And then you didn’t. And then he saved you from Ricky, that you guys were texting again, but he’s dating Hyla now, full on and out in the open. And then let him read the texts and ask him.

“Now tell me, Yuu. Who is in the wrong?”

“Sukuna.”

You give Yuuta a glimmering smile as Sukuna rolls his eyes, reaching forward to headbutt both of you down into the mattress. You both protest and smack him off, giving him the finger.

“The only person on this Earth who is more goo goo ga ga and down horrendous than you is Yuuta. You picked a biased person to intervene.” he says, seething.

“Did not. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, quit playing dumb, doll. Yuuta and Maki are worse than you and Eren. Break up, make up, argue loud as fuck in the middle of the street, just to be kissing in the park the next day.”

“You just don’t get it. You can’t relate to the situation, Sukuna. Sometimes you just can’t stay away. Have you ever been in love?”

“Every time I look at you, doll.”

“Ugh. You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

The bell rings outside the trailer, signaling the call time for set, and Sukuna makes it a point to give you his warning.

“You’re treading on thin ice, doll. And when you fall, it’s going to be no one’s fault but your own.”

“For someone who claims he’s not a disciple of Jesus, you sure like to act self righteous as fuck all the time.” you respond, pushing him into the food cart near the directors chair.

Sukuna rolls his eyes as he drags you by the arm to your chairs, propped up, as you watch Yuuta and Rika take their marks, with Annie and Yuuji in the back. Sukuna’s glaring at you, bloody murder, unable to drop what he’s talking about.

“Look. Even for normal people, it’s never a good sign to be friends with your exes. And I bet he’s already being suspicious as fuck, despite the fact that he puts this whole goofy best friend persona on and flirts with you once in a while.”

“He does not. He-he’s not like that, all calculated and manipulative. You know him, he’s like a walking cheeseball.”

“He was a walking cheese ball. But at some point, you become the people you surround yourself with.”

“Okay, Sukuna. I fucking hate it when you’re all cryptic as fuck. You go on and on about how fucked up the people Eren’s around are. But you never once say what they actually do.”

He frowns, glaring at you.

“Why do you think Connie and Eren are fighting?”

You pause, thrown off by the question.

“Connie and Eren aren’t fighting. They’re like best friends. Connie’s even going to be in his next movie, Sukuna.”

“You said it yourself. It’s weird that Connie hasn’t commented on Eren’s whole vomit-gate moment. They’re filming a movie together, but they haven’t taken any pictures. And I can bet you ten bucks that Eren hasn’t said shit about him being there.”

You don’t respond. Because he’s right. Eren hasn’t said anything about being there. And Connie hasn’t even talked to you in weeks.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? That he’s pulling away?”

“Eren isn’t pulling away, Sukuna. He just has a girlfriend, it’s obviously not going to be the same between us as before.”

“Bullshit. You know he’s pulling away. What does he do? Forget to text back once in a while but then flirt to make it better? Tell you you’re pretty when pictures of him and Hyla drop? You’re ignoring every gut feeling you have about him because you want to keep him around.”

“Fuck you, Sukuna.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

This is what you hate about Sukuna. His persistent need to point out things you so blatantly choose to ignore. That he pokes holes in what you and Eren have, valid holes that bother you at night, that only validate what you think is true.

You need Eren more than he needs you. You like Eren more than he likes you. And he’s going to leave you far behind, at the end of all of this.

Sukuna reaches forward, fingers swiping the tears off your cheeks as he rolls his eyes.

“Stop fucking crying.”

“You’re so rude.”

“I’m not rude. You’re just a bitch.”

You smack his face out of your space.

“When you’re ready for it, I’m here to help you. There’s nothing I do better than revenge, doll.”

You scoff.

“Save your unadulterated rage for the camera. And don’t get too excited when I lean in to kiss you.” he responds, tucking your hair behind your ear and giving you a wink as he slides over to his mark.

You’re going to kill him.

Six weeks of freedom from Sukuna and you’re hiding in the bushes with Armin, Annie, Connie, Sasha, and Marco next to you. Hands locked together as you watch Jean and Mikasa in the distance. And you make your best efforts not to cry, to not fully sob at the second time you’ve been able to witness a love so warm.

It’s all so soft. So warm, so sweet, so much like Levi and Hange’s vow renewal that it makes your heart swell, to the biggest of shapes, for the two of them.

Mikasa is getting engaged. Engaged to Jean, who has always been so sure of her. So quick to run to her defense, to love her like it’s his second nature. They’re going to be together, by each other's side, drunk at award shows and holding hands in taxis for the rest of their lives.

Mikasa is wearing a white dress, soft and willowy, with her low cut Doc Martens. You convinced her that you just wanted to take her out for brunch, drive by the ocean a little bit before you leave town again. Because Jean had approached you, all squirrel like and antsy, and showed you the beautifully ornate ring he had gotten her and asked you to help her.

And Jean. Sweet Jean, he’s fumbling with the box in the pocket as he talks to her. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you can quickly tell that Mikasa is comforting Jean. That he’s stumbling over his words, his feelings, but she’s standing there and holding his hand. Walking him through them.

And then Jean’s on one knee. Smiling up at her so hard he’s squinting, soft tears falling out of his eyes and her surprised expression. And she brings her hand up to her chest, right over her heart and falls to her knees to meet him, the two of them hugging each other so hard that it makes your chest squelch.

“Crybaby.” Marco mutters, reaching over to swipe your tears.

“Shut up.”

You look back at them, at Jean and Mikasa lying down in the grass tangled in each other's arms, and can’t wait any longer. The five of you - Marco, Annie, Armin, Sasha, and you - run up and pile on, the six of you crying in each other's arms, pink faces. Armin snaps a polaroid picture of Jean and Mikasa - her hands wrapped around his face and the softest look on his face when he smiles back at her. And then one of you and Marco crying, holding each other for good measure.

You reach for Mikasa’s hands the second Jean finally lets her go to hug Armin and Marco and your eyes are positively burning.

“Oh, Mika. I’m so, so happy for you.”

She’s crying. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes are red, and she has the full marks of love on her face. The softest kind of love.

“Thank you, Y/N. You-you’re a treasure. I love you. Thank you for not letting me wear that ugly green dress earlier.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her, and press a kiss to the side of her face.

Your heart aches. For green eyes, brown hair, and a soft smirk that no one else gets to see. For snarky comments, for shameless flirting, for every hurt feeling in your chest being smoothed over like it was nothing.

Jean and Mikasa make you long, long so ruefully for this feeling. The way they look at each other, the way he keeps tissues in all his pockets because she gets sniffly outside, how Mikasa is the only person who can handle him. The feeling you used to have.

You’ve decided then and there. You’re going to get him back. And luckily for you, you’re flying to Seattle and in nine hours you’ll be there with him. On his birthday, with all this love you’re going to share again.

You’re fish together. You’re not swimming forward without him.

“Hey. Where’s Con? We should get ready to leave soon.” Armin asks, pointing at his watch.

You look around at the crowd of you, Marco holding Mikasa’s hand in his as he admires the ring and gives Jean a smile.

Where is Connie?

You shrug as you tell Armin to stay, to keep taking pictures of the two of them, as you march around the garden, looking around for him. And you find him, knees hiked to his chest, crouched over with red eyes and a pink nose. You immediately reach for him and place your hand on his shoulder, which he immediately flinches at and then releases.

“Connie?” you ask, caught off guard.

He relaxes when he realizes it’s just you and aggressively wipes the back of his hand against his nose and smiles.

“Hey. My bad, they just got me too emotional in there. Fucking saps they are, I just love them so much.”

“Okay. Con, are you okay? You-you don’t look so good.”

He smiles again and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s sweating and…green. He places his hands against your cheeks and squeezes, his voice soft when he talks.

“Always the type to worry, aren't you? I promise I’m fine, Y/N. Help me finish packing because I actually didn’t start.”

“Huh? We leave in like an hour.”

“Exactly why I need your help!”

He stands up and pulls you along with him, your arms linked together, as you recruit Armin and Marco to help you pack. And you ignore the feeling, as you climb on the plane, nestled in between Armin and Connie, and focus on the important thing.

Brown hair, green eyes, and the soft smile.

You’re getting him back.

next part linked here

an, again: guess who is getting blocked on his birthday. eren no middle name jaeger.

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp. @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

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echovelvet278 · 4 months

Text

In a parking lot, Ryan relaxed in the back of his car. As he enjoyed a moment of solitude, a strange, ethereal glow caught his attention. A luminous orb, radiant with an otherworldly light, hovered mysteriously around the car. The jock's initially carefree demeanor shifted to one of unease as he fixated on the bizarre phenomenon unfolding before him.

The glowing ball of energy danced and weaved in the air, its movements unpredictable and erratic. Ryan's eyes widened, his pulse quickening as the orb circled his vehicle with an eerie grace. The chill in the air intensified, and a sudden gust of wind tousled his hair, sending shivers down his spine.

Fear gripped Ryan as the luminous entity drew closer, its glow intensifying. He scrambled to sit up, his eyes never leaving the mesmerizing orb. The supernatural spectacle continued to unfold before him, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

Abruptly, the orb vanished from his line of sight, leaving Ryan bewildered and on edge. His breath hitched as an unsettling silence settled over the car, broken only by the distant hum of the night. In an instant, the ghostly entity reappeared, its form now seamlessly merging with the shadows.

Without warning, the orb surged forward, piercing through the confines of the car with an unnatural speed. It collided with Ryan's chest, sending shockwaves through his entire body. The jock convulsed violently, his body contorting in response to the spectral invasion.

Limbs jerked and trembled as the ghost waged a fierce internal battle for control. Ryan fought valiantly as he started tearing off his tank top, his muscles tensing and relaxing in a chaotic struggle against the unseen force.

For agonizing minutes, Ryan grappled with the relentless force, his resistance evident in every quiver of his form. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he gasped for breath, desperately attempting to reclaim control over his own body.

Then, in an abrupt moment of stillness, Ryan's body went limp. The struggle seemed to subside, leaving him motionless in the back of the car. The ghost, weary from the exertion of possession, emerged from Ryan's chest, hovering uncertainly in the air.

However, the momentary reprieve was short-lived. Taking advantage of Ryan's unconscious state, the spirit swiftly darted back into his chest, a sinister triumph gleaming in its essence. 'Ryan' sat up and started feeling up his muscles. He grabbed his crotch and moaned as he felt his new equipment grow hard. "Fuck yeah bro, this is gonna be an amazing weekend", 'Ryan' said mischievously.

Video Version (no sound)

#gay ghost possession #male body possession #gay possession #male possession

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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 1 year

Text

A few headcanons for a relationship between Rip Wheeler and a shy, quiet, introverted fem!reader:

Protective!Rip dialed up 10000%

Walker ain’t even allowed to LOOK at you, much less speak to you beyond “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am.”

Whenever you go into town, Rip insists he goes with you, or he sends someone with you. He doesn’t like you going alone.

When things get rough on the ranch, he insists you stay in the cabin where it’s safe.

Rip tries really, really hard not to bring work home with him. But sometimes, it happens. And when it does, he’s clipped and cranky and there’s just this thundercloud hovering over him.

When he accidentally barks at you, and he sees you flinch, withdrawing away from him, he knows he messed up big time.

He’ll give you space and take that time to calm down. Then he’ll kiss your forehead and apologize for snapping at you.

One of his favorite things in the world is coming home to see you sitting on the porch, waiting for him.

Sometimes, you feel a little bad because he’s so tough and you’re not. But whenever those doubts slip out, Rip insistently shakes his head and he’s very happy to see that you manage to stay soft in a world that is unkind.

It’s a common occurrence when you’re talking to someone - in town, a ranch hand, etc - that Rip will be standing behind quiet, shy little you, while he’s back there glaring daggers and looking intimidating as a bear.

You are literally the only person on earth who can tease him about it and get away with it.

“Did you do your mean face?”

He just raises his eyebrows slightly, amused. “My what now?”

“Your mean face. That expression you use when you don’t want people lookin’ twice at me.”

You attempt to mimic him - puffing yourself up, putting on a stern face, narrowing your eyes - and it’s a rare thing to make Rip Wheeler laugh but you manage it.

Most of the time, Rip appreciates how shy and quiet you are.

And then there are other times, where it scares the hell out of him. You couldn’t hurt a fly but the world he knows, the world he exists in every day, could snuff you out as easily as a breath of wind on a candle flame. So he worries about you quite a bit.

And on very rare occasions, you and Rip butt heads about your differing perspectives.

He will always choose the gruff, direct, blunt route. To you, this is brash and comes across as callous.

You will prefer the sensitive, tactful option. To him, this is pussy-footing around the issue and it’s better to just deal with it.

Sometimes, you never truly reach a middle ground because you’re both so different. But you love each other like crazy so you agree to disagree.

You rarely set foot in the bunkhouse. Ever. It’s noisy and loud and Rip absolutely does NOT encourage you to go in there.

But you’re curious about it too because he spends a lot of time there. It’s such a big part of his life, alongside the ranch hands.

Ryan and Lloyd pester Rip about bringing you around so they can finally get to know this girl he’s gone soft for.

When Rip continually says no, Ryan and Lloyd tag-team you, inviting you to play some cards and have some fun on a Friday night.

When you show up, you realize you are leagues outside of your comfort zone. But Rip is glued to your side, shooting threatening looks at everyone to be on their best behavior while you’re around.

But as you warm up, the other ranch hands take a liking to you. Your quiet ways are refreshing in a boisterous bunkhouse of loud cowboys.

You’ll quickly learn how to speak up to be heard as they become more comfortable around you. It doesn’t take long before you start trash-talking like the best of them.

After that, the ranch hands have practically adopted you and they’re eager to show you how to rope, ride, etc.

Rip would rather not repeat the experience. Meanwhile you have a little extra bounce in your step.

“They liked me!”

He laughs softly and touches your cheek. “Of course they did, honey. Why wouldn’t they?”

You shrug and snuggle under his arm.

“Guess I just always thought I wasn’t tough enough for you, that’s all. That was fun though. We should do it again.”

Rip hums and shakes his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“That would mean I’d have to share you again, darlin’, and I ain’t makin’ a habit of that.”

Writing tag

#Yellowstone imagines #yellowstonetv #rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler imagines #writing tag

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Text

Feel Good

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale Dekarios

Requested by Dirtyramen on AO3:

“can I request a fic abt Astarion just being soft/caretake-ish to Tav while they recovery from top surgery? (or, I guess whatever might be the equivalent to it in the world of baldurs gate haha) maybeeeeee in a poly relation with gale if it tickles your fancy?

-also if Tara could be mentioned somewhere that would be adorable but not at all necessary, I just love her LOL-“

Gale may be OOC in this, I've never really written him before, but it felt right to have him there

Title is based on "Feel Good" by Ryan Nealon. Doesn't fit 100%, but I feel like this could be a good reference to how Tav felt before their magical top surgery

Warnings: mentions of chest scars, insecurity, mentions/references to dysphoria, crying, implied sexual antics at the end

Word Count: 1,699

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You can’t stop staring at your body in the mirror. Just behind the protective bandages lay the chest you’ve dreamed of having - and it terrifies you. What if it came out wrong? What if you hated it? What if having a flat chest makes you feel worse about your body? The thoughts spiral, questioning every single thing you thought you knew about yourself. You frown at your reflection.

Hands on your hips startle you from your mind, as soft lips against the back of your neck chuckle. Astarion - forever the rogue.

“Admiring yourself, my love?” he teased.

You sigh. You wish you were. You wish you just knew what it looked like. Just a little peek and surely you’d feel better about it all. He rests his chin on your shoulder when you don’t speak, smoothing his hands over your stomach, just below the wrappings. You rest your hands over his, focusing on your reflection’s hovering hands as you run your fingers against his prominent veins.

“What if I don’t like it?” you whisper. “What if I was wrong?”

“Darling, you’ve been gushing over this for months. Why are you worried now?”

“I just…” You dare to raise your eyes to your chest again. Flat. Years and years spent hating your chest, crying and spitting vitriol at yourself for how it made you feel. “I just want to feel okay in my body, Star,” you finally admit, to yourself and your partner. “What if this isn’t it? What if it doesn’t help?”

He hums, considering. “It seemed easy enough to magic your breasts away, I’m sure Gale could find some spell that would bring them back.”

You chuckle despite the emotions in your chest. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Your hands slide off his as he turns you around, away from the mirror. “The worst that could happen is you don’t like it. And if that happens - which I don’t believe it will for a second - we’ll help you find what’s right. Until you’re comfortable.”

You can’t stop the grin that tugs at your lips. “You can be really sweet when you want to be.”

He smirks. “Don’t tell anybody.” He gives you a quick kiss, though you can feel how reluctant he is to pull away. “Now, come on, off to bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“What are you, my mother?” Despite your words, you follow along with him easily as he leads you by the hand through the tower back to your bedroom, only a few doors down. You had a mirror, of course, but this was the only full-body mirror in the place. Gale kept saying he would move it to your room, but he always got sidetracked, always distracted by new questions that needed answers.

Astarion had his reservations of living with the wizard at first, but even he couldn’t deny how comfortable it was here. It was far better than any other option available to him at the time. Not to mention he was always around if Gale had any ideas on how to cure his undead affliction.

And, well, perhaps he didn’t completely despise him, but the world would burn before he ever admitted it.

He leads you through your door, as natural as though it were his own bedroom. He did have his own, but, truthfully, he much preferred spending time in yours. When he wasn’t perusing the wide collection of books scattered in mostly-organized shelves and piles, that is.

He lets go of your hand to open your blankets, and he helps you slide under them so you can lay on your back. He crawls in after you. You’ve learned to scoot over a bit beforehand, so he’s not constantly shifting to avoid falling off the edge, or whining about the blanket not covering his ass, all because he refuses to go around and lay on the other, wide-open half of the bed.

His arms wrap snugly around your waist, though he refrains from resting his head on your chest as he normally would, opting instead to curl into your side, resting his head on your shoulder by your neck. There’d be plenty of time for proper cuddles once you were fully recovered. Unable to roll to your side, you opt to tangle a hand in his hair and rest the other on his arm. It wasn’t the same, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

“A few more hours, Gale will return, and you’ll get to see,” he murmurs against your skin. He presses a kiss below your jaw. “And I’ll get to see you, my handsome man.”

The phrase makes you flush. He smiles when he hears your heart beat faster. You let out a slow, shaky breath. “He needs to get back sooner.”

He chuckles, but says nothing more. You tilt your head to rest against his and close your eyes. Visions of your chest before mixed with fantasies of what it looked like now. It was still so difficult to grasp the fact it truly was flat. Whenever Astarion would help you change into fresh clothes (after he gently wipes you down with a damp sponge, as you are unable to bathe until the bandages are removed), you’d have a moment of confusion when you flipped through the stack of folded clothes and didn’t find a bra. In fact, you’d gotten rid of them all right after your procedure. Gale had to stop you (and Astarion) from lighting them on fire as celebration.

With the images, your anxiety spikes again. It’ll be fine, you know it will be… By what if it isn’t? You want to relax into a nap, pass the time warm and comfortable with your vampire partner until Gale got back, but your mind would not let you.

You sigh in frustration. You press your lips to his head as you quietly murmur, “Will you read to me?”

He sighs, too, long and dramatic. He only half means it. He truly does not like having to pull away from you to sit up, but he does quite enjoy flipping open the book from the side table and continuing the story where you left off. You press your face into his side and he combs his fingers through your hair mindlessly as he weaves a tale of romance and intrigue. He doesn’t stop reading until he is certain you are asleep.

You cover your eyes, elbows lifted to the sides. You can barely stay still, rocking back and forth between your feet and fighting not to bounce on your heels. You groan. “Are you almost done?”

Gale huffs a laugh. You can feel it ghost along the back of your neck. “Patience, dear. You’ll see soon enough.” His fingers finally work out the knot in the bandages, and you almost gasp as he unwraps them from your body.

The air feels odd against the clammy skin. Even weirder is the feeling of his warm hand pressing supportively in between your shoulder blades.

“Okay. You can look now.”

You take a breath in. You lowered your hands to your sides, but taking that final step felt overwhelming. Gale’s thumb rubbed against your skin, silently encouraging you, as Astarion came to your side to hold your hand. It was now or never.

It takes a moment for your brain to process. It’s so different. You step closer to the mirror. They let you go, standing back and watching with wide grins. (You can see Gale’s proud smile in the mirror, but you don’t pay him much mind.) You turn to the side. Flat. You delicately brush your hands over your chest. Flat. Tears well in your eyes. You try to blink them away so you can watch as you trace a finger over the scars left behind. The magic was experimental, Gale had worried it would leave a larger mark, but he trusted the Weave more than any surgeon.

A wide smile overwhelms your face as you laugh. A weight has been lifted off your chest, literally and metaphorically. You feel like you can breathe looking at the figure before you. You don’t feel dread looking at your chest anymore. You can’t fight the tears anymore as they pour freely down your cheeks, carrying years of dysphoria with them and leaving trails of relief behind.

You turn and rush straight to your partners, wrapping your arms around them and pulling yourself as close as possible. Gale’s hand rested at the back of your neck as his other held your hip. Astarion stroked comforting shapes into your spine. A gasping sob wracked your body.

“Are you alright, my love?” Astarion asks gently. “Is it alright?”

You laugh again, nodding eagerly. “It’s perfect. It’s perfect,” you gasp between your emotions. You pull away and wipe at your eyes, but when you look down at your chest again they come in another wave. “Oh my gods, look at me.”

“I’m having a rather hard time taking my eyes off of you,” Gale teases.

Astarion chuckles, receiving a quirked brow from the wizard he did not want to address. “I hate to say I told you so, but… You look absolutely stunning, my handsome man.”

“Hm, you’ll have to share that moniker, you know.” Gale smirks as the vampire scowls. “Our handsome man.”

You sniffle, trying futilely to dry your face. “If you keep saying that, I’m gonna cry again,” you joke, but they know you’re right. You gasp and light up. They don’t have time to ask what’s wrong before you’re rushing out of the room, shouting, “I have to tell Tara! Tara! Where are you?! My bandages are off!”

They smile fondly, listening as your voice becomes more distant. Astarion turns mischievously toward the wizard. “Sooo, how much longer does our darling have to rest now?”

“Well, he should avoid any strenuous activities for another week, at least. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Hm. Would laying down, receiving endless praise from his two partners while we lavish his body with generous care and attention count as strenuous?”

Gale thought for a moment. “If he’s laying down…”

Astarion smirked deviously. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

---

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bitchinbarzal · 8 months

Text

Forever my girl | Jamie Drysdale: prologue

welcome to my first series!!!

“oh this is so exciting!” Margret, Jamie’s aunt squealed as she sipped on her champagne.

You smiled softly into the mirror, your maid of honour, was fixing the veil in your hair.

“You excited?” She whispers softly, leaning down and fixing your hair over your shoulder.

You nod silently “Nervous”

“Don’t be, Jamie loves you… you’re gonna be Mrs Drysdale”

You smile and breath out a soft puff of air, hand hovering over hers “you’re right, my boy since we were what? Six?”

She nods “Six! That’s twelve years! You might be only eighteen sweet stuff but you two are soulmates I know it”

Then the door opens and both Charlie and Ryan poke their heads through

“Hey Josie, can we talk to you real quick?” Charlie asks, nodding to the hallway. Josie, leaves your veil and follows them out.

You watch them out in the hall, watching their faces as they speak. You frown when you watch Charlie’s eyes flicker between you and Josie, the worry was evident.

Josie then turns back into the room and you stand

“What? What is it? Is Jamie ok?”

she nods, reaching out to hold your hands “Jamie’s ok, but y/n… he’s not coming”

You drop her hands “What? What do you mean he’s not coming?”

She bites the bottom of her lip “He, they can’t find him y/n”

You start panicking “what if he’s hurt? What-“

“He left a note, y/n I’m so sorry”

Then you stopped pacing, looking at everyone’s now sympathetic eyes and said “Everyone, out”

When the door shut you looked into the mirror, the one you’d been putting your veil on in only moments before now with tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck you, Drysdale”

Hi, Jamie. It’s me, y/n.

I’ve called you so many time I’ve lost count. I still don’t know why you left me on our wedding day, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find out. But I really need you to call me back. If you don’t, I promised myself that I’ll never call you again. I have to find some way to move on with my life. But I want you to know if I don’t ever hear back from you, I will always love you, Jamie. You will always be the one for me. And you’ll have my heart forever.

#forever my girl au #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale imagine

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bloatedandalone04 · 2 years

Text

➪the one where nick craves you more than ever after he gets infected.

don’t repost my work anywhere x (reblogs are fine, of course)

Warnings: smut, mentions of smut, swearing, nick being possessive, pre transformation nick, nick being a proper ass, kissing, nick going down on you, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting (if you squint), over stimulation

Word Count: 3.1k

The dead body that was floating in the pool had you stepping back into your boyfriend of eight months. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, where you buried your face, your hands fisting his bloodied shirt. Nick holds your waist with one hand while his other presses against the back of your neck.

Unbeknownst to you, while Kaitlyn, Abigail, Dylan and Ryan stared in horror at the body, Nick turned away from it and nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. You and Nick have held each other like this many times before, so you didn’t think much of it.

Then he started growling in an animalistic way. You lifted your head, your face now inches from his. “Nick?” You trail off, your eyes squinting in confusion at his heavy breathing. “Are you okay?”

He just inhaled again, his eyes closing as he gripped onto you tighter. “You smell so good,”

“What?” You ask and attempt to step away from him but he pulls you closer. “What are you doing?”

Kaitlyn looked over at the two of you, confusion lacing her features. “You alright there, buddy?” She asks as she steps closer to you. “Maybe dial it back a bit, hm?”

Nick growled once more, lifting his head from your hair to glare at her. “Fuck off, Kaitlyn,” he said, his voice low and his accent less prominent. He leaned back down to you, his hold on you becoming alarmingly tight. “I want to taste you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you reached down to grip his forearm. How could he possibly be in the mood right now?

“Hey, Nick,” Dylan tried his luck and gently grabbed your arm in an attempt to pull you away.

Nick suddenly pulled you into his side and grabbed Dylan’s wrist, glaring at him. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your remaining hand off,” his voice was full of anger and you could only assume that he was acting this way due to the attack he endured earlier that night.

The threat made Dylan’s eyes widened as he pulled free from Nick and stepped away. Nick continued to give him a death stare, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Feeling like you were the only person who would be able to get through to him at this point, you reach up and firmly grab Nick’s face, turning his head so he is looking at you. His expression was still angry and you feared that you may be taking your life in your own hands, but you chose to believe that the Nick you knew would never hurt you. He proved that earlier when he pushed you out of the way of the rather large thing that would’ve taken a bite out of you, and instead got its large teeth impaled into his shoulder.

You scolded him the entire way back to the campfire, Nick putting almost all his weight onto you as he stumbled over everything. You continuously asked why he did it and called him an idiot multiple times. He just smiled weakly at you, blood smearing his face and neck and mumbled “Worth it,”

Looking at him now, you wanted to believe that the Nick who saved you was the same Nick that was squinting his eyes angrily at you. You press your thumbs into his soft yet bloody skin and try to ignore the small ounce of fear you felt and stood up on your toes to press your lips to his.

The kiss turned heated extremely quickly and Nick wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing down against you so you were back on flat feet. You pulled away before things turned too hot and heavy for a time like this and grabbed his hands. “I’m going to take him back to the cabin to lay down,” you say as Nick hovers over you, his craving for you now intensified by the feeling of your lips on his.

Dylan and Ryan both nodded in agreement, surprised that a simple kiss was enough to calm him down, and you led Nick back to the cabin that he had just finished packing up this morning. He followed closely behind you, his hands slipping from yours and landing on your waist.

You opened the cabin door, hearing the lock click from behind you, thanks to Nick. You turned to look up at him, seeing him already looking down at you, his brown eyes even darker. He inches closer to you and you allow it, not knowing what was running through his head. He grabs your hand and places it on his chest, sliding it down until it reaches the top of his jeans. “Nick-”

“I need you,” he says, his voice full of lust. “I need to touch you.”

“Nick,” you say again. “We can’t. You’re hurt and it’s not a good time.”

“I don’t give a shit about me,” he says and you can hear the anger beginning to seep into his voice again. “Don’t you love me?”

Your brows furrowed and you slipped your fingers in the waistline of his pants, gripping the material. “Of course, I do,” you whisper. “You’re the only guy I have ever loved, you know that.”

Nick exhaled sharply, his hands coming down to hold your waist. “Let me taste you,” he had gone from aggressive and cold to desperate and whiny. “Please.” He slowly kneeled and pressed his nose against the fabric of your shirt, moving his head so it drags a portion of it up and exposes your stomach to him.

You run your hand through his hair and almost immediately he presses his lips to your exposed skin, dragging his lips and creating wet trails along the smoothness of your stomach.

You were already starting to give in, but the neediness in his voice was making your knees wobble. You and Nick had had sex many, many times before this but you’ve only ever seen him this needy when it was your first time having sex. Nick had liked you for months at that point and you were dating for a month and a half before you let him get intimate with you. Granted, Nick always got needy when he hadn’t seen you in a while, but you’ve been with him all day.

“I need you, baby,” he mumbled and you gripped his shoulders, tugging him up so your lips could meet his. He kissed you back with such force that it would have knocked you off your feet had his hands not been holding your waist. His lips moved against yours quickly and audibly as he backed you up until the back of your thighs hit the dresser.

Nick moved his hands to the sides of your thighs and lifted you up and onto the surface, returning them to your waist once you were seated. His grip on you was tight, his nails nearly digging into your skin.

This wasn’t something you had planned - was not even close to how you thought your night would go - but if this is what would make Nick feel better, then you were more than happy to give yourself to him.

Nick, on the other hand, planned on getting you off any way he could. He couldn’t explain it, but the second he saw Dylan touch you, something inside of him set on fire. He was always the jealous type, but never one to threaten his friends. He couldn’t help it. The thought of someone else’s hands on you, even in the totally innocent and harmless way Dylan touched you, had him seeing red.

“Tell me you want this,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands moving down to unbutton your jean shorts. “Tell me you want me.”

He needed to hear you say that you were his, and that you always would be.

“I want you,” you breathed out as Nick lifted you slightly to rid you from your shorts. Your hands tug at his hair as his lips suck dark marks all over your collarbones and shoulders, marking you as his own. “I only ever want you. I love you so much.”

Nick gives you a boyish grin, his eyes laced with something you’ve never seen before. He lifts you up again and gently tosses you down onto the bed a few feet away. He’s back on you immediately, his hands moving down to hook your bare legs around his waist. Your hands find his hair again as he presses his lips against yours, his jean covered front slowly grinding into your thinly covered crotch.

You break away from the kiss as a moan escapes you, Nick’s lips trailing down your neck to your chest and finally to the exposed skin above your underwear. He slowly hooks his fingers through the fabric and tugs it down your legs, dropping the black underwear beside the bed.

You blindly reach down to tug on one of his hands, holding it tightly as Nick begins placing kisses, among other things, to your inner thighs. He was kissing you everywhere but the place where you needed him, despite his insatiable want for you. He craved you, more than he ever had, and he craved the taste of you.

But, even in his fucked up, infected state, he needed to know that you were sure. “Do you want this?” He asked, his voice low with lust.

“Yes,” you replied instantly, pushing his hand down to where you desperately needed it. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he mumbled, sucking a mark onto the patch of skin right above your heat. “I’ve been wanting you all night. I want you forever.” The possessive tone from earlier was back and it turned you on to no end. Your moan at his words alone should be enough of a give away.

The thought of a forever with Nick had your heart racing. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life with you?

Nick finally leaned down and licked a stripe up your folds, his tongue pressing against you firmly. Instantly, you moaned, your back arching in response to him.

“My needy girl,” he muttered, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that rested above your folds. Your hand tugged his hair harshly and you were surprised to hear the growl he let out at the feeling.

You wouldn’t last long, you never did when it came to his lips on you, that much you knew. The way he was touching you and talking to you, it was only a matter of time. Still, you tried to hold off as best you could.

Nick wasn’t letting up, either. He sucked on you like it was the last thing he’d ever do and your thighs tightened around his head, your eyes rolling back and moans spewing from your permanently open mouth.

He let go of your clit with a pop before moving down to lick your opening, spreading your folds apart and inserting his tongue into you. It was what you both had been waiting for and your moans flew from your mouth quicker, gripping his hair even tighter.

Nick pulled away from you, using his finger to keep the pressure that left with his mouth. His middle and pointer fingers slipped in you, reaching an impressive depth that had you seeing stars.

Your eyes were closed so you couldn’t see the smirk Nick wore and the glint of your juices shining on his chin and lips. You also didn’t see the quick flash of yellow in his normally brown eyes as his tongue poked out to lick your taste as best as it could. “You always taste so fucking good,” he moaned out, your thighs shuddering from his dirty words. His fingers continued to slide in and out of you, the digits coated in your wetness. “Always so good for me. I love you, love your taste.”

It took him less than a second to slip his fingers out of you and before you knew it, his mouth was back on you, his tongue deeper than the previous time as his fingers created a temporary crevice for it.

Your eyes shot open for a second in surprise before squeezing shut again, your hand reaching for his. He wraps one of his arms around one of your thighs and allows you to take the other, sliding it up your chest and onto your clothed breast. His fingers fondled your nipple as best as it could through the fabric, feeling the nub harden at his touch.

He moaned out at how responsive you always were for him, and the vibrations sent waves of pleasure through you. “Fuck,” you whimpered, taking his hand off your chest to interlace your fingers, gripping his hand tightly.

He hummed against you, lifting his head to press a kiss to your thigh. “You’re so fucking hot,” he growled, your sounds doing a number on him. “So fucking perfect. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped out. “I’m all yours.”

“Yeah you are,” he muttered before spitting on your folds, watching as it slowly ran down your slit. “You were mine from the second I saw you.”

Nick returned his lips to your heat, licking up his spit before slipping his tongue back in you. You felt as if you were seeing a whole new side of him. He was never one to be so possessive over something, let alone over you. Sure, he got annoyed when he witnessed some guy flirting with you, but he never got to the point where he got so worked up over a simple touch on the arm by a close friend.

You could feel yourself creeping closer to that glorious edge and somehow Nick could sense it. His tongue sped up, penetrating you quicker than it ever had before, and your eyes once again shut as the pressure building up was pushing you closer to your climax.

He licked all over you, his tongue beginning to rub circular motions on your bundle of nerves. You felt your legs shake, the burning sensation reaching an all time high. “I know you want to come,” he says, the vibrations of his voice adding to the blinding pleasure. “C’mon, baby. Come for me. Show me how good I’m making you feel and let me taste you.”

You’d never heard him say such filthy words before, and it made you grip the comforter under you, your chest pushing upwards as you felt the knot in your stomach burst. Your moans were uncontrollable and louder than usual, the turn of events having caught you completely off guard. You can’t imagine that Nick minds the volume change in your sounds, as he’s told you during the many times he's gone down on you or been in you that he loves the sounds you make for him. He loves knowing that it's him getting you off and that it's him who gets to claim you.

Your orgasm washed through you, your mind going completely blank and all you could focus on was his mouth that continued to suck and lick at your folds as you came undone.

You’d expected him to stop, but that clearly wasn't the case as he didnt pause his attack on your opening. “Nick,” you whined, feeling sensitive after your climax. He ignored you and instead opted to trace the letters of his name onto your clit with his tongue, furthermore asserting dominance over you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he moaned, smearing your juices over your slit before sucking your clit once more. “I want you to come again.”

He said it so nonchalantly that you were caught off guard at this request, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know if I can,”

“You can, baby,” he cooed, his tongue laying flat against you.

You did your best in trying to deal with the sensitivity, your eyes rolling back, broken moans escaping you. “Fuck. Fuck, Nick, please,”

“‘M here,” he said. “Come for me, again.”

There was no doubt that you wouldn’t last even a few seconds this time as you already felt your second orgasm approaching quickly.

It didn’t take much at all for you to spiral over the edge once more, your vision going black momentarily as Nick cleans you up from your second high with his tongue.

Your legs were shaking when he pulled away from you, leaving you almost completely dry as he licked up any and all traces of your release. He crawled back over your form, your hands immediately gripping his blood covered shirt as you pulled him down and onto you, connecting your lips.

You were surprised at the fact that you couldn’t taste any of yourself on his tongue as he sticks it in your mouth, kissing you with the same force he’d been using all night. He really had been craving you to the point of not letting any drop of you go to waste.

You pull away, breathless and tired, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders. He nuzzles his head into your hair, inhaling your scent once more as his arms wrap around your waist. His body completely covered yours making you feel small and protected, a feeling Nick had given you twice tonight, once now and the other when he took the bite for you.

You lay in a peaceful silence, your fingers running through Nick’s hair as he finally lets the tenseness in his body fade away for the first time since he got bit. He felt unbelievably satisfied, despite him being the one to give all the pleasure. Knowing he got you off twice from just his tongue was enough to keep him satisfied. It was he who got you to that point, after all.

You let yourself drift off, your hands still tightly locked in his brown hair. Nick figured he should probably dress you since you were too tired to do so yourself, so he carefully left your embrace, picking up your discarded underwear and slipping them back up your legs. He left your shorts off, figuring that sleeping in jean shorts had to be one of the most uncomfortable pieces of clothing to sleep in. He moved to lay back down next to you, pulling your sleeping form into his chest, allowing you to be as close as possible.

While there were many other urges Nick was currently trying to fight off, his craving for your sweet taste was fulfilled, and he pressed one final kiss to your head before closing his glowing yellow eyes.

#nick furcillo #nick furcillo x reader #nick furcillo imagines #nick furcillo imagine #the quarry #the quarry x reader #the quarry imagines #the quarry game #nick furcillo smut #the quarry smut #nick furcillo fluff #fluff #smut #imagines #x reader

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