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rene-darling · 2 months

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WOULD- he send n00ds? And how?

...would these modern college AU genshin men send n00ds to you?...

...Xiao...wanderer...lyney...

Xiao

No.

Absolutely- not.

The very idea is preposterous and disgusting. And after all, he's heard wayyy too many stories of a person's nudes getting leaked, and he does not want his stuff all out there.

He trusts you, yes. But especially at the beginning of your relationship, there's not enough trust for him to do that.

Xiao doesn't usually go to frat parties, but his friend is the one throwing this one so he felt obliged to go. What could go wrong?

Xiao doesn't drink, nor does he party, but after chugging drink after drink and being sat in a circle playing truth or dare, his tipsy mind is feeling rather- ballsy.

So it goes as follows, he picks dare and gets dared into sending nudes to the last person he's messaged, Xiao's great at keeping secrets so no one knows that you're dating, truth be told- even in his drunken state if the last number he texted had been anyone else, he wouldn't have done it.

But it's you. So his drunken mind agrees. He takes a rather risky photo, some alcohol is dripping from his mouth, sweat runs down his forehead, his back is arched and he gives such a sultry look. Then, he presses sent. The rest of his night is spent partying and drinking more, so his memory of doing this fades into bliss- that is, until the next morning.

Accompanying his painful headache is a certain memory, that makes him physically gag in remembrance, he rushes to check his phone, hoping- praying that you didn't see it- he thinks he's gonna faint from embarrassment when he sees the little *seen* at the bottom of the text.

Fuck. You saw it. You didn't even respond- he shoves his head into the pillow screaming externally and internally- you fucking saw it! And-...you didn't even respond..does that mean you don't like it..? Wait. That's the least of his worries!!!

He's happy about the fact that he doesn't have to see you in his first few classes. But then, it's time for a class that you both have together.

He has half the mind just to skip, but eventually, he has to face you, better be it now than later right?

Whatever, it'll be fine, he'll just explain to you- that he didn't mean it, he was drunk n at a party he wasn't thinkin-

Suddenly Xiao hisses as he's pulled into the janitors closet on his way to class, he swiftly turns his head to glare at the person who did this- it's you.

"So, Xiao, about the pictures you sent. I called you at least 10 times after those, but..you didn't answer." He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, his whole plan goes out the window as he just meekly stares up at you. This wasn't what he expected, but it wasn't something he disliked-..perhaps...he should send some to you even when he has clarity of mind?

Wanderer

Far too skeptical to entertain such a thought.

If you mention it first he'll just scoff at you and give you a dirty glare "Do I look like one of your whores?" "But baby- you're my only whore not one of them-" expect to get a glare from him the whole lecture, in and out of the class. His stare is practically sending you a death threat

Later, if he catches himself thinking about what you asked of him he cringes at himself and the thought.

He's not one to trust people easily, he's been stabbed in the back, and betrayed far too much to be vulnerable enough and to trust you enough to send nudes.

His head runs wild, what if you didn't like what you saw? What if you decided he was so ugly you needed to share those photos with those around you? What if, what if what if.

It's only later on, deep into your relationship that the thought of sending pics crosses his mind once more.

He's tapping his foot harshly against the ground. He's sitting at his seat as students pour into the lecture hall, his eyes scan the room as he sees you walk in and wave at him, just like always. You sit next to him, but he just can't maintain eye contact.

He has his phone in his right hand, staring at the screen intently as the sound of the classroom processes as background noise for him. Should he? What if you don't like it? What if you just meant it as a joke and you'll actually get disgusted once you gaze upon the photos..?

He sighs resting his head on his desk in contemplation. 'I mean...I took some measures just in case, I'm sending it on snap so she can't save or look at it again..fuck-..it should be fine..right..?' his thoughts are jumbled but ultimately he- "fuck it." And he presses sent.

Now it's just a matter of waiting for you to check your phone, it's like the clock is ticking extra slowly and you're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You heard the ding so check the goddamn phone already- and then you picked up your phone, once you noticed it was your boyfriend who texted you, you glanced at him, a confused expression, he's sitting right next to you- so why would he- oh.

Almost immediately you duck your phone down under your desk, you don't want to share this sight with any eyes that aren't yours.

"..why now? Fuck- you look pretty..?" Your mumbling- he has you mumbling. That's a good thing right?

And- and you complimented him- that means you liked it right?

He's such a brat, sending you a photo of his back arched, his tongue sticking out as he was wearing a short skirt with thigh highs, you could catch a glimpse under it from the picture- in which you could tell he wasn't wearing anything.

Your boyfriend who loved baggy clothes and dark styles was wearing a pink flirry skirt!

Heats pooling in your pants as you glare at him,

He had a smug look on his face- looking oh so proud. Anyways- he thought you would wait and fuck him after class. But once he felt your hand creeping up his thigh his eyes widened in shock as he realized you had no plans to wait until after the lecture.

lyney

Agrees.

Well- he's definitely startled at your request, out of all things...this is what you desire most?

"mon amour- out of all things I- gulp didn't expect you to ask for n-...indecent photos." He's startled to say the least,

But he's not completely against the idea of it.

Your darling lyney is a magician, quick on his feet, he quite quickly puts that flustered face away to replace it for a rather cheeky one.

"Mon amour, I knew you missed me whenever I was busy practicing for my shows but to this extent! my-"

"forget it." His smug attitude is a turn off. At times.

Letting go of the idea you didn't really think he would go through with it anytime soon.

You don't expect anything unusual to happen today, like always you kiss lyney good luck for his show before heading to the audience to watch him perform from there.

Lyney's cheeky grin is noticed by you, but you just assume he's giddy for his show, heading into the audience to wait for your boyfriend,

you hear a ding. And as you open the message you drop your phone to the ground. It's a simple picture, it's of lyney, he sends you pictures of himself on the daily so what was so shocking about this one?

Well- for starters he's naked. Tied up with intricate red ropes, they look tight, especially around his thighs- wait. You recognize those ropes, they're the same ones he's gonna use for his performance today!-

And he does. Flaunting around those ropes in his performance, the same ones from the damn photos.

Lyney walks into his dressing room as usual- that is before he's pinned to the wall by none other than you.

"oh? Are you that excited to congratulate me on today's performance?" As your hand tightens around his wrist he starts to feel even more giddy

"what the fuck was that? " "Hm? Did you mind? It was a present." He's so smug.

"no- the ropes. You used the same ones from the performance didn't you- you cheeky fuck-"

"the ropes are over there, if you plan on doing something you should hurry, I have a fan meet n greet soon~" "oh I'll hurry alright."

You didn't hurry, for some reason unknown to his fans, the magician was unable to attend the meet n greet.

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jo-harrington · 4 months

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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover

Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events

Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 2022. Such a weird time.

A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.

But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.

A new, old person. Eddie Munson.

Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.

So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”

If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.

That’s just not how the universe works.

At least…not this one...

October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.

But Eddie Munson was real.

Sometimes to his detriment.

And for the most part, it was alright.

He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.

It would be his day week month year sometime soon.

Wouldn't it?

But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.

What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.

It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."

"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."

No...no you weren't.

Why couldn't you be real.

See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.

A show where you were his favorite character.

And crush.

You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.

And man...Eddie had been there.

He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.

He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.

Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.

Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.

He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.

Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.

Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.

He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.

He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.

And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.

If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.

He knew…he just knew.

Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.

"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.

"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."

"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."

By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.

And then the unthinkable happened.

September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.

Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.

On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.

Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.

He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.

Or a big one.

How could he have known this would be anything but one...

Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.

He adored you.

Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.

He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.

The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.

Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.

Gross.

Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.

Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.

...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...

Eddie went rigid as he read those words.

The show...coming to an end?

"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."

He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.

The title of the feature was like crit hit.

The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.

One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season

The final season was a sham.

Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!

He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.

It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.

Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.

Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.

And you? You took a backseat.

Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.

Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.

Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.

Worthy of being the main character for once.

Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.

And Eddie cried.

The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.

He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.

The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.

"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.

It was a strange feeling.

Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?

You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.

But that wasn't you.

You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.

How could he go on without you?

Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.

If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.

Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.

He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.

The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.

"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.

Or until he needed a condom.

Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.

But there you stayed.

Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.

At least for a little while.

Eddie tried.

He did.

He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.

The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.

The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.

Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.

There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.

Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.

That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.

"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."

Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.

"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."

He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.

"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”

He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.

He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.

He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.

It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.

He could do this.

Or...

He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.

And given the choice?

Eddie Munson chose the latter.

And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.

Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.

They were cherished nights with you.

Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.

Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.

Third times a charm and all right?

He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.

Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.

Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.

He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.

An eternal bond, just you and him.

He stopped his ramblings at that thought.

It was a strange moment of clarity.

Where had that come from?

"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"

What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.

One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.

And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.

It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.

You'd never answer; you weren't real.

"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"

If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.

And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.

Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.

This crash, however, started a ruckus.

Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.

Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.

What else was there to do in the Midwest?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.

"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"

"Mom! Stop!"

"The car, Max!"

Maybe there'd be a fight.

He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.

He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.

Or it was a coincidence.

Or a dream.

Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?

Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.

But with the same license plate number?

The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.

"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."

It was a coincidence. It was a dream.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.

It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?

Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.

It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.

And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Because that driver was you.

Next Chapter: Alternate Universe

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#Eddie munson x reader #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson #stff updates

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fillinforlater · 7 months

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The Pull

Randoms x Ning Yizhou (NingNing) & Kang Hyewon

Length: 1165 words

Tags: gangbang, hair pulling kink, rough, a lot of positions, sex, being a willing toy for men and women

TW: gangbang, the hair pulling is kinda rough, QUICKIE

Inspiration: the two pictures below

(A/N: just a short quickie I had in mind for forever now. Sorry if it's just bullshit, but I hope y'all enjoy it lol)

"Okay, what is this?"

Ningning is perplexed. She let her imagination run wild when Hyewon invited her over weeks ago, the premise: fun with multiple people. Now, multiple can mean a lot, like sharing a couple, something Ningning is already familiar with or maybe two guys for each of them. That's about as many as she can handle simultaneously. Come to think of it, Ningning remembers Hyewon telling her about having three guys and two girls on her at the same time, though—

"Don't tell me you expected more?" Hyewon laughs as she pushes herself through the tall and small and buff and slender frames of horny people around her towards her Chinese friend.

"Less," Ningning quietly hisses when she sees the twinkle in Hyewon's starry eyes. This woman is truly like the night sky: thrilling, even if you can't see it, drop dead gorgeous when uncovered and always happy to surprise her with a shooting star—or in this case, almost twenty willing people.

"Oh, can my small Ning-ning-ie not handle a dozen men and half a dozen women?" Hyewon's laugh is loud and echoes amongst the crowd whose eyes are all focused on the two. Ningning can feel herself getting undressed, hell, she might as well be bare in their eyes, clothes already on the floor and Hyewon is the same.

"You're crazy." She puts her arms on Hyewon's shoulders and looks past her. A wave of blankness washes over her head. Now she is the one undressing all those strangers before her, the men whipping out their hard cocks, small, large, thick; the girls with their hairy or shaved pussies, tiny tits or gigantic melons—she is equally scared and excited, so she needs this final push to get her into it.

"And you are crazy hot, Ning-ning-ie~ and your hair…"

Unwillingly, Ningning throws her head back in a guttural, deep moan that has the entire room in goosebumps of thrill and blind lust. Hyewon has both hands in Ningning's endlessly long hair, the blonde fittingly forming tails to tug. There are a million reasons Ningning loves Hyewon, but it's the way she pulls her hair that made her addicted to the older girl.

"Don't keep them waiting any longer, Ningningie~ they can and will pull it and fuck you good.

"Trust me."

The two women are swarmed, torn from each other's grasp and covered in hands. A palm on her back, barely worth the mention, another on her chest, too bad that there's fabric in the way, a long, manicured pointer on her thighs, Ningning holds her breath—she shrieks when someone combs her hair and tugs at whatever they can grab. The doubts and fears she had about this are all gone when more and more people try to get a stronger reaction out of her and pull at her hair.

"Those tails—fuck—were a great idea," Hyewon half moans, half laughs from the other side of the crowded room, amidst a crowd, her frame the toy of the crowd. Her dress is easily removed, unsurprisingly, she likes easy access. Ningning then sees her friend drop to her knees, mouth on a cock, fingers on other shafts and pussies, while a large, burly man roughly pulls her hair back.

"Do the same to me," Ningning begs to the first person she can see, a bald guy, twice her age easily. He nods and pushes her to the ground while the pointy, manicured nails from before are shredding themselves through her top. "My hair, oh God, fuck, yes!"

Though unable to see it—a girl has buried the Chinese woman's face in her hairy cunt—Ningning can feel strong pulling from all sides, relentless, reckless how some are rubbing their cocks on it as well. She searches for the hard clit, her tongue twirling it, like Hyewon has teached her in a private session, way before gangbangs even came into the picture. Some greasy guy forces her to stroke his tiny cock, she can feel him cumming, hear him groaning, imagine the pearly white all over her arm. Not a good spot to finish.

"In my mouth, ahh." Ningning opens wide and the guy finishes on her lips until two other men decide to suddenly pick her up. The rest of his load lands on her tits, but Ningning has already forgotten about it, too big is the thrill of a stranger uncovering her ass and showing it off to everyone.

"Fuck me standing," she screams in euphoria. "As long as you pull my fucking hair, I don't care!"

Today is Christmas for Ningning, because as the guy carrying her aligns his cock with her soaking pussy, another woman has her ponytail in hand and starts to play tug of war against herself. In Ningning's brain, the pleasure and pain clash shortly, but soon find a rhythm—the same rhythm in which her pussy is getting pounded. Each thrust rocks her world and now the tug can send her into bliss.

"Oh my God, I'm cumming, don't stop!"

Hyewon meanwhile gets spitroasted in a quite unusual way: two men try to get their semi-hard cocks into her mouth while a young lady shoves a large strap-on in her ass over and over again—she literally pushes it all the way in, just to pull it back out again. The sight of Hyewon's gaping asshole has a guy close. He jerks himself to completion and his spunk lands in Hyewon’s messed up and torn locks.

"I want to cum again, please!"

Ningning gets dropped, but this is nowhere near the end of her wish fulfillment. There is always someone else to fondle her assets, be it tits or ass, and of course, her golden strands. In another team effort, her ass cheeks get spread wide to reveal a twitching hole, always clean, relaxed and ready, especially after the height of an all time orgasm. A cockhead eases itself inside her.

"Oh fuck!"

"Get her hair!" a strong willed woman shouts at two men who were somewhat awkwardly jerking themselves off at the ever switching sight. "You pull here, you pull over here, on the other side. Fuck her hair for all I care, ruin her somehow."

The same woman is not only successful with her instructions, she also puts her foot on Ningning's cheek and has her head trapped on the floor, unable to escape the cock that is destroying her ass faster and faster. Ningning can feel her knees give up slowly, they tremble with the force of an earthquake followed by a volcanic eruption, because a final tug puts her over the edge again. This time her orgasm is messy, clear squirt lunges out of her cunt while incoherent profanities leave her mouth.

"Fucking, th-thank you, shit, oh Hyewon, ahhh, fill my dumb ass, c-c-cum in my hair, ahh!"

"You're welcome," Hyewon moans back, small body upright, a cock in her pussy, hickeys on her collarbone, a tongue in her ass, her hair pulled.

Of course it's pulled.

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #izone smut #aespa smut #ningning smut #ning2 smut #hyewon smut #kang hyewon smut

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bangtaninborderland · 1 year

Text

JJK- Late Night Calls.

you get a call from Jungkook at 7am, struck with worry you pick up only to find your adorably tired boyfriend.

Genre: smut, fluff, Jungkook x reader.

Warning: NONE!

A/N: came up with this in 10 minuets thought it was cute enjoy :)

The familiar tune of your phone ringing broke you from your sleep, your vision was blurry but you could still clearly read the caller ID

Incoming Factime Video call: JK ♥️

It must have been 7am in Korea, Jungkook was never awake this early. You quickly answered, a million scenarios running through your mind as to explain why he was calling at such a time and none of them were good.

“Hello?”

He must have seen the panic in your face as he croaked out. “Baby what’s wrong?”

“I thought something happened you’re never awake this early?” You felt a small weight lift off your shoulders as he chuckled.

“I’m fine baby just couldn’t sleep, missed you.” You loved how he sounded when he was sleepy.

You laughed at the way he was laying across his bed, small rolled up pillow underneath him. “You have got to get different pillows.”

“No no I like my pillow.” He laughs, showing you how comfortable it is. “How’s London jagiya?”

You suddenly regretted being in a different country for work, the idea of morning sex seemingly more attractive than anything else. “It’s fine here, I can’t wait to be back home though. The food isn’t as good.”

“The food is the only thing?” He pouted, pulling the blanket further over his face. “What about me and bammie?”

You turned to the side, resting your leg atop the blanket. “Of course I miss you and bam too kook.”

“The bed is cold without you, empty. I think you should quit work and just be a stay at home wife.” He laughed again, although you could tell there was a sliver of hope to his absurd suggestion.

“Never gonna happen, you may be rich but I’m only half way there.” You both laughed, money was never something either of you took seriously you had always shared everything for as long as you could remember. You’d buy him dinner and he would buy dessert. He would buy you designer but he would also be more than happy if you brought him a pack of ramen. “Besides we aren’t even married.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shakes his head, before shifting to rest it upon his arms. “How many days until your back?”

“We should have the contracts finished up in a day or two and then we will have a celebratory dinner and I’ll be on the first flight back.” You explained as you watched him, his tattoos standing out against the white fabric of his sheets, his hair messy. You let your eyes wander, your imagination running wild thinking about how he would look completely naked. “are you wearing pants?”

“Come back and find out jagiya, I’m sure you’re already picturing the ways I’d fuck you.”

The sudden vulgarity of his words left you in a state of shock. “I- when I get home we are definitely doing whatever I’m thinking right now.”

“And what is that doll?” He laughed, fingers drawing circles on the sheet. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about how good your hand would look wrapped around my neck.” You pushed yourself further into the pillow, slightly shy.

“Too bad you’re too far away baby. We should sleep.” He closed his eyes, teasing you.

You groaned, fighting the urge to grind against the sheets. “Kook.”

“Hmm?” He mumbled, lazily.

“You turned me on.” You giggled, closing your eyes.

“I’m hard too beautiful, I’ll go to sleep thinking about good good your mouth will feel around my cock.

“Why couldn’t you call me at 8pm and get all dirty with me? Why does it have to be when I’m too tired to do anything?” You whined, wanting to cry from how much you missed his touch.

“It’s okay princess when you’re home I’ll take care of you. we should still sleep you have a meeting tomorrow morning don’t you?” You opened one eye, just enough to see him staring at you smiling.

“At six am, it’s 11pm right now. I have to wake up at 4am so I can finish the presentation.” You explained, your words slurring as you started to drift off. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I have a few appointments nothing important, call me anytime tomorrow I’ll be there but for now get some sleep baby, I won’t hang up.”

“Promise?” You whispered, the folds of sleep covering you in a sheet of darkness.

“Always jagiya.”

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writtenfangirl · 1 year

Text

Dancing

A short one this time! I just wanted to write a really fluffy piece without drama although, yes there is a very small conflict if you squint hard enough. I wanted to write another fic that made me feel good just cause life's been extra hard lately.

Although I have a ton of ideas for this one so a sequel if people really enjoy this. I briefly wondered making Y/N be Lady Whistledown and pairing her up with my favorite Bridgerton brother to see what would happen.

TW: People being mean. Gossiping mamas. Cressida Cowper mention.

The ball, as most balls tended to be as the night waned, had grown stale and boring. The dancing had ceased despite the wonderful string quartet that played their music and people had broken off to their own parties. As the guests become accustomed to the taste of alcohol, words began to flow with reckless abandon.

“Did you hear? Viscount Dotsfield has a bastard with a scullery maid!”

“The Earl of Blackfield is said to engage in… relationships with Sir Lockling.”

“There are rumors going around that one of the Colton daughters has a French paramour whose name is Ravilli. An ambassador of sorts…”

Gossip is what fueled the ton, the very lifeblood that had men and women of varying ages coming to these balls in the first place. No one in the ton wanted to be caught unaware and one could never be too careful of the rumors that could be fabricated about you. According to Y/N’s mama, the only people who didn’t come to balls and to the gatherings hosted by members of the ton were those of them whose reputations were in ruins. You were either gossiping or you were the one being gossiped about.

So she came and endured even if she was bored out of her mind.

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t use to anyway. She was a woman and women were seen and not heard. Not only that, but she was a wallflower. Wallflowers were hardly seen at all.

“Lady Y/L/N.”

She knew that familiar voice, smooth and deep yet somehow still bright. If sunsets could speak, Y/N imagined they would have his voice.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Y/N said as she spun around, hiding her smile behind her bejeweled fan. “I half expected you to have taken your leave by now.”

“Under usual circumstances, I might have. But I have yet to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” Benedict said with a crooked smile. “And my mother has always told me that dancing is one of men’s greatest assets to encourage affection.”

“There’s hardly anyone dancing,” Y/N said bashfully.

“All the better reason to do so.”

Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew Benedict was only speaking to her because his mother asked him too. She’d always rather liked Lady Bridgerton and she had a penchant for forcing her sons to dance with the wallflowers. At every ball Y/N attends, her dance card, though usually empty, always had three names: Anthony Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton. Colin Bridgerton.

And there was no man who made he heart beat faster than Benedict Bridgerton himself. Because it was Benedict who offered to fill up all of the other spaces in her dance cards even though he didn’t have to.

All the Bridgerton brothers were kind to her but Benedict was more than that. Anthony and Colin were polite but Benedict laughed with her and conversation flowed between them like water from a fountain. And though she knew Benedict was unlikely to return her feelings, she occasionally let her delusions run wild. She often spent her days imagining what their future would look like. Would their children have his eyes or hers? Their hair would probably be different too. And their noses—

“Y/N?”

Blast! What a bloody idiot! She shouldn’t have let her mind wander like that! And now Benedict was looking at her expectantly with those luminous blue eyes and she couldn’t focus her mind to remember what it is he’d asked of her.

“Yes?” She asked, fighting to stop herself from sounding so breathy.

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned with an outstretched hand.

The dance. She’d forgotten about the dance!

She briefly wondered if she could find a way out of it. Getting on that dance floor would shift everyone’s focus on to them and she already knew what people would say.

“The Bridgerton charity case.”

“Of all of the young ladies, he chose her?”

“He deserves better.”

She glanced around nervously. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any heed but those conversations would instantly stop the moment she and Benedict stepped on the dance floor alone.

And she knew that if she were to reject Benedict’s advances, her mother would kill her. Though Anthony was but a Viscount, his fortune was considerable large. His father before him had managed their estate well and Anthony was known to make cunning investments that grew their already large fortune, a fortune that would also provide cushy lives for the rest of his brothers. Perhaps not the large estate of a Duke but certainly nothing to scoff at. And Y/N didn’t doubt for one second that the rest of the Bridgerton brothers weren’t as smart as Anthony was when it came to their finances.

It’s why Y/N had constantly heard her mother’s say, “you will marry a Duke or a Bridgerton. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Luckily for Y/N, her mother wasn’t around to see her reject Benedict.

Still, with the way Benedict looked at her, it was hard to say no.

“Just one dance,” Y/N ceded with a sigh, slipping her gloved hand onto his.

His smile widened considerably. “You mustn’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N huffed. “You look perfect everywhere you go.”

“Oh?”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn the world. Damn herself. And damn Benedict Bridgerton.

“You think I look perfect?” He asked, cocking a brow in question.

“U-uh, I m-mean, that is to say, I don’t—“

“You truly must calm your nerves, my lady,” Benedict said with a chuckle as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. “I am only teasing.”

Y/N could hear the stream of gossip stop as members of the ton watched them. There was a pregnant pause and then the chatter began once again. She couldn’t hear the full conversations but she heard enough.

“…fat…”

“…ugly…undeserving…”

“…he is too kind…”

It made Y/N want to curl up into a ball so that the earth may open up and swallow her whole.

“Pay them no heed,” Benedict muttered as he pulled her close, his hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand found hers. “Focus only on us. And tonight, you look beautiful.”

“Only tonight?” Y/N joked in a bid to ease the coil of tension tightening around her core.

“Every night.” Benedict’s tone was too serious to be called teasing.

Soon the new music started, washing away the ton’s horrible words. She could still feel their watchful eyes on her skin, felt the way they judged her.

“Focus on me,” Benedict muttered before he began their dance by swaying them back and fort.

She let the music fill her, weaving through the muscles in her body. Their dance was a complicated one and though she wasn’t an accomplished dancer by any sense of the word, with Benedict leading it was hard to fail.

In and out, push and pull, with complicated lifts and turns yet somehow always finding their way back to each other. It was as if their bodies were magnetized, attracted only to the other. As the music swelled, she forgot all about the gossiping ton and their prying eyes. Instead she only felt Benedict’s body heat, the hard chords of muscles hidden beneath his jacket, his hands steady around her waist.

His gaze on her felt soft, like staring at the afterglow of of dusk. She was never much of a drinker but Benedict always had the ability to make her feel drunk, as though each of her inhibitions left her the moment his luminous blue eyes landed on her.

When the last notes of the song echoed between them and Y/N and Benedict detached from each other to curtsy and bow at one another, the entire ballroom erupted into applause.

A soft gasp left Y/N’s lips. She’d completely forgotten about the ton watching them with Benedict commanding all of her attention.

She raised her head, meeting Benedict’s eyes once more.

“You were marvelous,” Benedict muttered with a grin as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss against it before leading her out of dance floor. The ton’s eyes had grown less hostile and more appreciative on and, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt exhilarated.

“I would like to call on you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” Benedict said, letting his voice be carried throughout the ballroom. His words brought on another wave of whispers. “If you would let me?”

Y/N was absolutely sure she would be the center of gossip tomorrow. Perhaps until the end of the season if Benedict’s intentions are what she thought them to be.

To call on her would mean Benedict would like to get to know her better, to suss out if she would make a good wife or not. And with him a Bridgerton and her a lowly Y/L/N, they would make waves with the ton. She could practically feel Cressida Cowper glaring daggers at her back.

But she didn’t care about that right now. She was still riding the high of their beautiful dance. She was no great beauty, that much was true. But with Benedict, she felt beautiful. And his opinion mattered to her more than the Queen’s and the whole ton’s combined.

“Of course you may call on me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said graciously, ignoring her fast beating heart. “I’ll have the cook prepare that raspberry marmalade you enjoy so much.”

Benedict grinned. “I am much obliged. I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you have a good evening.” He took her hand again, placing another gentle kiss on her knuckles before he straightened and walked away.

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theapangea · 7 months

Text

Hanging on the Telephone

Lip Gallagher x innocent!reader

Part of the Every Little Touch Series

Summary: Phone sex with Lip Gallagher

W/C: 2k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI!!! Male and female masturbation

A/N: I know I've been MIA but here is a little Lip smut for making you wait so long you little pervs ;). This was a fun one to write and maybe there will be a part two to this story! This is part of my Every Little Touch Series with Lip x innocent!reader. My requests is currently closed but when it does open please feel free to suggest any ideas you have for this story or another one. Love you cuties!! <3

Finally you murmur, shuffling your snow covered boots through the carpeted floor. Struggling to strip your coat and shoes off at the same time. Trying to work quickly as the stale air of the house makes you start to sweat under your several layers.

Eyes sleepy, heavy, ready to collapse onto themselves as the coat and boots are soon forgotten about, taking the last several steps to your bed before plopping face first into the mattress. The plush blanket muffling your scream as you release all the built up stress from the stupid little day you are having. Though the scream seems not to be working.

Rolling over onto your back, arms laying delicately over your mid section. Eyes fixated on the ceiling, the weight on your shoulders grows heavy as the strain builds behind your eyes making it tougher to breathe. Cursing silently at your stupid, sad, pathetic fucking life. A small stream of tears trickle down your temples, squeezing your eyes sharply together, wishing everything and everyone away.

Just need a little peace.

Just need a little release.

Taking a deep, slow breath as you let your mind wander. Rubbing your thighs together, the buzzing runs through your thoughts, suddenly landing on Lip. His causoled fingers running down your delicate skin. Absentmindedly touching the same spots he did while you continue to let your mind run wild.

Breath hitches as your fingers grace the lining of your jeans. Arching your back as you imagine Lip placing small kisses down the side of your neck, a trail of wet warmth and deep bruising. Not really thinking much into what you are actually doing. But you missed his touch, even if you have only felt it once. Missed the way he made you feel, wanting to feel that way every single day of your life. Desperately wanting to feel that release again, wanting him to send you over the edge.

The vibrating in your back pocket makes you jump from your skin. Almost as if someone has caught you in the act of thinking about the shared moment with Lip and what that would ultimately lead to.

Lifting your hips in the air, your toes digging into the carpet as your hand struggles to grip the small device from the bottom of your pocket. The vibration is still buzzing, sending a quivering through your body. Finally pulling the device free, flipping the phone open to see Lip’s name displayed on the small screen and behind it a blurry picture you took of him on last year’s school trip to Cloud Gate (the big shiny bean in Chicago).

Instantly pushing the answer button and placing the phone to your ear. A half-whisper greeting escapes you as you wiggle your way to the top of your bed. Feeling a little embarrassed to be talking to Lip after you almost let yourself get off on the thought of him.

“Whatcha doing?’ Lip questions from the other end, you can hear the brush of smoke that hits the receiver.

“Currently,” Pausing for dramatic effect, “Succumbing to my self loathing, waiting for the universe to end it all.” You force out a life to make light of the situation.

His low chuckle as a response sends a shiver through your body, igniting the fire that grows between your legs.

A smile lamenting itself firming onto your face. Lip has that effect on you, making this life feel a little less lonely. “And what might the famous Lip Gallagher be doing right now?” You ask, picking at the dirt underneath your nails.

“Ya’know, just been thinking.”

“About what?” You inquire, hoping you already know the answer.

Stuttering over his words as he tries to form them into sentences, feeling a bump in his throat as he doesn’t know exactly how to say it, “Ab-about the other d-day…about you.”

Heat rises immediately to your cheeks, a full breath filling your lungs until they burn. A huge smile engulfing your features as you silently giggle to yourself. Happy beyond belief that he was thinking about you.

“Yeah?” Is all you can muster to say as the air has fully exited your chest, leaving you laying there, basking in the bliss.

Carding a hand through his messy hair as he takes another drag of his cigarette. Lip’s body sprawled out over his bed as his voice hitches, “Can’t stop thinking about it.”

The words are music to your ears as you happily tap your feets against the soft comforter. He’s been thinking about you, thinking about what you both did together and he’s talking to you about it.

“Have you been thinking about it?” He speaks softly into the phone, finally realizing that you have been silent a little too long.

“Maybe…” You’re a little embarrassed to admit it. Not because you didn’t want it to happen or that you are embarrassed of Lip in any way. You’ve just never been comfortable talking about any form of sex or pleasure before, especially talking about it with someone else.

Another puff of smoke hits the receiver as you can hear Lip shift on the other end, “Any particular part?” He hums.

You’re hesitant at first, doing this stuff in person is one thing but having to talk about it is a whole other beast you’d never thought you’d have to overcome. But you want to talk about it with Lip, he makes you feel comfortable and wanted. He makes this experience way less scary than you had originally thought.

“Your hands,” You finally confess, the heat rising rapidly to your cheeks as you pull your legs to your chest, doing anything to hide.

He purrs against the receiver. “Where? Deep inside of you?”

“Lip.” You whine, embarrassed that he just said that out loud. He speaks about this stuff so plainly and bluntly that you almost don’t know how to act. Almost as if he gets a kick out of seeing you embarrassed.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about.” The words are heaven, laced in pure silk running perfectly over your body as the thought of Lip thinking about the way you felt under his grasp, the way his fingers curled expertly inside of you, the way you tasted, all innocent and pure. He can’t help not thinking about the way you relaxed under his touch and how he desperately wants to do it again. “Do you still feel that itch?”

The heat has not subsided yet from your cheeks as he keeps talking about it and you have to admit that the itch has truly never gone away. It was just in a deep little part of your brain, eagerly waiting for Lip to let it out.

You hum as you stretch your legs out in front of you, squeezing your thighs together again.

“Like right now?”

Especially now.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” He questions.

You huff, “I’m not really sure what to do.” You have to admit out loud which seems so silly at the moment.

“It’s okay,” his tone is subtle, “‘member what I showed you?”

Closing your eyes as his words whisper your mind into the amazing memory that you two share together. You could swear that you are currently there now, wrapped in Lip’s arms as he rubs your core into ecstasy.

You hum against the phone, your tone is whiny as your other hand grabs at the rough fabric of your jeans.

“Just touch yourself like that, tell me what you’re doing, how you’re feeling.” His voice calms you down.

Shaking your head as you murmur over the line, “Ok.”

Stumbling over your words as you struggle to take off your jeans while laying in bed, “I-I’m taking off m-my je-jeans…come on.” You angrily whisper to your jeans as you push them off.

Lip laughs on the other end at your struggle, able to picture you perfectly as the sounds of muffling come over the receiver.

“I’m in my panties now.” You say to him.

He laughs again, this time more from the chest.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You whine, “I’m new to this.”

“Do you want me to talk instead?” He suggests.

“Yes, please,” You breathe a sigh of relief. Blessing that you won’t embarrass yourself any further.

“One sec then,” Lip says before the phone goes silent. Jumping up quickly to rip off his shirt and jeans before grabbing the phone again, relaxing into the mattress. Lip’s hand is instantly on his cock when he gets back on the phone with you. “Ready.” He’s barely able to get out his words as his touch sends electricity through his body.

The pre-cum dripping slightly from his pulsing tip onto his stomach. He doesn't know how long he will last, his imagination has been getting him through the days, desperately wanting to touch every part of you, know every single detail.

You lightly breath out the word yeah, biting your lip in anticipation of what's to come next.

“Slip your hand under your panties.” His almost demanding tone falls delicately on your ears.

Your hand slips underneath your white, cotton panties. Fingers trailing over your mound, hesitant to touch too close to your burning center. A single whimper escapes you as you stop just short on meeting your needs.

“Good girl. Now touch that pretty little clit of yours for me.” Lip’s voice is paradise, guiding you on this journey of self-discovery. Begging, pleading for you to just slip your finger between your folds.

The electric jolt of pleasure bursts through your body as your middle finger grazes over your sensitive nub. You whine heavily into the phone. Lip returns with a groan of his own, happily pleasuring himself, your whimpers are addicting as he strokes his aching cock.

“How does it feel?” He purrs.

“Amazing.” Your chest falls as you sink a finger deeper between your folds, delicately teasing your entrance like Lip did before. Imagining that it’s his finger dipping graciously into your burning core.

“But not as good as when I do it?” He questions, his words teasing you.

“Definitely not.” Grinding against your fingers, the confidence begins to trickle in as you try to talk dirty to him, “I wish it was you…touching me, your fingers deep inside of me.” Curling a finger into your dripping hole, struggling to accommodate your own finger this time.

Adding more pressure to his grip as Lip’s hand falls down his length. Buckling his hips as he groans when you call his name, knowing that your holes are filled because of him.

Lip’s name whispers from your mouth, between moans, whimper after whimper as he tells you to pick up speed, pumping your fingers deeper inside of your burning core. Back arching, fingers losing rhythm as you gasp one final time. White, hot flames filling your bloodstream as you scream Lip’s name into your empty room, cumming intensely onto your soaked fingers.

Lip follows you as he pumps faster and more rapidly as you say you’re picking up speed, face contorting into pure pleasure as one last pump sends him over the edge. The perfect white liquid shooting from his cock, landing onto his stomach. Stroking a couple more times as his breathes even out and a small laugh departs his lips

Your chest is heavy when the world starts to fall into place again. Cumming with you was absolutely the best sexual experience Lip has ever had.

The phone is quiet for a couple beats, neither of you knowing what to say or how to continue.

And before either of you can continue a conversation, banging on the door from Lip’s end pulls you back to reality, “Lip, you're wastin’ all the minutes.” Fiona loudly calls from the other side of his locked door.

“Shit,” Lip curses from the other end, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, ‘kay?”

He hangs up with a quick goodbye.

And then it was reality staring you right in the face when you realized that you’d have to face Lip at school tomorrow. Fuck.

~~~

Let me know what you think!! My replies don't work but I am more than happy to talk to you in my inbox or messages. Thank you for supporting me !! I LOVE YOU!!!

#lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #shameless x reader #lip gallagher fanfic #lip gallagher x you #every little touch series #theapangea

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doki-doki-imagines · 7 months

Text

Kisses

tw: some suggestive, nsfw (Johnny Cage one)

author note: another idea I needed to write out. Hope you'll enjoy reading those!

If there is something Raiden can’t stand is seeing you cry; tears and snot don’t suit you. Raiden’s warm hands cup your face, calloused hands against your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing the remaining tears “Come with me” he whispers, chocolate brown eyes looking at you with such passion they almost make you forget all your problems.

He takes you to the field where he spends most of his day “The stars here are brighter than anywhere else” he tells you, voice strong and reassuring before sitting on the ground next to you.

Words escape your mouth like a waterfall, no filter, brain shut, just the need to share, something you are not used to do.

Raiden listens to you, eyes never leaving your face, while you look at the starry sky, your eyes always elsewhere, too worried you’d lose the thread of the discourse if your eyes happened to meet.

“If I know something is that everything other than death has a solution.“ His forefinger push behind your ear a strand of your hair, the action makes you jerk, eyes widening and finally, you look at him.

There isn’t much light, but the moon frames his face perfectly. You can see a reddish hue coloring his cheeks, and a smile full of hope that makes your heart thump with joy “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a better answer, but-“ his hands grip your arms, strong, but without hurting, his strength perfectly stable “Never let yourself down, life will get better believe me.” You bite your tongue “It never does Raiden” you’d like to reply, but his words carry so much hope that you can only nod at him.

He lifts himself up from the ground and extends his hand out to help you.

“Thanks” You say after minutes of silence, your steps on the ground the only sound, not even cicadas try to interrupt.

“For the hand? It really is no-“

“For the company, for your words.” You look at him, now standing in front of your room. You kiss his cheek and wish him goodnight, a shy smile appears on his face as he waves at you.

The newfound warmness spreading from your heart is a new problem you’ll have to learn how to deal with in the next few months, for now, you can only rest and wait for a new day to start.

“You finally woke up, you idiot.” Tomas could recognize that voice between millions of others, so sweet and so caring even if they just called him an idiot.

Grey eyes scan the room, he’s in the infirmary bed, at Madame Bo restaurant. He and Kuai Liang got ambushed not that far and he remembers getting hit at the back of his head; that stung a lot.

“Do you know who I am?” Your voice trembles and Tomas has the urge to coo at you; obviously, he knows who you are, his heart keeps thrumming mercilessly against his ribcage the moment he opened his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, who do you think I am? A simple knock on the head won’t either kill me or make me lose my memory.” He half teases, but the scowl is still stuck on your face.

“Tomas-“ Your voice is serious and he can only look at you, at your trembling lips and shiny eyes “I seriously thought I lost you.” Your arms envelop his figure, your face hidden resting on top of his right shoulder, new warmth adding to Tomas one.

He is stuck in place, but his mind is running wild. His left hand pats your head and he feels the corner of his lips twitching.

You must care about him a lot.

You lift your head up, your teary eyes locking into his gray ones, pupils wide, so deep he may lose himself in them. Tomas feels the time slowing down, almost stopping, your lips inching closer and closer ‘till they finally touch.

He reciprocates, not a single second lost, your lips dancing and searching for each other, breath mingling, tongue fighting in a battle of supremacy, both wanting to feel more of each other. Tomas pulls you towards him and your body falls onto his, chest against chest, heart beating at the same rhythm, divided by the layers of your clothing. Limbs tangle, hands everywhere, caressing and groping; from an outside view, it wouldn’t be able to tell where one starts and the other one ends.

This ‘till your hand pulls Tomas’ hair. He breaks the kiss and flinch, maybe that was more than a little hit on the head. He can see you try to pull off from him, eyes full of worry, but his hands keep you in place, on his lap, fingers leaving indent on your hips that will for sure bruise.

“I-I shouldn’t have, sorry Tomas.” Your hands, so tiny and soft in contrast to his ones, push against his chest, like you are trying to distance yourself from him, head turned to the side not looking at him.

Your hair messy, your lips still red and bruised, and that worried expression, fuck, Tomas would like to frame his moment, your cuteness overwhelming all his senses.

Then you both hear a voice, it’s Madame Bo telling you to go back to work, the signal that he has to let you go. You remove yourself, Tomas’ hands finally loosening up. You brush your clothes in place and rush towards the exit.

“See you later” Tomas rasps out.

You nod.

Later you’ll have more time to talk about your feelings.

“Johnny-“ A breathy moan escapes your mouth.

The atmosphere is humid, the heat of your two bodies entangled is almost suffocating.

You missed Johnny, this new project he has been working on keeps him away from home for months. You are a supportive partner, you love him and you want to see him happy but, fuck, you missed him so much.

You are lucky he is on your same wavelength. He opens the door and your lips are already locked, hands unbuttoning shirts and pants being thrown somewhere.

“I missed you so much, Johnny.” You gasp in between kisses, your hand on the back of his neck to keep him impossibly close to you.

He groans, his hands now on your lower back lifting you up from the ground.

Everything else is a blur in your mind, you soon find yourself lying on the bed, legs open and Johnny working his tongue southward, your warm sex as inviting as water in the desert.

“Fuck-“ Your hand lay on his head, trying not to grip to harshly his dirty blonde locks.

“Yeah baby, tell me how good I am.” You look down to see his hips grind against the mattress, so desperate for you.

A wave of pleasure licks down your spine, your eyes roll back, throat exposed while you bit your bottom lip trying to keep a louder moan.

How good it is to be desired.

“J-Johnny you are so go-“ Your phrase gets interrupted by a gasp, a particular flick of his tongue makes you see stars, your legs reflexively close, but Johnny’s strong hands keep your thighs apart, fingers circling the inner side and you don’t know if it is done to calm you or him.

One of his hand leave your legs to play with your sex, his face now squeezed between your soft thighs, but your mind is too fogged to worry about crushing him, not that he minded his motions only getting faster and uncoordinated.

An orgasm soon permeates your body, Johnny lifts up, his lips drenched with your essence, his pupils blown wide, your heartbeat impossibly fast, a different kind of heat enveloping your limbs.

Your lips meet again, you taste your flavor on his tongue, lips locking, his hands now resting on your waist, pushing your chests impossibly close, but not enough, never enough.

“I love you.”

The night ahead is still long.

Bi-Han is awake, sitting on your bedding, naked, but the covers hide everything under the navel. The moon shines bright in the sky, the light and shades framing his lover's body sleeping soundly next to him.

Bi-Han is a man eaten by greed, by pride, a man made more of scars than flesh.

But you love him and he loves you. It’s a feeling he never knew, it isn’t the kind of warmth he got from his mother's compliments, or from his brother's support, it is something much more exhilarating, that makes his eyes soften and his hardened core melt more than he’d like to admit.

His eyes land on your body, so soft, so sweet, he wants to defend you from all the ugliness of this world.

Maybe from him too.

He looks outside the window, the night is still long, but there is no sign of tiredness in his eyes.

“Bi-Han, it is late you should sleep.” Bi-Han breaths, he didn’t even notice how long he had been keeping his breath in, mind so busy and heart uneasy.

Your arms wrap around his neck, naked body laying on his back, your lips kissing his neck, where arteries and veins flow.

“Worried about something?” Your eyes look at his face, he doesn’t look back but he knows, searching for any telltale sign of his emotions.

“Nothing you should worry about sparrow.” He breathes out, voice raspy as always.

You don’t believe him, he knows it. Your hand starts to trace the scars painting his skin, your lips barely caressing the newborn scratches on his back.

“Tell me your worries, my heart.” Your arms hug his frame and push him down together with you.

Bi-Han doesn’t struggle against your hold, his head now in the crook of your neck, free hair tickling you.

“Don’t worry about me, tomorrow is a busy day and you need to rest.” He kisses the tip of your nose, his calloused hand caresses your cheek, thick fingers drawing circles on your skin.

You kiss him, in a slow liplock. Eyes closed, hands holding.

Bi-Han bites your bottom lips before breaking the kiss and you groan, the only kind he likes.

He looks into your eyes and he only finds love, sweet and blissful. A new fire starts inside his heart.

Bi-Han still doesn’t know how to protect you from this accursed world, for now, he’ll have to settle for showing how much he loves you.

#mk1 x reader #mk1 imagine #mk1 x you #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 smoke #mk1 raiden #mk1 johnny cage #mk1 bi han #mk1 sub zero #obvs the first smutty fic for mk is for Johnny #me and my disease of liking my men dumb LMAO

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propertyoftoru · 1 year

Text

Smother Me | L.MH

wc: 2.5k

pairing: Lee Minho X Fem!Reader

warnings: smut MDNI, rimming (m rec), teasing, established relationship, praise (both rec), overstim, kind of switch!Minho?? like hes a dom in this but theres parts that are kinda subby idk, petnames (bunny, bub, baby,etc..), degradation and kind of dumbification, cum eating, handjob, hair pulling and a little face grabbing but nothing too mean, Minho has a filthy mouth, lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i could not bring myself to post it because i kept wanting to add or change things but... listen i just cant get this out of my head and yeah... i need to suffocate between this mans thighs asap.

You could not be blamed for the thoughts swimming around in your head nor for your failure to participate in any of the conversations taking place around you. Your boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing to you and if anything he was reveling in your frustrations. A conversation that took place only a few days ago comes to your mind as you trace your eyes across your current infatuation.

“Lee Minho, do you know just how well you wear those pants?” His ears instantly turned bright red at your comment, only then realizing the intense stare you had lingering on his lower half. Your greedy eyes were savoring every inch of his muscular calves, bulging thighs, and cute little ass wrapped tightly in his faux leather pants. He coughed slightly, partially because his throat was suddenly feeling very dry, and partially because he wasn't used to you being so forward.

Throughout your relationship Minho has always been the initiator, him being the one to ask you out on a date, asking you to officially be his girlfriend, and every minor or major step you took together.

One thing he has always found endearing about you was how easily flustered you become each time he compliments you or offers you light teasing touches. More often than not, when he was fucking you into oblivion and whispering filthy things to you, you couldn't even respond in full sentences.

So hearing you make such a bold statement with a borderline predatory look in your eyes sent a chill up his spine.

“Quit looking at me like I’m a piece of meat..” he rolled his eyes as yours stayed zeroed in on his legs. “My eyes are up here bub.” His fingers lightly gripped your jaw, forcing you to readjust your focus.

You found your mind running wild with ideas and images that you would be embarrassed to admit to. Yet the smirk on your boyfriend's lips told you that the attention you were giving him wasn't unwanted - despite his comments.

“Guess I'll have to start wearing these more often.”

Leading you to where you are now, a mutual friends birthday party, surrounded by acquaintances chatting about who knows what while your horrible tease of a boyfriend practically eye fucks you from across the room. You would be a liar and a hypocrite if you didn’t admit to also eye fucking him, but with the way he looked tonight you couldn’t be held responsible. He was wearing a silky navy blue button up leaving the top few buttons left undone, along with a thick black choker wrapped deliciously around his throat. In addition to those ridiculously tight leather pants, his messy long hair was only adding to how insanely hot he looked.

You always found him attractive, whether that be when he first wakes up early in the morning, after getting his hair and makeup done for a shoot, even after a week long of exhausting schedules when he was on the brink of collapsing. You adored every side of him, the good, the bad, and the ugly (although you would argue that he doesn’t have an ugly side). But something about the way the material wrapped around his thigh muscles made him feel like a present you were just dying to unwrap.

He had been kind enough to tease you thoroughly before leaving your shared apartment, leaving you needy and slightly cranky from not getting what you wanted.

For the past hour you had been texting him, begging for him to take you home and ruin you. Each of your pleas were ignored, the words read almost taunting you as he made casual talk with his friends.

doris mom🐱💛: min please

doris mom🐱💛: i want to go home

doris mom🐱💛: you have no idea how bad i need you right now

doris mom🐱💛: i’ll do anything please min

doris mom🐱💛: ur being such a meanie

You felt your heart beat faster as you saw three dots pop up to tell you he was typing.

cat butler🐱💙: oh?

cat butler🐱💙: how am i being a “meanie” ??

You wanted to scream at that being the message he decided to respond to but you had his attention and you were not going to lose it.

doris mom🐱💛: ur being a meanie for not letting me suffocate between your thighs and choke on your cock.

Your head snapped up at the sound of your boyfriend violently coughing - evidently he had taken a sip of his drink right before you had pressed send. You immediately ran to him, despite his coughing already beginning to cease, and offered a gentle hand on his back. Rubbing soothing circles between his shoulders as you gave him the most innocent look you could.

“Min what happened? You should be more careful, I don't want you to choke!”

He shot you a quick glare before covering it up with a sickly sweet smile and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He lifted his drink to his lips again to take another sip before the plastic cup tumbled out of his grasp and spilt all over your front. You gasped loudly as the room temperature liquid seeped through your dress, your eyes immediately looking to see if it was being stained.

“oops” You could almost hear the smirk that your boyfriend was fighting to keep off of his face. “baby! I'm so sorry it just slipped out of my hand!”

While you knew that he intentionally spilt his drink all over you, you were unsure if it was as payback for making him choke or if it was an excuse to leave. He quickly rattled off something about needing to get you home to change and said his goodbyes before dragging you out of the party and to his car. You had half a mind to be upset with him for ruining your dress but the idea of finally getting Minho alone took priority in your mind.

As your boyfriend drove you couldn’t help but continue to stare at the way the flesh of his thighs pooled as he sat in the driver's seat. Without hesitation you reached across the center console to place a hand on his thigh, much like he would normally do to you, even offering it a gentle squeeze. He flinched initially at the contact before releasing a shaky chuckle. “I guess delayed gratification makes you bold.”

“I was serious about wanting to suffocate between your thighs.” You began to gently knead his upper thigh feeling the muscle tighten and relax each time you moved higher. “It’s only fair after I let you spend hours between mine last night.”

There it was again, the boldness and confidence that Minho wasn’t quite used to seeing out of you. Part of him loved it, happy to see you feeling so comfortable with him, and yet his more dominant side was telling him to put you in your place. He couldn't lie to himself and say that he wasn't enjoying how obsessive you were being. He loved the idea of you craving him so badly that you were willing to bypass your usual shyness to get what you wanted.

“Careful bunny… you might get more than you bargain for if you keep running that pretty mouth of yours.”

You watch his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel harshly, attempting to suppress the gasp that slips from his mouth as you bring your hand over his bulge. The heel of your palm grinds into him just enough to make him squirm but not enough to relieve any real pressure and you watch as his adams apple jumps when he swallows harshly. He quickly reaches down to snatch your wrist and pull your hand away, seemingly suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be the one in charge.

“Behave until we get home and I might consider fulfilling your requests.”

If you thought he looked good eye fucking you from across the room earlier tonight, you just might have to come up with a new word to describe how he looks right now. He was currently manspreading in front of you, something he does often much to your delight, with his lustful gaze staring down at you. You were currently kneeling between his open legs while he was perched comfortably on your living room sofa. Minho lifted his hand to gently pat your head, smoothing your hair down where he had messed it up during the heated makeout session that took place when you entered your apartment. Despite the obvious lust pooling in his eyes you could also spot the adoration that seemed to be present every time he looked at you and that made your heart thump so aggressively you were sure he could hear it.

Because you had spent the entire day teasing each other you knew that the events that were about to take place were more than likely going to be rough and messy, something that was quite common for you and Minho. So you savored every soft look and gentle touch you were currently getting, certain that you wouldn’t be seeing much more of it until the time for aftercare came around. You nuzzled against his thigh while he continued to pet you, turning your head slightly to press soft kisses against the smooth faux leather. A surprised yelp was ripped out of you when he suddenly gripped your hair and pulled you away from him, forcing your line of sight up to his eyes once again.

“Greedy little bunny… I give you pets after you've done nothing but act like a desperate slut all day and you just can't help yourself.”

“M’sorry Min just wanted to-”

Minho is quick to tighten his grip on your hair while simultaneously grabbing your cheeks and squishing them together, effectively stopping you from speaking.

“I don’t remember asking you to speak?”

The mindless look you give him as you blink slowly at him, your lips smooshed together and your eyebrows furrowed together has his cock twitching against his thigh.

“You said you wanted to suffocate between my thighs?” You nodded dumbly up at him, the prospect of what he was saying making you salivate. “Go on then bunny… If you can manage to make me cum I’ll consider touching your sloppy little pussy after.”

As soon as you were released from his harsh grip you made quick work of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants, thankfully he assisted you in tugging them off along with his boxers considering how tightly they hugged him. The instant he was exposed to you, you lurched forward and began pressing kisses and suckling softly on his tanned skin, looking up as he undid the buttons of his shirt. You ran one of your hands up his abdomen feeling his muscles tense beneath your touch while your other hand kneaded the flesh of the thigh you weren't sucking bruises into. His hips shifted forward slightly as he threw his head back, a breathy sigh followed by an appreciative hum told you that he wanted this just as much as you did. You took the opportunity of his hips being so close to the edge of the couch to wrap your arms around him similarly to the way he usually did when he ate your pussy for hours.

The feeling of your wet tongue dragging up his length distracted him from the way you were holding him spread open for you. Despite desperately wanting to fuck your throat Minho couldn't quite bring himself to put a stop to your teasing, especially when you began to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. You continued teasing him like this for a while, only offering flicks of your tongue against his slit and lazy drags up and down his throbbing cock. A strangled whine came from Minho as you raked your fingernails across his thigh and simultaneously suctioned your lips around his angry red tip. When you heard the delicious sound you had been waiting for you pulled back to do what you had been imagining since the first time you saw him in those pants. Just as he lifted his head to scold you for your endless teasing, the breath was practically knocked out of his lungs as he felt your tongue press against his hole.

“F-Fuck bunny what are you do- holy shit”

The hand that you weren’t using to keep his leg open reached up to wrap around his throbbing length, mostly focusing on twisting around the weeping head of his cock. His eyes could barely stay open as they practically crossed trying to process all of the pleasure you were offering him. You switched between gently fucking your tongue into him and occasionally circling it around his rim. Minho could swear he had never moaned so loudly in his life but it was like his brain had shut off and he couldn’t even begin to care how pornographic he probably sounded.

“Such a dirty little slut for me aren't you baby? Fuuuck… keep going just like that bunny you’re making me feel so good.”

The sounds of his moans and whines combined with the wet squelching sounds and your own satisfied hums that filled the room had you pathetically rubbing your thighs together as you worked. You could feel his heavy cock pulsing in your palm as his hole began to clench and unclench at the prospect of his nearing orgasm. Taking a deep breath you sunk your tongue just a little deeper, until your nose was pressed against him and your access to oxygen was restricted. Adding to the overwhelming pleasure you were giving him you wrapped your hand just a little tighter around his cock, quickening your strokes just enough to have the rope tightening in his stomach. When you began wiggling your tongue deep inside of him he clenched his eyes shut tightly as he felt the rope begin to snap. His moans abruptly stopped as his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place as his orgasm violently washed over him. His thighs shook around your head as he came all over his stomach and chest, his hips desperately fucking up into your hand greedily attempting to chase more pleasure.

Only when he felt his eyes begin to water from overstimulation did he nudge your hand away and release the grip he had on your head.

Both of your heavy breaths filled the room as he basked in his post high bliss, enjoying the soft brush of your fingertips against his skin. He flinched slightly as he felt your tongue begin to kitten lick his release off of him, cleaning him up just as he had taught you to. Once you finished he pulled you up onto his lap, immediately attaching his lips to yours, while whispering praises to you in between each kiss.

“I think my bunny deserves a reward for her good behavior.”

#lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho smut #lee know smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz oneshots

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koisuko · 1 month

Note

Reader with an OF, but for mw husbands

*blush*

Tw: OF stuff, mdni, gn reader, OF is only fans for those confused, no use of y/n

Ft: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John Price

Simon “Ghost” Riley…

Is against it, 100%. This man has killed, blood on his hands in the name of war. He would be damned if he shared you with anyone. He’s possessive, broken and maybe a little insecure on the inside. He doesn’t want others even having the chance to look at you.

He’s definitely punishing you. He’d have your face buried into the bed, back arched so much it’s almost painful. His fingers gripping on a handful of your hair, tugging back to force your half lidded gaze up towards the ceiling. Ghost would watch from behind his skull mask. His deep brown eyes, burning with fury, stare into the screen of your phone. “Delete it,” he’d demand, “I want to see you do it.” He’d feel your walls clench around him, only to stop his thrusts abruptly. “I said,” his masked face lowered down to the shell of your ear, “delete it.” Any sign of hesitation would earn a swift spank to your backside. Youd whimper, tears of overstimulation prick at the corner of your eyes. Your shaky fingers would hit the delete button. Ghost would rub soothing circles over the now reddening skin of your ass, “good job, pet,” he’d praise.

Before you even ask, no, he’s not joining. No matter what you said or do, it’s a definite no. This man thrives in the mystery he creates around his identity. Plus, doing lewd acts for the pleasure of others seems so pointless in his mind.

John “Soap” MacTavish…

Is not against it, but not for it either. He’s a bit torn between whether he likes it, and whether he wants to be possessive. He definitely wouldn’t be as strict as Ghost. He’s more lenient about the idea of you doing only fans. If it’s something that pleases you, than go for it.

Yes, with enough convincing, he would join you. He’d even put his face in it, this man would probably smirk at the camera. He’d like to take some photos for you. Have you pose in the perfect positions, barely able to contain himself. Than after, he’d rip that lace covering your body and ravage you for hours.

Eventually though, you’d come across his insecurities in having you do this. He’s supportive sure, but he doesn’t entirely like the idea of having something so private shared with strangers. You’d sit down and have a talk, figure out what you two would like to do going forword. Eventually agreeing on leaving the app entirely.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick…

Is against it, lightly. He wants you to himself, and prefers if your body is kept private for just the two of you. He wants to worship your beauty, without the prying eyes of strangers. He’d support you, of course, if you truly only want this as a career. But he wouldn’t seem to want to stay if you aren’t willing to compromise.

No, he’s not joining you, at all. He won’t be the camera man either. Just the thought of it, you posed in lewd positions and sharing it to your subscribers, makes his skin crawl. His lips would form a frown, and he’d avoid the situation entirely. His mind would run wild with insecurities. He’d wonder why he isn’t good enough, and why you’d prefer others attention over his.

You love him, of course, so you’d delete it entirely. And to make up for it, you’d wear the lingerie. You’d pose for him, let him take photos for private moments at the base. A wild night sure to come shortly after.

John Price…

Is neutral on it. He doesn’t mind what you do for work, a paycheck is a paycheck. If you were to tell him how much money you make, his eyes would go wide with surprise. “Might need to make one of my own,” he’d jokingly say.

He’d be intrigued by the app when you’d explain how it works. He’d even offer a strategy to rack in more subscribers and money. If you are happy, so is he.

Yes, he’d join, but only on occasion. Even when he does, it’s only parts of him in the camera. He avoids showing his face entirely. He prefers to watch from the sidelines, smirking at your pretty little poses. When he does join, it’s mostly his lower body, his chest is preferred. He loves the photos of you sat, his cock sunken inside you, and your fingers tangled in the hairs of his chest. Or the photos from his angle, your face red and lips glossy while you fuck yourself on his tip.

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dreamingcloudie · 1 year

Note

im sorry for immediately jumping into requests but i see dottore content and i immediately go gdusabjnkdsa

HI HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY <33 IMMA BINGE READ THROUGH YOUR STUFF BUT LEMME JUST DROP THIS RQ

reader, feeling a bit bored and lonely, gathered a bunch of segments and asked if they could just cuddle with them OF COURSE they'd agree... prime comes back from a mission to see the tasks he'd assign them half done but before he could get too angry, sees you all snuggled up in a pile with the most relaxed expression on your face he'd seen in a while.......... he tells the segments to leave and hugs you himself instead (jealous perhaps? HHEHEHE)

HAVE A GREAT DAY, FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS NO PRESSUVE <3 !!

❛❛ In My (Our) Arms You Go ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ Dog pile!— Oof! ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore (& segments) x GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Fluff (oneshot)

wc: ~1.1k

Notes: Back to our regularly scheduled fluff :D This is so cute istg 😫✋️✋️Dottore and his skrunkly segments are just ANAKSHDIEJEFIS 💕💕💕 I'm sorry this is short! ^^;

You sighed as you threw your head backwards and stared at the ceiling, the pencil that you were holding dropped onto the desk.

"I give up." You groaned into your hands.

It has only been fifteen minutes since you started to sketch random objects in the room. You thought having your mind run wild with imaginations by adding some twists to them would be the cure to your boredom.

But it clearly backfired, it required too much thinking.

If anything, it made you feel even more bored than before, if that was even possible.

Heck, you even tried to watch the raindrops sliding down the window pane, pretending that they were racing against each other!

No matter how much effort you put into distracting your bored out mind, you were too occupied with thoughts of your lover.

A week ago, the Tsrista had sent out an order to Dottore, there was a mission that required his assistance in the far lands of Sumeru. And since this was an order from the Cryo Archon herself, there was no way he could decline even if he wanted to.

So reluctantly, you had to let him go for you didn't even know how long.

Without his goofy laughs and your daily dose of kisses, you felt lonely…

Especially with how your work schedule has been pretty hectic lately. Just as you thought you could have some peaceful moments with Dottore, he had to leave.

What kind of cruel joke was this?

What to do now… You thought as you closed your eyes.

Reading… Cooking... Beating Delta's ass up—

Wait, what?

Where did that come from?

Reopening your eyes again, you focused on your hearing and could make out faint footsteps walking past your room along with a grumpy voice.

"I can't believe Delta messed all of this up! More work for me, ugh."

So it was a segment.

The segments…

You gasped a bit when a sudden idea came to mind.

How fun would it be if you cuddled all of them at once?

You were getting a little giddy about your genius idea but then a realization made you doubt your plan.

They are probably busy though… You let out a huff.

Before Dottore left, he had given out a task for each of them to complete. He expected them to finish everything he asked of them by the time he returned.

But a fifteen minute break for them wouldn't hurt, right? You reasoned.

---

As you slammed the laboratory doors open, you slightly cringed at the loud noise it made when it hit the wall, startling some of the segments.

"(Y/n), my dear. You could've just knocked next time," Omega lightly scolded you.

Smiling at him sheepishly, you lightly scratched your neck.

"Haha, sorry."

He shook his head, chuckling at how adorable you were.

"Well, what brings you here?"

Right.

"So I was thinking… if we could all cuddle together?" You asked.

Your voice wasn't loud enough to reach the other segments, but they could still make out the words "we" and "cuddle". All of them instantly dropped what they were doing and surrounded you.

Getting affection from their darling? And with no Prime around? Who would pass up such a great offer?

"Are we gonna cuddle?!"

"Can we really?"

"Cuddling? I wanna join!"

Well, that was a lot easier than you thought it'd be.

---

Oh, how you loved their happy little faces as they trailed behind you, with you leading them to your room.

The moment you got into your room, you laid down onto your bed and sprawled your limbs out, inviting them to come join you.

One by one, each of them plopped themselves down onto the bed with you.

Some of them held onto your arms while some intertwined their legs with yours, and a head was laid against your torso.

Though, even with this king-sized bed, it could barely fit all of them.

Theta moved around a little to find a comfortable position when he accidentally kicked someone.

"Ow! Who kicked me?!" Delta yelped.

"Deserved, you gave me more work to do by spilling the serum everywhere!"

"Oh my— Whoever has their feet near my face, please move. It smells of rotten flesh." Omega covered his nose from… whoever feet that was.

Well, this was definitely a bit hard to get used to with how much weight was laying on top of you.

You weren't complaining though, the weather was a bit colder than usual and they made such a great heat source.

Their bickerings died down and silence soon took over the room, only to be occasionally broken with some light snores and the soft sounds of rain hitting the window.

Ah, life was good.

---

After a week of being away from the comfort of the palace, he was finally back from the mission and he felt like he would pass out any moment.

The mission he came back from was hell even though it was a success in the end. Nonetheless, he was now back and he had missed you dearly.

Though before going to your room, he was looking forward to seeing how his personal project was coming along. He had calculated that by the time he came back, it would've been completed by his segments.

However, all he saw was an empty lab. What's even stranger was that the work was half-done.

Where did they go? They wouldn't abandon their work like this unless it was an emergency…

Dottore turned back and walked to your room, afraid that something might have happened.

The sight he was greeted with made his blood boil. His segments were slacking off, hugging you as they slept. But when he got closer and took a glance at you, he noticed how peaceful you looked, and it's been a long time since he had seen you this relaxed.

You were complaining about how your work was stressing you out and you weren't able to get some proper rest.

Well, he supposed he'd let his segments off the hook this time for helping you to relax.

Though, his chest tightened at the realization that he wasn't the one who was holding you.

It was his turn now.

He nudged one of the segments awake, and soon the others began to wake up as well at the movement. Miraculously, you were still sound asleep.

All of them stiffened at the sight of Prime glaring at them, oh boy, they could already hear the mouthful lecture they'd get later.

"All of you get back to work, now."

The segments scurried to get out of the room, a little down that they had to leave you so soon.

Changing out of his work clothes and taking off his mask, he slowly got into the spot beside you. Chuckling lightly when his thumb cleaned the drool that left your mouth.

His arm wrapped around you, sighing in content that he finally got to hold you again.

All to himself.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin x yn #dottore #genshin impact #dottore x reader #dottore x y/n #dottore x you #genshin dottore #il dottore #fatui #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

Note

I’m so glad you liked the jokes!

(I though they were hilarious because my sense of humor is nothing if not bad dad jokes, puns, and sarcasm. But I can’t even take credit for them because I found them online haha)

For the blurb idk if you intended for me to ask for something specific or not but I kinda just want to see what you’ll come up with if that’s okay? I feel like any idea you had would be better than mine anyway lol. Up to you really on whether or not you already have ideas or need some help. ♥️

the jokes were so so good i loved them truly. my sense of humor is the exact same way. and oh bless your soul for letting my mind run wild. i present to you all an idea that literally sent me feral, in which you've got some new perfumes and eddie is a blind idiot.

warnings: fem!reader, reader is very vaguely described as having hair that is at least shoulder length as well as buying items such as bras perfumes and chapsticks, hints at sexual themes but no actual smut, neck kissing and just good old fashioned kissing happens, eddie is kind of a perv? a little bit? also, not edited (what's new?) minors dni.

wc: 4.1k+ (i got a little carried away)

“Smell this.”

The demand is paired with a sudden wrist in Eddie’s face that nearly has him falling off the bed.

“Excuse me?”

You and Eddie had been best friends for a while now. Since that first week of freshman year. Eddie, in all his awkward glory, had leaned up from his seat behind you in Mrs. Damon’s first hour English class, stabbed you right in the shoulder blade with a dully sharpened pencil just to inform you that he liked your shirt. You, in all your teacher’s pet façade, had only shushed him harshly and glared before turning back around. But some time between the ice breakers and the saving grace of the first bell of what would be a long high school career, you’d decided you would address him before you’d scurried out of that classroom and thank him. But not before you’d informed him that you didn’t even know the band displayed, had just thrifted the shirt for looking cool, and had unknowingly sent Eddie on a mission to educate you in the glory of his favorite band.

And nearly six years later, he was still on that mission. You were stubborn and had sworn loyalty to Fleetwood Mac before Eddie and Metallica had ever even stood a chance.

He doesn’t mind. He’d listen to the Rumors album on repeat for the rest of his days if it meant he always ended up in this position at the end of the day — in his room, on his bed, lounging with you to pass the time.

Your wrist is still held up dangerously close to Eddie’s face in the present day, a look of determination and contemplation overtaking you, “Smell. My. Wrist.”

Six years is a long time to grow comfortable with someone. And, in Eddie’s case, fall in love with your best friend.

“I’m not smelling your wrist, weirdo,” he mumbles as he swats your hand away, squinting at the way you were perched on your knees as they sunk into his mattress. He had been halfway to a much needed nap before you had lost interest in whatever magazine you’d been reading, “Why do you even need me to? What didja do to it?”

His words are still half slurring from fatigue. If he cuts off your pestering strategically enough, he might still achieve that nap his heavy bones so desperately yearned for.

You readjust yourself, flopping down to sit beside Eddie with your legs stretched out as he lifts himself up. Shoulder to shoulder, calf along calf, the two of you prop your backs against his warm bedroom wall, “I went to Starcourt yesterday with Nancy and bought some new perfumes-“

“Perfumes?” he wrinkles his nose, “Plural?”

He would have sworn he’d have noticed a new perfume, but these days, he’d been trying to put some restraint on his pathetic crush. Tried to tame the yearning inside of him, which meant less indulging in things like sniffing the air like a freakish dog whenever you entered a room just to drink in the smell of you that had brought him so much comfort over the years. Less letting his eyes linger on the straps of the bras you’d started wearing more of since you’d begun to hang out more with the likes of Nancy Wheeler, who had been single-handedly teaching you how to be a girl in a way Eddie had never witnessed from you.

You’d wasted most of your critical youth surrounded by boys, by Eddie. Go figure that Wheeler was jumping at the opportunity to mold a blank canvas.

“Yes, I bought perfumes, plural, as in multiple- oh, don’t give me that look, Munson,” you scowl when he makes a face, wrinkles forming adorably between your brows. (Brows he was pretty sure Nancy had plucked for you last weekend, but again — Eddie wasn’t supposed to notice those things anymore. Tampering the crush, or whatever idiotic goal he had set for himself.), “They were on a BOGO sale. Bite me. Anyways, I got these new perfumes, and one of the ladies was telling me and Nance how you should layer your scents. Which, God, doesn’t that sound ridiculous?”

Eddie hums, eyebrows raised skeptically at where this rambling was going.

“So I bought these scents that she said might pair well together. But then, she was talking about body chemistry and-“ you cut yourself off, clearly realizing how boring this topic might be to someone like Eddie who hadn’t even picked out his own drugstore cologne (you had), “Listen, just… just stop questioning it and smell my wrist.”

Once again, you hold your arm out in front of Eddie’s now softening face. He’s holding his breath, which he hopes you don’t notice, as he weighs his options.

Smell your wrist, probably subjecting himself to a terrible sort of pain when he realizes he'd much rather be placing feathery kisses there before moving onto your knuckles as he holds your hand. Or deny you, possibly hurt your feelings or offend you as he brushes this off as another girly thing he wanted nothing to do with.

The fleeting image of your face if he were to reject you in this moment is enough to make his choice for him.

He never could say no to you.

“What am I even supposed to be smelling it for?” he grumbles as he reaches out and grabs your forearm, opting that safer territory than your hand as he guided your skin closer to him, “Like, I’m not a scents expert, sweet-“

Oh.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as the tip of his nose brushes your soft skin. The pet name dies on his tongue, the inhale through his nose cutting off just as suddenly.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

He already knows he's a sucker for you, a dog with a bone when it comes to your presence and attention. He already relished in your old perfume's scent and the way it would cling to a room, lingering on his sheets when you’d sleep over after a movie night gone too late. When you’d borrow his Hellfire shirt and return it without washing it, leaving the collar tainted with sweetness and enough undertones of vanilla to make a chasm within him yearn terribly.

But this new perfume, perfumes technically, were something different. They weren’t the same as the body spray you’d been using every day since freshman year. They were deeper, more complicated, more womanly than he had prepared himself for.

“Does it… does it smell good?” you meekly ask him, suddenly going shy at his frozen state, “Like, is it working with my… my own smell? Sometimes perfumes smell good on their own but don’t work with your body’s chemistry, that’s what the lady had been explaining to me and Nan-“

“It’s working.”

It’s all he can manage to choke out as he lets go of your arm so that it falls away and takes the sweet smells with it.

God, it was working.

Eddie felt more embarrassed than he had that first month of puberty, when he was just discovering girls and noticing the stretch of t-shirts over chests. He felt even more affected than the first time he’d let his eyes wander over the back of Cheryl T’s thighs the last day of eighth grade, and discovered the wonders of an ass’ curve.

All his blood would not be rushing south. No. Absolutely not. He wouldn’t allow it, not when he was fully grown and should have some self-control, and certainly not when he was wearing his thinnest pair of boxers with grey fucking sweatpants.

Your eyes are wide with innocence, or at least what he hopes is innocence, “Really? It smells good?”

He has to clear his throat before he can properly reply, “‘s good, yeah. It, uh, yeah. Smells good.”

Think of naked grandmas. Think of kicked puppies. Think of literally anything except her soft ski-

“Awesome!” you’re suddenly sitting crisscross beside him, facing him fully, “Okay, that’s- awesome. Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” were you just as flustered as he was? Was he reading this wrong? “The lady actually told us - okay, I know it’s stupid and boring so bear with me - but she told us to put them on all our pulse points. So that way, it… uh… it makes the perfume last longer.”

He can’t get the smell out of his nose. Something so sweet, something so enticing, something so… you. The perfumes were fancy, but somehow, they were you. Smells of summer and spring and tooth-aching sweetness that was driving Eddie mad.

He’ll never be able to let you sleep in his bed again. He doesn’t want to consider what shameful, hormone-fueled decisions he would make if he had to experience his pillow smelling like that even when you were long gone.

Get it together, Munson.

“Makes sense,” he lies, still struggling to get his tongue to function properly. All he’s thinking about is trailing it over that sweet spot on your wrist now, lips sucking on every inch of skin you currently had exposed- Naked grandmas. Kicked puppies, “Is that all you needed? Can I take a nap now?”

Hell, he’s torn between wanting you to stay and ushering you out of his trailer so he can have a few moments alone. Weighing the risks of escaping to the bathroom for a few minutes too long just to get his problem under control.

He’s twenty, not fifteen. A girl’s perfume should not be affecting him this way.

Your face falls ever so slightly, “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. Like I said, I know it’s boring-“

“It’s not boring,” he interrupts, realizing that he’s mere seconds away from genuinely hurting your feelings. Or perhaps he’s already there, having been a complete idiot. He still remembers your face the day he’d contained his reaction to your new bra — how he’d gone into autopilot and snapped the strap like some little boy on the playground just to play off how flustered it made him. You hadn’t admitted it to him, but his reaction had hurt you. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, “The whole science behind it — it sounds pretty cool, honestly.”

Nothing that made you so excited, so giddy, could ever be boring to him. He loved seeing you buzz with your emotions and expectancy. He just didn’t love the way his heart and mind seemed to run with every single, little, goddamn bone you tossed him.

You were his best friend. He shouldn’t think of you like that. He couldn’t.

“It is,” you light back up in the slightest, saucer eyes boring into his again. Not quite as animated as before, but not quite as deflated as you had been heading, “Actually- Can I ask another favor?”

Anything.

“Sure, sweetheart,” his heart had finally slowed its pace, the reigns back in his control as the perfume lingered in the air but didn’t overwhelm him, “What’s up?”

“So… the wrists aren’t the only pulse points you’re supposed to wear perfume on.”

Oh, God. Where were you going with this?

“No?” he tries to tease, tries to smile at you. It’s fruitless — his heart has begun to pound again, “I sure hope it wouldn’t be. I mean, blood kind of rushes everywhere, isn’t that the point-“

“The neck,” you blurt out, making the rest of Eddie’s sentence disappear into the air, “The, uh, the neck is the other place. Well, not just the neck, it’s…” you trail off, twiddling with your thumbs for a second before you lift a hand to gather away any stray hairs from curtaining the side of your neck. You even go so far as to secure the hand behind your ear, “Behind the ears. You’re supposed to spray it behind your ears, too.”

“Okay…” he enunciates slowly, resisting the urge to bite his lip as he starts to catch up with where you’re going with this, and desperately hoping that he’s wrong.

“Can you… Would you…” you pause and take a deep breath, eyes shutting for a second. When you open the back up, a new wave of determination is set around your pupils, “Eddie, can you smell my neck?”

What sort of sick, twisted, wet dream am I living in right now?

Eddie is suddenly convinced you never interrupted his attempt at a nap. He’s asleep right now, soundly curled into himself, and you’re still lounging casually with your magazine on the other side of his bed. That must be it, because there’s no way you’re actually offering him to press himself so closely into your vicinity as he’s only ever dreamed of.

“What?” he weakly questions.

If this is a dream, dear God, don’t let me wake up.

“Can you smell my neck?” you repeat yourself with a little more confidence before pulling your best puppy dog eyes, “I just- I want to make sure it smells good. Everywhere.”

Damn Nancy Wheeler for whatever journey of self-discovery she’d sent you on. Damn her, and damn the perfume lady, and damn Eddie for reaping such benefits.

He should say no. He should really, really say no.

He’s wearing goddamn grey sweatpants, he should say no.

“S-Sure.”

Famous last words.

Your hair has already been moved, making it easier for Eddie when he leans forward at his waist. You lean in as well, jutting out your chin and angling your neck for his taking.

It’s such a bad idea.

The tip of his nose is bumping your skin again as his eyes flutter shut. He’s trying so hard to contain himself, to not make a fool of himself. But when he feels that softness again, when he’s being unraveled by warm notes of vanilla and patchouli, deep breaths of apple blossom of blackberry – he just breaks.

He doesn’t realize that his lips have joined his nose in brushing up against your sweet spot until he hears you let out a shaky gasp, one that almost resembles a whine.

His reaction should be to pull back. He should remove himself, apologize for going too far, stop before he’s fallen off the cliff himself. He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a moment of stillness as his head reels, overcome in the smell of your new perfume again and ears straining relentlessly to seek out another one of those pretty sounds.

He wants to hear it again. He needs to know if it was a moan or a gasp, or nothing more than a ticklish breath.

His lips pucker with intention this time. His nose trails up behind your ear, taking in the full bodied scent of the perfume on the skin as he places another chaste kiss against your pulse.

It’s racing. Your heartbeat is goddamn racing.

The moment his lips connect, another gasp sounds. A sharp intake of breath that whistles so sweetly to his ears before you’re exhaling with a proper, albeit quiet, whimper.

No amount of naked grandmas or kicked puppies can save him now. He’s a goner – he’s been a goner – and he leaps off that cliff full force now as he leans back and out of your space.

Your eyes are shut. Eyelashes fluttering prettily, just barely brushing the skin beneath your eyes.

He almost whispers out a gentle sweetheart as he stays close enough for you to feel his breath on that very same cheek, but when your eyes finally do open to meet his, he can’t get a single word out before his body moves to its own accord.

His lips press to yours before he can overthink it.

He waits for the inevitable – for you to freeze up against him, for you to shove him off, for you to curse him out. He shouldn’t have done that. He should’ve asked for permission, he should have had more self-control.

But you don’t. Instead, you take him by surprise and you kiss him back.

Instantly, without an inch of hesitation, your lips work in tangent with his. Parting and welcoming him as if they had been waiting for this moment longer than he could comprehend. Pressing back with just as much, if not more fervency as his do. You match his desperation every step of the way until you’ve both exhausted all the breath inside your lungs. He has no choice but to pull back, to part from you and gulp in oxygen before he makes any more bad decisions.

Lord know he’s full of them when he’s suddenly gazing into your glossy eyes.

“I’m sorry-” he immediately rushes out to apologize, but a sharp shake of your head halts him.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, “I… Do it again.”

“What?”

“Kiss me again. Please.”

Eddie isn’t in the business of making you beg; he never really can say no to you.

He kisses you again. And again. And again. A collage of pecks and soft slipping, tasting your chapstick and somehow moving the two of you so that he’s back to his original position with his back against the wall, and you now straddling his lap. You hover, completely unaware of how much you’re affecting him. When you let his tongue slip into your mouth without any bartering, he ends up letting out a moan that slips right down your throat. His hands are still so hesitant, but when you reach down and encourage his palms to engulf wherever they please, he’s on a mission of exploration. Soft caresses to your thighs, from the ditch of your bent knees to the skin hardly hidden beneath the hem of your lounge shorts. They wind their way up the pathways of your hips, squeezing at the soft give of the flesh there before he continues upwards. Up, up, up – until they find home in the curve of your waist, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you impossibly close.

That damn perfume doesn’t just linger, not anymore. With you pressed against him, with the way he’s wound so tightly around you, it drowns him. Vanilla, coffee, blackberry, apple blossoms. A multitude of scents he’s sure his plain nose can’t even pick up on, and that he doesn’t really care to name. All he cares about is the smell of you. Something new and something fancy, but so very you.

“I-” you break from the kiss, “Can’t-” you smack another one on him, beginning to take initiative, “Believe-” the next one misses his mouth, hardly landing against the upturned corner, “It took-” your final kiss lands on his dimple before you pull back fully and cup his hands within your palms, still hovering and straddling his waist, “A stupid fucking perfume ruse to get you to kiss me.”

He’s lovedrunk, all slow blinks and dumb-founded smile as he looks up at you, hardly processing the words, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you squeeze his cheeks a little tighter in your touch, “I can’t believe I had to pull that whole stupid act of fluttering my lashes and oh, Eddie, can you smell my perfume for me? To make sure it smells good? To finally get you to just do something.”

His head clears a little as the ghost of your kiss still buzzes on his lips, “Wait- what?”

Your palms slide away, scratching at what scruff has gathered across his jaw line before your hands fully fall away, “You made me act like a damn fool, Eddie Munson.”

“It was all just an act?”

“I can’t believe you were so oblivious.”

“You only made me do that so I’d kiss you?”

“That,” you shrug, curling your hands into fists and gingerly placing them on his chest as his arms untangle from you slightly, only his knuckles resting on your waist now, “And the bra thing. And the whole thing when I bought all those chapsticks and couldn’t pick a favorite flavor.”

“They all tasted good,” he says, confused as he peers up at your faux annoyance, “I even tried them on for you-”

“I didn’t want you to try them on,” you whine, letting a few breathy laughs slip as you sit back, resting your weight entirely on his thighs and narrowly missing his boner you surely hadn’t noticed yet, “I wanted you to taste them off of me. I wanted you to make me put each one on, and kiss me stupid before you’d demand that I move onto the next one. I wanted to be the one to get your lips all sticky, not the fucking chapstick tubes themselves.”

“You-” Eddie’s mouth drops wide open, nearly wider than his eyes, “Hold on, you only brought that up so I’d fucking kiss you?”

You nod as if it had been obvious, grinning wildly now, “God, you’re dense, Munson. I kept telling Nancy you’d figure it out eventually-”

“What does Nancy have to do with this?”

“Nancy has been trying to help me concoct ways to get you to grow the balls and kiss me for months now. Although, to be fair, the bra thing had been Steve’s idea.”

“Harrington?” Eddie gasps out in disbelief as you only throw your head back in laughter. It’s a beautiful sound, one that makes Eddie’s heart race even more painfully than the perfume had, “You went to Harrington for advice about me?”

When you lift your head back up to look at him, you’re all soft smiles and delighted eyes as you quietly admit, “I was getting kind of desperate here.”

His chest heaves, finger unfurling from around your waist.

“I was starting to think maybe you just didn’t like me bac-”

Without warning, Eddie’s hands are gripping your hips and he’s flipping positions, pinning you beneath him. He can’t wrap his head around it. You’d been wanting him to kiss you all this time. And he’d been a blind idiot. Snapping your bra straps, stealing away chapsticks and applying them himself when this entire time, he could have been living out his wildest fantasies.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything more as he begins to attack you with kisses. One for every missed opportunity. No expanse of skin goes untouched as they graze over your lips, your cheeks, your chin, your neck – anywhere Eddie can access feels the pressure of his eagerness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he curses himself over your giggles, coming up for air just to stare at you, “I could have- Oh my God. Sweetheart, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“You are,” you agree breathlessly with aching cheeks, “God, you are.”

He balances himself on his forearms as he stays lifted above you, his hair forming a curtain to cut the two of you off from the rest of the world.

You’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than that first day he’d met you in class, when you’d shushed him and all he did in return was make absolute heart eyes at you.

His best friend. The person he’d be yearning and pining for for six long years. Who had been trying to get him to kiss her for over six months now.

“I like you,” you confess, not breaking eye contact as a hand comes up to his cheek. He’s quick to turn his head, to let your palm press against him as he presses a kiss to your inner wrist, the perfume engulfing him again, “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

He swallows hard, letting his lips remove themselves slowly from your skin and his nose to linger as it presses into the smooth skin, “I like you, too. Have for a few years now.”

“A few?”

“Okay, yeah- the whole time,” his words pull a wider grin from you, “Don’t look so smug. I’m not letting you live down this whole perfume bullshit scheme.”

“And I’m not letting you live down going feral over some overpriced scented oils,” you retort, your cute snort cut short as your breath catches when he kisses your wrist again, “In all seriousness, though… Do you really think it smells good?”

He takes the opportunity to finally lower his hips. Just enough so that his crotch is brushing against your inner thigh, “Yeah, I think you could say I think they smell very good.”

Your hand travels back, caressing at his ear and sending a shiver down his spine before both of them latch behind his neck, prepared to pull him down into a kiss, “You got hard over some new perfumes, Munson? God, you’re easy.”

“I am,�� he doesn’t fight it as he lets you, not gravity, tug him downwards, “I am so easy when it comes to you, baby.”

“Good thing I’m wearing one of those new bras, then,” you muse, placing far too quick of a kiss for his liking onto his lips before you tug him a bit lower, burying his face back in the side of your neck as you whisper in his ear, “Prove it.”

Eddie should probably send a thank you card to Nancy Wheeler and the mall’s perfume lady. Not Harrington, though. Never Steve Harrington.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #no use of y/n #i had so much fun with this i'm not even sorry #it had me YEARNING #GIGGLING #KICKING MY FUCKING FEET #god i hate him i wanna show him my new perfumes #shamelessly described my own new perfumes i just got too sorry

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Demon! Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 3[***]

A/N: you guys really shouldn’t be encouraging my monsterfucking habits but here we are. Also, sorry it’s late!

Summary: You get stolen away by one of his half siblings, and he nearly tips over the irredeemable edge. You’re running. He’s hunting.

Warnings: monsterfucking (yk), demon!azriel, kidnapping, gore/violence, blood, beast form!Azriel (no, you don’t fuck him like that), soft!Demon!az (in his own way)

-Part 2- -Part 4-

He doesn’t understand how he managed to lose you so effortlessly.

He’d been keeping you in his private chambers, locked far below ground. But then you’d started getting ideas in your head after the mating, ideas of your own independence being important. It set his ire blazing, the thought you would any sort of individuality to separate yourself from him. You belong to one another now.

Still, an unfamiliar part of him had granted your offending requests of freedom, returning you to the mortal worlds from time to time whenever you claimed to be struck down by a sickness for your previous housing. His lip curled whenever he thought of it.

He’d allowed you out, and you’d been snatched away. Ripped from his claws, leaving him wounded and tender. And furious. Black flame incarnate. The embodiment of wrath, his body sensing something fundamental having been torn from his inner energies. You.

He needs you back, or he might wither under the unyielding might of his rage.

————————

The marshy land squelches beneath your feet, the wet slap of your toes as they sink into the mud. Icy razor blades slice the soles of your feet as the cold bites into you. The skin is a raw pink, the swampy terrain containing little but festering small creatures that cannibalise one another for the sake of prolonging their pitiful but desperate lives.

The beasts dragging you along have no place in your heart, twisted with malevolent cruelty to the point of being unrecognisable. You can’t even begin to comprehend them, yet they continue stringing you through the bemired ground, no care for the burning pain that slices with every step.

Salty paths have long since dried on your grimy skin, wind whipping at your hair as it howls in the skies, thunderous. Rain lashes at your back, stinging in its persistence. A crack of lightening above has you jumping, stumbling as you fall into a stagnant bog of putrid smelling water. The creatures pay you no mind, continuing on their slouching way as your ankles are pulled out beneath you.

Your mouth opens to scream before you seal you lips as you’re dragged under, your weight sinking into the marsh. You thrash until your break the surface, gasping for air as you try to push the mud from your eyes. The best you can do is wait for the unkind rain to rinse your skin beneath it’s torrential rage.

How much further?

The question repeats in your mind until it’s a dull throb of pain, hair pulled out from under you as you slide through the muck, sludge caking your back. It becomes unbearable when you hit stable land, the cold ground biting at your skin, tearing at the thin robes you adorned before you were snatched away. Again.

The thunderous crack of lightening whips closer, more regular. A small part of you hopes it will somehow seek you out, strike you down where you lie, freeing you from the endless hurricane of events you seem to have been unsuspectingly caught in. Things were just beginning to look up for you and Azriel. He’d allowed you freedom you hadn’t been granted even in the mortal realms, the promise of safety, gifting you with the liberty to run wild in forests, bathe in streams without worry of prying eyes or snatching hands that wouldn’t listen to your cries of agony. How false those promises had been.

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

The wind beats down on your accepting features with all the force nature possesses. It harrows your skin, lashing at your cheeks, stinging your lips as the wind turns every strand of hair into cruel, half bitten whips, cracking against your tender skin with sharp, wet smacks.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a beast. The things dragging you by your ankles were the monsters, though perhaps he was simply a master to the arts of deceit and mockery.

Sharp stones scrape against the raw flesh of your back, surely the same bitten-pink as your feet. Had he really, truly abandoned you? The side of your throat stings, your hands automatically flying to sense out the pain. The bite marks are pulsing, throbbing with a burning sensation, prickling at your bloodstream. Azriel.

Where are you?

You manage to crack your eyes open, gunk teeming at the edges where the rain couldn’t slither in. There’s a black spec in the sky, darker than the thunderous rain cloud. Lightening cracks, silhouetting the shadow.

You hiss as rocks drag against your should blades, splitting up your spine as they grind against the bone. Fresh tears spill as unceasing pain lances through your back, flaying your torso.

The shadow is larger - closer. It’s dropping, plummeting through the air, terrifying wings slicing through the atmosphere silently. Lethally precision in the set of it’s form. He’s a very quiet predator.

Your breath catches, choking on air as it clogs your lungs, tongue feeling rubbery against the walls of your throat. The words blurs but not from the sting of rain, neither the dark haze when your squint your eyes in desperation to shield from the wild onslaught of the elements trying to corrode your skin. Hot wetness warms paths along your skin, neck stinging as his glittering ire slices along that eldritch connection, zapping at your mind.

The utter fury blazing along the bond warms your from within, heart picking up to the beat of the wind that whips unforgivingly across the flat moor, fog rolling in thick, suffocating clusters, sprawling above the fen. Your lower lip trembles as he dives, swooping down, shadows wreathing him in unhallowed darkness.

He crashes into the beasts dragging your human body so carelessly across the boggy flatland, piercing screams tearing from their bodies as they’re crushed beneath his razed sharp claws. The Dæmon lands in a mess of splintering bones, dark blood spraying into the mud as jaws snap viciously, tearing at rough skin as their bodies are pulled apart.

“Azriel…” You’re disbelieving, finally coming to a stop on the biting floor. Power fills the air, frenetic static building, lightening cracking above. It’s his fury incarnate, imbuing the world with depthless wrath as it zaps across the wet fields. Beastly snarls rips from his chest.

You shakily push up, hardly able to move from the bludgeoning numbness. His wings are larger, the talons glittering at their peaks sharper. His arms and legs are transformed into crushing paws, decorated with slicing talons that could spear your entire body. His thick fur curls in the torrential downpour, changed from his bi-pedal form into moving as a predator would, enabling his lethal speed.

He’s hardly recognisable save for scar peaking through the matted hair on his corded throat, a matching pair to the bite marks on your own neck. There isn’t an ounce of hazel in his blacked out eyes, snout searching for life to rip into as he shoves it into the disembowelled stomach of one of the pitiful creatures that’d been crushed beneath his weight.

It happens under a second, one moment he’s a spec in the air and the next he stalks over the bloodied carcasses of the beasts that have been hauling your roughly through the dirt. The once firm land now withers beneath their weight, saturated with blood, their corpses sinking into the morass, swallowed by the land. Pickled.

“Azriel,” his name grates against your vocal chords. You know it’s him. He’s found you, he’s come to save you. Fresh tears wrack your body as shadows slither through the cloying fog, snapping the locks on your rubbed-raw angles as you pull them against your body.

You’re pushing forward on trembling limbs, onto your hands and knees as you crawl forward, rain washing away the grit from your excoriated skin. “Azriel,” you whimper, his body looking so warm and you know even with the wetness soaking his fur you’ll be shielded.

The metallic scent in the air evens out as he shifts into a more familiar form, his own features surfacing, sharp cheekbones splitting through his animalistic demeanour, the darkest shine of hazel breaking in his blacked out eyes. A snarling roar drags from his throat as his gaze settles on you, prowling forward.

The shifting halts, as if frozen. As if he’s struggling to return to his form. Black swallows his hazel as it’s sucked down, size doubling as he doesn’t transform back. His crushing paws sink into the marshland, wings flared wide as he stalks closer.

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

Your name to scramble back but your abraded skin stings. You collapse back into the mud. “Azriel…” you rasp as he traps you beneath his titan-like body. A scream rips from your throat as his jaws drop open, fragments of bone falling out as they enclose over you.

You won’t even make a mouthful as the others had.

But his tongue unfurls, the wet muscle scooping you up tenderly, bringing you into the hall of his mouth as darkness writhes around the outside. A weightless sensation overcomes you as he rights himself, accompanied by the thunderous thump as leathery wings flare, shooting you into the sky as it’s blacked out.

It reeks of blood and flesh, but it’s warm. His tongue is soft, your weight sinking into the tough, slick skin, heating your bones as you melt into the cavern of his mouth. After the overpowering stench of the marsh, the scent of death isn’t that unbearable. Besides, you’re still caked in it, so you wonder who’s really got it worse as you lie on his tongue.

Fatigue weighs on your eyelids, the hotness of the muscle beneath you paired with the repetitive thump of his wings lulls you into needed sleep, darkness filling your vision as you melt into him, stiffness seeping from your bones.

————

You wake to the feeling of falling, your muscles screaming to tense as you slide from his tongue. Blinding light fills your vision, forcing your eyes to shut again. You’re plunged into a warm pool of water, the sensation oddly pleasant as you can already feel the mud being soothingly worn from your skin.

When you break the surface, you’re spluttering, hands trying to scrub your face free of muck. You dip back under, the water burning at your eyelids but it’s preferable to the gunk that’s caking your skin.

A powerful arm hooks beneath your own, lifting you effortlessly from the water, setting you on a submerged ledge that leaves the cleansing water lapping just above your collar bones. Something dry and slightly rough is pushed against your face. A towel, you realise, hands raising to scrub yourself off, to clean your eyes.

You take in your surroundings, limbs resting in the water as your strength completely drains. You’re in a warm coloured bathing area, the vast pool containing creamy looking water, thick bubbles lathering atop the surface.

Beside you, the pool shifts as Azriel settles down, shifting into a form you’re familiar with. Hazel returns to his eyes, colour dancing if you look deep enough. Your eyes trail to his mouth, noting the canines that protrude from his lips, tinted a dark red. Almost black.

He’s still far too big to be normal. You bet if you were stood beside him in his current state, his hips would line up with your rib cage. You look up at him with tired eyes, his own dark ones watching you silently. “Where were you?” You hear the break in your voice, the raspy crackle. Fresh tears fill your eyes, the events returning to you in all their blistering pain.

His brow narrows and for a moment you’re worried he’ll be angry, lock you back up in his room, take away the freedom you were afforded. But he’s brought your to this open space in favour of the washroom that connects to his chambers. Maybe it counts for something.

You grow scared when he doesn’t reply, only watching you. It feels like that’s all he’s doing. “Azriel,” you cry, softly, “where were you?” He remains silent, observing you keenly. Then, he reaches one taloned hand forward. You flinch back, water splashing as you push away from him. His lip curls at the action.

Azriel reaches again, shifting fully as his large hand wraps entirely around your legs, dragging you forward. He’s too strong for his own good, and you go under, water shoving itself into your eyes, stuffing itself into your mouth. You gasp when you’re lifted out, spluttering painfully. It’s only when he pushes the towel into your face again and your eyes are clear that you realise he’s set you between his legs.

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you note his powerful arms are casually wrapped around your middle, keeping you against him. You want to be upset, angry even but all you can do is revel in the feeling of security he gives you. The press of skin against skin, solid warmth behind you. You’re pleasantly surprised by the soft brush of fur, made infinitely silkier beneath water. It’s so nice you lean back, making him grunt softly.

You stiffen. He’s completely bare. At least you still have your clothes on - dirty as they are. Initially, you’re shocked at the hard press against your lower back, then your realise he’s doing nothing to act on it. No attempts to lull you to sleep, no attempts to seduce you into jumping onto his cock. Just allowing you some peace and quiet, while keeping close by.

But you don’t want peace and quiet right now. You want to scream at him. You tip your head back, so it’s pressing against his chest - maybe your ass pushes against him a little - peering up into his dark eyes. “Back out there,” you begin, determined to get answers out of him, “my throat was stinging. Why?” He cocks his head, expression remaining blank, “your throat?” You don’t like the way he says it.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, following down to your chest, your nipples just hidden by the water’s surface. His hips shift behind you, legs widening - allowing you to slide against him, you realise. It’s probably pleasurable to him, you guess. Your head bobs in confirmation as you tilt your head to the side, fingers dancing over where you had felt the pain.

His pupils dilate as he takes in the expanse of your throat, the bite marks. His bite marks. His upper lip twitches, wanting to pull back from his canines in order to refresh the scars. Drink from you. Hear your blood sing for him. It doesn’t help, the way your lower back is pressing tight against him. He’d half hoped you would accept his invitation, when he’d widened the stance of his legs to allow you closer.

Azriel’s mind shudders as you shift between his thighs, lips parting to speak, “the marks. They stung.” That’s all you’re giving him. His claws twitch with the need to touch you, to feel that you’re returned to him. A grin lifts the edges of his mouth, “you were waiting for me to come find you.”

He revels in the way tell-tale warmth flushes your cheeks. You keep your gaze on his, embers slowly heating in your irises as you come back to life. “I had no such thoughts. I was convinced you were the one who had me—” you cut yourself off. It’s far too soon for you to repeat the burning pain you felt, even through memories. You swallow, forcing down emotion, “I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” you mumble, your head lowering, breaking the connection, “I thought I’d spent my use.”

You tense as his arms wind tighter around your waist, feeling as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Cock pressing to your— You swallow. “And that made you unhappy,” he taunts, quietly beside your ear. Awareness lights your skin as his claws wrap around you, so sharp. “You didn’t like the idea of me losing interest in you,” he drawls, the tip of one razor-like talon slipping beneath the hem of your clothing. You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together, in attempt to make yourself smaller, shying away from his touch. “None of my kind - as you so affectionately tend to stress - would revel in abandonment. It means nothing about you.”

Your back cools as he leans against the marble edge of the bathing pool that’s large enough to easily contain a few squadrons of creatures like him. He laughs, darkly, hips shifting so he’s pressing into you from behind, “remember the night we mated?” He drawls, watching as tension lines your small body. “I told you in no uncertain terms, should you continue, you would not deny me,” he taunts, “you’d accept the joining, the breeding.” The talon slices up the inside of your clothes, splitting them in two, making it easy for him to slide them from your torso.

You gasp in shock, legs folding over one another as you frantically try to cover yourself. But his hands have dropped to your hips and you squeal as he lifts you from his lap, turning you to face him. Your cheeks flush hot as you’re torn between covering your breasts and trying to shove him off you. He has no right to hold you in such an objectifying way.

Seeing no point in attempting to push him off you, your arms wrap across your chest defensively. He raises a single brow as your hips wiggle, trying to slide from his grasp. “Let me go,” you demand softly, through your embarrassment. His mouth lifts into a mocking grin, “what will you do for me if I follow that request?”

Your lips drop open as you’re rendered speechless. He hums deep in his throat, a smug glint dancing in his eyes. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, all the overwhelming emotions that had been tearing through you for the past few hours manifesting as seething fury, “you—” Roughly, he pulls you down into his lap, your thighs spreading as he pulls you tight against his front, breasts against his powerful chest, lower abdomen squeezing against his cock, the soft fur brushing invitingly against your stomach.

“What you need,” he drawls once your seated, forcing your head to crane upward to see him, “is a good fucking.” Your mouth drops open as his hips buck gently against your own, and you feel the mocking promise he’s giving you. You want to smack him, to scream at him. Why does he lack such a basic understanding of human emotion?

His hands have loosened around your hips, allowing you to push up from his lap, standing on weakened legs, somehow managing to keep your balance. He only laughs, shadows twining beneath your skirts and up your thighs as he keeps you where you are, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Rage gives way to despair, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tremble in his grip, “fine,” you snap, lip wobbling as you try to push his hands away. Your slim fingers catch on his claws, the razor like blades slicing into you, blood dripping into the pool. His eyes widen marginally with anger as he watches it, scents your blood on his talons. “What are you doing?” He snarls, furious with you for being so careless of your delicate human body.

But you don’t reply, you’ve already settled your thighs either side of him, hand guiding his cock to your entrance. More tears roll as you push yourself down into his lap, burning pain screaming in your abdomen. You look up at him, anguish clear in your eyes, “this is what you wanted, right?” You cry, the stinging only worsening, “so hurry up and get it over with, you beast. Fuck me. Breed me. Whatever it is you so need to do to me.” You’re hitting your fist weakly on his chest as his hands hurriedly move to your hips, so careful not to nick at your skin. “Just get it over with.”

He’s panicked, unaccustomed to the foreign feeling of tension in his throat, heart pounding as he lifts you off his lap. “Don’t,” he snarls at you, anger coating his words as his eyes flick to your hands, bleeding steadily. He shifts into the form he’d been in when you’d met in the forest, claws shrinking into nails, fur disappearing entirely as he frame smallens. “Stop hurting yourself,” he growls, pushing you away from him slightly, panicked eyes flicking between your hands and teary eyes. It’s disarming seeing you like this.

“You wanted it!” You cry back at him, shoulders hunching over as you move to bring your bloody hands to wipe away the tears. He grabs your wrists firmly, jerking them away from your face as he glared at you. “Calm. Down.” Something snaps inside of you. You thrash in his hold, violently writhing, sending water spraying into his eyes.

“Fuck off, Azriel! My back is in pieces, I’ve been dragged for hours across a freezing wasteland, you’ve— you keep doing this. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You can feel your throat tearing as you scream the words, hot paths of water cascading down your cheeks heavily. You want to claw at him, want to punch him, rip his skin from his body with your teeth. He’s unfairly strong. You know you can’t do anything. Meanwhile he can restrain you without even touching you.

You don’t even notice as his hands release your wrists. You fall forward into his chest, sobbing as you slam your fist over his heart over and over, pounding on his cage as if it’ll open up for you if you knock loud enough. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” You collapse against him, sobs still wracking your body.

It’s as though you’re bathing in hot milk and honey, the warm water licking at your wounds, numbing their pain. He’s warm beneath your fingertips, solid warmth beneath your fists. Unshakeable. It’s so unfair. Why can’t you be like him? Why don’t you get to have skin seemingly made of the thickest leather, talons that’ll slice should anyone get too close? You sob harder, tears dropping to the pool. Why are you so weak?

His arms wind around you, almost gingerly. His hands span your shoulders, tucking you against his chest as his shadows skitter across your back, soothing coolness blanketing your skin. You sniff, peering up at him. You almost regret it. His eyes are hard, cold. Glittering malevolence sprawling in their depths. More tears roll as the spark in your chest douses itself. It’s clear he has no attachment to you, only having saved you because you’ve been mated and bred.

Then you freeze.

His hands pull away from you, one wrapping around your wrist as he lifts it to his mouth. His eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly as he uses his thumb to separate your fingers. It’s almost tender as his lips part, licking up the blood that’s ebbing from your slim digits, trailing up to the small cuts. You hiss instinctively, expecting pain, but instead you only feel a vague tingle. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Azriel’s tongue laps over each of your cuts, sealing them so there isn’t even a mark left in their place. When he’s finished, he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead he guides your hands to splay across his shoulders, forehead pressing against your own. “Your back isn’t in pieces,” he murmurs over your mouth, making your brow furrow. You guess it isn’t stinging as it had been, but you had chalked that up to numb adrenaline.

“I know it is,” you snap softly, “I felt every sharp rock, every piece of gritty mud that abraded me.” His eyes lose their harsh cut, the edges mellowing every so slightly. “I carried you in my mouth,” he reminds, lips brushing over yours, making your hairs stand on end, “your back was on my tongue the whole flight. I could taste you.”

Heat flushes your cheeks as you pull back suddenly. His hands automatically tighten on you but relax when he sees you’re not attempting to escape. I could taste you. How can he say that with a straight face. And even after everything that’s happened, you’re left with a singular thought circling your mind. Did I taste good?

You don’t have a chance to foolishly voice the question as his hands lower to your hips, lifting you with him as he stands. Instinctively, your arms wrap over his shoulders and you hiss at the movement, a stinging feel coming from between your legs. He sets you down on the edge of the bathing pool, the cooks tiles pleasant against your thighs. “What— Azriel?” You question, confusion prominent in your tone.

Carefully, despite his now shortened nails, his hands press against your shoulders. The tips of his fingers dip beneath your sodden, still grimy clothes - now the only part of you that was dirty. Finally, your skin can properly breathe as he guides the wet fabric away from your tender skin, slowly stripping you down until you’re completely bare. His eyes drink you in, brow narrowing as he notices a few bruises - ones that are not from him.

His eyes settle on yours as he pushes your legs apart, gently. You resist, scared. You’re stinging, and you don’t want him to hurt you. “What are you doing, Azriel?” You ask, mouth trembling at the looming threat of pain. At this, his demeanour shifts, sending your fear. His hands moves to your waist, thumb brushing over your hip bone, “you’re hurting,” he replies, as if it’s answer.

“I don’t want you to fuck me again,” you manage, your words soft and small, scared he won’t listen. That he’ll inflict more damage upon your already battered body. His lips quirk at the edges, “I won’t.” Then he’s lowering himself into the water, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

Carefully, he lifts one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other. Even now, your muscles tremble slightly, remembering the rigour they’ve gone through. You brace for canines, but are instead rewarded by the gentle lap of his tongue. You could almost cry at the feeling as your cunt tingles, the feeling that was zipping through your fingers when he sealed the cuts.

Almost immediately, you feel better, his saliva coating your heat as his tongue heals you. There’s still a vaguely piercing sting coming from inside, but it’s bearable. You wince when you shift your leg, pain prickling beneath your abdomen.

Inadvertently, you meet his gaze and you know he saw the reaction. His brow narrows. Swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke, he’d once muttered to you. And now you can’t shake the urge to tell him. It’s like a strange compulsion. And he keeps watching you, with those dark, knowing eyes.

“Azriel,” you whisper, scared. He stops, giving you his attention, something surfacing in his black eyes. “I—… It’s still hurting,” you mumble. “Where? I can heal it,” he reassures. The second you articulate that emotion, you freeze, brow tightening in confusion. You swallow, shifting then stilling as you ache. “Inside,” you mumble, barely managing the word, shame crawling beneath your skin.

A grin lifts his lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you. “Stay there,” he orders, gently, as power thrums in the air, that same frenetic static as before. His eyes lock onto yours as he begins shifting, “don’t run from me.”

Then his eyes are swallowed by pitch darkness, wings largening, fur lining his body as he grows. His talons return, as long as you are, longer. His hands shift into those paws that can so easily crush things your size as his features are swallowed by more animalistic ones, snout protruding.

Oh.

You suddenly understand why this bathing pool is so vast. It’s built to house him in any form, including this one.

You realise he’s halted his growth, keeping himself from filling the room as you’re sure he would should he completely transform into that beastly body. Instead it a vague in between. He’s probably triple your size, if not more. Maybe a quarter of his true form. You fight against the instinctive urge to run, remembering it’s him.

His pitch eyes drink you in, prowling forward, all the while not making a sound. You keep still, scared but not feeling in danger. It’s an odd combination. He stops in front of you, your back arching as you peer up at him. It takes a lot of will power to not look at what’s most likely directly in front of you.

“Azriel?” You whisper, unsurely. His eyes glint, and you recognise him. Even with his usual features twisted into a more animalistic light, your body recognises him as an integral part of yourself - not something to fear.

Shadows swirl at your body, lapping over your skin like waves. He moves forward, dipping down to be between your legs. You still, “what are you—” He cuts you off when his jaw opens, the wet muscle of his tongue rolling out. Your eyes snap open, lips parting in shock. The end is tapered, but thickens the closer it gets to his mouth. Oh gods.

“Azriel,” you stammer, “you’re not going to…?” He releases a puff of breath over you and you’re the most taken aback that you’ve been this evening. “Did you just laugh?” You inquire, disbelievingly. His eyes spark and you squeal when his tongue moves, dragging down your chest, over your perky nipples, settling between your legs. He huffs again at your surprise, and the tension leaves your body.

The tip of his tongue presses against your entrance, and you brace.

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

All your thoughts melt away as he fills you, saliva already working it’s powers as that pleasant tingling feeling blossoms across your lower abdomen. Your lips part and his shadows guide you back so you aren’t sat upright: reclining into the darkness.

Pure pleasure sings in your body as he starts moving, tongue pulsing inside of you as it slides gently in and out. Your back arches in response, hands cupping your breasts as sensitivity lights you up. His shadows don’t allow that, though. They twine gently around your wrists, replacing your hands as they flick at your nipples, refreshing cool, like a breeze on a hot summer day.

“Azriel…” you pant, peeking your eyes open. He’s already watching. Of course he is. Your toes curl, knowing he’s drinking in every second of your pleasure. You bite the inside of your lip as arousal coils in the pit of your stomach, already about set to spring free. “I’m—” you pant as he grazes a spot inside of you, mouth dropping open as you melt entirely into his shadows.

A growl of pleasure rumbles through his chest, and it feels so fucking good. Silver lines your eyes, flying closer and closer to that high. “Azzie,” you squeak softly, hardly a breath. A scream tears from you as he growls again, tongue vibrating inside you, the base of it pushing against your clit as you hit your peak.

Your back curves as the growls lose their harsh edge, softening as he feels you fluttering around him. He’s purring. His tongue retracts after the last aftershock has faded, shifting into his more recognisable form.

You don’t even think about it as you reach your hands out, making to grab at him. His brow narrows as he slowly prowls forward, “do you need something?” He asks softly, curiosity lying beneath the bland tone. “Come here,” you snap. His brow raises but for once, he obeys.

The second he’s in reach, your arms loop around his neck, tugging him into your chest as your legs circle his torso, locking around him tightly. You bury your nose in his hair, inhaling that scent that is so inherently him, so deliciously soothing. The feeling of his strong body encompassing you sends a shivering thrill humming through you, lighting you with incandescence.

You press kisses into his hair and his eyes widen, muscles locking up. He’s not sure what you’re doing. But he likes it. He likes feeling your soft skin beneath his cheek, having your thighs hugging his waist while your arms keep him tucked against you. He likes the feeling of your mouth pressing tenderly against him, repeatedly.

He decides it’s a good sign. A display of human affection.

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel x reader #demon! Azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #Teeth and Talons part 3 #[***]#Azriel smut #Azriel fluff

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crithaus · 15 days

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It's 2 am but I'm awake so tlovm fans get this right in the episodes where Percy and gang are retaking Whitestone, specifically the ones where Vax is mind controlled and they've just escaped the residuum melting acid tank, Keyleth and Vex both call him via the magic earrings trying to snap Vax outta being bisexually mind controlled and keyleth gives him a half seconds pause, barely anything but Vex fakes dying in the ACID on her turn, lies through her pearly little teeth to him and that stops Vax dead in his tracks for a second, it's enough to shake him outta damn mind control by former cerberus assembly archmage delilah goddamn briarwood for a moment

I will scream a new singularity into the universe, and they keep talking for a moment actually and right after Matt-as-delilah asks Vax just who tbe fuck he's whispering to he LIES, RAW Vax should have told Sylas and Delilah right then and there that the acid trap failed but he lies by ommission to protect his sister and family and girlfriend, sobs, and then when they're all seconds before the actually ziggurat fight Matt is explaining the parameters of mind control to Liam, yea sure Vox Machina is still technically your friends but the Briarwoods are your new friend-ier friends now and if shit pops off youll be protecting the briarwoods, and Liam's like :/, mostly accurate quote, "so if I see," points to Laura, "her, the most important person in the world to me, I wanna fight her?" Like twinnies on top forever I fear, he would punt scanlan off of the ziggurat for free at that moment but Gods forbid he has to lay a hand on his sister, and then he's like well I'll just guard Delilah's body and not hit anyone anyway, he isn't even willing to entertain the idea of fighting Vex (and co but...)

And then like during the fight after sylas dies, like sam said that tlovm is its own canon and also that the twins specifically got so wicked pulverized throughout the entire campaign that he had to start giving all but their very biggest owies to everyone else so the runtime wasn't 140+ minutes of footage from exandrian intensive care but I'm still SAD about Keyleth getting Delilah's last hurrah attack instead of vex cuz Vex was DYING, in a room with a magic dampening sphere too so no healing and Vax was like hey dm I will run up this 90° wall to reach my sister take those laws of gravity and shove them up ur ass my boy, like she was getting tossed around like a ragdoll, Liam was going to cry it was awesome, he had tunnel vision and it was getting vex somewhere safe and blowing all their useless potions on her, he wouldn't put her down until keyleth started testing fate fucking with the endless abysmal orb, Vex was fine but oh man the future of her death at the hands of something Percy was involved in?? Foretold tens of episodes before, insane how an unscripted dnd game shakes out

Anyway twinnies goes insanely insanely hard in the campaign it's unreal it's wild, Liam spent 2 and a half whole hours in one of his trials of the take episodes mourning by his own admission his sister being gone for about 8 hours away from Him, i am a codependent siblings enjoyer and this shit will feed you

also I fear I need to reiterate, twinnies? Perfect, no notes. Twincest? An abomination, please do not misconstrue my affections here abeg

#critical role #vox machina #vex'ahlia de rolo #vax'ildan #twinnies you will always be famous

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oneshotnewbie · 5 months

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heyy!!! i don’t mean to seem eager or like i’m spamming you, but i have a second request if that’s okay! if you’re comfortable, i’d like it to be an x child!reader unless you feel the need to change it to fit your idea of the story better, or whatever makes you comfortable, in which i don’t mind.

reader is Emily Prentiss’ daughter, who is around eight or so and reader is a little daredevil. like, she climbs on things and does these little stunts that scare emily half to death, so she’s always scolding her about it? maybe one day reader ends up doing one of her little stunts and gets hurt – nothing major, just a scraped knee or something, and emily cleans her up and explains why she can’t be doing things like that because it’s dangerous and she could get hurt again? reader tearfully agrees and promises not to do it again, or just something along these lines. i hope you keep your motivation, and are doing well, you’re a wonderful writer!

thanks!! - 🍄 anon

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Emily sat on a wooden park bench in front of a small playground while the first warm rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees. The sounds of children playing in the background and the happy chirping of birds formed a harmonious melody. She breathed the scent of the first blooming flowers and freshly mown grass into her nose, watching you play on the climbing frame, fueled by a childlike energy that seemed limitless.

"Honey, please be careful! And don't even think of climbing the trees, love!" She shouted to you as she stressed trying to stay calm while reading a book.

You were a little daredevil with wild curls on your head, ignoring your mother's admonitions and deftly disappearing from her sight to climb a low branch of a nearby oak tree. Your mother sighed and shook her head uncomfortably, not understanding your indomitable need to explore the world. This made Emily particularly anxious, making her heart soar every time she walked outside with you.

"Y/n y/m/n Prentiss! If you don't get down there now, there will be no ice cream for the rest of the week!" She scolded, her voice laced with a hint of concern as she finally tossed the book back into her bag, deeming it pointless to even try to read the first page of it. Emily stood up with a sigh and walked over to you, who was already sitting on the branch, looking up triumphantly and giggling happily to herself. "Oh mom, I have everything under control. Look how high I am!"

"You may have everything under control, but I'm not so sure I have it," she stood on her toe-tips, leaning on the thick trunk of the tree and reaching for your small hand. "Please come down, you little daredevil, before I have a heart attack from being anxious."

You cleverly climbed down again, jumping the last few centimeters into the arms of your mother, who was holding her arms outstretched towards you. Your eyes were still shining with excitement as you sat on her hips and wrapped your hands around her neck. "Mom, look. I'll show you something else I can do."

You wriggled out of her arms and before your mother could say anything or continue to hold you, you began attempting a shaky handstand that you seemed to have copied from the older kids on the lawn a few meters away from the playground. Emily held her breath and didn't look away from you. You swayed menacingly and her fear increased as her mind turned to the worst possible outcomes that could happen if you couldn't keep your balance. But you managed to land on your feet again and beamed proudly at your mother.

"See, Mom. I said I could do it!" You announced happily, clapping your hands together in joy. The black-haired woman couldn't help it and sighed in relief. "Yes, yes. You are really brave, my little devil. But please do me a favor and be careful. I don't want you to get seriously injured and have to go to the doctor. You hate doctors."

You nodded seriously and understandingly before running off to go on the next adventure, banishing what your mother had said to the farthest corner of your brain. Emily shook her head with a smile and thought about how much courage and desire to explore you had and where it came from in the first place. Life was like an endless playing field for you, full of possibilities, and she couldn't deny that deep down she was proud to have such an adventurous daughter.

Worried, she sat back down on the bench and tried to read her new novel once more. You continued to rage around, your energy inexhaustible. And this time, your mother had no idea that the second half of your adventure would be different.

Only minutes later, she heard a surprised, long scream followed by sobbing noises and your voice calling loudly for her. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she quickly jumped up to see what had happened. You sat on the floor, your hands clutching a scraped knee. "Y/n! What happened?" She called out worriedly as she rushed over to you.

"I fell off the wall, mom. It hurts so much!" you sobbed and she immediately knelt next to you in the sandbank to carefully examine the scraped area. Her slightly cold fingers ghosted over your injured skin and as she tried to blow the scratchy sand out of the wound, you began to cry. "Oh dear, that looks really painful. But don't worry, mommy will take care of it."

Emily stood up from her crouch and lifted you back up onto her hip. Your tearful, wet face buried itself in the black-haired girl's shoulder while your hands wrapped tightly around her neck and didn't want to let go. With you, she walked back to her seat and carefully sat down with you on her lap.

She quickly rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a disinfectant spray, zinc ointment and a plaster. As she carefully cleaned and treated your knee, she couldn't help but quietly explain to you how important it was to be careful. "You know how much I love you. Right? That's why you really need to be more careful. These small but dangerous adventures could seriously hurt you. You could hurt yourself more than you can imagine."

With tears in your eyes gently falling down your cheek, you looked up at her, simultaneously playing with a lost strand of her hair that strayed in front of your face. "But it's so much fun. I just wanted to see if I could climb it."

Emily let out a sigh as she carefully stuck the band-aid in place. "I understand it's fun, darling. But safety always comes first. You can have other fun without getting hurt. Mommy is very worried about you."

You lowered your head, rubbing your dirty and grimy hand at your eyes to wipe away the usual tears that remained. A feeling of regret washed over you. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again and if I do, I'll call you so you can hold me."

Emily gently stroked your hair and smiled comfortingly before placing a big kiss on your forehead. "This is my brave little adventurer. I know you're learning and understanding. Sometimes we just need to protect ourselves from ourselves. And since you can't do that yet, I'll do it for you."

You nodded and got up from her lap. She straightened your shirt and pants after the fall, patting them a few times to remove the dust from the sand from you before you took her hand and pulled her to the slide, where she was supposed to slide and swing with you for a few laps.

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