#this keeps rattling around in my brain so I’m trying to get it out by putting it down here
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Dp x DC Crossover Concept I think is fun but will never have time to properly write
Several years ago the scientist of the GIW were investigating the miraculous resurrection of Vlad Masters by ectoplasm. Their team managed to isolate the cause to a randomly mutated gene that he possessed which they dubbed “the ReGen Gene”. A project known as Project Phoenix managed to splice this gene into what was eventually just two viable human embryos made primarily of genetic material provided by the project’s Lead Scientist Sheila Haywood and one of her male friends. The specimens were implanted into the friend’s wife who had volunteered thinking it was part of a research project to cure something or other.
One of the junior scientists on the team [the future Dr. Maddie Fenton, in fact, although that was not her original name] had a crisis of conscience about the work and decided to tell the woman carrying the babies the real nature of the experiment. When the woman learned that the plan was to intentionally kill the babies to see if they could be brought back to life, she decided to go into hiding. With Maddie’s assistance, she convinced her husband to flee with her to Gotham City to protect the babies.
When the children were born, they decided that keeping the twins together would make them easier to find. The couple, under the assumed names of Willis and Catherine Todd, kept the older one and named him Jason. Maddie took the other, and moved her small family with new identities to a random town in Illinois, where she determined to raised Danny alongside her own young daughter as her son.
Things mostly happen the same as the original canons; Maddie and Jack continue their work in ectology and eventually this leads to 14 year old Danny unknowingly proving the experiment a success, replicating Vlad’s resurrection and acquisition of powers. Danny still keeps this from his parents so Maddie has no idea. Vlad’s obsession with Danny is fueled by the fact that he figures out Danny is one of the Project Phoenix subjects and is convinced that because Danny shares that *one* gene copied from his own DNA, he should be considered Danny’s true father. (If he found Jason he’d also try to steal Jason as his son)
Jason’s life follows the same pattern, except for the fact that Sheila Haywood (who was fired from the project for losing the specimens and went rogue trying to get them back) had been actively searching for signs of him, only to locate him after he’d been adopted by Bruce Wayne and was too well protected to simply be snatched away (she’s tried hiring kidnappers a couple of times, and every single time, either Batman or Nightwing or fucking Superman had been on their assess before they’d even made it out of Gotham. The woman just does not possess the resources to fend off the entire Justice League when they’re determined to protect the son of a billionaire socialite for some strange reason). Sheila does plant the other birth certificate in the hopes of him eventually deciding to come to her before resuming her still fruitless search for the other twin.
Unfortunately for Sheila Haywood, when her plan finally works and Jason seeks her out, he brings along the Joker and the Batman for the ride. Sheila tries to make this still work in her favor by making a deal with the Joker and arranging for Jason’s death so that she can then bring him back to life and finally prove her experiment a success, but that backfires and she is killed too. Jason’s corpse is taken away by Batman to be buried in Gotham.
Now, there’s not a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham’s atmosphere. However the Lazurus Pit buried under the city has contaminated the soil with low levels of ectoplasm through leeching over the years. After some time, this is enough to revive Jason, but not enough for him to manifest powers or completely heal the brain damage he suffered at death before he crawls out of the grave. Talia shows up to whisk him away.
Not exactly clear on all the details, but Danny is eventually captured by the GiW and placed in containment to be studied as their successful experiment (the Fenton parents might be killed in the struggle to capture him maybe?). They also finally manage to locate Jason, and when they learn he’s already dead they send some people to retrieve his corpse to see if he can be reanimated too.
There is, of course, no corpse to be obtained, and they have to regroup and communicate with their bosses to decide what to do. Their activity drew the attention of Robin, who sets up surveillance of the grave site. That means when a couple of the GiW goons come back to test the soil for ectoplasm, Batman and Robin get a front row seat to their conversation regarding Project Phoenix, the fact that they’ve concluded Jason has been resurrected, and the fact that Jason’s long lost twin brother is currently being held prisoner in a high security facility and making himself a nuisance for his guards (one of the goons has spent time on Danny guard duty and has much to say about it).
Batman and Robin go rescue Danny!
Jazz and Dani were *also* trying to find and rescue Danny, using a magical tracker from the ghost zone that relied on using Dani’s blood to lead them to the one who shared her blood. Unfortunately for Dani and Jazz, the GiW facility is shielded against this type of ghost tracking. Unfortunately for Talia, who has just finished giving Jason his Lazarus Pit Bath (and unwittingly suppling the rest of the ectoplasm needed to properly give him his ghost powers), the League of Assassins is *not*
Basically, the two parties rescue the twin that’s not their own and then have to work to find and reunite with the other group without knowing the others are also actively on the move and searching, so they keep missing each other. Danny is freaking out because not only does he have a twin brother who also died and came back, the twin was apparently adopted by Batman, but Batman is helping him hide from the GiW so that’s cool. Jason is trying to learn as much as he can about his new powers from Dani while also protecting his two new sisters who keep trying to protect *him* instead even though he has actual vigilante training, except he can’t tell them that, and the League of Assassins AND the GiW are both after him and all he wants is to get back to his dad and the help them find this twin brother of his he just heard about. (It is important to note that the Jason, Dani, and Jazz party are all simultaneously convinced they are the most competent member of their contingent-Jason due to his training and history of survival, Dani due to her relative mastery of ghost powers and history of survival, and Jazz due to her age and perceived maturity—and are privately trying to take on the full responsibility of protecting the other two)
#dp x dc#dp/dc crossover#au idea#this keeps rattling around in my brain so I’m trying to get it out by putting it down here#i simply Do Not Have Time to write this one and never will#because I also have a plethora of material I want to write for the extended BGU [Bat Ghost Universe]#as well as a bunch of non crossover DC long fics#like my own take on the Jason never dies but Tim joins the family trope Excpet Tim also finds young Duke to bring with him#and a Tim can see Ghosts but not DP style ghosts au#and the fusion of DC with the All Souls trilogy because Vampire clan Batfam and Brightborn Damian.#and the Stephanie brown Green Lantern au that I didn’t know I needed until yesterday but now desperately want to do something for#and let’s not forget all the one shot ideas. yeah. I’ve got a lot of ideas and unfortunately this one is not just going to get written by me#so if anyone else is inspired to take any of this and run 🤷🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️#LmK if you post????
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₊˚⊹ your sweet lips on my lips 🧸
about : first kiss and early mornings w mike <33. title is a hozier lyric from like real people do!!
warnings : a little longer than usual!! 1.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader ( once lol )
author’s note : I WANT TO KISS HIM SO BAD AAAAAUGHHHH. i’m so obsessed w him my brain is him and him only
your breaths were slow and steady as you slept in an uncomfortable position on mike’s couch. the tv was on low volume in the background, playing reruns of some old sitcom that your parents probably watched as kids. you were tucked under a small throw blanket that was always draped over the back of the couch, and a couple of your limbs were dangling over the edge of the cushions.
you were looking for work and mike had hired you to babysit abby. although with the hours you were at his house, it was more of just making sure abby was asleep and then more often than not, falling asleep yourself. the pay wasn’t great, but you didn’t mind. you really liked abby, and got along with her well. and well… her brother had caught your eye. he was a bit of a loser, sure, but you found him endearing. you admired how hard he worked in order to support his younger sister, it was clear she meant a lot to him. plus he was always kind to you.
while getting to know abby and becoming a more prominent person in her life, you also passingly got to know mike. abby had plenty of stories to tell, and you would often have short conversations with him before or after his shift. she had even let it slip once that mike was interested in you, and may or may not have a crush on you.
“my brother talks about you a lot, you know.” abby said oh so casually as you were helping her get ready for bed one night.
“is that so?” you quirked a brow, suddenly very intrigued at what secrets she might spill. you had harbored feelings towards the man for a while, probably as long as you’d been babysitting abby for. you always thought he would never reciprocate your feelings, and therefore decided to keep quiet about your crush.
“yeah, he says you’re pretty and you make him happy. and he’s glad you get along with me. he likes that” she said, looking up at you as you tucked her blankets around her.
you felt your cheeks grow warm, and a smile broke out on your face. “that’s good to know. he makes me happy as well, both of you do.”
“he also said he wishes he had time to get to know you more. i think he likes you. do you like him too?” abby inquired as she snuggled into the covers.
you thought carefully for a moment before responding. “i do, yeah. and i would definitely like to spend time with him if i’m given the chance. but that’s enough for tonight, it’s already late. sleep well, abby. i’ll be in the other room if you need me.” you press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head before standing up and leaving her bedroom for the night.
that very brief conversation with abby stayed on your mind for the following days. when mike came home early the next morning you were more flustered than ever when you spoke to him. since then you had been trying to find a way to make your feelings a little more known, hoping one of you would have the courage to finally confess.
keys jingled and the front doorknob rattled as mike let himself into the house. it was quiet, as it was just past 6am. the only sounds were the faint conversations of the show on the television, and the sound of his own footsteps padding across the floor. he set down his keys and kicked his shoes off before making his way into the living room where he saw you fast asleep. he quietly picked the remote off of the coffee table and turned the tv off.
although he wasn’t quiet enough, and you started to stir. “abby?” you asked tiredly. you blinked up at mike, slowly starting to sit up as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.
“nope, it’s me. sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” he replied quietly as he set the remote back on the table. “did everything go alright with abby?”
you sat quietly for a moment, trying to find your thoughts in your sleep hazed brain. “yeah, she ate a good amount of her dinner and then we hung out and watched tv for a while before she went to bed. how was work?” you had pushed away the blanket and now sat upright, looking up at mike. he looked tired, which was to be expected. despite his exhausted features he looked handsome, although this wasn’t a new discovery.
his voice shook you out of your thoughts. “it was boring, but it pays.” he shrugs. “want some coffee?” he leaned his head in the direction of the kitchen.
“coffee sounds good” you smile. he starts to walk toward the kitchen and you follow behind him. damn, his butt looks good in those pants.
“i always feel bad falling asleep, i feel like i should be the one making coffee and breakfast for you.” you noted lightheartedly. you were trying not to gawk at him, which had been proven increasingly difficult after abby told you that he was in fact interested in you.
“i appreciate it, but it’s no big deal, really. i understand it can be a little boring being here all night. i trust you with abby, so if you need to sleep, sleep.” mike replied tiredly. you made a mental note to try and at least make coffee for him before he came home in the future.
once in the kitchen, he started gathering everything he needed to make just enough coffee for the both of you. you leaned against the counter, your back facing the wall. the two of you stood in comfortable, sleepy silence as the coffee brewed.
once the coffee maker had stopped gurgling, signaling the coffee was done, he grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet and poured you each a cup. you added the ingredients to make it just the way you liked it before taking a sip, nearly burning your tongue.
you could feel his eyes on you. not in a creepy way, but in admiration. he took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes lingering on your frame. you let your gaze wander back to him, meeting his own. you gave him a smile as you took another sip of your coffee.
"i uh.. would you like to go out with me one day? just us?" he stammered. he averted his gaze to his coffee, swishing the dark liquid inside to distract himself.
you smiled, giggling to yourself. it seems like abby was right about mike's feelings for you, not that you doubted her. you took a moment to collect yourself before responding. "yeah. yeah, i'd love to."
"he looked back up at you with a goofy smile on his face. "okay, cool. does tomorrow night work?"
you nodded, "yeah, that's perfect." you knew abby wouldn't lie to you about how mike felt, but it still made you giddy when he actually showed that he had feelings for you. you glanced over at the little digital clock on the stove. 7:08am. you took one last sip of your coffee, placing it down on the counter. "i should probably go, i have an appointment that i need to get to. you have work tonight, right?"
he looked disappointed, but nodded. "yeah. i'll see you later then?"
you nodded in response, "yeah, of course." you stepped closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.
his cheeks immediately flushed and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. he’s had other partners and had been in relationships before, but it had been so long since he was as infatuated with someone as he was with you. you were still close to him, and he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. he paused to make sure you were okay with it, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.
but you didn’t. you leaned in further and pressed your lips to his briefly, somewhat hesitantly. he grabbed your hip, holding you firmly but gently. he kissed you again, this time with more confidence. this kiss was longer, more passionate, and it only increased the feeling of butterflies flying around in your stomach.
“took you guys long enough. are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?” a small voice comes from the other side of the room. you and mike quickly pulled away from the kiss, much more flustered now that you had been caught by mike’s youthful sister. neither of you had heard her approach, and were startled at her sudden presence.
after recovering from the slight embarrassment, you looked at mike questioningly to see if, and how he would answer abby’s question.
“i sure hope so” he smiles, his attention focused back on you. “it’s up to them though.”
“i’d like that” you smiled back at him.
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could i request k3 from the prompt list with platonic nanami kento? thank you!
Home Sweet Home
Yandere Uncle!Nanami x Niece!Reader
Warnings: Yandere themes, face slapping, murderous undertones, isolation punishment
“There’s no use trying to run. This is your home now.”
Requests are temporarily closed.
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You thought Nanami was just supposed to look after you for a couple of days. You thought it was just going to be until your parents come home from their trip. Uncle Kento, well, is now telling you that your parents got into a very bad accident. He’s telling you that they’re not coming home, and that you’ll be living with him from now on.
Horrified by this information, you begin to cry into his shoulder. He holds you, gently, firmly, just like his personality. He holds you the way you need to be held right now with an arm across your back and one hand on the back of your neck to keep you close to him. You sniffle and cry into his blue button up shirt, but he doesn’t mind the water works.
It’s understandable after all. He lost his brother and sister-in-law after all. It was a “tragic car accident” after all. He knows you’ll just need time to heal and adjust.
But as that time continues on and you’re not healing or adjusting, Uncle Kento feels the need to keep a closer eye on you. He feels the need to watch over you more than he was in the beginning.
Soon, it becomes a battle of wills. His firmness against your stubborn nature. Who will break first? It certainly won’t be you. You’re moody and growing, you’re sad about the death of your parents, depressed even. You can’t get a break from your loving uncle.
There’s a day, at dinner, he looks over at you with those goofy glasses on his face. “I know you’ve been missing your parents, so I want to ask how you’d feel about calling me ‘Dad’?”
You look at him with a frown, eyebrows raised slightly and cinched together, E/C orbs narrowed straight at his sharp features. “What?”
He sets down his chopsticks. “I think you should start calling me that. You lack a parental figure in your life, and I can’t fulfill the role as just your uncle.”
“Are you serious? You think you can just replace my dad? He was your brother! How can you say something so fucked up like that?”
Kento can now see you’re starting to become very emotional over this. He sighs, needing you to know this isn’t coming from a place of malice…just slight jealousy. “Young lady, don’t curse at me like that. This isn’t me trying to replace your father. This is me trying to give you what you need.”
You smack your hand down on the table. “I don’t need you, and I don’t need this either!” You stand up, grab your jacket from the closet, and head towards the door while trying to wrangle the coat on.
You hear the footsteps behind you growing closer and closer before you feel a hand close around your upper arm.
“What, Uncle Kento?” Frustration seeps into your words, tangling around them like wire.
“You’re not leaving. You haven’t even finished your dinner.*
“Fuck dinner! I’m not going to let you try and replace my dead father. You’re crazy! Insane!”
“Stop. Stop acting so irrational.”
You point your finger at his chest. “The only one being irrational here is you, jackass.”
You hear it before you feel it: the tidal wave that is the back of his hand. Skin and knuckles slamming into your cheek. His large paw makes the entire right side of your face feel swollen. You feel dizzy, brains rattled and sloshing around in your skull as you reach out to something for balance.
When all is clear and your eyes meet the stern gaze of Kento Nanami, you bite your quivering lip and stifle all emotions.
“Your crass language won’t be tolerated. Is that understood.”
You feel your jaw, your stinging cheek, even your temple as you glare directly up at him. “All I understand is that it seems like you’re not all that upset about your brother’s death.”
Grabbing you by the ear, Nanami drags you towards your room, but once he gets there, he doesn’t just stop. No, he continues over to your closet before shoving you into the dark space and locking it from the outside. He loves you. He needs to do this for you to respect him. He needs you to learn to call him “Dad” because he knows that this is what’s best for you. Soon enough, you’ll start to see things his way.
Banging on the door, you scream for him to let you out. All he does is shake his blonde head as he walks towards the exit of your room.
“There’s no use trying to run. This is your home now,” are his last words before shutting your door.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#triggering content#triggering themes#yandere x darling#yandere themes#jjk#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#platonic yandere#platonic yandere uncle#kento nanami#nanami kento#yandere nanami#platonic yandere nanami#uncle nanami
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gamer boyfriend with kurt
kurt x female reader
cw: 18+ minors dni, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), no use of y/n, awkward dirty talk, p in v (unprotected)
“Ya know, if you actually stream the gameplay and not just your face, people might watch,” you tell him as you sit back on the bed, plugging in your phone.
Kurt looks down at his lap and then back up at you, looks like he’s connecting the dots and you’re right. Like he’s never thought of that before. He pouts, “Yeah well maybe when the money from Spree gets to my bank, I’ll look into it.”
You huff, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can watch him. You have no idea what game he’s playing, video games aren’t really your thing. But it’s a bunch of dudes running around with guns. You’d have a better chance guessing if the games were listed on a board and you threw a dart at it. Who you think is Kurt’s character isn’t very good, though. The dudes running around in circles and not shooting. Gets shot several times in the few minutes you’re watching.
“Are you winning?” you ask, bored.
“No,” he mumbles.
You sigh and pick up your phone, scrolling through Twitter absentmindedly when some porn pops up and out of curiosity, you don’t keep scrolling. An idea pops into your head and you reach your foot out to poke Kurt’s thigh. “I know how to get some attention online,” you purr.
“How?!” he asks excitedly, glancing briefly at you and then his eyebrows furrow. “I’m talking to my girlfriend, not you guys!” he screeches into the mic. Then his eyes roll, “Yes, she’s real.”
You giggle, stroking your foot up his thigh and back down. His cheeks flush as he continues in the mic, “We haven’t had a chance yet.” He sounds embarrassed and you can assume they’re asking if he’s slept with you, in not so nice words. And you two haven’t. Not for a lack of trying on your end. Hell, you would’ve blown him in his Spree the first time you met. Granted, you were drunk but you thought Kurt was cute and really, you would’ve invited him in if he wasn’t so awkward. So you left him your number on a napkin but he never called. And for about two weeks you wracked your brain trying to remember his instagram handle that he repeatedly rattled off to you and your drunken friends. They thought he was cringey but something about Kurt intrigued you. He was sweet. And really goddamn good looking under that mop of greasy hair and clothes his mom picked out for him.
She was really the reason you guys hadn’t done much more than rushed handjobs in his Prius. Kurt’s mom was… protective. Babied the hell out of Kurt. Treats him like a teenager and not a 23 year old man. The door has to stay open when you’re over. Like that would stop two adults from fooling around.
“We’re busy, I don’t know,” Kurt’s mumbling interrupts your thoughts. “No! She wants to. She definitely wants to.”
You get up from his bed and get yourself between his thighs, purring into the mic, “Oh, I really want to.”
Kurt’s face lights up, cheeks flushing as they swell with a bright smile. You giggle, and close his laptop, ending his stream. Something like this will get him banned, and you’re pretty sure he’d cry over it. He starts to protest, “Wait! What are you—“ it dies in his throat as you palm at his crotch over his pants.
His eyes roll back the harder you rub and yours glance up towards the door, making sure his mom isn’t being nosy. But she works a lot so when she gets home, she tends to pass out watching TV. You’re probably in the clear as long as Kurt keeps quiet. Your fingers work to unbutton his jeans, pulling down the zipper before grabbing his waistband and tugging his pants down. You can see the swell of his dick chubbing up in his briefs and you rub your nose against him, looking up to see his pretty, full lips falling open. He’s gripping the controller close to his chest and his eyes are on you. Sweetest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.
Mouthing at his boner, you hook your fingers into his briefs and start pulling them down his thighs. Kurt’s impressive length flops out and rises with arousal, filling out quickly. Kurt hasn’t admitted he’s a virgin, but you’ve come to the conclusion he is. Which is a first for you and it’s exciting. The thought that you’ll be his first is intoxicating and has you soaking through your panties. You wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him slow and tight, mouth watering at the sight of it. His cocks huge. Pretty. Thick and long with a pink head and it gets wet. Never seen a man leak so much. You lick his slit, giddy when he whines and grips the Xbox controller tighter.
“Maybe I am,” he mumbles into the microphone and smirks and you laugh softly, squeezing his dick tighter. More precum bubbles out of his slit and you’re quick to lick it up.
“Tell them, Kurt,” you bite your lip, “Tell them what I’m doing.”
He looks shy, eyebrows raising as his cheeks ruddy even more, “She’s literally touching my dick right now.”
He whispers it, barely audible and you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking softly as you look up at him. Wide eyed. Kurt whines again and then says, “I’m not lying!”
“Shh,” you hush him when you pull off his dick, “We have to be quiet.”
“Sorry,” his eyes are so so sweet and apologetic. You need him. Can’t handle it anymore. You stand, pushing down your leggings and underwear before climbing into his lap. He grunts, looking at you all wide eyed and confused but it just spurs you on more. You’re almost feral for it. For him. For Kurt.
“Shh,” you repeat, “Need you, now.”
You grip his cock, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You whine from it and Kurt moans, loud and shaky. Slapping your palm over his mouth, you look at him with wide eyes before looking over to the doorway.
“Kurt… keep it down, baby. Okay?” you whisper, gazing into those beautiful brown eyes. He nods, and you grab the controller, dropping it to the floor and guiding his hands to hold your waist. He grips you tightly, looking up at you with stars in his eyes. You smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb before lifting up and slowly lowering back down on him. Kurt looks amazed, eyes and mouth open in absolute awe. You build a slow and gently rhythm, wanting this to last at least five minutes.
You connect your lips to his, pushing the headphones off his head and they fall around his neck. Riding him steadily, you deepen the kiss as you slide your tongue along his lower lip. But Kurt’s Kurt so he doesn’t get it and you have to press your thumb to his chin and pull his mouth open. When you lick inside his mouth, he moans and digs his fingers into the small of your back. Thank God his cocks so long, it prods at your g-spot perfectly, hooked just right. You’re sure you can cum if you time it properly. So you kiss him filthier before picking up the pace, sucking on his tongue and licking against the roof of his mouth. Kurt’s completely falling apart, whimpering and messy. You bounce in his lap, adjusting the angle to ensure he’s slamming against your spongy bit just so.
His gaming chair squeaks under the weight, rhythmically mirroring your thrusts. You gasp, pulling back from the kiss and whispering in his ear, “Talk to me, baby. Make me me cum.”
“Oh!” he whines, “okay, uh… I’m fucking you. With my dick.”
It’s almost sweet and dorky enough to work, it makes you smile and you nod as you whisper back, “Yeah, baby. You are, your cock is so big. Filling me so deep, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he whimpers, “Filling your pussy up.”
“How’s my pussy feel, baby?” You coax him along, knitting your fingers in his hair, slowing your movements.
“Good. Really good,” he struggles to get stay quiet, voice wrecked and shaky, “It’s wet and so good.”
“Yeah?” you hum, kissing along his jaw, “You wanna cum in my pussy, baby?”
“I—fuck,” he grits out, wrapping his arms around your waist while he holds you still, spurts of hot cum shooting from him inside you.
Well, you tried. You nuzzle against him and repeatedly kiss his jaw as he rides out his bliss. “That’s it, Kurt. Fill me up.”
He lets out a pathetic sound, face all contorted as he thrusts his hips up at you. Then his arms fall to his sides while he lets out labored breaths. You keep kissing his face and stroking his hair.
“Let’s go to mine. And we can do that some more,” you say and Kurt laughs, full of excitement and disbelief.
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BLIND ITEM !
ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3
note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.
Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.
No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.
He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.
Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.
“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.
Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.
They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.
The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.
Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.
“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.
“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.
She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—
In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.
However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.
The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.
Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.
There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.
Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.
You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.
“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.
“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.
“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.
“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”
“She’s not my—“
“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.
Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.
“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.
“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”
“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.
“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.
Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.
In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.
Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.
Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.
“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”
His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.
“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.
“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”
You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.
“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.
“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.
“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.
“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.
“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”
Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.
“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.
“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.
“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”
“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.
You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.
In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”
He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.
“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.
“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.
“Santa Monica.”
“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”
“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”
“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.
“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.
“You got in my car.” Leon points out.
“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.
“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”
Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”
“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.
“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.
You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”
“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.
“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.
The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.
He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.
“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”
“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.
He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.
Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…
Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.
Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.
He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.
The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.
“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”
Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.
“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“
“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”
You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.
“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.
“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”
“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.
“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”
The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“
“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.
“Fuck off.”
“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.
And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.
“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”
“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.
“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”
“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!
“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.
Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.
You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.
Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.
The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.
A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”
“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.
He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.
“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“
“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.
You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.
“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”
There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.
“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.
You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—
Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.
“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”
What a bitch.
“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”
“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.
“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.
#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x you#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut
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Blood for Ruin
Part One
Thank you all so much for the love and support for Part One, it is always so scary sharing brain children. You are all amazing.
Part Two
(Or, Alastor Proves he Makes a Shit Hotel Host by Bullying a Murder Victim)
By the time you opened your eyes, you had been moved to a bed, a comfy bed, in a warm lit room that was modestly decorated. And you were alone, thank god. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and kicking the sheets off as you straightened up. You stretched in a vain attempt to bring yourself some comfort, at least in body if not the mind. Doing this however, resulted in an immediate eye opening panic, because the sides of your arms brushing against either side of your head caught onto nothing.
Y’no, nothing. Nothing where ears should be. Looking around frantically, there was a cracked door heading into what was possibly a bathroom- please god, please be a bathroom. You body checked the frame as you ran in, muttering a whiny ‘ow’ before flicking a switch that turned on the overhead lights by the sink. Door open, lights on aaaand yep. Yep, yep yep. Ears missing. Hyperventilating now, you stumbled to the vanity and braced yourself on the ledge, staring into your own reflection as the panic began to set in.
Hell took your ears!? This was fucking ridiculous. Could one bitch to the devil? But also…how…how were you hearing? Because you definitely could hear. In fact you could hear better than before, like the wind outside rattling against something and a creak from the walls possibly 2 rooms over. Your brain might have been empty of explanation but your ears more than made up for it in what you heard. You leaned towards the mirror, turning your head back and forth trying to figure out what had happened to you. Then you felt it, a twitch, a little itch, at the very top of your head. Eyes drifted upwards to the pair of soft brown ears (?) That didn't quite point straight up, instead pointing more in a 45 degree angle. The left one was flicking of its own accord. The scream that left your mouth was instinctual, and loud.
Almost immediately you heard a knocking at the door and Charlie waltzed in, breathing hard, indicating the speed in which she came to your need. You spun around to meet her eyes, hands whipping to the very soft - so soft - ears utop your crown, breath shaking as you tried to get control over yourself.
“Ooohhh, yes, yes you’ve discovered your adorable new features! Thank goodness, I was so worried!” Charlie said, hands waving in front of her before clasping them together on her chest. “Everyone who comes to hell as a sinner takes on a delightful new appearance that reflects the way they lived and died! It’s a great way for you to meet new people and uh…learn to live a better life in spite of them! Many people take on animal appearances, my dad thinks it’s because every soul transcends the image of a human body.”
Still taking large breaths to keep yourself from screaming, your stuttering proof of your inability to form basic words, Charlie continued.
“Angel Dust is a spider, we think because he was involved in a ‘web of crime’ with his exciting mafia family - Husk…well okay Husk is interesting because I’m pretty sure cats in the overworld don’t have wings but he was a gambler before death so maybe he was just lucky to get wings too! You know, cards fell in his favour ha-haaa…” She trailed off awkwardly, face scrunching in a manner that you understood as her realising maybe she wasn’t explaining any part of this new discovery very well. She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, the other one placing itself on her hip. “Alastor is a deer demon, and it looks like you could be one too! I mean, you’ve got similar ears, although yours are much cuter because they are kind of floppy. And your nose is so cute! Like a baby doe! You’re pretty adorable honestly.”
You glanced at the mirror again, hands finally falling to your face to rest on your chin with your fingers covering your mouth lightly, spaced apart to allow your haggard breathing to come in and out. She was right, you did have a cute nose, it was similar to Charlie’s in appearance, and your ears did closely resemble the ears of a hooved forest animal. They reminded you of a mule deer's ears, the only deers you ever saw in Oregon (where your home was). Looking closer at yourself without the same level of panic your eyes moved back and forth rapidly taking in the new details of your person. Your skin all around was a sort of fawn colour, if fawn the colour could look dead. It was as if Bambi had died and his fur turned an ashier colour devoid of the warmth of active blood. That was you! Your ears were a dark blonde peppered with black, complimenting the soft blondish brown of your hair. Fingertips and nails were black, the black creeping up your arms before ending below the sleeve of your short sleeved pyjama top. You looked down and poked your foot out a bit to see if your lower limbs matched and hooray…they did.
In another world, maybe one where this was a costume, you would admit that you were cute out loud. However denial was still the leading emotion so you just slightly nodded at yourself before slowly turning around to face your gracious host once more.
“So. I’m a deer, so that’s a fun new fact…will I stay this way while I’m…here?” You winced at your admission of hell being your new place of residency.
“Yup!” Charlie replied in a chipper voice.
”And if I manage to get to heaven…will I change into something new?”
Charlie paused, the hand that was on her head had shifted to her chin, finger now tapping in pensive thought. “Hmm, I’m not sure? But from what my dad has said, humans who go up to heaven also take on forms that reflect their earthly life. Soooo you would probably stay a deer.”
”How would your dad know? Can we talk to the people in heaven?” This casual conversation was helping hasten the subsiding panic.
“Uh no. Heaven and Hell are pretty much separated all the time, except for the extermination BUT we’re working on that…My dad is Lucifer. Like the archangel!”
Your face was in obvious shock. Jaw dropped lightly and your hands came to your sternum, and you gaped at Charlie with wide eyes. “Lucifer? Like…the Devil? Satan himself?” What the actual fuck, why was your luck so cursed?
Charlie rocked back and forth on her heels, slightly grimacing from your comments before answering. “Yes, my dad is the Devil - but Satan is his own person, lots of people get them confused, much to dad’s chagrin. Lucifer Morningstar is my dad, the Devil, the King of Hell, fallen angel, and Satan is just the Lord of Wrath. It’s all very simple once you’ve been here a while.” Charlie had come to your side and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the bathroom. ”You should really join us downstairs for a proper tour, breakfast was over a while ago but we might be able to find some lunch in case you’re hungry.”
Your stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Was Hell just like Earth, but scarier? And redder? Would you need to get a job? Pay taxes? Oh good god, was Hell was just the worst part of living on monotonous repeat? Brutal. And certainly great punishment.
“We can work on getting you some more personal clothing later, but you are Vaggie look to be around the same size so she’s dropped off a few pieces just to get you in gear for redemption! I should probably go tell the others that you’re fine. I can’t wait for you to join us!” Charlie was so sickly sweet it was crazy to think she was the daughter of the Devil. She was too cheerful for a normal person, never mind a demon. She waved to you and said bye before closing the door as she exited.
Picking up the first couple of pieces in the donated pile, you dressed yourself in a shorter dress with a billowing skirt oh my god you have a tail ignore it ignore it ignore it and thicker grey socks that went all the way up to the middle of your thighs, covering up your black skin meeting up with the length of the dress. The dress was a softer white colour, not as bright as a crisp, new piece, this was a well loved item. No complaints, it was broken in and you were grateful for the gift. The only questionable features were the X’s that were placed directly over the nipples of the top. That was…quite the fashion statement. No time to be picky, something would be better than the pyjamas you died in. No shoes were provided so you simply walked out of the room into the hallway without.
The hallway appeared neverending from both sides, the detailed wallpaper and carpet going for visual miles. Which way was the right way? Good thing you were unconscious when you were brought up here, makes it much easier to retrace your steps. You were grateful for your giant new ears because it seemed like you could follow the sound of chatter down a hall.
Frowning, you let instinct take over and you went to the right. You were passing a door on your left and you felt the hair on your body begin to rise, a staticky sensation passing over your skin. It was a similar feeling to when you would take a giant fleece blanket out of the dryer when it was still warm. You shuddered and made an audible noise of discomfort. Thankfully it appeared that you chose the right path however, since you found yourself at a set of stairs that appeared to curve to the lower floor. You could hear the chatter clearer- “She screamed at the mirror? She’s adorable! She coulda been a worm or a giant slug or-” You shook your head, attempting to ignore the conversation you were accidentally eavesdropping on. A click was heard behind you and you whipped around to face the creature that resulted in your uncomfortable welcome to the hotel in the first place.
Alastor.
Now that he wasn’t talking and simply staring at you, analysing your being, you could really take in his face. Large, red eyes with a frightening depth to them were framed by darker red skin on his lids, his nose somehow sharp but similar to your own, his was more nose-like however. His smile was the worst part though. You were unsure of what could possibly make him smile so wide. His teeth were very large, and clean despite their colour. Strange for a person framed after a prey animal to have such sharp teeth, and you instinctively ran your tongue over your own behind your lips to discover sharper canines only, nothing comparable to the man in front of you.
In the silence his eyes narrowed and focused on you, making his face far more intimidating. Again, an unintentional shiver ran down your back and you shuddered under his gaze. You were a startled deer, caught in his frightening gaze. You were so unsure and uncomfortable with the situation that you had completely missed that he said something to you. You closed your eyes and shook your head to get out of your thoughts.
”Pardon? I’m sorry, I missed what you said there.” You admitted with crossed fingers that he would accept the apology.
”Yes, clearly. I merely asked you if you slept well! You took quite a nasty fall to the floor! Generally people know my history before I can make them faint from fear so I will accept the compliment. It appears as if my sabbatical has had very little effect on my presence.” He bowed slightly in a polite manner, arm crossing over his stomach as he did so, the other arm holding a microphone that was promptly used as a cane once he came up from his polite gesture. You had done a small curtsy in return, awkwardly grabbing the side of the small skirt to fulfil the action. He appeared to nod in acknowledgment, hopefully appreciating the polite return.
Your arms dropped back to your side as you processed what the man had said. Things were only going to continue to confuse you. This was all a nightmare, honestly.
“Now, on to a more serious matter,” He snapped his fingers, and the both of you were in a different room. Two chairs to your left were angled around a small table, the little radio featured on top of it. God damn it that fucking thing again. Farther behind one of the chairs however, the room opened into a bayou swamp environment - dark, marshy and foggy, the eerie sounds coming from it promised danger of an unknown kind. What kind of place was this? You could feel your ears flick from the ambient sounds coming from the strange forest as Alastor continued his interrogation. Walking to the antique, he asked “What were you doing with my radio, my dear?” Gesturing with his free hand to the little machine.
You essentially vomited out the story behind it, where you found it, why you were there, the reason you took it home with you. He listened intently, glancing at it once you finished your very brief history with the item. It truly wasn't a scandalous thing that you pilfered from some ritzy location, you salvaged it from a hoarder's house after it was put there by a woman with an obsession with Antiques Roadshow.
“If it is yours, why did it come here with me? Charlie said that possessions don’t follow souls into hell, but this did?” You inquired, hoping perhaps he held the answer.
Alastor became pensive “Hmmm. It is quite peculiar that it came with you. What were you doing with it? Please do not miss a single detail my dear, I am curious about our situation.
You frowned. What else other than grabbing the cord as you fell back? You listed out your actions on your fingers, reciting out loud the steps you took before your death. When you landed on the finger you paired with ‘took the back panel off-‘ he shouted a sharp ha-Hah! Confused and with a frown you continued, ending with cutting your hand on it before putting everything back together and heading to bed. Well, then dying. The actual ending.
“Are you sure that was all you did? Do not leave a single detail out, or you might regret it.” A sound attune with a record scratch sound from nowhere as you stared at the demon. Took radio home, took radio apart, bled on the radio, cleaned blood off the radio - your eyes went wide. And you silently checked off a step you missed in your story. You had cleaned blood off the symbols in the radio, the ones that looked like they themselves had been written in blood. Alastors gaze sharpened at your realisation.
“On the panel, inside the radio…” You started, “There were these symbols inside of it, I didn’t really get a good look at them before cutting my hand open,” You absentmindedly looked at your palm only to see a bright white scar where the long cut once was. Already? A Scar in hell? Alastor had stalked towards you and grabbed your hand to look at it. The air around the two of you was suffocating. It was difficult to think straight with him in front of you. And you were suddenly hyper aware of yourself, and him. Holding your hand was almost too much to handle and you tried to pull it back only for him to grip harder, nails pressing into your hand painfully. He raised his other hand palm up and held it beside yours. A matching scar was present. He frowned, though his smile was still prominent.
Dropping your hand he returned to the radio and black shadow tendrils rose from the floor and grabbed it, taking pieces off and placing the back panel of it in his hands. In silence he looked at the mess before entering into a low laugh, one that increased with each breath before he was near hysteria. His figure increased in size, antlers growing in size from his head, limbs lengthening - he swung his head to face yours as his figure started to loom over yours.
“Well my dear, we seem to have a problem” he said in a strange, distorted voice, his figure still looming. “You have compromised some old runes within my radio…it could possibly explain how you ended up here, with us, looking as you do.” Halfway through his terrifying statement he had returned to his ‘normal’ form and fluffed out the lapel of his coat as he did so. Eyes returning to yours the room became darker, and green symbols similar to the ones in the radio appeared on the floor, some appearing to raise up and float around the two of you.
“You will not mention any part of this radio or what you know of it, including where it was found or how you came into possession with it. You will not let others know of how your scar came on your person, and you certainly will not mention any of the runes you saw.” He wasn’t making a request, he was clearly demanding it. It felt as if wind was billowing his hair and coat as his eyes took on a much brighter look. ”If you do, I promise you will regret having ever come here and I will devour your soul only after a long and painful torture, am I clear?” You nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the only reason you had not thrown up yet was the complete lack of food in your system, though the bile was resting at the back of your throat from fear.
He raised his hand to yours in a handshake motion, beckoning you with the outreached hand to join yours with his. You grabbed his hand with your own, both scars meeting in the middle, and they began to glow before he said only one word - “Deal?”
Well really, was there any other option? You nodded before he tsk-tsked your action, “I need vocal consent my dear, it is required.” The last word turning dark with static.
“Deal.” You barked out, and as soon as you responded, the room reverted back to its original state immediately. Alastor took his hand back and wiped it on the opposite sleeve. ”Excellent. You may leave now, the stairs will direct you right into the lobby. Please tell Ms. Morningstar that my afternoon has changed and I am unable to join her.” The door swung open on its own accord and black tangible tendrils of shadow had all but shoved you across the room and out the door before slamming the door shut so hard you swore the wood splintered slightly.
You paused to catch your breath, staring at the door, which you now knew led to Alastors Room. On the other side you could tell he must have been pacing back and forth, his heels clacking on the hard floors as he did so. Soon after however, it sounded as if a wild animal was throwing furniture and ripping fabric, loud screaming as it did so. Not about to stick around, you sprinted to the stairs and nearly slipped from the lack of shoes trying to place distance between you and the Demon upstairs. You kept up the pace on the main floor until you ran past an open door and caught sight of Charlie sitting on a sofa. You entered the room, out of breath and slightly sweaty from the encounter upstairs. She waved excitedly before patting the open seat beside her for you to sit as she held up an apple in her other hand. You sat, accepted the apple and took a bite before looking at the Television and promptly choking as you watched a news anchor discuss something called an ‘Extermination’, didn’t Charlie mention that upstairs?
Thankfully, once things had settled down in your head, you found yourself swept up in trust exercises, oh goody. Thankfully this spiralled into chaos and you were glad everyone had simply accepted your presence without hesitation, there were far more exciting things happening. It was especially comforting that Alastor would be keeping his promise and leaving on an outing for the day.
****
I will add here, this will be a semi-slow burn. Alastor is aroace pre-reader, but with time things change. Time, magic, and forced proximity.
#alastor smut#Alastor Hazbin#Alastor x reader#Alastor slow burn#Alastor Hazbin Hotel#Alastor x OFC#Hazbin Hotel#alastorxreader#alastor x you
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Band!141 x Reader - Subway
Just a little something I've had rattling around my brain this week~
You've never run faster in your life, you're not even sure your feet are hitting the ground between your frantic steps as you race towards the open subway car. You can't miss this train. Not today. Please, not today.
Today is the most important day of your life. The day you audition for a spot in the city's most prestigious ballet companies. If you miss your chance, you won't be able to try again for another year, and you don't know if you'll be able to afford to stay in the city if you don't get into the company. And you refuse to go home a failure.
From the open train car you hear shouting. Voices calling for you to hurry. The train was about to leave. Nononono. The door starts to close as you run up to the train, just a split second too late. Then it opens again, a large black boot keeping the door from closing completely.
You look up and see four large men, one of which has stuck his boot out to hold the door open for you. He smiles down at you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. He’s older, handsome. His dark brown hair and beard sporting some specks of gray.
“Y’made it love,” he says in a deep, warm voice that makes your heart race.
“Thanks,” you say quickly, slipping past him and the three with him. The car is packed with nowhere to sit and almost nowhere to stand either. Except right near the group you pushed past on your way onto the train. Sheepishly you make your way back towards them.
The one that stopped the door for you smiles again and another one, younger with dark curls, waves you over. You’re hesitant, but you go over.
“One seat left ‘ere,” he says, beckoning to a seat he’d been standing in front of. You mumble another thanks and slip into the seat, trying your best to make yourself as small as possible, missing the way the group smiles at each other.
“Where you rushing off to love?” the first one asked. The word burly comes to mind as you look up at him. He’s wearing a white tshirt under a well-worn leather jacket, a pair of beat up black jeans and a black beanie. Slung over his back is an instrument case, it looks like a guitar, but you don’t know much about instruments so it could be a bass.
“I have an audition downtown,” you say, fidgeting with your duffle bag in your lap.
“‘At Danc’n Knights place?” another one chimes in with a Scottish accent. This one is the shortest of the bunch, though he still towers over you. He’s broad, dark stubble on his pierced face and a mohawk. He’s wearing a spiked leather vest over a black sleeveless shirt and a kilt. He’s standing closest to the largest of the bunch, a large, blond man wearing a privacy mask that resembles a skull.
You nod. You hadn’t wanted to tell them, but the decal of a ballerina on your duffel bag, along with the tight bun you wore your hair in, was definitely enough to give it away. “Dancing Knights, yeah,” you say. “They’re looking for new ballerinas.”
“We’re heading to a recording studio near there,” the second man says. Getting a better look at him, he’s darker than the rest of the group, his eyes are the softest though, dampening the nervousness in your chest. He’s dressed similarly to the rest of the group, another instrument case on his back and a plaid shirt tied around his hips. “Maybe we’ll be seeing you around there.”
You can’t help but smile up at him and nod. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black card, handing it over to you. “We’re I4I,” he says. “I’m Kyle, everyone calls me Gaz.” He went around pointing to the oldest man first. “That’s John.” Then to the Scottish man. “Johnny, we call him Soap.” And finally the largest of them. “And big guy there is Ghost.”
“Ghost?” you can’t help but ask, looking over the card in your hand. It’s a thick black stock with the band name and a logo featuring a skull with a sword running through it wrapped in a pair of white feathered wings.
Kyle shrugs at you. “Doesn’t like anyone knowing his name,” he says simply. You nod quietly, then give them your name with a polite smile.
“You’re all in a band then?” you ask, relaxing a little. You were certain whatever they played, it wasn’t something you were into, but they seemed nice enough to at least check out their social media. It was the least you could do after they stopped the subway for you.
“That’s right lovie,” Kyle says. “Next big thing.” He gives you a wink. “Better keep your pretty little eyes out for us.” Your face feels warm at his shameless flirting and he chuckles at you. “We always post when we’re playing next, you should come to one of our shows. We’ll give you the VIP experience.”
“Oh!” you say. “Uh.. sure.. Maybe.” You tuck the card into your duffel. “I’ll keep an eye out if I make this audition.”
“You better make it then little one,” John says, smiling at you as the subway pulls into your stop. “For our sake.”
#141 band#band!141#141 x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john price#john mactavish#soap#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz
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Beaded Curtains
Eddie Munson/Afab!Reader
Rating: Explicit // 5.8K words // Sub!Eddie, Dom!Reader, Pegging, Anal Sex, Porn Watching
Maybe accepting a sketchy vhs from Robin wasn’t your smartest move.
Or maybe it was.
A/n // I wanted to fuck this man. And not in the conventional sense. also shoutout to my baby girl @storiumemporium for being my beta 👩❤️💋👩
NSFW under the cut!
---
“Alright so this isn’t what you think it is-”
“You’re handing me porn.”
“Well, yes-” Robin struggled to explain, a vhs extended towards you.
You mentally scolded yourself for thinking ‘oh, I’ll just visit my friends at work, keep them company. This is a good idea’. You never imagined you’d come in and find yourself absconded by your best friend, chucked past the beaded curtain in the back and come face to face with the smallest adult film selection in Indiana. You should’ve just been a bad friend, moron. “But it’s not like- okay I’m starting over.”
You nod as if this conversation was anywhere near normal, eyes averted from the cover of the vhs where a woman nude from the waist up gazes up at you.
“So I was watching this, right, and the guy looks like Eddie so I had to stop,” She said, rattling the case towards you as if that answered anything.
Your brain was blank, your brows furrowed in confusion, and the only thing you could think to process was- “why were you watching porn?”
Robin deadpanned, looking at you as if you were stupid, “Oh I’m sorry I was unaware that fucking Hawkins, Indiana became a hotspot for lesbians. I like looking at the women in them.” She drawled, shoving the tape into your hands. Symbolically, it felt heavy, realistically, it was actually pretty light- and what the fuck were you gonna do with it? Luckily, Robin was telepathically linked with you in some weird way, answering the question without you having to voice your confusion. “Listen, I dunno man, you’re always talking about the new stuff you’re trying- so I thought maybe you’d wanna watch it with him?”
“Awwww.” You coo, “It’s so sweet how you look out for my sex life.”
Robin laughs, turning you around by the shoulder and pushing you past the beaded curtain back into Parentally Guided society, “Yep, it’s all part of my masterplan- get you so satisfied you stop talking to me about it. Now get out of here, my fifteen minutes are up.”
“Don’t I have to check this out?” You ask, but she’s still shoving you out the door, the heels of your boots digging into the gravel outside.
“Already did it, and I won’t even charge you a late fee,” she says, winking, before promptly shutting the door in your face. You bark out a laugh in the middle of the practically empty parking lot, a porno in your hands.
As you shut the door to your car, throwing the tape in the passenger seat, you hummed to yourself, eyeing the back of the tape. No sign of a man on it. Fuck, your curiosity was peaked. Did you really have to watch it? The subconscious part of your brain had already decided that for you apparently, pulling out of your parking spot and starting on the road down to Eddie’s house.
Guess you were watching porn.
---
Using your extra key to unlock the door to Eddie’s trailer, you ignored the baffled look on his face as you stormed in, quickly scanning the room and checking the bathroom to make sure that Wayne was gone. When the older man was nowhere in sight, you went around the entire trailer closing the blinds.
“Uh-” Eddie called out, looking up from where he was stationed on the couch to watch you tottle about, “nice to see you too, doll. You good?”
“What? Yeah, I'm fine- what makes you think I’m not fine?”
He gets up to pull your fingers away from where they’re fiddling with a window latch, “oh I dunno. You’re twitching by the way”
Huffing, you take up his spot on the couch, settling into the dent he had made for himself and pulling the vhs tape out of your bag to throw at him. Ignoring the way he fumbled before finally grabbing the box, you distracted yourself with the chips he had abandoned. Pointedly not looking as the couch dipped beside you, your breath hitched as he flipped the box around in his hands, the sleeve crinkling. “Didn’t think this was your style sweetheart, how come you didn’t clue me in sooner?”
He was mocking you, the little shit.
You narrowed your eyes, turning to look at the teasing grin your boyfriend was giving you. But if you looked close enough, a certain haziness clouded his eyes. “Robin gave it to me.”
“Oh? Should I feel threatened by Buckley?”
“She said the guy in it looked like you, so she gave it to me.” You said, taking the tape back from him and moving off the couch- whatever confidence you had mustered pushes you towards the tv to sit in front of it, fiddling with the box before popping it open. “I was hoping that we could watch it together?”
You didn’t have to turn around to know what sort of expression Eddie had on his face, you could imagine it from the small groan he let out, and the rustle of the couch from him sliding down and spreading his legs to relieve the pressure his sweatpants put on him. The VCR clicks as it accepts the tape, and you grab the remote on your way back to the couch. Eddie accepts you with open arms, practically pulling you into his lap as you get settled, his arm curving around your waist and his hand finding its home high up on your inner thigh, squeezing you as the film started.
“Holy shit.” You swore, mouth open in shock. “He really does look like you.” Pulling back from Eddie’s chest, the scrunched expression on his face made you laugh.
“I don’t look like that.”
“You totally fucking do.”
Of course, it wasn’t uncanny, but the similarities were there. The same long, shaggy brown hair, the big brown eyes. The actor's lips were a bit smaller, his face a bit rounder, but if you squinted you could definitely see why Robin felt the need to turn it off. “Hmm, I must say though,” You drawled, leaning up to kiss the curve of his jaw, “I think you’re much more handsome.”
The look he gave you was electric, lips pursed to a smile as he nosed at your hairline before giving you your own kiss, “Oh do you now?”
Your response was cut short by a moan on screen, only realizing that you both had been neglecting the film. Your gaze flickered back to the tv before-
What?
What the fuck?
It wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before, your eyes glued to the screen as the woman who had been on the cover of the tape loomed over her male counterpart, one hand spreading him open as the other glistened in the low-light, working in and out of his ass.
“Fuck sweets,” Eddie chokes out, his grip on your thigh tightening, the metal of his rings digging into your skin “Didn’t know you wanted to swap-”
“I didn’t know!” You lurched for the remote that sat just far enough out of your reach to be comfortable, attempting to grab it, but Eddie’s arm stayed firm around your waist, keeping you in place on his lap. “Eddie let go- oh my god-” The moans the man on screen kept letting out became exponentially louder, and the fact that he looked like Eddie was really throwing you off- because his partner was practically bending him in half.
The camera zoomed in on the space where the actors connected, a flesh colored dildo attached to the woman by a harness, the lube that coated it shining and squelching between their bodies as they moaned. Eddie’s hand once again squeezed down on the meat of your thigh, a squeak of surprise squirming from between your lips as you jolted, legs coming together and pinching at Eddie’s fingers. It was only then did you notice the ache inside of you.
You didn’t even know that- that people could do that.
“Don’t hurt yourself thinking, I can practically hear the cogs turning in there,” Eddie mumbled, low and close to your ear. That wasn’t fucking helping. “You into this doll?”
Though you didn’t respond, Eddie could tell you were, in fact, into what was happening. The way your pupils blew out, the clench of your thighs, the pure heat rolling off of you in waves. There was confusion too, and if he thought about it, that was to be expected. It’s not like you were innocent when you both met, it just didn’t occur to you that something like this was an option. You didn’t think to ask, didn’t know where to look.
Now you did, and by the way Eddie was pawing at your sides, he would definitely be up to help.
He watched as you bit your lip, and excitement bubbling deep within him as you finally drew away from the acts on screen, looking up at him in hesitance. But you trusted him. This was your Eddie, you knew he’d never make fun of you for being… into something out of the ordinary. It was practically his social brand.
“Yeah,” You said, a lilt to your voice, a wavering confidence you hadn’t yet fortified. “Yeah I think I’m into it.”
Like a cat that caught the canary, Eddie grinned, leaning down to kiss against your neck, basking in the way your breath hitched and your body melted. “You maybe wanna try it? I’m all up for you manhandling me, sugartits.”
Snorting, you pulled away, your nerves fizzling out as you held your boyfriend at arms length, “If you ever fucking call me that again, we’re not doing anything.” Finally grabbing the remote, you pressed the off button, throwing it somewhere else across the couch. Mentally reminding yourself to not forget the tape when you left, you turned back to Eddie. “But yeah, I think… I think I might wanna try something like that.”
---
You fucking hated driving- and you fucking hated that in order to get anything, you had to drive all over fucking Indiana to fucking find it.
You had driven four hours to Bloomington. Four.
Cranking the AC, you glared at the huge, black, nondescript, plastic bag in your passenger seat. Finding everything you needed was hard. Finding the right stuff was even harder. Eddie had told you some things- stuff he’d seen in magazines, tidbits of things he’d learned by himself. You’d, of course, done your own research, a fair share of time spent in the anatomy section of the library, browsing through magazines- fuck, you even wrote to an advice column that you’d found in a BDSM magazine, and man, was it difficult to even find where they sold those things. Thank god for anonymity. But it was all culminating at this very moment. Four hours away from home, in fucking Bloomington.
As you merged onto the freeway, the world’s worst road trip looming on the horizon, you managed your breathing and thought of what you were doing this for.
Your really, really cute boyfriend spread underneath you.
---
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, you think to yourself, back resting on Eddie’s bedroom door as your fingers fiddled with the lock. Eddie on the other hand didn’t seem to hold many reservations, digging through the plastic bag you had placed on his bed.
You had stopped home before coming over, freshening up, making sure everything fit, cleaning certain things. And now it was happening. You were gonna do this. Pushing off from the door, you sit down on the bed, looking into the bag alongside Eddie.
“I got the right stuff, right?” You ask. Eddie grins, holding up a bottle of lube.
“Sure did- how’d you know this brand was my favorite?” He goaded, dropping it back into the back before getting into your face. You scoffed, heat rising to the tips of your ears as he nudged your noses together, your hand pushing against his chest.
“Because you told me, jackass.” Enjoying the way he giggled, you feel your confidence returning, egged on by the hands greedily pulling you closer. His hair fanned out beneath him, taking a moment to appreciate it as you pressed your lips to his- well, that sounded gentle. It was more of a clash, something eager and familiar in a night that was bound to be anything but. Eddie let his hands roam, the heavy touch you craved petting over you, pressing into areas that made you keen, opening your mouth up for him just a little more. His fingers traced down your chest, migrating naturally to the edges of your shirt, beginning to tug it upwards.
He let out a whine of confusion as you pulled away, “I thought I was in charge tonight?” You question, keeping your hand firmly on his chest.
Now, million dollar question, was Eddie listening to the words you were saying? The answer was no- not when you were so utterly distracting. Your kiss bitten lips and ruffled hair drew his focus, the way your hands settled over his chest, your thighs squeezing his hips. A pitiful Huh? Is all he can manage.
Rolling your eyes you settle back on his lap, a firm look on your face. Eddie can feel his blood rushing south as you grip his wrists, pulling them from your waist and pinning them to the bed. “I’m in charge tonight.” You reiterate, despite his unfocused grin. The moment you let go of his hands, they’re back on you, tugging at your shirt and trailing up your thigh.
You suck on your teeth, obviously displeased as your boyfriend tries to lean up to nose at your neck. His back hits the bed again, opening his mouth to plead his case, the need to feel you still twitching at his fingertips, “C’mon sweetheart- I swear you can be in charge, scouts honor- Just lemme get that shirt off of you-”
Eddie’s snark was cute- if only because it showed off that he was just as, maybe more, nervous than you. The flicker of his eyes as they took in everything that was happening, occasionally darting to the black bag that still sat on the other side of the bed. The tips of his ears red hot, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. Fuck. He was so fucking cute. And despite his obvious conflictions, he jabbed “Thought you were in charge, doll- what’s the holdup?”
“For someone just meant to sit there and take it-” You drawl, grabbing his jaw to tilt it up, baring his neck to you, “-you’re talking quite a bit.” His pulse quickens, you can feel it beneath your tongue, laving at the artery at the side of his neck. A steady thrum of support to know that you were going in the right direction, that what you were doing was making him feel good. A pitched groan escaped him as you shifted in his lap, grinding your hips down onto his clothed dick. This part was familiar. A repeat of hazy summer nights or rainy afternoons. When you had time to take it slow.
The unfamiliarity would creep up soon, however. Crawling down your spine as your hands trailed up his, encouraging him to arch away from your touch so you could pull his shirt up. The faded, black material bunched around his armpits, his hands- having remembered the implied no touching rule- bunching up the sheets of his bed in anticipation. You paused for a moment, at a temporary loss. Normally, you were the one laid out beneath him like this. Racking your brain, you recalled your past endeavors.
What would Eddie do?
You made contact with his doe eyes, wide and blown with anticipation as you slowly lowered yourself, molding your chest to his stomach. He recognized this.
“You gonna-?” He asked breathlessly.
You hum, nodding your head as you blew lightly on the pink skin of his nipples, “ ‘m gonna play with your tits, alright pretty boy?” Your hands come up to grip at the little muscle he has in his chest, pushing it together in a way that he normally did to you. Eddie was sensitive- the feeling of your thumbs brushing over his nipples causing him to keen- his back to arch needily against your hold as you collected spit in your mouth. Your tongue, practiced and concise, brushed over his left nipple. The eye contact you held intensifies the stimulation of your mouth closing in on him.
“Ouch- fuck!” He curses, hips involuntarily bucking up into your clothed cunt. “I don’t bite you!”
“Yes you do, baby,” You reply cheekily, tongue tracing the divots your teeth had left in his pec, “leave me all sore and bruised, don’t you think it’s only fair?” You can feel the way he groans in response, the sound reverberating from his chest into your jaw. You hum, switching to his other pec, peppering it with little love bites as your hand slowly draws downwards. The lithe planes of white hot skin giving softly beneath your touch, grazing the beginning of Eddie’s happy trail. Your mouth quickly followed your hand, nipping at the sensitive skin of his ribs and kissing at his stomach. Pausing for a moment, your eyes flickered up to Eddie, waiting for any reticence- and when you found none, you pulled down the sweats he had on.
Leaning back on your knees, you take a deep breath, hands settling to the curve of where Eddie’s hips met his thighs. You pointedly ignored how his dick twitched at the somewhat tame contact. “Alright baby, uhm-” the plastic bag crinkled loudly as you reached for it, pulling out the plastic bottle of lube. “I really need you to tell me if I do something you don’t like, alright? Just say so at any point and we’ll stop, no matter what.”
Eddie’s light hearted laugh was nearly drowned out by the sound of the cap being popped, and the protective seal being peeled away. “Yeah, alright doll- I’ll tell you to stop doing something that’s got me harder than-” His sentence was cut by a warbled moan escaping his throat- your hand, slick and warm, wrapped tightly around the base of his dick.
“If you can’t be serious,” You said, your grip tightening ever so slightly, “Then we’ll stop, got it Eds?”
He let out a moan as you pumped him slightly, his head falling back as his words skipped, “Yeah- fuck- yes, I’ll tell you- ‘swear, so please just touch me.”
Well, since he had asked so nicely.
You began to pick up speed, wrist flicking on every upward stroke. The squelch of your touch was obscene, everything slicked and gliding, your thumb flicking up to play with the underside of his head in a way that you knew kept Eddie’s nerves alight. His skin was raised as your lips kissed the apex of his thighs, the lithe muscles flexing as you dipped lower. The whine he let out caused you to moan against him, heat spreading through your center as you sucked a hickey into the inside of his thigh, kissing at the sensitive skin. It released from the suction of your kiss with a pop as you mumbled softly.
“You can touch me now.”
Almost immediately, his hands let go of his sheets, coming down to caress the crown of your head, his hands shaking as your own gripped the bottom of his thighs, just below the curve of his ass. As you pitch his legs up, the crook of his knees falling to your shoulders, you look up.
Eddie’s eyes, filled with a haze of lust, search yours for any sort of apprehension- a que that maybe you didn’t want this as much as, seemingly, he did. You only smiled, something soft and placating, as your fingers trailed down his inner thigh and ghosted across his perineum. You took a deep breath.
“ ‘m starting now, okay?” You promised, and for the first time in maybe the entire time you’d known Eddie- he was silent.
It wasn’t as satisfying as it should’ve been, and deep in your chest, you had the primal urge to hear him cry.
Dipping your head down, you took him into your mouth, wrapping the tip against the plush of your lips and cradling it with your tongue. You can feel the legs on your shoulders relax, a shaky gasp crawling from Eddie’s lips- and only then, do you push your middle finger into him.
“Shit! Fuck-” Eddie yelps, thighs coming up to bracket your face as you panic. Sirens go off in your head- and even as you try to pull back, Eddie’s legs keep you firmly in place, his ankles locking together at the small of your back.
“I’m sorry!” You cry, hand stilling inside of him, warring with yourself internally as to if you should keep your finger inside, “Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”
Eddie groans, throwing his forearm over his face as his hips flex up into your finger. He’s warm around you, and you can feel him clench down, squeezing your finger in a way that lines up with his anxious breaths. “Nope,” He whines, “ ‘m peachy- it’s just- fuck, sweetheart, not used to having something up there.” Eddie takes a moment more, withdrawing his sweaty forearm from his face and threading his fingers through his bangs, his cheeks and forehead bright red.
He looks angelic.
You want to kiss him- but you know you can’t, with the angle you were in not very forgiving. So you just have to wait for his ok. The hand that isn’t currently up his ass comes up to massage his thigh, hoping to ease some of the tension.
“Alright-” He sighs, looking at you through his fingers, “I think ‘m good, think ‘m cool.”
“Yeah?” You giggle.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” and you begin to move again, wiggling your middle finger before slowly pulling out. You shift back, putting his hips on the bed as you push in again, building up a steady rhythm. You’re only spurred on by the noises Eddie’s making. High pitched, guttural groans as he grinds against the finger you’re giving him, tiny chants of Please, please, please, filling the air. Grabbing his left leg at the knee, you spread him wide- eyes lidded as they take in where you’re connected.
“So quiet, Eds,” You tease, curling your finger up, hoping the anatomy textbook you read hadn’t lied to you, “You take me however you please- but you’re crying at a single finger?”
“Fuck! Holy fucking fuck- there- right there, doll- oh my god-”
His hips buck into you, stuttering as he lets out a sharp, loud moan, the sound echoing off his bedroom walls. Your finger glides over a certain spot smoothly, and with every press his hips jolt, and his whines grow louder.
Your grin is saccharine and dripping as you pull your finger out again, only to press back in harder, the staccato of his moans filling your ego and sending it bursting through any inhibitions you may have had. He was feeling good. Really good- and you were the one making him feel that way.
Eddie felt the way you moved inside of him so sharply that he felt the movement was etched into him. Everytime you hit that- that spot- he felt like he couldn’t breathe, his legs going numb as you bent over him, the dim lighting of his room and the pleasure being inflicted upon him marring his vision as you dealt him little kisses.
The people of Hawkins thought him a cult leader. That wasn’t true in the slightest, even if he occasionally played into the notion. But maybe, with the nudge of your ring finger sliding into him along with your middle- he might actually become a cult leader. He’d definitely print shirts of your face. Maybe your hands.
“Feels good-” He finds himself babbling, fingers cupping your chin to bring you closer to him, words being spoken against your lips, “feels real good- is this what you feel like? When we- ohhh shit-”
Three.
You’re at three fingers.
“Not really, you’re much bigger than my fingers,” Your purr reverberates in his ear, the unexpected praise going straight to his dick, translucent pearls of precum rolling off his choked head and landing on his happy trail.
He can feel everything- hear everything- and it’s all getting mashed together until he gets tunnel vision on you. Your kind eyes, your mean grin- your fingers, glistening with lube working in and out, pressing on that spot over and over again. He can feel it in his nerves- lighting him on fire.
And despite it all- despite his brain melting- he bites out, “Well shit, doll. You holding out on me?”
Maybe it was a ploy to get you out of your clothes quicker. Maybe he really did want a taste of his own proverbial medicine. To feel how you felt when he carved himself into you, whispering dirty secrets or proclamations of love into your ears, your cheeks, your chest. You clamored off of him, muttering a curse as your foot caught on the edge of the bed, your shirt already being thrown to the floor.
Eddie somehow managed to move up to his pillows, moving them around some and falling back to watch you discard your last piece of clothing- your underwear.
The black plastic bag had been completely wiped off the bed as you pulled out a mass of leather and a sizable rectangular box. Untangling the harness, you began the attempt of pulling it on and adjusting it. It was… a learning curve.
“Don’t look at me. This is embarrassing,” You snapped, struggling with the straps. Eddie snorted, the sheets ruffling.
“I dunno, I kinda like my little mountain climber.” He quipped, narrowly dodging the dildo box you’d thrown at him. He knew by the click of everything coming together, that he was screwed- perhaps a little too literally. Whatever inkling of nervousness left in him fizzled out once you crawled back onto the bed, settling in front of him, your hands on his folded knees. “How do you want me, sweetheart?”
You thought back to the first time you’d ever felt like this. In this very bed. With this very person. The first time you had ever had sex with him.
He’d have to forgive you for emulating it now.
“I want you on your back.” You said finally, your hands crawling inwards to spread his legs a bit, keeping your eyes on his face.
“Yes ma’am.”
Rolling your eyes, you decided to let the jab slide, grabbing the lube that had been previously discarded at the end of the bed. Eddie chose to embrace the way you lubing yourself up really turned him on, kicking the back of your hips softly to get you to hurry up, impatient of a man as ever. Blessedly quiet was he as you lined up to his entrance, hand guiding you home as your other intertwined with his. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, thumb tracing over the back of his own as you mumbled encouragement through his grunts and whimpers, trying not to wince at the whines. Though, when he only had a little left to take, Eddie gasped sharply, your head snapping up to look at his glazed eyes and drooling mouth.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”
He shook his head, hair slapping against his face and sticking to his cheeks from the sweat, “nuh uh.” He protested, bringing your joint hands down to his dick, “I just- fuck sweetheart- just need a sec, kay?”
Pumping him a couple times in reprieve, he relaxed for a moment, eyes fluttering closed, his legs untensing around you. Smooth in all senses, you finally slid the last inch in, grinding the harness of your hips slowly against him, heating rolling off of him in waves. A waterfall of desire pulling you closer to the man you loved as he got used to taking in all of you. Your eyes didn’t stray from the way he gripped you, hole clenching and unclenching around you.
You’d go insane, you decided, completely and utterly insane. Is this how Eddie felt? Watching you take him? All of him? You ground yourself against him a little harder, the roll of your hips causing him to twitch and yelp at the friction. How did he get anything done? You wanted to stay like this forever, blushing and crying beneath you.
You gulp, kiss bitten lips and reverent eyes finally looking at Eddie.
“Can I move?”
“Please.”
As you slowly dragged your hips from him, strap sliding out, the lube stringing- you wished you could feel how warm he was on the inside. You’d have to make do with the sight of him gasping your name as you pulled out again.
You went slow- trying out different angles as you pushed back into him, brow furrowed in a sort of concentration that Eddie would’ve thought cute if it weren’t being targeted at his undoing. Your hands, soft and promising against his, release his hold and find a new home on his hips, pulling him down to meet your thrusts.
Eddie can feel it- small jolts of pleasure snapping through him in places he hadn’t ever known existed. It fucking rocks- and he needs more, your hesitant, explorative thrusts inhibiting the winding ball in the pit of his pelvis. “C’mon, you can move, won’t break you know?”
His resolve flickered when your eyes met his again, and for a split second he saw something a little darker than normal, your grip a little tighter on his hip.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Want you to give it to me as good as I give it to you, alright?”
Eddie made this grave, he might as well lay in it.
And fuck, he might really be sent to the grave.
You were brutal in the way you began to use him- your angles from exploring before hinging his downfall, the force and pressure unwinding him from the inside out. Everything seemed too much yet not enough. The heat of your thighs sticking to the curve of his ass, the way your right hand forced his knee up- he didn’t even know it could go that high. Open and spread, Eddie felt vulnerable for a split moment. And then he felt his heart swell, right alongside his dick. You gave this to him all the time. You trusted him like this, in a way he might not have considered. You loved him. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you.
He really loved you when you hit that spot inside of him again, he could’ve sworn his vision blanked for a moment.
“Shit shit fuck- feels so fucking good baby. I can feel you so deep, ah, fuck- like you’re in my stomach-”
“Yeah? Feels good?” You cooed, reminiscent of all the times he had teased you as he split you open. “Doing so well- so so so well- for me babes. Such a pretty boy letting me open him up like this- You’re perfect aren’t you? So perfect.”
Eddie honestly to god giggles, his hips inadvertently rolling upwards to meet your thrusts, clammy hands reaching around the back of your neck to pull you forward. Your noses brush against each other as he mouths against your lips, “Aww you’re sweet on me, that’s embarrassing, doll.”
You thrust up particularly hard as you connect your lips, swallowing the moan you had wrenched out of him, forcing his hips up to find that spot you had before. Eddie full body shudders when you find it- letting out a noise you didn’t even know he could make as you pulled back from his saliva covered lips, watching the way tears pricked at his lashes with a sick sense of satisfaction. “I dunno babe, think you’re a little sweet on me too.” You jab, pulling away from his wandering hands as your own slips beneath his dick, pressing against a spot on his lower stomach. He all but keened, back arching into your hand. You could feel yourself moving inside of him- the action causing the pit in your stomach to grow steadily.
The faster you went, the harder the harness pressed against your own bundle of nerves, edging you closer just as Eddie came undone beneath you. It only egged you on, your release becoming second priority.
“Fuck fuck fuck- Think I’m gonna cum-” Eddie moans, breath hoarse as his hands grip the pillow beneath his head, trying to find leverage as his eyes snap shut, lips pursed.
“Good,” you say absentmindedly, stamina wearing thin as you push his legs wider. “Good boy- you can let go, ‘promise you’ve been so good- so cum.”
And he does. Just for you, all prettily on your dick. You’d give anything to feel it, but you’d have to settle for your own release rushing over you as you grind into the harness, hand scrambling to pump Eddie through his release. He curses throughout the entire thing, his smart mouth reduced to nothing but drivel as his release splatters across his stomach and rolls down his ribs in rivulets that soak into his sheets.
You both stay like that after it’s all past. Panting heavily into the air before you decide to finally pull out, the movement bringing a broken whine from Eddie’s throat. Your mind, clouded in the afterglow, searches for a familiar thing that normally comes around now- yet you’re blanking. It’s only when Eddie’s legs twitch and fall to the side, his drying cum going with it, are you broken out of your stupor, mumbling softly that you’ll get a rag as you press a kiss to his sweat covered temple. The kiss is far too chaste for what you had done.
I’ll have to thank Robin, you think to yourself as you turn on the sink and retrieve a washcloth.
---
Family Video doesn’t technically open until 9. But you know that Robin has to be here at 8 every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to check inventory, so you make sure to show up early with breakfast and the vhs that started this all tucked firmly under your arm.
“Stop fucking banging on the door! You’ll break it!” Robin chastises, unlocking the door and pulling you in before clicking the latch again.
You shove the food into her hands, and she moans dramatically at the smell of hash browns and an egg and cheese breakfast sandwich from the seedy diner down the street. “Shut up, you literally wacked Steve’s head against it the other day- surprised it didn’t shatter.”
She stifles a laugh between bites, trailing to the counter to set down her coffee. You put the vhs tape next to it, pulling out your own sandwich. Humming in acknowledgement, she nods towards it. “So I assume it worked out? Took you a while to bring it back.”
You wonder vaguely if she knew about the actual premise of the film was, deciding that if she didn’t, it was better to keep it vague.
“I brought you breakfast, didn’t I?”
#what's a better way to introduce myself to a fandom than through porn?#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson smut#sub!eddie munson#reader insert#stranger things x reader#eddie munson fic#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction
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STWG Daily Prompt: a warm cup of tea
[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]
Fuck, Steve sounds like he’s going to cry again. He supposes it’s the concussion of it all, the brain rattling around in his skull. Bringing all his emotions close to the surface. Tommy watches as Steve sniffs, all wet and gross sounding, before he pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s such a familiar move. Steve holding back tears, his emotions. His fathers words echoing in his head. Boys don’t cry. Man up. Don’t be such a baby. Harrington’s don’t act like that.
Tommy’s father was the same. He gets it. He also thinks that maybe if anyone had a reason to cry, it was Steve. He was freshly broken up with, beaten, and in hospital with a concussion.
It sort of hits Tommy, in that moment, just how alone Steve must have felt, before Tommy showed up. He knew it absently, let the fact wash over him, that all the conversations he had were surface level shit. But he had Nancy. The girl he left Tommy for. But now he doesn’t have Nancy, and his parents aren’t in town, and he didn’t have Tommy. What was it like? Checking into the hospital alone? Weak and woozy and afraid?
But Tommy’s here now, and he’s not fucking leaving. He squeezes Steve’s hand. Ignoring the screaming in the back of his skull that sounds suspiciously like his own father. Telling him it’s weird, and wrong, and he should have let go by now. A handshake is fine, but men don’t hold hands.
He takes a deep breath, and consciously doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. They both need it, he thinks. A physical symbol of the connection between them. There again. Getting stronger. Tommy is here, and he’s trying, and he fucking missed Steve too.
“So what is there to even do while you’re in here?” Tommy says, looking around the room. There really isn’t much. A table on wheels, to drag over to the bed. A radiator. A painting. An old newspaper.
“Not much,” Steve says, sounding a little calmer now, adjusting his grip in Tommy’s hand but not letting go. “I mostly just doze. The nurses kept waking me up before I could really get to sleep so now I feel all out of wack.”
“Lame,” Tommy scoffs, and Steve smiles at that, soft and sort of sleepy.
“Yeah. I tried reading a newspaper for a bit, just for something to do.” He replies, gesturing at the offending paper with their joint hands. “But it made me feel like my brain was about to melt out my ears and I almost threw up. So.”
“So fuck the newspaper then?” Tommy jokes, smiling back at the other boy. Steve laughs as he nods, an exhale of air. “There’s not even a TV in here. Think your parents are rich enough that they could get one?”
“Probably.” Steve says, laughing, before it quickly dissolves into coughing. Dry, constant, coughs, that shake Steve’s chest. He tries to heave breaths through it all, slow the coughing, until his breaths start to come back to normal. It isn’t until Steve’s stopped that Tommy realises he’s gripping Steve’s hand tighter, and he’s almost hovering on the edge of his seat. Fuck, what if you can really ill from shit like this?
“You okay, dude?” Tommy asks, brows furrowing, trying to keep his voice steady. He cannot lose it now. He’s fucking calm, he’s fine, and Steve is there and he’s okay.
“I’m fine,” Steve says, sort of slumping back down onto the bed, into the pile of pillows keeping him propped up. “My throat’s just dry. Been too tired to sit up and drink. And then the nurse took my water jug away to replace it and never came back.”
“Fucking rude,” Tommy says automatically, enjoying the way Steve smiles at it. At him. At his bitchy little aside. Maybe Tommy doesn’t have to tone himself down too much. Steve loved to gossip and bitch with the rest of him. Seeing something juicy and then turning to Carol and Tommy with a look on his face like did you fucking see that? “Want me to go grab you something? Water? A cup of tea or some shit?”
“Why’re you saying it like that, man?” Steve asks, sort of smirking, teasing. “A cup of tea. It’s not like it’s gross or anything.”
“Warm tea is so fucking gross, dude,” he retorts, smiling. It feels more like they’re settling into what they once had. Friendship. Teasing and joking and actually having fun and enjoying each other’s presence. “Like, who are you, my grandma?”
“I’d be honoured to be Nana Hagan,” Steve laughs, quickly and quietly coughing again. Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “She’s quite the woman.”
“Stop flirting with my nana,” He says, starting to stand up. “I’ll go get you some gross-ass grandma leaf juice.”
And then Tommy’s standing, having pushed himself up with his free hand. And for a moment, he’s just standing there, hand outstretched, still clutching Steve’s. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t loosen his grip. And neither does Steve.
Neither say anything.
Steve, who looks up at Tommy, letting his eyes draw a line up his arm, their conjoined hands. Inhales, swallows, and then slowly lets go, dragging his hand along Tommy’s. Lingering. It almost feels like static electricity, building as the callouses of their fingertips touch for one last moment.
“I’ll be back.” Tommy says. A statement, not a question. Voice almost too quiet.
“Okay.” Steve says on an exhale of air. Almost relieved he didn’t have to ask for it. To confirm it. That he wouldn’t be alone again. It was only a trip down the hall, but still. Tommy wasn’t going to be mean about it. No way. Steve was always a clingy guy, touchy and affectionate with every girl he’s dated. He was with Tommy, once upon a time. He thrives on touch and company and he was alone.
So Tommy leaves the room, and slips down the hall in search of a nurse. A water cooler. A kitchenette with shitty tea. It would be so fucking gross, and at a weird strength, but he’d make it for Steve. Not like the guy could really get out of bed. He can’t even picture how Steve managed to get all the way down to the phone and still be lucid enough to make a phone call.
He hurries down the hall, not wanting to leave Steve for so long. Because he looks so sad about it, yeah, but also because Tommy can’t help but feel the shiver that runs down his back at the thought of Steve changing his mind. Now that he’s alone, now that he doesn’t have Tommy hanging around him, like Florence fucking Nightingale — maybe he’ll realise that he’s still better off without him.
A nurse leads him down to a small kitchenette, built into another alcove down the end of the hall. Designed for visitors and the nurses on shift at the desk. Tommy makes a cup of tea. Just how Steve likes it. And tries to not to spill it as he hurries back down the hall.
[Part Six]
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BEAST OF BURDEN | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER
When your boyfriend shows up unannounced, it seems like the biggest inconvenience in the world. But it might just be exactly what you need.
Word Count: 2.4k
Warning/Includes: A little age gap cause that’s my thing and smut :)
This fic is dedicated to all of Matthew’s virgo placements.
You are reading out loud to yourself. Your fingertips press to your temple, your eyes burn red from the dim florescent lighting and the small text on every page. A faint whisper of insanity: After transient vasoconstriction (lasting only for seconds), arteriolar vasodilation occurs, resulting in locally increased blood flow and engorgement of the down-stream capillary beds. This vascular expansion is the cause of redness (erythema) and warmth characteristics of acute -
It is 2 in the morning and your phone goes off and it not only interrupts your train of thought and your place in reading, but your music as well. Matthew’s name flashes on the screen and you exhale a heavy, tired sigh and put your face in your hands.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” he sounds panicked. “Where are you?”
“What the hell? I’m at the library, where are you?”
Silence. “You’re at the library?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not home?”
“No,” you are annoyed now. “Where are you?”
There is more silence. It is longer and heavier and Matthew says, “I’m at your place.”
And for some reason, this puts you in motion. You have not moved in hours and your bones crack but it does not slow you down. Packing up your bag, you try to keep your voice down, “You’re what?”
“I’m at your place. I brought flowers.”
“Matthew, what the hell?” you say, but it is more to yourself than him.
“Let me come pick you up from the library,” he offers. “I can be there in 10.”
“I’ll walk, it’s not that far.”
“No, it’s dark, I’m already in the car. Just hang tight, baby.”
You roll your eyes and take a seat with a huff, plopping down so hard that the table rattles and along with it goes your brain. Matthew says he’ll be there in 10 but he makes it with three minutes to spare and you walk out to the car, hiking your bag up on your shoulder. When you get in, he is smiling at you but you do not have a smile to return and you recline in your seat. He thinks you are asleep for the entire drive, and to him, that makes sense. To him, it’s no big deal. He just wants to take you home and tuck you into bed.
Though when you arrive at your apartment, he is jolted to see you hop out of the car. He doesn’t think you’ll wait for him before you walk in, but you do. You unlock the door and push your way inside and the door nearly hits him in your wake.
“You’re upset,” he says and you really feel like you could lose it.
You drop your bag to the ground and it causes a monumental echo throughout the room. You turn around and Matthew is too timid to fully enter the space, cowering by the front door.
“You’re observant,” you tell him.
“I fucked up,” he says this like a statement. It carries and contains all accountability.
“Hmm,” you tilt your head, pucker your lips. “I wouldn’t say you fucked up. I would say…you didn’t think.”
“I was worried about you,” you see his face soften. “I hadn’t seen you in so long and you weren’t really replying to my calls or texts and you sounded so stressed on the phone.”
“Because I was studying? I told you that? I don’t understand how you ended up here.”
“I ended up here because I got on a plane and came to see you. I just want to help.”
“But I don’t need your help,” you put extra emphasis on the e. “I don’t want your help, I told you that.”
“Okay, so, I don’t have to help. But I can be here, I-I can cook and clean, I can drive you places, I can-“
And he rambles as you murmur, “Matthew…Matthew, no,” running your hands over your face, wishing you could peel your skin off the bone. “No!”
He goes silent. His arms fall to his sides in defeat, and he looking at you like you’ve just shot him in the chest.
“I told you not to come, jesus fucking christ. You think just because I’m your girlfriend and you’ve lived over a decade longer than me that I can’t take care of myself? I have been a student longer than I’ve been your girlfriend, I don’t need you to run to my rescue. What I needed was to sit in the library until god knows the fuck when, stick my head in my notes and figure the shit out!”
“You’re right,” is all he can say. “I’m sorry. I can leave.”
“No. No, you’re here now. It’s late. Stay.”
“Such a warm invitation.”
“Please. Please do not get smart right now.”
“Can I sleep in your bed at least? Or is that too distracting? I can sleep on the porch?”
“Then sleep on the porch, Matthew,” you throw your arm up. “Sleep in the kitchen, I don’t care.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches you sit on the couch.
“I’m finishing my work,” you say, and then you give him this look like are-you-fucking-dumb?
“It’s almost 3 in the morning.”
“No, really?” you quip.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He walks over to you, puts his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up. You don’t mean to make eye contact, and you only do for a mere second, then you are pushing his hand away and watching it ball into a quick fist.
“You need to sleep.”
“No, I don’t actually, I just need to be left alone.”
He looks at you for a long time. Your clenched jaw, your shaky knee, your frazzled hair and face drained of color. But you don’t look at him. Not too much in the mood to. He sighs and he leans down and kisses the top of your head. When he walks back to your bedroom, you feel like you can breathe and you let the air escape your chest.
You could cry, but that would waste time.
Matthew falls face first into your bed. He’s always been too big for it so he has to shrink himself to fit, bending his knees and laying on his side. He groans to himself, has his face buried in your pillow and the dark is so comforting. The lamp light blinds his eyes as he reveals his face and the first thing he can focus on is the picture on your nightstand. He is holding you in his arms, your back against his chest and his lips against your cheek. Your smile is big, it takes up your whole face.
He could cry, but there’s no point.
He gets under the covers and tries to fall asleep. He always jokes about how much more comfortable your bed is than his. Tonight it feels like he is laying on a pile of bricks and he realizes it is only comfortable when you’re in it.
He falls asleep just shy of four in the morning. The sun isn’t set to rise for another four hours and it’s the pitch black in the room that helps him sleep. It is only when the sun is bright enough to shine through the curtains that he starts to stir. His face scrunches up and he rolls over to escape the light and his arm rolls right over you. He is suddenly wide awake and conscious of his body on yours. He leans away slowly and you don’t move and he thinks you’re asleep.
And would you believe that he is just relieved you’re asleep? This wave of peace just rushes over him from head to toe and he goes to get out of bed because he’d like to make you breakfast. But just as he sits up, just as he’s about to put his feet to the floor, he notices a book beside your head. Not a tiny book, but a large textbook. Your face is buried between the hardback covers and Matthew just has a gut feeling to ask, “Are you awake?”
When you don’t respond, he hovers over you, “[y/n],” he says. “Are you awake?”
And slowly you reveal your face from the pages of the book. Your eyes are so red, part of him expects them to just shatter like glass. He lifts up the blanket and gasps to see pens and pads of sticky notes lining the side of your body. “I just woke up,” you lie.
“And now you’re lying about being awake?”
“Matthew, get off my ass,” you groan. “How are you annoying first thing in the morning?”
Matthew snatches the book out of your hands and you shout, “Hey!” He swipes the jumbled mess of pens and paper off of the bed, and under the covers, he slides his way between your legs. “Are you psychot-“
His hand falls over your mouth and it brings you to a complete and muffled halt. Your eyes go big, round, alert, and Matthew says, “You really need to shut up.”
You go cross eyed trying to hold eye contact with him, the tip of his nose pressed against yours just lightly. “You are tense, and exhausted, and it’s making you mean.” At this point, you are hyper aware of the feeling of his torso between your bare thighs, his fingers sliding under the hem of your underwear. “I appreciate that you’re independent, it’s one of the many reasons I’m so obsessed with you, and I promise to never, ever pull some shit like this again, but you need a stress reliever, so right now, here’s what’s going to happen.” The fabric of your underwear rolls in on itselfs, Matthew pulling them down your legs, kissing your neck as you straighten your legs to get them off.
“You’re gonna turn that big, beautiful brain of yours off,” he whispers, and never in your life has eye contact with him been so intense. His other hand comes up to his mouth then promptly slides between your legs, where he grabs his cock and presses it against your clit. “You’re gonna relax your body and just focus on me. Yeah?”
You give him a slow and submissive nod, your eyelids lowering as you look at him. “Yeah,” he whispers, and he has this real sly, small smile as he rolls his hips, pushes his cock into you. Your eyes roll back and you give a small hum against the palm of his hand. “Feel me inside of you?”
“Mhm,” you nod, your hands gripping onto the sheets of the bed.
“Mhm, there you go, baby. Just relax, just let me do all the work,” he says in your ear and you feel his body moving on top of you, the warmth of his chest on yours. He steadies his body so he can angle himself inside of you, drive his hips into yours with enough force to shake the bed.
Your breath quickens and you get lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Your lips vibrate against Matthew’s hand, for every quiet moan that steadily increases in volume. Small, quick gusts of air come in through your nose and this bubble builds in your body with every thrusts. Your toes curl and your kness bend around his waist and when Matthew feels your jaw drop, he removes his hand and relishes in the sound you make. A whiny, frail moan that is loud enough to shake the walls.
“Oh, good girl,” he moans and he gives you a sloppy kiss. “That’s it.”
Sweat beads on your face and your hand flies to his hair, takes a fistful of it in its grasp. He keeps himself quiet because he wants to hear you. He uses only a fraction of his strength to pound into you, running his thumb along your bottom lip and nibbling on your jaw. His fingers trail over your open mouth, and his forehead presses into your temple.
You get whiny and whimpers drabble from your lips, involuntary, uncontrollable. It fuels Matthew, almost. His breath is hot on your face and he can’t stop himself from telling you, “You feel so good, ah, fuck, my babygirl.”
He watches as your eyes roll towards your brain and he grunts when your nails dig into his bicep. And for a moment, you’re not sure what’s happening. It is entirely unlike you to come so quickly, to even get to edge within a few minutes, but it’s happening.
Involuntary, uncontrollable.
And now more than ever, Matthew’s just trying to get you there. He moves into you a little bit rougher than he means to, his hand sprawls out across your hip, and he holds you down to keep you from squirming too much.
When his fingers find their way to your mouth, you bite down on them. The tension in your mouth is enough to draw blood but you can’t keep your mouth closed. Your throat is raw and it closes around every sound you make, your moans aligning with each movement of Matthew’s hips.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and gasp in his ear. And for all the comotion - the bed squeaking, his heavy breathing, the headboard against the wall - he can only hear you. He can only focus on the stress leaving your bone and the way your voice keeps going up, and up, and up, and up. Until this climactic uproar directly from your chest. Underneath the noise of your screams, he’s telling you, “There ya’ go, baby. Let it out, let it out.”
Your eyes are wide, and your whole body fills with tension just to release it all. Your legs and toes point, curl and fall to the mattress. Your jaw locks up and you’re left with an open mouth and a string of soft, small moans falling from your lips. Matthew kisses you as soon as you catch your breath, with your head squished between his hands.
When he rolls off of you, he perches himself on his side, supporting his head with his hand and staring at you. Your eyes have fallen shut and you are splayed out on the bed. Motionless.
He runs his fingertips along your arm, “Feel better?”
“Mmmm-hm,” you hum.
“Good,” he smiles. “Are you still mad at me?”
When you don’t voice a response, Matthew looks over and notices that you have fallen asleep. Truly, asleep. He grins to himself and he gives you a kiss on the forehead. “Sleep tight,” he whispers. “You beautiful, insane woman.”
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Miscommunication
Pairing: Miya Atsumu x Reader
WC: 1.1k Genre: Angst
Summary: Suna’s plan-gone-wrong forces your hand to confess, but Atsumu’s unexpected surprise stops you in your tracks.
CW: mentions of drinking, parties
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“Atsumu!” A voice from the entrance of the room cut you off and caught everyone’s attention. You groaned and let your head fall in your hands, feeling Atsumu get up from the floor and leave you there again, unable to explain more.
“Suna Rintarou. Ya can count yer fuckin’ days after that stunt.” You warned, earning yourself a small squeak from the boy that your anger was directed at.
“It’ll be ‘kay, jus’ go talk to ‘Tsumu, explain and it’ll be okay.” Osamu tried to comfort, patting your shoulder and nudging you to get up.
You sighed and dragged yourself up to follow Atsumu over towards the entrance, determined to explain the situation with Osamu and confess in the same breath. You were forming what you’d say in your head as you pushed through the crowd. Bodies bumping into you and causing the distance between you and Atsumu to greaten, slowing down your progress.
Atsumu, it was back in middle school and Osamu and I were just curious, it was actually pretty immature and stupid now that I think of it… using each other for practice. But truly I wanna assure you it was nothing, in fact, we haven’t since high school… even before I realized I was stupidly in love with you.
You figured that would be a good enough explanation, a solid basis to start the conversation where you could finally relieve the stress of carrying around your feelings for him as a secret. A secret you were sure was terribly kept but nonetheless, one that he’d yet to pick up on. Yeah, you thought that would be enough. That thought died at the back of your throat when you saw where Atsumu had been called to.
She was pretty. Gorgeous even. Her arms were wrapped around Atsumu’s neck like they belonged there and her lips were pressed to his cheek like a habit.
You froze. You had never seen her before, but the smile that seemed to spread across Atsumu’s face made you realize he was very familiar with her. He showed no complaints to her affections and you could see his arms tighten around her as he laughed.
“I’m s’glad ya made it! Thought yer s’posed t’be out o’town!” Atsumu’s voice was happier than it had just been a few minutes prior when he learned that you’d kissed Osamu. Happier than you made him.
“And miss your birthday!?” You felt your stomach twist, even her voice was pretty, and her laugh. “I came back just for you ‘Tsumu. Couldn’t miss my boy’s party.”
Her boy. You were sure you were going to be sick.
It was then that she caught sight of you, frozen in your place. Her small tap on his shoulder had Atsumu turning to see you there. He left one arm wrapped her shoulders, keeping her pressed into his side as he faced you fully.
“Hi.” Hi? Hi? You internally screamed at yourself for being so awkward, but what else were you supposed to say? You’d been so focused on practicing what you were going to say that you hadn’t thought of anything else, the confession was still sitting on your tongue.
“A/n/n! Perfect timing!” You forced yourself to smile, to match Atsumu’s energy, his happiness on his birthday. “This is Mizuki!” You rattled your brain trying to think of where you’d heard him say the name before. If you’d heard him say the name before. “I’ve been meanin’ to introduce ya two!” You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your anxiety pressed down, hiding it under your skin. “Get my two girls to finally meet.” He was smiling, beaming down at the girl pressed into his side and you felt yourself shrinking. His girls.
“Oh!” The girl perked up, sunshine smile crossing her lips as she took in Atsumu’s words and turned her smile towards you. “You’re a/n/n!” You tried to avoid outwardly cringing at the use of the nickname. The name only Atsumu called you. It felt wrong hearing it come out of her mouth, a stranger. “‘Tsumi has told me all about you.” Your smile seemed to drop in slow motion. ‘Tsumi… your nickname for him. The one no one else had ever called him. “I think that nickname is so cute by the way! ‘Tsumi told me all about how you call him that and it’s just adorable.” She giggled and you watched as Atsumu’s face turned a bit red. He seemed shy, something Atsumu didn’t get very often and you could feel your insides shredding.
“Enough outta ya.” He laughed softly. “Why don’t ya go get somethin’ t’drink? I’ll introduce ya t’everyone else.” He turned her towards the kitchen and watched until she disappeared into the crowd. “Wow, she really is somethin’ huh?” He didn’t seem to notice the tenseness in your body as you took in his expressions. You’d not seen him that happy over a single person in… well, ever. “I didn’t think she’d make it t’night, oh it’s gon’ be a g’night.”
You smiled in response, trying to force your mouth to say something intelligible in response instead of staying the statue that you were. “She’s really pretty.” You were smacking yourself… was that really all you could say?
“Hey! Ya said ya wanted t’talk t’me ‘bout somethin’?” He looked at you expectantly. Giving you your chance to confess like you’d planned to that night.
“Oh, s’nothin’.” You mumbled chuckling softly, “it can wait, ‘Tsumi.” You tried to make your smile convincing but you were worried it wouldn’t pass. Fortunately, he seemed too distracted to notice like he usually would, still looking in the direction where she’d gone.
“T’morrow then ‘kay?” He laughed and moved to follow after the girl, leaving you still standing there, where you were when you first saw them.
“Hey, what’cha doin’ here? Did’ya talk t’im?” Osamu’s voice graced your ears finally, breaking the silence that had filled your ears.
“Um, kinda, I guess.” You sighed and turned to find a confused look crossing Osamu’s face. You were almost positive that Atsumu liked the girl that you’d just met. One he’d never talked to you about. “Miysam…” He hummed in response as he looked at you concerned, not used to you being so quiet at a party with friends, let alone their birthday. “Has Atsumu ever told ya about Mizuki?”
Osamu followed your gaze to where his brother was, pretty girl draped on his arm, laughing diligently at whatever he was saying and giving only him her attention. Osamu’s face gave it away… he didn’t know her either.
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The Massive Aggression of Calico Jack, redux
Several kind souls have complained brought it to my attention that my failure to use cut tags is, in fact, not optimal. I don't have any good reason that I don't use cuts - mostly I'm just throwing these thoughts out here so they don't endlessly rattle around my brain. Frankly, I'm endlessly astonished anyone but me can be arsed to bother wading through them at all. So, after a truly epic tantrum thoughtful consideration, I've decided to edit my longer posts to add cuts. If you've already read them, (may endless blessings rain down upon you) there's no new content (vile lies and calumny. I'm going to take this opportunity to fix errors and add a line here or there, but nothing major). Just making it more scroll-friendly. You'll know it when you see the word "redux" in the title. So without further ado...
I’ve been trying for a while to put my finger on exactly what it is about Our Flag Means Death's Calico Jack that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and smother him to death with my own abandoned ecdysis.
I mean, I normally love me a spurned admirer/cock-blocking ex. Romantic comedies have their beats, and there’s obviously no serious danger the love interest will end up with anyone other than their intended, so I may as well sit back and enjoy the machinations. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth, and these bitches are here to rough some shit up for sure.
I also love Will Arnett. Hands down favorite recurring character on 30 Rock. The second best Batman after TAS (fight me). I can even cheerfully bear his Reese’s commercials if I must bear commercials at all.
Real-life Calico Jack? One of my v. favorite pirates. He wore floral-printed cotton from India as a fuck you to the British tax man. He had an affair with Anne Bonny and offered to purchase her divorce when her husband found out. The two ran away together into piracy when Bonny’s husband refused to quit her and had her whipped for her infidelity. Mary Read was part of Jack and Anne’s crew, and possibly their lover. We love a hopeless romantic, possibly polyamorous king.
So what is it about OFMD Calico Jack that makes him so acutely punchable?
I’ve rewatched the episode several times (oh my v. dears, I really hope this write-up is worth it. I am SO BRAVE to subject myself to this), and I think I’ve finally got it. It’s not just that he’s a loud, vulgar, hectoring, drunken jackass of a bird-murderer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have as little patience for his brand of mindless destruction and violence-for-violence-sake as Stede does, but that’s not all. It’s that he’s also a master of passive aggression.
Jack does the little whisper-y “Sorry! Sorry!” when Stede wants to know what’s with all the cannon fire, but immediately starts grinning like an unrepentant varlet as soon as he drops his hands.
And then accepts Stede’s introductory handshake with clear derision.
When Stede says he wasn’t expecting guests and there’s only two settings at brekkie, Jack doesn’t wait for Stede to sort things out, and he’s already lowering himself into Stede’s chair by the time Stede invites him to take his spot. He then purposefully keeps steering the conversation to topics that exclude Stede from participating, and cuts Stede short when he tries to reign the conversation back.
He insinuates Stede is less of a pirate for being “store bought”
He refuses to get Stede’s name right, even when corrected. Twice.
And is just SO insincere when calling him back.
And, just, the whole pissing contest scene.
But so what? We’ve had other passive aggressive assholes on the show; Badminton with his cracks about Stede’s tiny dick ship, the French captain’s slurs, Gabriel simpering about Jeff the Accountant’s dining manners. I’m not shedding any tears for their respective fates, but none of them made me want to crawl through the screen and sew all their face holes shut. Because Jack isn’t just passive-aggressive (and aggressive-aggressive), he might just be the most savvy reader-of-rooms we see on the show, and purposefully and systematically leverages his passive aggression to manipulate the actions of those around him for the purpose of making Ed and Stede betray their better selves and make them do the work of driving a wedge between themselves.
That was a lot in one sentence. Let me break it down.
Jack uses passive aggression to achieve one of four goals: to nettle, to undermine, (seemingly paradoxically) to reinforce connections, or to coerce. And, if he can manage to achieve different goals for more than one target with the same attack? So much the better. And he’s frankly just astonishingly good at doing so. Like, I’d admire him for it if it didn’t also make me want to make him swallow all of his own teeth.
The basic gameplan goes thusly (this is not a strictly chronological list, a lot of these tactics take place concurrently and recurrently): Stede is the primary target, so Jack nettles him with passive aggressive comments, which puts him on the back foot and undermines his self-confidence. He reinforces his relationship with Ed in ways that excludes Stede and undermines Stede’s relationship with Ed and Ed’s relationship with Stede. Jack uses coercive tactics with Ed and the crew, which undermines Stede’s relationships with them, isolating and othering Stede, which further tanks his mood, which leads him to self-isolate. When Stede eventually lashes out at Ed for falling for Jack’s bullshit, Ed has no idea what’s got Stede so out-of-sorts; Jack has so carefully lead Ed to making the choices that have alienated Stede that they seem like they were Ed’s ideas in the first place. And if Ed has made the choices to do these things, then they are clearly just a reflection of who he is, which, if Stede is lashing out against them, then Stede is rejecting him. Wedge set and match.
So let’s look at the specifics.
Jack’s interactions with Ed are like a masterclass in neurolinguistic programming for evil. First, he plys Ed with booze from the very start. Just look at the bottle in this shot from right after they blow up the dresser drawer.
That bottle or rum is over half gone, and the sky in the background is the peachy-pink of sunrise. This isn’t the bottle Jack had with him in his dinghy; that one he drained and then threw in the air and tried to shoot before coming aboard the Revenge. Which means that they’ve consumed over half the bottle between just the two of them in a very short amount of time. Alcohol, of course, is a social lubricant - the physical warmth it produces mimicking the “warm, fuzzy” feeling of true comradery, and, more importantly, decoupling the decision-making process from inhibition (that is to say, Ed isn’t necessarily doing anything he absolutely wouldn’t otherwise do, but he might otherwise think twice).
But it’s more insidious than just having a few drinks with an old friend. Jack specifically gamifies the consumption of alcohol to reinforce the coupling of the feeling of inebriation with the comradery engendered by teamwork and excitement of success in order to encourage Ed to drink more than he necessarily otherwise would. Ed confirms to Stede during his apology that the idea to use the drawers of the armoire for target practice came from Jack, and we saw that a bullseye meant that Jack had to take a drink, but Ed didn’t. Presumably, there would have been some consequence for a “miss”, and it seems likely that it would be Ed has to take a drink and not Jack. In this way, Jack is able to exert a measure of control over how much Ed is drinking (by missing on purpose) while making it look like the responsibility lies with Ed and his skill as a thrower. This pattern of sneakily controlling Ed’s actions while making it seem like Ed is the one who made or is responsible for the decision will pop up again and again during their interactions.
After the apologies for waking Stede, Jack steps into the space where Ed is gesticulating to make himself readily available to be touched, reenforcing the bond between them, but letting Ed be the one to instigate the touching.
At brekkie, he pours rum into Ed’s teacup without asking or being asked while Ed’s attention is diverted by getting food.
Jack’s collaring of the conversation does not just function as a means of making Stede feel excluded, he’s also refreshing and reinforcing the bonds he and Ed forged under adversity. Talking over Stede also demonstrates that what he has to say is more important than anything Stede might contribute.
Note that just before Jack cut him off, Stede had referred to Ed as Blackbeard (“Blackbeard and I met on a ship”). This may be innocently explained away; if you meet a person from a facet of a close friend’s life with which you do not intersect, you might refer to said friend by their given name instead of a nickname that the other person might not know, for the sake of common frame of reference. But this is the opposite of that - referring to a friend by a nickname instead of the given name that you both presumably know. That suggests to me that the seed of the Ed/Blackbeard dichotomy has already been planted in Stede’s mind by the morning’s shenanigans. And when Jack invites Stede back into participating in the conversation by talking about something he knows Stede would find upsetting (the wanton cruelty of Ed purposefully trapping people to be burned alive, couched in what sounds like sincere admiration for his friend’s piratical prowess), Jack has picked up on that distinction and is leaning into it HARD. He WANTS Stede to see Ed as a collection of behaviors he finds palatable, and Blackbeard as a collection of behaviors he finds repulsive, and then coerce Ed into performing those “Blackbeard behaviors” in order to coerce Stede to drive the wedge by rejecting him. Fucking diabolical.
When Jack is calling Stede a “big girl,” or “store-bought,” or purposefully getting his name wrong, he’s not just throwing barbs that play on Stede’s insecurities (and with such harrowing precision, too; calling on the effeminacy for which he was tormented as a child, his body image issues that we’ve also seen him struggle with under the tender mercies of Badminton - both brain-ghost and original flavor - and the authenticity of his claim to piracy, which we’ve seen him confess that he fears he’s ill-qualified to claim to Jim, Oluande, and Ed. I mean,triple bullseye for this fucking guy). He’s also using these public declarations to undermine Stede’s authority in front of his crew, and establish himself as the real authority on things like piracy and masculinity. He further reinforces this idea by withholding the story of how he saved Ed’s life under the guise of false modesty; people never want something more than when they’re told they can’t have it. And what they’re being told they can’t have is the story of how Jack was so amazing that he even managed to save the life of the coolest, most legendary pirate they know. This withholding primes the crew to think even more highly of Jack and hang on his every word.
This puts Jack into a position where he can pressure the crew into things that sound fun at first blush (like diving off the yardarm or having a snowball fight, but with coconuts), but end up hurting more than anything. Of course, within this dynamic, no one wants to admit they aren’t having a good time, or don’t want to do it; to do so would be tantamount to admitting you are less of a man or not a real pirate. So when Stede refuses to participate, or admits his discomfort or disgust with the proceedings, he’s doing Jack’s work for him, and further alienating himself, and solidifying the roles Jack had put into place where Jack is the fun, cool guy, and Stede is the killjoy that no one should listen to.
Stede unwittingly plays right into Jack’s design when he tries to stand up for himself and wrest back a modicum of respect before things get too far out of hand. He’s well-versed in the world of passive aggression, and sees what Jack is doing. He also knows that you can’t call it out because passive aggression comes with a built in cover of plausible deniability gaslighting. So instead, he tries to push back with a little passive aggression of his own, suggesting that a real pirate has a ship and a crew. Sadly, Stede is not nearly so adroit at wielding passive aggression as Jack is. Jack uses the story (and we know that Izzy sent him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole mutiny thing is just a story; I could even easily read that slight hesitation after Stede asks his question as Jack deciding on what would be the most effective cover story, instead of hesitancy to admit to something shameful) of his crew’s mutiny to casually re-sow the idea of mutiny on the Revenge. It’s played for comedy when the crew starts talking about how they almost mutinied on Stede and probably will again, but you can’t tell me this hasn’t been a major concern for Stede ever since the first episode. So Jack’s not only got the crew trying to buoy his spirits by assuring him that his crew mutinying on his doesn’t mean he’s a bad person; it’s just something that happens! He’s also got them low-key committing to a future mutiny WITHIN EARSHOT OF STEDE.
Additionally, while Stede is well-steeped in the ways of passive aggression, his crew and Ed are not. They are not particularly sophisticated at identifying passive aggression on its own merits as opposed to the reaction it provokes, which can make it look like they don’t care when it’s being leveraged against Stede, undermining his ability to trust they will look out for him. Stede stoically putting up with Jack’s jibes makes them even more difficult to identify as hurtful. Jack’s (fake) emotional reaction to Stede’s sally might make him look momentarily weak, but allows Ed and the crew to unequivocally identify who is in the wrong and react accordingly. By positioning himself as a victim, he villainizes Stede, further undermining Stede’s authority, and placing him in a position where he owes Jack recompense. Thus, Jack is able to manipulate Stede into the trap of Dead Man’s Cove and make it look like it was Stede’s own idea. I mean, the Xanatos Speed Chess of it all.
What’s heartbreaking to me is how Jack’s wedge-driving and othering of Stede is working so well that at this point we start to hear it from other sources. As they approach the island and Stede suggests going for a swim or taking a nature walk, Ed is the one who tells him, “I think with this crowd, I think they want something a little more…” Not Jack would want something more exciting, this crowd. Jack’s exclusionary rhetoric out of Ed’s mouth.
Which is exactly the time Jack decides to up the ante.
I want to take a minute to look at the immediate lead up to yardies, because I think it’s an excellent illustration of how Jack looks like a lumbering boor, but his actions are actually so carefully considered and nuanced. He runs up from behind Stede and Ed and throws his arms around them shouting “Yardies!” literally insinuating himself between them, which interrupts anything that was going on between them, puts them off balance, and focuses the attention on him. Then, when he says “Who’s up for yardies?” he makes eye-contact with Ed - the implicit social expectation being “You, Ed, are up for yardies.” When he turns to Stede, it is to literally laugh in his face. I mean, the absolute cheek.
Until this point, the crew of the Revenge have been passive participants in Jack’s hooliganry. They watched him perform whippies, and got whipped at without encouraging him to do so. They listened to his and Ed’s stories. But now Jack is cashing in on his established expertise of what real pirates do to coerce the crew into taking part in a dangerous stunt. It’s more of the “Blackbeard behavior” dichotomy he started sowing in Stede’s mind at brekkie, but now he’s extending it beyond Ed to the whole crew. He wants Stede to feel like he’s all alone in a sea of idiocy, but he wants him to come to the conclusion on his own by making it seem like Ed and the crew are doing things of which he would disapprove of their own accord.
Once we get to the island, we see the activities take a turn from the careless Jackass-ery of whippies and yardies to the abject cruelty of turtle vs. crab. There’s no saying that Jack organized the fight, but we do see the crew handing him various trinkets to be used in gambling on a winner, which certainly suggests he was the central figure in how the game was established. We also see that, though he has been presenting himself as a drunkard, there’s no bottle in his hand or around him in the sand. There is, however, one in Ed’s hand, who is directly to his side. I can easily see him handing it off so he could handle the gambling stakes, the real intention being to keep Ed readily supplied with booze.
And then we have the pissing contest. Jack’s got Stede literally and metaphorically isolated, and now it’s time to really drive it all home. Every moment of their interaction is designed to drive Stede to distraction; the amount of derision he lays on the phrase “Your good, close buddy,” the insinuation that he and Ed are just alike, and then being as rude and crass as possible. And because he’s read the room - the intimate breakfast for two, Ed’s little touches and the way Stede smiles at them, the way they keep going off together for little chats - of course Jack’s just got to twist the knife and allude to his and Ed’s former sexual history. So now that he’s got Stede primed, it’s time to name the fear: “Maybe you don’t know him at all.”
At this point, Stede is left to wonder: does he? Blackbeard’s reputation preceded him, after all. And he’s been acting so differently since the appearance of one of his oldest friends. It’s not the violence qua violence, per se; Stede is by turns delighted and impressed by the violence he’s seen Ed and his crew employ in the heat of battle in the pursuit of piracy. It’s the cruel and senseless violence that Stede objects to, and that’s exactly the brand that Jack has been peddling, and which Ed has gone along with so enthusiastically. And it’s not JUST the violence; Ed apologizes for Jack when he recognizes Jack has crossed a line in a typically agro way (destroying Stede’s belongings, and insulting Stede to his face), but it never occurs to Stede that his insistence on persevering with quietly aggrieved dignity in the face of Jack’s slights would make it nigh impossible for Ed to identify that Jack has crossed all sorts of other lines, and Stede is hurting because of it. For Stede, it must be frustrating and mystifying why Ed keeps letting his friend get away with his passive aggressive bullshit. Doesn’t he care?
Is it any wonder that one more failure to notice how Jack has riled him, and one more act of coconut-flavored Jackass-ary is enough to break the dam, and for Stede to spill all that built-up hurt on Ed? Is it any wonder that Ed is bewildered at where all this is coming from?
I’ve talked before about Ed’s tendency to fawn on people, and how, as an emotional chameleon, he would have difficulty identifying when the motivation for his actions is self-directed or externally dictated. Jack has further confounded this distinction by manipulating scenarios to make it seem like participation in all the Jackass-ary he has instigated was voluntary instead of coerced. When Stede says “I don’t like who you are around this guy” what he means is “I don’t like how this guy is able to manipulate you into acting on your very worst impulses”, but what Ed hears is “I don’t like you”. For who is he, if not the collection of behaviors he chooses to exhibit? And were those choices not entirely his to make?
With the rift clearly established, if in its infancy, of course Jack is going to do everything he can to foster its growth. So again, he interrupts Stede, again implicitly signaling that Ed should pay attention to what he says and not Stede. By lobbing the coconut at Ed at that moment, he forestalls any possible clearing of the air between Ed and Stede, and causes Ed to literally turn his back on Stede, in the way Ed feels Stede has emotionally turned his back on him just moments earlier. Jack reinforces this idea of turning his back on Stede again moments later when he says “Don’t go!” and immediately turns Ed around by the shoulders.
I know that I’ve been laying it on a bit thick and prolly sound like the written embodiment of the red string conspiracy meme, but I’m about to get a whole lot worse, and I’m going to ask you to stick with me, oh my v. dears.
I think Jack killed Karl on purpose.
I know, I know. It was an accident! He was flailing drunkenly!
But was he?
Have we seen him take so much as a single drink since the cannon fire at the beginning of the episode? Even though he’d been drinking earlier, did he not have devastating precision and accuracy when he first demonstrated Whippies - shattering every glass, snapping the cards from the Swede’s fingers, and ball-tapping Ed without permanently maiming him or even splitting the leather of his pants? In fact, while nearly every other crew member on the deck has a bottle in hand, just like on the beach, Jack does not.
Jack knows he has to get Ed off the ship before the British show up, but he can’t just say “Let’s ditch these losers” and expect Ed to agree, especially since he’s spent most of the day roping the crew into his schemes. The most effective way to get Ed to follow is if Jack is rejected for just being himself and doing what he does, just like Ed feels he was earlier by Stede. I think the original plan was to goad Olu into seriously hurting the Swede, the fallout of which would be recriminations that Jack made them do it, and Jack getting aggrieved that he was just trying to show this ungrateful lot how to have a good time, skulking off and leading Ed to follow him and reassure him that he’s really a good guy - how could he have known it would turn out like that? But when Buttons calls a halt to the proceedings and it looks like everyone is going to pack it in, Jack has to think fast. If HE maims a crew mate, that would be a bridge too far, painting him as the bad guy. But Karl? He’s just a bird. And if Jack can get a little revenge on the weird bird guy who made him change his plan, so much the better.
AND, as people with far fewer auditory processing issues than I have pointed out, Jack mutters that he expected there to be more feathers. Could the evidence be any more damning?
Of course the whole ship turns on him, and then here’s Stede to order him off, explicitly rejecting him the way he metaphorically rejected Ed. But when even that isn’t enough to get Ed to follow him, Jack pulls out one last, desperate manipulation - the debt of life.
Jack’s tragic flaw is that he can’t turn it off. Once he and Ed are alone, he turns his passive aggressive assault on Ed, pressuring him into drinking the morning away by sarcastically saying he didn’t know he had an audience with the pope when Ed expresses disinterest, and, ultimately, giving up the game when he mentions with casual derision how he’d heard of Ed shaking up with Stede, and then deriding Ed for his failure to spot Jack’s machinations.
Too bad Jack didn’t know that the punishment for passive-aggressive fuckery on this show is death…
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Anthony Lockwood - If You’re Going to Break My Heart
Pairing : Anthony Lockwood x (she/her) TouchGifted!Reader
Word Count : 5.8k.
Warning : Blood. Minor character’s death. Panic attack. Possible OOC as I haven’t read the books. Angst, don’t sue me.
Synopsis : The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues.
Notes : Part II of I Love You So. I recommend listening to Inhaler - If You’re Gonna Break My Heart while reading. Thank you for giving the fic so much love and support, please don’t hate me as you reach the end of this fic. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕
Taglist: strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you.
@nessa-stark @navznak28 @gwnwrites @archiveoftara @superpositvecloudshipper @cassiopeiia24 @wordsarelife @mellowarcadefun @ajordan2020 @a-candle-maker @obsessed-female @rambles-fanfic-trove @yokolesbianism
↞ I Love You So
“Anthony, I don’t like this.”
Lockwood drops his bag, carefully letting the sack fall off his shoulder. The heavy chain rattled as it came in contact with the ground. Her worried eyes tingles his heart, as if he couldn’t decide if he should be delighted to see how adorable she is right now or to take her worry seriously. She does have the tendency to be apprehensive at times.
She continues to express her worry but her words blur as if he was listening underwater. His brain was working itself hard to comprehend her sentences, to process whatever it is she was trying to tell him, and though he feels it in his heart that he knew what she wants and what she was saying, he still couldn’t compute the words she utters.
“We’ll be fine,” He finds himself says, mouth moving as if it has its own mind “We’ve been through this a hundred times, we’ll be alright. I promise to keep you safe.”
Her brows were still pinched, a small frown of disagreement displayed, but she remained quiet. Slowly yielding to his words and nodding in approval. She takes his hand, interlocking their fingers and guiding him inside the mansion.
Lockwood could see all the glowing traces on the floor as soon as they stepped in. He took out his rapier, ready to fight whatever is to come their direction. His breathing was getting shallow as fear started to crawl on his skin. Lockwood scrunches his nose, muttering to himself, everything will be alright.
But as he takes a step further, the sound of Lucy wailing in pain greets him. He turns to the source of sound, seeing Lucy kneeling and crying as she covers her ears with her hands.
Then another scream was heard. George was fighting ghosts just a few feet in front of him. Lockwood feels as though his feet were melting to the ground, unable to provide aid to any of his best friends, watching in horror as George fights for his life.
“Anthony,”
Now he turns to his right. She was sitting on the floor, leaning on the door frame with blood pooling around her. Her shirt was stained red. Her face is pale, gleaming from the sweat that is lacing her skin. Her right hand moves to his direction as if she was reaching for him. A futile attempt to eliminate their distance.
“No..” Lockwood mutters as panic sinks in “I’m coming. Stay with me, please, I’m coming!”
As he tries to reach her, a swarm of ghosts comes to his direction. He tries to fight them off, swinging his rapier in every direction as they just seem to be coming from everywhere. Lucy’s wail, George’s scream of help, and her trembling calls of his name become louder with each fought ghost. He wasn’t sure if he could save all of them, or any of them in that matter, but he would certainly die trying than to give in.
With the last breath of energy left in him, Lockwood drops to his knees and crawls to her. He reaches for her face, gently rubbing her cheeks to gain her attention but her eyes are vacant. Staring at him without a blink.
“No, no..” He chokes, crying and calling her name “Please, come back. I’m right here, please— I’m— Look at me, please. Hey, it’s me! It’s Anthony!”
Her still warm body was limp inside his embrace. He cries for her, screaming her name in hope that it would wake her somehow. His white shirt is now soaked red, marked by her blood.
Come back.
Come back.
Come back.
Please.
Lockwood jolts up from his bed, drenched in his own sweat as he tries to process his surroundings. His bedroom was dark, lit dimly by a candle by the wooden table. He lets out a relieved sigh, rubbing his eyes away from his own tears. This would be the third nightmare this week.
He peels off the blanket that was enveloping his body and puts his feet down from the bed. Lockwood stares on his bedside table. A new picture from earlier that day was framed and stood proudly. He was smiling, holding the most unattractive cake that George insists is a masterpiece while standing on his right, Lucy on his left. They were smiling brighter than the sun. They looked happy, whatever that word means these days, and truth be told he felt happy too then, but everyone could see the darker hue under his eyes and how dull his smile is compared to his best mates. This birthday was hollow.
It was his first birthday without her.
Lockwood stood from his bed and walked out of his room, finding himself gravitating to where she used to stay. He turns the door knob gently, as if afraid he would wake up anyone sleeping inside the vacant room, wincing as the door makes a creaking noise. He studies the room and pictures where her belongings used to be. He remembers the scattered jewelleries on the table, the pieces of chocolate wrappings by the bin, and the clothes hung behind the door.
He walks closer to the bed, resting his hand on the mattress and pretending to feel her lingering warmth. The scent of her sweet perfume that is now gone. Their pictures that used to decorate the walls were missing, leaving torn marks on the wall paint.
He let himself lay on the mattress. His eyes glued on the ceiling, thinking and imagining what she might be doing right now. Is she asleep? Is she caught in a book and lost track of time reading? Is she brewing a pot of hot tea to help ease her mind? Is she thinking of him the way he’s thinking of her?
The boy rests an arm over his eyes. He let out a long defeated sigh. There’s no one he could share his burden with now. No one would understand what he’s going through. Even if he tries to talk to someone, he knew that he could never be as transparent to a soul as he was with her. The weight that has been suffocating him gets worse each night and Lockwood wasn’t sure how long he could keep his feigned persona.
Please, come back.
—-
Lockwood knew that the job would have some complications. There was no way that the Prime Minister would only hire their agency for such a gallant event. The Ball was too important to be guarded just by three teenagers. No matter how proficient Lockwood would think his colleagues are, securing such a prestigious function would require more than a handful of elite agents.
“Kipps,” Lockwood greets as they enter the hall “Fancy seeing you here.”
Kipps smiled amusedly, turning to face the younger boy with such glee that it alarms him, “Dare I say that I’m glad to see you here, Lockwood.”
Lockwood shows a thin smile.
This job was a rather different mission than the ones they’ve done before. Instead of cleaning a mansion or securing a relic, the team was tasked to maintain the stability of the government’s event. With the ghost epidemic persisting and countries collapsing, the government is planning to hold an evening party to gather the powerful men and women from different countries to talk about their economic alliances. A couple of days ago, the government officials received intel that a certain group of radicals were planning to crash the Ball by releasing sources. Security has tightened since and there have been no troubles found so far yet one could never be too secure for such a paramount event.
“I heard you’ve been getting back on track, retrieving more sources and regaining attention at the agency.” Lockwood said, pretending to be interested in Kipps “Did you finally take that fencing lesson I told you about? How did it feel learning to properly hold a rapier with 6-7 years olds?”
Kipps smirked. The kind of smirk that says ‘I know something you don’t’ and it edges Lockwood to the bone. He hates not knowing about things that might cause him a disadvantage. Sure that their teams are now playing for the same flag, that they’re mates instead of rivals for the upcoming task, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that this is a competition still.
Lockwood’s mind was abruptly distracted when he thought he heard a familiar voice. He turns to the source, eyes softened when he sees her, talking to some officials. Her hair was styled differently and the stark difference of appearance she has now wearing Fittes uniform was rather nauseating but no matter how peculiar she looks right now, Lockwood couldn’t help but to feel delighted to see her.
“Ah, there she is!” Kipps says, clapping his hand with a big smile as he calls for her “Lockwood, have you met my newest member?”
His grip on the rapier tightened. Kipps is evidently rubbing it on his face now, holding her by her shoulders just like he did when they met at the grocery store months ago. Lockwood forces the corner of his lips to tug into a smile, trying to collect himself and avert his focus to her.
“Anthony,” She greets with a smile “I knew you would be here.”
Lockwood nods, a little bit too stiff that it made her gaze softened as if she was apologising for something he couldn’t tell. His mind was split in two, torn between feeling overjoyed on seeing her and wanting to punch Kipps’ face. He forced a smile at her, trying his best to ignore Kipps’ presence, “How have you been?”
“Great. Where are Lucy and George?”
As if on cue, a piercing squeal was heard behind them. George and Lucy were now running toward her, pulling her into a rib crushing embrace. The trio looked like a group of children returning to their kindergarten class after a spring break.
Lockwood smiles at the sight. This was what normal is for him. To see her with George and Lucy, talking and laughing as if the world was nothing but a background noise. She looks radiant. Her beaming smile etched on her face, cheeks flushed from the giddiness. She looks beautiful.
“So to answer your question,” Kipps says, making Lockwood to glare at his direction “Yes, I did take fencing lessons, and no, it was not with 6-7 years olds. I rather like this fencing partner of mine, actually.”
—-
Trying to keep his focus is evidently impossible with her standing next to Kipps now. Lockwood knew that today’s briefing was important. That the officials are telling them the rundown of the party, vital exit points, and more confidential information about the intel, but what exactly can one do when the person he’s missed the most is standing by his sworn enemy? Besides, Lockwood’s certain that George is noting everything down, they could surely just go over this back home.
“Don’t do it.” Lucy says as she glances at Lockwood.
“Don’t do what?” He questions, not moving his gaze from them.
“Whatever it is you’re planning to do, Lockwood, I’m warning you, don’t.” She says with more firmness “We’re working on the same team now. Kipps isn’t your enemy.”
Lockwood snorts, “Like hell he’s not.”
Lucy rolls her eyes. Arguing with Lockwood while the cause of his fury is still in the room would be pointless. His lips were in a thin line, murderous eyes locked on Kipps who was still talking to her, discussing their plan for the job. For anyone else the two of them would look like nothing but a pair of elite agents who are only doing their job, but for someone blinded with jealousy, a certain way of Kipps’ gaze already set Lockwood’s skin ablaze.
Time feels like it passes by much slower in this hall. Lockwood swears that it’s been forever, that Kipps has been whispering and making her smile forever. He knew that the two are close, hardly half as close as they were, sure, but she’s always been good friends with him. Even back at the academy, Lockwood had always seen Kipps as a rival since day one.
And no, this goes further than just the fencing thing.
But in the end, she would always come for him first. Lockwood would be the first person she would tell her day to, the first she would share the pastries she bought from the new bakery around the corner, the first she would come to practise her rapier skills with. Now it looks like Kipps has dethroned him from such a position.
“You’re going to lose her completely if you let jealousy cloud your mind.” Lucy warns “They’re just doing their job.”
Lockwood turns to Lucy, looking offended, “Mind you, I am not jealous.”
“Like hell you’re not.” She says, repeating his own words.
“Shut up, Luce.” He retorts “Listen to the officials.”
“Lockwood, I’m serious.” Lucy says, this time pulling his arm with firm warning “Your jealousy is bleeding right out and if you’re not careful, you’ll only push her further and remove herself entirely from your life.”
He remains quiet, looking at Lucy with unsure eyes.
Lucy sighs, letting go of his arm, “Don’t overthink it. They’re just friends.”
His lips were itching to spit more arguments but Lockwood gave in and nodded instead. He tries to avert his mind by asking George to give him a recap, telling him pointers of the crucial information he missed from trying to murder Kipps with his stare.
The job was simple. Come to the Ball, make sure no ghosts were released from the supposed source attack, fight whatever party that might be in their opposition, then go home with a check big enough to feed them for the whole year. A big fish for a rather simple task, Lockwood notes.
Lockwood could already see the list of activities his friends would do once they finished the job. Perhaps a week off for everyone to go enjoy their well deserving reward is due. Lucy has been wanting to visit her friend Norrie and it’s been a while since George went to see his Grandmother in Sidcup. And him? What would he do to fill in a full seven days of no work?
It would’ve been much easier to make notes of all the brilliant activities to do if she was still in the team. He could go and visit her family, it’s been some time since he met her parents. Or maybe they could go somewhere new, jump on the train and visit cities, perhaps countries. Or even just staying at home and listening to her favourite records echoing through the walls of 35 Portland Row. All things would be pleasant so long as he gets to do it with her.
He wondered what she would do with her share. Maybe she would use it to get herself a new rapier. A fancy one where she could have her initials engraved on it. Or maybe she would use it to buy new paint and canvas, she does have a talent in such art. Or maybe she would go and visit all the museums and libraries in town. She loves going to such institutions. Lockwood remembers the first time they went to the National Gallery, how fascinated she was with all the pieces though he would argue that none of the works displayed is half as magnificent as she is.
But now that he thinks about it, Lockwood couldn’t help but to have her words echoed in his head. When was the last time she painted? When was the last time they went to the museum? When was the last time they went to a library just to lend some overrated novel?
I don’t know anything about you outside of work anymore.
Lockwood slowly looks up, painfully looking back at her and Kipps who are now scribbling some notes on the clipping board he was holding for her. That used to be their thing. Even with George in the team, he would often brainstorm ideas with her first, him holding the notebook and her holding two pens with different colours— black for him and blue for her. Seeing her do it with Kipps now torments him to say the least.
What I want you cannot give, Anthony.
—-
Lockwood’s shoulders stiffened as he watched her approaching. Her gentle smile was present but for the first time in his life, instead of feeling comforted, Lockwood feels intimidated. The sight of her and Kipps still burns in the back of his head and his realisation of how much he’s lost her is something that he’s still trying to process.
“Hi,” She greets “Where’s George and Lucy?”
“Having a stroll around. George wanted to get a better idea of the building and you know Lucy had to make sure he didn’t wander too far away.”
She nods, “Why didn’t you come with them?”
Because I wanted to talk to you, he thought, but instead Lockwood only shrugs, “Just needed some peace for myself.”
“Oh, I’ll leave you—.”
“No,” He says fast, taking her wrist before she could leave “Please, stay.”
She looks down to his grip, taking a shaky breath before slowly peeling his fingers off of her. Lockwood swears that the day just keeps on getting worse and worse for him. But she stayed by his side, not leaving. Standing still as she looks everywhere but him. God knows what she’s thinking now.
Lockwood blinks to try and process the unfamiliar situation. His heart was crushed, worse than the state he’s been in and he thought he was already broken. It’s as if he could finally feel the distance she’s been talking about. The invisible space between them that he didn’t realise was present until it’s too late to close it. The wall that’s separating them is too high to be climbed now.
“Happy birthday, by the way,” She breaks the silence, reaching into her back pocket and still not meeting his eyes “I got you this. It’s nothing much, just a postcard I got when I went out of town. I should’ve sent it but I didn’t have the time, sorry.”
He took it gratefully, a genuine smile blooming on his face, ”You went to Liverpool?”
“Yeah, with Quill. We had a mission there for a couple days.”
“I see.”
Lockwood’s lips are on a tight line now. Just how blessed he is today, indeed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call for your birthday.” She says again “I wanted to, but I thought it would wiser for me not to.”
“Why not?”
“People don’t call their ex-employer and tell them happy birthday, Anthony.”
Ex-employer. Anthony thought he knew heartbreak until he heard the word come out of her lips. All these years of friendship, affection and tenderness shared with each other, reduced to such improper status. Whatever chance he thought he had to fix their relationship, Lockwood knew that it’s all gone into mere specks of dust now.
She finally looks up to him, realising the hurtful words she’s just uttered. It didn’t feel as horrible in her head but having to hear it herself she couldn’t help but wanting to slap herself. Since when has their relationship turned into who could hurt the other most?
“Anthony—,”
“No, I get it.” He cuts, nodding and feigning a smile “I’m glad you found an agency that could better appreciate your talents.”
Her expression softened, feeling guilt to weigh more on her shoulders.
“I know this would be wrong of me as your ex-employer to ask,” Lockwood says, his voice trembling as he tries to bottle his emotions “But can I please hug you?”
She winces at his use of words, how unsure he was with his question when they used to pull each other for warm embraces with bright smiles on their faces. She runs to him with open arms, pulling him close as if she needed the hug herself.
Lockwood could feel his body practically melting into her touch, the way his aching muscles finally relaxed as the familiar embrace was finally engulfing him once more, but his heart was heavier than before. If he thought he lost her the night she gave him her resignation letter, he was certainly proven wrong. This hug feels like the bitter slap of reality. That he was the only one crumbling, that he was the only one breaking, that he was the only one suffering from their separation.
And farewell tastes even bitter now.
—-
A couple of weeks have passed since the Ball meeting. A couple of weeks have passed since he last saw her. A couple of weeks have passed since Lockwood’s started to live his life as half a dead man. He’s been busy with other missions, trying to satisfy as many clients as possible and it’s looking pretty neat to say the least. Just don’t look too closely at him. You’d notice how he’s slowly slipping out of his mind if you do.
Just reckless enough, Lockwood chants in his head every time he’s working on the field. Holding onto the warnings George gives and all the ever so friendly scolds from Lucy. But even with as much reminder and support the two could give, it would never be enough to fill in the void in his heart.
Just reckless enough, Lockwood repeats to himself. Turning those three words into a prayer somehow as he’s slowly losing his grip. The only time he would brush the thought of her under the rug would be when his rapier is out, trying to fight for his life, trusting his instinct to swing the weapon against whatever trouble he’s come across, be it in the flesh or ectoplasm.
Just reckless enough, Lockwood muttered quietly as he tried to keep his focus. His shoulders were heavier by a thousand folds. The sight of that innocent man caught in the crossfire between him and some relic thugs tonight haunts him. How that poor man fell to the ground as Lockwood tries to flee from the scene, unintentionally using the man’s body as a shield from the bullets shot in his direction.
Now his feet were wobbly, trying their best to support him as he followed George and Lucy from behind, walking to 35 Portland Row with a heavy heart. No words were exchanged on the drive home and no matter how worried Lucy’s eyes stare into him, he knew that she’s seething inside.
“You two go first,” Lockwood says, making the two stop their pace and stare at him with confused eyes “I have somewhere to be.”
George could hear the exasperated sigh Lucy let out and with one unsure smile, he took the source from Lucy’s hands and entered their home. Better to secure the relic from the upcoming war between the two, he thought.
“Lockwood,” Lucy starts “Not tonight.”
HIs lips pursed. Cursing that if Lucy’s talents were listening and touch, why is it that it’s so easy for her to read him like an open book?
“You need to rest.” She says again “ You can visit her tomorrow morning.”
“I need to see her tonight.” Lockwood whispers, his tone begging “I think I’m losing my mind, Luce.”
Lucy remains quiet, her expression softened as she stares into his vulnerable state.
“I killed him.” He says, voice breaking and eyes brimming with tears “I don’t know why I couldn’t just stop and think straight lately. All I could think about is finishing as many jobs, retrieving as many sources as possible, all in an effort to bury her, to have a minute of peace without her ghost haunting my mind.”
Lockwood’s last words came out barely as a whisper. His whole body shudders, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that pitiful look on Lucy’s face. He didn’t hear her approaching but he could certainly feel her arms embracing him, trying to calm him down in the middle of the road. It was soothing, the kind of warmth that would keep you sane for the time being, but no matter how tight Lucy holds him tonight, she knew that her friendly gesture wouldn’t piece his sanity back together.
I need to see her.
—-
The tapping of raindrops to her window pane was soothing. A cup of freshly brewed tea, her favourite cardigan hanging loose on her shoulders, and a half read book in her hand. The night was peaceful for her. After a long week of complicated tasks, working with Kipps’ elite squad, such serenity is surely what she needs.
But her comfort was abruptly interrupted at the ringing of her doorbell. Whoever the guest was, they're surely impatient enough to not wait for another second to press on the bell whilst banging on her door at the same time.
She clicks her tongue, frowning at the disturbance. She places her book down, “Coming!”
Perhaps her guest has trouble hearing because even though the trip from her kitchen to the front door didn’t even reach a minute, the person was still banging on her door loudly. At this point she was sure the rain hardly dampened the loud noise they were making.
“Good Lord, I said I’m coming!” She says angrily as she opens the door.
She certainly didn’t expect her guest to be him. He was standing by the door, drenched so wet from the rain that you can see his shirt clung tight to his skin. His eyes were reflecting the emotional and physical fatigue he’s in. His shoulders defeated, chin hung low as if he’s a second away from passing out.
“Anthony—,”
The boy gave into her and pulled her for a tight embrace, melting into her like butter on a pan. He hugs her close, burying his face to the crook of her neck. Her body warmth was so comforting. After all these painful months, Lockwood finally feels like he’s home.
The boy hasn’t spoken a word but she knew that something had happened. Something so bad that it shook the façade he held so strongly to the ground. It was one of those moments when you just knew. Like a silent secret connection you share with someone special. Because otherwise, there would be no chance in hell that Anthony John Lockwood would go all the way to her flat in the middle of the night when it is raining cats and dogs.
“Please tell me you’re here.” He whispers.
“I’m here.”
And just like that all hell broke loose for Lockwood. His breathing is now shallow, chest tight as if he was being drowned in a lake. His embrace on her loosen. His feet weakened, making him fall to his knees. His demons have finally caught him.
“Anthony, breath.” She says gently, kneeling to level with him “Breath with me, okay? Follow my counts.”
“I killed a man.” He chokes “I didn’t mean to— He sacrificed himself— I should’ve gone to Barnes— I can’t breathe.”
She tries to peel herself from him, to try and assess his condition better, but the moment she tries to pull away, Lockwood only tightens his hold of her.
“Anthony, you need to let me go.” She whispers gently “Let me help you breathe, please, Love.”
Reluctantly, Lockwood loosens his embrace and lets her pull away. His hands are now busy pulling his tie and opening the first few buttons of his drenched shirt. His mind was frantic. Never has he ever had such an episode before.
She begins to count, helping him steady his breathing. Five seconds in, five seconds out. Then four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out with a whoosh. Once his breathing starts to get better, she asks him light questions. Five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste.
“I can smell tea.” He says between his pants “Are you making tea?”
She let out a small chuckle, relieved, “I did make tea. Would you like some?”
Lockwood nods.
“Let’s fix you a cup then.”
—-
Lockwood could feel his brain waking up, his senses coming alive as he smelled her sweet scent and felt the pressure of her body on his arms. He smiles. Sure they've cuddled more than one could possibly count, but never have they felt as intimate as now. Their bodies were pressed to each other, her head tucked close to his chest, and her arms securely encircling his waist. It was as if he could feel her radiating the kind of love he's been desperate about.
“Good morning.” She greets, he could tell that she’s smiling sweetly without opening his eyes “I know you’re awake.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“Then how can we converse now if you’re still asleep?”
Lockwood pulls her closer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alright, you’re breaking my ribs now.” She says with a chuckle “I have to run to the bakery and get us some food. You didn’t eat anything last night, you must be starving.”
“I’m fine.”
She clicked her tongue in disapproval, “Come on, Anthony, wake up.”
“Can’t I sleep for a few more minutes?” He asks, finally opening his eyes to see that her face was mere inches from him.
Lockwood gulps. She was staring at him tenderly. As if she missed him as much as he missed her. The corner of her lips were curved upward, making her look ever so beautiful. Even in the morning, perhaps especially in the morning, she looks the most stunning with her tangled hair and lazy sleepy eyes. A sight he would never get enough of.
“I’m gonna do something,” He whispers to her “If you don’t like it you can deck me later but please do it gently.”
Her brows knitted, smiling at his half spoken words.
With a loud beating of his heart, Lockwood leans closer to her, sealing their lips for a few seconds in a chaste kiss. It was an innocent one. The kind you give to your lover when you want them to know just how much you appreciate them and that is all he wanted to do. To tell her that he appreciates her, with a gesture that he hopes would explain better than words could ever do. All he wants to do now is just to let her know that.
Lockwood opens his eyes nervously, scared to see her negative reaction but to his luck, he could only see her smiling back at him. Like she accepted his message and is returning the feelings for him.
“Alright, you deserve a few more minutes of sleep for that.”
He chuckles, pulling her back for another tight embrace.
“Anthony, I really need to get us some food.” She protests “You need to let me go.”
“Stop wiggling.”
“Then let me go.”
Lockwood groans but let go of her anyway. His brows furrowed in disapproval, lips pursed in an annoyed frown, and despite his growing disappointment that she won’t be joining his quick extra nap, he knew that she has a tight schedule for the day and keeping her late for her breakfast wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do.
She lets out a satisfied sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed before looking back at his sleepy self, “Promise me you’ll still be here when I’m back.”
Lockwood nods and hums in agreement. His hand searches for hers, still with his eyes closed, and plants a kiss on the back of her hand. He caresses it with his thumb before letting go gently, “I won’t go anywhere.”
If only Lockwood would open his eyes for a minute, he would’ve seen the bright smile on her face. How her cheeks were flushed and the lovestruck eyes she has for him. But he was busy trying to recompose himself. What he did just now has certainly burned all their bridges to the ground. He has never been this bold, never that fearless and taking the leap of faith for their relationship, and yet he did. He needs to process this before he could see her again.
How the universe seemed to have aligned their stars together now.
Lockwood heard the soft click of the front door closing when she left. He finds it hard to fall back to sleep now from all the adrenaline rush. His lips were still curved in a satisfied smile. He feels giddy. Like his body was supercharged and he could conquer the world now. Funny how she could turn his world upside down just with a snap of her fingers.
He now finds himself getting up from the bed and looking around her flat. He could see the pictures that were glued to the walls of her room in 35 Portland Row now decorating the sitting room. Even when she doesn’t live with him anymore, it soothes him to know that she brought a piece of their home wherever she goes.
He heard the front door knob twisting, turning to see it with a happy smile, “That was fast.”
But the happy face was soon slapped off of his face as he stared at the man standing. Kipps were mirroring his confused look, staring at each other with the silent question: what are you doing here?
And then it dawned in him. Lockwood looks down to the shirt he’s wearing, the one she let him borrow to get out of his soaked clothings. The plain white shirt that fits him right but is certainly oversized for her. Why would she have a men’s shirt?
“Kipps,” Lockwood greets with a lump growing on his throat “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“The same could be said for you.” Kipps said, his tone unsure but his usual smirk was decorating his face “Is she here?”
“She went to the bakery.”
Kipps nods, giving him an ‘ah’.
Lockwood bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he could feel the foul taste of blood from it. He should’ve known better. Why didn’t he think about it before? Why didn’t he see it? How could he forget that she was no longer his? Hell, she was never his to begin with.
“I, uh, I just remembered I have some things to sort out.” Lockwood says as he shuffles to gather his belongings.
“You’re going?” Kipps asks “Aren’t you going to wait for her first?”
“No,” He says, shaking his head “It’s something about work. Rather urgent, actually. She’ll understand.”
Kipps frowns, knowing that she would certainly not understand but nods anyway, “Right.”
With a forced smile, Lockwood pats on Kipps’ shoulder and finds himself out of her flat. He could feel his heart getting heavier with each step further from her. Like his heart was left there, on her bed, the moment he promised to wait for her to return. But what exactly could he do? He knew his place, even when he'd forgotten about it last night. He forgot and he was made to remember. She was no longer his.
She was Kipps’.
#anthony lockwood#anthony lockwood fanfic#anthony lockwood fanfiction#anthony lockwood scenarios#anthony lockwood imagine#anthony lockwood imagines#anthony lockwood fluff#anthony lockwood angst#anthony lockwood x you#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x y/n#anthony lockwood x oc#anthony lockwood scenario
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plight of pandora
johnny x simon x reader
word count: 1.4k
warnings: violence, body trauma/blood, seizure, brain injury, memory loss, eventual poly smut - MDNI +18, swearing
a/n: planning to make this multiple parts! this is my first real fanfic so please be nice but constructive! if i forgot a warning or you have a correction, let a hoe know! ok enjoy, i am screaming, going to hit post now!
“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Gaz was running from around the corner of the hallway to your seemingly lifeless body on the cement floor. He’s on his knees, quickly checking your neck for a pulse. Thank god.
“Gaz, how copy?” Price’s voice buzzed through the com in your ear, unlistening.
“‘M fine. She’s down but breathing. I’m bringing her back. All clear.” Gaz’ voice trembles a little, pushing through.
He looks down to you, his best friend, a bullet hole through your gear, torn through your abdomen, blood soaking around you. Your arm is bleeding. Your shirt, skin and the muscle of your bicep were sliced into by the knife an enemy had tried to kill you with before you shot him. He lies dead a few feet away. Your face is turned to the side, eyes closed, sweaty remnants on your temples from the intense fight.
Gaz doesn’t hear Price’s response, too focused on taking the status of you in.
“Lovey, I’m gonna pick you up, okay? You’re gonna be alright,” he hopes aloud.
He slides his arms under your knees and around your shoulders and lifts. He makes sure the wound is nearest his body, the more pressure on it, the better. He’s done this before. You’re not the tiniest thing, nearly pure muscle for your body type, but no issue for him. He’s been running on adrenaline since he saw you go down in front of him before he got blindsided with his own round of enemies.
He makes his way back out of the building, tracking back to the safe house where he knew your two lovers were going insane with worry about you. Would they trust him with you again? He needed to keep you safe and he failed. What would Price say? What verbal whipping would Johnny give him? God, what would Simon do? He didn't want to think about it. He keeps trekking through the streets until he sees a porch light on.
You come to sometime in the midst, you’re not really sure when. Gaz is carrying you, you think? Your midsection is white hot with pain, regretting any tensing muscle. You can barely make a coherent thought, much less any word come out of your mouth. You end up letting out a loud gasp followed by a tearless sob instead.
This is your first time getting injured out in the field. You had gone through 7 years of training and service without getting shot, but today was your lucky day. The 141 had looked over your file multiple times; the top of your class, excelled in nearly all physical and mental training, had worked your way up quite quickly with the brains and endurance to back it up.
You don’t catch Gaz looking back down at you with wide eyes as he starts to murmur reassurances to you, “I know, lovey. I’m sorry. We’re almost there. We’ll get you fixed up.”
What hadn’t occurred to you was that your head had hit the solid cement beneath you, rattling your brain mere seconds after your body fell limp and ichor started flowing out of you. The last combatant had gotten ahold of you briefly, his knife slipping as you threw your weight backwards against him. You turned on your feet, pointing your gun at his head, but didn’t fire quickly enough before he fired his pistol right against your vest first.
Your eyes squinted shut even in the barely there evening light of the desert. Your head was spinning, too many thoughts and not enough at the same time. You try to focus through the searing pain and cloudiness in your thoughts. What had happened?
It’s too much. Your world goes dark.
Simon is the first Gaz sees come through the door of the small one story house. It looks decently well kept considering its near nowhere. Johnny is hot on his heels.
“What happened, Gaz?”
“What were ye thinking, Panda?”
Gaz keeps his pace towards the door, trying to get you inside as quickly as possible.
He looks to his side to report, “We got separated. We thought there was only ten in the building, there was double that. They came out of nowhere; cornered her and backed me out. I-“
He has to take a breath as he recounts the mission. Price is standing in the living room listening, motioning to put you on the couch, the table full and ready with medical supplies.
“I heard her around the corner. She needed me to back her up and I couldn’t. If that bitch would’ve gotten her throat-“ Gaz nearly chokes. Johnny put his hand on his shoulder.
“But she didn’t let ‘em. She’ll be ‘right.” Johnny tries, his hands shook instead of his voice.
“I’m so sorry.” Gaz looks at you. His shoulders finally slouch with his head hanging.
Price hadn’t said a word and got to work, getting the round out of your guts without damaging any other vital organs.
Simon was already knelt down beside the couch and took your arm in his burly hands. He reached for the alcohol pads and the field sewing kit. It was a wonder he was so good at stitching considering the size of him. Within a few minutes your inner muscle tissue was no longer airing out in the open, closed by one of your boyfriends.
The sewing kit is passed to Price once he had gotten the split shell out of you with a clink to the table.
Gaz is stuck, looking at your blood quickly turning the beige couch a deep red. Johnny tugs on Gaz’ straps to urge him to take his gear off.
Unfortunately for you, the unconsciousness of your brain injury had worn off, forcing you back to life. You woke with your eyes dazed and brows drawn in a grimace. Simon looks down to you.
Price is the first to speak from further down, “Welcome back sweet girl. Quite a mess you've made here.” he tries to be lighthearted.
You don't quite understand. Tears start to come and fall over the brim of your eyes, your brain feels like it's been split into two, much less the hot swelling in your belly.
“Hurts,” you cry, lifting your non-injured arm over your head, trying to block the pain inside of your brain from the outside.
“Panda, look at me baby.” Simon asks with desperation.
You turn your neck towards the voice, unknowing of who is talking.
“Hm?” You feel fingers drag along your cheeks, wiping tears as they go. Air burns when you breathe.
“Do you know where you are?” Simon asks, noticing the look of confusion crossing your face.
“Shit, her pupils r’dilated.”
“What…?” you manage. Your eyes keep unfocusing no matter how hard you strain.
Simon tries to stay level, “You’re at the safe house. You and Gaz were out clearing that building. You got shot, babygirl. Do you remember that?”
His hand was rubbing over the back of yours. More frustrated tears roll. You're uncomfortable now. You wrack your brain for information that's vanished.
Soap comes from behind the couch, leaning over you. He’s pretty.
“Bonnie, you remember my name, love?”
“Johnny?” you squeak out, feeling embarrassed.
“Good girl. What's his name?” he points next to you.
“I…I don’t….” You feel like you’ve betrayed him somehow. He looks at you concerned, the edge of his mask up and stretched over his nose. His lips look soft.
The room suddenly feels like a spinning ship at sea. Your eyelids contend with your brain. You start to panic, not having control over your body. A whimper comes from your throat. Your eyes roll back to nothingness. Help.
Price swears, hands immediately going to your tense hips to turn you on your side.
Simon holds your head gently, to try to comfort you or him, he doesn't know.
Gaz watches in near silence as your body convulses in front of him. He could have prevented this. Now look.
Johnny’s eyes couldn't leave your body, watching like you would a train crash.
You eventually still.
“Babygirl? Panda, open your eyes for me.” Simon almost demands.
You hear his voice far away. Your eyes flutter for what seems like too long. You fight your way to consciousness once again and see wide, brown eyes staring at you.
“Price, Medevac’s landed a block away.”
Taglist: @ohworm-writes, @bjornthebearguy
#dangerkittenclaws#johnny soap mactaish#simon ghost riley#ghoap x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#johnny soap mactavish x reader#simon x johnny x reader#call of duty fanfic
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Almost There
Peter Parker x Ghost!Reader
Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Wordcount: 4.8K
Synopsis: Peter enters his apartment that night expecting to find an empty bed. But instead, he comes face to face with your transparent glowing figure.
Warnings: Angst! Mentions of death, hospital rooms, cheating(not on reader), Fluff, SMUT AT THE END, P in V, Oral (M and F receiving), praise kink, happy ending
AN:Not edited.
Peter’s heart was racing as he races down the dimly lit hall with you pressed against his chest. Your pleads still echoing in his head, rattling in his brain, making him feel weak and useless as he runs in attempts to save you from bleeding out. He could feel your warm blood staring to soak through his suit, his arms feeling weaker than normal as he cradles your head in one arm, while your legs are thrown over the other. His mind feels frantic as he thinks of how to get you safely to the hospital. You’re loosing too much blood, he knows this. “We’re almost there Y/N,” he breathes softly, “Almost there.”
He approaches the fallen elevator, shifting your body do you’re thrown over his shoulder. He mutters a quick ‘fuck’ as he dials Ned. The phone rings for a moment before he hears Neds voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey Peter, where you been?” Neds cheery voice makes Peter wince.
“Ned its Y/N. I need you to get Aunt May and meet me at the abandoned elevator with a spare thing of my cloths. It’s urgent.” Peter hands up the phone, preparing to climb up the wall with you thrown over his shoulder. With a small grunt, he sticks himself to the wall and begins to climb, only relying on his webs from keeping you from falling.
As Peter approaches the top of the elevator he can see both May and Ned looking down at him. His body heaves your unconscious one up and onto the ground outside the elevator doors.
“Peter what the hell is going on?” May says slowly, trying to keep herself from freaking out.
Peter lets out another grunt as he lifts up your shirt, shooting his webs onto your still bleeding wounds in hopes of preventing any further blood loss. “I’ll explain in the car, we need to get her to the hospital.” He stumbles as he stands up, leaning down to lift you into his arms once again. Both May and Ned exchange looks as they follow Peter to the car.
“Do you want to explain what the hell is going on now?” May asks as she starts the car, pulling out of the apartment complex.
Peter nods, stripping out of his suit in the backseat, being careful not to tussle you around too much in the process. “A few months ago, basically around the time we moved in, I met Y/N.” Peter says as he pulls on the pants Ned brought him. “The thing about Y/N is that she’s sorta, or was sorta a ghost. Not fully alive, but not fully dead either.”
Ned turns to May nodding. “It’s so cool, she could like turn into a solid person, and then suddenly be invisible as a ghost. It was scary cool.”
“I’m sorry, you expect me to believe we had a ghost living in our apartment?” May cuts in, looking back at Peter in the rear view mirror.
Peter throws his shirt on before easing your head back into his lap. “Well May, I have spider powers, Thor exists, and so does Dr. Strange so…” He says slowly.
May rolls her eyes before nodding. “You make a fair point. Continue.”
“Well anyways, me and Y/N went looking for her body below the building. Originally we thought she’d be a skeleton but she wasn’t. She was like, frozen in time.” Peter says as he checks your wounds.
Ned turns around to look at you both, “cool like a coma?” He asks.
Peter shakes his head, “No, I don’t think so. If it was a coma she would’ve died from lack of food and water. Plus she wounds only started bleeding when she like, go absorbed back into her body.”
Ned’s eyes went wide as he looks from Peter to May, and back to Peter. “Wicked.”
“Okay, so where has this half ghost half girl been staying these last few months exactly?” May asks as she takes a sharp turn, trying her best to rush to the hospital without getting pulled over.
“She was staying with me for a while.” Ned pipes in. “You know, after the fight.” He says glaring at Peter.
Peter could feel his jaw clench as he draws your body closer to his. “It was a misunderstanding. Not a fight.”
Ned rolls his eyes, “sure, you having a girlfriend and letting her touch Y/N stuffed animal was a ‘misunderstanding.’ You kicked her out of your room dude. Also, she clearly liked you. Otherwise she wouldn’t have kissed you that one night.”
May eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, looking at Peter’s now guilty face. “Was she living in your room or something?”
“Oh yeah, until she started sleeping with me. That was after MJ and Peter got together.” Ned nods.
Both May and Peter’s heads whip to the side to look at Ned. “You and Y/N slept together?” Peter squeaks, trying to stop himself from raising his voice.
“Well yeah, obviously. Why do you care? You’re with MJ.” Ned scoffs, not seeing the big deal in you both sharing a bed so you could actually fall asleep at night.
“Ned what the fuck.” Peter groans, “I totally thought the kiss we shared before she came back to life met something! Now you’re telling me you and Y/N were having sex?”
“Sex?!” Ned shrieks.
“Wait a second Mr. What do you mean kiss? You and MJ are dating.” May scolds.
“SEX?” Ned repeats as his face pales even more.
“Nobody cares if you and a ghost had sex Ned, Peter cheated on MJ.” May snaps, slightly irritated as she pulls into the parking lot of the hospital.
“We didn’t have sex! We shared a bed!” Ned cries, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Wait, so you didn’t sleep together?” Peter lets out a sigh of relief.
Ned lets out a small groan, “We slept together in the actual sleeping way, not the sexual way dude. You’re so dirty minded.”
“I got worried okay! Would’ve been really weird if you and Y/N were having sex when we both almost had sex earlier today!” Peter defends.
“Peter Parker!” May cries, turning around to look at Peter who’s getting your still passed out body out of the car.
“I’m sorry May, I really am but I need to help Y/N.” Peter says, hosting you into his arms and dashing towards the entrance.
+++
Your eyes flutter open and the sound of beeping fills the room. When you turn your head you’re met with Peters worried face along with numerous tubes and fluid bags. You look down at your arm to find it attached to an IV, while your nose is plugged up with oxygen. “Peter?” You croak.
Peter lets out a small sob, placing his hand on the side of your face. “I thought I lost you, I-“ he cries softly.
You let you a small laugh as tears begin to spill from your eyes. “I’m here now, I’m okay.” You promise, placing your hand over his hand that’s resting on your cheek. “I-I think I’m alive.” You whisper.
Peter nods, tears still spilling from his eyes. “You are, you didn’t disappear last night, you-you stayed with me.” He chokes.
A smile spreads across your lips as you lean in to kiss him softly. “Peter, I can stay with you now. I-I’m all yours.”
He nods, kissing you again and again. “You’re mine,” he whispers.
You nod as you shift over in your hospital bed. “Lay with me?”
He nods, crawling into bed with you. “I really did think I was going to loose you without saying goodbye.” He says as he brings you into his arms. You lay your head down on his chest as he continues. “I brought you in and you were immediately taken into surgery. For hours I waited for you. Crying, wondering if I’d ever see you again. Both May and Ned eventually had to go home, since only I could stay.” You feel a hot tear hit the top of your head as another sob racks through Peter’s body. “I really love you Y/N, I hope you know that. I love you so so much.”
“Peter, I love you.” Tears begin to flow down your cheeks again as you pull Peter into another kiss. “I’m not going anywhere, not again.” You hum.
He nods, holding you closer to his body. You listen to his heartbeat in a peaceful silence for about ten minutes before the nurse comes in.
“Y/N L/N, is that right dear?” The nurse smiles as she comes over to check your vitals.
“Y-yes.” You stutters, a feeling of anxiety washing over you. It had been so long since you had last been in contact with another person other than Peter, Ned, and Eli.
She gives you a sweet smile as she adds more pain meds to your IV. “How are you feeling sweetie?”
“Really good actually.” You say softly.
“Good! That means the pain meds are working. I just wanted to come check on you and let you know we got in contact with your parents.” the nurse replies, giving you one last kind smile before exiting the room.
“M-My parents? But how?” You look up at Peter who smiles softly.
“It took a while to find them, and convince them to come down here.” Peter admitted. “Had to show them a lot of proof that we found you.”
Your eyes went wide as Peters words sunk into your head. “My parents are coming to see me?” You say softly.
He nods, issuing your head softly. “They should be here soon.” Peter whispers softly in your hair.
There’s a small knock on the door after about an hour of you resting in Peter’s arms. Peter shifts his gaze from you onto the door as he calls out “come in.”
The door creaks open and a man and woman step inside. They resemble you greatly, he can see your eyes in your moms, especially when she smiles. “Oh my god, our baby,” the woman cries, approaching the bed.
You begin to stir at the commotion, stirring up slightly in Peters arms. A small hum escapes your lips as you gently run your eyes. Looking around the room, your eyes lock with your moms as a small cry escapes your lips. “Mom! Dad!” Another sob escapes you as your parents rush to embrace you.
“Oh darling what happened to you? Where were you?” Your mom sobs as she holds you in her arms.
Your dad Hugs your from the other side gently drawing circles on your back. “They told us you were dead, we pressed them to keep investigating, we even began searching for you on our own. It’s been eight years.” Your dad places a kiss on top of your head as he speaks.
“I-I was dead.” You croak, “well, sorta dead. Peter helped find my body and I was frozen in time.”
Your parents slowly pull away from you to look at Peter. Your dad pats your back gently before leaning in close to whisper to Peter “has she been tested for any trauma responses?”
Peter shakes his head, looking between both your parents. “Honestly, it would be so much easier to say that she’s having a delirious episode and her story is made up to comfort her. But, she’s telling the truth. She was living in my apartment.” Peter admits.
Your parents look from one another, shaking their heads. “That’s not possible.” Your mother says after a brief moment. “How could she be dead and then come back to life?”
Peter shrugs, pulling you back into his embrace once more. “Honestly, we accepted Thor existed, is this really that far fetched as a God from another planet?”
Your parents cast each other glances before nodding. “I suppose you’ve got a point kid.” Your dad says after another long pause. “So you two were just rooming together while my daughter was dead.”
A blush spreads over both yours and Peters face as you nod. “He helped take care of me dad, if it weren’t for Peter I wouldn’t be alive right now. In fact, if I went to the basement alone and found my body I would’ve bled to death. Peter’s the one who rushed me to the hospital.”
Your parents look over to Peter whose face is also a bright red. “Is this true?” Your mom asks, shaken by the thought of you alone and bleeding.
He nods, “Yes ma’am. I care about your daughter a lot. I’ve grown to love her in the months I’ve gotten to know her. Sure, she scared the living daylights out of me the first time I saw her as a ghost. But beyond that, your daughter is seriously amazing.”
A smile breaks across your lips as you turn to face Peter. “Thank you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Yes thank you, Peter.” Your dad smiles, patting his shoulder.
+++
Leaving the hospital was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Your parents lived a few hours away in a town over, and you didn’t want to leave Peter. It took a while to convince your parents that what you needed more than anything was to stay with the boy who saved you. Luckily even the doctors backed you up, explaining that if you and Peter were suddenly separated you might go into a trauma shock.
After your parents reluctantly agreed, they exchanged numbers with Peter and made a plan to begin the moving process near you as soon as they could. This just left talking to May.
“I know she’s a girl and I know I’m asking for her to stay in my bedroom with me but even the doctors said it’s best she stays with me for now.” Peter pleads with May.
May smiles at you softly before turning back to her nephew. “Peter, can we talk privately for a moment.”
Peter shifts his gaze to you and you give him a nod. Peter looks back at his once calm and collected aunt who seems to now be loosing her shit. “Uh huh.”
May leads Peter into her bedroom where she had him sit on the bed. “Look Peter, I’m so very proud of you for helping this girl. I really am. But I need you to understand that as you’ve done this you’ve fucked up big time.” She scolds.
“What are you talking about?” Peter counters, unable to fathom what he could’ve possibly done wrong.
“Your girlfriend, MJ, incase you’ve forgotten, has shown up to see you everyday you were in the hospital with Y/N. Every. Day. She has no idea what’s going on, you didn’t contact her once. And as far as I know, you’ve been cheating on the poor girl with a ghost for the last few weeks.” May glares down at Peter knowing damn well she did not raise him this way.
“I-“ Peter stops, realizing how majorly he did fuck things up. Even if he stopped having any sort of feelings for MJ a long time ago he still kept her around for when the day came you did leave this world forever. “I messed up.” He admits after a moment. “I messed up big time.”
“Damn right you did Peter.” May sighs before taking Peter into a small embrace. “Listen, you gotta end things with MJ. And you need to tell her the truth.”
Peter lets out a small groan, knowing Mays right. “I’ll give her a call and have her come over.”
“Good, now I’m going to take Y/N shopping. Poor girl needs some new cloths desperately.” May smiles, heading back out to collect you.
After you both leave Peter rings up MJ. He asks her to come over and she’s there within 15 minutes.
“Hey M,” Peter says as he opens the door.
“Peter where the hell have you been? Were you on a mission or something? Because you didn’t even bother to let me know. And Neds been very vague with me, same with May.” MJ rants, terrified of where her boyfriend’s been.
“MJ, I need to tell you something.” Peter sage finally.
“Go on.” She says slowly, taking a seat in the couch.
“Remember the girl Y/N?” Peter asks.
“Her?” MJ scoffs. “Yeah what about her?”
Peter frowns, realizing this is going to go horribly. “Well, Y/N was a ghost. But then I helped her find her body and she’s sorta back again.”
“This is the stupidity excuse I’ve ever heard.” MJ cuts in.
“It’s not an excuse. She was a ghost, and she was living with me before we started dating. The thing is, I realized I have feelings for her. Strong feelings for her. And I’m so so sorry.” Peter mumbles.
He looks into her eyes, watching as tears begin to flow over her cheeks. “Peter, we’ve been best friends since high school. You were my first kiss, the first person I actually liked, and you feel in love with a ghost that was rooming with you?”
“I messed up, I know that. And I’m so so sorry. I can’t help my feelings for Y/N though. I- I’m sorry.” Peter looks down, guilt washing over him.
“Whatever Parker. See you at school.” And with that MJ storms out.
+++(SMUT)
You and May stumbled through the door a few hours later laughing. “Peter!” You squeal, holding up your shopping bags for him to see. “Look I got new cloths!”
Peter smiles at you, completely forgetting his conversation with MJ. “I can’t wait to see them.” He smiles, taking you into his arms and giving you a small kiss.
“I’ll model them for you now!” You squeal, dragging Peter over to the couch and disappearing into his room to change.
May let’s Peter know she’s got a call in for work before leaving you to model outfit after outfit for Peter. You strut around the apartment showing him your new dresses, shorts, shirts, pants, and even skirts. With each outfit Peter could feel himself wanting you more. You look ravishing in everything you wear causing a desire to bubble up inside him.
“I like that one a lot,” Peter hums. Standing up to grab your hips as he admires the shirt purple dress. You let out a small laugh, kissing his lips again.
“May left me pick out my own underwear and bras at Victoria’s Secret, wanna see what I have on underneath?” You hum, pulling gently at Peter’s sweats.
Letting out a small groan Peter nods, allowing you to lead him into his room. You guide him over to his bed, pushing him down gently. His eyes watch your figure with precision, as you slowly begin to lift your dress up and over your head before letting it fall to the ground.
Underneath you reveal a red lace lingerie set. Peter’s eyes scan your body in awe, his mouth dropping slightly as he takes in the intricate details of the lace. He admires the way the top cups your boobs perfectly, the way it flows down and hugs your shape. He eyes the three shiny hearts that line the middle of the set.
“Fuck,” Peter mumbles, still admiring your body. His eyes shift down to your bare thighs, looking at the dangling garters. “You look, fuck” Peter groans, unable to form a sentence as he stares at you.
“You like it?” You beam, walking over to where he’s sitting so you can straddle his hips.
“I want to tear this fucking thing right off you.” He moans, kissing your neck. His teeth graze against your soft skin making you shiver.
“Yeah?” You hum as you pull your fingers through his soft brown curls. “You want to take this off of me right now?”
Peter lets out a small growl, reaching behind you to eagerly undo the bra. You allow the bra to slid off of you, as he flings it to the side. “These have to go too.” He says as he lifts you off of him to slide down your underwear.
A small gasp escapes your lips as you stand naked in front of him. “Peter,” you whine as the aching in your core becomes evident. You look down at him, his tight white shirt and grey sweatpants making you loose all sense of reality. “Peter please.”
Peter traces his hand along your abdomen, admiring the now scared skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pulling you back into his lap. His lips meet yours again, kissing you roughly and passionately. His hands travel to the small of your back, pulling your naked body closer to his. You feel his lips on your neck, pressing soft wet kisses against your tender skin. “You’re all mine now you know that? You’re my girlfriend.” He hums into your neck before biting down softly.
A moan tumbles from your lips as your hands make their way back to Peters hair. “Fuck Peter, I’m yours,” your eyes are skewed shut, taking in the simple feeling of Peters lips all off your body. The feeling of his head dipping down and to your breast. He lifts you up slightly, allowing him full access to your boobs. He pulls you towards him and connects his lips to your right nipple, flicking his tongue over the soft bud.
Another whine escapes your lips as you tug on his hair a little harder. His lips drag across your chest, moving over to your other nipples. He slowly takes it between his teeth, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips. “Peter please, I need you.” You whimper as Peter pulls away from your chest again.
“I can tell, you’re so wet for me.” He groans, shifting your body so your back was now on his bed and he was hovering above you. “I’m going to make you scream.” He smirks, guiding your thighs open.
He drops to his knees in front of you, kissing down your thigh. He lowers himself so he’s eye level with your hot core, the sight causes his dick to twitch against his sweatpants material. “Fuck you’re so hot,” Peter mumbles. He leans forward, darting his tongue between your folds. “You taste so fucking good darling,” he moans as his tongue continues to draw circles around your now swollen clit.
Another soft cry escapes your lips as the muscles in your legs contract. Your thighs squeeze around Peters head at the feeling if his mouth devouring every inch of your soft cunt. Tugging at his soft brown locks, another whimper tumbles from your lips, his tongue lapping up all your juices. Peter tugs your hips even closer to his face, helping you grind yourself onto his soft tongue. “Fuck, oh fuck,” you whimper, feeling something tug in your stomach. “Peter oh, I feel something I-“ you cry out as your first ever orgasm washes over your. Your body convulses as you cum on Peter’s tongue, which hasn’t stopped eating you out.
A groan escapes your lips as Peter leans up to kiss you. “Did I do good?” He whispers, kissing you again. You nod as you continue to kiss his puffy lips, moving your hands down his body and tugging at his sweatpants. Peter pulls away from your lips, tugging down his grey sweats followed by his tight white shirt. He hovers over you again, a goofy smile splayed across his face. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admits, gazing down into your lust filled eyes.
A small laugh escapes your lips as you sit up, pushing Peter backwards. “Neither do I, pretty sure I just came for the first time.” A blush spreads over your already rosy cheeks as you stand up next to Peter. “Lay down though, it’s my turn to help you,” you whisper softly.
Peter slides onto the bed, propping himself up onto his pillows, his eyes following your every move. You crawl onto the bed with him, laying between his legs. Hesitantly, you grab onto his hard length and begin to stroke his hard cock. “Does that feel good?” You ask as Peter lets out a loud moan.
“Feels so good,” Peter gasps.
“This was what you were doing under the covers that one day, wasn’t it?” You question, looking for conformation that what you were doing was correct.
“It is,” he groans, his hips thrusting up into your fist. “You’re doing so good,” you can feel his length throbbing in your hand causing you to smile.
“What else do you want me to do for you?”
Peter lets out another moan at your question, brushing the hair out of your face. “Fuck- use your mouth please.” He begs, his eyes watching as you lower your head onto his cock. Your mouth stretches around his length, gagging slightly as you go down. Peter throws his head back at the sight, gripping your hair between his fingers. You slowly begging to move your head up and down. Hallowing your cheeks as your tongue swirls around his swollen pink tip when you come back up. Saliva begins to dribble down your chin, causing a small moan to erupt from your throat and vibrate around Peter. “Shit,” he groans, bucking his hips forward. You gag again, making Peter’s dick to twitch in your mouth. “I’m going to cum,” he moans, shooting his hot cum down your throat. You pull away slowly, tears falling delicately down your face as a string of saliva connects from your lips to Peter’s still hard cock.
“Did I do good?” You hum, leaning up to place a kiss on Peter’s lips like he did to you after you came.
“You did amazing, I’ve never came so hard in my life.” He sighs, pulling you into another kiss. “Now lay down and rest your head on the pillows for me.”
You nod, switching places with Peter. He hovers over you, his body placed between your legs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his body into yours. Peter lets out a groan as he places his hands on both sides of your head, your arms going around his neck. “Ready pretty girl?” He hums, positioning himself.
“Yes,” you moan, feeling as Peter pushes himself inside of you. Another moan flies from your lips as you stretch around Peter’s length. His cock pushing deeper within you before pulling out again at a slow pace. “Peter,” you groan, rotating your hips slightly. A low groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you harder.
His pace begins to pick up, his hips ramming into yours as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Your mouth falls agape as his hips slam into yours, the feeling of pure bliss traveling from the soft kisses he was placing on the shell of your ear all the way down to your toes. “Peter, I- you make me feel so good.” You moan, your chest heaving as his pace quickens again.
Peter watches as your boobs bounce up and down with every thrust, his mind going foggy as he fucks you into the mattress. “Pretty girl, are you going to cum on my cock?” He groans as he places a kiss on your lips.
“Yes Peter,” you cry, feeling another orgasm beginning to build up in your core. Peter keeps up his ruthless thrusts, making your whole body shake. Moans and cries slip from Peter’s lips as well, followed occasionally by your name. “Peter I’m going to-“ the feeling of your orgasm cuts you off as a wave of ecstasy overcomes your whole body.
Your cunt squeezes around Peter, causing his hips to falter as he reaches his orgasm as well. He pushes his hips deep within you, painting your walls with his cum before slowly pulling out. His body falls next to yours as he pulls you into his chest. “I love you.” He whispers to you softly.
Your fingers trace over his abs “I love you too Peter.” You hum. You both lay there for a moment in silence, soaking up everything that just happened. “Peter,” you say after a moment. He lets out a hum, looking down at you. “You remind me what it’s like to be alive.”
He smiles, kissing the top of your head softly. “You are alive darling,” he says against your hair.
“Yes, and you’re the reason I wanted to live again.” You say, shifting your body so your chests are pressed together and your face is hovering above his. Your lips press against his, and you take in the feeling of your heart beating in your chest as the way if feels to be out of breath. Your eyes lock once more as Peter pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You saved me Spider-Man.”
“Just returning the favor, ghost girl.”
+++
AN: Hey guys! This might be the last chapter, not sure yet. If you want me to continue and make it so she gets introduced to maybe the Avengers or something lmk! Also! I will be out of the country until the end of June so I may or may not be able to publish anything for the next 20 days.
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so sorry to hear you’re sick :(( buttttt since we’re here can i request a cumplay blurb :)))
sorry this took me a hot minute I got busy and then lost motivation for writing for a sec but here ya go :) content warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, lots of talk about come and coming inside, fingering (f receiving), they’re obsessed w each other and aren’t quite ready to admit it, dirty talk! Please do not read if you’re uncomfortable or under 18! Also there are probably typos but I literally wrote this on my phone while I waited for the bus so lower your expectations for me plz
When you first started hooking up with Matty it was just that- hooking up. A fun fling for the two of you to occupy each others empty nights and you never really minded the one and done nature of your time together. You both had bigger careers and issues to focus on, and the certain nature of your relationship was almost calming in a world full of questions. You had your routine of meeting, talking briefly about life, making out and then sliding on Matty’s condom and getting to business.
Until you grew particularly tired of the condom part of the routine.
“Please, Matty, I haven’t been with anyone else since I haven’t got the time, and I’m on the pill anyway.” You plead to him, already half naked in the silky sheets of his bed. His lips part in shock, eyes round with disbelief.
“You’re sure?” He stares dumbly for a few more seconds, eyes miraculously not even straying to your naked tits, before his mind reboots. A groan rumbles deep in his throat. “I haven’t been with anyone else either.”
You try to ignore the shard of hope that lodges into your chest with that knowledge, but it quickly get overwhelmed by lust as Matty comes in for a searing kiss, wasting no time in shoving his tongue between your lips. His brain has surely caught up with the new information as he desperately scrambles to rid you of your panties, mumbling affirmations of how sexy you look while he goes.
“On your back, wanna see you take this cock.” You follow instructions easily, laying down against the pillows and spreading your legs for him. He moans out loud, whether at the sight of your bared pussy or the idea that he gets to be in it raw you aren’t sure.
He leans forward, strong arms caging in each side of your head, curls tickling against your forehead. You’re dazzled by his beauty this close, all the little gray hairs and pores that make him so endearingly human.
“I’m going to fucking fill you up.” The promise comes just before he drives into you, cock stretching your walls divinely. You both moan at the new feeling of all the ridges of him fitting perfectly within the confines of your warm walls.
Your eyes roll back as he sets his favorite steady and punishing pace, the headboard rattling above the pair of you as he marks the skin on your neck with purple bruises.
“You feel so fucking good, love. Why didn’t we do this shit earlier? I’m going fucking crazy being in you raw, you naughty little thing.”
His words go straight to your pussy and it’s almost embarrassing how close you are just from him talking to you, but the telltale twitch of his cock tells you that he’s just as wound up by this new venture.
“Matty please, want you to come in me, please please please?” If you were any more cognizant you might have even made and effort to bat your lashes at him, but the overwhelming burn of desire to be filled up by him takes over. Tears stream down the sides of your face as your pleasure hangs just moments away.
“You want me to fill up this pretty little pussy, keep you all dripping full of me? Wanna walk around the rest of the night knowing who you belong to?” His words are punctuated by moans as your pussy flutters around him.
“Fucking come then, come on,” Matty pushes two fingers over your clit roughly, just two circles of the nerves before you’re launching headfirst into your orgasm. Your vision blanks but you can hear him talking you through it as you rake your nails over his shoulders.
“Such a good girl, coming so hard for me, huh? That’s exactly what I wanted, love, so fucking sexy.” His words ground you as your body settles, and your eyes focus just fast enough to see the way his own scrunch in pleasure, hips faltering for just a moment before he’s grunting in that deep guttural way that only happens before he comes.
“Gonna fill you right up, love, all the cum you deserve.” His eyes roll as he cums, pushing his hips as far forward as they can go to be sure he gets you full. You keen at the sensation, body going into overdrive at the idea of your fantasy being fulfilled. Matty moans your name and it’s only then you realize you’re coming again just from being filled, a small orgasm that has your walls clenching around him, drawing as much of his release into you as possible.
Your pussy throbs as Matty kisses your forehead, the silent sign that he’s about to pull out of you. You grimace in anticipation for the rush of cum leaving you but it still feels mildly disappointing even as it happens.
Matty catches your face and chuckles, eyes focused on the mess of cum dripping out of you.
“Don’t be disappointed, love. It’s hot watching me drip out of ya.”
You roll your eyes at his boyishness.
“Be hotter if it was still in me,” you comment, half expecting him to just laugh and slap your leg playfully, but his features crumple in concentration, and before you know it his hand is between your legs, fingers dancing along the seam of your pussy.
Your body jolts and you moan in sensitivity but nod to tell him to continue.
Matty gathers his cum as it leaks from you onto his fingers and pushes it back into you. The feeling is odd but having his fingers inside of you sparks pleasure in your stomach again. You moan and Marty’s grin widens: mischief championing his features as he speeds up, hooking three fingers into your pussy and fingering you the way you had taught him you like. The extra squelch of his cum leaking around his fingers makes him moan too.
“Fucking dirty girl, making me cum in you and then push it back in when we’re done.” His tone is gentle despite his words, and he even plants a kiss to the inside of your knee as you squirm from pleasure. You feel the familiar crest of an orgasm coming and you don’t even have to tell Matty, he knows your body so well that he can tell by the way your breathing quickens and your hands clench at the sheets under you.
“C’mon then, love. Come again just from my fingers in this little pussy. Get my cum all up in there, yeah? Make sure your body knows you belong to me.”
You cum again, this time in a way that has your legs trembling with exertion as if you’d just run a marathon. Your tears are plentiful this time, rolling down your face with reckless abandon as your nerves spark with pleasure and sensations you can’t really describe.
Matty hurries to depart from between your legs, carefully climbing up the bed to be beside you as he cradles you, kissing your cheeks as you recover from all the sensations in your body.
“There’s my lovely girl,” his smile dazzles you and you can almost forget that he just made you cum three times.
“Hi, thank you,” you immediately lean forward for a kiss and he meets it, surprisingly sweet and gentle.
“I should be the one thanking you, I never would have had the courage to ask that if you hadn’t first. But that does remind me, we should get dressed.”
You furrow your eyebrows at him, struggling to keep up with the mental gymnastics he uses so often.
“We’ve got to go to the pharmacy. Unless you want to keep the option open for a baby. I’m not banking on that pill, love. Especially since we’re never going back from doing all this.”
Despite the fact he’s literally talking about buying you plan B, it warms your heart to know he knows you well enough that you would want the extra layer of assurance. Your eyes twinkle as he helps you out of the bed, unabashedly checking you out as you walk to the bathroom together to clean up.
#matty healy fic#matty healy smut#matty healy x reader#matty healy#the 1975#the 1975 x reader#matty healy fanfic#matty healy blurb#matty healy oneshot
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