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anundyingfidelity · 1 month

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WHEN I WAKE UP, WHERE DO YOU GO? — Soldier Boy/Ben

Summary: When Soldier Boy was taken away and Vought faked his death, he dreamt of you non-stop while with the reds. Now, decades later and back in the modern world, he just has one thing in mind: finding you.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 1.6k.

Warnings: heavy angst, language, some nudity, sexual implied content, pregnancy, the usual stuff in the boys universe, death, AU where Soldier Boy was never with Crimson Countess.

If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Notes: this was a request for my 400 followers drabbles but i got more things in mind to develop an angsty one shot with a sad ending, so this is what happened. also thanks for being patient with me as i try to come back to tumblr and write. real life is not easy.

GEN MASTERLIST!

1981

He didn’t know where he was standing. He didn’t know the place around him, nor the people having a sweet ball, with the music playing and mingling with their laughs.

He could see the beautiful ladies swinging to the classic music in the gala, the supes he used to know in the back of the scene as if they weren’t an important part of it. Dressed in that green suit, mask off, he walked between the couples and the guests dancing. His eyes caught a stunning wine colored dress in the middle of the pale colors around. He knew it was you.

It was the first time in years he heard his heart pounding against his chest this fast, as he approached you. His hand brushing your bare shoulder made you turn around, a bright smile adorned your face appeared when you saw it was him. You quickly focused your attention completely to him, leaving the ladies you were speaking to behind.

“Ben! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming!” you almost shouted to him as you dragged him with you to the less-crowded bar.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I wasn’t?”

You shook your head with a hint of embarrassment and placed your drink on the countertop.. “Edgar said you wouldn’t, so… I just thought you weren’t,” you said with a soft voice. “But nevermind that, I’m glad you’re here, I’ve missed you,” you beamed, this time your voice sounding happier.

Ben nodded, taking in the sight of your figure and your pretty face, delicately made up, expensive and graceful just for a night like this. Somehow, seeing you felt like ages. “You look perfect,” he whispered.

Under his gaze, he knew your cheeks were burning. He started fighting the urge of caressing your cheek but now, in front of all these people, it was better not to.

He always had this need of protecting you from the outside, from the world. Being the supe he was, he knew how fucked up everything around was. You didn’t deserve to see that. But countless times, Ben remembered your courage and the way you used to raise your voice to be heard. And still knowing you could take care of yourself, he felt the need of looking after you, of being your shelter. Despite everything, he wouldn’t forgive himself if anything bad happened to you.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look good too, but I bet you’d look better with a different type of suit,” you gave him a flirty wink.

He was all in that playful mood of yours.

“Probably later, if we leave,” Ben teased back, the distance between both of you getting shorter. He could smell the sweetness of your perfume and the taste of alcohol. “Whatcha say, sweetheart?”

“I’d say yes. Always would say yes.”

1983

Ben woke up again, in a place that was oddly familiar in the back of his mind. It was a big bedroom, he was laying on the bed, and immediately noticed the blanket covering his bare body. The sunlight sneaking in the curtains told him it was morning already. There was a heat coming from the other side and he rolled softly to see you, sleeping and tugging his arm against you.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, fluttering your eyes open. You leaned to place a kiss on his stubbled cheek, the blanket falling off a little from your breasts. “How you feeling today, my husband?”

“Husband?”

You chuckled at his confused face. “I told you I’d say yes, didn’t I?”

Ben snorted to himself. He didn’t even remember proposing to you, but it was better than he’d ever imagined. Looking back at you, he asked with a quizzical expression on his face. “Am I dreaming?”

You laughed louder this time. “No, Ben. We got married yesterday. Thought you couldn’t get drunk and all, is there anything wrong?”

He felt your hand caressing his cheek softly, as you placed your head on his shoulder and laid back down. And he felt not only the warm touch of your skin, but a coldness coming from a ring on your hand. He wrapped his own on your wrist to get a glance of the bright, gold ring adorning your finger. It was true.

You were his wife, and he couldn’t believe it.

1984

“Please don’t go.”

Your voice came out as a plea, and he, somehow, felt something was wrong. Looking around, Ben found himself in a cozy kitchen inside a house, and you were standing in front of him. He looked for the ring in your hand, and there it was. What the hell was happening to him? Why was he suddenly reminiscing every moment with you? And why this?

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Ben, I’m pregnant,” you confessed with glossy eyes. His face softened and he shook his head, part of him wanting it to be a lie. He wasn’t ready to be a father yet. “Please don’t go to Nicaragua. You promised you’d give this up, why hasn't it happened? It’s been a year!”

You were already crying, the tears coating your cheeks and he stepped closer to cup your cheeks between his hands, making you look at him directly.

“I really have to go,” he muttered as he wiped the tears off your skin.

Ben pulled you for a hug, as you cried against his chest and he soothed you softly, a side he never knew could have for anyone but you. He hated seeing you like this, but he knew he had to go. He was Soldier Boy, he’d come back soon, for you and the baby.

“I just want you to be safe and happy,” you mumbled, once you pulled away and wiped your face with your hands.. “You always wanted this, a family. And I want to give it to you because I love you… I wouldn’t want it any other way, Ben.”

“I love you so damn much,” he said, with a beam on his face and a spark in his eyes, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “How long?” he asked.

“Like four months…”

Ben smiled again, remembering the weird foods you were having, how you’d get sick all out of nowhere and the countless nights and days he took care of you, even if you got pissed at him because it all felt like you were useless. But he didn’t care about all that. How he couldn’t notice it and pull the strings together, he thought to himself.

Suddenly he kissed you sweetly, but so strong at the same time that you gasped against his mouth. “You’re the most amazing thing that ever happened to me, y’know that.”

His words made you smile against his lips, still trying to compose yourself. You nodded as you reached for his hand, entwining it with yours.

“I hope it’s a boy,” he said, before planting another kiss on your lips.

2022

When Ben came back to the real world, he thought of finding you. Butcher had facilitated your location in exchange for a deal, but a grave wasn’t the place he had in mind when doing so.

He already lost count of how many times he had arrived to grief and hate himself for leaving you and the baby that day when you begged him not to. It was late noon, almost dusk, and probably he shouldn’t be there, saying sorry to the air and the tree in your grave. There was an emptiness growing in his chest, like a black hole swallowing every single particle of life he had been preserving for you, once he came back.

Ben spent the last four decades dreaming of you, remembering every moment, either be happy or sad, the only thing that mattered was you. Whole you, with your beauty, your laugh, the kindness in your eyes every time you looked at him, and the courage in your heart. If only he could go back and change everything, he’d do it with no question.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you asked me to.”

He read the plaque with your name written on it and a small ‘beloved daughter and wife’ below, and his fists clenched tightly. More than ever, he wanted to burn Vought down to the ground. He had cried to himself, all alone, when he learned you were gone and to regret his decisions. It wasn’t enough for those fuckers to take his child and raise him in a damn lab to be a monster, but they had to kill you.

Ben remembered the things this Hughie kid had told him; about you trying to look for your husband for months non-stop after he went missing and the fake story of his death was released to the world. You spent day and night doing research, getting involved with different organizations even when your son was born, and when Vought sensed you were moving masses, they decided to get rid of you and take his son away. Ben was sure you knew pretty well the dirty secrets, and taking threats out of the radar was their specialty.

Now he had to take Homelander down. The only bond that joined you and him resulted to be a stupid, crying asshole, all because of the whim of some rich men running a pharmaceutical. Supes were a lie, but he was a soldier. And he had promised himself to avenge you, whatever the cost was.

“I love you,” Ben whispered to the wind. “I hope you understand why I’m doing this.”

“I'm pretty sure she’d be okay with it,” Butcher said, standing a couple of feet back.

Ben had been used to the british fucker to appear out of nowhere. Butcher was the one taking him to the cemetery after all.

“Yeah, I hope so,” Ben said back. The sadness and grief fell off his face as he turned around to meet Butcher. “Let’s go then, I want to take them fucking down.”

Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-slla @thesilmarillionblog @onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester @daisy-the-quake

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy angst #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy imagines #the boys soldier boy #jensen ackles

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monimccoythings · 4 months

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Alastor x Daughter!Reader III (Platonic)

Yeah, this is going to take place after the end of season 1, just after Sir Pentious has ascended and the hotel has been rebuilt into a bigger better version. I just don't know how to fit Y/N in season 1.

Reminder: Alastor is in Hell for a reason.

TW: This contains a very delicate matter, like PTSD and panic attacks, even though I wanted to keep it brief because I'm not very well versed in these kind of subjects and wanted to be careful and respectful with it, I'm not entirely satisfied with how I wrote it, I researched and looked into my past experiences, but still don't think I truly adapted it as best as I would have liked. Also several mentions of cannibalism. Brief mentions of controlling behavior.

This isn't proof read so sorry for any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

Part I ｜Part II｜Part III (You are here!)

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Soft jazz music enveloped the room, accompained by a strong smell of coffee and magnolias, someone was humming quietly to the music. Somehow, it reminded you of home.

You blinked groggily, trying to get the sleep away from your eyes, and leaned on your elbow. Why was the ground so soft and cushioned?

Yor eyes shot wide open when you remebered the events that led you there. The blood, the laughter, the eyes, the smile, the radio static... Your heart started beating wildly inside your ribcage, and you suddenly found yourself gasping for air. You clutched your old dress, hoping that would alleviate the growing pressure in your chest in some way.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" Alastor left the newspaper on the table and turned towards you, if his grin was supposed to be comforting it was not working. Just the fact that he was acting so casual, as if nothing had happened in the last ninety years made everything a million times worse.

"You are quite the hide and seek champion, ma petite faon. It took several years for my shadows to casually find you and then it took even longer for me to believe you actually had been sent here, ha ha!" His neck bended in an unnatural way as he laughed.

Crap. Did he always know where you were? Was this just a game of cat and mouse for him?

As if he had read your mind, his eyes adopted a more relaxed expression that did nothing to soothe your nerves. "Well, for the last ten years you gave me quite the chase, cher. Always on the move, never stopping, from one part of the ring to the other. And then there's that seven year gap." He muttered to himself that last part.

You still felt on the verge of a panic attack. Your body couldn't and wouldn't stop shaking, and felt like reality was blurring around you. Everything was happening too fast, it brought you back to that night decades ago when you found that your beloved father had actually been a serial killer. It almost felt like it was mere minutes ago.

Alastor knew of your discomfort, your fear. He could see it as clear as a day, he could almost taste it. He had always enjoyed tasting the fear on his victims, but yours only left an aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. It was rotten, putrid and nauseating. Maybe because it was the only fear he should never had a taste of. Watching you like this also brought him back to the night he lost you.

As he held your unmoving body in his arms, for a couple of seconds his brain stopped functioning, unable to accept what had just happened. The pain he felt was just like someone had ripped his chest open and pulled out his still beating heart, only to crush it, leaving an empty and cold hole in its place.

He had taken you to your room and laid you in the bed, tucking you in. You looked so peaceful, if your face and clothes weren't stained with blood he would have believed you were sleeping. But you would never wake up again.

The next couple of days passed in a blur, tracking down the man who had dared to do this to you and then run away, and giving him his fair punishment. And as he dragged his mutilated body through the forest... Well... the rest is history.

"Anyways! All's well that ends well! Now I found you, and you won't need to worry anymore!" His chirpy radio filtered voice portrayed some genuine happiness that didn't reach you. The bond and trust that used to tie you two together, had been damaged beyond repair. And Alastor knew. That didn't mean he was going to give up, though.

Before he had the chance to make things even more awkward between you two, the door bursted open, revealing several people behind it.

"Oh, you're awake, that's so great! We were all sooo worried since Al suddenly brought you here, and you seemed passed out, we didn't know if you were alive or-" The blonde haired demon kept rambling, but you barely listened to her, way too much in shock. Behind her, there was a bunch of demons: a winged cat who would be rather doing anything else than be there, a tiny cyclops with a psychotic and perky smile; a spider demon who, if anything, looked confused; a taller cyclops demon girl who found the dirt in her nails to be way more interesting than you, and some kind of moth demon girl? You wondered if they all were going to participate in your slaughter or were just going to watch.

"-aaaand who were you again?" The blonde demon asked with an awkward smile.

"I'm very glad you're asking! Because this is no other than my beloved little girl!" Alastor opened his arms widely in a dramatic form of presentation as the sound effect of a studio crowd cheering mixed with his voice.

"Wha- hold the fuck up? Your daughter??? Didn't you sing to Luci-?"

One glare full of murderous intention and loud static was enough for the spider demon to shut up.

"Now, now, how about we let the newest addition to our merry little band have a well deserved rest." Your dad not so gently pushed the uninvited guests back towards the door.

"Addition? Is she our new guest?" The moth-like demon girl asked.

Alastor's face darkened and loud static filled the room. "A҉b҉s҉o҉l҉u҉t҉e҉l҉y҉ ҉n҉o҉t҉.҉". He swapped back to his more charming persona. "She'll be joining our facility as an assistant!" His tone admitted no further questioning, and, quite reluctantly, the staff and guests left the room.

So that's the story about how you ended working in the Hazbin Hotel.

Your work was mainly small chores or helping others. Nifty needed help to clean the rooms? You were there. Someone needed you to take cover at the reception? On it. Whatever tiny task someone needed help with, you had to do it.

You were not allowed to leave the hotel. Alastor made sure of that. Wherever you went, he made sure some of his shadows followed if he was not around, just to keep you controlled; although he'd rather call it, 'lovingly checking on his little baby'. It really was not needed, even if you didn't trust nobody there and your guard was still up, where else would you go? It was literal hell outside.

Years of hiding and living in constant fear of death or something worse had left you extremely mistrustful and fearful of people. There were times were you believed this was all a ruse to lure you into a false sense of security and then hit you were it hurt most.

It's not like you didn't believe in Charlie's dream, it was just you couldn't believe it could be possible, your father had very sincerely stated that he was just sponsoring it because he loved watching doomed souls struggle to achieve something meaningful and then fail spectacularly. Of course he did.

So, at least you had a roof over your head, enough food to eat, and a no-killing rule inside the hotel. Things could be worse.

Yet, there was still something inside you, something that you so desperately tried to let go but were unable to, as it had rooted itself deeply inside your mind and heart.

It started with small things, maybe a loud sound, maybe a bit of blood, it didn't matter because you could already feel yourself breathing heavily and sweating. It was like the entire world vanished around you. You couldn't breath, you couldn't think, your mind was on edge and your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. You were completely paralized with fear, your hands shaking furiously, making you drop whatever you were holding.

These episodes started becoming more and more frequent, the more you tried to fight against them, the stronger they became. Whenever Charlie, Vaggie or any guest tried to ask you about them you always tried to brush them off, not wanting them to see it as a weak spot to exploit.

After several episodes and you refusing to open yourself, Alastor had enough of watching you suffer and decided to take matters into his own hands. So, he took you to Rosie.

If you expected something out of a place called 'Cannibal Town' it certainly wasn't that. It looked so... normal, like any other town you would have found back in your time. Well, if you ignored the people eating an entire corspe on the street. Your father gently moved your face to face front, because apparently it was rude to stare.

Oh Rosie immediately adored you. 100% godmother material. That southern belle couldn't wait to pamper you and dress you up in all kinds of fancy clothes.

Talking to Rosie was surprisingly, easy, if you looked over her cannibalistic tendencies. She kindly offered you some fresh fingers, but quickly backed up when she saw you turning green, jokingly saying "Ah, teenagers and their diets."

Sessions with Rosie always left you crying and drained but in a positive way, you felt like a huge load had been lifted off your shoulders. It may be a long road ahead but it was a great start.

Talking to Vaggie also helped. Turns out being a former exterminator had left not only physical but psychological scars on her. The first months after she had been left to die in hell had also been very struggling for her. She helped you with breathing exercises, held your hands when they started shaking, and even was willing to teach you some self defence. Which your dad opposed to.

Charlie was... Charlie, always positive and upbribing but also respecting your boundaries, you were almost starting to belive she was being genuine.

There was another member of the staff who had not been present when you were first brought there and you had yet to meet. The King of Hell himself, Lucifer. Just knowing he could be there send shivers down your spine, wondering what kind of diabolical entity could he be. When you first saw that 4' overly excited manchild, at first you thought it was a joke.

Lucifer took a liking to you pretty easily, much to the annoyance of Alastor. He was curious about how someone as innocent and young as you could have ended in a place like that and vowed to protect you if someone ever gave you trouble. Your dad is seething. "Here, take this." And he just gives you a toy duck who backflips and makes the cutest rubber ducky noise. You loved it. Your dad is about to break the no-killing rule.

Alastor tried to win back your trust and love, even if he knew it was going to be a long and arduous task. He didn't care. He just got you back he was never letting you go.

He may not believe entirely in Charlie's dream, but he knew that if it was possible the one who had more chances to go straight to Heaven would be you. And he was not having that.

Alastor briefly considered making a deal to own your soul, just to ensure your safety and his control.

Up to this day he still doesn't know how you ended down there, and can't wait for the day when you will trust him enough to tell him.

He will respect your boundaries begrudgingly, he is your dad, he knows best. Will play nice and let you take your time with things. He will quietly show support for your emotional progress and make light physical contact, just enough to be supportive and not freak you out.

He cooks for you, and only you. The old homemade grandma's recipes he used to make back in your living times. At first, you didn't trust it, thinking he could have poisoned it. But the second you tasted his Jambalaya you felt like crying. Not only because after ninety years barely eating you were famished, but because for a couple of seconds, something there in the taste and smell had brought you back to simpler times. (like the Ratatouille guy)

Alastor truly desires to hear you call him 'Dad' again, you had yet to do so. Yes, you recognise him as your father, but after everything it just pains you to address him as such. It's like your dad and Alastor were two separate people. The loving father vs the serial killer, the guardian vs the Radio Demon.

He really loves you very much and it's been hard on him to keep that much distance from his little fawn. So he takes out his frustration on others, don't turn the radio on when he tells you not to.

And with time, his efforts were rewarded. Somewhat. You seemed to have gotten a bit more comfortably around him, at least you didn't flinch or recoil anytime he approached you. But you couldn't forget, you couldn't overlook the fact that he was a murderer and a cannibal and still doubted if anything you two had lived together had been truly genuine.

Honestly, it offended him that you would even think that way. Wasn't he there for you, always? Didn't he protect you from the darkness of the outside world during your living times? Wasn't he, as a father, devoted enough to his fawn?

But of course, actions spoke louder than words, and his actions had left too many cracks in your trust. But he will keep trying to win you back. Alastor's very patient demon, he has all the time in the world.

Y̸̗͉̺̱͂̕o̸̧̯̞̟̰̪̗̱̳̱̎̈̿̄̄͛̅͝͝û̴̦͔̹͈̣̥̾͛͑͗͋̅̏̂̚ͅ ̷̭͋̈͛̽͒̅̀̈́́̚ă̷̢̢̖̦͕̞͚͔̻̳̅̇̃͌̿͐̄̃̕r̵̨̢̺̦͇͚̙̈́̅̽́̊͠ę̶̺̖͋̐͐͌͘͠͝ ̶̖̲͎̜̮͚͉̰̒n̵̢͕̝͖̗̜̣̾̾̇̾̅̽͊͘ǫ̴̼̺̠̱̦̘̒̈̎̿̇́̔̉t̴͙͇̼̱̻̦̦͔̖͙̍͌ ̸̩̂́̎͒͘g̶͔͚̰̺͔͉͓͍͔̈́̽̈́͋͘͜o̵̹͔̫͚̼͚͒͑į̷̧̫͔̹͉̰̘̮̍͋͒̈n̸̢͕̙̙̞͔̓͐̓ͅg̵͖͇̜͚̗͙̤̫̱̝̉̂́̚ ̴̪̂͑̓̊͛a̷̖̞͊̄̈́͑͋̈́̄͘n̶̻̟̙̝̪̩͂̋͗ẏ̸̨̛̱̱͇̱͖̤͕̥͛́̍̂͛̕͠w̸̛̖͎̫̑h̵͔̝̣̀ẹ̵̝͍̳̟͚̪̍̒͋̒̀̊̏r̷̨͉͉̒̑̉̒̄̎̓̎͜͝͠ȅ̸̩͇̳.̵̠̪̖̍͂͠.

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: ptsd #tw: trauma #tw: cannibalism #tw: controlling behavior

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generalsmemories · 10 months

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How to take care of your lover (short life species) when they're sick

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: helloooo!! may i request a scenario in which jing yuan’s significant other (a short life species that isn’t a xianzhou native) has gotten sick? (jing yuan is not adept at taking care of the sick as he is a long-life species). how worried would he be? would he be ridden with thoughts of potential death?

i love ur writing btw!! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of character death (relax, it's not as bad as it seems), spoilers for jing yuan's, blade's and dan heng's past (sorta), maybe ooc at times

✧ a/n: for humorous purposes jing yuan will have no idea what a fever is. let's say that the illnesses that xianzhou natives have to suffer are most of the time a life or death situation so the concept of a fever is practically nonexsistent for them.

"I must say general, I didn't think of you as the type to be able to take care of a short-lived species whose fallen ill at such a short notice," Welt says, eyes wandering towards March 7th whose currently sleeping peacefully on a bed inside Bailu's clinic, the trailblazer close by to watch over. And although their gaze is not on the pair behind them, Jing Yuan can tell that they too are curious. "Oh, but I don't mean this with ill intent, I'm just surprised is all," he adds on quickly, the general merely laughing at the quick explanation.

"No worries, Mr. Yang. It's an understandable surprise. Us long-life species have other health conditions to worry about that other species doesn't need to mull over and vice versa. I just happened to have a bit of experience from before, and seeing that Ms. Bailu wasn't here to personally attend to you all and I had time to spare, it was the least I could do," Jing Yuan explains, making Welt hum in question, "Pardon if this sounds rude, but might I ask where that experience comes from?"

The general laughs, shaking his head as a silent gesture to tell Welt that he doesn't mind, "Not at all, you're esteemed guests after all, telling you a bit won't harm anyone - it's not exactly a secret either," Jing Yuan starts, "I used to have a lover when I was younger that had a shorter lifespan than I is all."

There's a moment of silence, the people before him probably not expecting him to reveal something that vulnerable as easy as he did: "They often got sick because of their curious nature that didn't work well with their frail body, I was often worried sick myself," Jing Yuan reveals with a soft chuckle, and if one had a keener eye they could tell his eyes softening significantly too when reminiscing the events.

"... How long ago?" the trailblazer suddenly asks. The question catches Welt off guard, but before he could try to dismiss it Jing Yuan let's out a low noise of contemplation, "A couple of years ago. I think just before I got appointed as a general," he answers in the end.

Oh, so it was at least a couple of decades ago.

"Yingxing, I think [Name] is dying!" the craftsman almost slams the hammer down on his finger instead of the metal he's welding when the door gets kicked open, letting out a silent curse before directing his gaze towards the door with a quirked eyebrow.

"Kid, I can guarantee you that they don't wake up one day and decide that today is the perfect time to die," Yingxing points out, untying his apron as Jing Yuan begins to explain. "No you don't understand, today I went to their room to wake them up again, but they didn't answer! But I noticed that the door was not locked-"

"You went into their room without asking?"

"Yes? Anyway, they were still in bed, but they didn't even acknowledge me when I called out to them! But when I got closer, I noticed that their face was unusually red and that their whole body was warmer than usual. They were also heavily breathing, but even when they burning up they didn't let me cool them down-"

"Okay, okay. Stop, I already understand," Yingxing tries to placate the young solider, trying to move behind him to get your motionless form into his own arms, but Jing Yuan merely turns around. The action making you groan uncomfortably by the fast motion, "What are you planning on doing? Are they dying?!"

"No. They're either just running a high fever or been in contact with something unknown onboard the Luofu that their immune system haven't encountered yet, move them more than that and they're gonna puke all over the floor which I honestly do not want, so give them to me before you make them worse!" Yingxing barks out, rubbing his temples to get rid of the rising headache, "Do you long life species not suffer from a fever every now and then?"

"... Why would we?"

"Why did I even bother to ask, can you bring Dan Feng here to just look and see if it's not any serious illness? And then I can teach you how to take care of a short life species - seeing as this is your reaction," Yingxing says with a laugh, motioning at Jing Yuan's frantic state before cradling your body into his own arms.

Nonetheless, the Vidyadhara high elder was very rudely interrupted from his duties to get (willingly) dragged away by a distressed Jing Yuan.

"Jing Yuan it was just a sneeze, no need to bundle me up this much," you croak out under the amount of covers stacked upon you, a clearly worried Jing Yuan by your bedside with even more covers. "If anything you're going to crush me with how heavy these are, I don't exactly have the strength to get them off at the moment either-"

"Have you gotten weaker? Do I need to get Dan Feng again to check?"

"No- he was just here 10 minutes ago to give me some medicine again, don't go- I'm serious, Jing Yuan come back this fever is no different from the other ones, I promise!" you plead, somehow managing to grab onto the ends of his cape to make him stop, "I admit it's my fault that I stayed outside in the rain too long when it started to become windy too." you reassure him, tugging a tiny bit on the cape to make him settle on the edge of the bed, to which Jing Yuan obediently does.

"You worry too much," you mumble, tugging Jing Yuan further into the bed so he can lean against the headboard while you slowly manuever around to settle between his legs before burying your face into his stomach.

"Aren't I too warm wearing my usual clothing? Do you want me to grab something first, maybe eat something? You've barely eaten anything, Yingxing said you should at least try to stomach something when you get sick, how about I try to make the congee again before you-"

"No, just stay like this. Last time you tried to make congee you almost cut off your fingers and burned down the kitchen" you mumble, turning your head to grin up at Jing Yuan who only gives you a defeated smile, "You should really worry less. You've seen me sick a few times now and I just need a few days of rest, so just take it easy here with me," you whisper. Jing Yuan could tell that you were getting sleepy from fatigue with the way your eyelids were dropping, but even while fighting off sleep you manage to remind him of one last thing, "... If you're going to try to cook after I fall asleep, at least call Yingxing..."

"... And you call me a worrywart."

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #hsr x you #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader insert

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

eddie x fem!reader. [vol i] [vol ii]

summary: Eddie’s shenanigans continue, a heavy conversation leads to revealing factors of how Eddie and reader know eachother.

tw: no minors, mentions of drug use/ abuse, death etc. heavy heavy flirting (eddie) eventual smut

wc: 6.4k

a/n: we made it! Another week another volume to our disgusting eddie series. I’m still blown away by the likes, reblogs, and comments this series is receiving— thank you all so much I appreciate it.

s/o: @pinkrelish @sweetsweetjellybean @jo-harrington + @agentmarvel for helping me bring this fic to life! whether that’s beta reading, me bouncing ideas from to you or just talking me through the pacing- I love you all, this fic would be dog shit without you 🤍♥️💋

You wake to the buzzing of your alarm, your hand reaching through the dark across your night stand, slamming down hard on the smooth cold snooze button, but it doesn’t stop.

You hit it again.

Nothing.

The beeps get louder. Your eyelids open a sliver to reveal the numbers 3:42 in red on your alarm clock.

Your alarm usually doesn’t go off until 6, and it’s Sunday so it was never set.

Fuck.

You fly out of bed, disregarding the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra, and open the door. A light haze of smoke fills the hallway, white and dreamy, almost pretty like smoke on the water after it rains.

The smoke detector in the kitchen is alarming, letting you know that the potential of a fire is a great possibility with its ominous beeping. You spring into action, throwing open the kitchen window above the sink.

Where is it coming from?

At first you think it’s from the oven, maybe Eddie left a frozen pizza in too long. The older oven was fussy anyway, burning things one day and the next taking forever to heat up to 375° to make a batch of cookies. But the oven was cold, the smoke seemed to be coming from the living room, a quick glance shows you exactly what was going on.

The couch was on fire.

The hum of the vacuum and the clinking swirl of jagged edges of chips and popcorn kernels sucking up through the cylinders into the bag invade the small living room. It took Eddie almost an hour to find where you kept the cleaning supplies. Turns out the smaller door across from the basement was a closet, housed with everything you’d need to clean a home.

Each item was stacked neatly, brooms and a floppy white mop hung on hooks, the vacuum tucked into the corner. The top shelf had bleach, and a green can labeled ‘comet’ that looked like it could be mistaken for Parmesan cheese. Judging by the bottle with blue liquid and a window on it, called Windex, Eddie figured that probably wasn’t for spills on counters. He settled for a bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels. Grabbing the vacuum with him.

After vacuuming the living room and wiping up the spills in the kitchen, he sits down. A lit joint between his lips, contemplating on what the actual fuck happened tonight. He couldn’t believe your bitchy attitude or the way your lip trembled after he called you out.

You weren’t the girl he used to know. You had changed, grown into a bitter woman, hating everyone and everything.

He falls into a dreamless sleep. Waking later to stumble into the bathroom to take a poorly aimed piss in the dark and falling face first into his mattress.

You grab the first thing you can think of to extinguish the flames ablaze on the couch. Where the hell is Eddie? What the fuck happened!? Filling a popcorn bowl with water that doubled as a puke bucket when you were sick with the flu back in March, you run back to the couch throwing the water on the flames. For good measure you refill the bucket and douse the couch again— putting the flames out, leaving a soaked charred couch that once was a staple in the Wheeler basement for the better half of a decade.

To say you are enraged would be the understatement of the year, possibly the century. You didn’t have much to your name— not anymore, he had made sure of that. But this!? You open all the windows, letting the dewy air of an early summer morning seep through the house, a slight breeze moving the thin curtains.

You weren’t a great physics student but you are almost certain that a couch wouldn’t suddenly combust into flames no matter how old it is. A red plastic lighter on the coffee table confirmed your suspicions.

You don’t waste time trying to wake him up by yelling, you fill the bowl of water immediately and charge into his room. It was as if you put the fire out but the flames were still burning inside of you, you were fucking irate with Eddie. Hate bubbling inside of you as you stomped into his room, water sloshing all over the carpet and onto your socked feet.

He’s laying on his stomach, a loud snore rippling through his body, the last bit of calm before the ice cold water hits his bare back. Soaking his bed in return.

A loud screeching gasp leaves his dry mouth, cottonmouth having his tongue feel like sandpaper on a sidewalk.

He turns over to face you, annoyed and confused at what the hell was going on.

“Y’know,” he says, standing abruptly from his mattress and shivering when the fan oscillates onto his freezing back, “there are more humane ways to wake someone,” he takes a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the smoke and the burnt fibers of the couch, “smells like you burnt breakfast so how may I help you at this ungodly hour?”

“You son of a bitch,” you seethe, “I swear to everything holy and your satan worshiping ass that I’m going to kill you!”

Eddie doesn’t bat an eye, “ooh baby, are we role playing right now? Shit I’m not prepared, gimme a minute.” He stuffs his hand into the front of his boxers making a jerking motion.

“Jesus Christ! I didn’t come in here to fuck you! Have you seen the living room?!”

“So hostile in the morning—“ he says rubbing his eyes, letting a yawn escape his slack mouth, “why what the fuck are you accusing me of now? I cleaned up my mess so if we’re not fuckin’ I’m going back to b— “ you drag him by the arm to the living room. Unable to speak. Unable to breathe properly through the lingering smoke.

His eyes land on the charred mass of the couch. Panic settled on his face for a brief moment before he discarded it for humor. “Damn Tooty, if you wanted a new couch you could have just asked,” he says, letting out a yawn, and stretching his arms out.

He cringes at the way his full name falls from your lips. The spinning rage of fury throwing yourself into a hissy fit.

“I can’t fucking believe you! How goddamn high were you to not realize the couch was on fire before you passed out?”

“Oh fucking relax, it was an accident!”

“Accident? Spilling milk on the counter is an accident. Knocking over the shampoo bottles in the shower is an accident. This.” You say seconds away from full on losing your mind, “is arson, destruction of personal property, a credible offen—“

“Credible offense? Didn’t know you joined the police force, officer Tooty..”

“Eddie!”

“… you probably have those swat grade handcuffs, the ones that won’t break when your wrists are bound to my bedpost, shit I’m hard just thinking about it.”

It takes everything in you not to look down, not to see the way he’s swelled up in his boxer briefs. Not to see the stretch of the fabric or the outline of his length.

You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands down your face. “God you are so fucking infuriating! You really moved in here and just thought you could do whatever the fuck you wanted because you’re Eddie the freak Munson huh? Twenty-six and still pretending that rules and doing shit in a normal way don’t apply to you.”

You think back to how he was in high school, ranting and raving on the cafeteria tables or giving a presentation about how Dungeons and Dragons was in fact not a cult when the assignment was supposed to be on the Holocaust.

He did whatever the fuck he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted to do it. He didn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. Never did, never would.

“I fucking hate you,” you spit, “you’re a filthy bastard and I hope you rot in hell.”

He’s heard it all before, so it’s not a surprise when your words turn sour, trying to break him down. But he won’t stand for it.

“Oh baby,” he tuts, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, “you think you’re the only person to ever hate me?”

He crosses his arms and leans forward, inching towards your face, “if you wanna compete with the big dogs, you better get in line. Heard they sell tickets at the high school for the ‘we hate Eddie Munson fan club’.”

He chuckles at the idea of the whole town hating him, small minded inbred losers, clutching to their cross necklaces whenever he walked past them.

“Probably more fans there than Corroded Coffin has right?” You provoke, eyes raised and a smirk twisting your lips.

“That attitude of yours…” his words are lost when he looks at your lips, he shakes his head and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes scan over your body. Tiny little tank top with one of the straps hanging off your shoulder. Your baby blue pajama pants low on your hips, no panty line suggesting you’re commando under them, “Fuck.” He breathes mostly to himself.

“Listen, I’ll replace the couch, but you seriously need to get a fucking grip and relax, you’re gonna have a brain aneurism if you keep this shit up.”

Only Eddie could turn a disaster of almost starting your house on fire to a joke about you being crazy and him getting horny in return. It had to be a talent to be so aloof from reality. So unphased by shit happening around him. Just placing a bandaid on things hoping they would work out.

But for you, it never came that easy.

You decide the only reasonable thing to do was to move the couch to the garage and try to rid the house of the lingering smoke smell. Thankfully the carpet and the coffee table were fine, but the couch was obviously a total loss. Eddie was surprisingly strong, maneuvering the couch almost by himself all the way to the garage, with your help of opening the doors. The way his muscles worked in his back as he lifted the couch and pulled it through the threshold made your stomach flutter. And you were pissed at the thought of it.

“Get some sleep,” Eddie ordered, after you got back into the house, yawning loudly and rubbing your eyes, “we can figure this shit out later.”

Normally you would have argued with him about not telling you what to do but you were exhausted. You climb back into your bed, and fall asleep quick. Dreaming of your entire house on fire and Eddie standing outside, pissing on the flames.

“What about this one?” Eddie asks, laying on a large brown sofa, sinking into the cushions like he’s submerged into quicksand.

He woke up around 9 AM, barging into your room, blaring Judas Priest and singing Love Bites at the top of his lungs. Scaring the absolute shit out of you and having you reach for the nailed bat Steve had given you after Nancy had moved out.

“Let’s roll butthole,” Eddie laughed as he sat on your bed, munching on a piece of toast, “ooh, and maybe skip the bra like you did this morning, that was so fucking hot.”

Jesus Christ.

“Get out,” you hiss, covering your chest with your blanket.

Eddie stands up and jumps on your bed pouting, “seriously you’re so boring, let them titties out and come jump with me.”

“I swear you get more immature by the minute. Now get the fuck out before you break my bed.”

“You wish I’d break your bed, oh my god!” He stops jumping immediately, “Tooty! Am I the first guy to be in here?”

You get up immediately, wrapping your throw blanket around you and grabbing Eddie by his foot trying like hell to yank him off your bed.

“Ow, stop you’re hurting me,” he jokes in a mocking, deadpan voice.

You’re slapping him anywhere you can reach him, throwing your pillows at his head, anything to get the perv out from your sheets. He’s laughing rolling around on your bed, moaning your name loudly.

“Eddie Munson I swear, I’ll slash the tires on that shit box van of yours out there if you don’t get out of my room!”

“Oooh, felony charges? Goddamn you’re gonna make daddy cum.”

You grab your clothes from the closet and retreat to the bathroom. Huffing and stomping the whole way, slamming your door so hard the windows in your room rattle.

You’ve been looking around the Big Boy’s furniture mart for at least three hours. Eddie insisted on trying every single couch they had. And you weren’t talking about just laying on them or testing their firmness.

“Hey, can you lay down and I’ll get on top so I can see how it feels? I need to make sure I can reach the right angles if ya catch my drift,” he says with a shit eating grin and a wink. “Or better yet, I’ll sit and you get on top, gotta make sure the ladies knees are comfy too ya know?”

You swat at his arms, “you’re such a fucking pig, Munson.”

“With a fat—“ interrupted by the sales clerk asking if everything was okay, you smile awkwardly and sit down next to Eddie, testing the enormous brown couch, “wallet.” He finishes, a smile on his lips as you roll your eyes.

“This one is good, c’mon sit down and try it out.” He purrs, wiggling his eyebrows.

You’re standing beside him clutching your purse, his long legs are bent at the knee and spread out wide. Arms on the back of the couch, claiming his space, spread like a king.

“No,” you complain, “If you like it, get it, I’m tired and I just want to go home.”

“Why? The Virgin Mary got a big date or something?” he says, with a mean laugh.

He’s such an asshole. If you weren’t playing his little games he’d turn into such a fucker.

“Jealous?” you say, invading his space, voice dipped low, tracing circles on his denim knees.

His breath hitches in his chest at your light touch, but you don’t stop there. Sauntering up to the sales counter you work your magic.

With a little flirting and the perfect placement of your arm under your heaving chest while leaning over the counter, chewing on your pen and running it down your neck and into the slit of the one too many unbuttoned buttons on your blouse with the dorky sales manager sporting a receding comb over, you get free same day delivery, even on a Sunday.

Impressed, and shocked Eddie asks, “Now how did you manage that one Tooty?” he asks his head dipped by your ear as you walk towards the door, “thought you were the head nun at Saint No Fun.”

You lick your lips, laying the charm on thick, “Think you’re the only one who can flirt and make someone uncomfortable?” You ask, looking up at him and batting your lashes.

Wrong.

That was the wrong thing to say to him. And you walked right into it.

A smug smile spreads against his lips, accompanied with lowered eyebrows and a deep groan to his voice, intruding on your personal space, “so you admit that I make you uncomfortable?”

Your cheeks heat and you slither away from him, buttoning your shirt higher and mumbling about how disgusting he is while walking fast out of the store and making your way to Eddie’s van, your sandals clicking on the asphalt.

Walking through the door to outside feeling the sun beat down on his curly mess of hair, he can’t help but laugh at you storming away.

“Don’t run from your feelings, sweetheart,” Eddie calls from the parking lot, “I’m a give— oh relax bitch I’m not talking to you!” He yells to a woman ushering her two children inside the store as she glares back at him, frightened when he places the infamous devil horns on his head and flicks his sinful tongue out.

He climbs back into the van, laughing maniacally and blaring Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam. He looks over and sees you shrunken down in the seats, covering your head with your arms trying to make yourself as small as possible. Avoiding being seen with him with all your might.

“At some point in time princess, you’re gonna have to give up this facade that you’re some high and mighty broad.”

“I don’t think that—“ you say sitting up right and forcing the heat from your cheeks, “I just don’t want to be seen with you in public anymore than I have too, plus I really think seeing you humping the furniture burned a hole in my brain.”

“It was quite a sight wasn’t it, wait until you experience it first hand— you’ll have to go to church begging for forgiveness.” he finished with a whisper.

You roll your eyes, disgusted with his constant perverted mind spewing sexual comments.

“Do you ever, just— I don’t know, have a normal conversation that isn’t based around your penis and all the things you’d fuck if given the opportunity?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, turning down his music, “When did you get so boring? I swore you were never like this when I knew you. Eyeball’s little sister. Thee Tooty. Meanest girl in her grade. Stealing cigarettes from the gas station. Sneaking out at night to catch a ride with the freak to the nearest party, you were cool back then. Now you’ve joined the fucking convent in virgin town capital of Lame-ville, USA.”

You had forgotten about Kev’s nickname, Eyeball. Eddie had made it up after he had gotten a fishing hook through his eyelid back in their sophomore year. Eddie was at your house almost all the time, him and your brother were as thick as thieves, and sometimes they were just that. He always invited you along, telling Kev it was alright. After he had graduated in ‘85 and Eddie stayed behind, Eddie became your outlet, bringing you and his hellfire idiots, your own classmates, to parties because you didn’t have a car. Swearing to Reefer Rick, that you little goons were cool. ‘Specially Tooty’ he’d say, announcing that you were Eyeball’s sister with a toothy grin.

Seems like such a long time ago that you were all just stupid kids, living for the weekend and a shared bottle of strawberry hill Boones Farm on the way to a party, now half of you were in serious relationships, or college. But you were still here in Hawkins, cutting the hair of the rich while you could barely balance your mortgage and utilities.

People like you and Eddie never got out of small towns. Live, breathe, die.

The end.

No happy endings.

“I’m not a nun, you inconsiderate prick,” you yell at him, “I just don’t think fart jokes, or shitting with the door open and belching contests are funny.”

Eddie pulls his eyebrows together annoyance splattered on his face, “yeah, I’m pretty inconsiderate, just dropped hundreds of dollars to get princess Tooty a new couch, how fucking dare I?”

“You’re the one that burned the other one down!” You holler back at him, losing any shred of self-control you have left, “ I wouldn’t have asked you to do that and you’re the one who volunteered to buy it in the first place!”

“Well, you didn’t really give me a choice standing there with those sad fucking eyes acting like I just fucked your sister and shot your parents in the face.” He sneers back, nostrils flared, driving like a bat out of hell through Hawkins.

You’re pouting, crossing your arms and huffing loudly as he continues.

“I swear to God there’s not a single fucking thing that I can do right for you Tooty,” he snaps, knuckles tight against the steering wheel. “It doesn’t matter what it is what I will, or won’t do you just have it in your head that I’m the worst fucking person in the world.”

You sit there stunned, face crumbled into anger as you stew pissed off beyond belief at his bullshit remarks. He pulls into the driveway, stomping on the brakes and having you lurch forward as he throws the van in park.

He turns to face you. A ringed finger pointing in your face as he gets closer.

“Like I said earlier, sweetheart, you want to hate me? Get in fuckin’ line, this whole goddamn town hates me and I don’t give a fat rat’s ass what anybody thinks of me, especially a stuck up brat like you.”

You’re both breathing heavy, the tension between you both thicker than oatmeal. You can feel his breath on your face, your cheeks are heated and his are tinged pink. His eyes dip down to your lips for a split second before he shakes his head. He jumps out slamming the door hard with a loud thud, stomping his way through the garage.

You mull over your emotions, here you were again, but this time you got the best of him.

Eddie: 1

Tooty: 1

In all the years of knowing Eddie, you’ve never seen him that pissed off. Sure he got worked up about stupid society norms in school but this was different. He was pissed, yelling in your face in the van.

You were never afraid of him, the whole town might be but you had no reason to be. Not from a guy with split ends and in serious need of a deep conditioner. He was just as stubborn as you were. Refusing to bend.

The couch was delivered in record time, your tits really putting the delivery boys to the test when they said you were their only delivery for the day, marked mandatory.

When Eddie arrived from the doorway of his bedroom, arms above his head hanging onto the frame, a cigarette hung between his lips, he was still mad but truly astonished at their arrival only twenty minutes after you had gotten home.

He flops on the couch as soon as they leave, the delivery idiots still drooling over you working up the courage to ask for your number until Eddie made a sadistic comment about getting the cat out of the freezer for the ritual sacrifice had them running back out to the truck, whispering Hail Mary’s and making the sign of the cross as they ran.

“Fuck,” he exhales, kicking off his boots and putting his stinky socks on one arm, his head on the other unzipping his jeans, and slotting a ringed hand down the front of them, Al Bundy style, “can’t wait to break this thing in, need’ta christen the whole house yet too.”

Oh for fucks sake.

“Were you this nasty while you lived with your uncle?”

He closes his eyes as he answers you, snuggling his head and hips into the cushions, a leg thrown up on the back. “He works nights, but my neighbors knew that when the trailer was rockin’, don’t come knockin’.”

You scoff, “I just have a hard time believing that anyone would willingly want to fuck you.”

“Well believe it baby, they don’t just call me ‘the freak’ because I’m into metal and have long hair,” he says, opening his eyes for your reaction as he grabs his dick through his jeans at the base and wiggles the length around.

Your stomach burns as you walk away, half disgusted at him for being so crude, and more disgusted with yourself for looking.

The only way you can combat the lingering heat of turmoil in your stomach is by keeping your hands and your mind busy. You change your clothes into some cotton pajama shorts, the old ratty Garfield slippers you’ve had since the 8th grade, and a baggy shirt with the Marlboro logo on the breast pocket and printed fully on the back. You start with baking a loaf of banana bread, the same recipe Karen Wheeler passed down to Nancy, and Nancy passed down to you.

You begin to whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon. A sense of calm takes over your body as you remember the days of having Nancy as a roommate. A vast difference to the hellion who’s snoring on the couch right now. Your mind wanders, questioning why the tension between the two of you in the van could have been cut with a knife.

You despised him, the thought of him making your stomach churn like curdled milk. He was skating on thin ice and if you were stronger, you’d have kicked his ass out by now. But Eddie was right about a few things. After Kev left for college it was just you at home, but Eddie stayed around. Watching out for you at parties, threatening to kick anyone’s ass who got too close to you.

You mash the bananas and set them aside, using the handheld mixer you had been gifted to beat together the butter and brown sugar. The light pales of yellow swirling with the chestnut granules of the brown sugar.

You remembered how he was dating Chrissy during his senior year. How Chrissy, yourself, Eddie and Chad would go bowling on Sundays after brunch at the Cunningham’s or how sometimes Chrissy would drive the three of you to go to Eddie’s shows at the hideout, sweet talking her way to the owner so you could all support him. How messed up he had been after she broke up with him. To this day you don't know the reason. You wondered if he knew what happened between you and Chad.

You add the dry ingredients to the wet ones. Adding the eggs one at a time, the soft plump yolks slipping free from the shells and landing gently on the forming mixture.

So many things had gone unsaid. Different aspects of life taking you both in opposite directions but now suddenly back again, but under very diverse circumstances.

The banana bread mixture is scraped into a loaf pan, and tossed into the oven, the timer set to sixty minutes.

You had to admit that having Eddie around gave you a small inkling of comfort. Almost as if you weren’t alone. Something you hadn’t felt in years.

You really must be crazy. Eddie Munson giving you comfort? What kind of dream land were you living in. Clearly the banana bread hasn’t given you any sort of calm, better make muffins next.

Later that night you’re lining pasta noodles in a baking dish, layering them with ground beef sautéed with an onion and pasta sauce, and ricotta, mozzarella and Parmesan cheese. The small kitchen smelling delicious, and the counters full of chocolate chip muffins and the banana bread you had made.

Turns out there’s a lot you can get done in the 5 hours Eddie has been passed out on the couch. Turtle waxing the bathroom floors, scrubbing the baseboards in the living room, reorganizing the fridge and wiping everything down.

He’s still sprawled out on the new couch, his long hair wrapped around his face, soft snores whirling through his nose.

Another hour later and supper is done, you’re standing at the stove cutting short horizontal lines through the lasagna opposite of the way the noodles are laid, when Eddie comes up behind you, warm crumbles of muffin between his lips as he whispers, “shit Tooty, did’ya take home-ec? This is delicious.” You jump almost ten feet high, shrieking and cutting a horrible diagonal line through the lasagna.

“.. I failed ya know.”

“High school?” You answer after catching your breath, “Eddie, everyone in the Tri state area knows that.”

“Nah,” he mumbles through another bite, more crumbs falling from his mouth, “well I mean yeah, but home-ec. That’s why I didn’t graduate on time.”

You soon around with an incredulous look on your face, “how the fuck do you fail home-ec not once, but twice?”

He leans his long frame against the counter, hip jutting up against it as he crosses his legs at his ankles, you note that his pants are still undone.

“Well chef,” Eddie starts, licking his fingers clean from the ooey chocolate that melted onto them, “I kept burning everything. I couldn’t even get the eggs to boil right. I burnt the sleeve of Jason Carver’s letterman jacket while trying to make crème brûlée,” He says with a laugh. “That might have been on purpose, after he stiffed me for over 3 oz and two full bags of pre rolls.”

You chuckle, “not a loss there, that douche probably deserved it.”

Jason Carver would remain in Hawkins to run his dad’s business. Last time you had seen him he was at the salon, flirting with you while you trimmed his hair. Still a douche.

“Ah, he was just mad I stole his girlfriend,” he says with a little sigh, referring to Chrissy, “High school, what a blast!”

“All six years?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, your teeth biting down hard into your lower lip to hide your laugh.

Pushing himself off the counter and stealing another muffin he leaves the kitchen with a grin and yells over his shoulder, “piss off.”

Eddie’s on his third plate of “flat noodle pasta thing” or to anyone living on the planet for more than three years would call it, lasagna, and your homemade garlic bread chewed up between his teeth.

“Christ,” he exaggerates with a sigh, “I feel like this is my last meal on death row or some shit.” He smacks his lips and licks his fingers like a primate. Moaning with each swipe of his tongue like a porn star with a huge bush in the 70’s.

“Did you just compliment me on something other than my body or insinuating that you want to fuck me?” You say with a false shock, “I’m honored.”

“Yup, write it down in your little diary, ‘Eddie Munson said something genuine to me, made me feel pretty, maybe I will stop being mean and let him see my titties xoxo’.”

“…and we’re back to your regularly scheduled programming.” You announce in a monotone voice, pushing your lasagna around with your fork and taking a bite of the garlic bread.

Eddie turns his head and looks over at you confused on how this nice little night— not arguing, for once, eating the best thing he’s had in his mouth bedsides the pussy that was in it last weekend, could turn into you silently stewing, mulling something over that he had zero idea on how to understand.

“So— what ever happened to Eyeball anyway? Should I go ahead and assume he’s buried in a shallow grave somewhere?” Eddie asks, taking another mouthful of lasagna, “seriously, I haven’t seen or heard from him since he graduated and left this shithole town.”

You take a deep breath and let out a sigh, you couldn’t hide this from him, not when he’s here in your house, on the couch he just bought since he burned down the other one.

If you were going to tell him, there was no better time than right now. You take a sip from your Fresca and set your plate down on the coffee table.

“Kev went to the east coast. Full academic scholarship to John Hopkins.” You say curling your knees up to your chin, facing Eddie.

“Yeah, I think he mentioned that— I bet your parents were proud,” Eddie says, eyebrows raised, fingers hanging loosely over his knees, the last remnants of the garlic bread in one hand.

“Of course they were, he’s the golden boy, Mr. Perfect. He could do no wrong in their eyes.”

You weren’t just being a jaded little sister, it was the truth. Your parents favored him over you. Once it was let on that he was smarter than most kids his age, and a certain level of genius— that was it for you, you were casted aside like a wet paper towel, tossed to the heaping flow of garbage. Their whole life revolved around him.

“So what happened?” Eddie pressed, setting his plate down and twisting the rings around his fingers.

“Well, he went to college in August of ‘85 and at first was excelling in all of his classes, as if he were to ever do anything else. If you ask my parents, what happened next was out of character for him, and he was coerced into it, the wrong place at the wrong time kind of a deal, but you know how he was. He had a wild side to him.”

Kev was wild indeed. He was the one who convinced Eddie to borrow Wayne’s truck at thirteen and take it driving through Hawkins on a joyride to the gas station that led to all of the mailboxes in Forest Hills to be backed over and almost a gas pump. A smirk forms on Eddie’s face as you continue.

“I always thought it was his way of escaping— trying to be normal. Anyway— he made friends with some guys who were kinda like the Hellfire guys at home. Ya know nerds, who need haircuts.” A small laugh escapes from your lips.

“Easy, now.” Eddie jokes, shaking his mane, “This takes time and patience, ain’t built for the weak.”

You roll your eyes and keep going, “one of them was involved with dealing but it wasn’t just joints and half ounces like you did in high school. This was crack, and heroin.”

Rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palms, dreading this more than Eddie could ever know. “He started using—heavily. One thing led to another and he was eventually kicked out of school, turns out you actually have to show up to class and get good grades to keep an academic scholarship.”

“My parents tried to get him to move home, go to rehab, but he refused. He moved into a house with some other “friends” if you would even call them that.” You take another shaky breath, voice wobbly as you continue, “w-we aren’t exactly sure what happened— all we know is that he was driving down a one way, going double over the legal speed limit and he struck a woman— in broad daylight, killing her instantly.”

Pain is evident in your face as Eddie stares into your eyes, leaning forward on the couch, the venom of his words from last night and earlier this afternoon twisting like a knife in his chest. “Holy fuck.”

“He had been tripping out on whatever it was he was snorting, or smoking—I have no idea, for days, according to him, and he doesn’t remember anything. The woman was from a very well off family in Maryland— so they went for murder instead of vehicular manslaughter— and won. There were two other people in the car with him… they were both killed on impact. He’s currently known as inmate #90045, serving a life sentence and a sling of other charges in Roxbury Correctional in Hagerstown.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at the thought of Kev in an orange jumpsuit, face behind bars. The fingers he was spinning his rings with stops, mouth agape.

You pinch your eyes shut and throw your head back, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “My parents sold the house the following year and moved out there to be closer to the golden son, still to this day refusing he did anything wrong, blaming it all on anyone but him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes, shocked, “I can’t fuckin— wow.”

“Yeah,” you say, bringing your head forward, dipping into your chest. Sniffling quietly and rubbing your nose.

Eddie is dumbfounded by your admission. He thought for sure that maybe Kev was married and had kids so your parents went to help them out to be supportive grandparents. He would have never guessed that he was in prison doing hard time with a heroin addiction. And he certainly can’t believe that they left you here like discarded mail.

“But you stayed in Hawkins? By yourself, this whole time?” he says in disbelief. Outer corners of his eyes turning downward as his face frowns.

He feels like shit, he had been here the whole time in Hawkins and he didn’t have a clue that you were alone.

Shaking your head you answer slowly, shame on your lips. “The Wheeler’s ended up taking me in.”

“Tooty,” Eddie rubs his hand across his face, stubble catching on calluses as he thinks about the times he saw you at school. “Fuck man, why didn’t you say anything? Jesus, why didn’t any of them mention it?”

“I told them that if they told anyone I’d shave their heads,” you say proudly. A sense of pride present across your face, as you hold your head high.

This explains a lot, why you were bitter and downright miserable. He couldn’t believe this shit, how your family just left you, discarding you like you weren’t their only daughter. You were dealt a shitty hand, and all you had left to protect yourself was you. Eddie knew all too well how that felt.

His eyes are full of concern, wet with tears as he realizes how lonely you must have been.

“By the way,” you say, stretching your leg out and nudging him with the toe of your slipper, “that head shaving thing, goes for you too Munson.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. ” Eddie said, throwing his hands up in innocence. “I wouldn’t risk losing these curls over that, the ladies love this.”

Later that night Eddie laid in bed. Still completely blown away by the fate of his old friend. Not only that but what happened to you as well. When his dad went to prison, he had Wayne but you? You didn’t have anyone. Moving in with the Wheeler’s like you were a charity case, an orphan, with Ted Wheeler being the not bald Daddy Warbucks. He didn’t sleep worth a shit that night. His mind constantly running over the millions of conversations you had up until his graduation— not once did you let on that you weren’t okay.

🤍

HOPE YOU ENJOYED 💋 SEE YOU IN VOL IV

vol iv

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #roommate!eddie munson #roommate!eddie

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Just A Kiss

Joining the congrats train for @withacapitalp, happy birthday Liam! You're not escaping the frog theme and cursed Steve, not on my watch.

"Look man, I don't really care if you're actually a prince, a model or a lying hobo, the answer is still no."

The frog looked at him with so much sass Eddie actually considered caving in, but...nah. It was disgusting. Even though it looked kind of cute with that weird pattern on its head that looked like a really fluffy mane of hair, light brown eyes and slight pout. "Like it's going to kill you, man," it croaked out and Eddie took another drag from his cigarette. Talking frogs. Yep, just another normal day in Hawkins.

"Look, even if I wanted to, which I don't - zoofilia isn't cool under any pretense, just for your info - I'm pretty sure I'm just high as a kite. You're a frog, which duh, you probably know that, but...uh. I don't want to wake up in the morning with the unsettling knowledge that I smooched some poor non-consenting animal and all I got from that was some rash on my mouth. Hey, can animals even consent? That's...no, you can't." One more drag of his cigarette. Maybe two. Make it another cigarette, shit. He didn't think that one joint was so strong.

The frog rolled his eyes again. "I'm not telling you to go and such face with a dolphin or something. Plus animals don't give consent because they a) can't talk, b) aren't cursed human beings. Like yours truly."

Eddie bit the filter in a futile attempt to sober up. Didn't help. "So you've said. Cursed human. Sorry if I don't believe you, froggy."

"It's Steve."

Eddie snorted out the smoke through his nose. "Steve. A frog named Steve."

There it was, that adorable eye roll again. "It's a temporary frog, otherwise full-time human Steve." It even tried to put its...paws? No, not paws, frogs don't have paws, legs? Front legs? Cute legs. Those, on its...hips? Eddie didn't know enough about frog anatomy but hell. It was adorable.

He giggled, brushing back his hair. "Sure, full-time human Steve. Is this a part-time job, then? A hobby?"

"A fucking curse, that's what it is." The frog almost growled, except it ended the annoyed tone with an unintentional ribbit. "Shit. Have you ever had hiccups? This - ribbit - oh god fuck why - ribbit - is worse."

Eddie just shook his head, wondering if he'd remember this trip the next day. He hoped so. "You'd think it would be natural to you." When the frog - sorry, Steve - just stared, he corrected himself. "For a frog, I mean. Which you're obviously not, except now you are-"

"Which part of a it-was-a-curse-from-an-old-hag-my-dad-pissed-off-a-few-decades-ago don't you understand? Ribbit, god make it stop-"

"Pretty much everything that wasn't a ribbit, pal," grinned Eddie and lit another cigarette. But it was a bit too quiet and when he turned to part-time-frog Steve, he wondered if maybe the trip was finally going away, if he'd just been chilling with an innocent frog for which his nerdy brain made a full page of lore, except- "What?" he asked the frog who was eyeing his smokes.

The frog groaned and tried to rub its still-not-sure-if-leg-or-paw over its forehead. "Look, if you're not willing to put me out of my misery either by - ribbit fuck this - stepping on me or giving me an absolutely consensual kiss, at least give me a cigarette. After the day I've had, I really need it."

"Uhhhh..." Eddie thought for a moment. Was it animal cruelty if he lit up a cigarette and put it next to a frog? The frog didn't have to smoke it, right? And he had no way of verifying if the frog was a minor. In...frog years or whatever.

The frog narrowed its eyes at him. "A kiss or a cigarette, dude. Choose now."

"Geez, so demanding for such a little guy," grumbled Eddie but obliged, lit another cigarette and handed it to the frog...the frog who grabbed it with both palms and took a long drag from it, closing its eyes.

"I really, really needed this," it muttered. Eddie wondered it being a frog would help him save on the smokes. It looked like its lungs were fairly small, one cigarette would last him for ages, but how would he buy them? So many questions...questions interrupted by Steve blowing a tiny puff of smoke from its - his? - mouth and looking at Eddie. "Don't you have better things to do than smoke with a temporary frog on a Friday evening?"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "I liked you better when all you could say was ribbit. But actually no, I'm waiting for a few of my friends."

And wow, could that frog smirk. "Can't wait to meet them."

Eddie was still pretty convinced that kissing a frog was off the table. But when a familiar pizza van parked next to him, Jonathan and Argyle jumping out, he found himself reconsidering. Just a little. Because it would have saved him from the following conversation.

"How are you doing, my man?" smiled Argyle and pulled Eddie into a hug, cracking his spine in the process. Argyle's bear hugs tended to do that.

Jonathan just stood there, staring. "Is that frog smoking a cigarette?"

The world slowed down and Eddie was just about to explain that the weed was a bit too strong this time and he might have hallucinated that the frog was talking to him, but then it blew another cloud of smoke from its tiny mouth and glared at Jonathan. "You've got a problem with that?" it asked in a dangerous croak.

"Oh yeah," offered Eddie weakly, "guys, this is Steve. Steve, this is Jonathan and Argyle."

And Argyle, bless his perpetually stoned heart, just walked towards Steve and shook his front leg/paw/hand/whatever. "Cool, nice to meet you, dude! Hey, do you just smoke cigarettes or are you in for some Purple Palm Tree Delight?"

Full time Steve or whatever just gave a pleased ribbit. "I thought you'd never ask."

And that's how Eddie, Jonathan and Argyle ended up stoned out of their minds...along with a frog. The nights were warm and they ended up napping next to each other in a patch of grass next to the Lover's Lake, setting tiny stoned Steve to the side to make sure no one crushed him in their sleep. And Eddie, in his blissed out state of mind, really didn't look forward to the next morning. Froggy Steve was fun. He liked Steve. He didn't look forward to the moment he'd have to accept that Steve was just a shared hallucination between the three of them.

Except...

Except in the morning, he got woken up by someone cuddling him. And that wasn't unusual, Argyle was a cuddler, except he was wrapped around Jonathan like a very dependent octopus. Maybe it was the blanket. Yes, definitely, the blanket must have fallen off him and crumpled behind his back and-

And the blanket snored.

Flipping around, he found himself face to face with an absolutely gorgeous young man. The bitchy slope of his eyebrow, furrowed in sleep, the numerous moles...Eddie's breath hitched.

Before he realized what was happening, his eyes opened and the lazy smile he gave Eddie made him want to jump in the lake and swim to the other side and back. Just to cool down a little bit. "Morning, Eddie," he yawned and Eddie recognized that voice. With or without the ribbit.

"...Steve?" he tried, and the smile just widened. "Oh god, this is going to sound so weird, but I was really convinced that you were a frog when I met you yesterday."

Steve just stretched those biteable arms above his head and groaned, closing his eyes again. Only then did Eddie notice he was wearing his spare clothes, a bit too tight and mismatched, but it was all he had in the van. "I was a frog, man. Is your memory usually this bad?"

Eddie's mouth hung open. Oh okay. That explained everything. Except it fucking didn't. "Uhhhh...no. I mean. I remembered you being a frog so it's a good thing, no?" Squinting at Steve, he slowly added, "how come you're not a frog anymore?" It sounded stupid, even to him.

But Steve just rolled his eyes with clear affection. "It's what I told you when I met you. A kiss."

"Did I kiss a frog? I mean, you?!" he blurted out before he could catch himself, unsure which one of those two things shocked him more.

One more disapproving head shake. "Shit memory, told you. Nah, it was Argyle. We were high, I mentioned the curse thing and Argyle just said "anything for my bro" and kissed me. I turned back and you...uh. Kind of freaked out because I didn't have any clothes on, so you raced back to your van to get me something. Then we smoked a bit more and went to sleep."

"Oh." Maybe the weed really was stronger than usual because Eddie's mouth had no filter that morning, even more so than usual. "Is it weird that I'm kind of jealous of him?"

Steve opened one eye and smirked at him. "What, you dream of kissing frogs often?"

Eddie hit his shoulder and laughed, mindful of the sleeping pair next to him. "Nope, but sure will dream of kissing you, pretty boy. Unless that would turn you back. Would it?"

There were hands on his hips pulling him down, back to the inviting grass and towards Steve's warm body. "Only one way to find out," he grinned.

#steddie #implied jargyle #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things ficlet

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alternative-ffa · 1 month

Text

Being with the same person for decades creates a sense of security. At this point, you're both partners in life and all effort goes into helping the other.

Jacob liked to message his wife Bethany when she was outside having a smoke or on the phone with friends. He would tease her with with his requests, hoping they would be inciting and arousing enough for her to come back in the house and play with him and his fat body. It was 8am and Bethany had sneaked out of bed, not to wake him. He took up over half of the king sized bed, using body pillows as dams for his obese body. He loved being fat.

This particular morning, he was messaging her to create a grocery order, daring her to get the most fattening items she could find - knowing that she would be insistent that he finished everything before it went bad. Her strategy was to get all perishable items, like cakes from the bakery instead of brand name cookies. It forced him to consume everything quicker.

Life over the last decade had thrown them curveballs. Having met on a fat fetish website, everyone looked forward to their updates, as they were quite active in the community. They were sure that Jacob was going to be impossibly huge, given his discovery of a female feeder at his disposal so early in life, and his sincere sexual desire to become too fat to move.

But life with the fetish isn't always the perfect fantasy. Jacob had to deal with the usual stress of life and would put his gaining on the back burner. His girlfriend (at the time) and feeder, Bethany, would always defer to what he wanted. If life became too stressful, and becoming fatter was the last thing on his mind, she never pushed it.

Life went back and forth. It was either, "feed me until I scream for help" or "I don't want to think about it".

She adapted to his mood throughout the years.

At this point life had taken a turn again. He worked from home and his gluttony began to take over. Bethany loved this. He found joy in getting groceries delivered. But he enjoyed it way more when she made the shopping list. She would order pastries and cakes and heavy cream on top of the usual order. He always had the last say, but would almost order her to create a grocery list of all the items she wanted him to consume.

He was obvious with his hints. An Amazon package arrived one day with a huge funnel and tube. She opened the box and raised her eyebrow as she asked, "planning on having a beer chugging party?"

He put his hands on his belly and chuckled as he said, "... not beer..."

As mentioned previously, he was obvious with his hints. Given the funnel and tube he ordered, she knew to add heavy cream... and given the holiday season, eggnog, to the list.

She secretly loved him working from home. He ate constantly. She wanted to see him get as big as possible, so she knew the tricks. He'd ask what food there was in the house. She'd give him a basic answer and deny his request for take out. He would grunt annoyingly as he created some kind of gigantic meal from the leftovers in the house. Then, once he finished his meal, she would order food. He didn't pick up on the strategy, but since he enjoyed it, he didn't care to. Time passing was a thing he didn't seem to notice, especially when it came to his appetite. She'd order food right after he finished a feast. He would stuff himself thoroughly with the order, then be confused why he was so full. She'd have to remind him, "well, you did finish a big meal before take out arrived."

He always looked surprised... "you mean, that wasn't hours ago? I... I'm still hungry."

She would smile and say, "you want something sweet now, don't you?"

He'd lick his fat lips and burp loudly, then say, "yes, ice cream. Sprinkle cinnamon on top, it's healthy."

Bethany would laugh with that statement. A full bowl of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, spilling over the edges, and yet... adding cinnamon would make it healthy? She didn't care. If he wanted to believe that, he could. She just wanted him to get fatter.

She placed a grocery order... enough for a family of five - knowing it was going into a belly of one. Since he fluctuated in his gaining desire over the last decade, she knew this was the open window to make him huge. But she had to do it quickly... given his speedy change in mindset over the years.

At over 350lbs, Jacob was big in the scheme of things. But it wasn't nearly big enough. His whole life he had the desire to become too fat to move. Even as a child, he played games where he was too big to leave the plastic play house during recess. It was just a hint of his adult desire to become immobilized with fat.

She played with him mentally; making sure he ate so much that he was surprised it even happened. He'd eat a full meal and forget so easily that she could trick him into eating a second or third lunch. Daylight savings time helped. It got dark so much earlier that even though he had eaten a full, multiple plate, dinner... darkness fell and she could convince him that it was hours ago, as she presented him with another couple plates of food.

She didn't feed him, because she didn't need to. He would eat himself into a coma without her help. Feeding him was a treat... and he had to be laid on his back, belching loudly to make room, before she even considered it. She wanted him to beg. Him, laying on his recliner, stuffed like a hog, burping every few minutes, rubbing his belly... lifting it with his fat hands to drop it, just watching it jiggle down, teasing his fatpad which surrounded his dick.

She'd watch from the couch. If he ate this well without needing to be fed, then she'd wait until he couldn't eat any longer before she stepped in.

This was one of those nights. The funnel he had ordered sat on a chair in the living room, not being used. Bethany was waiting for the perfect moment. On this particular night, Jacob had consumed so much food that he was lapsing in and out of consciousness in his recliner. She looked over at him and smiled. She knew this was her chance to sneak into the kitchen and make a quick weight gain shake to surprise him. She wanted him to wake up with the tube in his mouth, helpless to stop the fattening fluid as it filled his already stuffed belly. While she combined the heavy cream, weight gain powder, ice cream, and milk in the blender; she realized a surprise was impossible with the inevitable noise. She shrugged her shoulders and thought, "well, I'm sure hearing the blender and noticing the funnel is no longer on the chair will be surprise enough for him."

When she turned it on to mix up his 5000 calorie shake, she heard him snort in the living room - obviously waking up suddenly. But he stayed silent.

She poured the shake into the funnel, being sure to block the tube with her thumb once it was filled. A little bit spilled in the sink, but given that this was her first time filling up a feeding funnel, she wasn't too bothered by it. Balancing the shake in the funnel, she tip toed back into the living room. His eyes met hers immediately. He looked greedy, and ready to go above and beyond to chug it down. When they made eye contact, neither had to say anything.

Bethany had already taken her arms out of her bathrobe so she could hold the tube and funnel, so it was easy as she dropped her bathrobe to reveal a dark navy blue, baby-doll style lingerie set. His hungry eyes sparked with a sexual hunger on top of his permanent gluttonous hunger, and they darted back and forth from her to the funnel she held.

She approached him and placed her hand on his belly. It was still hard and bloated from what he had eaten throughout the day. She was about to place the tube into his excited mouth, but instead asked, "You're still very full. Are you sure you can fit this?"

There was a hint of teasing in her voice, almost daring him.

His fat hand reached up and grabbed the tube from her. He wasn't quick enough to get it into his mouth and a little bit of the shake fell onto his breasts, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and drank as fast as he could as she held the funnel up above him. It only took a few minutes until the funnel was half empty. He reached for the tube, placing his thumb on the end of it to save what was left. A loud wet belch escaped his lips. He groaned. His free hand reached down to his swollen belly and he pressed it, forcing more air out with every burp. Bethany could only watch as she held the funnel up above him. She wanted to stand between his legs, hovering over his huge body - leaning over him, kissing and rubbing his fat as she teased the sensitive flesh deep between his rolls. She almost decided to put the funnel back in the kitchen, balancing it on something to keep the other half of the shake in it. But Jacob grabbed it again before she could make the decision. He swallowed as quickly as he could. Luckily the funnel itself was transparent - he would look up at it every few seconds to see how much was left. As the fattening fluid disappeared down the funnel, he seemed to get more greedy, gulping it down faster and faster.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. There was still a little bit of the shake in the tube, but he could feel the fullness in his belly and the pain of being so gluttonous that he could barely breathe. He had to stop. The small amount left fell down his chins and he dropped the tube. Luckily Bethany still held the funnel, and she caught it before the droplets fell on the floor.

Holding it in one hand, she leaned down towards Jacob. He continued to belch and she quickly rubbed what she could of his belly as she said teasingly, "You out-did yourself. I'll be right back fat boy."

He moaned. He loved when she called him fat. The more derogatory, the better. He wanted to be called a pig, a glutton, a fat fuck - and every time she indulged his enjoyment of humiliation, he found himself pulsing with pleasure.

She came back into the room with a wet paper towel and gently began to clean off the cream that fell from the tube. It dribbled down his lips, flowing down his chins. Bits of it were in-between his fat hairy breasts. She was erotic with her cleaning - teasing his nipples as she seductively told him what a messy fat hog he was. She had cleaned him thoroughly, but he was, yet again, floating in and out of a food coma. He sensed her walking away and jolted awake. She held up the dirty paper towel and assured him, "I'm just throwing this out, I'll be right back."

She heard the slight squeek of the recliner as he laid his head back down again.

She threw out the paper towel in the kitchen, then momentarily reflected on the last hour. She was lucky. The desire to be with such a gigantic man was rare - nevermind finding a man who would do anything to become as fat as he could. She had fattened men up before, when she had first discovered her unusual desire. But they didn't enjoy it. They did it for her attention, and not because they wanted it as well. As a result, they didn't gain nearly the amount she was attracted to, and the relationships never lasted. She smiled, knowing she chose the right man over a decade and a half ago. He was right there, laying in their living room, burping and moaning. She knew he was rubbing his belly without even needing to look into the room.

Another thought crossed her mind in this short reverie... his dreams. She was a light sleeper, and many times over the years she'd hear him groan in his sleep and whisper, "I'm so fat. More... more..."

She would always awake suddenly, but smiled. How lucky to have a man who really dreamed of being obese; who had no limit to how fat he wanted to get.

It had only been a few seconds, but in her brain, she thought she was standing in the kitchen dreaming for at least a couple minutes. Him moaning in the other room brought her out of her daydream and reminded her that he deserved a belly rub. She withheld it when he didn't eat enough. A slight dominance within her made sure that his reward of physical and sexual pleasure had to be earned.

She walked back into the living room and stood at his feet. He was reclined as much as he could be. His thick fat hands were already engaged in vigorously massaging his impossibly full stomach. His eyes were closed and she watched. He was so full that he wasn't exactly conscious. It reminded her of his dreams... and she wanted to say, "Yes, you are fat. And you're getting so much fatter."

She couldn't resist. Tip toeing over to his side she whispered this into his ear. He smirked and opened his eyes. She was leaning over him and he looked at her pert breasts almost spilling out of the lingerie. He reached with his fat hand and grabbed one. Moaning he said, "come closer."

She stepped away from his side and moved between his legs. Being reclined blocked her, so he grabbed the remote and lowered the foot rest. She moved closer, her hands on his thighs. He reached down and lifted his belly. The fat of his groin hid most of him, but she saw the head of his dick, hard and pulsing, almost trying to escape the fat that encased it. She got on her knees... and his eyes were wide with excitement.

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morgana-ren · 8 months

Note

On the subject of cheating…. How do you think Astarion would react to a dark urges Tav who doesn’t show any disapproval towards him for infidelity but does try to brutally murder all of his other flings

I can’t reconcile if he would be upset about them having too much agency in this situation and stop it or just into Tav being possessive of him in the way he’s possessive of them

He wakes to the pleasant and unmistakable tang of blood.

It's not uncommon for Astarion to greet the morning steeped in the sweet, saccharine scent of blood. Not at all. In fact, it's most welcome upon first waking, ranking among a deep, rich brandy and defiled silk sheets for his favorites. A metallic bouquet of a lovely, robust breakfast just begging to be supped on, just for him. If you were to ask him, there's truly nothing finer in the world.

An indulgent inhale has him sitting up, slipping a lazy hand through his hair and tongue running over his fangs as his mouth waters. The pit of hunger gnawing at his gut isn't quite so terrible as it used to be when he was but a filthy spawn, but he wouldn't ever deny himself the decadence of breakfast served up to him in bed.

The source of the delectable scent lies flopped over on the opposite side of the mattress, and he glances over with sleepy, hazy eyes to admire the sight. Her long, silky hair splays raggedly over her face, one of her arms limply hanging off the edge in what cannot be a comfortable position. The sheet haphazardly wrapped around her only scantly covers her rear, and by proxy, the sloppy mess he'd made between her thighs a few hours prior.

Clearly, he'd worn her clean out.

He chuckles; he can't help it. He's almost proud of himself-- if it wasn't so commonplace, that is. It's so terribly difficult for these weak and paltry little things to keep up with his kingly stamina, and he cannot begrudge the delicate humans that end up beneath him for losing consciousness.

Still! It's time to wake up, as he's remarkably hungry and he will not go another second without sinking his fangs into her swan-like neck.

"Darling, you sucked me dry and left me ravenous," He reaches for her, tracing a teasing claw up the dotted curve of her spine. "It would be positively unacceptable to leave me in such a state before you go."

She doesn't respond to his sentiment, and so after several seconds of testing his patience, he prods at her upper arm, eventually resorting to jostling her lightly with his hand, pinching her flesh between his clawed fingers--

--and it's only then that he realizes that her skin is ice to the touch, and he cannot feel her chest move with her breath in his palm. While that is entirely normal for him, it's not normal for small human women.

The sharp aroma of blood is far too palpable, even for his palace.

His red eyes truly focus on the girl contorted in his sheets for the first time: Her skin far too pallid, her stench far more enticing than it had been hours ago. His hand goes to brush the hair from her face, and there's a slick, wet feeling between his fingers as he does.

He is hit with the subtle yet bitter scent of freshly dying blood. Something that is usually sequestered only to beings beginning a state of decay. Something that should not be in his bed.

Unsettling, he thinks, but mostly irritating. Dead, hmm? He's almost certain he didn't kill this one on accident. Fairly certain. He callously rolls the woman's dead weight onto her back, frowning as he's met with a scene that he's quite certain he couldn't have done accidentally.

What was her throat is now a gaping maw of blood and bone-shine, scraps of gore clearly ripped out from inside. Her mouth-- or what is barely left of it-- is twisted in an eternal wordless scream, her face eternally contorted in some unseen horror. Her lovely eyes are wide and frozen in terror, unblinking and milky. Upon further inspection of her body, there is a hole where he assumes her still-beating heart had once been, clawed savagely free from her ribs by some brutal, unrelenting force.

He scowls, needling his lower lip with his teeth. It's a shame, he thinks with an exasperated sigh. He's sure was a beauty before all of this.

Another vicious, deadly beauty clearly demands his attention now, and he pushes the dead whore off the bed with an annoyed huff, snatching his long silk robe from the bedpost before affixing it around his body.

"Such a pity," He fastens the tie around his narrow waist, stepping carefully around the bedframe to stand in front of the newly made corpse with a grimace. "You were so vivacious last night, dear girl. But you're making the wrong kind of mess of my sheets, and I cannot abide that."

With a careless tug, he rips the remains of the young woman off his mattress, her mutilated body landing on the floor with an uncomfortable, wet thud. He steps over her, striding towards the door, feeling decidedly irritated. He was planning to spend a lazy afternoon in bed, but it appears something more urgent demands his immediate attention.

"Good morning, my lord--" A servant greets him just outside of his door with a sweeping bow and an expertly balanced tray. Astarion doesn't bother to look at him, instead grabbing a morning glass of wine, taking several deep swigs before finally sneering unpleasantly down at the man.

"Where is my wife?"

Another scraping bow, but Astarion doesn't stay to witness it. Rather, he takes off down the hall in search of someone more important. Someone that, he imagines, was rather busy last night after he fucked-- Hells, what was her name? He doesn't remember. Did he ever know?

"In her garden, sire."

"Right," Astarion carelessly tosses the glass back onto the floor, where it shatters to pieces. "There's a rather putrid corpse on the floor in there. Have it taken care of. I want it spotless before I return."

"Yes, my lord."

He tries to recall as he makes his way through his palace and towards the garden, and ultimately decides he doesn't care.

He finds his lovely wife right where he expects to, taking a leisurely stroll in her strangely fruitful garden. The scent of damp, rich soil permeates the air, mingling with odd, exotic flowers he has brought her and lush, fertile plants that she has coaxed into life with her hands. Blossoming organic life from nothing is not something that he imagined was in the wheelhouse of a favored child of Bhaal-- quite the opposite, really-- and yet, she seems to have nurtured a niche talent for it of late.

It irks him that she's grown somehow cold to his affections. She no longer stares at him with owlish eyes and flushing cheeks and a rapidly beating heart; rather she seems to shrug off even his most endeavored attempts at seduction with an ease that, if he didn't know for a fact that he was the most powerful and attractive man in a country mile, might hurt his pride.

She seems entirely at peace and unbothered, gently cradling a small rose between her fingertips, admiring it as it slowly blooms into a lovely, blood-red bud. The placid expression of someone either entirely unacquainted with the art of murder, or a masterful artist with it, and he knows all too well which one. As he approaches, she doesn't acknowledge him with anything other than a brief turn of her head and flick of her eyes.

"Your garden is looking lovely as always," He saddles up behind her despite her aloof silence, gingerly sliding his arms around her waist and leaning to scent along the side of her neck. "As are you, my sweet girl."

She only hums her acknowledgement, her ever-present sly semi-smile unfaltering as he speaks, still clearly far more taken with her flowers rather than his company and flatteries.

A deadly mistake for everyone other than her.

"Been busy this morning, little love?"

"Oh, only as much as usual," She gives him nothing--no guilt, no anxiety, just the hints of a mischievous, murderous smile-- as she releases the flower from between her fingers, turning instead to continue sauntering through the row. "I try to keep busy."

A quick sniff reveals all he needs to know. He doesn't need to get any closer to the freshly filled hole to smell the rancid stench rising from it. Underneath the sopping wet dirt, mingling with fertilizer and fallen leaves is the unmistakable stench of dead flesh; A muscle steeped in still blood, to be specific. Buried beneath soil alongside the foreign seeds lies what is left of the mangled heart of the woman he'd taken to bed last night, now planted in his wife's garden in some macabre ritual to sustain yet another carnivorous horror she's gotten her hands on and is now coddling into growth.

"I can see that," He croons, eying a fresh mound in the dirt, clearly freshly dug. "Is this one new?"

"Just this morning, dear," She lulls softly, a barely discernible playful edge to her voice. "Newly planted."

Dozens more peculiar vines twist up from the ground in various states of growth in nice, even spaces carefully organized into rows. Under the lively essence of plants and sticky-sweet flowers is the painfully apparent stench of decay and rot; Months and months of the still-lingering scent of blood of all the lovers he'd taken, turning spoiled and foul in putrefaction in her grisly little garden. All of their lives ended preemptively by his wife with the same feral glee that a rabid mongrel must feel upon sinking its fangs into a terrified, defenseless creature.

All for daring to indulge in him.

What a senseless thing. Died so futilely and no doubt miserably at the hands of his wife, alone and panicked only feet from their powerful king, and for what? Finding their way into his bed? How absurd. Who could resist him? Who would dare? He almost pities the funeral procession of poor creatures whose hearts have become fodder for the dirt, no honoring of their lives save his consort's nursery, fed and weaned on their innards. Their final moments belong to his insatiable wife's ruthless bloodlust through no fault of their own, and yet--

--Something about her vicious possessiveness over him smolders in his core, igniting a twisted arousal that coils the length of his spine and constricts like a serpent until he simply cannot stop himself. Deadly, precise, perfect little wife of his, so vicious and yet so precious to him. He swears her bloodlust only serves to stoke the flame, and how he longs to devour her.

(How long has she denied him? How long has she teased and tested him, tantalizing him with memories of burying himself inside of her sweet, tight heat with merciless drive, supping from the delectable blood of her soft body, her voice crying his name like a chant to some dark God until she rips what is left of his soul clean from him to take it into herself. She would yield for no one, a primal and ferocious creature beneath the veneer of illustrious, undead beauty, and yet she would heel to only him, letting him lose himself in her warmth, her fire until he burned--)

He reaches around and whirls her to face him so that she cannot feign indifference under his scrutinizing gaze. She knows better than to fight his manhandling and allows him to spin her towards him, though she refuses to wilt under his sultry glower. Her expression remains entirely passive as his hand reaches up to take her chin between two fingers, squeezing hard enough to have her wincing.

"Another one, darling?"

"You dislike the roses?" She blinks big eyes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. She hasn't been innocent a day in her life, and today certainly isn't a start.

A part of him wishes he could remain angry-- or at least a little indignant-- about the fact that she believes she has some overarching and indisputable claim on him, but deep down, he knows that she's right; she does have a staked claim in his heart in a way no one else ever possibly could. Even as his eyes and body might stray from her, he is forced to admit time and time again that nothing compares to his wrathful little lover. The strays he shepherds into his bed don't fill the gaping hole she leaves within him in her absence, her wretched denial of him. It is only silently that he acknowledges his wayward lust is just his spiteful response to her cruel neglect.

"Don't play the fool for me, my dearest girl, you're a terrible actress. Another concubine. Another corpse in your grim little graveyard. Is calling it a well-tended monument to your jealousy perhaps too romantic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my love," She smiles gently, lifting a hand between their chests and up to her face, slipping a finger between her plush lips. He smells the lingering blood on it and yet he cannot take his eyes off her tongue as it curls sensually around the length of her knuckles and how immaculate it might feel on him. He cannot help himself but think just how graciously daddy Bhaal has blessed him with his beautiful daughter; How fiercely alluring it is to watch his undomesticated little monster clean up her homicidal mess.

It started as all things do: With a seed. A bladed joke bloomed into irritation and resentment. His endless libido and her cresting bloodlust come to blows over priorities. The only woman who dared to gainsay him, her lovely little hands covered in blood and the power of Bhaal coursing through her veins keeping her too wild to be truly tamed by his vampiric blessing. His appetite for domination was insatiable, as was hers.

A child of Bhaal would not be tamed-- even by him.

He craved obedience and reticence-- he craved raw reverence and worship. To be viewed with wide eyes and admiration and blind devotion from some poor, pitiful creature too weak and foolish to resist him; To be seen as a God before a miserable little mortal; For his subject to offer willingly for a chance to taste of his splendor.

It is the only thing his beloved would never give him: acknowledgement of his superiority; submitting before him, allowing him to enforce his will upon her willingly. She is a fanged and clawed creature, wild by nature, and she would not purr her praises chained at his feet. She commands respect-- even from him.

She could never play the fool for him, encouraging him to believe that she was helpless against him, or weak, or pitiful, or foolish. It would insult her pride and her lineage. She is a force of nature in her own right, and he could never truly own her without her consent-- consent she has withheld.

And so, he would tell you that he simply retaliated.

She never spared him a sour word when he teased the waters about bringing other people into their marital bed. She only smiled that damn smile of hers and told him that he can do as he wishes as the king. Hells, she hardly seemed to notice when he first took some pathetic creature into their sheets for some harmless fun. The reaction he yearned for from her, some measly sign of her devotion to him, she wickedly denied him, seemingly knowing full well the impact it had upon him.

It drove him to madness, a spiraling misery fueled by his pride. He refused to beg for her, and she would refuse to kneel before him. He came to believe that truly she did not crave him with the same veracity that he longed for her. He no longer sought her out, and she did not come seeking. Surely, if she loved him, she would show some sign, some indication of caring that his fingers caressed a pale pastiche of her rather than where they desperately longed to be: Tracing her lovely mouth, coaxing her clever tongue, circled around her neck, between her warm thighs--

--And then corpses began popping up like flowers, and his beloved suddenly took up gardening.

She grinds his patience to a fine powder, and something about that gets his fires burning hotter than it ought to. Her insouciant dismissal of him, the absurdly casual slaughter of insignificant sex partners and then having the audacity to seem almost bored of his presence. She clearly cares enough to rip the bleeding hearts out of his inconsequential conquests, and yet, here she stands, utterly unfazed by him, having the audacity to feign indifference.

"If you're jealous, my love, you only need say so," He hushes to her, batting her cheek softly as he forces her to look up at him. "You needn't kill everyone who finds their way into my bed. I would cease if you simply said the words."

"Jealous?" Her brow furrows, head cocking, her lips jutting into a little pout. "I don't know what you mean."

What he asks is simple, so dreadfully simple. So easy, so, so easy--

Acquiesce to me.

And yet, she dares to deny him even as there is blood on her hands from strangling and wringing his full attention from his lover's corpses.

The wall of the greenhouse he built for her isn't particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less as he shoves her against it, bullying his body against hers with brutal force, slamming her head against the glass with a lightning-fast palm encircling her throat.

"Why do you insist on being such an obstinate little brat?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and he squeezes tighter in response, choking the air from her little neck and stoppering the words on her tongue. There is a flash of something in her eyes once they open again, but he isn't entirely certain which sin it's indicative of: wrath or lust, or some degenerate mix of both.

It had to be her.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord," She croaks as he allows it, her hand clasped on his wrist as he clenches the rounds of her neck. He swears he sees her lip twitch in the ghost of a smirk even as he suffocates her. He holds all the power over life and death over her, and yet she is insufferably calm.

"I warned you not to play stupid, darling. You know very well what I mean." He growls against her ear, frustration and arousal building to impossible levels. Of all the women in Toril, it had to be her-- it had to be--

"Admit it," He hisses, sharp fang nipping at her ear. "Just admit it, and ask-- beg me, and I'll stop."

He feels the chuckle bubble in her throat even as he cannot hear it through the pressure he applies to her windpipe. "Beg what, my lord?" Her eyes narrow, her amusement apparent even as she has a practiced expression of apathy, whispering back to him with a strained voice still somehow full of unmitigated audacity. "Do you think I suffer?"

His lip curls downwards, and he realizes that he has no leverage here other than her violent jealousy, which she will happily unleash upon his unfortunate bedfellows rather than swallow her pride and cling to him as she should. She has no qualms with murder, and he might as well hand-deliver her victims. It has become an inevitable truth that whoever finds themselves romping beneath the sheets with their king won't be leaving alive because the queen would rather die than admit she cares that he spends his affections elsewhere.

"You can't hold out forever," He knees her legs apart and wedges himself between them, grinding his lust into the clothed heat of her core. "You will beg for me. You will acquiesce. You know your place is at my side."

He pushes forward again, lips brushing against her cheek, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers spiraling down her spine. The way she rhythmically gyrates her hips deliberately against where he wants her most has his hands flexing, kneading deeper into her flesh. His nails dig into her deceptively soft skin, sliding one hand up her body to grope gratuitously at her curves before crawling up to thread his pale fingers through her hair. With the silky strands weaved between his knuckles, he yanks, exposing her throat to the mercy of his razor-sharp fangs like a wolf perched over carrion. He'd die before admitting the overwhelming, frantic need she inspires within him, but he swears if he doesn't have her now, he will perish.

She exhales ragged and husky, squirming against him in apparent need, but still manages to stand her ground. "I am at your side, my lord. Your front, to be more specific."

"On your knees, on your back, whatever I demand. Give in to me. Heed my command, my love," He releases his fingers from her neck, both his arms snaking behind her to scoop her ass in his palms and hike her up against his waist, bidding her wordlessly to lock her legs around him. She does it instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck, tugging playfully at his silver hair as she does. He keeps her up with easy purchase against the wall, keeping her prisoner between a wiry cage of eager limbs and foggy glass panes. "Submit to me of your own free will. Kneel to me, your husband and king, and submit to me fully."

His voice is low and husky as he exhales against the shell of her ear, doing his best to swallow down the desire to rip her pretty dress to shreds with his bare hands and ravage her on the filthy ground of her greenhouse.

"All you need do is say the words," He mutters, barely audible even to her, the scent of her driving him to the precipice of insanity. "Say you belong to me, body and soul. Submit to me, girl, and I'll never have need of another."

He feels the derisive chuckle in her throat reverberate against his own mouth and pulls away to observe. Her eyes are glassy and low as they meet his, moist lips parted in a little 'o', trying so hard not to do that hateful little smile of hers. His hand tightens in her hair, jerking his hips ruthlessly against her once again. So close now, he can feel it, he's going to destroy her, ruin her, tear her to pieces only to put her back together and do it again--

She dares to deny him, dares to have the raw audacity to mock him-- he's going to hurt her so badly, sink his fangs into her neck and drain her fucking dry, force himself inside of her until she has to beg him through hiccupping sobs to stop, unable to fend him off in his full power. He will show her who is the master--

"No."

She cranes her head forward just a little and gives him a mockingly gentle peck on the mouth. It's deceptively gentle and cruel in its intention, entirely meant to taunt him. In his shock at her gall, he is stalled, almost paralyzed and entirely unresponsive and numb to the tidal wave of rage and lust that collides in a nuclear cocktail deep in his gut. It's but a brief moment before he regains control over his senses, and when he does--

"Maybe," She flicks her tongue out, licking a small, red stripe up his cupid's bow. "But not yours-- and you can try, my love."

He releases his grip on her hair only to grab her cheeks, digging his fingers into her jaw so hard that he can feel her gums scrape against the ivory ridges of her fangs. Her wince of pain doesn't escape him, fueling the inferno inside of him as he snarls, baring teeth down on her as a predator might.

"You dare to play games with me? You are a miserable, stubborn little whore and I'd see you put back in your proper place!"

It's more animalistic growl than spoken sentence, and even as he squeezes her face, he can see the twitches of a smile on her crumpled mouth. He can smell the blood on her tongue, the utter defiance in her expression, and despite his frenzy of anger, he throbs between her thighs.

--and yet it's him on the cusp of inescapable frenzy, the taste of her now blasting away the dull, gray months and the now; this one fiery moment where she is wholly his, reminding him of the untamable bonfire of desire she stokes within. His beloved consort, his wife, until death take them both or not at all--

It should drive him into a blind, red rage, but it just makes him harder, pulsing against her insistently, his body demanding entrance to what is rightfully his--

"You will always belong to me."

He crushes his mouth to hers so hard it pains the both of them, more devouring gnashes and fierce, hungry greed for her than passionate kiss. His fangs break the skin of her lip, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, determined to taste every inch she offers up to him. She mewls weakly into his mouth, trying to break the kiss to breathe, but he won't allow it; she only breathes by his will and he'd see her reminded of that--

A battle he will win.

"Mine-- only mine--"

He pants it sloppily into her open mouth, still desperately trying to swallow her essence into himself. She manages to tug away from his unhinged fervor, though only briefly, just to heave and whoop air into her lungs, desperate to catch her breath before she speaks:

"Not if you're not only mine."

It's a fool's facade, this game they play. Around and around and around once more, each demanding prostration of the other only to burn themselves on their own encompassing greed for the other. A toxic whirlwind of emerald-green jealousy and blood-red rage, enveloped entirely by hazy, punch-drunk lust. Two titans locked in a battle for dominance, chasing the vulnerability of the other one.

He hard-swallows, using every ounce of strained willpower he has in his willowy body to retreat away from her, casting his savage need into an abyssal pit inside of him and sealing it before it swallows him. instead. Slowly, he manages to peel away, slowly setting her feet back on the ground, doing his best to compose himself despite the very blatantly obvious signs of arousal and his apparent state of both mental and physical dishevelment.

"I won't humor you forever, darling," He purrs, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back away from her, distancing himself from her control over his body that he loathes. "I always get what I want. You should know that."

She blinks up at him again, her lips puffy and skin smeared with swatches of blood that he has to bite his tongue to keep from tasting. "Not this time."

His lips quirk in a condescending grin at her adorable little show of defiance, resituating himself within his linen pants without shame. "We'll see, my dear."

With that, he abandons the 'conversation,' turning to walk out of the greenhouse, only sparing one last glance at her garden of flesh-- and then once back at her. It breaks his willpower in a way he is miserable to admit, but his need for her overwhelms his pride.

One last snarl in her direction, and he turns to stalk out, itching to backhand the smugness from her pretty face. If he does, he knows well enough that he will not be able to walk away from her. He will take her here and now in a maelstrom of blood, violence, and ruthless sex, and he will lose this little game of control, and he cannot have that.

Still, that doesn't mean she is allowed to believe she has any choice in the matter.

"It's been long enough. I am expecting you in my bed tonight. Do not make me come searching for you. You won't like what happens if I must seek you out."

She seems surprised and almost pleased with his minor acquiescence. It comes in the form of a demand, but she knows full well that it's the best she's going to get. She offers him a sweet smile, smoothing her skirts back down her legs from where he'd hiked them up around her still-quaking legs. He can still smell her, the wet between her thighs, the rich, royal blood flowing through her veins, her body that sings to him a siren song luring him to his fall. If he doesn't break something in soon, he is going to combust--

"We'll see."

He traipses back into the palace, body shuddering and shivering in its effort to control the raging hormones. He is ravenous, needing to drain someone dry and be drained dry-- and soon. Another well-trained servant greets in the halls, cautiously approaching upon seeing his dour expression, bowing from some distance away in case his master decides to lash out.

"My lord--"

"A concubine. Now. Sent directly to my chambers. We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Do not keep me waiting."

#morgana and friends #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x dark urge #nasty boy stuff and there's a body count in this #don't read if sensitive #lots of tension and a ping pong game of idiots trying to get the one-up on each other #just as toxic as you'd imagine #sorry this is not edited or proofread I was far too lazy #im proud of myself for just getting it out #It ain't great but hey it's what I got in me right now

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recuira · 9 months

Text

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two

chapter three | waves. wanted. wasted.

his pov;

A few weeks passed by and I had not heard from or seen Y/N. It worried me but due to her emotional episode the last time we spoke, I decided to allow her a bit of space without me breathing down her shoulder. It was difficult, but I sufficed. It was odd enough that I had a slight obsession with the poor girl, why must I infest her life as well?

Part of me believed she needed me. Like at any moment, I could sweep in and save her from whatever danger or predicament she was in. I wanted to be there for her. But it deemed up to her whether that could happen or not.

And due to her absence, I took up drinking again.

Stupid, I know.

But I was alone with my thoughts. I wanted to at least drown them out. So I sat by myself night after night, sitting on someone's old fishing boat, a warm bottle of beer in my hand. After the third bottle, which was tossed on the deck, I laid back, arms folding behind my head as I attempted to count each star in the sky without thinking of her. But the farthest I could ever go was seven. After seven, Y/N's sweet, precious smile wafted through my mind like smell of her decadent perfume. Vanilla and coconut. God, I missed it.

I repeated this each night. And tonight, I kept up with the schedule. But I only counted to six before her laughter soothed my aching heart. I smiled to myself, my eyes closing as I thought of her- thought of us. I imagined how pleasant it would be to wake up next to her. To see her sleeping stature as she buried her face into one of the pillows, surrounded by both my arms and blankets would be such a heavenly slight.

The alcohol did nothing to me.

I was still sober no matter how much I drank.

But I was drunk on her.

I shook my head and sat up, taking one last swig of beer before standing up. I gripped the neck of the bottle tightly then tossed it into the calm sea, watching it dip below the surface before it bobbed back to the top. I observed as the tides crashed, causing the boat to glide along the waves. It was a simple sight, but I wanted more. I wanted to be entertained. I didn't want to be alone.

Ever since- no, no, no. I'm not going to think about that.

I left the trash of empty beer bottles and crawled off of the ship, making my way back to the rocky dock. I made my way down the street, not spotting a single soul. It was rather unusual due to the swarms of pirates this small town received. But it was quiet. And I liked it. The sounds of the black shoes echoed as I stepped forward then walked down a small stairway, heading down to the place I liked to call home. It wasn't anything too special, but it was mine. It was somewhere I could be completely alone and relax.

I nudged the stone door open then shut it behind me, the sound of it slamming a little too loud for my liking. I squinted and fumbled around for the lantern that lit up the small abode. I used the dim moonlight to spot the box of matches and I used one to lit the lantern.

I stumbled to my bed, pressing my left foot against my right calf to discard of my shoe, then I repeated it with the other foot. I unbuttoned the striped vest I wore and let it slide down onto the floor. I pulled off the bandana around my neck, dropping it. A puddle of clothing sat by my bedside. Once I was finished, I laid down on the left side of the bed, my arm slung over my forehead.

But a rapid banging noise erupted, causing my body to jump up. It almost felt like I was falling.

Rubbing my eyes, I looked at the door and groaned.

What drunken idiot decided to disturb me tonight?

I slapped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes but the knocking continued, only growing more frequent and forceful. I couldn't take the loud banging anymore and I pushed myself up from the bed, starting to the door. I grabbed the rusted doorknob and yanked it open. I was seething at this point. Who, in their right mind, would disrupt someone's sleep at this hour?

The door opened quickly and I buried my face in my hand, growling. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Oh, I- I'm sorry."

What?

I dropped my hands and my eyes widened upon the sight of Y/N standing in front of me, her hands buried into the pockets of the coat she wore. My coat. "Oh, fuck," I muttered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was you. Y/N, I didn't mean it."

She waved her hands and smiled. "Don't worry about it, it's okay," She said and her eyes trailed down to look at my body. "Uhm, did I come at a bad time?" She pointed at my shirtless figure.

I cocked an eyebrow then met where her eyes were looking and I gasped, stepping back. For the first time, most likely ever, I felt embarrassed. "No, no, I was just heading to bed," I said with a yawn. I stood back, pulling the door open. "Want to come in?"

"Yeah, thank you."

Y/N took a step inside and I closed the door behind her. I watched her closely as she walked toward my bed then took a seat on it, her hands folding in her lap. Apart from the jacket, she was only wearing a black shirt with baby blue shorts. Her eyes dropped to stare at my discarded clothing which I quickly kicked to the corner of the room. She laughed at this then her hands slapped together. An uncomfortable silence fell upon us, the only noise heard being the crackling of the flame inside the lantern. Hesitating, I started toward the bed then took a seat beside her, maintaining a distance between us. Her head dropped to look at her hands. "So," She began, fiddling with her fingers. "I'm sorry to intrude like this, I just-"

"How did you know where I lived?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I turned my head to look at her.

"Oh, well, uh-" She scratched the back of her neck and clenched her jaw. "It sounds really weird so please don't call me creepy but I saw you a week or so ago. You were sitting on a boat. I followed you back to your home but before I could talk to you, you headed inside. I know it sounds so weird and I promise I wasn't stalking you! I was just too nervous to talk to you," She admitted, her head dropping into her hands.

So, I wasn't the only one. I smirked to myself and I watched her, admiring how nervous and timid she was. I tilted my head. "Don't worry, it's okay. Don't be scared to talk to me, though. I don't bite."

The girl chuckled, nodding her head. "I wanted to give you your coat back. I really appreciated the gesture but I don't want to take anymore from you than I already have," She mumbled as she let the sleeves fall from her shoulders. She folded the clothing and sit it on my lap. "And I don't have your money yet, I'm sorry."

"Y/N, don't apologize. I told you you didn't need to pay me back."

"But I can't accept it without paying you back. You've already done so much for me. You lent me your jacket, paid for my meal, listened to my woes, and gave me forty-three hundred berries. You're doing too much for me. I don't deserve it."

"You do deserve it. What makes you think you don't?"

"I don't know. It's stupid."

"Y/N, come on, tell me," I begged, reaching to put my hand on her shoulder. I was still wondering why she was here. Well, I understood, but why so late? It was well past midnight. Did she realize how dangerous it was to walk alone at this god forsaken hour?

"If I tell you, you need to tell me your problems, okay?" She said with a stern tone that I've never heard before. It was hot.

I held my hands up, nodding my head. "Yes, alright." I scooted back, letting myself rest against the pillows. I folded my arms over my chest, still feeling slightly exposed. “Oh, uh, do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have anything other than beer?”

“Not really, no,” I admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’m okay.”

I bobbed my head then proceeded to remain quiet.

“I just- I’m just me, ya know? I’m not anyone special. Yeah, I have a sad life because my dad left and I have not a single berry to my name, but other than that, I’m like everyone else. I don’t like pirates, I hate alcohol, and I eat dessert before the main course. How am I so different?” She threw her hands up to exaggerate her point. “Why are you doing all this for me? I don’t get it.”

“I see myself in you, or something. I don’t know.” I didn’t want to tell her how infatuated I was with her. Well, I wanted to, but how could I? She’d either run back home or tell me she wasn’t interested. Who would be interested with a nose like mine?

I grimaced to myself. “You’re a nice girl. And you seem sad all the time. I never see you smile. I’m always smiling.”

“That’s because it’s painted on your face.”

I clenched my jaw. “Good point. But you know what I mean. There’s a lot more to life than sadness. I get it, it’s hard. Life fucking sucks sometimes. Before I met you, I was, uhm, I wasn’t that great of a person. I was mean, conniving, evil, some would say. I was an asshole. I was selfish. But I decided to give that all up and move on, start a new life. Being sad and depressive all of the time just causes you to miss our on the good things. I get to see the sun shining each morning. I get to share a meal with a friend like you. Hell, I am fortunate enough to know someone like you. I want to help you. I was in your boat. And now I wanna help you back to shore,” I said as I reached out and let my hand rest on her thigh. Not in a perverted way, no, but as a way of expressing my deepest condolences for her.

Y/N frowned and let her hand rest on my own. “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I don’t give you anything in return.”

“You give me your friendship, your presence. I’m lucky to be friends with someone like you.”

“You consider us friends?”

“Well,” I gulped. “If that’s alright.”

“No, it is. I think we’re friends. too.”

I smiled at that. “Good.”

“Buggy,” The girl started, removing her hand from mine. “This is a big question and you already do so much for me. I’d hate to ask any more from you.”

“Go on.”

“Can I stay here? Just for tonight?”

“What? Of course you can. My home is your home.”

“My mom and I had a little fight earlier and I got kicked out for the night. I told her how I felt about my father and she told me she held no grudge toward him. That I was disrespecting him by saying I hated him for what he did,” She frowned and dropped her head. “Is that so wrong of me?”

“Of course not. You’re entitled to your own feelings.”

“Thank you, Buggy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Y/N nodded her head, sending a warm smile my way. It was such a heavenly sight. So beautiful, so sacred. To see someone as precious as her so sad made my heart ache. I could physically feel it. But I was determined to make her feel better. I wanted to show her that laughter truly is the best medicine.

I watched her closely, admiring the soft features on her face. She was perfect- beyond perfect, even. She was a goddess. And I’d worship the ground beneath her feet if I could.

“What time is it?” She asked.

“I think around two in the morning. It’s very late. Are you tired?”

“A little, yeah. I just had a long day.”

“Go to sleep then, come on.” I pushed myself up and off of the bed, landing on my bare feet. I pulled the sheets down and allowed for Y/N to crawl underneath them. She was shivering. “Do you want to wear the coat?”

“If it’s okay, please.”

I smirked. “Of course it is.”

The girl slipped her arms through and wrapped the lapels around herself before tucking the sheets around her body. Her head rested on the pillows and she hummed, a small smile settling on her face. “So cozy.”

“I know. It’s perfect for when I need my beauty sleep.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need beauty sleep,” She mumbled, turning to let her cheek rest atop the pillow. Her eyes closed, her long eyelashes casting a dim shadow along her cheeks.

What did that mean?

I peeked an eyebrow up as I stared down upon the restful angel, watching as she made herself comfortable.

“Have a nice sleep, Y/N.”

“Where are you sleeping,” She asked, her eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about me. Just get some shut eye.”

“I’m sorry for stealing your bed.”

“I’d lend you the very clothes off my back if it were to help you.” I patted the bed. “Now, come on, get some sleep.”

The girl nodded her head and remained silent now. Her lips parted as she breathed softly through them. How is it she looked even more angelic when she was sleeping?

I decided to follow my own advice and attempt to get some sleep. While not comfortable, I didn’t care. I say against the bed, resting my head back against the soft mattress, my eyes closing, and my arms folded across my chest.

It took a while but I fell asleep before I knew it.

-=-

her pov;

I woke up with a sudden jerk, my body tensing as I sat up. A soft groan left my lips and I bawled up my hands to rub at my tired eyes. It was still completely dark out. The small window allowed little-to-no light inside which was nice if I was able to fall back asleep again. But a cold sweat broke over my body and I pulled the sheets off of me. The thick, suede coat I wore slipped from my shoulders and I let it pool around me. My arms wrapped around myself and I leaned back, closing my eyes.

No nightmare or bad dream clouded my sleep so I was unsure of why I was awake. What time was it even? From what I could see, the sun was invisible and the moon shined dimly in the starry, yet cloudy sky. I pursed my lips and continued to rub at my eyes before letting my vision trail down to the sleeping man beside the bed. Buggy, for whatever reason, was fast asleep while sitting upwards, his arms tucked around his chest. He was snoring. Maybe that's why I woke up.

Clenching my jaw, I turned over to face the wall, allowing my eyes to drift to a close as I tucked my hands underneath my cheek. I wanted to fall back asleep because it seemed to be either late at night or early in the morning. I couldn't tell. But when a loud crack of thunder sounded almost directly outside, I realized why I was awake. The echoes of pouring rain followed almost immediately after, the pellets of water drumming upon the tin roof. Normally, the sound would serenade me to sleep but I was wide awake. For hours, at least, I remained awake, staring at the wall in front of me. I tossed and turned, attempting to remain comfortable but the only way I could rest was with a pillow between me legs, and the ex-pirate's coat tucked underneath my head. I sighed and closed my eyes. The rain continued and soon, there was a shuffling heard from behind me. A groan left Buggy's lips as he seemed to be stirring from his sleep. Light finally shined in through the window, the shadow of the man behind me rising from his comfortable spot on the floor. I turned over, my eyes closed to show that I was still asleep, or pretending to me. I squinted my eyes to watch the man as he pushed himself up, groaning while stretching his arms. He cracked his neck and rubbed at his eyes, only continuing to smear the face makeup he wore proudly. His red nose was definitely different but I didn't understand why he needed to follow along with the stereotype and paint his face to match. He wasn't a clown.

"Are you awake, Y/N?" His raspy voice asked which resulted in my eyes gluing shut. The feeling of the sheets lifting off my body appeared before the blankets settled underneath my chin.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit, just to get stuff to eat and drink. I won't be long," He whispered. I peeked my right eye open, watching as he fumbled to put his clothing back on. He buttoned his vest, attached his belt, tied his bandana back around his neck, then pulled the red-and-white striped wrap from his blue hair, a sudden wave of thick, blue hair running down his back. My eyes widened at the sight. He had long hair? Since when?

Buggy swooped his hair back into a ponytail, twisting it in a loop, then tucked it back underneath his bandanna. I closed my eyes again, still completely flabbergasted. I never would've guessed he had long air. That's so shocking.

I only realized that he left when the stone door slammed slut.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes then crawled out of the bed, moving to stand on my feet. Since I was his guest, I decided to tidy up while he was out. I started by making the bed, tucking the sheets and fluffing the pillows to make the bed look comfortable and well-made. Then I moved on to wiping down the nightstand. It was dusty and rather dirty but I wasn't one to judge. I moved on to cleaning the lantern before opening the drawer below. Inside were a few pairs of jewelry and a stack of books. I smirked. Buggy reads?

I sat down and pulled the novels out. I sorted through them, finding nothing to be eye-catching- just boring books about boring subjects. I pushed myself onto my knees and went to tuck the books back into the drawer but something caught my eye. I raised an eyebrow and pulled out a folded piece of crumpled paper. The edges were slightly burnt and torn. I pulled it apart and flattened it before turning it around.

My eyes widened.

Before I could properly react, the door pushed into the hinges, creating a loud noise like metal scraping against metal. I scrambled to hide the paper back underneath the books and I closed the drawer. Just as I stood up, the door slammed open and there Buggy stood with a parcel of fruits and two jugs of orange juice. "Oh, look who's awake," He said with a small smile as he kicked the door closed behind him.

I gulped hard and sat down on the bed.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I did," I whispered in reply.

He cocked an eyebrow up, looking to be puzzled by my sudden disturbed exterior. Dropping the items down on the countertop, he started to tear into the bags. "I figured you'd be hungry so I got you some stuff to munch on for breakfast. I got apples, too. Don't worry, they're not rotten." He chuckled.

"Thanks."

"What do you want? I can make you a plate." He looked at me as he started to cut into one of the fruits.

"I'm not hungry."

"What? You don't want anything to eat? Not even some orange juice?"

"No, I'm fine."

Buggy opened his mouth, his eyebrows scrunching together as he approached me. He squatted down and grabbed my arms, almost to hold himself up and to show me how serious he was. "What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I declined whatever he meant. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"No, something is wrong. Tell me," He instructed, his face remaining cold and serious, as if he were trying to interrogate me- like I committed some horrendous crime and he wanted me to come clean. I continued to reassure him, lying to him but for whatever reason, he saw right through my guise and gripped my arms. "Y/N, please tell me. Why do you seem so scared?" He frowned then his eyes grew wide. He dropped his hands. "Did I do something?"

I remained quiet, a frown stuck to my lips.

"Please just tell me."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The blue-haired man frowned and stood up, letting go of me. "Fine, don't tell me then." His eyes rolled and he approached the counter again, continuing to slice into the fruits. He seemed angry- very angry. The knife was practically slamming into the apple. "See if I care." He continued to talk. "My fault for trying to help you. Last time I'll do that."

A sullen look crossed my face and I looked down at my lap then back toward the bedside table. I reached for the handle. Buggy watched me and he scowled. "What are you doing?"

I jerked my hand back and frowned. "I promise I wasn't snooping."

"What do you mean?" He tossed a slice of apple into his mouth.

"I was cleaning up a bit. I made the bed and I dusted your nightstand."

"Okay?" He raised an eyebrow, now slowly chewing. "Thank you?"

"And- And I was looking in the drawer and I found-"

"What did you find?" He looked skeptical and he dropped the knife.

"Your wanted poster."

#captain buggy #x reader #buggy #opla fanart #buggy the genius jester #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy smut #op buggy #one piece buggy #one piece live action #live action buggy the clown #buggy the flashy fool #opla buggy #buggy x you #buggy x y/n

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alphajocklover · 1 month

Note

Man I'm just some scrawny skater and always have been. I always make fun of meatheads at the gym for being obsessed with size and power, but recently I watched the Hulk movie and I think I get it... The idea of becoming unstoppable and reigning supreme.

My friends have been worried about me since I've stopped hanging out with me and started hitting the gym but I wish I could just Hulk out without the whole 'Hulk speak' part. Something about letting my inner beast take over like the other dudes in the gym is tempting. Could you help me out?

The thing everyone forgets about the hulk is that, after decades of being in the comics, Bruce Banner is far more complicated than the movies would suggest. Sure, it started out like all the movies do, with Banner being transformed into the Hulk by some terrible accident, switching between forms whenever angered, but over the years and the dozens upon dozens of different storylines the Hulk has become so much more complicated. Over the years Bruce Banner has gained more than just one alternate personality. There’s himself, of course, ther nerdy genius. Then there’s the classic hulk, dumb angry and strong. But there have been many others over the years. Joe Fixit, the gray hulk with the mind and personality of a Vegas mobster, Doc Green/professor Hulk, a version of the hulk with both the brains and the brawn, and Green Scar, a cunning warrior who ruled an entire planet (for a short time). These are only a few of his many different forms and personalities. So, if you wanna be like the Hulk… it’s going to be more than just the nerd and the hunk.

Let’s start with the basics. That is to say, let’s start with you. The Skater. Your original personality, the one who makes fun of meathead jocks and doesn’t give a fuck about being strong. Or at least didn’t until recently. But after watching that movie… something’s changed inside of you. It awakened parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there. And I’m not speaking metaphorically. It seems that certain triggers now cause you to change into other forms, other people. At first they presented themselves as the sudden urge to workout and desire to be a jock, but now they don’t need to be just urges. They’ve developed into full on identities. When you’re not in a different form you’ll revert to your original self, the skinny skater you used to be… but that won’t be very often. Your other selves are way too greedy to give the pathetic little skater his fair share.

Next is your hulk. But for you it’d be more accurate to call him the Hunk. Beefy, muscular, dumb and sexy as hell. He’s everything you used to hate and everything you now long to be. An alpha male, a jock, a himbo, a stud. Your inner beast. He's the one who goes to the gym with your new bros, flirts with anything that moves, and flexes almost constantly. He isn’t brought forth by anger like the real hulk is though. You turn into the Hunk when horny. Makes sense. Just like how the Hulk is always angry, the Hunk is always horny. A complete and utter fuckboy stud, and until you get control over his wild libido, you’ll be turning into him almost constantly.

After that is your Joe Fixit. Let’s call him Joe. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Just like in the original comics Joe isn’t summoned by an emotion, but by the night. He’s drawn out by the thrill of the nightlife, by clubs and secret backrooms and grinding against each other in the dark while the beat pumps through you like a drug. He spends the first half of the night as a bouncer, using his beef, strength and sometimes even his charm to keep certain people out. The second half he spends flirting with chicks, dancing at the club, partying, drinking, and on a good night fucking his latest babe in the clubs VIP room. The best part is that he never has to deal with a hangover, and whichever you who wakes up in the morning is always well rested.

Your next form is the one who has it all. Your Doc Green, the one with the brains and the brawn. He actually is a med student who is trying to become a doctor, so let’s call him Doc. Charming, manly, and muscular, but also sensitive, kind and intelligent. His trigger is less clear, but you know he comes out when you need him. Whether its for a shift at work, to charm a girl or guy you actually like enough to date and not just fuck, he’s there. What he’s really good at though is making money. For a med student he’s shockingly loaded, probably because he set up a very successful onlyfans account for each of you. You, the regular you, watch his videos sometime. You always turn into the Hunk before the video ends.

Finally is the warrior. The green scar. You just call him Jock. Because that’s what he is. He comes out fairly rarely, only when you’re feeling very competitive, usually during sports events and bodybuilding contests. He’s tough, rough, and never backs down. He’s surprisingly intelligent, but uses most of this intelligence on strategy and tactics. He’s the perfect team leader, and is incredibly dominant on and off the field.

Between the Hunk, Joe, Doc, and Jock, there isn’t much time for you anymore. But this is what you wanted, want you fucking love being each of them. You finally released your inner beast. All four of them.

**hey there! Hope you guys liked the story. I know most people go a different direction when it comes to ‘hulking out’ but I thought maybe something a little different like this would be more interesting. I hope whoever requested the story enjoys it, and that you don’t mind me showing off my inner comic book geek**

#muscle growth tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #skater to jock #muscle tf #superhero tf

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wardenparker · 5 months

Text

Hurry Home

Frankie Morales x female reader x Santiago Garcia

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Reader is described as wearing feminine clothing and having hair long enough to run fingers through. Fluff. Domesticity. Food/alcohol. Oral sex (m receiving), mention of shower sex. Summary: A small snapshot of an established poly relationship. Notes: There is no world in which I do not want to be in a poly marriage with Frankie and Pope. End of story. I hope you enjoy!

The light in the living room is still on when you come through the door; the smell of long-cooked chili wafting from the kitchen where unwashed dishes sit waiting for the morning. You drop your purse in its traditional place on the little table by the door and immediately reach down to pry the high heels off your aching feet. Too many damned meetings have fried your brain and left you craving a hot dinner and sweet cuddles. Thankfully, that delicious smell from the kitchen and the sound of Yellowstone on the television in the living room mean that Santiago is home. Alas, the gentle snoring means he has fallen asleep on the sofa.

Intent on not waking him up, you decide not to turn on the light and move soundlessly around the kitchen in your stockings and dress, glad to have rejected your heels at the door. Santi’s chili is your favourite comfort food. It’s spicy enough to clean out your sinuses but so complexly flavored that he completely betrays his years of culinary school every time he makes it. And he never minds that you scoop it up in half a bag’s worth of convenience store tortilla chips every time you need that next level comfort. Tonight, you pour absurd amounts of cheap tequila and margarita mix into a novelty pint glass and tap the microwave button to stop the heating cycle before it beeps too loudly across the apartment.

You reach blindly over to grab a spoon out of the drawer and have one plopped into your hand instead. “Jesus Christ!” You hiss, snatching your hand away and just barely managing not to drop the flatware.

The snickering giggle from your right isn’t Santi’s.

“Frankie!” You almost shriek, face splitting into an immediate smile and throwing your arms around his neck without a second lost.

“Shh! Shhhh, love.” Frankie wraps his arms tight around your waist, breathing in the faded strains of your expensive perfume. “Santi’s sleeping.”

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin. He’s already stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers from whatever he’d put on that morning and he looks good enough to eat. Damn the chili, Frankie is a whole three course meal in his own right.

“I rescheduled for an earlier flight.” It sounds almost confessional, the way he quietly whispers in your ear. “I missed you.”

“Mmm,” The hum comes up from the back of your throat. “We missed you, too.”

“Is that why you have the world’s largest and saddest margarita in that glass?” Frankie smirks, raising one eyebrow at the glass on the counter next to your bowl. That awful sugary bottled cocktail mix only sneaks its way into your home when Frankie is away. As a former bartender he finds it fully offensive, but he knows you like sticky sweet drinks.

“Give me a break,” you beg, pouting fiercely. This is why you were having such a big drink tonight – not only because of the day you’d had at work but to empty the bottle before his return. “I had four meetings today, I earned this sugary tequila.”

Frankie knows how hard you work, constantly proving yourself day-in and day-out in an office full of men where you are the best educated in the room but always last to get a new client. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m only teasing.” He plies you with a soft kiss, letting it deepen when you sigh to let him in. Your reunions are like this more often than not now, after almost a decade together. In the beginning you would be fucking against a wall within minutes of the door closing, so desperate to feel each other’s touch again after a business trip or other time away that you had ruined a fair few pieces of clothing in moments of enthusiasm.

Now you linger together and let yourselves melt into each other, usually ending up going to bed early with a bottle of wine. When Santi had become a part of your romantic lives, you had become oddly more domestic, but you all quietly agreed that that was due to age and not a loss of passion. In fact, the only odd thing about it was that it had taken so long. For as close as Frankie and Santi had always been, it had taken the three of you going camping for a long weekend for something to finally happen.

Soft became sensual becomes hungry, and proof of that passion shows itself in you shoving Frankie’s hips against the kitchen counter so you can drop to your knees in front of him in synchrony with his boxers hitting the tiled floor.

“Goddamn.” Frankie’s long, thick fingers flex insistently against the base of your skull, not scratching or pulling, but encouraging as he drinks in the sight of you in the glowing shadow of the flickering living room television.

You have only gotten more gorgeous as you’ve gotten older, growing from an adorable little imp to an elegant and confident woman who owns her curves instead of hiding them. He’s always loved your body in every form, but he loves even more the way you’ve come to love yourself. With that confidence in yourself had come even more confidence as a lover – and he is more than okay with that. He simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t show you the vocal appreciation he has for your skills with your tongue. “Fuck, baby girl,” he moans, humming so deeply that he practically purrs.

“You know he’s just going to keep taking more out of town jobs if this is how he gets greeted at home.” Santi’s sleep-thick voice joins the rather obscene sound of your mouth leaving Frankie’s cock and your eyes flick up to Santi with an amused glint.

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t give him the same hello?” You tease. These men always make you smile. And moan. They always make you moan.

“Of course not.” Santi’s hand goes to his chest in mock affront before he leans down to nip at your bottom lip. “I gave him a good fuck in the shower. Obviously.”

“And I’m the one who’s spoiling him?” On your knees with Frankie’s length in one hand, you reach for the waistband of Santi’s joggers with the other and feel your smile go lopsided as your eyes grow darker. “I’ll spoil both of you, then.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Frankie apologizes by pulling Santi in close, untangling one of his hands from your hair only to catch it up in the other man’s equally thick locks as they come together in a kiss. You’ll lavish them with attention here and then they will bring you to bed where they have space to work over every inch of you – the three of you falling asleep in a sweaty pile of satisfied partners.

When Santi had joined your family, you and Frankie had become a little more domestic. You had found the piece of your marriage that you hadn’t known was missing in a clever, loving third partner, and now you can’t imagine your lives without him.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 11 months

Text

Nimona headcanons cause I love this chaotic little family

I’ve seen a lot of people say Ambrosius is a morning person and Bal is a night owl

And I have to respectfully disagree

Will Bal pull some all-nighters in the lab? Absolutely

But this man is the most early bird coded character I’ve ever seen in my entire life

When he isn't fully invested in a project he can't stay up past 10 pm

He wakes up at 6 am refreshed and barely needs caffeine

I’ve also seen a lot of people say he’s a dedicated coffee drinker but something about this man screams “Coffee gives me migraines”

Ambrosius on the other hand

That’s an insomniac if I’ve ever seen one

He’ll get ready for bed around 9 and then stay up til 3 in the morning

Poor babe needs coffee in an IV

He used to wake up really early back in the institute cause he was forced to run a mile every minute he was late to class

And he’s a heavy sleeper so after the wall came down and he quit being a knight he wouldn't wake up before 1 pm even with Bals help

And Nimona is just as bad

Most nights Ambrosius will leave the room because he moves a lot when he can’t sleep and Bal is a light sleeper

He’ll sit in the living room watching tv while trying to sleep and most of the time Nimona will join him

Every once and a while Bal will find them laying on top of each other on the couch and will take them back to their respective beds

And if you’re wondering what their favorite show to watch together is it’s those house-flipping shows

But not for the reason you think

Most people watch those shows cause they think it’s inspiring

Ambrosius and Nimona talk about how terrible these people are at their jobs

They’ll go on hour-long rants about how these people are stripping the houses of everything that made them a home

(Ambrosius is a sentimental bitch and would be a maximalist after leaving the institute prove me wrong)

When Nimona is bored she’ll go into the city disguised as Bal or Ambrosius

And she’ll fool literally everyone it’s a pretty common occurrence for the boys to be at home and then they hear the other swearing like a damn sailor because there are already news articles about it

The only people she can’t fool are Bal and Ambrosius

Bal will shut them down almost immediately

They’ll walk over to Bal and won’t even get a word out before Bal says “Shift back Nim you’re freaking me out”

They always make a big deal out of being caught making big decorations like “I’m getting better and one day I’ll fool you”

And he’ll hum in agreement but he knows that it doesn’t matter how good he gets or how observant he is he’ll be able to fully copy every little detail

The details that Bal has spent the past decade and a half remembering

You know the little things like how he can’t say Bal or Nimona’s names without smiling even when he’s pissed

Or how he scrunches his nose when he laughs

Ambrosius always acts like Nimona tricked him

He’ll let them get comfortable in the character and then he’ll drop the bomb

Something small and inconspicuous like “Hey Nim do you want pizza for dinner?” and they’ll excitedly proclaim “Hell yeah pizza!”

It takes them a second to realize they’ve been played and when they do they never make a big deal about it

They normally just mumble a curse or two and walk away with their tail between their legs (literally)

The first time Nimona tried to trick Ambrosius was when he was having one of those days

You know the days when even breathing feels like a fucking battle

This was in a really awkward period too

Like right after Nimona and Ambrosius started trusting each other but right before they really started to get to know each other

But she knew the boys well enough to know if Bal came home to a sad Ambrosius then he’d be in a bad mood for the rest of the day

And she knows that the only thing that can cure a mopey Ambrosius is Bal

She walked into the room and started talking to Ambrosius and was kind of surprised and a little bit peeved about how well she was fooling him

Until he said “You can drop the act Nim I know it’s you”

They kind of just sat in that silence for a minute until Nimona said the first thing that came to her mind

“You want me to find my sax?”

Bal shouldn’t have been surprised to find Nimona disguised as him serenading Ambrosius with the worst freestyle jazz he’s ever heard (which is saying something)

He didn’t even say anything he just sat down and cuddled the love of his life while watching their kid try and play the sax while breakdancing

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #those dorks know each other better than they know themselves #I'm fully convinced Bal has spent days counting the freckles and beauty marks on Ambrosius' face #Cause they're sappy like that #Nimona isn't the best at comforting people #it's a real learning curve #especially cause these boys have a sadness that runs crazy deep #I'm sending all of these poor traumatized bubs to therapy #this is so long #I think it’s the longest post I’ve made in a while

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vickdrake · 5 months

Text

Do i know you?

Jake opened his eyes finding the annoying glow of his computer, with those codes that had been left undeciphered after he inexplicably fell asleep on the table.

He didn't remember the exact moment when he had fallen into the world of dreams, but he knew that it was due to an oversight that should not happen again. Tiredness took its toll on him after months without sleeping properly, or rather without sleeping at all.

He cracked his neck, letting out a grunt of relief before looking out the hotel room window. It was autumn, the leaves were falling withered from the trees, indicating that winter was approaching and that everything old had to disappear to make way for a new beginning.

His pursuers seemed to be getting closer, always straining his patience and making him change hiding places more often. When he woke up his first concern had been to check where they were, but he was surprised to see that they had not yet picked up his signal, that they were still quite far away from him.

“Strange” he thought.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and staring into the corner of the room as he remembered a dream even stranger than the fact that his pursuers had not already knocked on the door (although they would never really knock, they would broke it).

Have you heard of people who don't dream? Jake was one of them. Dreams were not recurring in his life since he was little.

And I'll tell you something else, as a child, Jake feared his dreams because they were always too real.

This time it turned out to be a dream within a dream.

There he had also been sleeping as if he had no worries in the world other than rest, but the difference was that this time he was not alone.

A girl who radiated as much light as beauty caressed his hair as he opened his eyes.

—Good morning, sleepyhead. I've never seen you sleep as much as you did today —she said, smiling with amusement and tenderness as she tangled her fingers in the locks that covered Jake's eyes—. Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming? I almost thought you weren't going to wake up.

He himself had thought that it would be weird to find a strange woman at his side, speaking to him as if they had known each other for a long time, but his body, his mind, had reacted in a different way, ending up putting his arm around her waist and approaching to kiss her.

"Wait, wait, i haven't brushed my teeth yet," the woman protested, laughing as he left kisses on her neck and cheeks as he sought her lips.

"I don't care," Jake heard himself say at the same time he managed to make her stay still so he could kiss her hungrily.

She had complained that it was disgusting, but he didn't care at all.

In his dreams he had a life with her, they were both happy and Jake remembered laughing like he hadn't heard himself in years.

Through the tricks his head played on him, he managed to feel the human warmth of someone else for a period of time that felt like decades. It seemed to him that it was someone else's life, someone completely oblivious to him but at the same time had everything to do with himself.

He remembered her delicate fingers on his face, drawing paths across his chest, playfully running over his neck and tracing the shape of his eyebrows in a reassuring way.

He discovered that an engagement ring was on her ring finger and a feeling of pride, joy and overflowing love invaded him as soon as he saw that image. His girlfriend, his girl, his fiancee. Or rather, the fiancee of that Jake who did have a happy and free life.

His own mind playing with him, reminding him that he would never have a life like that, that he would rather end up rotting in prison or dead, buried and forgotten.

After a while he forgot the dream.

He completely forgot about the girl's face, the scent of her hair, and her smile that became Jake's favorite thing for at least five minutes after he woke up.

He continued to run away because it was what he knew how to do best, the only thing he could do, and he didn't allow himself to go back to sleep.

But... One afternoon, almost a year later.

A fragrance invaded his nostrils when the door of the Rainbow coffee opened.

An essence of roses, jasmine and… sea salt.

It seemed like a strange mix, although it made sense as he began to remember every detail of his dreams.

The rose petals that she put in her books so that they would be dissected, the jasmines that she loved so much and that Jake left next to her pillow every time he had to run away again, and the sea salt from that beach where he decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life being by her side, that place where as soon as he saw her come out of the water with her clothes and hair wet, laughing and throwing water at him, he was so hypnotized that the words came out of his mouth on their own.

"Marry me".

It had been a while since the iron mine had caught fire with Richy Rogers and Jake inside, Hannah was slowly recovering after they had managed to rescue her and the rest of her friends were trying to be strong for her but at the same time they couldn't ignore the pain of Richy's death.

The woman, who had helped the group and the hacker, decided to distance herself although she did not lose contact with any of them. She didn't go where she wasn't called, she comforted those who came to her and one day she finally decided it was time to say goodbye.

Jake watched from a table as she entered the cafeteria. Everything about her seemed so incredibly familiar even though he had never seen her in his life and also he could feel deep inside that he knew every mole, scar and mark from her body.

He didn't care about looking crazy as he looked at her, he had no interest in being careful as he found himself immersed in the lost expression on her face as she looked out the window, in how she drummed her fingers on the table and then how she took the cup of coffee to her lips.

He wanted to touch her, call her, say all those words that he had only spoken to her by message, discover if her hair was really as soft as in that dream, if her hands really radiated that comforting warmth.

Then he noticed that she was no longer looking at the cup of coffee or at the people passing by on the street but directly at him.

His heart began to accelerate and he felt the beat reach his ears, also causing his breathing to become agitated.

"I know you"

His legs moved on their own, making him get up to go after her as soon as he saw her grab her things and go to the cashier to pay. He didn't approach, not wanting to draw too much attention from her, but it was inevitable for the woman to get scared when she found him a few meters away from herself. Of course she must have guessed it was him at some point.

Jake heads toward the door to open it, but he turns his head in her direction just to let her know that he's waiting for her. He sees her doubt, observe him, analyze him, and he understands that she is wondering if she is wrong about who he is. She begins to approach, without taking her eyes off him, she watches him carefully, patiently, and Jake has to control the impulse to put his arms around her waist and press her against his body as soon as they face each other.

Nobody says anything. They communicate through looks. Jake thinks about what he wants to tell her and it seems to work, she seems to understand, because her frown softens.

“I love you,” a corner of his mind whispers and he smiles slightly.

No one else in the cafeteria is important, she overshadows anyone else and makes him forget that they've been looking at each other for a while, what wakes him up is her voice uttering a soft “thank you” before she walks through the door and leaves.

Jake watches her walk away, but he knows that she expects him to follow her so he doesn't waste time and with a more noticeable smile, he closes the door of the cafeteria and while he puts his hands in his pockets he decides that from the beginning she was always his destiny.

PS: This story is slightly linked to “With or without you”.

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood game #everbyte game #jake duskwood #everbyte studios #everbyte duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake x mc #jake donfort #duskwood jake x player #jake x mc #jake x reader

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bekaroth-reads · 12 days

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Baldur's Gate 3 Characters x Reader/Tav with childcare habits

[ Not sure what to title this. I work with toddlers and very small children, and there are so many habits that leak over into other things I do. Thought that it would be funny if Tav had the same problem. Not necessarily romantic relationships, it can be platonic too. This is written gender neutral so it can be any reader or Tav.]

Gale- There was a general air of exhaustion that hung over the camp. But, on the bright side, at least Gale could rest easy in the knowledge that there was a very powerful, easy to consume artifact in his hands. While he usually liked to go through the whole song and dance of this unfortunate requirement by himself, he didn’t mind if you were there. You had both seen each other in stranger situations by this point. Add to this that you looked like you were about to fall asleep at any moment, there wasn’t much to be self conscious about.

Just as Gale put the artifact to his lips, you suddenly moved his hand away, giving it a few gentle taps.

“Ick, ick! Makes a Gale sick.” You mumbled, not conscious enough to be considered awake before you rolled over and fell asleep proper.

Gale gave a tickled chuckle that was slightly tinged with the bitterness of the truth in the situation.

“Oh, believe me. I know.” He patted your shoulder and got back to the deed at hand.

Halsin- Everyone else had retired to their tents except Halsin and yourself. The both of you had offered to clean up the mess from dinner. You had talked for awhile, but finally got around to actually cleaning. The pot that was used to cook dinner was left too close to the fire, so it was still too hot to touch with your bare hands. You had used a cloth to move it away, and were waiting for it to cool off when Halsin came over to pick it up.

Moving faster than your thoughts, you moved away his hand while instinctively saying.

“Hot, hot for Halsin!”

You were hoping that he somehow didn’t hear what you had said exactly. And, when all he responded was a polite, “Thank you for the warning,” you thought he might have not. However, Halsin was literally biting his tongue to try not to laugh.

A few days later, he teased you by taking a lit torch from you and gently scolding, “Hot, hot for Tav.”

Astarion- Things haven’t been great for him lately. And, by lately, he meant decades. However, he could wallow in self pity later. Right now he needed to feed, and animal blood wasn't cutting it. Lucky that you seemed to put your bed roll a bit farther from the fire than the others in the group.

He quietly sneaked his way over to you, and prepared to strike. However, when his fangs hit your neck, things took an unexpected turn.

"No bites! Not nice!" You scolded in your sleep as your hand moved to rest on his forehead and gently push him away.

You suddenly woke up. The two of you stared at each other, neither saying anything. After an agonizing awkward few minutes, he walked away.

The next morning he pulled you aside from the rest of the party and sternly whispered, "Look- you don't mention that I'm a vampire and I won't tell them about the baby-talk."

Shadowheart- She and Lae'zel had gotten into an argument. Nothing new for either of them. This one really got under Shadowheart's skin this time.

"Can't believe that slimly toad of a woman thought she could pull something like that..." She grumbled as she stomped past you.

"Hey, are you using your kind words?" You asked.

This stopped her in her tracks and she turned to look at you, her anger almost completely replaced by myrth. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" She questioned, her voice sounding as devious as she felt.

"Are you speaking well about our teammates?" You rephrased.

Raphael- He had insisted that he recite a new poem that he was working on, even if he had to wake you up to do so. Despite trying to stay awake, you couldn't help but doze off on Haarlep's shoulder. They didn't mind as, though they weren't physically tired, they would also rather be anywhere else. The two of you both being Raphael's quite literal captive audience.

"Oh, no. That most certainly is NOT what you asked me." Shadowheart teased. She wouldn't let you live this down for a long time. She's never too hard on you though.

Once the cambion had finished, he looked at the both of you expecting praise for his prose; Haarlep elbowed you just in the nick of time so you could sit up before Raphael noticed.

"Well?" He goaded.

"Truly, you have outdone yourself." Haarlep gave a purposefully unconvincing cheer.

Raphael rolled his eyes before moving his attention to you. "And, you, Tav?"

Still not fully aware of how you sounded or anything in the actual contents of the poem, you said, "Oh, how pretty, Raphael!" like you would have to a child that just gave you a finger painting.

The next thing you knew, Haarlep was rushing down the hall, you slung over their shoulder, their wings hitting your head with every movement, as they were laughing so hard it almost turned into a coughing fit. The quick escape must have been from the vaguely Raphael shaped fire right behind you, snapping and flinging blazes your direction while cursing and yelling about you not knowing what true art is.

Haarlep- They had heard that you had taken a pretty nasty hit to the head. Still, they hadn't quite expected what they were greeted with when they went to take stock of your condition like they were asked to. (Nurse work wasn't usually in their duties, but Raphael couldn't be bothered to do this himself.)

They appeared in your room to see you sitting on your bed, staring at nothing.

"Knock, knock, little mortal." They announced their presence which tore your eyes away from the space you were looking at.

You looked at them for a moment before giving a exasperated sigh.

"Where are your clothes?" You asked.

They blink a few times, not knowing how else to respond. "I beg your pardon?" They eventually asked.

You walked over to your closet and started digging through it. Eventually you walked over with a completely mixed matched set of clothes. "You have to wear something. You can't just run around in your undies!" The last part was very exaggerated as you lightly pinched and wiggled their nose.

They immediately returned to Raphael with you in tow. "It's worse than we thought." Was all they said as they sat you down and walked away.

Gartash- To say that Enver Gortash's work and habits were messy would be an understatement. It was certainly no different tonight. He had gotten blood and viscera all over him. And, seeing as he loved to get a rise out of you, he chose not to wash it off before going to find you.

When he saw you reading, he took a moment to compose himself to seem as though nothing was amiss, and walked calmly up to you.

"Anything interesting in your books today?" He asked, barely holding his excitement to hear you yell at him.

You started to say something, but when you turned to look at him you took a cloth from your pocket. Reaching up, you rubbed the blood from his face; each pass of the cloth was acompanied with a sing-song, "Wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe."

Gortash was baffled and indignant that he didn't get the reaction he wanted. He smacked your hand away and yelled, "What in the hells was that?!"

"Sorry," you offered sheepishly, "force of habit."

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