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kaleldobrev · 1 year

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Shiny New Toy (1)

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Summary: You're Demon Dean's shiny new toy

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Age Gap, Cursing (3x), Smut (Oral Sex, Fingering), Virgin Reader, Demon Dean (yes, he gets a warning), Bondage (kinda?), Forced Orgasm (kinda?)

Authors Note: I feel like I should apologize for this cause I wrote this when I was horny past midnight when I should have been sleeping but I'm not going to apologize | What I should be apologizing for is the fact that I wrote this knowing that it's gonna be multiple parts | This is the more tamer of the parts | 18+ only please | MDNI | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, trying to adjust to the unnatural red glow of the room you were currently in. Your hands were above your head, chained up and in thick cuffs. Your legs were spread apart equal to your shoulders; they too were chained up in similar cuffs. Looking down at your body, you almost didn’t realize what you were wearing at first, as you were too distracted by the cuffs on your wrist and ankles. You were wearing a thin layer of clothing; wearing something that you hadn’t bought yourself, nor would ever buy. You were wearing a matching set of lace see-through lingerie. And from the feeling of the cold metal against your ass, the panties that you were wearing was in fact a thong - something you hated more than anything.

Your stomach felt like it was in knots, and your throat was unbelievably dry, like you hadn’t had water in days. You didn’t know how long you had been in this room; the last thing you had remembered was being in the Bunker, you and Sam being chased with a hammer by Dean. In this moment, all you could think about was Sam, hoping and wishing that he was okay.

The sound of a metal door opened behind you, and from the sound of it, it sounded heavy. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather your thoughts and trying to lower your racing heart; but it was all a failed attempt. In addition to the door you heard heavy boots walking across the floor behind you, followed by a small chuckle. The heavy boots and that chuckle were two things that you instantly recognized. “Dean.” You mumbled, letting out a breathy sigh.

A hand touched your arm, and your body jumped and tensed at the same time from the contact. Dean finally coming into view, giving you the flirtiest of smiles; one that you had been so accustomed to getting from him. “Hey Sunshine.” Your heart picked up the pace at hearing your nickname that he had reserved only for you. “Your heart is going a million miles. I could hear it down the hall.”

He ran his hand down your arm, across your breasts, all the way down to your stomach, just stopping right above the hem of your panties. “Where are we?” You asked.

“We’re in Hell Sweetheart.” He said so matter of factly. You were fucked. One of his fingers started playing with the hem of your panties; a part of you was starting to get turned on, but another part of you tried remaining strong; but that part was failing as your body was reacting in a much different way. You were almost embarrassed, ashamed that you were getting turned on; and Dean had barely touched you.

He removed his finger from the hem and walked over to a small cart that consisted of an assortment of tools. He picked up one tool, that seemed like a knife of some sort. Your body tensed up again, afraid of what he was going to do with it. Dean chuckled, noticing that your body had tensed. “You afraid of this?” He asked, holding the knife up, a small grin on his lips. You nodded. “Aw baby.” His voice seemed very amused.

Walking over to you, he gently started tracing the point of the knife on your skin. He didn’t apply enough pressure to leave any marks, but just enough to feel the sharpness from the blade. He started at your legs and started tracing upward, stopping at the hem again. For some reason, he was obsessed. “So beautiful.” He mumbled. He looked at you, still grinning. “I picked this little number out for you. Needed to know if you would look just as good as I pictured you would.” He paused for a moment before taking the blade of the knife and cutting off the thong; quickly throwing it off to the side. “More beautiful than I pictured.” You knew he was no longer talking about the lingerie, but your bare pussy in front of him. Although you weren’t naked, you might as well have been.

“Dean.” Was all you could get out. You had wanted to say more, but your body wasn’t cooperating.

“If I touch you, are you going to be wet for me?” He asked. You weren’t sure if he had actually wanted you to respond or not. But before you could, one of his fingers was already touching your clit. You sucked in a breath at the sudden contact. He looked at your pussy for a moment as he slowly slide his finger up and down moving some of the wetness around. He looked at you, seeming satisfied that you were already wet for him. “Sweetheart, I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.” His face changed then, his grin almost turning into an evil like smirk. “Wait. That’s right. You’re a virgin.” He chuckled. “Virgins get wet so easily. I almost forgot what that’s like.”

You had told Dean in confidence a few months ago that you were a virgin. Upon telling him, he had practically offered to take it. But you had told him that you didn’t want to lose your virginity with a one night stand, that you had wanted to lose it to someone that you loved and someone that loved you just the same. You remembered briefly now, that he almost seemed hurt by your words.

“Now tell me.” He began, putting the knife back into the cart. “When you say virgin, how virgin are we talking here?” He asked. “Ever been fingered? Eaten out?” You shook your head. “Never? Not even once?”

“No.” Your no sounded so weak. It wasn’t like you didn’t want those things, you just never really had the opportunity. Hunting had taken up a lot of your time, and you weren’t one for one night stands. So getting fingered, eaten out, or having sex was something that didn’t happen for you. Although you were a little ashamed, you also weren’t completely upset by it either, given the fact that you had only just turned 21 a few weeks prior - it was perfectly normal for a woman your age to still be a virgin in all senses of the word.

“You know, when you first told me that you were a virgin, I gotta say Sweetness, I was very surprised.” He said, stepping in between your legs. “But, it gave me thoughts about you that…” he licked his lips before he started kissing your inner thighs. “Made me realize how badly I’ve wanted you forever.” More kisses; and more wetness started to form. A small moan had escaped your lips. “Cause baby, when I first met you, I wanted you, and wanted you bad. But, had to stop myself. You know why?” He licked a long strip of your clit. “Even though you were 18, a part of me thought that it was so…wrong to ruin you that young."

You shouldn’t have been turned on by his words but you were. You remembered the day you had met Dean. You had just turned 18 a few weeks before and you just graduated from high school. You had noticed the way Dean had looked at you, giving you his classic flirty smile. But you noticed how quickly his demeanor changed once you said how old you were. His demeanor going from overly flirty, to dad or friend. You had figured in that moment that he had no intentions of ever wanting to pursue a relationship with you given your age. You were a little crushed to say the least.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been trying to control myself around you.” He took one of his fingers and started to slowly push inside your cunt. “So many times I pictured what it would be like to just bend you over the counter and fuck that little ass of yours raw.” His finger was going slow, and you were thankful for that; but amazed at the same time. “So many times I’ve pictured having my head between these legs of yours and eating you out until your legs turned into jello.” He added a second finger now, and you tensed up, clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so wet for me.” He mumbled. “And you’re taking my fingers real good too.” He said a bit louder. Two of his fingers were now fully inside of you, knuckle deep. “I may be a demon, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be nice and not let you cum. Especially given the circumstances.” The way he said it, it sounded almost as if you should be thanking him. His movements started going slow, as he started pumping his fingers inside of you. It was a weird sensation, but a sensation that your body had craved for such a long time; especially from Dean. You had wanted so much to lose your virginity to him; but not to this version. He was a demon, a cruel, heartless knight of hell. Not your sweet, loving, nerdy best friend whom you were in love with.

“Dean please…” You weren’t sure what you had wanted to say in that moment. You didn’t necessarily want him to continue or to stop; your body and mind were confused. You had felt like you shouldn’t have been wet for him, to be turned on, he was a demon after all. But all you saw and felt was Dean, no demon in sight despite what you had actually knew.

“Yes Sweetheart?” He asked, his fingers were starting to pick up the pace, every so often his fingers would hook and curl inside of you, trying their best to get the perfect angle. You felt yourself starting to get wetter and wetter, and you knew how much Dean was enjoying this. He had pictured you so many times. “Need you to use your words doll.”

The pressure inside of you was building, your pussy clenching around his fingers. “My little virgin gonna cum?” He practically whispered. You couldn’t help but nod. “You know how I know? You’re clenching so tight around my fingers.” He smirked. His free hand tilted your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Your hips instinctively started swiveling trying to help yourself cum. He looked at your hips for a moment before making eye contact with you again. “Look at those little hips go.” He grinned again. “Want to look at your face the first time you cum. Need to see your O face.”

His fingers were aggressive now, his movements were erratic. Although you were close to an orgasm, it almost felt like he was trying to force one out of you; something that you didn’t think was possible. A moment later you started coming; your face contorted, and your eyes briefly shut. Your hips bucked up, and Dean continued to finger you through your orgasm. “Fuck.” You breathed out, your chest rising and falling. He removed his fingers from your cunt, and you already missed them inside of you. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean.

“More delicious than I pictured.” He said. “Can’t wait for you to cum around my cock.” He smirked. This was going to be a long night for sure.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #demon dean x reader #demon dean x you #spn #supernatural #reader insert #female reader

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herenya-writes · 4 months

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To Kneel at Your Feet

So, uh, I tried my hand at a little Dreamling fic when a particular image wouldn't get out of my head.

~1850 words, Rated T (violence, non-graphic injuries, a bit of foul langauge), pre-relationship Dreamling set a few months after Dream escapes the fishbowl but before he's told Hob who he is

When a shadow fell over him, Hob figured he was fucked. Well, even more fucked than he already had been.

The day had started pretty normal. Term was over for the summer, and he had finally finished the last of the marking the night before, so he had let himself laze in the sunny patches of his bed until almost noon when the grumbling of his stomach drove him to the kitchen for food. The rest of the day had been syrupy slow, with a light frisson of anticipation running through. He was meeting his Stranger tomorrow morning for brunch, their first pre-evening meeting and the fifth one they had had since his Stranger had returned. So it was with a spring in his step that he had gone through the rest of the day, chatting with Mrs. Giles up the road about whether he could buy a few cases of her jam to serve at the Inn, taking a stroll around the park, mixing up a batch of scones. When Sasha called in sick, he had gladly picked up their shift bar-tending at the Inn, and even that had been lovely. A faster pace than the rest of his day, sure, but the night had been full of familiar faces and easy laughter.

He had been closing up the Inn and wiping down the last of the tables when the bell above the door rang. He didn’t get out so much as a word before the bullets were flying.

He managed to dodge them for a good while, but even his immortal body got tired of crouching and diving eventually. Plus, there were three of them, all armed, and only one of him. He had a bat and an array of knives behind the bar and an assortment of weapons in his flat above, but he didn’t see how he could get to either of those places unscathed. He’d survive, of course, but that could cause even more problems depending on how smart these thugs were.

His next dodge had been a bit too slow, and as he slid behind the sturdy oak of one of the booths a bullet buried itself in his shoulder. He snarled at the pain and pressed a hand to the wound on instinct. His immortality meant he’d survive no matter how many times these assholes shot him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the bite of metal burrowing into his flesh.

It was as he was leaning against the wood, listening for footsteps and considering his options that a shape blocked the light above him. He swore and held up an arm to guard his face on instinct, but when he looked up it wasn’t one of the thugs he saw.

In the muted light of the Inn, his Stranger stood, clothed as always in his black coat, jeans, and boots, a minuscule frown pulling at his lips.

Without thinking, Hob grabbed the hem of his Stranger’s coat and yanked him down. His Stranger went, and a millisecond later bullets soared through the air where he had been standing.

“Sorry, friend. You chose a dangerous time to stop by,” he gasped. He had grabbed his Stranger with his left arm, and the bullet wound in his shoulder was protesting loudly.

His friend’s face took on a pinched expression, brows furrowing in a way that would have been adorable in another situation.

“You are injured,” he observed, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. Hob could listen to that voice all day, and despite the circumstances he could feel his heartbeat slowing at just those three words. “You are not healing as you should.”

Hob blinked and looked down. Damn, his Stranger was right. One of the side effects of his immortality was that any injuries he sustained healed rapidly. Serious stuff like disembowelment still took a long (and excruciatingly painful) time to heal, but the process happened much faster for him than a normal human. He had been stabbed in a knife fight once in his second century of living and by the time the other fellow had hit the floor the only evidence of the wound had been the blood on his skin and the tear in his shirt. A bullet hole should have shown evidence of closing by now, but it was still gaping open and bleeding freely.

“At least I won’t have to cut the bullet out later,” he joked, but the tremble in his voice ruined his attempted levity.

“There are very few weapons in this world or another that could harm you so,” his Stranger declared, and something like lightning flashed in his eyes. His expression turned stone cold, and in a fluid movement he rose to his feet and turned toward the gunmen. Hob scrambled up after him, biting back curses, but he stopped short when he realized there weren’t any bullets flying through the air.

In the space of a blink, all the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and gather around his Stranger, and Hob swore he saw recognition begin to dawn on the face of the lead thug as his Stranger stepped forward and extended one pale arm.

“Servants of the Morningstar, by what edict do you walk the Earth and seek the life of one to whom Death has denied her gift?” His Stranger’s voice buzzed with barely-restrained power, and something deep in Hob’s human brain told him to run and hide. He stayed where he was, though, and so did the gunmen, even as they trembled in obvious fear.

“Dead or not, the glory of claiming an immortal’s head for Lucifer’s throne room is undying,” the one in the middle declared. Hob was almost impressed with how even their voice was.

“You have attacked him in his home, unarmed and unaware of your challenge. There is no glory here, hellspawn.” His Stranger spat the word ‘glory’ like it was vinegar on his tongue, and all three creatures (he had thought they were human, but now he could swear an outline of fire flickered around them) recoiled. Still, they didn’t flee.

“He is unclaimed, Dreamlord. Glory or not, he’s ours for the taking!”

The shadows in the room deepened impossibly, and the air pressure dropped fast enough that Hob’s ears popped and every hair stood on end. His Stranger took a menacing step forward, standing directly between him and the gunment now. When he spoke, the power in his voice shook the floorboards and set Hob’s very bones buzzing.

“Is that so? Allow me to correct that oversight.”

His Stranger threw back his coat, and it melted into a midnight black robe. The folds of the fabric were ablaze with swirling galaxies that seemed to spill into the shadows that surrounded him. The power radiating off him now was equal parts strange and familiar, like hearing a song for the first time but immediately knowing the chorus. Any unease Hob had felt settled at once, even as the gunmen began to quiver and keen in dismay. His Stranger spoke over their sounds of distress, his voice firm and unyielding. In that moment, Hob had no doubt that he could make any declaration and reality would bend itself to reflect his will.

“I, Dream of the Endless, Shaper of Forms, Oneiromancer, Prince of Stories, King of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms, declare Hob Gadling to be under my protection. Harm him and know the unfettered wrath of the Dreaming.”

Hob had been a lot of things in the past 600-plus years. He’d tried his hand at just about everything that had held his attention for longer than a week, and he had even been decent at a fair chunk of it. Hell, he’d even been knighted once! Right now, he probably had enough wealth squirreled away in stashes across the world to keep him living comfortably for the next two hundred or so years. At his core, though, he was nothing more than a peasant.

His knee hit the floor before his Stranger even finished speaking, and he barely felt the way the movement shocked his still-bleeding shoulder. All he could do was gaze up at his Stranger, awe, in the oldest sense of the word, flooding him. Dream of the Endless. His Stranger had a name. His Stranger was a king.

He wasn’t sure what happened with the thugs after that. There was a moment when the Inn got so dark all he could see where the pinpoints of light in his Stranger’s eyes and the galaxies swirling in his robe, and the next the light had returned and his Stranger had turned that fathomless gaze on him.

He lowered his eyes. “My king.” His tongue was heaving in his mouth, and his throat was sand paper. There was a spit of crimson blood, his blood, on the hem of his Stranger’s robe.

“You would kneel and call me king? Even after the wrongs I have committed against you? I did not even grant you the courtesy of my name.” Power still rumbled in his Stranger’s voice, but it was leashed now in a way that sent a spark racing up Hob’s spine. God help him, but he had always loved a bit of danger.

He risked a glance up and saw his Stranger’s perfect lips twisted in a frown, his brows drawn together like Hob was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“I don’t need anything from you that you aren’t ready to give, my friend. You came back to me, and that was more than I could ever hope for.” Those words strayed a bit too close to another truth—that he would have waited forever just for a glimpse of his Stranger’s face, just to hear a single word from his lips—but Hob wasn’t about to start lying now, not when this magnificent creature, this otherworldly lord, had deemed him worthy of his time and attention despite all odds. His Stranger had returned after over 100 years to sit in a pub and listen to Hob ramble about airplanes and smartphones and humanity reaching the moon. How could anything he had to say possibly have captured the attention of a king with no doubt a million other duties to attend to?

His Stranger regarded him, galaxies swirling in his black eyes to match the ones dancing across his robe. Hob tore his gaze back to the floor for fear of falling in.

“Rise. You owe me no servitude or obeisance, Hob Gadling.”

Hob wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut and did as his lord bid. He bit back a growl of pain as he stood, and in a blink his Stranger was there, long arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him up with unnatural strength. Together, they hobbled up the stairs to his flat, and his Stranger laid him gently on the couch and let Hob grip his hand too tightly as he dug out the bullet lodged in his shoulder, seemingly uncaring of the way the crimson blood stained his pale fingers.

#Dreamling #the Sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my fics #herenya writes #the image of hob dropping to his knees as soon as he realized Dream is a king wouldn't leave me alone #i know the ending is a bit abrupt #but in my head this exists in a much longer context #maybe i'll write it one day

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ethereal27cereal · 2 years

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Curls - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

part 2

summary: Eddie is getting ready to meet your parents for the first time after a year of dating. He is particularly nervous about impressing them, so you help him do his hair. And then help him relax a little 😉

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. established relationship, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (mention of birth control but still wrap it up and be safe 👍🏻), lots of sweet sappiness between Eddie and reader, reader has curly hair but it is not described in great detail, reader is implied as plus size but doesn’t have to be read that way, reader has relationship with both parents. I think that is it but let me know if I missed something.

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 4.9K

author’s note: I couldn’t get the idea out of my head about doing Eddie’s hair and so this just all kind of came rambling out. Any feedback is always appreciated 💕

may 1993

“You said I’m not supposed to brush it out when it’s dry, yeah?” Eddie asks, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to remember your advice. He’d remembered the part about not washing his hair everyday, and has opted for just a quick shower, already dry and in his blue checkered boxers. But it is every other step that comes next that is making his palms sweat and doubt creep into his mind.

Eddie is normally pretty particular about his appearance, he has his set look and he feels like he does it well - ripped jeans, white Reeboks, a wide variety of metal band t-shirts, an assortment of rings and chains, topped off by his signature fluffy, long mane. But today is different.

He’s not just dressing to impress you, you always love the way he looks, but your parents…they might be a different story. Your parents are coming into town for the weekend and will finally get to meet Eddie after almost twelve months of dating. You can’t lie, you’re a bit nervous about introducing them to your long-haired, metal loving boyfriend, but Eddie looks like he could pass out every time you bring up the subject.

He has been fighting the urge to crawl out of his skin all week at the thought of meeting the people who are responsible for creating the woman he loves more than anything else in the world. And today is finally the day.

Eddie wants to look nice, maybe not suit and tie nice, but he definitely went out to buy a neat looking button down and a pair of unripped jeans at the last minute because nothing in his closet seemed appropriate enough to impress your parents. He wants you to be proud of him, proud to show him off, and he wants your parents not to curse his name and banish him from their existence when he tells them he’s planning on proposing to you.

So he will do his hair, put on clothes that make him feel like he might suffocate, and put on his warmest smile to impress what he hopes are his future in-laws.

He hesitates before grabbing the hairbrush off the counter and turns toward you, freshly clean and dripping wet as you step out of the shower. Even after nearly a year together, Eddie still has to steady his racing thoughts and keep himself from gaping at your naked form. His eyes trace a path up and down your body, drinking in all the delicious curves he feels lucky to have become so intimately familiar with.

Before answering, you bend down, abundant rounded breasts swaying slightly as you shift from side to side to begin forming the ringlets of your own curls, a cascade of water droplets darting out to hit his bare chest. Years of practice allow you to make quick work of the ringlets, looping them into place deftly before scrunching over them with a light layer of gel.

“Yeah, only brush it when it’s wet. You’ll lose the curl definition and maybe damage your curls if you’re dry brushing a lot,” you remind him sweetly before continuing on with your routine.

Eddie gapes, mesmerized at the process as you swing your hair from side to side, tummy and breasts jiggling temptingly as you move about. You twirl a few errant curls around your fingers and gaze at yourself in the mirror, smirking as you catch him staring in the reflection. Satisfied with your mane, you reach to grab your towel and roughly run it over your arms before bringing one foot up on the edge of the tub to dry your legs.

Eddie watches intently as you rub the plush warm towel over your body, moving down your chest and over your tummy to your legs. The way the swell of your breasts rests against the gentle rolls of your belly has his cock stirring against the pilled cotton of his boxers. He tries to tamp down the feelings, but the nerves make him needy and he wants the comfort that can only come from your touch.

“Let me help you with that,” Eddie smirks with his quick suggestion, replacing your hands with his own as he brings the towel up from your legs and to your breasts. You roll your eyes playfully, but can never really deny him and his pretty persistent desires to touch you.

His chocolatey brown eyes glow as he gently squeezes and massages both of your tits, clearly not with the intent of actually drying you off. With a skillful familiarity, he pinches and tweaks your nipples through the thick cotton, making your knees momentarily wobble and you find yourself biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. He gives you a cocky smirk before pulling his hands and the towel away.

“Gotta check and see if they’re dry,” he insists, his needy hands now palming around the full weight of your breasts and heaving them upwards and together, creating one of his favorite sights in the world. A pleased hum rumbles from the back of his throat and he dips his head down to place a tender kiss to the petal soft flesh on the top of your breasts.

“Hmm, still a little wet I think,” Eddie proposes, quirking his eyebrows at you as he grabs for the towel again. Your breath hitches in anticipation as Eddie lifts one breast at a time and gently swipes the towel under each ample globe.

He drops the towel to the floor between your feet, but his hand doesn’t leave your chest, still offering teasing squeezes to each breast. With a sudden molten look in his eyes, his head drops back down to your tits, tenderly tugging your peaked nipple in between his teeth. Mewling moans and sighs freely escape your lips as he lavishes you with attention, sucking and swirling his tongue around the aching bud.

Your tummy flutters wildly and a growing heat begins to coil in your core when he releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and moves further up your pillowy breast, leaving soft lilac bruises in his wake. He sets in on devouring you with a growl, strong arms snaking around your soft waist when your knees finally do fully buckle and you melt against his chest.

“Eddie,” his name comes out as a breathy moan from your lips.

“Mmm, you taste so good baby, I need you,” his words blow warm against the column of your throat and it takes everything in you not to give yourself fully to him, right then and there against the bathroom sink.

“Eddie, we can’t. We gotta get ready, I don’t want to be late,” you sigh, tugging slightly at his curls to pull him away from your neck. He moves away, scowling at his sudden eviction, but his hands stay firmly gripped around your waist, holding you to him.

“Fine. But help me do my hair, please. I don’t have it down quite as well as you do,” he relents with a sigh, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek. “Lemme just wet it first, I guess,” Eddie turns toward the sink and begins to run the water, dipping his head down to dunk it underneath the stream.

“Hey, whoa, let’s maybe use the spray bottle. The bathroom is going to be a sopping wet mess that way,” you suggest with a laugh, pulling him away from the sink and ushering him toward the closed toilet to sit down. You pull out your spray bottle, special brush, and detangler spray, ready to make some magic with Eddie’s curly mane.

“The spray bottle always makes me feel like I’ve been bad and I’m getting scolded,” his expression turns into a grimace and he cringes away from the misting spray.

“Some dark secrets coming out here, my love, did you get scolded with a spray bottle, Eddie?” you ask with an incredulous laugh, pausing your hand that is on the spray bottle.

“I mean, if I was being super naughty…” he begins with a sheepish grin.

“Which you often are…” you conclude playfully, but nod for him to finish his story.

“Uncle Wayne had one to use on the stray cats around the trailer park. We liked to feed them and watch them play around, but sometimes they would get a little feisty and try to fight each other. So he always had his handy dandy spray bottle in case he had to break up a fight,” he recounts thoughtfully, a boyish beaming smile plastered to his face.

“And if I was ever being too feisty and trying to get into fights, or just especially pissing him off, he had no qualms about spraying me right in the face with that spray bottle. He got me right in the eye one time,” Eddie chuckles and looks up at you, honest brown eyes searching your expression.

“Honestly, seems like a pretty good method for keeping you in line, Munson,” you smirk, holding the spray bottle somewhat threateningly in front of him.

“Ahhh no, please,” he whines in protest and waves a dramatic hand in front of him, tilting back away from you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I have other ways of making you behave,” you tease, suggestively waving your tits in his face as you begin to lightly mist the back of his head. With a happy grumble, he buries his face in your breasts, using his hands to mush them together around his cheeks. He inhales deeply before pulling his face away from the soft pillowy flesh, the scent of your body wash and your naturally sweet smell lingering in his nostrils.

“I think I like your way of making me behave better,” Eddie nods thoughtfully, settling into position as you begin to spray his curls again. You carefully cover his face with your palm as you mist his feathery bangs. He blindly reaches out to flick on the boombox and turns the track to your latest favorite, and even though it isn’t metal, it has become one of his favorites just because of how much you love it.

Dolores O’Riordan’s lilting voice echoes through the small bathroom as you bop along to the ringing guitars in the intro of Dreams, and Eddie can’t help but smile. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would be sitting in a bathroom, listening to The Cranberries, and getting his hair finger curled by the naked woman he is madly in love with. Your sweet hesitant voice begins to sing along, just barely above a whisper, but Eddie trains his ear to listen to every word.

And now I tell you openly

You have my heart so don't hurt me

You're what I couldn't find

A totally amazing mind

So understanding and so kind

You're everything to me

Eddie feels his chest clench and tighten at the lyrics, biting back the lump that was forming in his throat. He knows he’s being a bit silly and dramatic, but the words feel like they’re meant for him, for you, for your relationship together.

His life hasn’t been easy, he doesn’t complain often, but it has made him hard around the edges. But ever since you have come into his life, everything is softness. Your touch, your heart, your smile, your words, your body. Like being wrapped in a plush warm blanket after a long draining day, the feeling of coming home. You are soft, pillowy, and welcoming. And it makes all of the hardness and bitterness inside him weaken, leaving only softness and warmth behind.

You have made quick work of his curls, lightly brushing out the knots as you sing along. You sway to the rhythm while finger coiling some face framing pieces, pausing suddenly when you notice the gentle wobbling of Eddie’s chin as he ducks his head and tries to swipe away a stray tear.

“Hey, what’s up buttercup?” you sooth, setting down your brush and lifting his chin to look at you. His chocolate eyes are brimmed with tears waiting to fall, his pink cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he tries to hide.

“Nothing, it’s dumb, I’m just being dumb,” Eddie swallows harshly and forces a thin smile.

“Nuh uh, don’t talk about my handsome boyfriend like that. You’re not being dumb and whatever you are crying about is certainly not dumb,” you reassure sweetly, tenderly cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I..I…think I’m just really fucking stressed. With working so much lately and your parents coming into town, I think I just am really worried,” Eddie begins, his voice cracking with every other word.

“Worried about what?,” you ask innocently, trying not to think too hard about the ring box you found in his jeans pocket when doing laundry last week. You try to fix your face into a look of oblivious concern, just in case your expressions betray you.

“I want your parents to like me, and think I’m good enough for you. And don’t start saying ‘of course they will’. You have everything in your life all figured out, and I don’t feel like I have much going on to offer you, especially on just my lousy mechanics salary. I know you don’t think of it that way, but I just want you to be proud of me and not feel ashamed of introducing me to your parents,” he finishes with a choked sound, and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Eddie, my love, I am immensely proud of you! I brag about you, your band, all of the accomplishments you’ve made at the shop with your promotion, and pretty much everything about you to just about everyone I meet. And that includes my parents. They already know all about you, and already love you because I love you,” you insist, petting his bangs out of his eyes and whisking away a few more tears that threaten to fall from his lashes. He gazes up, nodding solemnly, but unable to form words that would even come close to an appropriate response to your endless kindness and support.

“What can I do to help? We have about..30 more minutes before we have to leave, do you need cuddles?” you coo, a hint of condescension creeping into your voice as you see him perk up and begin to lick his lips in anticipation. He peeks up at you through his thick lashes, plump lips turned down in a frown for extra dramatic effect.

“Not just cuddles, sweetheart, I need you. I need to be inside you,” he pouts, hands coming up to rest on the swell off your ass, squeezing and testing the fullness of both cheeks. You nod, biting your lip seductively as you pull him up to stand with you. With a strangled moan, Eddie’s lips are crashing against yours, biting and licking with an insatiable need that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

He begins to guide you backwards toward your shared bedroom, using your butt to steer you away from walls and other sharp furniture. The backs of your knees bump against the bed, and in one swift motion, Eddie tosses you up onto the mattress with a pillowy plop. Despite his slight frame, sinewy muscles lurk beneath his pale skin and he doesn’t seem to expend any significant effort as he tugs you further up the bed so your head is resting against the soft downy pillows.

Eddie settles back into the kiss, making a sloppy claim on your mouth before raining a million wet kisses down your body. His touch is needy and hungry, anything but patient as he leaves hasty bites against the swell of your breasts, grabbing hands spreading your legs wide as he dips his head down further. Out of habit, you go to tangle your fingers into his hair, guiding his kisses where you need him most, but stop suddenly when you see the fresh delicate ringlets in your fingertips.

“Wait, baby, I’m going to fuck up your hair if you do that right now. Later. I need you to…” you try to finish your thoughts before he flicks his tongue teasingly against your clit, words dissolving into a breathy gasp as you impulsively arch up against his tongue.

“Mmm, what do you need, princess? Tell me what you need,” Eddie growls against your heat, licking a teasing stripe up your slit before looking up into your eyes for an answer, smoldering pools of burnt caramel gazing at you intently.

“Fuck, Eddie…I need…I need you to fill me up, please,” you pant breathlessly, fingers flexing and gripping the sheets so you don’t mess up his curls.

“With my fingers…?” he wiggles a teasing digit inside, your walls immediately spasm and clench around his finger with frantic need, tossing your head back into the pillow without a care for your own wet curls.

“Or does this tight little pussy need more?” he asks with a sly grin, suddenly pulling his finger from your wetness and dipping it in his mouth. “Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good,” he hums as he pops his pointer finger out of his lips and crawls up from between your thighs.

“Eddie, please, I need you to fuck me, now,” you huff and whine, pulling him back up to eye level with you.

“Jeez, lovey, somebody sure is needy. And you act like I’m the sex crazed one around h…” he begins teasingly, but is cut off with a choked groan as you reach down to wrap your hand around his cock. You guide his swollen tip through your silky folds, both of you shaking in anticipation before he plunges in. His lips immediately find yours again, gasps and moans overflowing between your lips when he buries himself deep inside your molten core.

He steadies himself for a moment, letting you throb and flex around him while you adjust to the delicious sting of being so filled by him. Your hands grip wildly at his shoulders and you kiss a frantic path across the small portion of his chest, biting at the skull and spider inked against his collarbone.

“Christ you feel so fucking amazing, so tight and wet for me,” his voice shakes as he begins to set a steady pace. Slowly pumping his thick length all the way in and drawing back out in a dizzying rhythm that has you almost immediately seeing stars. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on lasting more than a few moments despite the blooming heat beginning to rise in your tummy and take over. Yours and Eddie’s moans and sighs along with the filthy slapping sounds of sex fills the room, and your sounds only become more unabashedly loud when he snakes a hand in between your bodies to rub against your sensitive clit.

Your ears ring and your legs begin to tremble, your release boiling and bubbling in your core, ready to explode. You babble incoherently, something about being close and not wanting it to be over yet, not sure any of that comes out as intelligible words until Eddie responds.

“That’s alright, come for me my love, I want to feel you cum all over my cock,” he coos, calloused thumb pressing delicate circles against your clit and you feel yourself unwind. With a strangled scream, your body is shaking, inner walls fluttering wildly around his girth. “That’s it, that’s my pretty girl. Such a good girl coming so hard for me,” his voice is intoxicatingly deep, filled with heat and desire as he watches you unravel at his touch.

Before your vision fully clouds over, your eyes flicker open, needing to look up at the love of your life. Eddie is gazing down at you, chocolate brown eyes blown into inky pools full of love, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he tries to keep a steady pace with you writhing underneath him. You reach up to cup his cheek, whispering a breathy ‘I love you’ as you begin to slowly come back to your senses.

“Christ, sweetheart, I love you too, but you’re driving me crazy. I can still taste you on my lips and I need to be down there so fucking bad right now,” Eddie groans and suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you with an empty throbbing feeling as you reach to bring him back to you. But he’s already down with his face in between your legs, strong hands pushing your thighs down to the mattress so you’re well out of his way. He gently tucks the stray curls framing his face behind his ears and gives you a sheepish grin.

“You’re going to hold my hands so you’re not tempted to mess up my hair, but I’m going to make you come on my tongue. And if that makes us late, then so be it,” he affirms and reaches up to tangle his fingers in yours, holding them firmly against your still wobbly thighs.

Without another word, he dives in, licking and sucking your sensitive folds. His movements are frenzied and hungry, determined to consume every bit of you like a man starved. He sucks and nips harshly at your clit, before slithering his tongue downward to delve inside your quivering hole. He sets a punishing rhythm, knowing just exactly where to lick and kiss to make you a whimpering mess.

Within a skillfully short amount of time, he brings you back to the edge again. You buck your hips against his tongue and lips, trying to fight your way towards release as the crushing pressure is building in your belly once again. He steadies you with your intertwined fingers, keeping you from floating away and losing your mind.

“Just let go, my love, I know you’re right there. I can feel it. Just let go for me,” he purrs in between sloppy licks and kisses to your folds, tugging them in his lips before releasing the petal like flesh with a pop. With another high pitched moan, you’re tumbling into the precipice of your orgasm. Your body courses with electricity as he delivers a few more harsh kisses to your overly sensitive bud and you fight and writhe to release your hands from his to grab at him. But he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hands tangled with his in a gentle firmness that leaves you feeling even more weak and lightheaded.

Before you’ve had a chance to catch your breath, he’s back up on his knees, pulling you by your hips to meet him and sliding a pillow under your butt for added support. Eddie thrusts his cock back inside you with a chesty groan, head lolling back against his shoulders as he hits against your spongy soft center. He pounds into you with the same intensity and hunger he had when he’d tasted you, relentless and needy to fill you up and feel you all around him. Eddie’s eyes never leave your face as he reaches up to play with your breasts, a whimpered sigh leaving his lips as he pinches your pebbled peak between his thumb and forefinger.

You suddenly feel overwhelmed with it all, his intense gaze seeing you, all of you, the love that burns where your bodies meet, and another orgasm slowly winding a tight coil in your core. You clench your eyes tight again and throw an arm over your face, trying to hide from the gut wrenching intimacy that happens every time you’re with Eddie like this.

“Look at me, sweetheart, please, I want to see you when I come,” he gently pulls your arm away from your face, lacing your fingers together and rubbing a comforting pattern on the back of your hand as he urges you to open your eyes. Despite your heavy lids and burning cheeks, you open your eyes, met with his sweet beaming smile.

“There you are, my love. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his face pinching in pleasure as you clench involuntarily around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come so hard,” he warns shakily, gasping and panting but still never looking away from you. You nod in response to his warning, pressing him on with a whimpered ‘please’ as you feel your own release finally creeping over you. A third flash of pleasure seeps into your veins and you throb weakly around his thrusting cock, sending him over to his own release.

Eddie rattles off a string of babbled praises, your name and words of unending love leaving his lips as he pumps you full of his seed. He shutters and you feel a final warm surge of his climax spurt into you, coating your walls and marking you as his. The thought of anyone having that kind of claim over you would’ve made you sick in the past, too possessive and all encompassing. But with Eddie, that’s all you wanted. To be his and for him to be yours.

“You are so gorgeous like this, well I mean, you are gorgeous all the time. But god, when I come inside you and I look down and there you are, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind,” he confesses with a babbling sincerity that you will never ever grow tired of. You blush and hide your eyes behind your fingers, peeking through them to see him grinning at you.

“I love you so much,” he sighs, resting his hands on the slope of your hips as he grows soft inside you.

“I love you so much, Eddie,” you smile, reaching down to squeeze his fingers gently.

With a hiss, he pulls out of you, propping himself up on his elbow to watch his cum slowly slide out of you. Eddie smirks and in tenderly possessive motion, he pools the release in his fingers and pushes it back inside you.

“That belongs in there,” he tsks, booping your clit with his pointer finger before sitting up with a grin plastered on his face.

“I mean, my handy dandy birth control is going to say otherwise but…” you reply with a chuckle, sitting up on shaky elbows to look at him. He shakes his head and shrugs, curls bouncing around his pretty face.

“I just want you to remember who came inside you and made you come three fucking times while we’re sitting there with your parents and they’re grilling me about my intentions with their daughter,” he concludes, hopping up from the bed and pulling on his boxers.

“So that was your little plan? Remind me how much you’re worth keeping around with how hard and fast you can get me off just in case tonight goes south?” you guffaw, knowing that wasn’t truly his plan, but ribbing him nonetheless. You stand up from the bed, and immediately buckle. He holds out a hand as your wobbly knees threaten you again, but you manage to steady yourself against him.

“Well, I mean it’s true. I do make you come,” he pecks a cheeky kiss against your lips, “a lot. And I do want to remind you of that. All the time. But I just needed you. And hey look, we aren’t even going to be late,” he points out happily, gesturing towards the glowing red alarm clock on your bedside.

You weren’t going to be late, but you both definitely need to hurry to dress and get out the door. With nimble fingers, you help Eddie button his shirt, smoothing over the soft wrinkles that he had neglected to press out. You toss on your dress, settling for something simple but classic paired with a dainty set of opal earrings Eddie had gifted you for your birthday.

Eddie sighs, finally dry curls bobbing around his face as he gazes into the full length mirror, no ripped jeans, no band t-shirt, no rings or chains, dressed head to toe in an outfit that makes him look like a schoolboy. He frowns at his appearance, trying to hide his expression when he sees you peer over his shoulder.

“You look great, but you don’t look like you,” you ponder, scurrying away to grab a few things off his dresser, the heavy objects clinking in your palm as you bounce back to him.

You slip behind him, securing his signature chain with a guitar pick around his throat before slithering around to his front to undo a few shirt buttons, framing the glittering chain against his pale collarbones. You grab his left hand, slipping on the grinning skull, pig, and cross in a neat row on his pointer, middle, and ring fingers respectively. With a tender motion, you slip his bejeweled class ring on the ring finger of his right hand.

You step back, admiring your handiwork before lightly fluffing your fingers through his curls. Eddie practically glows under your gaze, soft wavy ringlets haloed around his head, ochre eyes shining with fear, hope, and love.

“There, much better. Still the Eddie I know and love but with a twist,” you beam up at him before grabbing his shaking hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nods and puffs out his cheeks with a great sigh.

“Ready?” you ask, leading him slowly toward the front door.

“Ready.”

Little taglist of people who I thought might want to read: @boomhauer @wtf-lindsay @seidenbros @thisishellfire @wroteclassicaly @a-time-for-wolvess @kissmecaiti

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #joesph quinn #joe quinn

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revrover · 2 years

Text

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

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strwberri-milk · 1 year

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I got no shame ab this <3 Okay concept. Kaeya with a dog girl S/O with a major oral fixation (biting). Her tail wagging at every flirty remark or being praised with 'good girl', 'good pup' and she barks at him playfully. Buying her pretty collars with a metal tag that jingles so nicely at every buck of his hips fucking her into the mattress. Kaeya having uncontrollable urges to tug at her tail to tease and it just drives his little pup crazy. Crazy to the point of trying to get back at him by biting him all over and he likes it alot, him getting horny off it. ily/platonic and love your writing

valid i love a good puppy every once in a while this is so grrrr i love it

Kaeya knew that dogs loved positive attention, he just had no idea how much you loved it. The way that you were at his beck and call, the grin on your face whenever he praises you, and the way you practically vibrate on the spot whenever he brings you a gift makes him want to love on you even more.

He doesn't mind your oral fixation at all. He loves buying you candies or popsicles that you can suck on to get some of that energy out of you if he's too busy to entertain you. You don't mind because it tastes good and you don't feel bad bugging him too much.

Whenever you do something worthy of praise he loves to pat your head and coo at you so sweetly, adoring the way your tail thumps on the ground. There are times when you wrap your tail around your waist, not wanting to accidentally knock something over. However, he'll praise you for being so considerate that it almost defeats the purpose as you hold tightly to your tail to try and keep it from moving.

His favourite way to praise you is to give you kisses as well, pulling you onto his lap and making you sit on him as he pulls you in for your well-deserved attention. He peppers kisses all over your face, and sometimes, even has a new gift for you!

He likes to give you an assortment of collars or chokers that are a little more feasible to wear in public. You can feel his fingers latching the collar to your throat, the metal tag bouncing against your neck as you bounce excitedly in his lap.

Unfortunately for you, you were practically grinding against his hardening dick, a little oblivious to the groans he's holding back. His hand goes down your back as the other holds your hip in place, tugging on your tail as it makes you yip.

He doesn't stop, brushing his hand up and down the appendage and pulling on it every so often. The whines you let out make him grind up against you even harder, the hand that was once on your hip now slipping into your pants to slip around your clit and tease around your hole.

You start to retaliate by biting him, knowing that it drives him wild. Your mouth covers his throat and collar with teeth marks, grinding and whimpering pathetically as your tongue laves over his skin. Kaeya thinks he can cum untouched like this, obsessed with the way your mouth feels on him.

It doesn't take you much to cum against his fingers, frantically pulling off your pants as you put yourself back in his lap to ride him. Your trembling fingers pull out his weeping cock, immediately slipping him inside of you and throwing your head back in pleasure. You don't even get the chance to adjust before he's got both his hands under your thighs and fucking up into you roughly.

He loves all of the noises you make, using your propensity to be so obedient to him to fuck you silly however he wants. The way your tits bounce in time with the tinkling of the metal on your collar makes him almost as rabid as you, so used to the way you bite him whenever he gets close enough to you.

Every time your teeth close on him it makes him thrust even harder into you, moaning into your ear as his hands imprint on your hips. He loves knowing that his cock drives you crazy as he drills into you, wanting to be covered in the marks you leave on him.

Kaeya seems to have endless stamina whenever it comes to you, getting hard every time you bite him. He could fuck you into the mattress day after day if you would let him, hoping that the next time he tugs on your tail your oral fixation can clean off all the creamy cum he's gathered on the base of his dick.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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daddyhausen · 10 months

Text

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ 「 KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY : MASOCHISM 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — after the texas death match with hangman. swerve had developed an infatuation for pain

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+, [ MINORS DNI ], wax play, temp play, restriants, cuffing, masochist!swerve, sub!reader, dom!swerve, blood play, knife playunprotected sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, male + female orgasms, squirting, vaginal creampie, internal cumshots

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 1.3k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x swerve strickland

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

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「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

he’d come to you about an hour after his match

body still pumping with adrenaline and forehead still decorated with remnants of dried and coagulated blood

both his and the cowboy’s

his mind revelled in the newfound pleasure. he enjoyed inflicting bloody punishment

but his body shuddered with a different kind of desire upon receiving

so here the two of you were

back home, immersed in the frosty tacoma weather

burning candlers freestanding, dripping hot wax onto the beside tables

an assortment of pocket knives and switchblades littered beside them

both your bodies bare and exposed for one another

“are you sure you want me to do this?” you questioned cautiously, a burning candle held between your palms the flame flickering dangerously close to your breasts

wrists bound by handcuffs, some of the wax dripping onto the metal

‘baby…” he cooed, finger dancing dangerously close to the flickering candle flame

the calloused tips of his fingers catching the flame before releasing it in quick succession, all without flinching

if that wasn’t any indication of his seriousness you weren’t sure what was

the candle flame flickered light against his chest as it did yours, a warm glow radiated onto his umber coloured skin

you could still make out the indents and scared of what once were staples petruding from his skin

from hangman and his own infliction

he guided your wrists to his chest, tilting the candle towards himself after allowing it to gather a substantial amount of hot wax at the wick

wetting his lips in anticipation

you however, held a knot of worry in your stomach, more so anxious that he was going to hurt himself

he gave a small hiss atp the hot wax met his skin, instantly hardening against his flesh

you tried to pull your wrists away in a frantic attempt to apologise

however, he held you still, letting the wax continue to build up in small peaks against his skin

an exhilierated moan fell from his lips

“fuck…” he grunted, a subtle grown through gritted teeth

“i’m sorry!-” you squeaked, pulling back your wrists, now free from his grasp.

“i’m sorry i’m hurting you-“

“no you’re not sweetheart. it feels good” he confessed through your frantic apologies

“look” he sighed, taking the candle from your grasp, pouring the remaineder of the wax onto his chest without so much as a wince of pain

the wax stuck to his skin

the larger droplets dripping down his torso, stopping and hardening just at his pelvis

a gasp caught in your throat just staring at how intoxicated with arousal he’d become

heavenly sighs parting his lips as he let his eyes flutter shut, just reveling in the pleasure

he placed the candle back into the holder on the bedside table

grabbing a switchblade to replace it

the flicking the blade open with a smirk as he brought it towards the cuffs that bound your wrist

the golden blade looked mesmerising, accompanied with a white-pearlescent handle that shimmered under the candlelight

he hooked the tip of the blade between the cuff links of the handcuffs, pulling them

the initial jolt sent you lightly smacking into his chest

not hard enough to get knicked by the blade, thankfully

without a word he handed you the switchblade, one of which you hesitantly accented

“w-what’s this for?” you questioned, genuinely clueless

“you know what it’s for baby” he reminded with a sly smirk, lightly beginning to nip at your bottom lip with hungry kisses

“y-you want me to use it on you?”

“mhm…” he hummed against your lips between parted breaths

you knew he’d always been a glutton for punishment, but never to this extent

“what if i hurt you”

“you won’t” he reassured, pulling you onto his lap

his cock throbbing against your exposed cunt

he switchblade’s handle grasped tightly between your palms

lightly beginning to trace around the intents of the staple scars

he hummed in delight, the sensation of the cold blade against his warm skin was nothing short of ethereal

he lifted your hips up, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other guiding his cock into you

his tip teased the warm, soaked folds of your cunt

adoring your whimpers as he stretched you out so effortlessly

“oh shit…” you gasped, still not fully used to his size, having to wait a couple of seconds before you were fully adjusted

“good?” he questioned softly, his eyes baring nothing but love into yours

you responded with a small nod, finally getting comfortable around his size.

he manoeuvred your hands, holding the blade up to his collarbone, pressing the tip just below the indent where bone peaks against the skin

pressing down lightly, not enough to break the skin and draw blood

he wanted to allow you that honour

still you hesitated, still afraid to cause him harm

“go on” he cooed. “you wont hurt me”

his reassurance provided some comfort to your worrying mind

still you persued

pressing the tip of the switchblade into his skin, breaking the melanated flesh

he gave a small hiss, same as before

grabbing your wrist all the same as he had done previously

instead, this time dragging the blade across his collarbone, until beads of ruby liquid pooled at the surface

“fuck…” he grunted, through a euphoric moan, his hips jolting up ward into you in the process

his cock fully buried in your void

you whimpered at the sensation, never feeling so full in your life

the blade of the knife glistened with his blood

the warm crimson dripping down the blade and your wrist

his hips began moving in quick rhythmic motions, giving your no time to adjust until his was fucking you nice and deep

“more…” he motioned to the switchblade, having you peel off the layers of hardened wax from his skin before replacing them with small, bloody nicks and cuts across his chest

“fuck yes baby…feels so fuckin’ good”

he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, his teeth hungrily nipping at your bottom lip for access.

your belly swirling with need for release the longer he bounced you on his cock

his blood beginning to smear against your breasts

the supple mound littered with splotches of blood, an almost burgundy wine colour that complementled your skin tone perfectly

“you gonna cum for me, pretty thing? i can feel you squeezing me”

he threw his head back with a moan, revelling in the pleasure of your cunt, and the glorious handiwork provided by the switchblade

his skin burned with delight, flushed with warmth and bloody redness.

his cock swelled, needy for release, with each desperate twitch inside your tight walls

you nodded feverishly at his question, feeling him stuff you to the brim, your cunt griping his cock with an almost lethal effect

no warning was given, he didn’t need one to know when you end was nearing,

he could simply feel the increment pulses of your cunt getting quicker by the second before eventually spilling over

your juices gushed down his shaft, soaking his thighs as you pulsed around him

“good girl,” he hummed with a hiss, the switchblade having knicked him by the crook of his neck and shoulder

his seed filling you with imminent desire

leaving you dripping, full of his warmth

as the both of you settled, your highs subsiding, he held you close, the small breaks in his skin stung, similar to that of paper cuts

you felt horrible for having inflicted them, yet a sense of pride knowing that he enjoyed being adorned in your handiwork

he took the blade from your hand, setting it beside him on the bed, looping himself through your arms, you’re wrists still bound by the cuffs

your bodies still so closely intertwined

“you’re too good for me sweetheart”

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#swerve strickland #swerve strickland x reader #swerve strickland smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #aew #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew wrestling #aew fanfiction

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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 8 months

Text

Tear You Apart

Chapter 1: Paranoid

Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: soooo as you can probably tell I’ve been watching the walking dead… and I’m almost finished now and I’ve fallen madly in love with Norman. This fic is gonna be a series and slow burn romance and Daryl isn’t in this chapter but will be in the next !!

Era: Prison Era onwards (Pre-Woodbury Fall)

Warnings: allusion to death of loved ones, murder, typical TWD stuff

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist: here

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You had taken a large step over a display case of alcohol- the bottles now smashed, littering the ground with glass shards. It looked as though someone had thrown it down in a hurry, like they were looking for something hidden behind. Maybe they’d been running from the dead and took the case down with them on the way. You tried not to focus on the mess, and instead, your eyes flickered around the room, which felt much smaller because of the clutter and boarded-up windows. Eventually, your eyes landed on a medicine cabinet by the cash register.

A quick, sharp pain charred into your skin with each breath, so you took them slowly, and they shook against your lips as you inspected the shelves. There were a few brightly coloured protein bars in the road trip aisle so you quickly shoved them into your pockets. Your slouchy cargo pants were already packed full of your belongings- a box of ammo for your gun, your flip-knife and some bandages… a notebook and pen- and even a watch you managed to keep working that told you the date and time. It had been a gift before everything happened, and something your friend had given you on your birthday.

When you reached the cabinet, you shuffled around the boxes in search of some over-the-counter antibiotics. There were a few boxes of menstruation relief medication, so you shoved those into your pockets before throwing your backpack over your shoulder and onto the ground alongside the metal bow you'd been lugging with your sheath and arrows.

At the beginning, when the virus started spreading, the first thing you did was go and pick up as many survivalist books as you could find. You figured not a lot of people would think of that when panic buying. In the books you learned how to make toothpaste, soap and even string your own arrows. The few people you’d grouped with didn’t think it was necessary, but you deemed it more than so and found yourself using the knowledge you’d gained studying those books like gospel during your time spent alone- away from any kind of civilization.

Your free arm swept the boxes from the shelf into your napsack. Now hunched over at this level, you noticed some tubes of antiseptic cream and chucked them in alongside the boxes of pain medication. You struggled to fit it all in alongside your homemade toiletries- but eventually managed and went back to looking at the assortments the store still had.

Then, there was a crunch from the shattered glass and you raised your bow, arrow already equipped- it was second nature at this point yet still the sudden movement had your teeth gritting together so hard you thought you might break a filling.

“One wrong move and I’ll cut you in half”

Your eyes were met with those of a woman and man. She looked to be a few years older whereas he was maybe a year or two younger. Her eyes were dark and focused, her locks fell past her rich mahogany shoulders and down her back. The man looked at you with bright, wide brown eyes. His hair was a short, black mess on his head. He was wearing a navy button shirt rolled up to his elbows. And you noticed he had reached for the gun on his hip but hesitated.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

The man spoke first, holding up his hands as you kept your arrow pointed in their general direction- eyes flickering to the woman beside him. Her cold stare seemed to soften, having now taken you in properly. Your shoulder was wrapped in dirt-covered bandages that needed changing to avoid a gnarly infection, and your skin caked in filth and dried blood. Your clothes were just as bad, the bottoms of your pants were saturated with dirty water and your leather boots scuffed and plastered with dried mud.

“My name’s Glenn Rhee… This is Michonne,” he slowly referred to the woman holding the katana with his right hand. She shuffled on her feet as you swallowed and pursed your lips together- trying to ignore the stabbing sensation in your side. You glared them both down, fighting back tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as they looked at you like you were a small child who needed saving. The man - Glenn - spoke again.

“Are you out here all by yourself?”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, your knuckles white- the metal frame leaving a curved indent in your palm.

“As Glenn said, we aren't going to hurt you.” the woman - Michonne - added.

“He won’t, but doesn't…” you paused, feeling the sharp pain in your ribs again. “How can I be sure you won’t skewer me with that Katana?”

Glenn looked over with pleading eyes, his lips sewn shut in a straight line. As though communicating telepathically, she sheathed her weapon - yet still rested her hand on the tip of the handle. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“So,” she began again, “are you alone?”

You nodded.

It was then Glenn’s turn to speak. “You’ve been alone this entire time?- I mean, you’re far from home. It doesn’t sound like you’re from Georgia, let alone the states.”

You slowly lowered the bow yet kept the end of the arrow between your fingers and the handle- pointing it at the ground with less force as you had been a moment prior. “I was with a group, we were ambushed. There weren’t many of us; we couldn’t hold them off.”

You watched as Glenn regarded you with an empathy that many people seemed to resonate with nowadays. He didn't press any further about the group; from the look in your eyes, he could sense the wound was still fresh.

“So, you moved to the States before everything?” Michonne was the next to ask; from the looks of it, she seemed to have calmed down compared to how she had been.

“Yeah, I was a tattoo artist.”

She nodded and looked to Glenn, who looked back with the same blank expression you couldn’t read.

“You have a name?” Glenn said, his hands now planted on his hips. You were suddenly aware of how filthy you looked compared to the pair. They must have come from somewhere with running water.

“y/n, y/n l/n”

“y/n, how many walkers have you killed?”

Puzzled, you raised a brow weakly, gripping the handle as though it had become fused to your flesh and bone. “I don’t… never thought to count, if I were to guess… about… upwards of 80.”

“How many people have you killed?” he asked that question with just as much conviction as the last. Michonne's gloved hands had now dropped to her sides as she peered down at your pile of belongings and the stray medicine boxes scattered at your feet.

“I… right now? two”

“Why?”

Biting your lip, you thought back to your friend. “The first tried to kill me, and the second killed my best friend, One I had known before this and after.” You fought back tears again, stroking your thumb across the metal frame. You had already cried so much - from the pain of your injuries and losing him - that there were now narrow streams of clean skin that went from your waterline to the curve of your chin. The rivers that had run down your cheeks starkly contrasted the mask of dirt, blood and sweat painted on your face.

“I’m sorry”, Michonne said first, “I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through.”

“Yeah,” you bit back a laugh, throat hoarse, “you really can’t.”

Glenn stepped forward, and you stepped back, which made you wince and hiss at the stabbing pain in your side. “ We come from a group. We’re all survivors- like you- but we managed to find a place where we can have a chance.”

As you listened to the man, you wondered whether this was too good to be true. You had been all alone, both of you. Hunting and gathering, living in dirt and squalor for the better part of 9 months and here was your chance to start afresh with new people. It may have been the hunger, exhaustion, or innate need to survive that forced you to go along with them.

“Wait, there’s something we have to do first before we go.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“Finn? It’s safe to come out now, kid”

You called out into a small wooden shed adjacent to a house which looked to have been burned down. Michonne and Glenn stood nearby with their weapons at hand, you could’ve scoffed as you watched them skittishly take in the view.

“We’ve been here for a few weeks, it was like that when we got here.” you kicked a twig by your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your side when a small boy walked out of the shadows with a knife in his grip. He was no less than 6, and his hair was a mess on his head. His skin was smudged with dirt- less than your own but it still looked as though he had been through a lot. Michonne forced a smile and took her hand off her blade. Glenn placed his gun back into his pack.

“Did you get the things?” he asked, pushing the knife back into his pocket. He had his own bag, and it was almost as big as him. Michonne peeked into your makeshift home, the floor was covered with a blanket and there were a few sacks of meat and cans laid out on the workbench. Beneath the bench, there was a sleeping bag atop a roll-out mattress. Then, on the blanket, adjacent to the bench, a sleeping bag without the extra support.

“I got some stuff, not really anything special but…” you ruffled his hair, picking out a stray piece of fluff that’d managed to work its way onto his strands. It’d gotten quite long, and it now brushed his collarbones. Whenever you offered to give it a trim, he refused and said he’d wait until everything went back to normal.

“Who are you?” Finn looked up at Glenn and Michonne, his eyebrows furrowed inwards- his attempt at a scowl.

“I’m Glenn- Is he your-?”

“Nephew” you cut in before asking the young boy to help you pack up your belongings with a smile. He nodded and got to it, only asking you questions about where you were going once you’d both left the pair standing outside.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

It took the four of you two and a half hours to get back to the prison. With having to carry your heavy belongings, Glenn suggested you all take regular breaks- he had noticed your struggle walking for long distances at a time with your injury. It was a journey you wished you wouldn’t have to make again in a similar shape. Finn, on the other hand, was fine and took the walk in his stride. He made idle talk with Glenn and Michonne- asking if there were other kids like him there. There were a few, according to Michonne, and he seemed more than excited to get back once having learned that.

A small boy, around 13 or 14, greeted the three of you at the gate. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a blue flannel shirt that looked as though it were a few sizes too big for him. Finn tried to hold back his nerves, and he opted instead to squeeze your hand. You squeezed his back twice, and looked down at him- smiling. The boy behind the fence opened it and greeted Glenn and Michonne, although he seemed to be struggling to comprehend what you and Finn were doing there.

“Hey Carl, where’s your dad?”

The boy - Carl - pointed toward the prison, a concrete slab of a building that seemed more cold than warm. You almost shuddered at the thought of the winters here, and Michonne seemed to sense your apprehension.

“It’s better inside, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s home for now.”

You nodded, having become quiet on the journey. She deduced that you’d only speak once you had been spoken to. As you started walking toward your new home, a slender brunette with short hair and a wide smile ran to you- to Glenn. She enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, and when he pulled back, she pressed her lips to his quickly. It was strange how people managed to find love in such desolate times. You couldn’t imagine falling in love before, but now, your fear of impending loneliness and abandonment settled to the back of your mind. Being lonely didn’t seem as bad as losing everyone you loved or got close to. Finn was the only exception these days, you loved that kid like he was your own. He was all you had left- after all.

“Who’s this?”

You snapped up from your thoughts and locked eyes with her. She was still smiling, though you chalked that up to the moment she had just shared with Glenn- her husband - by the looks of the ring on her finger.

“‘Maggie, this is y/n and Finn. We found them out alone in the woods… y/n’s injured, but she’s a tough one, I think, a hunter as well.” Glenn held up the knapsacks you’d crammed in the shed. Finn held your hand a bit tighter

Michonne nodded, “Mmhm, we’re gonna go see if your dad would check her up… then talk to Rick about what to do; he’ll probably wanna talk to her.”

You didn’t mind that they talked about you as though you weren’t there- or that you couldn’t hear every word they were saying - in the shape you were in, you couldn’t engage in a full-blown conversation. The only thing on your mind was the ache in your body and the grinding of your joints upon one another from all the walking you’d been doing.

“Ah, that’s great, well… it’s nice to meet you, y/n. I hope we get to know each other better.. you too, little guy, I love your shirt”

Finn’s cheeks flushed red at the compliment, and he thanked her politely- just as his mother had taught him to. You managed to smile small at how kind she was despite your and Finn’s appearances. Caked in blood and gore, you were still being treated like humans and not a pair of animals being taken to the slaughter.

“Me too.”

Maggie grinned before pecking Glenn on the cheek, exchanging a few fleeting words, and smiling at Michonne. Then, she was off in suit of the guard tower you’d passed on the way up.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The cellblock was cold, as you’d expected, but it was refreshing in a way that the Georgian summer couldn’t provide on days like this. You’d run into only one other person on the way in, Beth, a young lady who was Maggie’s little sister. She seemed sweet enough, her eyes were kind, and her smile was bright with that whimsical nature teenagers seemed to have at that age- full of hope and wonder for what could come next. Finn seemed to like her too, and he made a passing comment that she reminded him of his primary school teacher.

As the three of you trailed further, you heard a baby crying and shushing from a man with the beginnings of a thick beard growing upon his jaw. A baby, you hadn’t seen a baby since before everything, and even then, it had been almost 7 years since your sister had given birth to Finn. You’d wanted children at one point- when you had a job and a home- a boyfriend and even a pet dog. Thankfully for your sanity, the boyfriend had been gone long before the outbreak, and unfortunately so was the dog.

Ozzy was an old, gentle rescue, one you remember fondly for the years you had spent together. That dog had been your lifeline for a while, your main reason for getting up in the morning for work. Sometimes, when you got anxious, you would trace your fingers across your arm- where a tattoo of his name lay in cursive amongst some of your others. Your fingers brushed across the skin now, drawing his name with the pads of your fingers as you and Finn approached the man and his child.

“Rick, can I talk to you real quick?”

Rick turned to Glenn, still holding the baby. You twitched a little in your spot and shuffled your feet, trying to avoid his cold, blank stare. His brow was furrowed with lines that held years of pain and torment. You swallowed thickly as the slate blue of his eyes glowed in the stream of light that peeked through the high windows of the prison, between the bars and onto the floor.

“Sure. Beth, can you take Judith?”

The young lady, Beth, whom you’d met on the way in, nodded with a smile and took the infant from Rick’s arms. The baby - Judith - looked only a few months old. Maybe a few weeks, if you were to guess. Rick walked over to you, Finn and Glenn. Michonne had left on the way up, saying she wanted to clean her blade. After a long morning of slicing through rivers of the undead, it was crusted with dried blood.

“Glenn, what the hell is this?” The older man regarded you with a blank stare. His accent was thick- thicker than Maggies - and his voice rough against his tongue. He then looked down at Finn- his brows raising and eyes widening. You pushed your nephew further behind you, lips tight together as Rick glanced you over again. Finn was still holding onto your hand.

“Y/N and her nephew, Finn. They've been on their own for a while, camping out in the woods a few hours away.” Glenn motioned to you and Finn as he introduced you to Rick. Mouth still shut, you swallowed back the fear and it sank to the pit of your stomach.

“She’s got meat- venison, with her- she’s a hunter, look I-“ Glenn looked at you quickly, “can you step out for a second, please?”

Once a decent space had been made between you, Finn and the two men, you stared blankly at your feet. You could only hear the whispers that reminded you of hissing and the occasional coddling from Beth in the other room. A sick feeling began to creep up inside of your gut, and you instinctively wrapped an arm around yourself to try and keep the bile from rising up your throat. “Do you think they're gonna kick us out?” Finn asked, his voice a slight hum over the buzzing thoughts in your head. “I.. I don't know, kid.”

A few minutes passed, and you were taken out of your head by the sound of Rick and Glenn approaching you both where you stood.

“Alright,” Rick placed his hands on his hips, almost tucking them into his belt. They looked like they had been lightly dusted with a thin layer of dirt and grime.

“You can both stay for now. We’ll see how it goes, and in a week or two, come back and decide if you can stay permanently or not”

You managed a thank you and a small smile, adjusting your metal recurve bow slung over your back. Rick hesitated momentarily, clearing his throat and shuffling where he stood. “One thing, for uh, the first week, we’re gonna keepa’ holda’ your weapons. We have kids here and-“

“You don’t trust me yet,” you sighed and unsheathed your bow and quiver- handing them over alongside your drop-point black hunting knife and glock 22. You also handed over the 6 full boxes of ammo you had scavenged from a camp that had been overrun by walkers. “Don’t worry, non-taken. I get it. I wouldn’t want a stranger around Finn with guns and knives either.” you nodded at Finn, who then pulled out a large hunting knife from the loop on his pants. Sometimes people you crossed paths with would look at you as though you were a bad parental figure for allowing him to carry that, however, you thought it was more than necessary to teach him while his mind was still malleable. Just in case anything happened to you.

He huffed “Well, I guess we can agree on that. How old are you, Finn?”

“I’m 7 soon, Sir”

Rick almost laughed, and you smiled weakly at the small boy as he insisted on being formal- as though that'd be what made their minds up as to whether you could stay.

“Rick’s just fine, Finn”

The boy nodded and handed Grimes the machete, the blade pointing down to the ground just as you had told him.

“You moved here before, then?” He added, quickly changing the subject. You nodded twice. Having explained this already numerous times, you weren’t that pissed about Rick asking. It was all procedural- he was the leader. It only made sense that he knew where you came from.

“I did before the apocalypse, I was a-.” you took in a sharp breath and pressed your hand further against your hip to try and dull the pain. “I was a tattoo artist and worked in a studio- learned how to shoot a bow in summer camp, kept up with it… a friend of mine before and after, he taught me all the survival stuff, he was ex-military so…”

Like Michonne and Glenn, Rick seemed to relax as you told him part of your story. He - more than anyone - understood that everyone had their demons, and that there were probably things you didn’t want to tell him.

“Well, thank you for telling me. Glenn, take her to Hershel, She can stay in the medical cell until we know she’s not sick.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Hershel was a kind man. Kind, old and wise. The way he treated you so carefully and gently- even excusing himself whenever he added pressure to your ribs- It almost brought tears to your eyes. He had told you (and Finn, since he’d refused to leave the medical cell whilst you were being treated) how he had Irish and English ancestry and that his father and grandfather before him took pride in where they’d come from. You chatted back and forth for what felt like hours, and before you knew it, you were all bandaged up. He’d suggested bed rest for your broken ribs, and with the gash on your shoulder, he advised being careful when showering and coming back to see him in a day or so to have it changed or if you accidentally got it wet.

“Now, if I were you, young lady, I’d go wash up and get some rest; you’re gonna need it for your injuries…” you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed, gritting your teeth together so hard it felt as though you were going to crack a filling. “And you, Young man, you take care of your auntie okay? Make sure she doesn’t get herself in any sorta trouble” Finn nodded, adding a ‘yes sir’ as Hershel reached out to ruffle his head. You pinched the bridge of your nose with your finger and thumb. “But i- Rick said-”

“Never mind what Rick said. I’ll let him know you’re healing up, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Before you could get up to leave, a woman with short grey hair knocked on the gate- in her arms, she had what looked to be two towels, a pair of shorts and a clean black vest along with some clothes that’d probably be a bit big for Finn, ones he’d grow into. As she entered, Hershel excused himself, letting the woman know where he’d be if she needed him. She then turned her attention back to you and Finn, a smile spread across her face as she moved to place the clothes and towels on the bed beside you.

“Hi, heard you guys were gonna be staying for a while, thought you'd need some fresh clothes and a towel each for the shower”

You nodded in response, and she sheepishly chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m Carol, by the way”

“y/n”

“y/n,” The lady - Carol - repeated, as though trialling the name on her tongue to see if it fit. “And what’s your name, hm?” She crouched down to Finns level, and you edged forward on the seat, looking around the room for any sort of weapon in case she tried anything.

“My name’s Finn, Finn L/N”

“It’s nice to meet you Finn, I love your hair, it's very long” She held out her hand, and he took it after examining her for a few seconds. “Nice to meet you too Carol” she smiled at him again and stood to her full height

“Well, y/n, are you alright with walking? I'll show you where the showers are, in the meantime I’ll get those clothes cleaned up for you”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she spoke, your eyes glassy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just… everyone here has been so kind to me’

Carol sighed, helping you to your feet, an arm wrapped carefully around your shoulder.

“Well, we’ve all been in your position, honey.”

You can only nod, lips pulled taut in a straight line as you concentrate on not toppling over Finn or ripping the bandages when stepping out into the hall.

As you turned to look back at the lady, you notice her eyes trailing across your skin.

“I like your tattoos, do them yourself?”

“Some, though it’s pretty hard to do it yourself… most of them are my own designs but done by other people, mainly those I worked with…” having taken a towel and a pile of clean clothes from Carol, Finn asked her where the showers were.

“Just down the hall to the left and then straight on, there should be some shampoo and soap already…”

“Thanks again, c’mon Finn, I'd race you, but I don't think I'm in any shape for running.”

The small boy laughed and reached up to hold your hand, you took it in your own, the towel and clothes tucked under your free arm as you walked with him slowly toward the showers.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Once you and Finn had finished cleaning up and gotten changed into the fresh clothes Carol had pulled out for you, you paced around the stairs of the cell block and eventually heard someone coming down behind you. It was Carol again, and she seemed a little bit faster with her steps as she locked eyes with you. Finn was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to make his clothes look more normal by rolling up his sleeves.

“Hey! It's nice seeing you both not covered in all that muck, hand those here honey I’ll get them cleaned for you,” you handed her your, and Finn's clothes and brushed the dried blood and dirt from your palms. You didn’t realize they were that gross. “You guys have met everyone, right?”

You shake your head, “ I don’t know, we met Maggie and Beth briefly, Rick of course… Michonne and Glenn found us, Hershel… the kid- Carl” as you listed off the names (which took you a few seconds to remember) you began to wonder whether you had met everyone. That was a lot of people.

“Oh, well, Daryl is out hunting and Judith can't exactly talk yet…” she picked at the hem of your old shirt before eventually placing them at the bottom of the stairs. “you’ll probably see Axel around as well- he’s the skinny guy with the mustache and light hair, he was apart of a group that was here when we arrived.”

“A prisoner?”

“I guess you could call them that, though I suppose we’re all sort of prisoners now if you think about it”

You nod, huffing as you draw your attention back to the hunter she had mentioned and try not to focus on the fact there were felons (convicted of GOD knows what) living amongst the kind people you had met. It was weird how she talked almost like Axel was a friend and not someone to be suspicious of. Hell, even if they were nice, you couldn’t help but be a little skeptical when showering or when taking off your shirt in front of their doctor.

“I don’t like feeling trapped… like a prisoner”

Carol nodded, smiling at you still. She had a nice smile, a lot of the people here did, although you couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath hers there was a lot of pain. You could see it in her eyes that she was tired.

“That’s great, we kinda need more hunters… food running out and everything, Rick said you’d brought some stuff in with you?”

You nod and call Finn to follow Carol as she makes her way up the stairs and takes you both down the aisle toward a cell on the furthest side, adjacent to the wall.

“Luckily for you, Daryl isn’t all that talkative either” she shrugged, laughing to herself. Part of you wondered whether she was seeing this Daryl person. “But he has a big heart and would die for this group- listen, I don’t know you much yet but I kinda have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine, y/n- and you too, Finn. It’s nice having new faces around, especially when they’re as adorable as yours, little guy”

Carol pinched Finn’s cheek with her forefinger and thumb, to which Finn groaned and blushed pink like he had when Maggie complimented his shirt earlier. You smiled down at him and ruffled his hair, when you said he could pick which bed he wanted, he was off and sat down on one and then the other. Trying to gauge which one was most comfortable. To your surprise, your belongings (minus weapons and food) were already shoved underneath the metal bed frames.

“Thanks again, Carol. For this.”

“Like I said,” she lay a hand on your arm gently, “we’ve all been there.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x female reader #twd x reader #Tear You Apart #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic

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candycandy00 · 2 years

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texasgirl1344 suggested this in a comment on a post I made (Dabi under a lust quirk). It sounded fun so here you go!

Smut. 18+. Blowjobs, masturbation, fist time sex, etc.

There he is again. That guy who comes into the convenience store you work at and buys a random assortment of snacks, a hood pulled low, casting his eyes in shadow, a medical mask covering his nose and mouth. From his build and the glimpses you’ve gotten of his eyes, he’s pretty cute. He rarely speaks, but he seems nice enough.

Of course he turns out to be a villain.

At the end of your shift, you’re taking out the garbage in the alley behind the store when you see bright blue light to your left, further down the alley. The guy in the hood had only left a few minutes ago, and you’re struck by the fear that he’s gotten caught up in something, so you do a very stupid thing. You investigate the bright light.

At the other end of the alley, you find your cute hooded stranger shooting blue flames out of his hands, his hood blowing back from the air pressure and revealing black shiny hair. In front of him, three charred bodies lie at his feet, smoke rising from their forms. You recognize him now, even with the mask still on. This man is a dangerous, wanted villain named Dabi. You’ve seen clips of him on the news, committing violent acts.

Your first instinct is to flee, but you don’t want to alert him to your presence, so you try to back away quietly. And your foot hits a metal soda can, making a shockingly loud sound. Because of course it does.

Dabi turns around and your eyes meet. There’s a brief pause where you both seem surprised and speechless. Then you turn and run back down the alley, some ancient prey instinct taking over your body.

You don’t get far. He’s on you within seconds, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and jerking you backwards, into his grasp. He drags you over to the brick wall and tosses you against it, then slams one hand into the wall right beside your head.

“Can’t believe you made a run for it,” he says, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Please don’t kill me!” you blurt out, your whole body shaking with fear. Should you do it? Should you use your quirk?

He pulls off the mask and takes a deep breath. “No point hiding my face now, huh? You know who I am.”

You nod. “Y-you’re Dabi.”

“That’s right. And I really didn’t want to kill you, but I can’t have you reporting to the heroes that I’m hanging around this area,” he says, then leans in close. “So what should I do with you?”

You shrink back as far as you can against the wall. “I won’t tell anyone! I swear!” You know saying things like that is pointless. He has no reason to trust you.

“Sorry, but I can’t just take your word for it, can I?”

You start to sniffle as tears sting your eyes. You have to use it. There’s a risk involved, but it’s better than dying. You start to charge up your power, but you need to buy a few more seconds of time. “O-okay,” you stammer, “but please don’t burn me. You can stab me or bash my head in or whatever, but I’ve always been terrified of fire.”

He stares at you for a moment, then sighs and pulls back a few inches away from you. “Alright, I won’t burn you to death. So stop crying. I’ll just-“

Before he can finish the sentence, you hit him with your quirk. A massive cloud of pink dust explodes from your body, enveloping Dabi and causing him to cough and hack, waving his arm frantically to try to knock the dust away from his face. But it’s too late. He’s already inhaled it.

Your friends have joked that your quirk reminds them of a skunk, because you once had to use it this way before. A man was trying to rob the store one night and had a gun pointed at your face. You hit him with the quirk and ran off while he was dealing with the consequences.

Those consequences included a painfully sudden erection that didn’t go away for hours. At least, that’s what usually happened. To be clear, the quirk only makes people so aroused that they can hardly bear it. The quirk doesn’t make them attracted to you in the slightest. In fact, the few times you’ve used it (mostly on accident), the person hit with it ran to the nearest bathroom to furiously masturbate if they didn’t have a lover to run to. But you did realize the potential danger of using it on the wrong person, someone who didn’t care who they fucked and didn’t care about consent. Your quirk didn’t override a person’s mind or values, but someone who already thought nothing of raping someone would be very dangerous under the effects of this quirk.

Dabi was a villain. It was certainly possible that he was the wrong sort of person to use it on. But it was either this or be killed.

Presently, Dabi has dropped to his knees, panting heavily, looking down at his crotch in disbelief and then back at you.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It’s a lust quirk. It’ll wear off in a few hours,” you tell him, backing away, getting ready to run back to the store, where a few other employees were still cleaning up before closing time.

He groans, rubbing at his crotch though his pants. “A few hours?! Fuck!”

You pause and watch him, unable to take your eyes off his face, the healthy parts of his skin flushed red, his soft hair hanging in his eyes, his hand struggling to unbuckle his belt, stilted moans escaping his lips.

Oh fuck, he’s hot.

He looks up at you, and instead of looking threatening or angry, he just looks… hungry. Like he’s starving and you have a big plate of food in your hands. His eyes move over you, but he makes no attempt to grab you or even touch you.

Suddenly you feel sorry for him. You step closer to him and say, “Do you want me to help you to a restroom?”

He groans and tries to stand up, stumbling a bit. You take hold of one of his arms and help steady him, then you help him walk back to the store.

The store is empty, and you remember that they had decided to close up early today. You feel like slapping yourself for forgetting, but it does make things less awkward as you lead Dabi to the men’s restroom and into a stall. He flops down on the toilet, fully clothed, and you turn to leave.

Only, you can’t bring yourself to walk out of the restroom. You hear Dabi’s belt coming undone, and you go back to the open stall, where he’s in the process of unbuttoning his pants. He looks up at you questioningly.

“Um… can I… watch?”

His flushed face frowns. “Huh? You a pervert or something?”

“No! I just… Sorry, never mind! I shouldn’t have asked that!” You own face is flushed as you start to leave again.

“I don’t care,” he says, those eyes looking at you hungrily again. Weird. Your quirk shouldn’t have that effect on him.

“Really? Are you sure?”

He nods, finally getting his pants open and pulling his cock free. It’s huge, and so hard and stiff, it looks like it’s about to explode. You blush as you stare at it, watching his hand begin moving up and down the length, feeling transfixed as the tip glistens. He has three piercings that look like they were incredibly painful, but somehow they turn you on. You stand there in the doorway of the stall, holding onto the door frame, squeezing your thighs together to prevent the growing wetness between your legs from leaking out, watching this villain stroke his cock. You face is hot, tinted pink, your lips open. You’re beginning to breathe harder.

Dabi looks at your face and, between ragged breaths, asks, “Did your quirk affect you too?”

“No,” you answer, “I’m immune.”

His eyes pointedly shift to your thighs, where your arousal has dripped down from under your short skirt and is leaving a trail down your leg. You gasp and reach down to try to cover it with your arm, but it’s no use. Dabi has already seen it. You squish your thighs even tighter together and say, “I’ve never watched someone jack off before. I didn’t know it would be so…”

“So what?” he asks, tilting his head back but still watching your face as his arm increases speed and force. The motion is making a wet sound as his hand spreads the wetness from the tip all over the shaft.

“So… hot.”

He suddenly grabs a handful of toilet paper and covers the end of his cock with it. He groans and closes his eyes, then his whole body tenses. A few seconds later, he pulls the paper away and tosses it in the nearby trash can, exhaling a deep breath and leaning his back against the wall behind him.

It only takes a moment for him to realize something is wrong and sit up straight, looking down at his still fully hard cock. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, it’s because of the quirk. I said it’ll last a few hours, remember?”

“You mean it’s gonna stay hard the whole time?” he asks, looking at his own dick as if it had betrayed him. He groans as the feeling of uncontrollable arousal hits him again, and his hand is already beginning to move again.

You shift uncomfortably in the doorway, your panties so wet that it feels like you’ve peed yourself. “I can help, if you want me to.”

His eyes shift to your face immediately, his hand freezing in place. “What?”

You step closer. “I just thought… since I caused this, I could help. If that’s okay with you.”

He opens his legs further apart and looks you in the eyes. “Do whatever you want.”

He must have expected you to reach down and stroke him with your hand, because he seems very surprised when you drop to your knees in front of him and lean your face forward. You extend your tongue and gently lap at the tip of his cock, causing him to moan. You’ve never even touched a dick before, something your friends tease you about, considering your quirk, but your instincts guide you.

You close your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue around it as you move back and forward, letting it hit the back of your throat. You feel one of Dabi’s hands on your head, burying his fingers in your hair. You prod one of his piercings with your tongue and his cock twitches in your mouth. This all turns you on so much that you spread your knees apart, pull your skirt up, and shove one hand down the front of your panties. You have a well used vibrator at home but you’re so aroused, your fingers stroking your clit will easily get the job done.

Seeing you do this must have turned Dabi on as well, because it feels like he just got even harder, if that was possible, and he moans as he presses your head down, making you fight to suppress your gag reflex. Then, all at once he pushes your head down so hard that you feel like you’re choking, and groans as he cums down your throat.

You swallow it all eagerly, your hand still working between your legs. You only regret that he was so far down your throat when he came, you didn’t get a proper taste of his cum. You want it to coat your tongue. You want to savor it.

He’s still hard in your mouth, so you don’t pull away even when he moves his hand from your head. You just start moving your tongue around him again, sliding your lips up and down him. You glance up at his face and see him looking at you with a strange expression. It’s unreadable, but he can’t take his eyes off you as you continue sucking him off and pleasuring yourself at the same time.

You feel yourself getting close to climaxing, so you increase the intensity of your strokes, feeling your body quiver. Finally, you cum, and you let his cock slide out of your mouth just long enough to moan. When he sees this, he suddenly grips your chin and presses two fingers into your mouth, holding it open as he shoots his cum onto your tongue.

You slide your tongue around in your open mouth, tasting his cum and spreading it all over the inside of your mouth. It’s so good, you think you might get addicted. You pull your sopping wet hand out of your panties, fingers sticky, and reach toward the toilet paper, but Dabi catches your hand in his and pulls your fingers into his mouth, licking them clean.

He’s still hard. Of course he is. His eyes are looking increasingly wild and desperate, the lust completely over taking him. Soon he’ll be like a feral animal, doing anything and everything to cum again. If you don’t want to be fucked by him, now is probably the time to leave, before he loses himself completely. You stand up on shaky legs and look down at him. He’s breathing hard, one hand starting to stroke himself again, hair disheveled, blue eyes staring up at you. You look at his cock, and you wonder if that monster will even fit inside you. But he has that look again, like he’s positively starving for you, like he wants you more than anything else in the world.

This man was going to kill you only a little while ago. Now you want his dick to obliterate your virginity. Maybe you’re not so immune to your quirk after all. You reach under your skirt and pull your panties down, tossing them aside. You step closer to Dabi and say, “I can help you some more if you want.”

He reaches up and jerks the skirt down so fast, you almost fall down from the force. He practically tears it from your body, leaving you exposed from the waist down. You feel a quick rush of embarrassment, but it quickly passes. You’ve been staring at his dick all this time. Why be embarrassed by him staring at your pussy?

You position yourself above his cock, placing the tip right at your entrance. You rub yourself on him a bit, then prepare to lower yourself. “This is my first time, so be-“

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence. With a growl of pure, animalistic lust, he grabs your waist and pulls you down. You’re so slick from cumming earlier that, combined with him pulling you down so forcefully, his massive cock goes all the way in. For a moment, your brain goes complete numb. You don’t breathe. Your eyes go wide as tears fill them. You don’t move a muscle, you just sit there, impaled on his cock, your whole body twitching. Then you gasp, starting to breathe again. You’ve never felt pain quite like that before, but it also feels incredible. You’re so full of him, so warm, you want him to go even deeper.

His eyes, clouded with desire as they are, stay on your face. “You okay?” he manages to ask

“Yeah,” you say, “I think you just rearranged my insides, but I’m good.”

He laughs, but his face is still full of lust, arousal. He’s being as patient as he can, but he wants to move. You can feel it in the way his muscles are twitching.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself, then you start moving, slowly and gingerly at first, just wiggling around a bit, and then you raise yourself up slightly so that you can slide back down.

Dabi tosses his head back, grunts of “Fuck!” escaping his lips. His hands are still on your waist, gripping the flesh there for dear life.

After a while, you start to feel more comfortable, so your movements get more bold. You’re riding him now, grinding against him, arms wrapped around his neck. The sounds he’s making almost bring you to orgasm again on their own. Soon after, his whole body stiffens, he moans again, and you feel him cum inside you. How does he have anything left?

You slide off him and stand in the stall on trembling legs. He must know you need a break, because he starts jacking off again, using the sticky combination of your and his cum, and the small amount of blood from your deflowering, as lube. You watch him, mesmerized by the sight. Eventually he cums again, though only a few drops ooze out.

He’s still hard, the poor guy. You start to feel sorry for everyone you’ve ever used this quirk on, even the guy who held you at gun point. You had no idea the effects were so intense.

You have to take responsibility and help him out again. Two handjobs and another blowjob later, the quirk has finally worn off, and both of you are exhausted. You’ve collapsed onto his lap, breathing hard, clutching his jacket. You gather your strength and stand up, picking up your discarded clothing from the floor.

You glance back at Dabi, who has his head leaned back, his eyes closed. Did he pass out? Should you take this chance to run away? That was the original plan after all. But no, something tells you not to do that.

“So are you still going to kill me?” you ask, keeping your voice even.

He lifts his head and looks at you. “I was never gonna kill you. I was gonna threaten you a little and try to scare you into not calling the heroes on my ass.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling stupid.

He slowly stands up and buttons his pants. “I told you I didn’t want to kill you. Why do you think I keep coming in here?”

You still don’t get it. Maybe your brain is still fuzzy from all the orgasms. “Why do you keep coming in here?”

He gives you a weak grin. “There’s this cute girl who works here. I like seeing her smile when I walk in.”

You blush at that, your own grin spreading across your face. “What a coincidence. There’s this cute guy who comes in all the time but hides his face. I’ve always wanted to know who he is.”

Dabi laughs as he heads to the sink and washes his hands. You watch him in the mirror, your mind drifting back to all the things you just did with this man. When he’s finished, he opens the door to the restroom. He looks at you over his shoulder and says, “That’s a hell of a quirk you have. Next time, let’s be a little better prepared.”

With that, he leaves. You look at yourself in the mirror. Hair messy, cheeks flushed red, drying cum on your face. All you can think is, “Next time?”

#Dabi x Reader #Dabi x You #Dabi #Dabi Smut #touya todoroki

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thrashyraccoon · 9 months

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Patch (Eddie Munson x metalhead!reader)

Summary: You buy a Christmas present for Eddie.

Warnings: none.

The holidays were approaching and you were wondering what to buy your boyfriend as a gift. You didn't have much time because it was a week until Christmas. Your thoughts landed on Eddie's combat jacket as you remembered how many times he had praised your jacket and the number of patches on it. You're not surprised at all, his jacket was quite "naked" compared to yours, if I could put it that way, because it was decorated only with a few patches on the front and a few pins. There was absolutely nothing on the back. Focusing on this thought, you decided to go to a music store selling vinyl and cassettes in Hawkins. Due to the fact that it was the only music store, there were quite a lot of musical genres, from Michael Jackson to Black Sabbath. At first glance, it didn't look like they sold metal band patches there, but you've bought patches here a few times before. You saw the salesperson hiding them behind the counter because of the various customers milling around the store. You approached the salesperson and asked the classic question about patches. Despite the newer assortment, the selection wasn't too huge, but you finally decided on one large Dio patch from the album "The last of the line". You were lucky because of the larger ones there were only two patches. This one from Dio and the other from Metallica's album "Kill em all". You really liked the other one, but you only had money for a patch for Eddie. When you saw her, you knew this would be it. Eddie loves Dio very much, including this particular album, which the boy calls the best of the band's entire discography (even though it was 1984 and his discography was not large yet). You were already heading towards the entrance when you saw Eddie enter the same store. You packed this patch into your bag so quickly, not even knowing it was possible. When he saw you, he was as surprised and slightly stressed as you were at that moment.

“Hi, baby,” he gives you an awkward smile, “What are you doing here on this oh-so-cold day?”

"Well… I decided to go for a walk, see the… new assortment, but there's nothing interesting, you know," you answer him with a similarly awkward smile as his. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at band practice today?"

"I should, but we finished early today… but I had to… come get a present… for Wayne… you know… I wanted to buy… a vinyl record" you admit that you rarely see someone so awkward, but at this point you wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Oh yeah? Well then I hope you find something."

"Me too…me too," he replies, looking away.

"You know, I'd like to talk to you more, but I still have to look for gifts for my parents, so you know…"

"I see, it was nice meeting you."

“I love you too,” you smile before giving Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek and walking towards the door. Jeez, you really were terrible at improvising.

…

A week passed and you were already at Eddie's. You decided to meet Eddie one day after Christmas at his place. Even though you suggested that the boy spend Christmas Eve together, Eddie insisted that he would rather spend the entire Christmas Eve with Wayne. You're not surprised because, after all, it's his closest plus, even though your parents accepted Eddie and already considered him their new son, your extended family, not necessarily. You were currently sitting on your boyfriend's bed with your eyes closed, waiting for him to let you know when you could open them.

"Okay, you can open it." you hear Eddie coming towards you. You open your eyes and see him holding a medium-sized red gift bag. "Happy Christmas".

You smile as you accept the gift. You bend down to give him a gift. "Merry Christmas, darling"

"So," he begins to say, "who unwraps first?"

"Maybe you?"

"No, I'd rather it be you." You start laughing and then say after a while

"Okay, why don't we unpack them together?"

"Actually, that's a good idea." You both start unwrapping your gifts from each other. You take a gift out of the bag and you see a patch, that patch you saw in the store a week ago, which makes you laugh, as does the metalworker sitting next to you.

"I can't believe we thought the same thing."

"I'm impressed too, honey," he says before giving you a kiss, "When I saw this patch, I thought it would be perfect for you. I know how much you love Metallica."

"I also made my choice based on how much you love Dio," you say, and then it dawns on you, "Wait… did you buy it the same day we met at the music store?"

"I guess so," he laughs, "We had good timing, it turns out."

"And you told me you were buying a present for Wayne, didn't you?" you say, feigning outrage, and you inhale dramatically. "Did you lie to me?"

"And you were just there to see the new range?" Eddie clearly gets your game and continues.

"Oh no, you can't avoid the answer, Munson," you laugh, climbing onto the boy's lap, stealing a passionate kiss from him.

"Well, turns out we're both liars, honey." he says, wrapping his arms around your waist, "what do we do with this fact?"

“Well…” you get off his lap, heading towards a nearby chair in his room where his combat jacket is, to which Eddie is slightly confused. "We can sew our new patches onto our jackets right away." You smile, tossing him the jacket.

"You know what?" he says, slightly resigned, but also amused, "Okay, you're in charge here, sweetheard."

I don't know if I'm satisfied with what I created, but this idea was in my head and since I wrote that I would write it, that's what I did. I know the holidays are over, but I can at least wish you a happy new year. As usual, I'm waiting for your opinions on this fanfic.

#thrashy post #eddie munson #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson my beloved #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x metalhead!reader

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gronesolutions · 11 months

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Industrial Steel Supply: The Backbone of Modern Construction with Steel Beams

Steel is the cornerstone of modern construction and engineering, serving as a fundamental building material that has transformed the world’s skylines. Whether it’s the framework of a towering skyscraper, a sturdy bridge spanning a river, or the structural support in a residential home, steel beams play a vital role. Industrial steel supply is the lifeblood of the construction industry, ensuring that the right materials, especially steel beams, are readily available to bring architectural visions to life.

#buy assorted metals #steel distributor #super metal store #industrial steel and supply

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lovesickonmybed · 11 months

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all you had to do was stay | (1/?)

eddie Munson x OC | chapter 2 | series masterlist

summary | vivian and eddie were best friends until he betrayed her. she decided to get revenge, but it went too far.

word count | 4,156.

warnings | swearing, alcohol, underage drinking, sexual content, themes of abandonment, smoking, and bullying.

a/n | i don't have anyone to edit for me or anything like that before posting so please feel free to give me some feedback about this first chapter!! also listen to all you had to do was stay (taylor's version) while reading this!

Nobody spends their spring break praying for it to be over…except maybe for me. I used to spend my spring breaks at Eddie Munson’s trailer playing D&D and listening to whatever metal albums we had all put enough money together to buy. Now I spend them at endless parties praying that whatever is in my cup will be enough to drown out my hatred for the people I now surround myself with. I would kill to be back at Eddie’s trailer playing D&D and listening to Black Sabbath, I would kill to be anywhere but Lovers Lake with a beer I didn’t even want in my hand.

Eddie became my best friend in 6th grade when I moved to Hawkins. Back then, I was pretty awkward and pretty angry at absolutely everything. My dear old dad had packed up everything and left me and my mom to try to survive on our own, so we moved back to my mom’s hometown of Hawkins, Indiana. It was nothing compared to back home in New York. I hated it, I hated my dad, I hated everything. But then I met someone who understood my anger, someone who knew exactly how I felt. His name was Eddie Munson. He was dorky as shit but also the coolest kid I had ever met. His hair was buzzed, he wore band tees, and he hung out with a girl who was just as cool as him. Veronica Ecker, or just Ronnie for short. She was tall with dark hair and a baseball cap she refused to ever take off.

I remember walking in on my first day of 6th grade at Hawkins Middle. I was oh so lucky to be a new student on Halloween day. Everyone was in costume, I was just in an orange sweater and black jeans. I couldn’t afford a costume and we had thrown out all my old ones in the move. We couldn’t bring too much with us to Hawkins. There were already rumors about me before I had even stepped foot on school grounds. Rumors that I moved there because I got kicked out of every school in New York for starting fights. Another rumor spread that I was somebody from a government experiment that they had planned to plant at the school for research. It’s impressive just how creative 6th graders can get. The truth was too boring for them and nobody had cared to hear it, well, not nobody. Eddie Munson had waltzed up to me as I sat on the bleachers, he was wearing a pair of devil horns, a big grin spread across his face. “You’re the new girl, right?” He had asked.

“If you’re gonna ask me about the rumors then they’re both true and you should definitely avoid me,” I said sarcastically. I couldn’t help being defensive after having kids whisper about me all day, giggling to one another about how weird I was.

“Nah, they’re bullshit. You don’t look like you could win any fights against anybody,” Eddie joked.

I liked him from that very moment.

“You don’t know that, I bet I could take you, shrimp,” I joked back. It was the first time in a while that I had smiled, the first time in a while there was anything in my eyes besides anger.

“You know, maybe you could…but just think of all the people we could take on as a team,” he smiled. His smile is infectious and the grin on my face got even wider.

“You’re right…we’d be a great team…I’m Viv, by the way,” I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake. I had cracked royal blue nail polish on my nails and a variety of different rings I had found in my mom’s things littered both hands. His hands weren’t much different than mine, his nails had clearly been chewed short and he also had his own assortment of rings.

“Eddie, Eddie Munson…”

From that moment on we were friends. He introduced me to Ronnie and then in 7th grade we met Dougie and he joined our group. We had all even performed together in our school's talent show. They had me on vocals because I couldn't play any instruments and I would say that I killed it but half of Hawkins wanted us dead or expelled after that so maybe it’s for the best if I forget it ever happened. Or if I forget that anything had ever happened with that group at all. It’s so strange to know that the people who had taken me in and became my first friends here are the ones who hate me most now. I can’t say I blame them though…

When high school started we were all losers, I mean we were losers in middle school too but it became even more obvious once we hit high school. Jocks hated Eddie and Dougie, targeting them constantly. The cheerleaders and preppy girls had it out for me and Ronnie as well. Nothing says ‘Loser’ like getting trash dumped on you or having to memorize your friends' locker combinations for every time they were stuffed into their own locker and needed you to get them out. For all of Freshman and Sophomore year, I was called ‘Pizza Face’ or told that I was ‘flat as an ironing board’ y’know just all the best things you could say to a deeply insecure teenage girl whose hormones had favored developing acne over developing breasts.

We had taken our love for D&D with us into high school and created a safe haven for people like us, the freaks and the outcasts. Eddie called them his ‘lost little sheep’ and it became his mission to find them…but it turns out a lot of those other freaks and outcasts had believed the lies fed to them about D&D being satanic so attendance was lacking. Nonetheless, we had somewhere we felt safe and it was exactly what we needed. Eddie became our leader, which sadly meant he’d get the most shit from bullies like Tommy H.

There was nobody worse than Tommy H. His father owned the biggest and most successful car dealership in town. On top of that, he was also a star athlete (which is shocking considering how awful he is at pretty much everything I’ve ever witnessed him do) and that meant he could get away with whatever he wanted. He’d always go after Eddie, he’d start shit with him and then go crying to Principal Higgins about how Eddie had started it and there started Eddie’s record of so-called bad behavior. Being a Munson means it’s practically impossible to do anything and not get shit for it, Tommy knew this and used it to his advantage. He used Eddie as a punching bag and would get away with it, hell most of the time Eddie was the one taking the blame when Tommy would walk away without a scratch on him. And all of this makes me hate myself even more for what I did to Eddie…what I did to all of them…

It was the summer right before the start of junior year. I had been in New York visiting family for June and most of July. I had called Eddie almost every day to let him know about my trip, I did leave out a few key details though…the details of how I had gotten my braces off, how I had finally found something that fixed my acne problems, and most importantly I kept it a secret that I had finally started to develop. I had always had a bit of a crush on Eddie, as we had gotten older it had only gotten worse. I’ve never been good with relationships, my first kiss came from a game of Spin the Bottle in 8th grade. It was awkward, messy, and something I’d pay thousands to erase from the minds of all who witnessed it. I had a boyfriend at one point too, I’d use the term boyfriend very loosely though. It was Charlie Stump, he was a loser like me and we ‘dated’ Freshman year. Our relationship consisted of holding hands and sharing one kiss before he broke it off because he thought metal music was satanic. He was just something to fill the void that I had hoped Eddie would fill instead.

Ronnie had told me about the time Eddie had tried to kiss her when they were 13, I remember wishing it had been me instead, I would’ve let him kiss me whenever he had wanted. Me and Eddie were complicated…we were flirty with one another but whenever someone would address it we’d both claim it was a joke. I lied every single time. I cherished every single touch I got from him, they all felt electric. I cherished every time we’d hold hands to cross the street or to lead one another through a crowd, I cherished the kisses he’d give me on the cheek or forehead whenever I had saved his ass from his bullies, I cherished how he’d hold me against him when we’d watch horror movies. I was never really scared, but he never had to know that. I was lovestruck, but I knew he’d never feel the same. I saw how certain girls would catch his eye, preppy cheerleaders, good girls, girls that were nothing like me. Girls with perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect bodies, perfect lives. I couldn’t compare.

When I had finally started to look like the girls that caught his eye I was overjoyed. It was stupid, I felt good because I thought I would finally have a chance with my best friend. My best friend who had been designated as the freak of Hawkins High. His house was my first stop when I returned from my trip to New York. It was late but his trailer was only about a mile from the apartment complex I lived in with my mother. I had put on my best outfit, something that would surely make him swoon. It was a black denim dress, it buttoned up and the skirt flared out at the bottom, it was cute. I had even learned to do nicer makeup when I was visiting my cousins. I switched out my heavy eyeliner for something more soft and subtle. Something that girls that he likes would wear. I walked over with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. This would be the night I would win him over…or so I thought.

When I arrived at the Munson residence I was met with the site of an unfamiliar car parked in front of the trailer. It was way too nice to belong to Wayne or Eddie, it was out of place for Forest Hills Trailer Park. My heart was beating faster as I became anxious. Every step I took towards his door felt heavy, it was like my body was slowly becoming filled with lead. I took a deep breath and I finally was at his door. I knocked and waited. It took him a minute to answer the door and when he did I was shocked. He was shirtless and his hair was a mess, there were a few hickeys scattered across his neck and collarbones, he looked hot. But once I got over how good he looked I was overtaken by jealousy. It looks like somebody beat me to it.

“Holy shit…I was not expecting you, Viv,” He chuckled. He was almost unaware of his appearance, unaware that it’s pretty obvious what he’d been doing.

“I-I just got back into town…I wanted to surprise you…I guess you’re busy…”

Before Eddie could respond I saw a girl walk up behind him, I recognized her instantly and became filled with rage. Nicole fucking Summers. The goddamned bitch who had been tormenting me since 6th grade, she was the one who made up the rumors about me moving to Hawkins for getting expelled from every school in New York. She’s the one who cut off a chunk of my hair in 7th grade, the one who told everyone I still wore a training bra in 8th grade. She was the one who started calling me ‘Pizza Face’ in Freshman year, going as far as to get all her friends to throw slices of pizza at me at lunch. Sophomore year she had stolen my clothes after gym when I was in the shower and I was forced to find them in just my underwear. Out of anyone he could’ve fucked, out of anyone he could’ve lost his virginity to why the fuck did it have to be her. Sure his options are slim but I was right there.

I was beyond stunned when she began to speak. “Vivi, is that you? You look…different. I guess you grew out of your ugly duckling phase, huh?” She teased. She was in one of Eddie’s shirts, her makeup smeared and her neck was covered in hickeys just like Eddie’s. It took everything in me to not break both of their noses right then and there.

“I’m just gonna go. Clearly, you’re busy,” I spat out at Eddie. He was lucky I was holding back my anger. I didn’t even let him respond before I was marching off and away from his door, once I was a far enough distance away I started to run. I screamed and I cried and I ran all the way home. My mascara burned my eyes but I ignored it. Eddie’s betrayal had hurt me worse than anything physical ever could. He didn’t notice that I changed, he didn’t care, he fucked the girl who had made my life miserable. At the time I didn’t know it was a one-time thing. She had wanted to brag to her friends about ‘taking the freaks virginity before his loser little friend got a chance.’

I locked myself in my room for days, I was beyond angry. I wanted to tear them both apart and then put them back together again so that I could do it all over again. I didn’t know what to think and I didn’t know what to do…until I did. I ignored any calls from Eddie, Ronnie, or Dougie. I told my mom that if they came looking for me to tell them I was sick. I couldn’t face any of them, if I did I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself back. I devised a plan, a plan to get Nicole back for fucking Eddie and one to get Eddie back for fucking Nicole. It was a plan that would go too far for too long. The few times I had gone out in public I had overheard something about there being a party at Steve Harrington's house. His parents were always gone and he hung out with just the people I needed for my plan.

On a Saturday night in August, I found myself on the front doorstep of the Harrington residence. I was in an almost sheer blouse, my lacy red bra showing through the material, and a mini skirt, it was nothing like I had ever worn before. My makeup and hair were perfect, I knew what these guys liked, it was exactly what Eddie liked. I took a deep breath before waltzing in, heads turning as soon as I walked in the door. I had never been to a party before and I had certainly never looked like this before. “Do you have a staring problem or something, Caleb?” I asked one of Tommy’s cronies. He was closest to me and a perfect target for my plan.

His eyes were glued to me, raking up and down my body slowly. “When Nicole said you got hot I thought she was kidding…” He said as he licked his lips. I rolled my eyes and walked towards the kitchen to find something to drink.

As I made my way into the kitchen I bumped into none other than Steve Harrington himself. He did a double-take when he saw me. “Holy shit…w-what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl go to a party, Harrington?” I replied. He was still sputtering and his face was all red, it felt great to fluster a man like this for once in my life.

“B-But…you…you’re-”

“I’m what? I’m a loser? An outcast? A freak? Not anymore, Harrington.”

He cleared his throat and got a hold of himself, “Where’s Munson? Aren't you two inseparable or something?”

“Not anymore…I umm…let’s just say I outgrew him.” I was totally bullshitting.

“Really?” Steve asked. He was looking at me the same way that Caleb was when I walked in.

“Really. Now do you mind showing me where you’ve got some vodka, I really need a drink.” What I needed was liquid courage, courage for the idiotic bullshit I planned to do that night. Steve led me to the vodka and I took a shot, and then another. I was on a mission but fuck I needed that to be able to succeed.

I look over at Steve and bat my eyelashes, “Hey, Stevie, do you know where Tommy’s at?”

He scratches the back of his neck as he tries to think, “Last I saw him he was outside in the pool.”

I get on my tip toes and kiss him on the cheek, “Thanks, Stevie.” His face is flushed when I walk off to go find Tommy. It doesn’t take me long, he’s lounging on one of the pool chairs with a beer in his hand. He’s not somebody I find particularly attractive but I’ll have to fake it for my plan. I smile down at him. “Hey Tommy,” I say as I bite my lip. He looks up at me with wide eyes that get even wider as he takes in my appearance.

“No fucking way…Nicole wasn’t lying…” He’s taking his time to admire me, I hate how his eyes feel on me.

“It’s amazing what a few months can do, huh? Do you…do you mind if I sit down with you?” I bat my eyelashes at him and he crumbles beneath my gaze.

“Be my guest…” His eyes are glued to my body, more specifically my chest.

“So, how was your summer?” I ask, I sit across from him with my legs uncrossed, he has a perfect view of my lacy little thong. It’s red and leaves barely anything to the imagination, it’s ideal for a creep like him. His eyes trail down to the spot between my legs and he smirks.

“It would’ve been a lot better had I known you were spending it turning into this, fuck…” He groans. I’ve got him right where I want him.

“It’s amazing what a summer away from Munson could do to a girl,” I giggle. It feels awful coming out of my mouth, worse than the vodka taste going down.

“You’re done with him, huh? Wanted to join where you should’ve been the whole time…fuck if we had gotten our hands on you sooner just imagine what you would be Vivian…” He marvels, “I knew you weren’t like them…like those freaks. Bet Munson dragged you into all that satanic shit, you’re better than that, better than him…” Tommy rambles.

“He did…I-I’m not like that anymore,” I lie through my fucking teeth.

“Yeah? You a good girl now?” Tommy teases.

“I am…can I show you just how good I am, Tommy?” I flirt.

“Harrington’s got a guest room upstairs that’ll be perfect, baby. Think of it as your initiation into the good side,” Tommy says. I think he’s exaggerating that last part, that he’s being dramatic, but after what we did that night he had no plans of ever letting me return to Eddie again.

In Sex ED they don’t tell you how needy a guy can be after a one-night stand. This was supposed to be a one-time thing that would get spread around to Eddie so that he’d hurt as bad as he had hurt me. But instead, Tommy got attached, and I became his little project. He planned to mold me into his little homecoming queen. And Eddie…Eddie was more than hurt, he hated me. I can’t blame him, I hated myself for it. I expected an angry phone call or an aggressive confrontation but instead, I was met with radio silence, not only from him but from every single one of my old friends. I went too far and had no other choice than to stay with my new ‘friends’. On the first day of Junior year I walked into school a completely different person. People had heard about my transformation and they had also heard about me hooking up with Tommy, I was already the talk of the school and first period hadn’t even started. When I said that Tommy planned to turn me into his little homecoming queen I wasn’t kidding. He made Tina and Carol take me shopping at the goddamn Gap. They picked me out new outfits, told me how to do my hair, who to talk to, what music to listen to, who to be. The worst part is that I kind of…liked it. I liked how I looked in my new outfits, I liked how my hair framed my face, hell I even liked the music they picked out. It turns out Madonna isn’t too bad when you don’t have somebody trying to shove down your throat that enjoying her music is the worst crime someone could commit.

So on the first day of school I walked in wearing a pink turtleneck, a light washed denim skirt, and a pair of knee high white boots. I felt pretty, I felt confident, I felt fucking amazing. Well I did until I saw my locker. Eddie had taken the liberty of breaking into the school and defacing my locker, in blood red spray paint the word ‘TRAITOR’ had been written for all to see. It didn’t take a genius to know it was him. He watched me walk up to it with a proud smile on his face, leaning against the lockers right across from mine. Ronnie and Dougie were beaming with him. I was raging, I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted to yell that he was the traitor for what he did with Nicole Summers, but instead I walked up to him and simply said, “The same could be said for you. At least I wasn’t a pity fuck.” That set him off. Before I know it he’s dragging me down the hall by my arm and into the janitor's closet, he slams me against the wall and for a second I smile. Maybe in some other universe he’s dragging me in here to confess his feelings for me and to kiss me, not in this one though, in this one I ruined any chance of that I could’ve possibly had.

He glares at me like he wants me dead and I’m sure he does. He has me pinned against the wall, his face only inches from mine as he begins to speak. “You may have new friends and a new look but you’ll always be a fucking loser!” He spits. It’s an anger I’ve only heard reserved for people like Tommy. “Your new friends used to treat you like you were nothing, don’t think they won’t drop you once they get bored of you. They’ll throw you out and you’ll have nobody because you burned any bridges you could’ve had back to us. You’re fucking pathetic, Vivian.” Eddie spits in my face and walks out, leaving me to process really how bad I had fucked up. He’s right, but I can’t go back now. I don’t have that choice anymore, I lost my chance when Tommy unbuttoned my blouse upstairs at the party.

So here I am, senior year, still unfortunately friends with Tommy, Carol, and Tina. Carol had the grand idea of throwing a party at Lover’s Lake and was ready to have my head if I skipped out on one more party this week. I didn’t bother showing up in a swimsuit, I have no intentions of swimming. I’m in a red tight fitting t-shirt, black denim cutoffs that show off way more of my ass than my friends thought was acceptable, and a pair of beat up black converse. I’m standing away from most of the crowd sipping on a beer that tastes like actual piss and regretting giving into Carol's whining about how I just had to come tonight. I scan the crowd and attempt to pick out somebody who I might not hate spending my night with when I see him. He’s in a white t-shirt, ripped light wash jeans, and a pair of boots. His hair is tied up and he’s lighting a cigarette. Fuck.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x oc #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #joseph quinn #eddie munson x original character #Eddie Munson x original female character

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beedreamscape · 2 years

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(Laerryn's cleaning her personal resting room for the first time in ages as a means of clearing her head. Post-divorce.)

On the corner of the room, a bundle of fabric sits around the corner away from view behind the side of a bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, she knows exactly what it is and why it's there. She picks it up, straightens it, holding it up by the shoulders --- a light purple and incredibly soft button-up shirt.

A soft smile comes to her lips as she recalls with precision the night when it ended up there. She had been the one to lure him into the room, to pull out his sweater, to unbutton his shirt and then toss it across the room away from view. She had him in this very room, on this intricate and expensive Gwessar-made rug, whose edge she now caresses with the toes of her boot, observing the colorful assortment of birds weaved into it.

She remembers him putting his sweater on inside out, she remembers the kiss he gave her before rushing out with his shoelaces still untied, late for an important meeting.

(She had convinced him to stay a while longer before, she always did, until the day she convinced him to leave.)

She shakes the dust off and stares at it for a moment, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips.

She then brings the fabric towards her face, jumping over any restraint she might've fancied herself in possession of, and inhales the familiar scent with a shiver --- the odd sweetness of his sweat and the fresh and woody Marquesian parfum she helped him buy while the city went over Sumer'Irel.

For the first time in a long while, she loses track of time, unaware of how long she stands there with his shirt pressed to her lips, holding the tears at a bay, feeling her muscles tense and tingle at the longing that shakes the meaty core of her soul. To have gotten this close to another person to know their smell, to tether it to all the wonderful moments they shared, how alien, how lovely, how tragic.

She pulls it away from her face against her desire, folds it as neatly as she can and looks for Dweomer in another chamber.

"Would you be so kind as to take this to Mr Seelie, D?"

It was rare for Laerryn to send her aeormaton in tasks outside of the labyrinth, even less something this mundane, but for some reason this felt too personal to entrust any stranger.

Dweomer's eyes flicker a different colour for half a second, the only means through which she could show emotion in her metallic face. Her original function was never to care for Laerryn, but she couldn't help the care and worry towards her that bloomed over the years.

"Of course, my lady."

It's curious how Dweomer's entrance into his office doesn't startle Loquatius even as she glides in without knocking. Despite the divorce, most members of the Herald's Tome took her presence with naturality and politeness, no doors were locked for Mrs Coramar-Seelie's the Architect's aeormaton.

"Good afternoon, Mr Seelie. I come in the Architect Arcane's behest to deliver this." Dweomer's movements are fluid and delicate as she places the shirt down on his desk in front of him.

Recognition comes instantly, he doesn't remember exactly when or where he had lost it, only that her hands were all over him the last time he had worn it then realizing he didn't know it had gone weeks later.

"Where did she find it?"

"My lady was cleaning up her secondary office, I supposed she came upon it while doing so."

"Oh," he breathes out with a weight of nostalgia in his voice, recalling the occasion he last had it on.

The somewhat awkward shape it has been folded into also strikes his memory, running his fingers along the collar. "Did you fold this?"

"No. She handed it to me as such, sir."

"Oh..." He can't help a smile. "Thank you kindly, Dweomer. Would you like a coin to munch on?"

She softly chuckles. "Thanks for your consideration, Mr Seelie, but I've been well sustained in the Labyrinth."

"Very well then. Have a good rest of your day."

"Equally, sir."

Dweomer bows her head and makes her way out. In the process of watching her go, Loquatius notices several eyes looking through the glass wall of his office from their desks, curious about what could the Architect Arcane's automaton be doing here. Loquatius could almost be mad, had he not picked them out to work for him especially for that trait, their unbridled inquisitiveness.

Nevertheless, he gestures his hands up in a quick and simple glyph and the glass slowly fades darker which on the outside creates a mirror, but from the inside he can still observe them.

Finally in privacy, Loquatius takes a moment to hold up the shirt and be flooded with the memories. These days he gave more preference to his shiftweave garments, but individual standard pieces like this were the ones he used to wear at home, in her presence, times when there was barely any reason to change or hide.

Feeling resignation finally kick in, he unravels the shirt to hand it to Aria, have it washed, ironed, properly folded and placed into his inventory; then he spots it.

It would've been faint had the contrast in color not been this striking, but a smudge of red lipstick, barely the resemblance of the shape of lips sits on the inside of the shirt near the collar, an unlikely place for her to leave a mark back then.

He runs a pale finger across the border of it and red comes off on his fingertip, fresh.

It's embarrassing, the flustered mess he becomes at that. He hides his face inside the shirt for good five minutes --- picking up the faintest whiff of Issylran violet that any other person would never detect but him.

He collects himself with a deep sigh, folds it as neatly as he can and sends for Aria.

"Please, place this with... with my things."

He looks away, trying to evade her studious stare --- the more they know him, the less effective the masks become.

She wants to ask about the aeormaton, about the shirt, about his bewildered demeanour, but for somebody trained in the art of questioning, she's quite adept in keeping her mouth shut and her curiosity restrained.

She nods. "As you wish."

#loquaerryn #laerryn x loquatius #loquatius seelie #laerryn coramar seelie #dweomer #writing #flash fic #lil idea I had that wouldn't fit my long fic #i made up a place since I didn't find anything on age of arcanum marquet #a demonstration of small fun .ways how to yearn for your ex-spouse

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buckyscombatboots · 2 years

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Monstertober Day 6:

Below the lily pads🪷

Pairing: Swamp monster/Siren!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Non con, death, Dead dove: do not eat, dark!bucky, beefy!bucky, forced breeding, p in v, anal fingering, sex in a forest, sex near a pond, drowning, marking/biting, mentions of blood, scratching, choking, praise, delusional!Bucky, victim!reader

Nicknames: Doll, sweetness, doll face

Word count: 2.1k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

You plopped down on the couch with a huff, that was the final box. You’d finally finished unpacking everything and now you could relax. You raised your head and glanced into your new garden, which was the woods connected to your property. The sky was dark, aside from the silvery glow of the moon and stars which hung in the velvet blanket of the cobalt night sky—it was going to get way darker. The thought of being unable to see into your backyard, which was now so much larger than before, made your stomach churn “Buy outdoor lights, noted.” You slowly rose from the couch staring suspiciously out into the thicket of dark fir trees, if you stared for long enough you could see movement, one day of being here and your eyes were playing tricks on you already making you paranoid “I’m going to go mental here, aren’t I?” You joked, turning away from the darkness outside your french doors and instead turning your attention to your beautifully lit kitchen. Your stomach rumbled lowly, it was way later than you thought and the day of unpacking had left you famished.

Looking at the contents of your fridge made you sigh, you had enough for a basic meal but nothing fancy. You grabbed the two cloves of garlic you had left, the random half of an. onion and the two tomatoes rolling around freely in the fridge draw and dumped them on the countertop “Pasta it is…Do I even have any pasta.” You stood on your tiptoes opening the cupboard and began to rummage, you had enough spices to open a spice market, stocked up on medications, hot chocolate mix, extra coffee and an assortment of herbal teas, but no pasta. You said a silent prayer as you opened the next cupboard and there it was, a half empty box of spaghetti “Thank all that is holy!” You exclaimed, placing it on the counter as you pulled out a pot and a pan and put it beside the spaghetti. You swayed along to the enchanting sound of man singing as you filled the pot with water and placed it on the stove, it was a song you’d never heard before. You began to hum along, turning to your record player curiously to see what record you’d put on. It wasn’t on. You hadn’t put any records on. There were no houses for miles, you were alone in the middle of the woods; so there was absolutely no way it was from a neighbour. You threw open one of the draws and pulled out the biggest knife you owned, the blade glimmering in the overhead lighting of the kitchen as you held it defensively up in the air. Standing as still as possible, you stopped breathing momentarily to listen, your heart thumping in your ears as you cautiously stepped towards the singing. The sound was coming from outside. Biting down on your lip you tiptoed towards the glass, squinting in an attempt to see outside. You pressed your face to the chilly glass, goosebumps rippling across your skin. You couldn’t see anything but the reflection of your house's Interior.

You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, as your hand wrapped around the handle of the door, you begrudgingly opened it. Aware of every little sound; the swaying of the trees in the light wind, the metallic tick of the lock as you pushed on the handle, the crunch of leaves as small animals skittered through the woods. Every small noise made the anxiety rising within you worse. “Is anyone out here?” You called. Nothing. The smooth baritone singing continued.

Slipping on the pair of hiking boots you’d left outside to dry, you squeezed the knife; mentally preparing yourself to venture into woods.

You were deep into the forest by now, the singing was getting louder. You were close. “Singing stranger! Your voice is lovely, but this is private property and it’s late. You’re really freaking me out here, so if you could…maybe leave, that would be great.” The singing stopped, leaving you to listen to the soft chirp of crickets. You pushed aside some brambles allowing you to see a clearing and a pond surrounded by overgrown aquatic plants; long, thick brown pond reeds towered tall and piles of bulrush outlined the small waterhole. A small section of the bank was not overtaken by plants, a flat slab of rock that was damp as you advanced towards it bending just enough to swipe your fingers through the moisture. It had no smell, you thought maybe one of the fishes had splashed the water on it. Thinking that brought you solace. Looking closer at the pond, you adored it. It needed work that was for certain but you could definitely clean it up, add some lights around it and place a bench close to it to make it a cute picnic spot. Your shoes sunk into the mud as you crouched down next to the pond, watching as the reflection of the pale moon was distorted in the ripples of the water. You reach towards one of the water lilies, trying not to fall into the pond as you lean forward. The tips of your fingers brush against the soft, yet firm, petals and you try to pinch it between your outstretched fingers to pull it closer. You miss it. You glance down at the bank of the pond before shuffling closer to the edge, you repeat your actions from before but this time you're able to reach. You pull the flower closer, the pink of the petals becoming clearer as the lily pad parts the water drawing closer to you. Something wet and slimy grazes your ankle, making you release the lily, you fall backwards into the mud as you squirm away from the water edge. You let out a scream as a viscid webbed hand seizes your ankle, you kick and squirm against the tight hold.

“There’s no need to be scared, doll. It’s me, the stranger who was singing. You said my voice was beautiful.” From the clear water emerged a man with murky green gils framing his clean shaven face. Despite being in the water his hair was completely dry, the moon casting a blue glow down on his pushed back brown locks. His blue eyes were warm, welcoming and crinkled at the corners from the wide toothy grin stretched across his face, all of his teeth were pointed and curved like a shark. Murky water glided down his defined chest, as if his skin was covered in wax. You laid paralysed in the mud as he used his free hand to prop himself up on the bend of his tail, his scales glinting in the moonlight. Peaking out of the slit below his waist were two erect dicks, tinged green like his scales and ribbed. A bead of precum leaked down from the tip onto the other one below it causing it to twitch in response. You woke from your paralysis, scrambling on to your knees, Bucky lurched forward pushing you back into the mire “Where do you think you’re going, Doll? We haven’t even started yet.” His claw-like nails cut through your shirt and shorts like butter exposing you to the chilly autumn air, his nails scratching your skin deep enough for it to bleed as he cut through your clothes.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You screamed kicking at his muscular tail, Bucky dug his nails into your sides making you yelp in pain—stopping your struggling as you felt the burning pain travel across your nerves.

“Stop struggling, Doll.” He hissed, spit flying into your face. You wiped it away with your arm and turned your head further to look at his face

“Make me.” You spat, grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it at him. The warmth left his eyes and his smile fell, his cold stare remained locked on you as he slammed your head into the mud. You choked and spat as sludge entered your mouth.

“That wasn’t very nice, sweetness. I know what's best for you, so just lie still.” Bucky warned raking his claws across your back to pull you closer, he held both dicks in his hand lining them up to your hole. You tried to wiggle your hips away from him but he mercilessly slammed into you the tips of his dicks painfully bashing against your cervix as he stretched you open; a dull burn radiating through your waist. Your walls constricted around him trying to force him out of you, he thrusted against the resistance making an agony akin to period camps spread through your stomach. Bile rose in your throat as he continued his pounding, using you like a fleshlight. You felt the tip of his needle-like fingernail pressing against your rose bud, your screams of resistance were muffled by the mud as he forcefully shoved his thumb into your tight ring, a stabbing pain travelling across your back “So tight for me. All for me.” He moaned, draping himself over you and biting into your shoulder blade. White hot pain surged across your back corrupting your senses as white flashed across your vision. You began to struggle with new found vigour. But it was futile his body weight alone kept you pinned to the ground. Bucky’s snake-like tongue lapped at the blood flowing from the teeth shaped puncture wound hungrily. “Taste so sweet, doll. Never gonna let you go, you’re gonna have my babies.You want them don’t you? Want me to make you a Mommy.” Bucky whined, the thrusting of his hip causing more water to slosh out of the pond and splatter against you both.

“No!” You shrieked, hoping that for some reason anyone was in the vicinity to be able to hear you. You couldn’t give a shit if they were trespassing on your property, if they could help you then nothing would matter. He pushed your face deeper into the mixture of mire and swamp water, you dug your hands into the sludge below you endeavouring to not suffocate. You became frantic as you felt the oxygen left in your lungs running low, the taste of mud and swamp water entered your mouth through your nostrils making you gaged as you suffocated. Survival instincts took over your mind, dulling the stabbing pains throbbing throughout your entire body. You needed to get him off, or you were going to die.

“You don’t mean that, Doll, you’ll come to terms with it eventually. You’ll melt when you see how beautiful our children are going to be, I’m going to pump you so full of them. Your stomach is going to swell with our children.” As his thrust became more brutal he lent more of his body weight on your head. Your lungs burned, desperate for air. Your screams making bubbles in the ooze, you were swallowing dirt but all you could think of was survival. Your hands flailed behind you grabbing for the swamp monster, why you felt the firm skin of his torso you dragged your nails across it furiously. Trying to hurt him so he’d get off you. But your attack just fuelled his fire “I didn’t know you liked it rough, sweetness. You should have told me.” He purred, slamming into you with harsh, shallow thrusts. You felt warm puffs of breath against your throat before an intense, excruciating pain shot through your neck; his teeth tore through your skin as he bit down harder and harder tearing the muscles and skin from your throat. You couldn’t even scream, he’d torn out your vocal cords. The warmth of your blood against your freezing skin gave you a small moment of comfort as you felt your life fading away. Your body was so heavy, you couldn’t lift your hands. Your clawing and squirm slowed, the haze in your mind feeling as thick as the mud you were laying in. The pain stopped, everything stopped.

“Doing so good for me, Doll. I’m gonna cum. That’s it, relax for me. That's it. Gonna- ah-” Bucky gave a few more weak, shallow thrusts as his hot seed filled you. He pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, stroking your dirty, wet hair. He let out a soft chuckle “Already asleep. That really took it out of you? Didn’t it, doll face. You did so well.” He whispered, picking up your limp body and turning you to press your face into his chest “I can wait to start a family with you, Doll. You’re gonna be such a good Mommy.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483 @little-bunny0523 @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter @taramaria @anniellacinamon

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oharabunny · 1 year

Text

Happy Autumn Moon Festival ☾ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Disclaimer: I was given to write this fic by @kairiscorner for an anon (I am @hisachuu). I'm Chinese-American, so I write from the perspective of one and my own personal experiences! Also, this is a reupload because I was unsure if anyone could see my reblog. Warning: Miguel x GN!Reader // Reader is Chinese-American // Fuckboy Miguel if you squint (but more like a flirt) // Shy!Reader

Word Count: 2229

Summary: Imagine sharing mooncake with Miguel under the moonlight

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ✦

It was that time of the year again. You made sure to google around September so you never miss the date since it always changed every year according to the lunar calendar, even if the date was usually towards the end of the month. The Autumn Moon or Mid-Autumn Festival. You were disheartened when Miguel assigned you yet another hard anomaly mission for the 4th time in a row with him that you just finished, without so much of a proper break. It was a blessing and a curse. It meant he had immense amount of trust in you along with great approval. (Something you secretly craved) But it was beginning to take a toll on you, as you were beginning to miss your family. You won't be home to celebrate with them with all the work that you do for the Spider Society.

For Miguel.

You were in the middle of your thoughts when you were approached by some of the other Chinese and Chinese-American Spider variants who came up to ask your plans for the holiday. You all chatted for awhile and some were discussing how they were part of the Mid-Autumn Festival like lion dancing or helping their family's vendor in their home universes. Some variants were still teenagers who were volunteers to guide the traffic. Some of the older variants shared their homemade mooncake and gifted you some snacks.

That gave you an idea.

If you couldn't go home to spend the holiday with your family, then you could bring the holiday to Miguel. It's not like he knew about the Mid-Autumn Festival, so perhaps a fun cultural exchange could eliviate some of the stress you were put on.

You told Lyla you would be right back, and quickly left HQ for Nueva York's Chinatown to pick up your favorite brand and type of mooncake: the traditional one with lotus paste with salted duck yolk...though you also picked up a box without the yolk just in case Miguel didn't like it, and also another box of assorted flavored snow skin mooncakes from the freezer section if he just couldn't handle traditional mooncakes as well. You decided to go with your favorite to stay true to yourself since it wasn’t economic to buy all three boxes. You left the other two back on the shelf before checking out.

You also picked up jasmine green tea (your personal favorite) on the way. You went into the cafeteria, and asked the kitchen crew to let you brew the tea, which they happily allowed. You gave them one of the mooncakes you bought (a box has 4 mooncakes typically), and taught them what it was and what it was for. Safe to say they were not the biggest fans, but that was no surprise to you. You were used to it, but there was only one person's opinion you cared about.

Your heart skipped a beat in anticipation and nervousness of what he would think of the mooncake. Would he like it? Hate it? Would he even care?

You slowly approached Miguel's office where his super high platform resided in. To no one's surprise, he was up there working for who knows what, for who knows how long. Almost as he anticipated for your return, he turned around, and cocked an eyebrow at the bag of the metal tin box and thermos you were carrying.

"What's all this?" Miguel lowered his platform quickly for you, which he rarely did for anyone. But for you, he made an exception.

"Ah, well I got us some mooncakes and tea, for you know, the Mid-Autumn Festival." You motioned the bag and thermos at him. "It's today. If you have time, that is." You broke eye contact with him, a habit of yours when you weren't sure about something.

Luckily for you, Miguel was receptive to your emotions and habits from working with you all the time. Overworking you was his way of making you spend more time with him, which is how he picked up your subtle mannerisms. Not that you knew, of course. Your compliant and people-pleasing nature didn't question it, to his delight. Now you were standing before him all fidgety and nervous while holding a bunch of things that you were trying to share with him.

How cute. Miguel mused. "Sure, I have time."

Miguel was not a tea and cakes type of guy, but again, for you, he'll try anything once.

"How about we go on the roof? The moon is said to be at the fullest and brightest tonight."

"Of course."

You two swung and zipped through the halls of HQ, and reached for the top of the building. You set your thermos and bag down on the floor of the roof. Miguel closely followed and watched you as you sat down and took out the tin box, and noticed the intricate details that were painted and embossed on the lid. As you were about to open them, Miguel pointed at the female figure from the design.

"Who's she? And that rabbit."

Your eyes beamed in excitement the moment he asked. You were afraid he was only going along with you for your sake. (He was interested in anything about you.)

"She's the moon goddess, Chang'e, who's famous for stealing her husband's elixir of immortality. Her husband, Houyi, was an archer that was rewarded the elixir by the gods for his services. She escaped to the moon, stayed there, and became its goddess. The moon is said to be the fullest and brightest according to the lunar calendar today which is why she is always referenced for the Mid-Autumn Festival." You explained as much as you could remember from stories you were taught in Chinese language school. You pointed at the rabbit. "And that lil bunny there is always with her because Chinese people think the moon crater looks like a bunny pounding more of the elixir of immortality! So it's like it's always with her."

You looked up at Miguel who was looking straight at you with soft brown eyes as he leaned his weight extremely close to you. He wore a soft smile from listening to you, making your heart flutter and temperature rise on your cheeks.

"You look so lovely under the moonlight." His eyes were half-lidded looking down on you. "Looks like you're stealing something from me too."

He was leaning dangerously close as his lips ghosted yours. You could feel every fiber of your muscles in your entire body tensing up and heat reverberating. Your breath hitched, but before anything else could happen, you panicked and looked down at the mooncake tin beside you.

"U-Um let me cut you your share." You said awkwardly. You didn't even notice Miguel pouting in disappointment.

You opened up the tin box. Miguel frowned and crossed his arms. He looked at the opened tin and noticed a missing mooncake. "You shared them with someone else, first? Guess I'm really not that special to you."

"I-I didn't mean to! I just had to brew some tea at the cafeteria and I wanted to thank the kitchen crew." You explained hurriedly like you were in trouble.

"I'm just teasing." Miguel chuckled and squeezed your arm for reassurance. He moved on and noticed something. "They're much smaller than I thought they'd be. Are they mini cakes?" He tilted his head to the side in curiosity, examining all lines, shapes, and characters of the design on the mooncakes.

"No, they're meant to be this size. The cakes are super dense." You had cut up the mooncake into 4 pieces. You held up the plastic tray it came in for Miguel. "Here. It has a salted egg yolk, and the filling is lotus paste. It's sweet and salty, and also my favorite!"

He took a piece of his share and you watched tentatively, unsure of his reaction. His eyes widened, but not in shock, rather in delight. He nodded in approval. He followed with a small smile.

"That was actually really good. I won't lie, I thought the salted egg yolk was weird at first, but it actually works to balance out the intense sweetness of the mooncake." He paused. "Could I get some tea though?" He pointed at the thermos.

"Oh, yeah, of course!"

You quickly pour him the tea into the lid of the thermos that also served as a cup. The tea was still warm as steam was coming off of the cup. You gently blew on the cup before handing it to Miguel. He immediately sipped the tea. He had let the tea sit in his mouth before swallowing to taste the tea.

"Think this might be my favorite tea. The light floral flavor helps neutralize the stickiness and sugar of the mooncake." He noted.

You couldn't be more happy to hear his compliments and analysis. Your need for his validation and approval was more than satisfied at this point.

"It's a bit rare for someone who never grew up on them to like these traditional mooncakes." You reminisced a bit on your childhood growing up. Even the other Chinese kids didn't always liked traditional Chinese food.

"Well I'm just cultured like that." Miguel dramatically flipped his hair, being the cheeky guy he was. "I have good taste."

You giggled. "Yes you really do!" You paused for a second. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He replied softly, a tone he almost never used with anyone.

"What did you celebrate usually at home?" You could feel yourself regretting to ask due to his past, but you couldn't help wanting to reminisce with him and learn more about him.

"Well, growing up, we celebrated the usual holidays like Christmas and Halloween. Although for Mexican holidays, usually just Cinco de Mayo." Miguel looked away to the moon. You too gazed upon the lunar plane, mezmerized by its soft light as Miguel's voice carried you away. "And you know, my Gabi, she used to make sure I celebrated every holiday she liked with her. Christmas was her favorite. She loved getting presents, playing games, and making cookies for Santa."

You looked back at Miguel. His face was stoic, but you knew better. A war of emotions dazzled in his chocolate brown eyes against the moonlight. You took a deep breath. "She and I have in common then, I love Christmas. It's the best holiday for families. My family usually celebrates major Chinese and American holidays with a good feast. I always pitched in activity ideas for them or else we'd do nothing else but eat eat eat."

"You and Gabi would get along. She had quite the creative and active mind, like you." Miguel snuck a compliment in.

"I would have loved to meet her." Your heart ached for him. "I can never understand the pain and loss that you feel, but I do miss my family a lot too."

Miguel looked down, and then back up into your eyes. "I'm sorry, I know I've been overworking you. Had I known today's a holiday for you, I would've given you a break."

"It's alright. As long as you let me go home at some point." You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of what to say next. "I'm grateful to be here...it's just...I want to see my family more."

He nodded to that. "I can give you the week off, but can I ask something of you first?"

"Of course! I'll do anything!" You jumped up in people-pleasing mode.

Miguel felt some heat when you said that, but held up his composure to ask: "Can I kiss you?"

You were taken aback by the absurdity, but you weren't opposed to it. Unlike before, your nerves couldn't get the best of you this time. "Y-Yes. I'd like that very much." Blush and heat formed on your face. This couldn't be happening right now. You thought you blew it earlier.

With definitive confidence from you, Miguel shifted closer to you and guided his hands so that one was on your hip and the other guiding itself up to cup your cheek. He lingered to gently rub his thumb on your cheek before lightly pinching it.

"Ah! What are you doing?"

"Your cheeks remind me of a lil bunny rabbit. You're too cute." He said before silencing you with his mouth. He was holding you like a flower, as if he was so afraid to crush you in his strength. His kiss was firm yet soft, as if he was kissing his spouse. His body began to hover and push against you until he was on top of you. He nipped your lip teasingly, and pecked your lips. He peppered little kisses all over your face before giving your forehead one final kiss. He pressed his forehead against your own.

"You're wonderful. You know that? I appreciate with all that you've done for me and for all of us. Don't overextend yourself more than you have to. Don't be afraid to tell me no." Miguel spoke barely a whisper. "I...care about you."

You could melt into a puddle and ascend to heaven right now. Everything in your mind was being scrambled like a stir fry. Words could not even begin to form in your mind to explain how you feel. Your tummy was in knots while butterflies were threatening to spill out. You could've sworn the moon became brighter than before. You could almost hear someone urging you to go to him. As if in sync, the two of you leaned in and sealed another kiss under the moonlight.

"Me too."

‎‧₊˚✧[fin.]✧˚₊‧

a/n: How do you feel about this format? I want to switch it up for the style of my new blog. I kept the old fics from the main blog the same format for consistency sake.

中秋快乐！

◌ ◌ ◌ ‧₊ :･ﾟ彡 ◌ ☽︎ ◌ ◌ ✩彡･ﾟ : ◌ ◌ ◌ ♡ (_(\ /)_/) ( ) ( ) ૮/ʚɞ |ა ૮| ʚɞ\ა ( ◌ | | ◌ )

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