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hoodoo12 · 2 months

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Bad Date (2/2)

The conclusion. Beetlejuice takes his reward.

NSFW. Beetlejuice x f!reader

You’d walked home arm in arm with Beetlejuice, but he didn’t follow you inside once you were through your door.

“Gotta get rid of this thing,” he explained, holding up the baby sandworm he’d carried back from the restaurant.

He hadn’t crushed it under his heel, like he wanted to, because of your gasp of horror--“It’s just a baby!”--but he also refused to let you keep it even though you thought it was sort of cute in a look-but-don’t-touch-it kind of way.

“Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable, baby,” he continued, “and I’ll be back in a wink.”

You didn’t know how long a trip to Saturn actually took, but you agreed eagerly. You were so glad he’d come to your rescue!

Beetlejuice was gone between one blink and the next, and you locked your door behind you.

⁂

Something more comfortable, huh? You knew what he had in mind. You kicked off your heels and shed your dress. Your bra and panty set was lacy but plain pink. Digging through your drawers, you found a matching set that was black and silk, which would be more to his fancy. You debated a garter belt and stockings; most guys seemed to like them but Beetlejuice wasn’t most guys, and lots of time they were more in the way than worth it.

In the end you decided against them. Maybe you'd wear them in the future for him.

You sat, then stood, then sat again. You were full of nervous energy and just wanted him to get back from dumping that sandworm. Then, just when you thought maybe you should get a robe because you were getting chilly, he reappeared.

He looked just as put out as he did when you summoned him in the restaurant’s restroom, and he was covered in a fine layer of yellow dust.

“You’re back!” you said happily, redundantly.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem as elated as you were. “Gods, it’s been a solid day and a half since I sat down,” he groaned.

That didn’t make any sense to you; less than forty minutes ago he’d been sitting at your table at the restaurant, threatening your date. The hard expression on his face didn’t give you any room to mention that discrepancy, however.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you said instead.

He nodded, and looked over at you as if seeing you standing there for the first time. His eyes skipped down your mostly naked body, and a smirk slid oily across his face. It wasn’t the most pleasant expression.

“Oh. Right. This,” he said, and that wasn’t reassuring, either.

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell was going on; from what he’d said and how he’d looked you over you thought he’d wanted some action, but he continued before you could say anything.

“You said you owed me. Back at the restaurant, for saving you from that d-bag. Right?”

You had to agree.

The smirk on his lips lifted to a leer that showcased some of his sharper teeth. “And remember? I told you not to go on that date.”

That made you frown a little; it toed the line of possessiveness.

“You refuse to put a name to what we have, Beej, so there’s no reason for me not to think about dating other people!” you retorted, a little sharply.

Your response made him drop his chin and examine you from under his brows. It made you feel like you were under a microscope; it made him look a little dangerous. You didn’t cow away under his intense gaze, however; although you could feel one hand start to tremble, you stood your ground.

Finally he said, “Well then, baby, I think a little punishment is in order, don’t you?”

You wanted to snap something sharp back at him again, but a bolt of cold, then hot, fell and rose in your gut. Some of your sexual encounters with Beetlejuice were hard, simple fucking with few niceties or gentle romantic gestures, but nothing had ever stepped over the line into “punishment” territory. Did he mean spanking? Did he mean he expected you to suck his dick hard and exactly how he wanted it, with lots of spit and gasping for air like in a porno?

Or was it something even more?

You couldn’t deny that although a bit of worry wormed through you, it excited you too.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem to care you hadn’t answered him. In your silence he boldly looked you over again and said,

“That’s not bad, but--”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, and your bra and panties went from solid black to black and white striped. You should have known. He snapped his fingers and between one breath and the next you were suddenly on your bed, flat on your back. The blankets and top sheet had disappeared, and so had your pillows. Beetlejuice stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed, and staring down at you.

You moved to sit up.

“No. Nope!” he corrected you immediately, and an invisible hand forced you back down.

“I won’t make these too tight, babydoll,” he assured you, and before you could protest or ask what, exactly, he meant by that, your arms were stretched above your head and your wrists were held firmly by skeletal hands that appeared out of your headboard.

“Hey! Beej!” you exclaimed, slightly alarmed. You twisted against the restraint, a little.

In a flash, he was beside you on the mattress instead of standing at your feet. He leaned in close enough that you could smell the dirt on his breath, but not close enough to kiss you. He grabbed one of your wrists lightly, stilling your movement.

“Trust me,” he said in a low voice. It was almost, almost, a question.

You searched his face, especially his eyes, but despite the unexpected restraint and his announcement of “punishment” earlier, you didn’t find anything malicious hiding there. You couldn’t deny you were a little concerned, but you did trust him. So you nodded.

A quick, pleased smile flitted across his face, and he let your wrist go. The hands kept you in place.

“Now. I think one more thing would be a good idea--”

The last thing you saw was him lifting one eyebrow in your direction again before a blindfold covered your eyes.

Although surprised, you stopped yourself from crying out this time. From the weight and feel of the fabric on your face, you guessed it was his tie.

The mattress shifted as Beetlejuice got off the bed. Blinded and restrained, you didn’t know where he was in the room. He could still be beside you, at the foot of the bed again, or floating right above you! The unknown made you shiver a little, and it was hard to tell if it was in worry or anticipation.

You waited.

And waited.

There was no sound of movement; no creak of a floorboard or subtle rustling of his clothing. There was nothing touching you. You felt suspended, with no stimulus but the mattress under you, the bony fingers holding your wrists, and the slightly moldy smelling cloth draped over your eyes. It was hard to relax when you didn’t know what to expect.

You waited some more.

Suddenly a horrible thought ambushed you.

What if Beetlejuice put you in this position, making you feel exposed and vulnerable, and then he just left you here?!

There was still no sound of anyone else in the room. He didn’t breathe and could be as quiet . . . well, as quiet as the dead when he wanted to be.

The same dread thought rushed through your mind again. Did he leave you here alone? Was this the punishment he meant?!

You pulled against the skeletal restraints but they held you fast. You tossed your head back and forth to try and loosen the blindfold. Gulping and tasting the beginnings of panic, you weren’t too proud or embarrassed to call for him. You opened your mouth to ask where he was, yell, demand to know what was going on--

Before the words came, a finger slipped between your lips.

You were so surprised you let your mouth hang open for a moment. The finger moved past your teeth and nudged your tongue. It had a mild flavor that you imagined dust might taste like, and you didn’t let yourself think about it any further than that. A second finger dipped into your slack jaw, and with two of them pressing your tongue you closed your mouth on them and sucked.

A short chuckle came from somewhere to your left. At least you knew where he was now.

Parting his fingers with your tongue, you gave them both attention. When he must have felt they were sufficiently wet, he dislodged them. You nipped the tips of them as they retreated back past your teeth, and Beetlejuice made a slightly deeper noise.

For a second you were disconnected again, then his fingers moved down the side of your neck, to the hollow between your collar bones, to between your breasts, leaving a drying trail of spit in their wake.

He lifted them, and you found them against your lips again. You opened your mouth with no reluctance for him.

His fingers rooted in your mouth once more, and again you sucked and licked them. This time when he pulled away a thin moan escaped you, following after them. He repeated the trail he’d made the first time on the opposite side of your neck and down, ending at the fabric holding your bra together in the front.

There was a beat of a pause, and finally the mattress shifted as he joined you, crawling up between your legs.

You thought he was on your left?

Never mind. You automatically hooked your legs around him and earned a “tsk” in displeasure in return. The next thing you knew, thin bony hands grabbed your ankles and your legs were straightened and spread to accommodate him without your needy demand.

Spread-eagled before him made you feel even more exposed, but at least you knew where he was now.

Beetlejuice must have settled on his knees because you could feel only feel the outer fabric of his trousers between your legs. Then his hands were on you: stroking your sides from armpit to hips, pinching occasionally. It both tickled and made your skin warm, and you wiggled a little under the caress. It didn’t feel like he was sitting back on his heels. You couldn’t quite picture the posture he was in; he must be straining over you, holding himself at an awkward angle so no other part of his body touched you--

When his hands left your sides and cupped your breasts, giving you a sharper pinch through the fabric of your bra, you gave up trying to figure out what position he was in.

He stroked your chest in long movements too. You were frustrated by the lack of skin on skin contact before he was, and had to endure him playing with your tits but not actually stimulating them exactly how you liked for much longer than you wanted. By the time he was bored with it too, your nipples were hard and the fabric brushing against them hurt a little.

Luckily, Beetlejuice wasn’t known for never-ending patience. Just as you were going to tell him to hurry up, already--and damn the consequences--you heard the faintest snapping of his fingers and suddenly, your tits were free and exposed.

The sudden brush of cooler air made you nipples tighten even more, and once again you heard a chuckle from him.

His fingers closed around them. After the muted stimulation, that touch was like an electrical shock and you arched towards him with a gasp. He rolled and pulled them gently, continuing to make you gasp, and when the mattress shifted again and his mouth closed over one of them, you bucked and moaned.

Beetlejuice’s tongue and mouth weren’t room temperature, but not warm either. The shock of him taking a nipple into his wet mouth made you involuntarily try to reach down and grab his head, but you were held in place by the restraints. This time you felt him laugh at your aborted effort, and he sucked at you until you writhed and cried out. He continued to play with the other one, then switched to give them both the same attention.

Each suck and nibble sent pleasure down your body, where it settled deep in your gut and groin. You couldn’t help but want friction between your legs, but Beetlejuice wasn’t touching you there and your thighs were held apart. That built a different frustration in you.

Finally, he released you from the torment he’d given your now-tender nipples. Before you could say anything, his mouth found a patch of skin lower on your rib cage that it liked, and he sucked there too.

He kissed and licked and sucked his way over your torso, once darting up to your neck to latch on there. You felt the pressure of his teeth indent the thin skin and turned your head, not to displace him, but to give him freer access to the spot. As you did, he stilled completely and you froze too. Arousal tempered with a drop of fear swirled through you; you wondered what was going through his mind?

Beetlejuice didn’t break your skin. The intent was there, you could tell. Instead, after that long moment of anticipation, he released you.

You were panting as you turned your head back upright again. You could feel he hadn’t moved away, and a slight breath on your face clued you in that he panted as well. Some of his breather habits came to the surface in situations like this. You couldn’t see him, of course, but thought that if you lifted your head up off the mattress you’d find his mouth.

He obviously didn’t want you to move; if you dared try to kiss him, what would he do next? Would another skeletal hand come from nowhere to cross your forehead and pin your head to the mattress?

You decided not to risk it.

Beetlejuice’s hands roamed down your body again, and just as you felt him shift to move away again, his tongue licked a vertical stripe up over your lips. It startled you and you gasped; the tip of it darted inside for a split second but before you could open your mouth more for a proper kiss, it was gone again. The next noise you made was a sigh of disappointment as he continued to work his way back down your body.

He gave you the same attention as before. Sucking. Licking. Nipping. There wasn’t a spot on your front that he hadn’t lavished some attention on. A faint odor of stale saliva drifted to you from the amount of spit he’d coated you with, but you didn’t care. You wiggled under him, gasped and moaned, and tried to nudge him further down. You wanted him and his mouth between your legs.

Even though he hadn’t done anything--not even cupped you, not even dragged a solitary finger along the fabric of your panties, not even come close enough that you could feel his clothing brush you there--your pussy felt hot. You were wet. You just wanted this teasing to stop and for him to pay some attention there--

As if reading your mind, Beetlejuice shifted and plopped himself down between your legs. He was no longer on his knees but on his stomach; you could feel his--unclothed? When did that happen?--shoulders pushing your thighs further apart. His fingernails dug under the top edge of your panties.

When you lifted your hips so he could pull them off you--gods how you wanted him to pull them off you, or make them disappear like your bra, or something--he let the elastic snap back into place.

You groaned.

You didn’t care any more. You were going to beg him--

Beetlejuice’s mouth covered your pussy.

His hands kept you grounded by holding your hips. He didn’t strip you naked; he mouthed and licked and sucked you through your panties. The silk became heavy and soaked completely through with the combination your wetness and his spit, and the smooth feel of the fabric between your clit and his tongue made you writhe.

You cried out. You pulled against the restraints, all of them, you wanted to grab his head, you wanted to squeeze him with your thighs to hold him in place, you wanted him to suck your clit so hard, you wanted him to push aside your panties and shove those fingers that had been in your mouth into your pussy--you wanted not just that but his tongue and his cock inside you--

Your cries turned to sobs as he teased you. Bliss ratcheted higher and higher in your gut. Even with sodden fabric preventing direct contact between the two of you, you were going to come. Your throat tightened, your limbs shook with the force of the tension you used straining against the hands holding you back. Your hips canted instinctually to provide him better access and that first spark of an orgasm rippled through you--

Beetlejuice stopped.

All touching ceased. His mouth was no longer against the wet mess your panties had become. You hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping your hips until his hands were off you too.

The abrupt lack of contact made you cry out in a different voice, filled with distress and bafflement. For a moment your body arched towards him, still seeking stimulation. You couldn’t hold the position for long, pulling against the restraints, however, and you flopped back to the mattress with another sob.

Your body shifted as Beetlejuice moved over one of your legs to be beside you. The movement made air current drift over your body and you shivered due to the sweat that had broken out over you.

This was not what you expected when he said “punishment”. You could have accepted and even gotten into a spanking. You would have been okay with him using you like a slut. But a tormenting tease with no finale? It was almost too cruel.

A finger hooked under your blindfold and pushed it away. You felt too weak and disappointed to thank him for removing it. You just wanted the bony hands on your wrists and ankles to be spirited away as well, so you could curl into a fetal position and try to will your body to forget all the pleasure it’d just been subjected to and then denied. You imagined that Beetlejuice was going to tell you that he was leaving and that you weren’t allowed to touch yourself; he’d be watching and if you brought yourself to orgasm he’d probably be devious enough to repeat what he did tonight the next time you got together with him too.

When you opened your eyes, however, the sight that greeted you wasn’t what you expected.

Beetlejuice was naked, as you’d surmised, coated in a thin layer of sweat, like you. The yellow dust that had been on his clothing had left a thin coating on his neck. His hair was wilder than normal, and his lips were shiny as he mimicked breathing through his mouth. His pupils were blown in deep arousal. His erection pressed heavily into your side.

Once again, he interrupted you as you opened your mouth to say something to him. With his lips near your ear, he groaned in a guttural voice,

“This was supposed to be punishment. A punishment! For you and me. Neither of us was going to get off, neither of us deserve it--”

He choked his own words off with another wordless groan as he involuntarily rutted against you.

You tried to wrap your head around what he just said. You weren’t quite able to.

“Beej, just . . . what?” you panted.

His lips found your neck and ear and he dragged his tongue along your skin. He continued to caress you sloppily between words.

“It was supposed to be punishment for both of us, baby,” he groaned. “You for going out on a goddamn date and me for not telling you I want you for my-goddamned-self. I want you, baby, I don’t want you seeing anyone else. I wanted to get you so hot and bothered and then stop, just for a tease, just to show you there's no one but me who can make you feel so good, but the sounds you made and the taste of you--fuck--I’m so fucking turned on I just want to fuck you so much right now--”

His voice rose to a desperate, needy whine at the last word. You were so wet between your legs you didn’t know it was possible to get even wetter, but heat surged through you again.

“Beej, Beej--” you croaked to get his attention. When he lifted his face to yours you said in the same desperate tone, “I learned my lesson. Did you learn yours?”

“Fuck, baby. Shit. Yeah!”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Then get these hands off me and fuck me.”

At your demand, a surprised then lecherous smile broke over his face. He kissed you properly then, his tongue diving into your mouth and stealing your breath. The next second your arms and legs were released and you dragged him bodily on top of you. With his weight pressing you down you tried to shimmy out of your dripping panties; with a flicking motion of his finger Beetlejuice assisted and made them disappear as well.

With one hand grabbing the back of his head and the other gripping his waist, you didn’t release him or his mouth as he reached between the two of you, adjusted himself and pushed forward, filling you in a single, delicious thrust with his cock. You cried out; he did too with a deeper noise, and he set a frantic, blistering pace that would have not worked if you hadn’t been so thoroughly aroused from all the provocation he’d graced you with.

Your pussy felt hot, slick, and tight. The friction was glorious and you didn’t check yourself as your fingernails dug into him. Usually this rough and swift thrusting was enough to undo him first, but this was exactly what you needed to make your nerve-endings explode again.

You came with a sustained cry, locking your legs around him to keep him deep inside you.

Beetlejuice rocked his hips a little, instinctually, but held mostly still as you were lost in waves of pleasure. Just as you were coming back to the surface and opened your eyes to focus on him again, his brow furrowed and he pushed forward, harder into you, moaning with an open mouth as he came too.

You were shaking. He was shaking. It took several moments for you to catch your breath and will your hands and legs to open enough to let him go. It took him an extra moment to unglue himself from your belly and torso. You noticed the palm that had held the back of his neck was coated with that yellow grime, but you couldn’t make yourself care. Carefully he sat back, and you groaned in a combination of pleasure and disappointment as his cock slipped out of you.

Beetlejuice crawled over your leg and collapsed on the mattress beside you.

The two of you lay panting in euphoric exhaustion. You may have made a mistake going out with some random guy, but the evening couldn’t have ended any better. You turned to face Beetlejuice, to thank him for coming to your rescue and for the best punishment you’d ever received.

Just as you opened your mouth, your stomach growled. He looked at you with a smirk, so you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“I didn’t actually get to eat dinner, remember?” you informed him, instead of telling him the things you meant to. You sat up, swung your feet over the side of the bed, and stood up. As you made your way to the door, you asked, “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“Nope. I don’t like seeing you leave, but I love watching you go.”

You threw an eye roll over your shoulder at him but didn’t hide your grin. You could thank him later, and you were sure he knew how you felt anyway.

fin!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #writing #fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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Crash and Burn 4

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You shiver and hide behind your eyelids. The air swirls around you in a cyclone as you clasp to the icy metal against you. You can't believe this is happening and yet your imminent doom cannot be denied.

You squeal as Tony lets you go. You squeeze him tighter, knowing you won't be able to hold on forever. Not with the whipping winds and bone-deep chill.

You brace yourself, trembling, and your feet meet solid ground. A gentle tap on your side has you tearing away as the dearth of sound and motion hits you like a truck. You look at Tony in defiance, your embarrassment curdling just under your skin.

"That was fun," he chuckles as his mask retracts to reveal a taunting smirk.

"Whatever. Go back to New York, I'll find my way--"

You turn and swallow your words. Your grandmother's house is right behind you. You peer around and push your shoulders back. You really aren't winning this one.

"Can't say I never did anything for ya. Lot quicker than the bus," he snorts.

"Oh," you spin back to him, "so you think this makes us even?"

"It's a start," he shrugs. "Now," he holds his wrist up as if to check the time and a projection casts from a microscopic projector. He swipes through the wall of text as a lens extends from his suit and hovers in front of his eyes. "If I'm gonna get that trailer, I need to speak with the leasee, a Darlene? Is that mommy?"

You suck in your cheeks and puff out through you nose. It's like pulling wisdom teeth but you're getting somewhere. You put your hands on your hips and nod.

"Yeah, I'll go see if she's home."

"You know, I'm not sure how things work around here," he lowers his arm as the projection disappears and the lens folds back into his suit, "not sure about how things work around here but typically when someone brings you home, you invite them inside."

You stare at him, your brows arching. He scoffs and tilts his head.

"Tell ya what, I'll even dust my boots off."

He kicks his feet and brushes his metal gauntlets of his chest place. All at once the suit folds into itself. You frown and examine him, trying to figure out where it's hiding under his blazer. He straightens his tie and comes out his hair with his fingers.

"There, all dolled up to meet mom," he winks.

You chew your lip. He's annoying but he says he's going to help. Besides, you'd rather he deal with your mom and be done with him.

"Fine, come on."

You turn and march away. He snickers and follows, "so hospitable."

"Well, sorry to disappoint but we don't have a butler." You go up onto the low porch and pull open the screen door with a squeak.

"Huh, that really what you think of me?" He grabs the door above your head as you unlock the inner one. "I sit in my ass all day and drink champagne and smoke cigars? I'll have you know I do all that and save the world when it comes calling "

"Mm, got it." You drone as you push inside, "mom? Grandma? We got company."

"Really rolling out that red carpet," he scoffs.

"Stay here," you say as you head down the hall.

"You know I don't usually take orders," he intones, his voice drifting off into words you can't make out clearly, "...kinda hot..."

You don't think it's too bad. Your grandma's place is usually blistering in the summer but it's just about tolerable today. Her bedroom door is closed, signalling she's probably sleeping, but your mother isn't where you expect to her. Her ash tray is on the table but the kitchen is empty.

The back door is open. You swing open the screen and lean out. She's puffing a cigarette over your grandmother's pansies.

"Mom, someone's here about the trailer."

"Tell the damn landlord I'm not payin' til I get a new one," she snarls.

"It's not him." You insist.

"Huh, insurance peddler?" She butts out the smoke on the wooden railing, leaving the stub there.

"Tony Stark." You answer bluntly.

She cackles, "fucking smart ass. Go away."

You state at her and she scowls. She huffs and tramps over to you. You hold the door for her and she enters.

"You and your goddamn jokes..." she grumbles as she crosses the kitchen.

You stay a few feet back as you follow. She stumbles to a halt as she reaches the doorway. She coughs and looks at you over her shoulder, "holy shit."

You shrug and shoo her with your fingers.

"Darlene, wonderful to meet you," Tony sounds almost charming as his footfalls creak on the floorboards.

"Mr. Stark," she preens. You haven't heard that simper in ages. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I did say I'd fix what I broke." He explains. "Really unfortunate what happened. Sometimes we can't avoid a little collateral but just happy no one was hurt."

"Of course," she chimes. "Well, it wasn't much but it was our home."

"Humble," he praises. "Your daughter has been a great help too. Such a lovely girl."

"Eh, oh, I s'pose," her voice slants with uncertainty.

"We got a lot of details to go over. I had my people come up with some options but I want you to be happy so I'll leave the choice up to you. Gonna take a bit so how about I order dinner. My treat, of course." He pauses and you peek put from the kitchen. He smirks past your mother, "you like pizza?"

"Oh, Mr. Stark how generous. Whatever you like is good enough for us." She giggles. You wince. She doesn't giggle.

You retreat back into the kitchen. She's just like those kids clamouring for autographs and the star-struck residents completely unbothered by the burning ruin. They don't see anything but him.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #iron man #crash and burn #drabble #series #au #marvel #mcu #avengers

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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lolahauri · 7 months

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ It's Been a Secret for the Longest Time

Ship: Hoodie/Reader

Type: Smut, One-shot, F/M, Reader Insert. (MDNI)

Contains: Unaware Voyeurism, Vaginal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Creampie, No Plot, Size Kink (if you squint.)

Words: 2.7k

Request?: Kind of.

Hoodie was standing outside your room, peeking through the near-microscopic crack in the door. It was opened just enough to see the show going on inside. He didn’t even remember what he was coming to tell you, but it didn’t matter anymore. There were more important things going on now.

“Hah- oh fuck!” you hissed under your breathe, slowly swiping a pink vibrator over your throbbing clit, two soaked fingers sliding in-and-out of your pussy, working perfectly in sync with the toy. Completely nude, long strands of hair framing your glistening chest as you inhaled sharply. And as focused as you were on reaching your climax, the main thought occupying your mind was Hoodie. He was all you thought about during your private sessions, longing to feel his big strong hands tease your sensitive areas while holding you down and telling you who you belong to.

Broken whimpers poured from your plump lips, now imagining what his cock looked like, what’d it feel like inside you. You wonder if he’d be willing to cum in you. Is he more rough or gentle? Not that you would care either way, you’ve fantasized about every possible scenario.

You were obsessed with him, but you’d never tell him. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship you two had built, or make working together uncomfortable. There was just to much at risk. As much as you loved and lusted him, you’d continue to try your best at keeping these feelings to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you though, you were about to find out he thought the exact same way of you.

Brian continued to watch the pornographic scene in front of him, he was stuck in a trance almost, watching intently through his black mask. His eyes slowly worked down your entire body, starting with your mouth. He watched as your lips parted, letting out another angelic whine. Your face was dusted with a light rosy tint. Your entire body glimmered from the light droplets of sweat building up over your smooth skin, the room was hot and smelled of sex. He fucking loved it.

Eyes trailing further south, he reached the real show. Your soft, small hands toying with your slick, wet pussy. The sounds of your soaked fingers, moans, and vibrations were like a symphony to him. This was everything he’s ever dreamed of, the kind of sight he’d imagine when he’s pleasuring himself. It was almost too good to be true.

He was suddenly snapped out of his daze by the throbbing twitches of his cock. Becoming aware of his own body and desires now, he palmed his hard on through his pants, trying to relief some of the aching arousal he felt. Deep down he knows this is wrong, it’s creepy, you’d hate him for thinking this way of you, for watching you like this. But he can’t think straight right now, he felt dizzy from the way your undressed body hypnotized him.

The way you’re drawing him in could only be compared to a siren luring a lustful man to his demise, using nothing but her beautiful voice and enchanting figure. Quietly unzipping his pants, he kept rubbing his hardened cock as he stared right at your tits. Every movement making them bounce ever so slightly, for a moment he thinks he might’ve actually died and gone to heaven. He imagines what it’d feel like to knead and caress them, sucking on one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers. He so badly wants to hear you whimper his name while he teases you, grinding his length against your exposed heat.

Brian moved his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring out, sucking in a sharp breathe as it hit the cool air of the hallway. His gloved hand slowly circled his throbbing tip, smearing precum that had already begun dripping out. Slowly stroking himself, he pretended it was your hand jerking him off, imagining you on your knees in front of him, your soft tongue teasing the head as you pumped your hands up and down his long shaft. He was only a few seconds in and already his cock was threatening to spill it's seed onto the floor.

It’s insane to him, you haven’t even touched him and he’s already about to cum for you and cry your name out while he does it. His movements slowed down abruptly, trying to savor this moment for as long as he could. His attention never left your body, jolts of electricity shot through him every time you made a sudden action or sound.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he picked up speed again, moving in rhythm with your hands. The thrill and anxiety of possibly getting caught, mixed with the beautiful sight before him was getting too much to handle. He wishes so badly he could just walk into the room, pull your fingers out and replace them with his cock. He dreams of pumping you full of cum, watching it pour down your thighs and mix with your own juices.

He’s huffing quietly as he comes to a stop yet again, working himself up far too quickly for his liking. But you look like you’re getting close, he wants to cum with you. He watched as you picked up speed, moans flowing consistently. Fuck yes, you’re about to cum. He begins to aggressively pump his cock, not caring anymore if he’s being too loud, he needs to cum with you now.

Squeezing your tits, you pick up speed on rubbing yourself off. Moaning and whining becoming out of control, but you’re confident you’re alone, you don’t care what sounds you’re making anymore.

“Mmph, ah, oh god, fuck” the pressure in your lower stomach erupts into an earth shattering orgasm “fuck- Brian!” you scream his name as your reach your peak, whispering it a few more times as you come down from the high.

Just as he’s about to cum, Hoodie stops in his tracks when he hears you yelling his name out. A cold rush shoots through every vein in his body, there’s no way he heard that right, right? But his confusion is confirmed when he hears you whimper it a few more times. You were actually thinking of him while you played with yourself. His brain short circuits momentarily, realizing all this time, you must’ve felt the exact same way as him. A fog casts over his mind, he’s not thinking clearly again.

“Fuck it” - he thinks to himself “ now or never, i guess. ”

He pushes your door open with one hand, watching as you jump in shock, covering your tits with your arms while your eyes grow wide, face becoming red hot.

“What the- Brian!” embarrassment and confusion clear in your voice “what the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t say anything as he takes off his mask and walks up to the edge of your bed, not breaking eye contact. You were about to tell him to get the fuck out, that was until…

“Oh my god…” you whispered to yourself as you gasped, shock turning to pure lust as you finally spotted it. His hard, twitching cock was out, fully on display.

Wait, has he been here the whole time? Oh well, who cares, your fantasy is about to become reality. You’ll tell him off for spying on you later. Just enjoy the moment for now.

Brian crawls on top of you, sliding his bent leg up at an angle, his knee forcing your left leg to spread open* You gasp when you feel his erection press up against you, but you're quickly distracted when he pry's your arms off your chest, pinning them to the side of your head as he lowers his face to yours. He’s smirking as you gaze up into his eyes, “ so fucking cute” he thinks to himself.

Slowly, he brings his lips down to yours, immediately bringing you into a heated make-out session. You both close your eyes into the kiss, lips moving in perfect harmony, maybe it’s the lust talking, but it almost feels as though your lips were made for each other, like two puzzle pieces clicking together.

The kiss turns more heated as you wrap your free leg around his waist, beckoning him to get some friction going. He knows exactly what you trying to do as he quickly begins to roll his hips into yours, his cock getting coated in your previous orgasm. You’re both moaning into each other's mouths while he moves a hand down to squeeze your tit, rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bud.

The sensations are sending you to Nirvana. His tip is perfectly rubbing right against your clit with every forward motion. You’re panting now, locking your legs tighter around him as a silent way to beg him to just fuck you already. He’s been waiting for this for a long time though, and he knows the second he slips inside he won’t be lasting too long, he wants to drag this out as far as he can.

You whine as he slowly pulls away from you, leaving you dazed and needy for his touch.

“Don’t worry, i’ll give you what you want.” his voice is soft, but husky.

Before you could even ask what he’s doing, he moves back, just enough for him to lay down and rest his head between your trembling thighs. He moves his arms underneath you, his shoulders pressed close to your plush bottom, two strong hands reached up to hold your waist down. He breathes against your heat, sending a cold shiver up your spine.

“Brian… please do something.” your voice was breathy and light, already so high on sex you could hardly get the sentence out. He loved it though, if he wasn’t so pent up himself, he’d tease you till your crying and screaming for more. Next time.

He chuckled a bit and gave an experimental lick up your pussy, going in for more when he heard you gasp and felt your thighs twitch around him. His tongue darted up and down your folds like a zipper, swiping against your aching clit each time it went back up. He savored each little sound you made, relishing in the feeling of your thighs gently squeezing the sides of his head.

You let out a high pitched moan as he suddenly began to focus on your clit. Sucking lightly between each circular swirl of his tongue. The more you squirmed and twitched, the harder he pressed his hands into your waist, pinning you down harshly as to not mess with his rhythm. He sucked your bud a few more times before dipping back down, sliding the entire length of his long tongue into your pussy.

“Oh holy shit! You gasped loudly at the sudden penetration, squeezing tighter around his head. Instinctively, you brought a hand down to his hair, pushing his face in to your heat just a little more. Hoodie eagerly took this as a sign to continue, and so he did. He repeatedly fucked his tongue in and out of you, curving upwards to rub at the spongy spot on the top of your pussy.

“Brian…” your voice and breathing was shaky “I’m- i’m gonna cum, jesus!”

He instantly moved a gloved hand downwards to toy with your clit while he continued to abuse your g-spot. He couldn’t stop grinding on the bed for some sort of relief, almost reaching his own climax when he felt yours begin. The familiar pressure of a nearing orgasm slowly dissipated as a wave of pure euphoria crashed over you. He groaned at the feeling of your juices soaking his mouth, thighs still wrapped around his head and shoulder. He really never wants this to end.

You’re senses momentarily heighted afterwards, becoming hyperaware of what was happening. But that didn’t last long, your brain was once again clouded with arousal as Hoodie suddenly crawled back up to you, bringing you into a harsh kiss. His cock was back to sliding between your folds, prepping for what was about to come.

“Is this okay?” Brian asked quietly as he reached behind you, grabbing a pillow to prop your hips up.

“God, yes. Please, just fuck me already.” you were gripping his clothed shoulders tightly as you lifted your hips, allowing him to slide the pillow underneath you.

“Fuck.” he huffed as he bent down a bit, allowing his hips to align with yours. He almost couldn’t believe it, he’d been fantasizing of this moment since he laid eyes on you, and it was really happening now. He slowly pushed the head of his cock into you, both of you threw your head back and signed in unison.

“Shit” he hissed at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him, he’d barely gotten the first inch in and nearly got close to cumming, you must be some kind of demon the way you get him going. He starts burying himself in further, inch by inch, not giving you much time to adjust. Though, you're so wet and turned on he didn't get much resistance anyway.

Brian snapped his hips forward, adding the last three inches and fully bottoming out inside you. Gripping his shoulders tightly, you cried out from both the pleasure and the slight tinge of pain. He had to have been at least 8 inches, and it’d been so long since you’d been fucked last, it was a lot to take in no matter how prepped you were.

He gave you just a second to adjust before he leaned forward a bit, setting a quick pace with his thrusting. About half his length would be taken out, before he quickly slammed back into you, the sexual frustration being clearly communicated through his movements. He wanted to take his time with you, he really did, but you just felt too good. The way you were squeezing him so tight and screaming his name drove him fucking crazy.

The aggression only ramped up the more you dug your nails into him and begged for more. His thrusts became more harsh and quick, brutally slamming his cock into you in an almost primal, animalistic way.

“Oh Jesus Christ!” you screamed out as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, somehow hitting deeper when you didn’t think that was even possible. Hoodie grabbed your other leg and propped it up on his hip, pushing forward and repeatedly knocking into that sweet spot yet again.

You were quickly being brought to your third orgasm tonight. Brian was breathing heavily above you, trying so hard to last as long as he could. An uncomfortable ache was starting to build in your abdomen, overstimulation had finally begun to set in. Your back was involuntarily arching off of the mattress, your legs were caging in the man above you dangerously tight.

“Mmph… Brian.” you whined out, trying to let him know you’re getting close again.

“I know, i know. Go ahead, cum for me.” And that was all it took. You were seeing stars as you reached your high, screaming his name and grabbing onto his shoulders for stability.

He wasn’t far behind you, the feeling of your pussy clenching on him and coating his cock with your fluids sent him over the edge. He was grunting hard as he thrusted in a few more times, filling you to the brim with his load. Your legs dropped down to the bed as you both nearly went limp from exhaustion. He hovered above you for a minute longer, both of you panting and trying to ground yourselves back into yours bodies.

Hoodie slowly pulled his cock out of you, watching as his cum instantly started to pour out of you and onto the bed. He’ll definitely be adding that image to the bank.

He was laying beside you now, studying your body and face as you calmed down more. “Wow, that was -” you paused and turned to look at him, still a bit in shock from what just happened “- incredible”

He smiled pulled you close to him, holding your head in his chest and laying a blanket across the two of you. “Next time will be even better.”

“Next time?” you let out a breathy laugh as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

All he did was hum in response, reaching over to turn off the lamp beside your bed. You can talk about this with him tomorrow, for now, he just wants to sleep with you.

#smut #hoodie x reader #brian thomas #i did this in one go tbh #6 hours straight of writing #need to sleep now holy shit #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #hoodie x reader smut #marble hornets smut #creepypasta x reader smut #hoodie smut

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mawofthemagnetar · 1 year

Text

The door to Doc’s lab squeaked open, and Etho shuffled in lazily. The man himself was standing at a lab bench, fiddling with something- on the bench beside him, a machine the size of a filing cabinet was whirring away noisily. Etho paid it no mind.

“Got the last of ‘em for ya.” He said, holding up a jar of blue slime and giving it a shake, “The last artifake.”

“Perfect,” Doc rumbled, peering in at something through a microscope.

“So, uh, do we have an answer? About the Iskallium eye?”

“Hmm? Yeah, we do. That’s definitely Iskall’s eye. Same materials, same composition, same power supply- matches all the diagrams he gave me when asked. Only difference is, all the artifakes are beat to hell. I don’t know what could possibly have caused these dents, man. Does Tango-?”

“Tango is saying the same thing Tango said yesterday, which is, quote, “they came with the dungeon!” Etho rolled his eyes, leaning up against a workbench that was cluttered with his hard-won artifakes, “So, ah, any luck? I’m risking my life in there for this, you know that, right?”

“You’ll respawn,” Doc muttered, holding a hand out and waggling his fingers. Etho dropped the jar of speedy slime into Doc’s metal palm with a clank, and Doc moved whatever he was examining off the microscope and set about preparing another slide.

“So,” Doc said, “There is a commonality, across all items.”

“Oh?” Etho echoed, hopping up on a bench and shoving a well-loved pickaxe out of the way, “And what’s that?”

“A dusty...residue...thing. Tastes and smells like spent gunpowder, like a rocket that’s just been fired,” Doc said, dropping a slipcover on top of the slide, “It’s fine, particulate residue.” Doc shrugged, and slid the sample of slime onto his microscope, peering in for a closer look.

“And it’s...EVERY artifake, you said?”

“And every artifact, I’ll bet. Keralis’ slippers were a goldmine- just choked with the stuff. Seriously. I put them into a bag and shook them and a ton of that dust came out.” Doc twiddled the focus knobs, and sighed.

“There's more of it. Man, and it's even, like, mixed into the slime! I’m gonna have to ask Jevin for a sample when he’s around next so I can compare.” Doc nodded, and Etho smiled behind his mask.

“Soooo... that’s it, then? The mystery of where the heck Tango got all these artifacts from is...magic dust, I guess?”

The machine dinged, like an egg timer, and printed something out on a long strip of paper. Doc extracted it, and started to read over his results.

And as his eyes scanned down the page, he went very, very still.

“Doc? What’s happening?”

“Etho. Composition of this dust...it’s rock.” Doc said slowly.

“...Rock dust? And?”

“Roughed edges. This rock has never seen water.”

“...Which means...?”

“This rock hasn’t been oxidized. Predominantly...reduced. No clay, no mica...which means...”

“Doc!” Etho sighed, “What are you trying to say, here?”

“Every single one of these artifakes is covered in moon dust.” Doc said flatly.

Etho swallowed.

“Wherever the dungeon is getting these artifacts-” Doc started, hands trembling.

“-Is someplace we didn’t get lucky last season.” Etho finished, "Ah. O...kay."

Both men stared at the jar of slime in silence.

“...Cool. Well, anyway, have fun with your crisis. I’ve got three more frozen shards left!” Etho said cheerfully, and he skipped out the door.

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #Decked out #Etho #Docm77 #IDK I got a little bit of energy and answered my own question #this might be a little scuffed #I feel like crap currently

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arrow-gt-ace · 24 days

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REALLY big size difference in g/t. hear me out... a tiny so small they fit on the fingertip of their giant. less than an inch tall, less than half an inch tall. they're the size of a little ant, a breadcrumb, a dust speck. imagine how careful the giant would have to be carrying the tiny like this, they'd have to move so slowly and make sure they don't even breathe directly on them, lest they accidentally blow their new little friend away then the giant deposits the tiny onto a more solid surface like a table or a desk. They carefully angle their finger so that the tiny can slide off by themself. The giant kneels next to the table and lowers themself so that their eyes are just above the surface, all so that they can be as close as possible to the tiny. They have to be careful so as to not jostle the surface the tiny is on, so their movements are very intentional. yes, getting say a magnifying glass or microscope might help the giant with seeing the tiny, but instead the giant just closes one eye so that they can barely focus on the minuscule shape of a person on the table in front of them. even when the giant moves their ear closer to the tiny, the tiny's voice might be nothing more than a barely audible noise (if that), to the point where the giant can't even make out the words. when the giant themself speaks, their voice might blow out their tiny friend's eardrums, so they simply don't use their voice in their presence. But that's ok. They might not be able to have physical interaction or conversations in quite the same way as either of them are used to, but they find their own ways to do so. They adapt for each other Despite how incredibly small the tiny is, the giant still acknowledges them and respects them as a person. So incredibly huge the giant must be, yet they're still so incredibly gentle and kind. They develop a friendship despite how almost incomprehensible the scale is and it's just... aaaaa

#g/t #giant/tiny #gt

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orphicrose · 7 months

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I got bit by a spider a while ago and it made me come up with this request idea, imgiane Alastor x reader were they were already together and one day they come to him with a spider bite and then he aboustly looses it on Angel even tho the reader persists it wasn't him it was an actual spider and AL is like "doesn't matter! I'm not letting any spider harm you!" And Angel is like "HEY! IM A SPIDER DEMON NOT A SPIDER! AND I DONT BITE...unless ya want me too, and what are ya a spider racist?" And its a stupid argument but Alastor is still mad at Angel for a spider bite he didn't cause and Charlie and Vaggue have to break it up. 🤣

Tiny spider

This was really fun to write. Thank you so much for the suggestion

_______________𖤐

Alastor was always your night in shining armour when it came to bugs. Hearing your squeals of terror from the room next door to him, he could always safely assume it was because of some sort of mutated beetle or spider. And he was right 90% of the time. He’d swiftly eliminate the threat, sometimes letting it outside. Sometimes calling over niffty to have her fun with it. This time, though, he was too late. It got you. Seeping into your skin with its sharp fangs before you had the chance to notice it was on you.

Flinging your hand about in sheer panic, you let out a cry for help. Alastor assuming someone had murdered you, materialising into the room next to you hearing his hands. Ready to smite someone with his black magic at any given moment.

You turned, showing him the tiny red mark at the end of your finger. He calmed down, posture adjusting itself. He took your hand in his, moving his monocle closer to his eye to get a better look at the microscopic mark the even tinier perpetrator had left on you.

“What happened my love? A paper cut?” He mindlessly questioned to the sobbing face in front of his.

“It got me…” you almost wept from the panic.

“What got you, my darling” his arms slithered around your waist to pull you into an embrace.

“A spider”

His pupils dilated at the sentence, his beloved was hurt and his instincts tell him to seek justice. Arms pushed you away and within the blink of an eye, was on a search for said spider. There is was, all of its arms waving about in front of him, golden teeth bared ready to attack its next victim.

“Yeah so, now I have to work all day to make up for it tomorrow” angels arms waved around, exaggerating his story to the cat behind the bar in front of him.

“Uh huh.” He responded nonchalantly , cleaning a glass in his hand with a mouldy cloth. His face slowly lifted to see the spiders face, but his eyes widened when he saw the enraged Alastor behind him. Thinking it was for him, but almost relieved when Alastor reached for Angels neck from behind.

Angie screeched in a mix of confusion and fear, managing to twist his flexible body around in the deers clench. Soon being thrown to the floor “What the fuck are ya doing there, Alastor?” His voice was nervous, backing away as he was planted below him.

“You bit my darling y/n. Spider” he walked slowly toward the spider, before he burst out laughing. Leaving the confused Alastor with a tilt in his neck. “You think this is funny?”

Angel struggled to form a word between breaths of air. “Let me guess. Y/n got bit by a spider and you’re automatically gunning for me?” He got up, hand on his knee to help him.

“That’s a bit discriminatory to us spiders, we don’t all have 8 legs yanno?” He dusted his blazer off and wiped away a tear from his eye. Alastor losing his temper the more he spoke. Someone needed to pay for the harm, he thought.

Within seconds hell broke loose. Charlie and Vaggie rushed to the lobby after hearing something break. To be met with glasses being throw at the wall, a black tentacle slapping husk around the face, angels golden tooth glaring as he shot anything that moved and a fire In Alastors eye that said “death to all”. It was mayhem.

Before they had a chance to react, another scream came from the living room. Stopping everyone from what they were doing… except for niffty. Niffty was still cleaning up after everyone like a mad man.

Rushing to the room next door, the group stopped in their tracks to find you hiding on the mantle piece above the fire place.

“My dear? What’s the matter?” Alastor spoke first, stepping into the room.

“SPIDER!! ITS BACK TO FINISH ME OFF!” You screamed, pointing at the tiny black spec on the floor.

“Oooohh…” everyone in the door way collectively hummed, realising the mistake.

“what have you got to say to me now,huh?”Angel poked his shoulder, the demon gritting his teeth as his head snapped back.

“There’s still time to kill you, Angel dearest!”

#hazbin x y/n #hazbin x reader #Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #request #reqs open #alastor fluff #alastor x reader #hazbin angel dust #angel x reader #fanfiction

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momentomori24 · 7 months

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I swear to God, Twitter being able to accumulate so many brain-dead, malicious, pseudo intellectual low lives all in one place at the same time is a phenomenon worthy of being studied under a microscope in a science lab. And no, that is not a compliment.

Thankfully people have already spoken out against this bullshit-- the fact that people needed to is already maddening to think about-- but as someone who got the basic gist of what happened literally yesterday I'll also put my voice out there: Don't you fucking dare try to paint Hbomb as a murderer over this situation.

Somerton may be a lying, misogynistic plagiarist and conman, but he obviously doesn't deserve to die and while I do make fun of the guy, I genuinely hope that he continues to have a life after the dust has settled on everything. Not on YouTube or any social media platform for a long time at least, but just a life nontheless. I don't wish what he's potentially going through on anyone, and I hope that he makes it through this. But regardless of if he does or doesn't-- and God forbid he doesn't-- none of this is Hbomb's fault. It's not his fault, or Kat's fault, or Jessie's fault (because apparently there's people blaming her too cuz WHY NOT), or anybody's fault. All they did was call out his actions, hold him accountable for the harm he's done. They have done nothing to deserve having to carry this on their shoulders should the worst happen. They did nothing wrong. They didn't kill James (he's not confirmed dead yet either btw). They are not murderers. And to the people saying they are: say those words out loud, listen how they sound like, and re-evaluate. Just cease.

And to people like this:

''Oh I'm not blaming him for anything I'm just blaming him for what his audience did because according to HIM you're responsible for your audience'' Yeah, you people can shut your mouths too. Of course you're responsible for your audience, and that includes Hbomb too. However, your tiny, godless little monkey brain can't see why your argument is still rubbish even with that in mind. The difference between James, Internet Historian and Hbomb is that Hbomb never promoted problematic behaviour to his audience. If you promote problematic shit like harassment or misogyny or racism, then yeah, you're absolutely responsible for how your behaviour influences your audience. But that's not what he did. He made it very clear where he stood on those things, literally stating that ''if anyone were to harass Somerton on his behalf they are worse than him and will not see the light of heaven''. He's done his part in making it clear that harassment is wrong, so if someone went out of their way to go against that and harass James anyway that doesn't reflecf on him at all. Also, what the hell do you mean ''hatemobbed'' to suicide? I don't doubt there are people who went to extremes because those bad apples always exist, but most of the things I've seen are valid critisisms, memes and call outs about that guy. If holding people accountable for their actions and poking fun at them a little counts as 'hatemobbing'' (which has Filip calling his critics a ''lynch mob'' energy tbh) what the hell do you call actual hatemobbing then? Do we just let people continue being shitty because calling them out ''damages their mental health'' or ''drives them to suicide'' then? Is that a world you want to live in?

Same thing goes for people like this:

Criticing someone for their objectively bullshit content and wanting them dead are two seperate things. What the actual hell is wrong with you. The plagiarist in question is a person. Those ''harshest critics'' are still people. And because we're people, we care. I'd rather James pump out more plagiarised slop than commit suicide. I'd still hate him for it, but I'd prefer him being alive over the alternative any day. We all do. None of us would sleep easier knowing he's dead just because he wouldn't be ''committing the cardinal sin of putting out a 'pure content mill' video'' because someone taking their own life is horrific-- especially Hbomberguy, how dare you even try to imply that?

And this gets me to the reason I'm furiously typing all this out in the first place: Hbomb is the fucking victim here, so stop treating him like he isn't. He tried making things as right as possible by compensating those that were burned by James through a video where he revealed everything there needs to be known about the guy so that less people fall victim to his actions and lies. To just ignore the harm James was causing while he had the evidence to prove it and platform too big to threaten into non existence should he speak out would've been bad. So he didn't. He did the right thing by sticking with the people James had stolen from, giving them a voice and making them known after they've been scrubbed from the picture by decidedly being uncredited for their works or bullied into silence. He shouldn't have to deal with this for doing the right thing. He shouldn't be labelled a murderer for doing the right thing. He shouldn't have to have the death of a man on his conscience for doing the right thing. People claiming otherwise are obviously wrong, but I can't imagine what all this must feel like right now. Because even tho they're wrong, guilt isn't a rational thing, and I know that if I were in his position I'd still feel like a morally bankrupt individual were the worst to happen even if I knew that it was not my fault. This isn't a funny story. So to add to this dumpsterfire by using it as a prop to bash on a creator you don't like and immediately write Somerton off as dead even when he's not even been confirmed dead yet to do that shows how little these people actually care about the thing they're talking about. They don't care a guy potentially killed himself-- what they care about is using it to paint Hbomb in a bad light because they don't like him. Here they are, posting memes and ill jokes about this very delicate situation while barely a day since the news broke out had passed. It's opportunistic, it's sickening, and literally the exact thing he criticised in his video when talking about 'content mills'. Like, I know none of these clowns bothered to actually watch it, but have some self-awareness. And some shame too, while you're at it.

This long story short: I'm writing this to contribute to the narrative not getting twisted to make Hbomb out to be the villian. Same goes for everyone else. Don't let these people paint them as the villians. If I see another person pull this shit again I will literally bite you and shred you into salad and spit you back out because I hate you so much and I mean that wholeheartedly.

To Hbomb: you will never see this but if you do, take care of yourself.

To the asshats this post is about: Delete your account. Cease all together. Stop talking about this. Just leave him the fuck alone.

#hbomberguy #james somerton #this post took me ages to finish and really grinds my gears #i would not survive on that hellscape with people like this holy shit #really hope this situation turns out for the best #i wrote this while i was frustrated and sleep deprived so apologies for unnoticed grammar i'll correct it later #i'll be keeping my eyes peeled for any updates on this situation this is actually getting scary

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evilminji · 4 months

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As I have recently discussed, with the ESTEEMED Quirk Scholar @mayfay !

Suprise Quirk Accident Babies! Gotta love um!

They're the, ironically enough, love child of "suprise child acquisition" and "suddenly pregnant" troupes! But SPEEDRUN! Because THAT IS A TODDLER/BABY! Right here. Right now!

Just?

POOF!

✨️~BABY~✨️

And now YOU! Yes, YOU! Get to deal with it. All those vague "do I want to be a parent someday? Would it be SAFE? I am READY?" Questions AND MORE! Suddenly NOT SO VAGUE.

Suddenly VERY RELAVENT. Immediate. People are asking you questions you are GOING to need to answer. And?

You are not the only parent.

You might be JUST out of fucking high-school. Staring down a top lister, high 20, maybe TOP TEN, Hero. Who is society gonna choose here? Your barely adult ass... or them? You might never see your kid again if they decide to take them. Decide to be an asshole.

They have enemies, too.

Can... can you HANDLE those enemies? To protect your kid?

It's been less then fifteen minutes. Fight has barely ended and your sitting under a shock blanket. Decisions are going to have to be made. And all you can think is the sound of your own panicked screaming. Static white noise. The reporters and shady Goverment officials already circling like sharks. Gotta make a decision. Gotta make a decision. Gotta....

It is? The BEST.

The more unlikely the combos the better! My asexual ass is thriving! Fuck yeah! Free baby, no sex!!! You can have platonic child rearing shenanigans! Interesting Self Insert Setups! New OCs! Character dramas! Or romance, if your into that sorta thing!

But you know what I think would be funny as hell?

The continued bloodline curse of AfO being so Platonicly Yandere at his own kin that they go Rabidly Feral Wet Cat and try to claw his throat out, bare minimum! Because obviously HE isn't the problem here! No, no, it's everyone ELSE that caused the issues last time! He doesn't have to learn from past mistakes! He's perfect! (Spoken by the world's most delusional man)

He ALSO has lost track of how many minor quirks he has shoved in metaphorical pockets at the moment. As he is, as always, a kleptomaniac. The way the react to each other? Cascade and shift? React to OTHER outside quirks?

Ha! He's never fucking studied that. Why would he study that!? He has power to steal.

So... set the scene~

Toshinori v. Afo: Kamino Ward.

Make the changes you please, add or subtract Heros, but the BIG TWO are there. They clash. Like Titans. Like GODS. AfO getting frisky with his quirk use, throwing everything at the wall. But?

Oh. This time. THIS TIME, you bastard! Toshinori is NOT ALONE!

The power of community, of an ARMY, is not to be underestimated. They make be struggling. Have broken bones and worse. But they know he just... just needs ONE shot! They... they can give him one shot.

Even if it's the last thing they ever do.

Because? They are god damned HEROES.

AfO feels his legs rip out from under him, just as he's about to dodge. It's going to be a killshot. He may... potentially... THEORETICALLY... conceivably... possibly... panic... just a bit. MAYBE. A microscopic amount.

He lashes out.

With everything.

And he DOES mean everything. Yes, including that "grow flowers" and the "summon apples towards you"Quirk, for all the good THOSE would have done.

Something? Happens.

The blast hits the Oaf infront of him... and? Resonates. Like the striking of a great clear bell. It RINGS. Deafening. Without noise. The damn brat...rewinds? No. He's not younger. He RESETS! OH YOU MOTHER FU-!

Something sliding off him. Like dust. From the reset. Drifting towards other dust.

Swirling. Some merging, like planets forming. Most not enough. Turning grey and falling to the ground. But... but he can SEE it. A whisp of white hair gets in the way. HIS hair. Ha. Ha ha hA HA HA HA HA!!! Reset! NOT JUST YOU, ALL MIGHT!

The heroes are getting up. It doesn't matter. He'll just put them BACK on the ground.

INTO it this time.

But then?

The dust from him, all might, so many others. Solidifies, compresses, the pops like a firework. Dumping a very started black hair, blue eyed, toddler on the ground.

AfO connects the dots first. He has AfO hair texture. Quirk weirdness just happened and their is ALWAYS a cost or drawback to Quirks. Such as... any overflow creates an infant? Did he just make his own child?

Not risking it.

He lunges.

All Might lunges for the simple reason of "oh GOD SUPERVILLIAN AND A BABY!" D:> same as every other hero there.

Meanwhile DANNY? Retired Halfa Superhero, Zone Councilman, and LATE to his DnD night... is beginning to suspect THIS is what Clockwork meant when he said "some roads take longer to get home".

Was that that a "Lol good luck buddy"!?

@mutable-manifestation @babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @hdgnj

#dpxmha #dpxbnha #minji's writing #Quirk baby au

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imaginesforeons · 9 months

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Hello first timer here, May I please request for Yandere Nanami with a Frail reader wherein reader is trying to hide and escape,but their sickly coughing gave them away

Yes! Thank your for your patience <333

Yandere!Nanami x Sickly!Reader

~You try to hide from him, lost in clouds of gold~

CW: Past kidnapping. Reader has a coughing fit and it gets a little intense.

WC: 940(ish)

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

You pushed against the iron door with all your strength, yet it stayed still, frozen on its rusted hinges and fixed as any mountain.

Wheezing, you slid down the door’s front, collapsing on your knees, trying - and failing - to catch your breath. Each gasp was a struggle, and there was a familiar burn rising from the bottom of your chest that meant nothing good. Your sickness had chosen now to act up. It felt like everything was against you.

Fruitlessy, you pushed at the door again, fingers scrabbling against it. Suddenly, you jerked back with a hiss, cradling your hand. Wincing, you saw one of your nails, broken and twisted and leaving a small trail of blood coursing its way down your palm.

Cursing and biting back tears, you forced yourself to stand, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. Leaning against the door, you allowed yourself a few seconds to catch your breath, casting your eyes around the room.

For the first time in months Nanami had taken you outside. After what had felt like an eternity, he had taken you from the house in the countryside, freeing you from beige walls and padlocked doors. The only reason he did it was because you had finally earned a bit of his trust through weeks of fawning and keeping your head down. It had lasted long enough for you to bolt at the first opportunity you got, disappearing into an almost endless warehouse, forgotten and left at the edge of the sea for nature to take over.

Now you were here, breath rattling in your lungs like skeleton trees, sequestered away in some far-off corner that knew only dust and dirt.

You still hadn’t seen Nanami since you ran. You haven’t even heard him, and when every noise you made echoed across the walls like gunfire, not even catching the sound of your captor’s footsteps had to be a very, very bad sign.

Shifting, you brought a shaking hand to your nose, covering it with your sleeve and breathing through the fabric. Motes of dust were floating everywhere. Above you, part of the ceiling had fallen in, allowing sunlight to cleave its way through, hitting the dust motes and lighting them up into glittering clouds of gold.

At first glance it was very pretty, but you were stuck in the miasma, surrounded by microscopic particles of dirt, grime, and ash. You took another pained breath through your sleeve, but it did little to filter the air. You choked on a cough, and you quickly slapped your hands over your mouth, body shaking with the effort of trying to keep it in. There was a moment where you thought you’d be able to keep silent through sheer force of will, but then your lungs spasmed, leaving you hacking until blackness spotted the edge of your vision.

Drawing in a rasp of a breath, you stared up at the slivers of sky coming in through the caving roof, blinking tears from your eyes. You rolled to your knees, readying yourself to stand, when you heard something.

Barely there, it was the slightest echo of a footstep. You stiffened, peering around a corner, and saw a flash of gold. To your horror, it wasn’t sunlight or dust floating in the air, but Nanami, stalking through the warehouse with the surety of a leopard on the hunt. Behind his glasses, his eyes roved over every nook and cranny, studying his surroundings with a sharp intelligence.

You gasped. It was your first mistake. Because you were still in the cloud of dust, you pulled in a lungful of it, and because anything other than perfectly crisp air was hell on your lungs, your body was immediately thrown into a fit of terrible spasms. You gagged, trying to keep your coughs in, clasping your hands desperately over your mouth again, but it was no use.

It was all too much; the air, your anxiety, and the threat of Nanami all convalesced, and you broke out into earth-shattering hacking. It echoed through the warehouse, and the last thing you saw was Nanami’s face whipping towards your direction before your eyes fell shut with the effort of your coughs.

You sputtered and choked, and each time you desperately tried to breathe, all you did was inhale more of that foul air. Wheezing, you fell back, scratching at your throat. It felt like you were drowning, and a ringing started to fill your ears. You could feel your heartbeat in your skull, at your fingertips, and when you tried to open your eyes, black swarmed your vision.

A hand found your neck, coursing under it to cup the back of your head, cradling it as something was brought to your face. You pawed at it weakly, but it was fitted over your mouth easily. Suddenly, a rush of crisp, sharp air rushed into your lungs, cool and cleansing and with the slightest taste of mint on your tongue. You took in great, greedy gulps of it, and slowly your vision came back.

Staring down at you, your head in his lap, was Nanami.

When he saw your eyes open, he hummed, shifting your head back to the ground. Before you could speak, a muscled arm found its way behind your back, while the other went under the crooks of your knees. Lifting you effortlessly, he carried you from the warehouse, out into the freshness of the ocean air. When you took your first breath outside, you nearly cried.

“I assume,” he began, looking down at you through his glasses. “That you won’t try that again.”

You could only grunt. Exhaustion pulled at you, and your head lolled against his shoulder. A few seconds later, and you fell into an exhausted, restless sleep.

#jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #imagines #yandere #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #yandere nanami #soft yandere #yandere nanami x reader #yandere nanami kento #nanami x reader

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thegildedbee · 4 months

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Secret: May 11 Prompt from @calaisreno

Martha Hudson has a secret.

Well, she is a keeper of many secrets – those of others, as well as her own. She’s logged quite a number of years on the planet, after all, lived amongst “colorful” people, and experienced an event-filled life. It would be rather odd if she had no secrets.

This secret is neither earth-shaking nor weighty; it is a secret because she would quite prefer that others not think her to be a maudlin old lady, a somewhat pitiful headcase, as she fears they might if they knew.

The secret occurs on the 20th of each month: the 20ths are the only time when she goes upstairs to 221B, to spend some time in a solitary visit. The flat is empty, John not coming home in the days after the Fall, and then moving in with his sister after the funeral. She's not clear whether or not he is still there; all she knows is that this is where he is not. He had been reluctant to drop by, and it would be several months before she saw him again. Nearly all of Sherlock’s possessions are still in place as they were the last time he was present (minus the Stradivarius that Lord Stick Your Umbrella Up Your Arse had seized near the end of November). In the flat, it is as if Sherlock’s life is suspended in time; no one seems concerned with boxing up his things (perhaps it is because his disappearance from their lives was so unexpected and abrupt; perhaps it is just that the idea needs time to settle amongst those he left behind). The rent money is still being deposited in her account each month, which she supposes is Mycroft's doing. Perhaps the flat represents, at least in part, all of them being somewhat suspended in time.

Her visits had begun in December; at the cemetary she hadn't felt Sherlock to be near at all when she went to lay flowers at his headstone. The flat, on the other hand, feels comforting to visit, and when she's there she does feel touched by his presence.

December That first post-Fall 20th had arrived in December, on a day and an evening in which lackluster swirls of snow were dispersed erratically by the cold breezes. On a whim, she had brought up a small Christmas tree from below and set it on the table. She hadn’t been able to decide if it made the room feel more lonely, or less so; she liked it nonetheless. She had pulled a few votive candles from her apron pocket and set them on the table, and rummaged about in the kitchen until she found a box of matches (from Angelo’s, of course), and the bottle of Lagavulin a client had sent to the boys the year before, and that she guessed would still be there, inside the second shelf of the cupboard next to the fridge, likely more than half full – and yes, there it had been.

She had poured a measure of whisky into a small glass, and brought it back with her to the main room, where she had turned off the overhead light and lit the candles. She'd begun a ritual that reoccurred on each of the 20ths: she allowed fond memories from years past to surface; turned over events from recent history in her mind, recalling what details she could; and engaged in idle speculation about alternative futures that might have been. January The next month she had visited in the afternoon, bringing her duster with her. She had fluttered silently about the sitting room as she feathered the surfaces of various objects and curios: the skull on the mantel, and the skull on the wall with the headphones; the microscope and a box of nicotine patches; a closed laptop. As she made a circuit around the room the physical sense of briefly touching each item as she scattered the dust felt something like the motion of prayer beads being turned about in one’s hands. She was strangely reluctant to dust where Sherlock’s violin case had been, its contours still clearly visible; she felt a bit silly about leaving it there, but she carried on.

There were also some random items scattered about – the last person to have touched them being Sherlock himself, she thought, when he had set them down. She lightly touched the stereo record album covers near the turntable, wondering if they would spark memories for her of Sherlock's violin playing. But these were unfamiliar – one was a musical called Into the Woods, and one had an extremely disquieting picture on its cover, of a mirrored head on the floor, with the title in tiny type in the upper corner, Trouble Will Find Me. She shook her head, wistful -- that was certainly the truth, wasn’t it?

Underneath the two was a surprising find – an old book, authored by Groucho Marx, of all people, a cartoon picture of him on the dust jacket. She’d actually met the comic actor, back in her theatrical days; in between his bouts of wise-cracking, she’d found him to be a bit moody, and rather shy. She didn’t know if being in the flat was causing everything to remind her of Sherlock, but it occurred to her that he was very much like the funny man had been – gleefully firing off insults at the stuffy and the self-important. She was amused to see that it was a book of humor about paying taxes -- an exercise in showing he could make people laugh about the dullest of topics? -- and thought briefly about bringing it -- Many Happy Returns: An Unoffical Guide to Your Income-Tax Problems -- downstairs to read, but she left it where she had found it. She finished up with her task by dusting the coffee table, where there was a dvd case for The Day of the Jackal – with a rather distressing image of Charles de Gaulle with a bulls-eye target circle over his face – which lay on top of the soundtrack to The Princess Bride. That boy was nothing if not a bundle of contradictions, she reflected fondly.

February In February, she brought up some red paper poppies she'd found in a drawer when she'd been cleaning her flat, and she placed them in a tea cup as an ersatz arrangement. She made herself a cuppa and sat in a chair near the window, watching as the sunbeams filtered through the lace curtains, the patterns of light and dark shifting as time passed. After she rinsed out her cup, she had picked up the duster she’d left behind the last time she’d been there, and opened up the door to Sherlock’s room, lingering briefly in the door frame, letting the sadness flow gently through her chest.

Her gaze took in the neatly made bed and the nearly empty spareness of the floorspace, so unlike the sitting room -- and yet each room seemed to fit Sherlock’s personality equally well. She dusted off the dresser and then smoothed out the pillows, and then had moved to the bedside tables, picking up a set of books on the one nearest the door, and placing it on the bed while she cleaned the surface. More books, more very old books, starting to age into being antiques – such a wide range of topics caught Sherlock’s fancy! There was Tricks of the Master and Sensational Tales of Mystery Men by a Will Goldston, who apparently had been a stage performer, according to the back of the dust jacket; and M.R. James, A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories, which she herself would not consider to be bedtime reading, but then Sherlock was quite used to the macabre -- perhaps he had found it soothing.

She gave the silk dressing gown hanging from the back of the door a couple of pats, and then left, closing the door behind her, an odd feeling coming over that she was missing something, or had left something undone. She stood for a few moments, searching her mind, but nothing occurred to her, and she left to go downstairs and start making supper.

March John finally visited after she had sent him a text letting him know that quite a bit of mail with his name on it had collected; she hadn’t wanted to throw any of it away, and the accumulated items were rather bulky to post. She had been of two minds about mentioning the 20th as a possibility for him to drop by, but she decided if the date was significant in any way to him, and he’d like best to avoid Baker Street that day, that he was perfectly capable of suggesting an alternate. But he had said yes, and had, in fact, remarked that it would be something of commemorating an anniversary, and she had ageed, letting him have a glimpse of her secret.

They mounted the stairs together and gave each other conflicted smiles as they passed through the door to the flat. She had brought up a half dozen tulips -- two pairs of red and pink and one stem of yellow and one of orange. She explained about her monthly ritual, and how she preferred that to going to the cemetary; John had seemed to be pleased. He drifted along behind her as she moved about the flat, opening up the windows to air out the sitting room and the bedroom, and she chattered cheerfully about nonsense as best she could, to try and put him at his ease. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him slide his fingers across some of the items scattered about, and when they passed by the spot where the violin outline still remained, he gave her a smile conspiratorial smile.

He hadn't wanted to stay long, which was easy to see -- his posture was stiff, and when he stood in one place he shifted from foot to foot, and he'd begged off actually sitting down; that was fine, she understood.

She gave him his bundle of mail and teased him about the catalog picturing motorcycles barreling across rough terrain and snowboarders in mid-flight from a company named D30 that had arrived the week before, asking him if he was going to be taking up competitive motorsports anytime soon. She'd managed to wrangle the truest smile yet out of him, and he said, no, only cycling of the regular sort, as was manageable for stodgy middle aged men. She had hugged him tightly as he said good-bye at the top of the landing, and she had hoped it would not be so long as it had been previously, before she would see him again.

April On April 20th she brought up a bunch of dried lavender stems and set them up in a beaker, and then retrieved the tulips to toss into the bin and wash out the vase. As she held the expired flowers in her hand, she had a thought flit across her mind that something was not quite right; she shrugged, and threw them away, but then when she glanced at them before shutting the lid, it came to her -- yes, that was it, there was no yellow flower. She didn't think anyone had been upstairs; John and Mycroft would both have let her know if they were coming by, she was sure of it, although apparently one of them must have done so. Or she could just be misremembering the composition of the small bouquet; her memory wasn't what it once was, of course.

Putting the washed and dried vase back into the cupboard reminded her about the bottle of Lagavulin; today she thought she could do with a drink, and she brought it down from the other cupboard, and sat it on the counter. When she went to pour some into a glass, she was struck once more about something being odd -- was it that the level of the liquid in the bottle was lower than she had expected it to be? Had she had a larger portion than she remembered from her visit last December? It could be a memory lapse, of course; perhaps it was time to visit the doctor, although she really didn't want to be told that yes, her memory was going. Of course it had been near Christmas, and the first month after Sherlock's death -- perhaps she had imbibed more than she would customarily, because of the circumstances. Or perhaps John or Mycroft actually had been by. She decided it was nothing to fuss over.

When she walked back into the sitting room, she noticed that the door to Sherlock's room was open; she was certain she had closed it behind her the day of John's visit. She walked over and took a few steps inside; everything seemed as it had been the last time she was there. As she turned to leave, she thought she did catch a scent that hadn't been there in the months prior -- a woody scent she associated with Sherlock. Perhaps her moving about had set free some lingering molecules trapped inside some bit of fabric.

Or, perhaps her visits to the flat were becoming a bit too much for her, and her mind was having trouble letting Sherlock go. She decided it might be best to take a break, and skip her visits for the next month or so.

........................................................ @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper @helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra @solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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bruhstation · 7 months

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Can you elaborate more on Spencer wanting to make Henry dependent on him?

Would he do the same to Edward ? Like in the episode Edward the great?

Spencer trying to manipulate Gordon's friends?

spencer has some kind of weird toxic gay crush on henry. he's always liked men who are (in his opinion) in distress because they open an opportunity for spencer to swoop in and save them and feed his ego. henry's personality in spencer's head has been altered and dumbed down so severely to match his fantasies where spencer is henry's knight in shining armor who protects and takes care of him while henry is the damsel in distress who's waiting for big, strong spencer to take him away. this guy is a grade A freakster. henry just ignores spencer like he's scraps on a dinner plate and silently prays for his downfall.

after the events of the beast from sodor, spencer gained a microscopic smidge of respect towards henry. it's frankly embarrassing for him because henry's the one protecting spencer instead of the other way around like he envisioned. it doesn't stop him from annoying henry whenever he gets the chance. once, spencer left a note inside nwr 3's cab "call me if gordon's bothering you xxx-xxx-xxx <3 -S.S.G." and henry had to resist the urge to jump and dive head first onto the rocky road after finding it

speaking of gordon, spencer knows that if he DID manage to pull henry, gordon's gonna be extremely pissed off because 1) gordon is his cousin 2) gordon has been fumbling henry for around one and half a decade through gold dust-fueled mind-twisting situations yet they never ended up together and 3) spencer’s gonna have another insensitive stand up comedy material besides "dead siblings" and "dead father" which just excites spencer even more

edward isn't really spencer's type (wise, can stand his ground, etc) and he knows the older man can see right through him, so he's not interested in chasing after him. also henry will NEVER EVER return spencer's feelings mainly because he's just so annoying instead of the fact that spencer has ulterior motives for him and spencer will always remain having a one-sided crush/twisted infatuation/etc for henry

#asks #isjssjsjshuuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyyyyy #ttte spencer #ttte henry #casa tidmouth #ngl this has become one of my favorite ''ships'' because it's just so downright funny. it's bizarre. it's hilarious #looney tunes esque ship. I LOVE it.#as long as gordon's doing bad spencer is up to do anything. like his cousin HAS to fight for his life #there's something deeply concerning with this man. he thinks everything's a game #spencer chanelling his toxic homosexual nepo baby aura to the max #THE ISLAND'S MENACE FRRL FRRL

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tofuxtea · 2 years

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𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 | 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱 + 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — negan smith x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — age gap (around 15 yrs), authority kink, ‘sir’ is used in joking context, choking, aggressive negan, flirty reader, light humiliation, reader is pushed against a wall unsexily, very light dub-con if you squint (no precise ‘yes’ from either parties), just negan saying negan shit tbh

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — i am barely on season 2 of walking dead i really hope i captured at least SOME of canon negan’s essence, otherwise i’m going off of what i think he’d be like in this situation. also this is a tad late. shhh. ALSO NOT PROOFREAD SHHHHHH I HAVE HOMEWORK DUE TN — 2.9k words.

the night was still fairly young, the last orange streaks of sunset against the sanctuary’s high walls slowly deepening to a rusty red. a majority of the saviors had already begun retiring to their rooms on negan’s accord — do not leave after sunset. it was a rule, sure, but it was also common sense in a world run by walkers.

you had common sense. sometimes. you knew it was an awful idea to venture out to town for medicine at a time like this, especially when you knew a group would likely be sent out the next morning to one of the trade groups, but the infirmary was running dangerously low on painkillers and first aid supplies.

while you never considered yourself to be the hero without a cape type, you needed the hike to clear your mind. negan seemed to be paying extra close attention to you over the past couple of weeks and it made you feel like you were a blood sample under a microscope.

you had no issue with negan but something about him breathing down your neck like his life depended on it made you feel odd. he was well older than you — possibly fifteen or so years older — but there was something about his sadistically arrogant dimpled smile whenever you pointed his closeness out that had your cheeks dusted pink. which was the last thing you wanted.

negan was no romantic nor was he one to easily take likings to people. he gutted people like it was breathing. sure, he had a close eye on you whenever you were within sight but you figured it was more of a cautious motive he had; like making sure you wouldn’t steal or conspire against the saviors. he would probably smear your brains on the cement you stood on without a second thought if you gave him even a hint of a reason to believe you were.

in simpler terms, he was an attractive douchebag. a dangerous attractive douchebag—

“the hell do you think you’re going?” the sharp, gruff voice that had been looped in your wandering mind seemed to summon the devil himself, his presence popping the bubble of tension that surrounded you. your spine stiffened, but you didn’t dare turn around to face him. you didn’t need to to know he was staring daggers into your back. there was a soft shuffle — he crossed his arms over his chest — and he blew a wry chuckle out of his nose. “you runnin’ away?”

any trace of accusation from his first question had vanished and he actually sounded amused. you stuffed a switchblade into the side pocket of your backpack with a scoff of your own. “��course not.” you prayed that the firmness in your tone compensated for your shaky hands. it was all you could do to hope negan wouldn’t bash you in from behind with lucille.

“well, care to enlighten me, sweetheart?” he taunted and you could hear the smirk in his voice. unfazed, you zipped your backpack up and went to sling it over your shoulder when you finally came to terms with the fact that negan wouldn’t let you out. and you couldn’t lie your way out of it.

you met his empty, gently lidded eyes, thick dark eyebrows set in a stern line just above them. “i’m making a quick stop into town. we’re running low on meds and i’m not sure if they’re gonna last til morning.” negan’s expression hardly shifted, only his lips turning downwards with the slightest interest in your brave plan. for a sliver of a second you thought he just might be in support of it.

“alright, i’ll play along. how are you gonna get there with just that little knife of yours?” his finger jutted towards your side pocket. a jolt of distaste shifted your features and you knew negan noticed. at least, if he did, he didn’t care.

“you offering to come with? or do you just wanna protect me?” the way his eyebrows shot up made you think your playfulness didn’t make it across to him. but then the corner of his mouth slowly tugged into an impressed smirk.

“that’s all you’re going for? meds?” he reiterated, not a hint of confusion laced in his words. it sounded like he was pushing for a second answer you had yet to give.

you eyed him warily, ignoring the few steps he took into the room, shutting the door in the process. your brows pinched together for a second of suspicion. “why? you need me to get you something?” your gaze wandered off to the side while you pursed your lips with thought and hummed. when you met negan’s eyes again, he had gotten a decent amount closer to you and he actually winced at the mischievous look in your own. “condoms? viagra?”

he let out a breathy laugh, pearly white teeth showing from under a curled lip. “oh, don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.” the genuine lightheartedness coming from negan scared you more than the dangerous proximity. “put the bag down. i’ll send a group in the morning.”

there was no challenge in his features and you knew he expected you to listen like an obedient little dog. when your fingers wrapped securely around the straps of the backpack and hiked it further up your shoulder, his little smirk faltered. “i’m going into town, negan. it won’t be too long.” you pushed lightly. praying to whatever god there was left, you hoped negan would simply shrug his shoulders and allow you to leave. he took a step forward.

“did i ask you?” an unsettling grin set his lips straight and it made you feel tiny. he definitely had the ambiance of a respected leader — if you could even call what people felt for him respect. his expression twinged with a mocking expectancy like he actually wanted a reply. “did i?”

your tongue swiped over your molars and your jaw jutted to the side. “no, sir.” the honorific held no sincerity. negan seemed satisfied with your answer nonetheless but he didn’t let the sarcasm slip by so easily. in the brief moment of tense silence you shared, a curiosity that hurt your brain begged to be debunked. “why do you care?”

negan’s eyes went scarily blank but the beginning sparks of a fire could be seen in the pits of his pupils. “excuse me?” there was hardly any venom on his tongue but it was enough to make you wince.

you flung the backpack onto the barely clothed mattress with a soft rustle and met negan’s stare with one that screamed really? “you think i don’t see you staring me down every time i’m doing my job? at first i thought it might’ve been because you were waiting for me to screw up but if that were the case we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” negan’s tightly pressed lips gave you no direction towards the truth. he had a knack for that. “would we, negan? so what is it? are you scared of me runnin’ away or do you actually care enough to not let me go?” the scrutiny behind your tone made him veer his gaze off to the side. he returned it moments later, possibly wanting to regain his composure.

“you done?” he asked flatly. for a moment you were glad he wasn’t lashing out at you for even assuming he’d care about somebody but it quickly bubbled over into exasperation.

“the hell i am!” you snapped, daring to bare claws at him. they were clipped down in a second, his palm catching your throat and viciously hurling you backwards until the backs of your thighs dug into the tiny bedside table behind you. negan still pushed, the back of your head meeting the wall with a gentle thunk.

it shut you up. eyes wide and fingertips scrambling to find footing on the table you were awkwardly hovering over, you feared negan. his eyes were scarily void of any readable emotions. he was completely cool, even with his leg nudged between your thighs and his wrist being softly clawed at by your nails.

“i said you done?” the heat of his breath hit your face and you gulped hard. his palm pushed against the center of your throat and there was no sign of letting up. not until you forced yourself to nod did he grant you a sliver of freedom by taking the pressure off of your windpipe. the calloused pads of his fingers still held your jaw firmly in place but at least you could breathe.

“you want me to add a ‘sir’ to that?” even while pinned to the wall you managed to adorn an arrogant smirk in between labored breaths. “who told you i was into this? arat? swear i can’t tell her shit—”

“that fucking mouth of yours.” negan cut in sharply. you would have assumed it was because he was genuinely disgusted until his tongue darted out and wet his lips. then the deep pits of his pupils finally became eligible and your brows leveled with shock. “do you remember who you’re talking to?”

you nudged against his hand, challenging the very man who could take your life with a clean swipe of his fist. unless he wanted to take the extra minute to grab his barbed baseball bat. “‘course i do, negan.” voice dropping an octave, you could see the strain it put on his hardened demeanor. he blinked quickly and shifted on his feet, the crease in his forehead showing his inward debate whether to give in or beat the shit out of you. it was decided for him when one of your hands that had stiffly held onto the table experimentally prodded at his side. negan’s breath went sharp but he made no attempt to get away. “you do care.”

“i could fuckin’ kill you.” the man seethed. his fingers grasped your jaw with ferocity and you choked on a gasp as he pressed you into the wall once more. his other hand hooked underneath your thigh and hoisted you onto the table, its contents rattling and tumbling onto the ground with alarmingly loud crashes. “i’m old enough to be your damn father and you wanna fuck me?”

negan had your cheek almost flush with the wall, his nose brushing against your tensed jawline. you could sense the taunting narrowing of his eyes and smirk on his lips without even seeing them. he had slipped between your legs, the hand that had aggressively lifted you now gently feathering over the front of your thigh.

“that’s what you want?” he held your mouth shut like a muzzle. your nostrils flared with anger and you shot him a dangerous glare out of the corner of your eye. “oh, you’re fucked up.” he barked out a laugh when pathetic surrender flooded your dilated pupils.

he whipped your head forward and released you. your first instinct was to slap him across the face, hierarchy be damned. you had your palm raised, ready to be brought down when negan caught your wrist into his large hand and pinned it to the wall along with you. his lips crashed onto yours with malicious fervor, the tickling sensation of his salt and pepper beard on your skin drawing a shudder from you.

your free hand curled a finger into his belt loop and pulled him impossibly closer. you wrapped your legs around his hips, gently grinding into his significantly hardened cock in his black jeans. “shit, don’t get too hasty, sweetheart.” he warned, tearing your wandering arm away from him and yanking it behind your back. you chuckled wryly, gently wincing at the roughness, but it crumbled as soon as his lips found your neck. your back instinctively arched and you kicked your head back a little to allow him access, though the tug he gave the hair at the nape of your neck did that for you. he was greedy yet smooth, carefully working down to the low neck of your tank top.

“negan,” you whispered shakily as his large hands slid up underneath your top, the sudden contrast in temperature bringing goosebumps to your skin. he groaned softly, the hum of his voice vibrating against your chest. in a second he had it pulled over your head and threw it mindlessly to the side. his eyes dragged down your torso, fueling the fire in his pupils. “oh, and you call me fucked up?” you teased as you swiftly unclipped your bra and theatrically slid the straps down your arms, noting the way negan’s eyelids went scarily low.

“shut up.” he shot back, hands molding to your hips, slowly slipping down to the waistband of your tiny shorts that he wanted gone. the needy glint returned to your eyes and your lips curled up.

“make me, sir.” it was a corny line that asked for a hell of a time, and negan bought right into it when he stole a long, sloppy kiss. while he skillfully worked the clasp on your shorts, you peeled his grey shirt over his head like your life depended on it. next was his belt buckle, then the button on his pants.

you let him shimmy your bottoms down your hips, his satisfied smirk growing when your black panties came into view. they were a little treat you snagged for yourself when you found a decently stocked department store a while back. it was just your luck that you decided to wear them today.

the thick pad of his finger found your clit through the thin fabric, slowly circling it. your hips softly bucked in response as a cry ripped from your throat. negan took the opportunity to latch onto your chest, teeth nipping at a mark he’d already planted. “fuck, you’re already so damn wet.” he panted, not wasting another second to slide your panties to the side and run his middle finger teasingly up your soaked cunt. he dipped his fingertip in, watching how you writhed at the sensation.

a broken cry met his ears and he smiled sadistically, continuing until he was knuckle deep. “ne—negan, fuck,” you couldn’t form a single sentence when he began thrusting his finger inside of you mercilessly.

“what happened to ‘make me’, hm?” what he said refused to process yet you still managed to land a soft slap to his shoulder. he quickly pulled out, with an irritated whine from you, and popped it into his mouth, holding your eyes until he took it right back out. your lips parted, calming breaths beginning to pick up at the sight.

your nimble fingers found the waist of his boxers first, clumsily nudging them down his sides until his cock was freed. negan watched through sex-doped lids as you wrapped your hand around him and began pumping him. his head lolled back and his eyes screwed shut with an open-mouthed groan.

“fuck me, negan, please,” you whined, shoving your pride down your throat for the first time all night. you teased your folds with the tip of his dick, your heels nudging the back of his legs greedily.

he snaked his hand around to the back of your neck, pulling you into a deep messy kiss. the feeling of his tongue on yours and his beard softly scratching your face made you whimper. his other went between your thighs, keeping them wide as he slowly pushed his dick inside of you. you moaned against his mouth, steadying yourself on his shoulders. “negan,” your knuckles turned paper white from how tightly you were holding onto his arms, grip getting impossibly tighter when he started moving.

“fuck,” negan cursed when he felt how tight you were, practically squeezing around his cock. both of you knew you wouldn’t last long and if you kept knocking the table against the wall and the volume, you had about that long until someone walked in.

he hooked the backs of your legs underneath his arms and pounded into you, the angle hitting a spot that made your body go completely slack. your head slid on the wall behind you, kicking back out of pleasure as pornographic moans tumbled past your lips. “shit, negan, don’t stop.” you managed in between heaving gasps, needily pulling at his neck until he leaned down to meet your lips with an animalistic passion. he pressed one hand to the wall next to your head, the other holding your thigh almost flush with your chest.

his thrusts went deep and slowed down so subtly you almost didn’t notice, abusing the sensitive spot that had you seeing white. “that’s it, let go.” negan’s voice rumbled in your ears, nearing a low growl.

strings of curses left your mouth as your high crashed into you. hard. it rocked your body all over, momentarily numbing you. negan’s thumb roughly circled your clit once more, intensifying the electricity that shot through your body. you spasmed around his cock and your back gently curved, hips meeting his thrusts.

he didn’t last longer than you did, barely pulling out in time to cum on the insides of your thighs and lower stomach. his chest heaved as he came back down. neither of you moved, except for your palm as it slid down to the tattoo on the right side of his chest, the tips of your fingers brushing over the navy ink.

“next time you’re in town, get some condoms.”

the first half was better imo BUT ANYWAYS ENJOY negan lovers pls follow me ♥️ —rin

#the walking dead smut #the walking dead #the walking dead kinktober #negan smut #negan smith #negan smith smut #negan fic #negan x you #daddy negan #negan imagine #twd smut #tw dubcon #twd negan #twd kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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