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we-out-here-simping · 5 days

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Kiss it away, honey.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

summary: you have a perfect and loving boyfriend, and everything should be great but something is just not right.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: use of y/n, no pronouns used (gn!reader), use of pet names (honey, etc), codependency, dark themes, a new flavor of jealousy, horror (spookies and scawies), gore, murder

a/n: yall remember when i was yapping about clones and all that? yeah. I went a lil feral while writing this lmao✌️🤪

another banger by @procrastinationprincesses and I on tumblr dot com. Thank her for listening to me babble on and just helping me sift through the different routes this could go and also being what is basically my proofreader

i might write a part two of this. do not ask me when.

masterlist

You haven’t changed out of your work clothes yet, staring at the phone on the wall.

It was silent now but it had rung, blaring, louder than you'd ever heard it before. Five times it had rung.

5 calls– 5 missed calls. Unknown number. No voicemail.

You hadn't picked up. You had just stared, you weren’t sure why– the ringing scared you. you weren't sure why but every fiber in your being had coloured you stuck– immovable even if you wanted to do otherwise.

Now it had stopped, empty as vacuum, dead quiet left in the wake of those shrill rings.

And just when you were about to let out a sigh of relief, just when you thought you could finally get to changing out of your work clothes, it started ringing again, your temples hurt from its shrill notes.

Your nostrils flared, you will not cower, no, you huff of frustration before stomping towards the phone. Its red plastic is just as bright as it had been when you had first gotten it with Steve.

It's probably just a prank call. It's a prank call. A stupid kid doing a stupid prank call. Why the hell is your heartbeat so loud?

You pick up the receiver, gripping it tight, ready to give the prank caller a piece of your mind.

Hello? Hey you stupid shithole, find something better to do with your stupid, pathetic life, why dont ya’? Good fucking night.

“He– hello?”, your voice comes out nowhere near as fierce as you had wanted it to be.

The line is silent for a second or two. But then you hear a gasp and then some rustling, crackle. You strain your ears, the sounds seemingly impossible to decipher, “hello, who– who is this?”

You think you hear muffled crying, after a few seconds they finally speak up, “y/n”, their voice is of a woman's. “y/n–” is all they choke out before breaking out into a sob. She says your name as if she hasn't said it in a long while, as if she can't believe she’s saying it. And you don’t know why but you feel your eyes sting. You press the receiver closer to your ears, the plastic creaks under your grip. you think you recognise her. The realisation hits you that you do. She sounds familiar.

“y/n, my baby where–” you hear a click, followed by beep beep beep beep, indicating that the call has been disconnected. This time you blink, a tear finally trickles down your cheek. You stare at the receiver, the beeping barely audible. You take in a deep breath, and dial the number again, waiting for the ring or the woman’s voice.

The ring never comes, her voice never comes. Invalid number.

You stare at it. If you were to look any harder, you think the plastic would melt. Too many thoughts were running through your head. And why the hell are you crying?

You hear the jingle of keys followed by the sound of the door opening. You tear your burning gaze away from the phone to the clock. 7:08 p.m.

“Steve?”

“Yeah!” he answers back immediately, you hear the door shut, the keys in his hand jingle again followed by the clink of them landing in the ceramic ashtray-turned-bowl next to the door where you keep your keys.

Any other day you would have walked to him, and even if he’d be in the middle of taking his shoes off he’d stop, give you a loving smile, hold his arms up, ready to engulf you into a hug. Any other day, you would have wrapped your arms around his torso, kissed his shoulder before burying your nose into his neck.

He is the only one who could ever fix you, everyday you come from work, bags under your eyes, tired to your bones and everyday he comes and puts you all back together as if it was the easiest thing to do, as if he was made for it. And you want to go to him so bad. Any other day, you would have. But today doesn't seem like any other day.

“Hey honey”, he finally comes around the corner and he gives you that smile you love being on the receiving end of, all lazy and adorning, “haven't changed out yet?”

You look back down at yourself, and you see that you had still been stuck, body still facing the wall where the phone hung. you indeed haven't changed out yet. You barely shake your head before his brows scrunch up, “You okay? Your eyes look all red”

You blink before shaking your head, “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll go ch–”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

What you were saying is left abandoned, your head snaps towards where the phone is.

“I’ll get it. You go change,” Steve tells you, not noticing your immediate panic. As he ambles to the phone, you slowly shuffle away– moving towards the bathroom, making sure to listen in on the conversation. “Hello?” you hear him speak into the receiver, he pauses for a second and so do you in your tracks, “..oh hey, Henderson'', you breathe out in relief at hearing the familiar name, “Yeah, yep, doing good. How’s the new place treatin’ ya?”

The audibility of his words lessens as you continue on your way to the bathroom. In the small, tiled room, your own breathing echoes, it engulfs you. you immediately regret not just changing in your room because you can't hear Steve’s voice anymore. But you have already locked the door. You weren’t sure why you did– maybe it was your uneasiness and apprehension but normally you never lock the door because your ever clingy Steve loves joining you in, majority of the time there is nothing sexual about it. Most of the time he just stands there by the door, that same adorning smile on his lips.

When you step out of your jeans, it rings in your brain, again and again. The piercing ringing of the phone, the woman’s voice. You know that voice. You know that voice. You know that woman, you are certain. It is like its on the tip of your tongue, like it is obscured behind a frosted glass, like an itch you can’t scratch.

A knock on the bathroom door breaks you out of your thoughts, “uh honey?” the voice comes muffled through the wood, “Are you done? Need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, just–” you quickly hop into your shorts, balling up your dirty clothes and tossy them into the laundry basket before unlocking the door.

And he is there, that smile blooms across his face, “there you are”, and then his lips are on yours, his wide palm comes to hold your face, thumb rubbing softly at your cheeks— he’s a tactile being, your boyfriend, loves holding your face, loves holding you, touching you anywhere.

When his fingers burrow into your hair behind your ear, you somehow manage to breathe out between the deepening kisses, “Thought you had to take a piss”

“Don't bring up pissing when I’m kissing you”

“Oh, but its okay when you wanna hold my hand while pooping?” He once told you he’d hold your hand while pooping if you’d let him– he had been absolutely drunk, maybe high off weed– inebriated, really and didn't remember saying it the next day. you love to tease him about it. he groans at the mention.

“I was high”, he whines, embarrassed, “I told you I didn't mean it.”

“Drunk words… sober thoughts, honey.”

“You said it was endearing”

“It is endearing but still a weird thing to say”, you laugh all toothy and cute.

“Whatever, I gotta piss”, he mumbles trying his best to hide his smile before moving you by your shoulders to swap places with you so it’s him who is in the bathroom. He shuts the door, the sound of the lock clicking never reaches your ears.

You’re left alone with your thoughts again, and your smile fades away– you’re anxious, you know that much. You’re not so sure of what exactly. You plop down on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing restlessly, finger tracing over the pattern of the sheets. The pillows and comforter are set up perfectly for the night– every morning Steve sets the bed while you shower knowing you always get frustrated with the task.

Your back sinks into the mattress, you breathe out, deep and slow, eyes closing on their own accord. You almost fall asleep for a second, but the bathroom door clicks open. A few seconds later, the bed dips beside you, the fabric rustles, “tired?” the question is followed by a groan. When you peak a look, you find him stretching out his arms beside you.

“Absolutely”, you answer.

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs out.

“We still have to make food.”

He lets a frustrated groan tumble from his lips, “can't we just have mac and cheese today?”

…

The night goes by in a breeze, not a lot of talking.

The love is still there though, in the way that Steve holds the corner of the open cabinet door to make sure your head doesn't hit it, in the way he lets you sit on the countertop while waiting for the water to boil over, in the way you stare at him when you think he isn't looking, in the way you pull his hand over your lap and massage the tight muscles of his palm while he stirs the pot with his other hand.

You put on his favourite show when he plates the food, he makes sure to put some chives on your plate to make it look a little more pretty for you. You watch the show in silence, eating under the flickering light of the tv. You let it play in the background while you wash the dishes, it is Steve who watches you this time, his head resting against the cabinets behind him. and he thinks he could watch you all day. Something about doing the most mundane things with you makes him feel all warm and lovely. He is sure that past anything grand and dramatic, its the everyday things that show love. He hopes in every world, he gets to hold you and love you. He thinks he'll give it all up just to be with you, just to watch you wash dishes, just to have you sit beside him while he cooks.

When the dishes are done, he makes sure the doors are locked, you turn off the lights and the TV. Before you know it you’re in bed, and before you know it, you’re already falling asleep.

…

At first you weren’t sure why you were awake. Then you hear shuffling behind you, and you barely even roll over when there is a warm hand on your hip, “honey,” he whispers– voice all scratchy and low that makes you melt, you hum for a response, “I’m sorry honey, wake up please”, his tone is slightly rushed, you’re a bit more awake at that.

Barely did you sit up when he engulfs you in a tight hug. You hold him back without a thought or hesitation. Your hand rubs his back, his arms tighten around you, nose nudging into your neck, his skin warm. your fingers find their place in his messy head of hair like they always do, you card through the strands. He pulls you closer, and then you're in his lap. He holds you like a boy holds his favourite toy– like he doesn't plan on letting go.

“Want some water?” After some time you ask softly. You feel him nod into the junction of your neck.

He loosens his hold on you enough for you to climb out of his lap. Not saying a word, he follows you to the kitchen, and he stays close when you pour him a glass. He is mid-gulp when you ask, “nightmare?”

He nods once, the rogue strands on his forehead bouncing with the movement, and downs the water before saying a soft ‘yeah’.You take the glass from his hands and place it in the sink, and lead him back to bed.

You brush aside his disheveled hair. You tuck yourself into his side, an arm around him, “wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, fringernails scratching his faint stubble.

In the dim of the room, you see his adam's apple bob. Apparently, he does want to talk about it, because he nods– the movement barely noticeable but there. You put your head back on his chest and you wait patiently, trying your best not to fall back to slumber.

It takes him a while before he starts, “You were…” his hand moves to hold yours, “you were sick–in the hospital, these wires and tubes attached to you. Y-You had been there for months. You were sick and you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. And– and…. Then the– the damn heart monitor–”

“Honey–”

His words are frantic and uneven, “I didnt– I didnt know what to do after. I didn’t–”

“Steve—” you hold his face to make him look at you, “I'm here.”

He licks his lips, then swallows, nodding. he pushes his face forward so your foreheads are touching. “I know", his nose is hot against yours, "it was still awful.”

You both lay that way for a while. Your thumb brushing against his red cheek, he sniffles a couple times. you hate seeing him this way, with his lashes clumped together, his beautiful eyes all red. The moisture glistening under his eyes doesn't let you fawn over his freckles like you'd normally wish to.

When his skin is a little less warm, and his heartbeat calmer beneath your fingertips, you kiss him. Your hand snakes up to hold his face. Fingers, softly rubbing over the spot behind his ear that makes him melt. You kiss him all slow and purposefully, so he knows that he has all the time in the world.

When you pull away, he murmurs, “Can we go back to sleep?” he pulls you closer, face burying into your neck, warm puffs of breath against your collarbones.

You land a quick kiss on his eyebrow before resting your chin above his head, “‘course”

...

You wake up to the alarm clock on Steve’s side of the bed. He turns off the thing before rolling around in your arms onto his back and then turning his head to face you. “Hi”, he smiles that way again and you do the same, sleepy as ever.

“Hi”, you say still half asleep– you ended up not getting a lot of sleep last night. Thankfully you had the day off today, so you plan on being unproductive and sleeping it away.

He stretches, a yawn escaping him, “Jesus, I so don't wanna go to work today”, your boyfriend laments.

You hum, “then don't go” you propose, eyes still closed, “We can both have a day off”

He turns his body so it faces you, leaning on his elbow. His hand moves to your waist before massaging the love handle there “hmm, tempting. I can't though”

“No fun”, you mumble groggily.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me”, he brushes the hair that falls on your face with the back of his hand.

"But ‘m sleepy", you mumble into the pillow.

"Aw, don't worry, I will kiss it away, honey." He leans down, a smirk painted across his features. His soft lips land on your cheeks first, then one on your nose, they follow a trail that leads to your lips.

You hide your face in the pillow before your lips could meet though, “No, No kissing!” you giggle, holding up your palm to his face, effectively blocking his attacks, “no kissing before brushing your teeth!"

“You're no fun”, he rolls out of the twist of sheets. He stretches his arms, the muscles rippling beneath the skin– he's trying to entice you, seduce you. and if you weren't so damn sleepy, you would have climbed him up like a koala. He gets up to go to the bathroom. When he notices that you haven't moved, he pulls you by your ankle. You let out a surprised shriek that transforms into giggles when you feel his fingers creeping up your torso– tickling you. ”Here comes the tickle monster!”

A fit of giggles erupts from your throat, "What are you–", your question gets interrupted by your own laughs.

"The tickle monster will not relent unless you wake up!"

“No! Okay, okay, I'm awake! Steve! I am awake!”

The two of you share the cramped space of the bathroom. It is small, but its the best you could afford. So when you brush your teeth together, you try to relish it when your elbows bump. And when you're done, he kisses you as if he waited ages.

By now, you're a bit more awake so you decide to get his breakfast ready while he takes a shower. It's simple enough, waffles with banana and some coffee. When he comes back out, he kisses you again when he sees you at the stove, this time on the crown of your head.

When he is getting his keys to leave, he gives you another peck, “drive safe", you murmur against his lips..

“I will. You get some sleep, yeah?” you hum and nod in response. You both bid your goodbyes before he turns to leave.

You decide to eat the leftover waffles and clean up a little before returning to your bed. You make yourself a plate with the bananas neatly cut and placed beside the waffles. You drizzle maple syrup, and then start eating the sickly sweet breakfast, skipping the coffee. While you're pouring yourself a second helping of the maple syrup, the expiration date on the bottle catches your eye. expired more than a year ago. ew.

Your face scrunches in disgust before immediately throwing it in the trash. And you wonder how the hell either of you hadn't gotten food poisoning yet. then it hits you, from what you remember you bought that bottle only a couple months ago. Did you buy an already expired one?

You open the fridge, the condiments and bottles staring at you. One by one, you check each and every one; ketchup, expired. Hot sauce, expired. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, milk– expired, expired, expired.

What the fuck?

You throw it all out and make a point to call Steve later to buy everything as he often calls to ask if you had to get something from the store. And that makes you wonder, when was the last time you actually told him he needed to get something?

You try not to think too much about it. Honestly, you don't know what to make of it, so you decide to go back to sleep.

…

You hear your name. Its faint. It echoes. Like a whisper in a church.

“y/n”, you know that voice. “I– I know you’re there, y/n”, the woman says, all shaky but sure. “y/n”, she repeats. Its that voice… again.

Who are you?

“Its me, y/n! Its me!” she exclaims as if that would make you remember.

I don't ... understand.

“Baby, just tell me where you are– I'll find you.”

I’m home.

“Home? No– no baby, you’re not. You haven't been home—” her voice gets cut off. It becomes too loud. You feel as if the veins in your temple are going to explode. Its too loud to even tell what it is you’re hearing. Its a static like a radio or a TV, or maybe its wind, maybe its cars, maybe its screams. You think you hear sirens– you wonder if they’re the police or an ambulance. You hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Its deafening. And beneath it all, you hear….. Ringing.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Your eyes fling open and you see your ceiling, you smell the faded mixture of your perfume and Steve's cologne. You’re in your bed. You still hear the ringing. The phone.

You are up in a second. Rushing towards the origin of the sound. When you’re there, you dont wait a second, the plastic is already to your ear.

“Hell– hello?” it comes out all out of breath and broken.

“Honey, you’re– you okay?” its not the voice of that woman.

“...Steve?”

“Who else?”, he chuckles, “you okay?”

“Uh– yeah,”you clear your throat, “I was um– sleeping. I think I just had a dream..” your hand creeps up to the back of your neck, scratching there to try to alleviate a little bit of the ache.

“Oh, well okay sleepy. I just wanted to check if you need me to buy anything? Like, groceries or whatever on my way back.” you give him the entire list of everything you wanted him to get. You would've talked more if Steve hadn't been interrupted by a customer. Nevertheless, you said your 'I love you's and the call ended.

Your heart is still loud in your ears but the ache has dulled down for the most part.

that voice. that woman.

Its me.

I’ll find you.

You haven't been home.

"Home..", you say out loud to yourself. Home.

...

Hours have passed. you think you’re losing your mind because you have turned the apartment upside down. you're surrounded by boxes, most of them filled with normal things, your tattered rollerskates, shoes, old clothes. Most of it was normal, except one.

One unlabeled box you found in the corner of your closet. You haven't touched that box in ages, not since your fallout with your family, lying out of sight and out of mind. It didn't have a lot, all packed in a hurry. things you'd had in your room. picture frames, some books, clothes, papers.

You pick up a frame. The picture was from when you were a twelve-year-old. Wearing what were your favourite clothes back then, your hair in a manner that made you feel a little sorry. You're so different now, yet somehow its still you. There's your older sister, her braces glimmering under the flash of the old camera– her smile wide. Your dad, who doesn't ever know how to pose in pictures. Your mom, she holds you and your sister by your shoulders, a soft smile on her lips, her makeup done perfectly. Another picture from your high school. Another of you with your sister and cousins.

You pull out the books, the pages are slightly yellowed and they have an earthy smell to them that you love. Pages you don't remember reading, dog-eared and written in.

Then there's the papers– some doodles, some notes, a few maps, some scraps and then.... a file. the file that has your name written on it. And when you open it; medical papers. medical bills. They are a little more than a year old. This wasn't a small stay apparently. From what you can tell from the dates on the bills, it lasted months. You don't remember going to the hospital.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

You find yourself reading through all the details of the paper on the floor of your closet.

months. you had been there for months. Steve's dream.

The entire time, you read and re-read the papers. Why don't you remember any of this? Why does Steve not remember any of this? Maybe he does, he had that dream after all, right? Why are there no discharge papers?

Hours pass. It's maddening, how slow the time passes. Its absolutely maddening. What the fuck does it mean that you haven't been home? You are home. and who the fuck was that woman?

You look through the box again, its contents scattered around you by now. The photos. Your family. Your parents. You miss them. You haven't seen them in so long...

Some broken memories have come to you. You had left– run away. You don't remember why. Then you met Steve when you were stopping by in Hawkins for a few months. You fell in love so quickly. Then one day, you asked if he wanted to run away with you. He said yes and you both left Hawkins and came here.

You don't remember much after that.

Wait, where is hawkins? and why did you go there?

...

It is 7 p.m. and you are pretty sure you have lost your mind. Why isn't Steve home yet? You need Steve. He's the only one who could ever fix you. And now, you need him to fix you again. You need him to fix this, to make some sense of this.

You are sitting by the door, eyes fixated on the hands of the clock.

7:01, nothing. Your arms fidget.

7:02, nothing. Your leg bounces.

7:03, 7:04, 7:05, 7:06, 7:07; nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then, 7:08 p.m., rattle of keys and the sound of the door being closed. Steve. Steve is home. Steve.

You're up on your feet instantly, Steve comes in holding a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, “I was so worried about you!” you say all hysterical.

“Worried, why?" he says, almost chuckling, but his brows furrow before he looks down at his wristwatch, shaking his head,"I don't think I’m late.” He leans in to land a kiss on your lips, but before he could do so, you turn your head away, “whats– whats wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wrap your arms around your torso to somehow collect your thoughts a little better.

"Sure", he assures before moving to put the grocery bag on the beige kitchen counter.

You follow behind him with hurried steps, "When did we buy groceries before this?"

He starts taking out the groceries, "um.. I don't–” he pauses, looking up as if trying to remember himself, “last month probably?" Confusion paints his face, "why?"

"All the stuff in our fridge had gone bad ages ago."

"What?"

“Have you talked to your friends recently? Where are they?” All your attempts to collect your thoughts are all for nought as questions come tumbling out of your lips and you don't even wait for Steve to give a response.

“Honey, why are you–”

“Okay, okay– what about that nightmare you had?”

“Nightmare?” he echoes, brows scrunching together as if he had no idea what you were talking about, “what nightmare?” he asks like he hadn't cried in your arms the previous night.

“Last night! You had a nightmare that I was in a hospital and– and then I was looking through our closet and I find these medical bills–

“Woah, honey. I didn’t have a nightmare. I think I'd remember something like that.. And– what bills?”

Your feet are moving before he even finishes his sentence, you grab the bundle of papers, you show him everything. And he just... stares at them. After some time, all that comes out of his mouth is a “what the fuck...” under his breath.

“I don't understand Steve, I don't remember, you don't remember. And there was this call yesterday–”

“Call? what– from who?”

“From– “ you pause, trying to remember, “ I– I dont…” from who? And then you feel everything you had recalled leaving you. Who called you? What was Steve's nightmare?

“I don't remember!" you exclaim, frustrated, "why do– I'm so– I'm scared Steve. I’m–”

“Hey, it's okay. you have me honey, you have me”, he holds you by your shoulders, to provide you some semblance of comfort, "we'll figure something out.”

“Steve….”, you mumble, tears starting to collect on your lash line, “something's not right Steve…”

“Its okay..”

“No, no– I dont– I keep forgetting stuff. Why don't I remember anything?”

“Hey, honey—”

“And whatever I do remember; none of it makes sense– nothing makes sense!"

“Its okay–”

“Do not tell me to breathe–”, “breathe for me–” you warn him the exact same time he says it.

You have lost it. You have lost your mind. Eyes wide, you ask, “Why do I already know what you’re going to say? How is that– “

“Hey, hey look at me”, he holds your face in his warm palms, “Breathe for me”, he instructs, “please honey.”

“Steve”, you pull his hands away from your face not because you don't want him to hold you. You do, you want him to hold you forever, but dammit, you feel like you’re going crazy, “where did we meet?”

“Honey–”

“Where did we meet?”

“Family video! We met in Family Video! You just came in one day and asked if I could help you pick out a movie to lift your mood up”

“Where is family video? Like, what town? Wh– what state?”

“..Hawkins, Indiana”

“Steve.. There's no town named Hawkins in Indiana”

“Of course ther–”

“No– no. You can look in a map steve. There was a map in one of those boxes. No town named Hawkins. And then– those papers...” you gesture towards the papers in his hand. You stand there, impatiently so, as he scans over the papers once again. For a split second, you think you see a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

“What does it mean, Steve? Then your dream last night–”, he hands you the papers before turning towards the door.

“Steve, hey, steve!” He heads towards the apartment door. “Steve, come back here!” he doesn't stop, doesn't even spare a glance, his movement robotic. Your voice gets louder, more authoritative, angry “Steve! Come back here right the hell now.”

He doesn't stop, not for his keys, not to tie his shoes. Not for you. Tears cloud your vision and your words come out all desperate and weak, “Steve please! Please don't leave me..”

The door slams shut. Its loud, the silence after it.

“No..” you whimper to yourself. Tears, finally streaming down your face.

He'll come back, you know he'll come back, sooner or later. He’ll come back to you. Steve wouldn't leave you. He couldn't.

You wait by the door. hours pass. You fall asleep waiting for him.

…

You wake up to the smell of something sweet in the air. When you open your eyes, you’re on the couch. But you don't have time to think about whether your neck will hurt for the rest of the day because Steve is there, standing over the stove– his back facing you.

“Steve?” your voice comes out croaky.

“Y’wake baby?” he turns to take a glance at you. The furrow between his brows you saw the previous night gone. He smiles softly when you nod dumbly at the rhetorical question, “Well brush your teeth I’m making pancakes”

“Steve..”

He notices that you don’t move, your gaze fixed on him. “Hey, what's wrong?” he leaves the batter he was working on on the counter before walking towards you, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry”

He kneels down infront of you, holding your hands in his– he smells like vanilla from up this close, “Sorry, for what?”

“Yesterday… I didn't mean to upset you. I just– I was–”

“What would I be upset for?”

“Last night.. I–”

“baby, I’m not upset”

“But you just left and..” you sniffle, “when did you come back?”

“I didn't leave. I was here the entire time”, he shook his head, confused.

“But– I… “

“I think you had a dream honey. Freshen up, kay? I’ll bring breakfast. I think we should rot in bed the entire day today. Get some sleep. How’s that sound, honey?”

You nod, he smiles as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, “Good thing we both have the day off– thank jesus for sundays”

…

7:08 p.m. that is what Steve's wristwatch reads and he is standing at your apartment door. Steve isn't sure why he is back. He isn't sure why he left. Maybe he needed some time. And spending nearly an entire day alone... he remembers things. things he wishes he could forget again.

Although Steve is unsure about a lot of things. one thing is for certain. He loves you. He loves you like he was made for it... and he was.

He was made for loving you and not loving you is not living. He's been there before, not having you to love, he remembers the torture of it. You still don't recall it yet and he doesn't want you to, but he does. He remembers it all. All the hurt, the loneliness, the grief, the silence.

The grief that was too much to bear. Silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed with your heartbeat.

When he turns the door handle– the door isn't locked. He steps in slowly.

He can hear the TV playing, you're on the couch. there's someone else with you. Its him.

Steve watches as he sits between your thighs on the couch– his place, your fingers playing with his hair. He readjusts his head as if can’t quite find a comfortable spot, “You okay?” you ask as gently as you always do.

“Uh, yeah its just–” he sounds just like him, “I just have this nick in my neck”, he says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here, let me…” you mumble sweetly as your expert fingers move to where he said it ached.

He sees you dig that spot a little with your thumb, “Ah, thanks honey” he almost melts, and it makes him groan the way that always drew a groan out of Steve.

Steve doesn't mind you made him, you probably didn't even know you did, you're powerful like that. But Steve feels something bubble inside him– maybe this is what jealousy feels like. Steve watches, watches as you touch him. He digs his nails into his palm, he feels the urge to touch where you are touching him. He wonders what he would feel when his thumb would run over that area.

His fingers rise on their own accord. Skin barely touching skin, almost hovering. And then he feels… a bump. He isn't sure how to describe it but he knows that that isn't supposed to be there. Not normally, anyway.

He watches as your expert fingers move up into his hair, he always loved when you did that to him.

His own fingers move higher into his hair. He feels another– another protrusion, another bump.

Steve knows what those are, he knows not to press down on them. You have them too. You have them where he holds you when he kisses you. Its the reason you don't remember, its the reason he didn't remember. Just for a day, he didn't have you to hold him like the way you always do and now he remembers.

Steve watches as he leans down to kiss you. And all Steve sees is red. He doesn’t have control over him as he stomps over to where the two of you were. Your heads snap towards the sound. Confusion flashes through both your features.

“y/n”, Steve says. He watches as your eyes flick between himself and the other. Your eyes land on his. Of course you know he is the real Steve. You made him.

He holds a protective hand infront of you, “y/n”, he sounds like him, “y/n, get inside”, he nods towards your bedroom door.

“Look, man I dont know who the fuck you are. But you need to leave”, Steve hates him, he sounds nothing like him. objectively that might not be true, but he isn't him.

“You don't know who I am? Fucking look at me"

“y/n get inside”, Steve doesn't like how he says your name, how he shouts it. It sounds nothing like him.

Steve lets you go, he doesn’t want you to see this.

You can't look away despite not being able to see much through the sliver of the slightly ajar bedroom door. It is only when he lands a punch on Steve, that you move away from the door– eyes closing on themselves.

You hear shouts. Then thuds, knuckles hitting jaws. Some more thuds and then a loud crack. Then nothing. Its becomes too quiet.

You quietly step even further away from the door when you hear footsteps approaching, until you feel your back hit the wall.

The hinges of the slightly ajar door creak. and he is there. Your Steve.

He has a split lip, bruises blooming on his cheekbones. Blood splattered on his jeans, on his hands, his arms. He lifts his arm to wipe his bleeding lip, more so smearing the blood in the process. Your eyes water, heartbeat too damn loud in your ears, eyes wide as a doe.

“It's Steve. your Steve”, he reassures you, holding your face by your chin. From up this close, the blood on him doesn't look quite like blood. Its too dark, too shiny, more viscous than it should be and it doesn't seem to clot. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But you already know that. dont you, honey?” Steve coos oh so gently as he thumbs over your cheeks to rid you of the tear stains. He feels sorry when the action instead makes the blood on his hands smear across your skin. He regrets it immediately, to have tainted you with it. He is sorry you have to see all this, to see him like this.

Steve knows he'll give it all up for you. If he ever had something to give, he would give it all up, just like you did.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“It's for you, honey.”

He moves aside so you can go to the phone. It rings loud as it did earlier. You move past the kitchen, you don't see him– not entirely. He is on the floor, you see his hand around the corner of the kitchen counter, lifeless, a pool of that blood surrounding him. The corner of the kitchen counter drips with the liquid, forming a stark contrast against the light beige.

You move past the kitchen counter, eyes not daring to look at him or Steve, you don't turn around to see if Steve is there watching. You know he is.

You move to the bright red phone that is still ringing, blaring. You pick it and hold it up to your ear, “hello?”

“y– y/n? y/n its– it's me”, that woman says. And somehow, now, you know who she is. “it's me, do you–”

“Mom?” you say it before you even realise you did.

“Oh my goodness! Yes baby, it's– it's me!”

“I’m sorry mom, I had to.”

“y/n, what–”

“I have to go now.”

“y/n, no– no. Please don't hang up–” click.

“There you go honey", you feel Steve's warm hands on your shoulder, he rubs into the tense muscles there– surely staining your shirt with the liquid, "there you go."

You turn around and you see his eyes-- beautiful coffee coloured things, moles littered across his skin just the way you've memorized to heart. That smile, adorning and warm as ever. He holds you like he always does, thumb on your cheek, palm holding your face.

He holds you like he was made for it. Your cheek fit perfectly in his palm as if you were made for him. You were made for each other.

You lean in closer and then your lips meet. It isn't hard and fast. Its slow and deep. Like you have all the time in the world, and you do.

When you pull apart and look at him, its just him. Your Steve.

You don't even remember what it was you had been worried about. All you see is Steve, all you feel is Steve. Your lover, your home, your family, your everything. It's all Steve.

You smile up at Steve and everything is right. The blood he had smeared on you was gone. The counter was clean. He was gone. Everything is right, once again.

"So", he starts, walking towards the stove, "what are we feelin' today? pancakes with blueberries, strawberries, or plain ol' choco-chip?"

"Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?"

"For you? always."

...

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #stranger things #dark!steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x gn!reader

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iliketangerines · 3 months

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Imagine being a soldier for the special forces in mk11 and catching Raidens attention😦- like it don’t matter which Raiden it is- dark or light- like imagine being being like “I have to consult the elder gods” but his ass just teleported away so he can go wank one out silly style to the thought of you-✨

desperate for you

a/n: i gotchu cutie. i'm actually so insane for old man raiden, and i'm so glad you requested this. i think it can be interpreted as either dark or light, but probably more light lmao

pairing: lord raiden x gn!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), blowjobs (thinking of them at least), dacryphilia

for eons, Raiden spent his life training warriors and being surrounded with hard muscle and sharp edges

he had sworn to never grow attached to the Earthrealmers as it would cause complications, and it had caused a rift between him and Fujin

and then he met you

you’re a consultant, a strategist for the special forces under Sonya, and she proudly introduces you as her best strategist, and that you can figure out the revenant’s plans and weak points

and fuck, you’re so much softer than anyone he’s ever met and so kind and full of curves rather than the hard muscle and cutting-edges he’s lived his whole life around

he’s standing next to you as you go over possible different strategies to invade the Netherrealm, and you’re sucking on a cherry lollipop as you do so

it’s driving Raiden insane, the way your lips are plump and red and how the spit shines on the hard candy, and he wishes it was you sucking on his dick instead

fuck, he can feel himself getting a boner just staring at your lips and how you suck and let your tongue flick out to wet your cherry red lips

you look up at him with wide eyes, asking him his opinion on the plan, and Raiden wants to fuck you until your eyes are teary and glazed-over

he wants to have you bouncing on his cock until you’re begging to cum, and-

you ask him again if the plan is okay, and Raiden clears his throat and says he must consult with the elder gods before disappearing in a flash of lightning and appearing in his personal bedroom at the sky temple

he doesn’t even go to sit in his grand bed or undress, he just pulls down his pants and grips at his cock, imagining it’s your hand instead

he imagines how soft your hands would be compared to his calloused ones, and he lets out a deep moan as he strokes himself

pre-cum pearls at the tip, and Raiden bites his lip as he dips his thumb into the slit and smears the pre-cum up and down the shaft

he thinks your mouth must be just as soft as the rest of your body, and fuck, he can’t stop thinking about the way your lips would look wrapped around his cock

they would be pretty and red by the end, and Raiden starts pumping his cock faster, imagining it's your wet and warm mouth instead

he’d destroy you, he was a large man, he knew that, but fuck, you’d be so tight and wet around him, and Raiden cums with a groan

his seed splatters against the stone floor, and he wishes he could cum in your mouth instead

Raiden tucks away his softening dick, clears his throat, and tries to think back on the plan you had gone over with him and others so that his excuse seems at least somewhat reasonable

he can’t remember a single detail, all he can remember are your plump lips, and the soft curve of your body, and fuck, he’s hard again

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matchamiko · 2 months

Note

for your writing exercise drabbles may i request 28. "Take it, take everything I've got, it's all for you, only for you" with choso (ns/fw would probably work best for this one 🤭) thank you! i can’t wait to read what you come up with

28. “Take it, take everything I’ve got, it’s all for you, only for you” + Choso

Warnings: size kink, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, talking about anal, prone bone, half hearted degradation, one singular spank, afab reader (use of ‘girl’) .

He’s too big. Everything about Choso is too big. His arms and those bulging shoulders, cradling the crest of your head feel like tree trunks. His chest - oh his chest with a smattering of fine hair brushing your back, rocking with the motion of his hips. Those thighs, soft and giving on the days you curl into his lap to read, are mean and flexing and cut up with crescent indents from your nails.

His cock. Too big, too thick and too annoyingly curved up so he’s gotta use those too big hips to angle it just right. And his too big hands; you’re audibly crying into one of them, spanning the curve of your chin and jaw as he barely holds you up.

The only thing small about Choso, especially right now; are the kisses he whispers to the top of your head and temple. Wet with saliva and sweat but sweet with the taste of your cum on his Cupid’s bow, it’s a stark contrast to the size of him looming over you, caging you in, boxing you on the bed.

“Stop squirmin’,” he doesn’t want you to, not really. Choso loves it when you kick your legs out either side of his, trying to rearrange yourself to fit his massive frame on top of you. He’s unforgiving when he’s got you prone beneath him, pillow tucked under your belly and hips, your hand grappling for his ass as a means to anchor yourself - and make him go faster.

You don’t often use your words, too shy or too empty brained to say much aside from his name; so you resort to the claws, the teeth, the tugs and pulls of his body to where you need him. And Choso always obliges, sometimes with a soft smile and sometimes with this disgustingly dark scowl.

Like the one he wears now, drumming his hips into your ass, cock digging down, down, down into your guts at such an intense, bed rocking strength; you’re sure he’ll break you. One hand cradles your throat, keeping you above the metaphorical water, kissing the tears of your orgasms away, whispering dirty little secrets into your ear when he thinks you’re too out of it to listen,

“Maybe I’ll fuck your ass soon, I promised didn’t I? If you’re good, I’ll do it,” his hair falls around his face, sticking to the sweat on his brow and your mouth opens with a panting wail, “that’a girl, take my cock - fuck,”

You slam your hand on to the mattress, legs jerking from where he’s got you pinned between his and Choso chokes when you cum suddenly, unexpectedly, delicious and wet around his cock.

“G’on,” fists appear either side of your head, sheets crumpling under his strength and all you can do is lay there and accept the brutal thrusts of your partner, one after the other, over and over. Swinging his hips, cock long and thick and creamy, stirring you up good and sending shocks deep into your gut. Vaguely, you can hear Choso muttering above you, back straight and brows furrowed in concentration; whispering those little secrets again that he thinks you can’t hear.

“Take it all, fuck baby, s’all for you, all of it,” you’re not sure if he’s talking about the aching stretch of his cock or the warmth of his cum spilling into you, hips never stuttering and arms strong as ever. A wounded groan echoes from his chest when you reach back with shaky hands, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and spreading yourself with a whimper,

“Mmm look at you, taking everything I’m givin’ you, so good for me aren’t you?” His debilitating thrusts slow to sloppy, lazy grinds, stroking the strain of your knuckles, “so eager too, super eager for me to fuck your ass, or even just this pretty little cunt; s’cute,”

You whine out a ‘shut up’ and Choso laughs, out of breath and chestily before smacking the creased fat of your ass and you squeal, clenching hard and pearly drops of his cum shine around the fill of his cock. A big hand runs up the plane of your back, smoothing through the sticky sweat that had accumulated there from the evening, tucking round the nape of your neck and with a sickening smile, he draws you up into a kiss. You hum and arch higher, lips smacking loud and hips rolling into his, ever enticing, always enticing for him. A singular roll of his lower body has you mewling once again, breathing a wet little gasp into his mouth,

“Wanna take it again huh? Dirty little thing aren’t you? Can’t ever make you happy unless you got my cum in your belly huh?”

#this was a challenge but yay !! challenge !!#choso x reader #choso smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #miko.prompt challenge #miko.chats

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kaminokatie · 10 months

Text

Anakin Skywalker General Dating Headcannons

Synopsis - Anakin Skywalker dating headcannons.

Warnings - SFW & NSFW.

Word Count - 0.8k.

[Caffeinate Me]

SFW:

: ̗̀➛ Let’s be real here, you’re probably going to be Anakin’s (older) padawan. He’ll take you under his wing after Ahsoka leaves the Jedi Order, seeing tremendous value in your abilities.

: ̗̀➛ At first, Anakin only sees you as his padawan. But the more time he spends with you, the more he finds himself viewing you in a different light.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin finds himself wanting to train with you more often than he should. He wants to see how far you’ve come since you had started training with him. So, Anakin has you training in your spare time.

: ̗̀➛ When he’s not around you, Anakin finds himself thinking about you, wanting to make sure you’re okay. That’s when Anakin realises he’s falling in love with you. He’ll comm you often just to speak with you and ‘discuss the mission’ when in reality, he just wants to hear your voice.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin confesses his feelings to you after you almost die on a mission. The two of you are alone in the med-bay and he pulls you flush to his chest and with tears in his eyes he whispers to you, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I-I’m in love with you.”

: ̗̀➛ You’re shocked. You didn’t think Anakin would ever see you like that, not that you mind, you feel exactly the same way. “I’m okay Anakin,” you whisper in response, pulling away from the sweet embrace.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin wastes no time in pushing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and warm against your own chapped and dry ones. You sigh into the kiss and automatically kiss back, your eyes fluttering closed as your arms make their way around his neck.

: ̗̀➛ “I love you,” Anakin whispers into your lips.

: ̗̀➛ “I love you too Anakin,” you reply, a smile gracing your lips.

: ̗̀➛ From that day on Anakin never had you leave his side. If he went on a mission, you went on the mission with him. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it. The Jedi Council never dared separate you two again.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin would pull you into a secluded, dark corner or room and make-out with you both before and after missions or any time he was able to get you alone away from prying eyes.

: ̗̀➛ The 501st catch on quickly but don’t say anything to either of you. They notice the way Anakin looks at you from across the room, or the way his hand would ‘accidentally’ brush past yours when you were walking.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin stays in your quarters with you, sleeping in your bed and using your shower etc just so he doesn’t have to leave you.

: ̗̀➛ When the two of you get married, which is quite early on into your relationship, you swap lightsabers instead of rings as a symbol of your love for each other. Your lightsabers are extremely similar so it wouldn’t be so noticeable, but Anakin was willing to take the risk anyway.

NSFW:

: ̗̀➛ Anakin loves to have sex with you. It’s his favourite way to show you just how much he loves you.

: ̗̀➛ His favourite position is missionary. He loves being able to see your face when he fucks you and watches the way your face contorts in pleasure.

: ̗̀➛ Usually has sex with you in your bed on the Jedi Cruiser where the two of you can’t be interrupted, but isn’t opposed to having a quickie in the Jedi Temple if at all possible.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin loves sleepy morning sex, it’s probably his favourite. He wakes up pressing against you, cock erect and ready for you. He wakes you up with soft, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and climbs on top of you. You sleepily open your legs and invite him in, eyes fluttering open as you’re greeted with a hungry kiss.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin loves eating you out and would do it forever if you let him. He loves it when your thighs tighten around his head and you squirm as you cum on his face. Anakin still doesn’t stop eating you when you’ve cum, he likes to draw at least two orgasms from you before he’s ready to fuck you.

: ̗̀➛ When he’s particularly stressed from missions, Anakin will use sex as an outlet. His hands will wrap around your throat as he fucks you from behind, strangling you softly. You have a safe word for if it gets too much, but it never does. He never pushes past any of your boundaries no matter how pent up he gets.

: ̗̀➛ Never uses protection. He wants you to get pregnant.

: ̗̀➛ Anakin uses the force during sex sometimes. He uses it to keep your legs apart or to choke you when things are getting a little S&M. Don’t think you can try to escape him either, if you’re on the brink of an orgasm don’t squirm or he’ll keep you in place with the force as he goes down on you.

: ̗̀➛ Loves cock warming, especially in the coldness of space. You don’t have to move, just lay there with his cock inside you and fall asleep together. He’ll wake up in the morning still inside you and he realises just how lucky he is to have found somebody like you.

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aizawasbrattyprincess · 2 years

Text

w h a t’ s m i n e i s m i n e

f!reader x ryomen sukuna (jjk)

tw: nsfw + non-con + monsterfucking + double penetration + breeding + dead dove: do not eat 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 1.9k

a/n: Kinktober story #2 is with the king, Ryomen Sukuna. I can’t believe I haven’t written a Sukuna smut yet! Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this, but this is really dark, so please read at your own risk!

⋆ Kinktober Masterlist

buy me a ko-fi?

゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋

“What did you say?” your father challenged, his voice low and dangerous.

Behind him, your mother was silently shaking her head, begging you not to speak your mind. You had obeyed all your parents’ wishes since you were young, never questioning or disagreeing because it was ‘best for you’ even though you hated it. This time, however, it was not an option. You knew your worth, despite being a daughter in a lower-class noble family, and you were not going to tolerate being married off to a family full of misogynists. As poor as you were, you would not stoop down to the current head of the family, Zenin Naoya, and beg your to-be husband to save you and your clan. You wanted to be selfish, just this once. Was it so wrong to search for your own happiness?

Mustering your courage, you firmly replied, “I said no, father. I will not marry him tomorrow.”

“How dare you, wretched bitch!”

Before you even realised it, he had slapped you hard across your face, leaving an angry, red imprint on your cheek. You were foolish to think that your mother would step in and help you. Instead, she had done the opposite, reprimanding you for being rude to your father. You couldn’t believe it. The look in their eyes was enough to tell you that they were both cowards, willing to give you up just so they could survive. They had never cared about you, and you only had yourself to blame for not noticing earlier. This life was cruel, and you have had enough.

So you left and never looked back, grasping at your only chance at freedom. Ignoring the frantic pleas for you to return, you kept running into the deep forest, knowing no one, not even your parents, would dare to set foot in. No one was that suicidal. After all, there were rumours of a cursed demonic beast living in the forest which mercilessly killed humans should they enter its domain. Unfortunately, no one came back alive to confirm it. But you didn’t care. Whatever monster it was out there couldn’t possibly be worse than Zenin Naoya himself.

You didn’t know how long you had been on the run; all the trees looked the same, and it felt like you had been going around in circles. You were starting to get out of breath when it suddenly poured, the rain drenching you in seconds. With no lamp to guide your way, you trudged forward carelessly, hoping to find shelter in the darkness of the night. Thankfully, you quickly came across what looked to be an abandoned temple that seemed safe enough, so you went in without thinking twice. You could barely step forward without tripping over the uneven stone floor. Then, as if sensing your presence, the torches on the walls lit up all at once, startling you. You could finally see a long, winding corridor ahead of you, beckoning you to keep walking. Taking a deep breath, you kept close to the left wall until you reached a room that was completely bare, save for the empty throne in the middle. You could probably rest until the rain stopped, but something felt terribly wrong. You got the notion that someone, or something, had been watching you ever since you entered the forest.

“Well, well… What do we have here? A lost little bunny, seeking refuge from the storm.”

The low voice came from the throne. An attractive man with tattoos all over his body was sitting on it, legs crossed over the other and his chin resting on his right hand. You started to panic when the room began to transform — the walls disappeared altogether, and skulls and bones were scattered all over the stone floor that was now filled with a thick liquid resembling blood. Maybe it really was blood; you didn’t really want to know. However, everywhere you looked, you couldn’t find a way out. You were trapped.

“Who are you?” you questioned, failing to mask your shaking voice.

“Curious one, aren’t you?” he mused. “The name’s Ryomen Sukuna. I used to rule these lands thousands of years ago, and people revered me like a God. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

Ryomen Sukuna. His name was all too familiar. He wasn’t just a monster. He was the King of Curses, responsible for millions of deaths in search of power and glory. It seemed like the rumours of him being resurrected were true after all. If you had remembered correctly, he was dangerous, highly intelligent and manipulative. There was no way you could fight, much less exorcise him. You were no sorcerer; you knew nothing of spells and the like. You needed to figure out how to escape his innate domain before he could make his first move. But with his piercing red eyes staring right into your soul, you froze, too scared to think or even breathe.

“N- no, I don’t think I have. Actually, I’m really sorry. I should probably get going now. My husband will get worried if I’m not home soon.”

“You think I’d let you leave here alive after lying to me? Know your place, lowly human,” Sukuna growled, and you knew you had messed up. “Don’t worry, you’ll make a fine meal.”

He rose from his throne, reaching his full height of over three metres tall and revealing his true demonic form. You hurriedly stepped back as he took a step forward, but all you were doing was prolonging your inevitable death. You didn’t want to die, not like this. However, if you hadn’t left home, you would be living and suffering for days on end, and dying by Ryomen Sukuna’s hand sounded like the much better choice. Accepting your fate, you stood still and closed your eyes, waiting for death, but it never came.

You felt his hot breath on your neck as he spoke, “Hah, to think I would’ve forgotten the sweet smell of a virgin! I guess it’s our lucky day. I’ll have you as my mate instead.”

With brute strength, his four hands grabbed your clothes and ripped them to shreds, leaving you naked in front of him. Your pathetic cries as you tried to cover yourself up had Sukuna laughing. There was no use in yelling for help; no one would hear you, and even if they did, he would never let them get close to you. Sukuna would’ve loved to see you fight back or run away, taking great joy in the thrill of a chase, but he wasn’t complaining about how downright submissive you were. Poor little bunny, he had frightened you to the core. He picked you up with ease, the tongue of the mouth on his stomach eagerly licking your body to taste how delicious you were. It was cute to see you struggling in his hold as if you could get him to stop. You let out a little yelp as he roughly threw you onto the throne, caging you in his arms.

“You should be thanking me. I never let anyone else sit on my throne.”

Sukuna spread your legs wide open, taking in the sight of your pretty cunt, just waiting to be used. As impatient as he was, he couldn’t fuck you straight away without prepping you. He wouldn’t want you to break before he could have his fun. Getting down on his knees, Sukuna devoured your cunt while his hands busied themselves with playing with your breasts and rubbing your clit. You were ashamed at how wet you already were for a demon like him. No, you weren’t enjoying it. You couldn’t possibly be. Yet, your body felt unbearably hot, and you needed more.

“Fuuuck,” you moaned involuntarily, succumbing to his temptations.

“Bet that feels nice, huh, little bunny?” Sukuna chuckled, looking up to see your flushed face growing redder as he inserted three of his thick fingers inside your cunt.

The foreign sensation made your hips buck forward as another strangled moan escaped your lips. You tried to shove Sukuna away, but the increasing pleasure was starting to cloud your mind. Just before you could reach your high, Sukuna slipped his fingers soaked with your juices from you and removed his kimono, revealing his veiny cocks. It wasn’t just one, but two fat cocks of monstrous length with both heads flushed and dripping with precum. He placed them at your entrance, slowly rubbing against your folds.

“No, no, no! Please, don’t!” you pleaded, hastily shaking your head. There was absolutely no way those things could fit.

“Are all humans so dramatic? Relax, you’ll be fine.”

Sukuna flipped you over before you could protest again. There was a tight grip on your hips. Then, he split you open as his cocks thrust deep inside you, your belly bulging and walls stretched impossibly wide. It hurt so badly that you screamed, but Sukuna paid no attention to your pain, too obsessed with how small and tight you were. He couldn’t remember the last time he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Your cheeks were damp and streaked, and your legs nearly gave out, but Sukuna held you steady as he drove hard and fast. When you thought you could finally accommodate his size, it felt like he was growing thicker. You orgasmed unexpectedly, spurring Sukuna to bury all of himself inside you until his tips hit your cervix. Your head lolled back, and your body trembled, but he wasn’t planning to stop any time soon, his unrestrained pace making you see stars that you thought you were blacking out. Sukuna’s sharp teeth sunk into the skin on your neck, claiming you as his while one of his hands returned to your neglected clit, harshly rubbing it until you squirted everywhere. You thought you had heard him whispering praises in your ear, but your desperate whines were too loud to make out the words.

Waves after waves of pleasure washed away the pain, and it felt like hours until his hips began to stutter. With a final few thrusts and a satisfied grunt, Sukuna pumped his seed into your womb, stuffing you to the brim and not letting a single drop go of it to waste. He finally pulled out of your abused cunt and admired your exhausted body, littered with bite markings and dried blood, now slumped against the throne. Your eyes began to flutter close, and you were about to pass out when you felt Sukuna moving you. Draping his kimono over your body, he pulled you onto his lap as he sat on his throne. You leaned into his broad chest as he gently caressed your dishevelled hair, lulling you to sleep. Sukuna found it amusing that you were so quick to trust him, and all he needed to do was show you a bit of affection.

“When you’ve rested enough, I’ll fuck you again and again until the only thing you can think of is having my cocks in you all the time. But,” Sukuna warned, forcing you to look up at him. “If you're not pregnant in the next few months, I will enjoy torturing you to death for wasting my time. Understand?”

Heart sinking into despair, you were rudely reminded of the role you were made to accept. Perhaps this was your punishment for all your sins, and there was nothing else you could do but nod. Sukuna grinned at your compliance and rewarded you with a tender but possessive kiss.

“Now, sleep tight and sweet dreams, little bunny.”

゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋

#princess writes #kinktober 2022 #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #zenin naoya #requests are closed

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

Text

Sunshine and Flowers

Logan Howlett x plus size reader

Logan has had a great many loves in his long life and he’s over it. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else yet somehow, the annoying and very much younger art teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, wormed her way into his heart.

Warnings: grumpy and sunshine, jealousy, Logan is a dick but we been knew, reader is kind of oblivious and touch starved, age-gap (reader is mid 20s and Logan is old as shit), Logan POV, bit of a slow burn, reader and Logan are Keely and Roy coded

WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Yo Logan!” The seemingly ever present pounding in the older mutant’s temples suddenly got worse, the band around his forehead tightening as the young woman cheerfully skipped up to him without a care in the world. Her arm looped through his own, tucking herself into his side, like she always did.

“What d’ya want?” He grumbled. It was easier to just ask her outright than stay silent and her chatter away at him for an hour before she finally got to her point. Y/N beamed up at him, her e/c eyes sparkling. “Wellllll… I was wondering if you wanted to come with me on a little field trip with the kids! I was thinking of bringing them to the MET, you know because art.” She waved her right hand around as if to emphasise her point.

“No.” Logan said firmly.

“Aw please! Please Logan! Please! Please! Please!” He could practically feel his blood pressure rising as Y/N pleaded with him, pulling on his arm, acting like a complete child. Dear god, what had he done to deserve this?

With the huge throngs of students constantly being enrolled in the school, Charles had come up with the bright idea to introduce an art program to the children as a way of “expressing their creativity”. But what that actually meant was hiring a new teacher specifically for this class since no adult in the school had even an ounce of artistic talent.

And so six months ago, Y/N Y/L/N, a recent college graduate, strolled into the mansion and never left. Her gift to generate small stars gave her the remarkable ability to light her classroom in any way she wished, allowing her students the perfect lighting to create absolute masterpieces. And like her gift, she herself was a big ball of endless energy that constantly bounced around, latching onto whoever she came across, and more often than not, that person was Logan.

For some inexplicable reason, she gravitated to him, always seeking his approval, trying to get him to engage in activities with their students, among many many other things that made the older man truly resent when the final bell of the school day rang and she would float into his classroom, ranting about something or another. The only way he could get her to stop was by distracting her, usually by shoving her in the general direction of her best friend, Alex Summers.

But Havok was on a road trip with Sean and Peter for the next month, so he had been abandoned. Logan sighed as her grating voice made his sensitive ears ring, and the overpowering smell of her flowery perfume was a downright assault on his senses. “Logan, come on! It’ll be soooooo much fun! I’ll even buy you lunch after!”

While the temptation of free food was great, Logan knew it wouldn’t be worth spending the entire day with Y/N glued to his side, forcing him to do whatever she wanted. Taking a deep breath, prepared to let her down as gently as he could, given that his patience was hanging on by a thread, he would probably be more rude than he wanted to be, when he paused, really taking in the young woman.

“Is that my shirt?” He drawled, his dark eyes flicking over her plump body. She was wearing one of her typical outfits, white converse splashed with paint, shorts that very well could be called Daisy dukes, they were that short, with little flowers embroidered on them. Her chubby thighs almost entirely on view with one of his favourite red plaids on top of a black tank top instead of her usual blouse, making her sizeable cleavage pop. Y/N looked away bashfully.

“Yeah, I um found it in the movie room and it looked so warm so I took it and it’s super comfy like seriously how do you get your shirts so soft it’s really weird but they always smell like cigars so I guess that’s the downside. That’s not to say you smell bad! I’m just saying that it’s like your trademark-“

There she went again. “It’s fine kid, just wash it before you give it back.”

“What about the MET!” She called after him.

“Maybe.” He grumbled and with that he walked away, be-lining for the kitchen where he stashed his Vodka, losing her in the sea of students just getting out of class.

“Now, for today’s class, we’re going to go over some art history!” A collective groan resonated through the room but Y/N’s bright smile never faltered, it actually got bigger as she looked over her small group of students sitting around the art-filled room. “I know, I know but this stuff is important! Art plays such a big role in human evolution. Actually, the argument can be made that our ability to create art is what truly sets us apart from other animal species-“

There was no denying that Miss Y/L/N’s class was a favourite among the young mutants. Her rants not only served to brighten up their day but they also prevented her from giving out any actual work. It especially helped when most of them came from Logan’s class the period before. He was quite well known to be, well there’s no delicate way to put this, a hard ass.

So when, during this spring afternoon, with just a month left before summer break, Logan strode into the art class, his heavy boots thundering loudly against the hardwood floors, everyone was shocked. Y/N was pacing the room now, well and truly absorbed in her own thoughts, which became an impassioned speech as soon as the words formed in her mind. Logan cleared his throat as he leaned against the door jam, his jaw cleaned tightly when she didn’t answer or look at him.

The collection of children were now starting to get nervous as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s eyes getting steadily darker with anger, the muscle in his lower jaw working over under his mutton chops. They could all see his famous tempter growing and none of them wanted to be on the receiving end. “Um Miss?” A young girl spoke up, trying to break her train of thought. But nope, that couldn’t stop her.

Logan was getting fed up now. How in the hell did these kids even learn anything with the way she was carrying on? “Kid.” He growled, immediately making the entire class freeze, including the young teacher.

“Oh Logan! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She laughed nervously, pulling on the edge of her sheer pink sleeve. He noted she was wearing a dress today, it was frilly and absolutely drowning in flower print, with translucent sleeves that went all the way down to her wrists.

“Right, Wheels needs us in his office. Now.” He pressed as she opened her mouth to point out she was in the middle of a lecture. Y/N nodded then addressed the class. “All right, students. I guess you’re getting out early today. No homework!” She was quick to jog out of the room before the kids were able to leave their seats, effectively avoiding the clambering mass of them trying to practically sprint out.

Her smaller hand easily slipped into Logan’s bigger one, intertwining their fingers as her left hand came up to rest on his exposed forearm. He felt the cool of her metal rings against his skin. Unconsciously, he noted that he had never seen her wear any kind of jewellery before. “Did Charles say what he wanted?” Her eyes caught his brown ones, falling into step with the older mutant through the quiet halls. Logan just shrugged, fishing a half used cigar from his breast pocket and sticking the thoroughly chewed end in his mouth, a sharp canine slicing into it.

“Hmm.” She hummed, her gaze shifting down to her feet, trusting Logan to guide them to the headmaster’s office. “Do you think it’s a mission?”

“He doesn’t send you on missions.” Logan said firmly.

“Yeah I know but it could be! Stranger things have happened.”

“Like what?” He humoured her.

“How about Peter actually scoring a date~” She teased, making the Wolverine’s lip turn up briefly in a smile then dropped again into a frown before she could see.

“You do have a point.” He conceded. They rounded the last corner and came to a stop outside the solid door of Charles’ office. Logan went to knock, a muffled ‘please come in’ sounded before his permanently bruised knuckles could meet the stained wood.

Charles sat behind his grand desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he looked over a mountain of paperwork that gave Y/N a headache just from looking at it. She pulled her hand from Logan’s and bounced over to one of the two chairs in front of the headmaster, immediately making herself comfortable.

Clasping her hands on her lap with her back up straight, Y/N focused on the older mutant as he took off his reading glasses and laid them on what looked to be his grade book. Logan himself leaned against the doorjamb, much like he did in the young woman’s classroom, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest.

Charles sighed deeply as he looked at his teachers. “There really is no way to say this delicately so I suppose I’ll just say it: Erik’s come home.” Logan’s entire body seized with an emotion akin to fear.

“Fuck.” He snarled. But Y/N had an entirely different reaction. Her face visibly lit up but not with excitement but instead with the joy of someone who didn’t have to lie anymore. Charles raised an eyebrow at the young woman, prompting her to explain herself.

“He slept in my room last night, there was no other free space.” She said casually as if she hadn’t just dropped the bomb that she spent the night with a dangerous mutant who hadn’t hesitated to kill before. “Don’t worry! I was being safe. He slept on my couch.”

“Like that makes this whole thing any better.” Logan muttered under his breath but only Charles heard him. The telepath gave him a strange but knowing look before turning back to the young art teacher.

Her smile wavered only for a moment before returning with full force. “He was super nice to me! He even picked out my jewellery today.” She flashed her hands towards the headmaster, showing off the various silver rings that adorned her fingers. Logan huffed at her naivety but Charles had an entirely different reaction. He took her hands into his own, delicately tracing the metal with a soft touch.

“Erik did a good job, they look wonderful. But Y/N, I still want you to be wary. Erik can be very volatile and unpredictable and his abilities far outmatch your own. Just be careful.” She gave a firm nod. “Although, I believe you could do him some kind of good to be around someone who finds him tolerable.” Charles gave a not so subtle glance toward the Wolverine who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

An awkward and tense silence fell over the trio. Y/N cleared her throat, tugging on the hem of her dress which lay only an inch above her knees. “Is that all you wanted to tell us?”

“Well, I do need to speak to you about this art trip you have planned. Logan, you’re welcome to stay, you might find this information useful.”

“Fuck no, I have better things to do with my time.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. She visibly flinched at his words and her smile became so fake it made him ache. Charles’s own expression fell as he sat back in his high-back chair.

“Then if you’ll please excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” He said sternly, quite obviously not pleased with Logan’s rudeness. “Close the door on your way out.”

As the door swung shut behind him, Logan caught the smallest whimper escaping her lips and the muffled words of his old friend consoling her.

The manor was almost dead silent as Logan emerged from the cave that was his room. There were no sounds of footsteps (save for his own), or screaming or chatter, there wasn’t even the ever present clatter of utensils from the kitchen.

Curiously, he wandered through the empty halls, occasionally glancing into the empty rooms he passed. Just as his dark brows began to furrow with concern, Ororo turned the corner, nose buried in a book. “Hey Storm.” Her dark eyes met his own.

“Logan?” She replied with a curious head tilt before returning to her book. Logan huffed through his nose.

“Where is everyone?” She gave him a strange look and glanced over her shoulder as if the answer to his question was just behind her. The young mutant snapped her book shut.

“At the MET? You know the big field trip that Y/N organised. I thought you were going with them. She has been talking about it for weeks.” Logan’s frown deepened. That was today? Storm seemed to pause as she took in his stormy expression. “Oh, I guess you forgot. No wonder she was so upset when they left. I guess it’s a good thing Erik went with her then.”

Just then, noise exploded through the halls once more as dozens of feet stomped on the expensive hardwood. Ororo sighed heavily through her nose, upset at not being able to have a little more quiet to finish off her chapter. But Logan remained frozen in place, his veins filled with icy terror. “Repeat that last part?”

She glanced at him with a devastating side eye. “Evidently, Erik saw how upset she was this morning when you didn’t get on the bus so he decided to go with her to take care of the kids.” She shrugged and tucked the leather-bound volume under her arm. “She looked like she was going to cry before he stepped up.”

Poison curled in his gut but he quickly stamped it down. Just then, kids and teens stampeded around the corner, hyped up on what Logan guessed to be sugar and excitement. And right smack dab in the middle was Magneto, his head thrown back in laughter, the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders rippling with the movement. His right arm was bent allowing for the soft hand of the younger woman to rest on his forearm. Y/N was smiling shyly at him, not used to the undivided attention he was giving her.

As they passed him, Logan caught her eye. She barely even gave him a glance but he saw the sadness deep within those e/cs and he knew it was because of him. She quickly looked away, drawing her gaze back to the dangerous mutant who was speaking once more, his laughter fading. But Logan couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roaring in his ears.

He watched them until they disappeared into one of the many living rooms of the manor. “At least he got her smiling again.” He barely registered Ororo’s words before she too left him.

This went on for weeks. It seemed that everywhere he turned, Logan would see the unlikely pair together. Whether that be baking in the middle of the night, reading quietly in the library, working on lesson plans, he even saw them training together!

He watched them from afar as they grew closer and her pull away from himself until one day he was walking out of his classroom after a long day. “Wait up!” Unconsciously, Logan slowed his pace , a smile crawling upon his face. He expected the familiar weight of her touch against his arm, the smell of her floral perfume and the bright sound of her laughter but when a blur raced by him, his heart dropped.

Y/N flung herself at Erik who was just a few paces in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug too tight to be just friendly. He caught her easily, his arms winding around her thick waist and tugged her closer.

Logan forced himself to turn away, missing the sad look she cast him, heartbreak clear in her eyes.

The end-of-school party was alive with laughter and music. Lights floated over the small dance floor that had been assembled in the gardens. Professors mingled on the wooden stage, swaying to the smooth acoustic guitar Kurt was strumming. But Logan’s attention was trapped on the centre of the crowd where a small circle of space had been formed and trying as hard as he might, he couldn’t look away.

Y/N twirled in time with the music, her eyes shut as she let it wash over her. Her skin glowed in the golden sunset, the sweat along her brow sparkled like glitter as she moved. Pale green tulle embroidered with dozens of sunflowers floated around her, her dress fluttering in the light breeze. She was absolutely breath-taking. No weight rested on her shoulders nor anxiety in her face. She was serene, she was like a goddess in human form, dancing and delighting with mere mortals.

How badly he wanted to stride across the gardens and take her into his arms, to feel her curves beneath his palms as they moved together. Logan shook himself from those thoughts and took another sip of whiskey. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat but that was nothing compared to the burning rage in his stomach as another man approached her.

Erik, dressed in a matching dark green suit, caught her mid-twirl, his left hand holding her hips in place as he captured her left hand in his right. She fell easily into step with him, her once fluid movements becoming a slow waltz.

Logan was so consumed in his anger that he hadn’t noticed another person walking to his side until they were right next to him.

“Why are you so worked up about this? You’ve made it very clear that you can barely even tolerate her.” Logan’s scowl deepened, his eyes growing even darker with rage as Hank spoke to him. “I mean even I’ve heard about the things you’ve said to her and I barely leave the lab.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Beast.” He didn’t bother to hide the way he was glaring at the pair. Almost as if in slow motion, Erik pressed his lips to her ear, speaking in a whisper so quiet, even Logan’s powerful hearing couldn’t pick it up. She pulled away from him for just a moment and hope bloomed in his chest. But it quickly died as she nodded in response.

Erik took her hand, their fingers intertwining as he led her away. Logan slammed his now empty glass down on the temporary bar behind him and stormed off towards the couple. The music faded away as he ran.

Her laugh carried on the breeze, the skirt of her dress fluttering behind her. Logan ran faster, now regretting the tight suit pants and button-up he donned for the evening as they got steadily further and further away.

Without thinking, he made a sharp left, launching himself over the perfectly pruned flower beds Charles loved so much and tore through the gardens. Then suddenly, she was within sight. One heeled foot was over the threshold but he still had a chance.

With a final burst of speed he grabbed Y/N’s wrist before she could enter the manor, forcing her to let go of the other man. “Don’t go with him. Please.”

“Logan, what are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go with him. Y/N, I-“ He swallowed harshly, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly. Y/N looked over her shoulder to the other mutant only to find him gone. “Fuck why can’t I just say it.”

Her body was fully turned to him now. “Say what?”

Taking in a deep breath, he looked into her eyes. “I love you.” The slap came out of nowhere, knocking the breath from his lungs. Y/N’s jaw was dropped in shock as if she didn’t see it coming either even though it was her hand that now burned with the sting of meeting his unshaven cheek.

“Let me go, who-who put you up to this?” She attempted to pull away from his hold but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Y/N-“ He started but was quickly interrupted when she spoke again, tears spilling down her full cheeks and voice wavering.

“No. You can’t feel that towards me, you barely even like me. You’ve made that very clear over the past couple weeks, no the past year! You brush me off! You make me feel like an idiot! You ignored my blatantly obvious feelings for months and now you say something?!”

“You feel the same?” He asked in disbelief.

“Of course I do! That’s why I asked you to go to the MET with me. I was gonna bring you to the American wing where all the native art was because I know you love it so much and then I was going to tell you. But then you were just so awful to me when Erik got here and you forgot about the trip!” Once again, she tried to break his grip but Logan instead tugged her back and right into his broad chest.

With a massive paw, he cupped her soft jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Can you just let me explain?” Her bottom lip popped out in a pout but she didn’t object. “I have lost so much, too much. Every woman I have ever loved has died because I loved them. And you, you are so young and so beautiful and way too kind for your own good. I love you more than anyone else and I guess that scared me. I pushed you away. But I can’t do it anymore, I can’t watch you fall for someone else.”

“Goddamnit.” She growled before her arms shot out and wrapped around the back of his neck so she could yank his face down to her level, and then she kissed him.

Stars burst around them like little fireworks as he pulled her closer by the small of her back. Her hands travelled from his neck downwards so her fingers could curl into his shirt like she was terrified that this was all just some dream.

“You do anything even remotely close to that whole fiasco again and I will let Erik do whatever he wants to you.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just kiss me again, sunshine.” And she did.

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steddieas-shegoes · 8 months

Note

116. “you wrote me a song?” any rating! 💕💕💕

I really thought you'd go with something so obviously smutty just based off of you breaking my brain so often, but this is such a soft prompt. I made it sweet and also a little smutty (barely) 💖

Rated M | tags: modern au, rockstar eddie, making out, light frottage, fade to black sex

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

Eddie being holed up in his music room for hours is normal.

That's what Steve's telling himself, at least.

But ever since the boys had been back from their tour, Eddie had been...weird.

It wasn't necessarily bad, at least not at first, but the last few days had seen Eddie being unusually quiet and withdrawn, his mind clearly elsewhere while they ate breakfast together before he disappeared for most of the day. He would appear again by dinner, usually tired, and always a bit snappy, like he didn't want to be around anyone.

Steve recognized it, but didn't quite place it until today.

He was working on a song.

Eddie was like this the last time a song wouldn't translate from his head to the instruments or the paper.

It didn't make it easier to deal with feeling so alone in their home, especially not when he'd spent a lot of the last four months alone while he was on tour.

"That's it," he said to himself as he stood up from the couch.

He walked to Eddie's music room and knocked on the door, three knocks, pause, two knocks, just like always.

Their version of 'I'm checking on you, I'm worried, let me in.'

Eddie opened the door, dark circles under his eyes.

"Break time," Steve said, grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him from the room, ignoring the sputtering protests.

"Stevie, no. I gotta-"

"No you don't. You can come with me for a bit."

"No. You don't understand, I-"

"No, you don't understand." Steve stopped and turned to look at him, hands on his hips. "I've been mostly alone for months and I thought having you back would mean I have you back. But you've been closing yourself into that room for days now and I miss you. I miss you."

Eddie's face falls, Steve's hands fall, and they both fall into each other.

Eddie's arms are wrapping around his waist as Steve lets out a sob.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to make you miss me," Eddie whispered into his ear, kissing his temple, his jaw, his cheek. "I'm right here, love. I'm sorry."

Steve nodded, accepting the apologies, the kisses, the love he was being given. He wasn't ashamed about needing it, not anymore. Eddie made sure he never felt like he couldn't ask for the attention he wanted.

"What's got you so stressed in there?" Steve finally asked, voice muffled against Eddie's shoulder.

"C'mon, I should probably just show you," Eddie pulled away, tugging Steve back towards the music room.

Once inside, Steve was led to the couch and given a peck on the lips.

Eddie sat down at his keyboard and cracked his knuckles.

"I've been working on something since we were on tour, but I thought the reason I couldn't get further was because of my environment. But I've been home for days and it's not getting better. Every time I think I'm onto something, I lose it or it doesn't come out right or it doesn't fit with the rest," Eddie explained, gesturing wildly.

Steve watched with wide eyes. He always loved watching Eddie's passion flow through his limbs the same way it flowed through his words. It was one of the things that made him fall in love with him.

"Show me what you've got so far, then," Steve gestured for him to start playing.

Eddie wasn't one to hold back, but he hesitated now.

It only lasted a moment though, his fingers starting to flow over the keyboard and his voice starting to sing.

It was beautiful, and nothing like what Steve had expected, nothing like what Corroded Coffin normally performed.

The words were romantic, hidden behind a yearning, something Steve hadn't heard Eddie write since before they were together.

And then he sang a line that would've knocked Steve to his knees if he'd been standing.

"It's with a curse I leave you, it's with a curse I love you I can't find my way back to you tonight"

Steve immediately flashed back to one night in the middle of the tour, when Eddie had called him right after a show, something he only did when the show didn't go as well as he hoped.

He'd complained about the storms delaying their start time nearly an hour, and how Gareth was offbeat for half of a song, and how the fans didn't seem as into it as usual. And when he went to hang up, he said "I wish I could find my way back to you tonight."

Steve had been almost asleep by that point, but the sung line sparked the memory.

Steve stood and walked over to Eddie, cupping his face in his hands and swiping his thumbs across his cheeks.

"You found your way back to me now, though, baby. You always do," he said.

Eddie pulled his hands from the keyboard and pulled Steve down into his lap.

"I needed you then. I started writing this that night. Sorry it's not finished yet."

"You...you wrote this for me?" Steve asked, realizing now that there was a reason why he used that line.

Steve wasn't stupid, but sometimes he was a little slow.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I know you miss me when I'm gone, but you have no idea how much I miss you."

Steve knew, or thought he knew, that Eddie missed him. They talked every night before shows, and texted on Steve's lunch breaks and when he got off of work. But it always felt like Eddie got to stay busy enough not to think about missing him as much.

But this tour had been the first time Steve couldn't take much time off of work, only being able to attend a handful of shows throughout.

Normally, he spent more than half the tour with him.

Steve kissed him, hard.

Eddie grunted, surprised at the sudden intensity of Steve's lips on his, but didn't pull away. His hands gripped Steve's hips, leaving bruises as a reminder that Steve wouldn't actually need.

Eddie would be home with him for months now, enjoying the holidays together, visiting their friends and family as time allowed. He wouldn't have to leave for another tour until their next album was released the following year.

They had time.

But Steve's lips acted as if they only had tonight, his stomach already fluttering with need and anticipation of having those needs fulfilled.

Because Eddie would. Eddie always would.

He may not always be there, he may have to miss him, but he always got what he needed in the end.

The kissing turned messy, lips wet and spit on the corners of their mouths, desperate to keep sharing and tasting each other.

"Want you," Steve panted, bucking his hips forward so that his hard length finally got friction against Eddie's. "Please."

"Here?" Eddie asked, breathless.

"Anywhere, everywhere, doesn't matter."

"Oh my god. That's perfect!" Eddie pulled away, turning to the notepad on the sheet music stand.

Steve smacked his arm.

"I swear, Munson, if you don't focus on my extremely hard dick soon-"

"You're anywhere, everywhere But not here, not tonight"

Steve melted.

"That's good, Eds. It's really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve kissed his forehead, smiling into it as he felt Eddie's shoulders relax. "Now, will you please fuck me on this bench?"

Eddie laughed and bit his shoulder.

"If you insist."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #make me write #rock star eddie munson #modern au

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ode-to-fury · 2 months

Text

By Firelight

Pairing: Gale/Tav (pre relationship denial)

Summary: Gale can’t sleep, and he’s not… happy about Tav being up, but he’s not not happy about it. (I.e. I was trying to practice my showing not telling and I actually quite liked it)

Gale turned over for the upteenth time before huffing out a frustrated breath. Damn his godsforsaken back to the hells. No matter the position he attempted to lie in, something hurt. His bedroll was hardly a bulwark against the cold, hard, frankly unfathomably rocky ground.

He knew in reality it was the orb. It was always the orb. The artifact that Tav had given him had helped. Slightly. Not enough.

His ears were still ringing faintly, and if he lay still too long it felt as though he spun through the space behind his eyes, which reminded him far too much of nights as an apprentice after the Yawning Portal. The muscle spasms hadn’t quite started yet, but they would. He was all too aware they would. His cure was no cure anymore, and it worried him. Greatly.

To add insult to injury, he was perfectly aware he could probably conjure himself a comfortable featherbed.

He was also perfectly aware that such an act would expose him to enthusiastic and earnest ridicule from the rest of their merry little band.

He huffed once more, and decided he would give up for the night and try and read for a while. He grabbed the first book he could find in the darkness of his tent and crawled out through the flap.

It was a dark night tonight. The moon was only a small sliver amongst the stars, and occasional clouds obscured even that faint light.

The fire was crackling merrily, and Tav sat with her back to the stone in the middle of their camp, staring at the dancing flames. There was the small line of a frown between her brows, and Scratch lay with his head pillowed on her lap, her fingers absently scratching behind one upright ear.

He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her, and her grey eyes flicked to him, then back at the fire.

“I was under the impression you’d already taken your watch earlier this evening,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied shortly. “Thought I’d let Wyll get some more rest instead of both of us being awake.”

“Very prudent of you.”

He groaned as he sat down next to her, leaning back against the rock. It was cool, which was soothing against the aching in his back.

She glanced sideways at him, then back at the flames. From here, he could only see one corner of her mouth, a faint scar trailing along her jaw. He found himself wondering how she’d gotten it. Scratch reached out his nose to sniff at Gale’s hand, then, when he had determined there was no immediate threat, returned to being pampered.

He was glad, selfishly, that she had told Wyll to go back to sleep. He… he enjoyed her company. Was glad of it tonight. It seemed to him, no matter how bleak their circumstances appeared to be, when she grinned her crooked grin, that everything would end up perfectly fine.

“What book?” She asked after a while. Gale started slightly, realizing he’d been sitting there with the book unopened for too long.

He cleared his throat.

“A treatise on the crafting of magic shields and the various attributes of each different type,” he said. “I found it in that ruined temple we explored, though I haven’t yet found the time to study it. Of course, there are quite a few thoughts in the school of abjuration on various magic shields and their uses, and then you have the regional differences, I mean- if you’ve ever read a text originating from Amn and the wizards there you’ll find they approach the entire concept differently from even the beginning of spellcasting when compared to here or even Calimshan. Though the Calishite school again has other ideas on the concept but the point I was trying to make is how region and even regional ways of thinking can influence- “

He stopped when he realised she was looking at him with a small smile on her face.

“What?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, jerking her head toward the fire. “I- I suppose I always thought a shield was a shield.”

He laughed.

“Believe me," he said, grinning, “Many an apprentice thought the same thing before our first abjuration lesson at Blackstaff.”

She looked over at him, frowning, then shook her head.

“You’ve never had any instruction?” He asked.

“Would it make a difference?” She asked sharply.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“A simple question. In fact, I think it’s very impressive you’ve managed so much with no education, especially given the volatile nature of your magic. There was one sorcerer in my class at Blackstaff, but he was of a draconic line, and to my understanding their magic is much less erratic than some other origins’.”

She was still frowning at him.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “I can’t tell whether you’re giving me a compliment or not.”

He winced.

“I assure you,” he said, somewhat apologetically, “It was intended as one.”

He tried for a sheepish smile.

“I’m afraid I’m out of practice.”

One of her eyebrows lifted.

“At compliments?”

“Partly.”

He realised they were moving into dangerous territory, and if she asked any further questions he would not have answers for her. He- he didn’t want to tell her about the orb, or Mystra. Asking for artefacts had already somewhat broken her trust in him.

It was… nice. To have a friend. Besides Tara, of course. Though Tav was much less of a nursemaid than Tara was. Between the two of them he’d never be short on scathing remarks, however. Or stubbornness. For the time being, he would pretend as though he was not a shell of his former self, merely until he had found a different way of sating his arcane hunger. Then he would cease being a burden or a liabillity to her and the others.

“I’ve had… some instruction,” she said, snapping him back tot he present. “Over the years, whenever I liked a spell someone cast, or needed to learn something for survival. Other things just happened naturally, like throwing up a shield the first time an arrow came firing at me.”

He watched as firelight flickered across her face. Her nose was turned upward, and he found himself tracing the slope of it with his eyes.

“And summoning a cow to drop from the sky?”

She tried and failed to hide a grin as she shot him a look. A deep dimple appeared in her cheek. He’d never met anyone with dimples before her. Such an endearingly human imperfection.

“That doesn’t count,” she said. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

He shook his head.

“It took me two months to work out how to summon a tressym,” he said.

“In this world, Gale, there are people with talent,” she lay a hand on her chest, “And people without.”

She looked at him pointedly, and he burst into laughter.

Again, she watched him with that small smile, and he found himself returning it.

“If it makes you feel any better, my father was livid.”

He shrugged.

“My mother was not much better, but she forgave me eventually, I suppose. And let me keep the tressym.”

She snorted softly.

“Good for you.” Her gaze returned to the flames, and he realised he might have touched on a sensitive subject.

“You still owe me the rest of that story, you know,” he nudged her arm with his elbow, regretted it immediately when she tensed.

“You still owe me that drink to go with it,” she said. He did not miss that she moved away from him slightly.

“I could, ah, read to you,” he found himself saying, if only diffuse the tension he had just created. “If you wish. Though the book may be out of date by several decades, if not centuries, based on the penmanship alone.”

She grimaced, looking over at the book he held as though she was looking at a particularly unpleasant bug.

“A treatise? On magic shields?” She asked.

“Forgive me,” he said, feigning understanding, “I could also explain some of the more foreign concepts, as your lack of education would be a hindrance.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and only the faintest shadow of a dimple showed in her cheek.

“I normally prefer different books.”

“Different?”

“More interesting?”

“More interesting than an ancient academic treatise on shields?” He asked in mock outrage.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I like adventure stories,” she said finally. “You know, where the valiant prince rescues the maiden in distress, or vanquishes a dragon, or two young lovers have to stand up to their families.”

He grinned.

“You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“No?”

“No. You seem far too cynical to be caught up in any adventures that are not your own.”

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “Looks can be decieving.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at him, just for a second, and a dimple showed again as she gave him another crooked grin. So different from the cynical adventurer he had met but a week ago.

“I suppose they can be,” he said softly, and found that he was grinning back at her again.

She looked back at the fire, and Gale cleared his throat slightly, feeling suddenly as though he shouldn’t be looking at her at all.

“You can read to me,” she said. “If you’d like. Believe it or not, I like learning. About magic especially.”

She shrugged.

“If anything it will make the time go more quickly.”

So Gale did.

And later, just before dawn, when her head drooped onto his shoulder he told himself he didn’t think much of it, and that she was simply tired.

He let her sleep, however, without complaint, savouring the first friendly touch he’d felt since she’d pulled him from that rock, and realised that he had forgotten to worry about the orb since the moment he’d set eyes on her.

#he’s PINING your honour #but he’s also in denial #sorry i can’t write smut so you guys can have this #scratch is just there and gale might be a little jealous but of course he’s not thts ridiculous #gale:talking about calishite magic shields #tav:heart eyes #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #wildweave #gale of waterdeep #gale/tav #gale fic #gale dekarios fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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jomiddlemarch · 2 months

Text

let me lay down beside you

“Mmm, darlin’, you feel so good…”

Shit.

You’d thought the one silver lining of living through a zombie apocalypse might be that you’d never have to have another awkward, it’s-totally-me-it’s-not-you conversation with a man about why there was basically no chance he could make you come, including the I-really-don’t-want-you-to-get-carpal-tunnel-or-strain-your-TMJ-trying for those guys savvy enough not to have tried the You-just-haven’t-had-my-magic-dick argument.

All the crunchy, New Age guys who were going to whip up an Ayurvedic smoothie with exact the right combo of herbs and ripe mango and enough turmeric to dye the sea gold had gone out in the first wave. Nearly all the herbs and certainly the mango and turmeric weren’t available in the continental US.

You were supposed to get something from the universe in exchange for surviving into this new world, a compensation that would make you not regret the choice to dump out all the Ambien your roommate had just gotten filled before she never came home instead of downing it in a nice cup of cocoa and then giving yourself a soft, slow dreaming death.

No such luck.

“Joel, hang on,” you said, gritting the words out as he did something rather lovely to the side of your neck, one big hand cradling the back of your head. You drew in a breath, prepared to have to repeat yourself, because even if you weren’t getting there, he certainly seemed well on his way.

He stopped and pulled back. His hair, greying and not just at the temples, was mussed and there was a little bit of hazy desire left in his dark eyes, but he’d made it by paying very close attention and that included you.

“Too fast? I can slow down, slow as you like, darlin’,” he said.

“That’s not it,” you said, hating this part. Hating all of it, what was happening and what would happen, leading up to when he walked out the door. Joel was a nice man. He probably would take any cheap shots or do much beyond shrugging those broad shoulders of his. “It’s not too fast—”

“Too slow? Or is that somethin’ you don’t like?”

His lips on your throat, the roughness of his beard against the delicate skin over your carotid, yeah, you liked it. If only liking that and his hands on you was enough…

You were quiet, thinking about how you were going to tell him. Maybe there was a way where you really could stay friends. Where there’d still be nights he took out his guitar and sang Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline and you sang along, the firelight around you both, gold and shadow.

“Someone hurt you?” he asked, being careful. You both knew what he meant and understood how he was letting you be the one to decide how to say it. You both remembered what it was like early on and no one in Jackson was ever required to tell what had happened before they got there. You chose what you brought with you into the community, what parts of your past you’d leave behind.

“No, nothing like that,” you said. You could see the relief in his eyes, the way his mouth turned gentle.

“You wanna boss me around? I don’t have a problem taking instruction,” he said.

“Wouldn’t make any difference,” you remarked before you could think twice about it. He narrowed his eyes and you almost reached out to touch his jaw or his wrist, your right hand fluttering before you made a fist.

“No?”

“You can’t make me come,” you blurted out. “I don’t want you to waste your time—”

“Seems to me I decide what my time’s worth,” he said.

“I meant, you don’t have to do a whole song and dance,” you said.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he said. “Not a huge fan of musicals.”

“You know what I mean,” you said.

“Frankly, darlin’, I don’t think I do. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I’m not going anywhere unless you kick me out,” he said.

“You’ll go,” you said. Lying was essential to living After, but not lying to yourself. That was a death sentence.

“When you tell me to. Not before,” he said, settling back against the couch.

“I can’t—I don’t come, fucking,” you said.

“That part I got,” he said. In some miracle, he didn’t start the usual litany, asking questions about position or skill, beginning every iteration What about…“How d’you do, y’know, flying solo?”

“Once in a blue moon,” you said. Though probably less often than that. You shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

“Before, probably could’ve tried a vibrator. One of those rabbits maybe. Still find them scavenging, but the batteries are all dead and kind of hard to ask Maria for some juice to get off,” Joel said, so practically and so without the least iota of irritation you were startled into a laugh. He took your hand in his, held it lightly.

“I don’t want to go but I don’t want you to feel bad,” he said. “Want you to feel good, that’s the whole goal.”

“You say that, but everyone wants to come. They want to get the other person off. I don’t want to fake it, to make you happy,” you said.

“I’ve had over forty years to fuck, darlin’,” he said. “I want to be close to you, that’s all. However you want it, long as it’s real. You want me to try shit that didn’t work before, I’ll try it. You have some idea you want to give a whirl, fine by me. I’ll go down on you or use my hands or pretend I’m fucking Captain Kangaroo and you’re Lady Aberlin if that’s something you’re interested in. And if you want to lie in bed or on the couch in sweats and that’s all, that all I want,” he said.

“Lady Aberlin was on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” you said. This was not a conversation you could have imagined happening in any universe, with or without zombies, but Joel didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” he said.

“You’ll get frustrated,” you said. You thought it would come out like a warning, but it sounded like you were floating an idea, waiting for him to tell you that you were wrong.

“There some rule I can’t jack off on my own? Or in your general vicinity?” he asked.

“No, it’s not like that,” you said. You couldn’t recall a man ever asking that or proposing anything similar. It was erotic, that was undeniable, that desire coupled with a total lack of demand—he hadn’t said anything about coming on your breasts or your belly and he would have, if that’s what he imagined. Parallel play, the old child development phrase from that college psych class you’d taken sophomore year, a thousand years ago when no one, even you, had ever thought to call you frigid bitch, the guys at college too self-absorbed to notice whether or not you climaxed.

“Doesn’t gross you out?”

“No. It’s hot. It’s not that I’m not interested in sex, making you come. Just hard for me to get all the way,” you said.

“That’s not all the way, you coming, screamin’ my name, headboard thumpin’ on the wall, wakin’ up the neighbors,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles open-mouthed. “All the way’s feelin’ safe, feelin’ like you can ask for whatever you want, say no to whatever you want. Being there in the morning, your head on my chest, hand on my heart.”

“You’re not going to try and convince me you’ve got some special move that’s going to blow my mind?” you said.

“If I had one, probably throw my back out tryin’ it now,” he chuckled. “I like the way you taste. I like the way you sing under your breath when I play ‘Annie’s Song.’ I like the way you argue and how your ass feels against my cock when you’re the little spoon and and how it looks when you drag me out dance over at Tina’s. If we figure something out one of these days, yeah, that’ll be fine. And if this is what we have, it’s plenty for me. I wanna give you anything you want, that’s all.”

“Anything I want?” you said.

“Everything, darlin’,” he answered. “What d’you want right now?”

“I liked what you were doing before,” you said.

“What we were doing,” he corrected, but without any scolding. It was an invitation, one you had no intention of refusing.

“Let’s do that,” you said. “But with less clothes.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Maybe I do want to boss you around. Take your shirt off.”

“Yes’m,” he said and the shiver that went through you was that hint of ma’am and the revelation of his bare chest and the gleam in his dark eyes.

Maybe it was a blue moon.

And if it wasn’t, he’d still be here, holding you in his arms.

@goodwithcheese I took you up on your suggestion to write something for one of your anons who was hoping for a fic with an anorgasmic f!reader and a soft Pedro character...

#joel miller #tlou fanfic #f!reader #joel/f!reader #intimacy #talking about sex #one-shot #references to Gen X pop culture #no age-gap #pedro pascal fanfic #ellie is off-screen and not referenced in this #jackson au #going for ginger spice level: sweet and hot

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peterman-spideyparker · 4 months

Text

The Girl Before (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hi! This was written on my phone in maybe fifteen minutes and isn’t really proofread. I don’t know why I have so many angsty ideas lately, but here’s another one. I might do a part two, but for all intents and purposes right now, this is a stand alone.

Summary: You love Matt. Even after your breakup, you still have so much love for him. But now, it’s clear that you’re the furthest thing from his mind.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, drinking, heartbreak

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

You don’t even know why you’re drinking a beer. You hate beer. You don’t even know why you’re here at Josie’s. But it’s the only thing that makes sense for you to be doing right now. It’s sad to be drinking alone, drowning your sorrows in the dark of your apartment, but it’s even sadder to be drinking alone in a bar with a drink you don’t even like to try and get over a guy. But the thing is, it’s not just some guy. It’s Matt.

Matt is the love of your life, you have no question in your mind about that. You were in love with him, and he was in love with you. But somewhere, somehow, something went wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong, and he broke your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. For him, it was like he was tearing off a bandage. But for you, it was like the car stalling on the tracks with a train barreling toward you showing no signs of stopping until all that was left behind was wreckage. An unrecognizable mess from something out of the blue.

Somehow, you heard that Matt was engaged. To whom, you don’t know, and when he’s making that vow in front of his loved ones, you don’t know. If anything, she’s probably gorgeous. Matt has always had a type, a type that you always felt you were an anomaly in. He never seemed to care, and after a while, you believed him. He just loved you, no strings attached. Sweet affection, soft kisses, seemingly unconditional love. And then, one day, it all just came undone.

Maybe that’s the real reason you’re here—on the off chance you’ll run into Matt, you’ll come to him or he’ll come to you, you’ll patch things up, and you could move back toward what you were. You know the kind of life he leads. It’s hard, so damn hard, but you know you can trust him and what he does and he knows that you’ll be there for him when he needs you. With another swig of your drink, you purse your lips and frown as it goes down your esophagus. Ugh, you really hate beer. As the bottle meets the napkin on the counter, your attention is drawn to the opening door. A small little group in black tie attire enters, laughing and cheering as they enter the bar for their little reception. Your heart stops and you almost fall off of your stool when you see Karen, Foggy, and Matt as some of the last bodies to enter in the group. The move to a couple of tables in the back, Matt kissing the temple of one of the girls in the group. The fiancée, no doubt. The way he smiles, how he carries himself as he moves to the bar breaks your heart. He pauses when he gets to the bar, seemingly recognizing your presence at the far end of it, but you see a little shiny, new gold band encircling his fourth finger. Your heart shatters, the shards then cutting you from the inside out leaving you in immeasurable pain. Why weren’t you good enough for him to stay? What did you do wrong? Why don’t you have the matching ring on your left hand?

Before the tears can roll down your face and you lose all sense of emotional control at the end of the bar, you place some money on the counter and hop off your stool, throwing your bag over your shoulder and rushing out of the bar as fast as you possibly can. Except for Matt noticing you, or at least what you think is him noticing you, you make a pretty clean escape.

When you met Matt, you were so sure he was the one. Now, you have to live with the fact that to the love of your life—the only person you ever really, truly loved—you didn’t mean as much to him as he did you. To Matt, you were just the girl before the one.

————————————

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

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stickymolasses · 6 months

Note

Hello! Can you write a nurse reader x harry osborn? :)

MAKE YOU BETTER

an: hello! i love reading ur harry fics so much, thank you for this prompt! i hope u like it <3 ps: reader does not know peter is spiderman, they just think peter got injured somehow and the symbiote transferred over to him. spiderman having a black suit, in their eyes, is just a coincidence. just imagine reader being totally oblivious, lol.

summary: You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist. (fluff/a little angst if you squint) pairing: harry osborn x reader warnings: sick & irritable harry

You knock twice as gently as possible, trying not to disturb Harry too much. He mumbles something that resembles “come in,” so you allow yourself to slowly open the door. You close it upon entering and lean against it.

“How are you feeling today, Harry?” you ask, wishful thinking taking over, though you think you probably know the answer.

Harry shuffles a little in his bed and leans his head back. He swallows hard, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. His form has gotten frail over the past couple of days.

He breathes in deeply and his words come out in a whisper, “Never been better.” He smiles sarcastically and breathes out his nose, a laugh that does not require him to flex his stomach.

You can see his pain. You can feel it too. You don’t want to pry, but as his nurse, you have a job. You are supposed to make him feel better, get healthier. He can’t get any better, physically, that is. Your real task now is to change his mindset.

“What’s been bothering you lately? Any serious pain I should know about?” You cross your arms, still leaning on the door.

Harry is sitting up now, giving you a better view of the dark purple bags under his eyes. You wince and look down, avoiding his gaze. “The usual. My pain lately has been in my head. I’ve been mulling things over, got lots to think about.”

He looks down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. His boredom has reached a new peak, having filled out four science-themed crossword books.

You nod at him as if to say “Go on.”

He furrows his brows in thought, still looking down at his hands.

“It’s Peter.” He looks up at you swiftly. “He’s… changed.”

You move towards his bed and take a seat nearer to him, to make him more comfortable. Your words come out slowly and very quietly, “Changed, how?”

He sighs, “It’s complicated. After his little… accident, having the symbiote- um, the suit- affects him in a way that it hadn’t done to me. He’s angry.”

You know he’s telling the truth. You’ve seen it. When Peter blew up on Harry and told him he should “pop some more pills.” From knowing Peter for a few months now, you would never have expected him to act that way towards anyone, let alone his best friend.

“Has he ever been angry like that before, with you?” You inquire, still pushing.

“Never. I was usually the one with the temper.”

“If you’ll allow me to play devil's advocate, I think you might need to give Peter the benefit of the doubt because-”

Harry gripped his comforter until his knuckles turned white.

“He wants me to die.” The words came out like a curse, laced with venom. His face falls into his palm, and he rubs his temples.

Once he finds himself calm, he opens his mouth again to speak, but no words come out. He looks at your face, eager to listen. Something about the way you look at him helps him find the words.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, he’s fighting his own battles. We all are.” He looks up at you, awaiting a response. You fall silent.

Your gaze is morphing under his. You feel like you’re melting rapidly under a heat lamp, but you’re just looking at each other. This moment feels more meaningful than the actual verbal conversation you were having just moments before. You’re beginning to feel different about him, and the feeling is dangerous, fatal even.

“Stop looking at me like that. Like I’m some sick child.” Harry turns his head away from you, like an actual child. A child who doesn’t want to listen to his guardian.

You scramble, “Like what? I wasn’t looking at you like anything; I was just-”

“You were pitying me; I can see it with my own two eyes.” The moment was fleeting, but you could see him changing his mind mid-sentence. Something about you kept him sane.

You breathe loudly, and he can hear the gears turning in your head. You were calculating a response so as not to irritate him further.

“I wasn't pitying you. I was just… I was thinking about how you were before. You were so full of life, seeing you like this makes me wonder what you would be doing if you weren’t in this position.” You reach for his hand and clasp it gently. His hand is cold, in contrast to your warm ones. Your thumb moves in circles over his knuckles.

“Can you help me stand up, please?” He flashes doe eyes at you, waiting for an answer. You grip his hand tighter and help him rise from the bed. When he is fully standing, he pulls you into a hug so swiftly that you wobble a bit.

He buries his head into your neck and mumbles something incoherent, and you don’t bother to ask him to repeat himself. You hold each other for just a second too long.

“Sorry, I just wanted to look out the window.” He hobbles over to the giant window and stops in front of it, placing a hand on the frame and leaning on it.

“New York City used to be so beautiful, don’t you think?” He continues to stare longingly at the world outside his room.

“I think it’s still gorgeous.” You stand next to him, placing a hand on his bicep to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance.

“Of course you would. Any world with you in it should be grateful to have you.” He turns towards you and removes your hand from his arm, placing a hand on your waist. He looks down at you with an unreadable gaze.

You look up at him and cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over his cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with an ambition that you haven’t seen in all of your days of knowing him. He looks down at your lips and you notice. He leans in, and you follow suit, connecting your lips in harmony.

“You are the most beautiful thing in all of New York City, Harry.”

an: hello! i hope this was what you were looking for, i got a little carried away. this was a lot of fun! thank you for the ask again!

[more harry content here]

#harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn x y/n #harry osborn ps5 #harry osborn fanfiction #msm2 #insomniac spiderman #spiderman 2 ps5 #spiderman ps4 #peter parker #spiderman #x reader #fanfiction #y/n

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

Note

avatrice + flaw

[wonderful prompt @analogoose made me immediately feral :)]

you're drunk, which isn't that rare an occurrence, but with all the training you've been doing lately, you don't usually let it get this out of hand. but there had been a pretty girl — sara, maybe? with the most gorgeous brown skin and a nose ring — who had been doing shots and dancing with you when you finished your shift, and, like, sure, maybe you don't believe you'll die, right? maybe you can beat adriel, there's gotta be a way, but, still —

you're a little teary just thinking about it, as you climb the stairs on exhausted legs and feel way more drunk than you had ten minutes ago when you'd left the bar. you unlock the door on your third try, then try your absolute hardest to be quiet. bea has left out some snacks for you, these chips you love that she finds 'disgusting, ava,' and you take them with you into the bathroom, which seems polite and quiet, even if it's kind of gross. you sit in the bathtub without any water and eat your chips in the dark, and then you get up and wash your face in the sink, brush your teeth, and strip out of your pants. you have a crop top and underwear on and, like, that's going to have to be good enough, because it's sweltering in your apartment and bea won't touch you anyway. you love her and you're in love with her and it had occurred to you days ago, when she was concentrating so hard, a little furrow between her brows, listening to hans explain the rules of gin rummy. you're in love with her and, god, it would be so selfish, it would be thoughtless and, like, there are other fish in the sea, or there will be, you guess, but even sara, who was beautiful and kind and pressed you up against the wall in the bathroom and scraped her teeth along your jaw — you're in love with beatrice, and she won't touch you.

you get into bed without too much noise, which is a fucking feat, thank you very much, and settle under the thin blanket beatrice had switched out instead of the quilt during the heat wave. ever faithful, she's in a big t-shirt and boxers, acceptable and very theoretically unsexy sleep clothes, but her hair is loose and light and her eyelashes are so long and the moonlight tints her skin silver, like a sword or a shield or a glass of communion wine. and, like, okay, it's probably ethically wrong that, when sara was kissing you, you closed your eyes and pretended that it was bea, but you were a bunch of tequila shots in and you might die soon, you've already died once, or twice, maybe, so — it's fine. it's fine, the world is going to shit but it's fine.

you're apparently wiggling too much, trying to get comfortable, because beatrice sighs and cracks open an eye and says, 'ava, you're wiggling,' exhaustedly.

'sorry, sorry.'

she sighs again, half asleep. 'it's okay.'

it's not, probably, but she's kind. 'hey,' you whisper, loudly, and you should definitely let her sleep but she's curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin, which makes you feel the kind of crazy that could destroy whole temples, just to protect her.

'what, ava?'

you're undeterred by her frustrated tone; she uses it very, very often so it doesn't have the same bite as it used to. 'do you — do you really think being gay, or, like, you know, liking girls, is a flaw?'

'ava.'

you just stay quiet and will the halo not to vibrate out of your skin.

'no,' she says, after a few silent seconds that felt like years. 'no, of course i don't think it's a flaw.'

'because, you know, i like girls.'

'yes, ava, i know.' it's a little pained.

'have you kissed a girl before?'

it's probably, definitely, invasive, but it's the middle of the night and you can't stop thinking about it. 'wouldn't you like to know.'

it pulls a laugh out of you, right from your heartspace, and her smile is soft and bright, pleased with herself. 'well, you weren't always a nun.'

'not always,' she murmurs, and the room is too blurry for you to really figure out what that means. she's so close to you, though, and you reach your hand out — a fucking miracle, still, to be able to move and run and dance and hold someone while you kiss them, while you stand up and let them press you back against a wall, or a bed, or the barstool after closing, and feel the firm press of muscles along their back, or the swell of someone's hips and stomach over their waistband, or — you touch her face, featherlight fingertips, over her cheeks, down her nose, along her dark brows. she lets you, maybe because it's the middle of the night or maybe because she wasn't always a nun, maybe because she likes to be pressed against things too. maybe she loves you back, and it's easier to be touched than to touch, for her. maybe.

'do you think i'm pretty?'

she doesn't even bother to say your name this time, just slams her eyes shut.

too far. 'sorry.'

'it's — of course,' she says, a little broken, a lot brave. 'of course i think you're pretty, ava. you're beautiful.'

'no one has told me that before.' it's a little like standing in a puddle of water while it gets hit by lightning, or watching moths flutter for the first time in lamplight — haze and magic, breathless — to admit. 'i — i didn't get to look at myself, very much at all, before, you know, the halo.'

she just hums, but it's soft and tender.

'did you ever get bullied?' you ask. you know she said that she was punished, for not fitting in, but you can't imagine her, really — powerful, exacting, gorgeous beatrice — being picked on.

'are we playing a very invasive game of twenty questions? it's three in the morning.'

'we can go to sleep, if you want.'

you think she will; you think she'll roll over, that she'll roll away from you, that you'll never get to tell her all that you mean. but then: 'i was bullied a lot, as a child in primary school, actually.'

'they were all jealous, obviously.'

she huffs a laugh. 'my eyes, first and most often.' she frowns and the halo buzzes in your back a little, reflecting your immediate and deep anger. 'my last name, sometimes; the food my nanny would pack for lunch.' her jaw clenches but then she sees the glow of the halo, which you don't bother to try to tamp down, not in the dark, not in this safe bed with someone you love, someone who has had cruelty handed down to her her entire life and has emerged gentle and brilliant and kind. she smiles slightly at the light from your back. 'and then, less seriously, my freckles.'

'oh, fuck that.' you bring a fingertip back to touch her face again. 'your eyes are, like, the craziest cool color? especially in the morning, when we're going to train and the sun is just coming up.' a poem in a book one of your friends had given you recently: you could drown in those eyes, i said. 'and their shape is gorgeous. they're part of who you are.'

she seems genuinely touched by the drunk, inelegant sentiment. 'well, tell that to ronnie white.'

'if i ever meet him, i sure will. i bet he's ugly.'

she laughs.

'and, also, all food fucking rocks, so that's ridiculous. and your freckles, are like, i don't even know, bea. like stars.'

she lets you trace them; she has freckles on her shoulders, now, in the summer sun, and a few on her collarbone; one, that plagues you, sometimes, on the top of her left hand.

'in his own image, or whatever, right?'

you still your hand on her jaw and it takes a moment to answer: 'well, allegorically, yes.'

'allegorically, whatever. fuck those kids.'

'it was a long time ago, ava. i'm fine.'

the way she holds herself, compact, even in sleep, to make herself smaller — it's a life she chose, but you don't think anyone really gave her much of a choice. 'fuck those kids, bea. fuck your parents, and fuck the shitty nuns who didn't treat me with any dignity, and fuck, you know, the whole goddamn patriarchy, while we're at it.'

'you know,' she says, a smile reluctantly lifting her mouth, 'i do enjoy a good moment of sheer hate for the patriarchy.'

'obviously, you're awesome.'

'you should sleep, ava.'

'yeah, probably.'

'okay. goodnight.'

'bea?'

'yes, ava?'

'you're really, really beautiful. i just wanted to say, in case no one has told you either.'

her eyes in the moonlight flash gold, a better gold than the halo, warmer and gentler. you could drown in those eyes, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're restless in sleep and —

'sleep well, ava,' she says. it feels like a miracle, when she brings her hand, calloused and careful, to run through your hair, and then pulls it back against her chest. she doesn't turn away from you, only scoots a little closer and lets you nuzzle your way into her body, little movements and warmth, the smooth skin of her legs against yours.

so it's summer — you think, as her hand sneaks its way under your shirt and rests in the middle of your back; your underwear are slick with wet heat but — you've risen from the dead; she won't touch you but this is close, her little breaths against the top of your head as her body grows slack. in another universe this is real life; in another universe you met in college, or at the beach, or she was your ski instructor, or you swiped right on an app after smoking a blunt and she messaged you back — in another universe this is just an afterthought, an ache that neither of you can explain some nights at twilight after a hard day when you come home to a vine over the door and a dog who runs back to you when you call. in another universe you get to love her; she touches you.

in this universe, her gentle fingertips pressed to your back and her freckles blooming more every day in the sun — this is just another miracle.

'sweet dreams, bea.'

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #prompts #wow sorry this took me so long !!#switzerland era screaming always a classic i hope its ok!!

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