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writersdrug · 2 months ago

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Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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heirofnight · 2 months ago

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it's the shadows

pairing: azriel x reader (heavily), cassian x reader, rhysand x reader

word count: 1.2k (i intended for this to be a drabble but i can't ever shut the hell up)

summary: reader is close friends with az, cass, and rhys, but is very obviously pining for azriel. the four of you are drunk and cassian just has to know which one of them would be the best in bed. sexual tension ensues. duh.

while this entire debate was absolutely ridiculous - one may argue even downright childish - you couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across your cheeks.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed this hard. your stomach was aching, cheeks sore. dried tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes. there'd be a lull in the conversation, a period of time that allowed all of you to calm down and collect yourselves, before you'd inevitably meet one of their mischievous gazes and fits of laughter would begin all over again.

"seriously, y/n?," cassian inquired, voice booming. you snorted at his dumbfounded expression, at the fact that the four of you had finally calmed down, just for cass to loop back to the topic that had you all howling in laughter in the first place.

"azriel?," he continued, pointer finger gesturing towards the male sitting opposite from you in the sitting room. cassian had a half-full wine glass in his large hand, the liquid sloshing around precariously as he motioned in the shadowsinger's direction. "the motherfucker doesn't even speak!," he finished, causing you to erupt in another alcohol-induced fit of giggles.

azriel smiled warmly at the sight, shaking his head in mock exasperation at his brother's disbelief. az took a sip from the glass of wine he'd been nursing at a much slower pace compared to the rest of you.

rhys chuckled now, sitting alongside cassian on the plush sofa. he shoved the war general on his broad shoulder playfully, gesturing towards azriel himself, "he doesn't need to speak in this particular scenario, brother," he purred, his own wine sloshing within his grip.

azriel's cheeks tinted red at the implication, shifting his gaze down to his lap to hide a dimpled smirk.

"and see, that's what i'm saying," you added, throwing your hands up in agreement. you sat on the floor, upon the cushioned carpet that spread throughout the sitting room. you glanced up at azriel, a fond smile playing across your lips as you met his bashful gaze.

"he doesn't need to use words, cassian. i stand by my original statement: azriel is absolutely the most capable male in bed out of the three of you," you couldn't even finish the sentence without giggling, awestruck at cassian's ability to always turn the conversation back to this topic in particular.

you'd been close to all three of them for so long, and cassian - with his overly-competitive nature - just had to know, from a female's perspective, which male you thought would be the best in the bedroom. even though your answer was always the same: azriel.

was it because you may have been harboring feelings for the aforementioned male? perhaps. however, you didn't need to be pining after him to come to that conclusion; it felt like the obvious choice, regardless.

azriel glanced over at you with silent pride flooding his gaze, and you winked at him playfully in response. "i've got your back, az," you slurred, alcohol heavy in your veins. you reached over to poke him in the kneecap gently, and he huffed out a laugh.

"thank you, sweet," he spoke, tone gravelly, and you felt your chest grow fuzzy at the nickname he reserved just for you.

"oh, come ON," cassian scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. rhys barked out a laugh, tossing his head back against the headrest of the quilted couch.

you laughed along with rhys, sitting closer to azriel's legs now. az reached down, smoothing a section of your hair that had grown disheveled during your laughing fits throughout the evening. you were hyper-aware of his touch, and currants of electricity shot down your spine as the contact mixed with the wine in your system.

"i'm going to go out on a limb here," cassian started, pausing to take a sip from his glass. you rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for the familiar statement preparing to spill from his lips. "and i'm going to say that your opinion on this particular topic is heavily biased," he finished, knowing hazel eyes glancing from you, up to azriel, and back down to you.

you groaned in mock annoyance, flipping your hand in a dismissive gesture.

"yeah, yeah, cass, i know," you huffed out a breath, narrowing your eyes, "you're so convinced that i want to be in azriel's bed," you finished, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking further. cassian scoffed, his eyes widening slightly as if to say duh.

the alcohol was making you feel bolder than normal, and honestly, it's not like you were completely shy about your attraction towards azriel. it was a commonly known fact, one that all of you tended to play into from time to time - an inside joke, a bit.

however, while the attraction was known, you'd never confessed to any of them your very real feelings for azriel. that aspect wasn't a joke to you in the slightest.

"it's the shadows," you deadpanned, shrugging your shoulders sloppily.

cassian and rhys paused for a moment, absorbing your statement. then, they both erupted into howling laughter, and you weren't far behind them. you heard azriel's low chuckle from where he sat behind you, and he sent one of those mentioned shadows from within his twining orbit to twirl through your hair playfully.

cassian collected himself, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.

"what kind of shit are you into, y/n?," cass wheezed out, and rhys laughed harder at his follow-up question.

you sniffled, wiping your own eyes before responding, "i mean, you really cannot blame me," you mused, gesturing towards azriel once more, "have you really not stopped to consider this at all?," you widened your eyes, stunned.

as if to prove a point, you turned your head towards azriel, locking your curious eyes with his amused ones.

"azriel, have you or have you not used your shadows on someone during sex?," you asked, extremely forward.

he almost choked at the question, cheeks turning crimson. cassian and rhys resumed their howling, but you peered at him expectantly.

he couldn't deny you an answer, not when you looked at him like that - innocent-looking wide eyes, cheeks pink from the wine. and was there a large, screaming part of him that wanted to entice you with his bedroom habits?

perhaps.

he nodded once, a dimpled smirk appearing across his pink cheeks.

"i have," he spoke, deep voice cutting through the laughter.

everyone paused at his words - you'd all half-expected him to evade the question altogether. but here he was, divulging life-altering, world-ending information that had your brain short-circuiting in one fatal blow.

the silence was deafeningly loud, and your expression shifted in a way that had azriel knowing exactly what you were thinking. your eyes had widened and glossed over, your mouth was agape. his smirk grew, forming into something more playful.

and to prove his point, he sent one more shadow your way to lightly twirl through your fingers and caress up your arm, looping around your neck gently.

cass sent a low whistle into the dead silence of the room, croaking out a laugh. "well, fuck, az," he chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"you win," cassian added, awestruck - shaking his head in defeat.

you didn't even hear what was happening around you, too focused on azriel - his darkened gaze as he peered down at you, and the feeling of that tendril of shadow tightening around your throat in silent challenge.

a/n: i'm so sorry. i'm spamming u with all of these ideas but hear me out, i have to get them out immediately. pls don't hate me. but this one had me sweating lmfao. sucker for sexual tension as always!!!

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel drabble #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster

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earthrealsvn · 8 days ago

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taking care of you when you're drunk

in which the Haikyuu!! pretty setter squad take care of you during/after a night of drinking.

category: post time-skip!!! (except Suga bc that’s a college!au), fluff, crack

warning(s): mentions/use of alcohol, vomiting in Akaashi’s, perhaps Suga’s and Kageyama’s could be seen as suggestive at parts but i promise they’re not meant to be

w.c: 3.5k all together

a/n: hello! i haven't posted in forever but don't perceive that. most of these are based off of things i’ve said and/or done, except i didn’t have a partner to care for me during or afterwards. as stated above, this is post time skip, aside from Suga’s which is a college!au, so all the boys are a legal age to drink. anyways, enjoy the boys taking care of a drunk reader!

—

Sugawara Koshi

you laugh as you nearly tip over on your way to the bathroom, the sound of your friends cheering behind you ringing in your ears. you had all just started your last year of college and decided that it was worth celebrating. so, you offered up your apartment for the night, fully intent on having a good time before stress came to kick your ass.

another laugh bubbles in your throat as you misstep, landing on what was thankfully your bed. though now, your predicament is how you were to get back up. you give it two attempts and whine when you’re unsuccessful. it shouldn’t be that hard to stand, you do it all the time! planting your feet on the floor, another try is made, but you’re still incapable. tears spring into your eyes despite the fading rational part of you knowing it’s really not something to cry over. the drunken majority of you, though, is ready to throw a full-on fit.

but before you can even make a sound, someone’s taking your hands in theirs and gently pulling you to your feet. a stupid grin makes its way onto your face when you realize it’s your boyfriend, Sugawara Koshi.

“Ko!” you squeal, throwing your arms around his torso and squeezing. his laugh is as gentle as his return of the hug, but the teasing undertone is obvious. “didn’t think you’d show.” the words are muffled due to your cheek being squished into his chest.

“i got off early enough, so i figured i’d come see what my baby is up to.” his lips press themselves to the crown of your head to lay a brief kiss before he’s pulling away. “why were you on your bed instead of having fun, hm?”

you gasp when your original quest is remembered. “had to pee.” you begin a definitely not straight line towards your bathroom, laughing. you nearly slammed your hip into your nightstand along the way, but Suga’s hands placed themselves on your waist, guiding you the rest of the way to your destination.

there’s a brief fumble for the lightswitch until your bathroom light turns on, Suga having pressed it before you. he closes the door to give some privacy whilst you take care of your business, and you appreciate it until you come across a hurdle.

“hey Ko?” he hums from the other side of the door. “i can’t unbutton my pants.”

he can’t stop his laugh, and it only increases at your impatient whine. he steps through the doorway and tugs you closer, deft fingers unbuttoning your pants for you. he steps out again afterwards, letting you relieve your bladder in peace.

“can you button them by yourself?” he asks once the sound of the sink goes off and you groan at his teasing. he gets his answer once you open the door, pants already taken care of. “good job, sweetheart.” he coos, cupping your face and squishing your cheeks.

“shut,” you don’t even finish the rest of your sentence as you pull away and toddle back to the living room. he follows behind, hands hovering above your hips just in case drunk you decides to take another tumble.

“hey, Y/N, we’re taking shots!” your friend shouts from the kitchen and you squeak in delight. the silver-haired male walks into the kitchen with you to find your friends gathered at the counter with the shot glasses in front of them. “you want your favorite?” you nod in response, leaning against Suga in order to have some support.

as the shots are being poured, a noise of realization leaves you. “oh, Ko, you should take some too!” your head tilts back to look at your boyfriend, a drunken grin on your face.

“alright, but not too many.” he agrees, pecking your forehead.

“lame,” you laugh and an endearing smile plays on his lips as he stares down at you.

“well, someone has to make sure you don’t die,” a hand comes up to pinch your cheek and you shriek, trying to pull it off. you’re unsuccessful, obviously; you don’t have much strength when drunk and Suga still has all of his slight muscles from high school volleyball and working out regularly.

you still accept the shot glass he gives you, though, and a friend gives a half-assed toast and a countdown before everyone knocks their shots back, the familiar tingle of alcohol sliding down your throat. you also don’t protest the water Suga raises to your lips afterwards either, taking a few sips to help neutralize the taste.

it’s midnight but Suga knows the party’s just begun.

—

Oikawa Tooru

“i’m on the floor,” you mutter out once more, head falling against the wood of the island. “‘m drunk ‘n on the floor.”

“yes, you are drunk and on the floor, sweetie.” the familiar hands of Oikawa Tooru, your boyfriend, settle in your hair and massage at your scalp. a happy hum leaves your throat and you raise your heavy head to smile at what you think is his direction.

“‘s’all blurry,” drunken laughter laces your words and Oikawa can only shake his head endearingly. “wanna nap.”

he barely manages to catch you as you topple over sideways, body desperately trying to meet the ground. the rest of your friends laugh at your antics and Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a shit-eating grin. everyone knows you’ve drank too much too fast, but your week leading up to the New Year’s party had been stressful and you wanted to forget. so now, here you were, collapsed in your boyfriends’ arms, too intoxicated to do much.

“do you wanna move to the couch, sweetie?” your boyfriend asks, hand rubbing your side. he has to lean in to catch your mumbled response, but he’s able to detect the agreement. “okay, i’m gonna lift you now, alright?”

“uh-huh.”

he lifts you up into a princess carry and makes his way to the couch. as soon as your back meets the cushions and Oikawa’s arms move, you snuggle yourself onto your side, barely able to remember that laying on your back drunk could kill you if you start puking. your boyfriend settles himself onto the floor in front of you and pulls out his phone. he starts to scroll through social media but is quickly distracted by the incessant poking at his shoulder your fingers are doing.

“can i help you?” he raises a brow as he turns to face you, holding back a coo at the sight of your squished face.

“wanna watch—” the rest of your sentence is mumbled but Oikawa figures you’re wanting to watch your favorite show. he decides it’s better to entertain you than have a drunken partner complaining at him for however long. so he obliges, switching to the streaming service and holding the phone where you can see it comfortably.

a delighted laugh slips out of your mouth and the hand that was poking him falls limp onto his arm, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his sweater.

as you watch the show, he watches you, internally hoping you don’t throw up on him you’re sober enough for a New Year’s kiss.

—

Kenma Kozume

your panicked yells cause Kenma’s eyes to leave his game and travel up to you, the spike of concern diminishing as soon as he realized why you were making said noises. in your current round of Just Dance, you’re barely able to keep up with the moves showing on the screen, body tilting dangerously to the right. the friend that’s joining you is doing better in terms of score, but they’re practically in your space, nearly punching you every time they move their arm.

the cat-like boy shakes his head with a sigh and returns to his game, determined to finally beat the boss that’s been killing him all month. he’s so focused on the battle that he doesn’t realize your round is done until someone drapes their body over his, distracting him enough to lose. eye twitching, he turns to yell at them only to see a large, stupid grin on your face.

“Kyanma, come dance with me!” you exclaim through hiccups.

“i don’t want to. i’m trying to beat this—” he starts to turn back to his handheld but stops at the sound of your voice.

“you— don’t you love me?” tears spring to your eyes and Kenma whips his head back around to look at you again. “i love you Kenma, i want you to dance with me!” you’re wailing now and Kenma panics, setting his handheld down so he can pat your head. it doesn’t quite work, however, and the sound of your cries are drawing attention.

“Y/N,” Kenma sighs and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “i’ll dance with you after this boss, okay puddin’?”

sniffling, you quiet down before hiccuping again, “promise?”

“promise,” he agrees, pulling your face closer in order to press a kiss to your forehead. “just give me a few minutes.”

he lifts his handheld back up and returns to his last save before the boss, once again determined to win. from beside him, you wipe your nose on your sleeve (something you can only stand to do when you’re drunk, he’s noticed) and fit yourself into his side to watch. just before entering the battle zone, Kenma glances around to see if anyone’s watching before tucking you under his arms and into his chest, ignoring your giggle of delight.

as the battle goes on, he lets you babble drunken advice, laughing quietly if he finds it funny. you cheer when he lands hits and gasp when his character takes damage, hands clinging to his sleeves in excitement. although he’s ultimately focused more on the game, he still gives you fleeting kisses on your head.

when he finally wins, you applaud him before bouncing up, tugging on his arm to get him to stand. he makes sure he saves before turning the device off and stands up to follow you to the center of the living room. you hand him a controller with a beam while your friend bounces up to join. just before you select the song, Kenma silently sighs to himself.

he hates doing too much physical activity, especially things he doesn’t enjoy doing, but he loves you too much to say no.

—

Tobio Kageyama

a sigh and a “oi, stop squirming!” echoes in your ears as Kageyama tries to help you change. he’s been trying to get you into pajamas for the past three minutes, but you’re making it difficult by moving every time he reaches out to remove your clothes.

“but Tobio, it tickles!” a whine is laced into your words, feet kicking lightly.

“grin and bear it then, idiot. you can’t wear this to bed.”

“watch me you a—” you don’t get to finish your sentence as Kageyama lightly pins you down, forcing your clothes off you and tugging on your pajamas right after. “Tobio!”

he grunts in response, tossing your clothes into the laundry basket. you continue to pout and whine as he lifts you off the bed so he can carry you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter. he prepares your toothbrush and turns back to you, offering a ‘open’ as he holds it to your lips. although a part of you wants to refuse, you’re starting to get sleepy, so you oblige, letting him gently brush your teeth, spitting out the toothpaste when told.

you fall in and out of sleep as he goes through your night routine, and the next time you fully come to, he’s lifting you again to bring you to bed. you hum contentedly, grinning at him when he places you back onto your bed. he returns it with a rare smile that he reserves for you and gets under the covers on his side. he lets you find a position that won’t be uncomfortable for your drunk self before he lays with you. it’s quiet for a while, the two of you taking in the comfortable silence until you speak up.

“i’m gonna be so fucking hungover tomorrow.”

beside you, Kageyama snorts, “yeah, you had way too much,” his hand pats your head, “but i’ll take care of you, i suppose. make you some eggs or avocado toast or something.”

“you can barely cook. you burnt water.”

“that was one damn time!” he snapped, giving you a squeeze, “you distracted me!”

“whatever. jus’ don’t mess up my breakfast,”

“i won’t, dumbass. i love you,” you feel his lips on the top of your head and you finally succumb to sleep.

—

Akaashi Keiji

you dart up from your comfortable position on the couch, hand clamping over your mouth. everything is still blurry and your head is pounding, but the need to throw up is fast approaching in your throat.

“Keiji! Keiji i need—” you pause to breathe, hearing rushed footsteps as your boyfriend pops into view from the kitchen.

“darling? what’s wrong?”

“bucket,” you mutter, hand returning to your mouth. thankfully, Akaashi is a quick thinker, and he realizes what’s going on. turning back to the kitchen, he cringes when he realizes the only thing large enough is the freshly washed popcorn bowl. biting his lip, he tries to find something else, anything else, but your whine has him snatching the bowl and running to you.

he gets there in the nick of time, and you lean over the bowl as everything you’ve just ate and drank came out. he rubs your back in comfort but ultimately isn’t too surprised — you drank a lot without the ideal amount of food in your body.

“ew,” you lift your head and Akaashi moves the bowl to the ottoman in front of you in case it’s needed again. “Keiji, why does alcohol tase funny?”

“i don’t know, love,” he sits next to you as he replies, letting your body fall onto his lap. he knows it probably won’t do much, but he places his hand on your stomach and gives it little rubs, hoping it can at least supply comfort.

your friend rounds the corner and lets out a whistle upon seeing the bowl. you hiss and flip them off tiredly, trying to sleep it off.

“how long do you think they’ll be like this?” your friend asks.

“i’m hoping it’s just for two to three hours, any more and i’ll be concerned.”

“well… they really went for it so i’m just hoping they don’t die.”

a huff of agreement comes from Akaashi. before he can say anything else, you’re launching yourself back up and hunching over the bowl. your friend audibly cringes and returns to the party in the kitchen whilst Akaashi resumes rubbing your back. both of you know that this is the last thing either of you want to be doing at a birthday party, especially the one for a specific owl lookalike.

thinking back to how smashed Bokuto is, though, Akaashi doesn’t think he’ll mind if the two of you are missing for a few hours while you spill your guts into your popcorn bowl.

“i think… i think i want a… a new popcorn bowl Keiji,” you pant as you settle back onto his lap. he feels bad, but he can’t help the grin on his face at how small you look and act right now.

“yeah?”

“mhm. don’t wanna think of puke whenever i eat some.”

“understandable,” Akaashi leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. when he sits up fully again, he mentally prepares himself for the next few hours of your misery.

when you next sit up to vomit, Akaashi is there to rub your back. he’s thinking it might not be so bad until a shout from the kitchen has him groaning.

“hey hey HEY, Akaashi! i threw up, man!”

—

Atsumu Miya

you stared blankly at Atsumu as he doubled over laughing, slapping his thigh repeatedly. on the other hand, you had no idea what he found funny enough to cry over.

“why are you laughing? it’s true!” you give his side a gentle kick while carefully trying to avoid spilling your alcoholic beverage.

“yeah, but yer so honest ‘bout it, babe,” he chuckles and grins at you, “yer gonna make me choke or something.”

“good.” you grumble before chugging the rest of your drink. “but really, it’s not my fault they’ve been annoying me recently.” and before Atsumu can laugh again, you whip your head around to glare at your friend.

it takes Atsumu a moment to realize you’ve said the last part loudly, and your friend definitely overheard. they stare back at you, equally as drunk and aggravated, and the blonde panics. it’s true that you and the friend you’re staring down have been on rocky terms with each other the past week or so, but doing something while drunk is the last thing your boyfriend wants you to do. there’s no chance of a physical altercation (neither you nor your friend can move correctly enough for that), but it doesn’t mean words won’t be said.

“oh, c’mon babe, ya don’t mean that.” Atsumu’s laughter is now uneasy as he takes your shoulders in his grasp, trying to turn you away.

“i’m pretty sure i do mean it, Tsumu.” he winces as you swat his hands away.

“what? that i’m annoying? please,” your friend scoffs, “what about you? you’re the annoying one!”

almost immediately, a shouting match ensues. a desperate Atsumu is trying to stop you from drinking more as your friend berates you, and the rest of your friends are trying to calm the one down.

“i wouldn’t be surprised if Miya breaks up with you because you’re so damn needy!”

“HAH?” he sees it in your eyes, and before Atsumu can hold you down, you’re staggering towards your friend. everyone is launched into a full-blown panic as your friend stands up too.

it’s a good thing you’re both drunk, Atsumu decides, because it’s much easier to catch up with you and stop anything from happening. your friends are dragging the one out, thanking you both for a good time, and Atsumu’s arms are caging you against his chest, ignoring the weak punches to his arms you’re doing.

“babe! what were ya thinking?! ya can’t just start something when you’re drunk, it—” he stops when he realizes you’re now crying, gripping his arms as you struggle to stand. “h-hey… Y/N? baby, what’s wrong?” Atsumu sits the both of you down, pulling you into his lap so you can comfortably bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“you—you won’t actually break up with me, right? you don’t… don’t think i’m needy… do you?” his heart breaks. he knows this subject is a sore spot and as much as he tries to show you otherwise, it still plagues your mind from time to time.

“i don’t think you’re needy, Y/N. i check in on ya when i can because i want to, not because i think ya need me to. if they think you’re needy and annoying for wanting to talk to someone when it’ll help, they’re not a good friend.” you sniffle as his fingers rub at your temples. he presses kiss after kiss to the crown of your head, and soon enough, you’re calm.

and when you pull away from the embrace, the genuinely appreciative face you give him sets his heart aflame.

—

Semi Eita

your water bottle in hand, Semi entered the kitchen to refill your water when he noticed his phone light up in his peripherals. he makes sure he finishes his task of getting you more water before moving to where his phone is charging on the island. he hopes it’s not important — the party you’re throwing at your shared apartment is too loud for a phone call. he’s surprised, however, to see a text from you. you, who’s currently smashed and curled on the couch with your drink.

setting your water down, he pulls up his messaging app only to see something that tugs a soft smile onto his face.

my muse

eita where are u :( ily

the silver-haired male looks up and towards the couch where he can see you pouting at your phone. he watches you type and turns his attention back to his phone.

my muse

i can c ur reeding theis coward

ah yes, your drunk spelling. a laugh bubbles in Semi’s throat as he grabs your water bottle and makes his way back to the couch, sitting next to you.

“what’re you doing?” he asks teasingly, passing you your now refilled water.

“texting my boyfriend,” you say as you take the bottle, taking a few sips. “he’s reading the texts but he won’t respond.” he watches you type again.

my muse

eeeitaaaaaaa :(

a grin appears on his face as he finally replies to you.

Semi

yes, my muse?

he hears your squeal of delight from beside him and you perk up. it’s almost as if subconsciously you know he’s right next to you because you stretch your legs over his and settle against his shoulder. while you have no qualms with showing affection to your friends, you’ve never full-on cuddled up to them like this, and Semi can’t hold back his laugh.

his phone buzzes with more misspelled texts from you, and he makes sure to respond so you can keep looking all joyfully cute whenever he does.

#haikyu x reader #kenma x reader #oikawa x reader #akaashi keji x reader #atsumu x reader #semi x reader #kageyama x reader #sugawara x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

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chaos0pikachu · 1 year ago

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nah okay, one of the best top-tier kinnporsche scenes is undoubtedly when Chay got his little gay baby heartbroken and instead of playing tear drops on his guitar like the other bl uni boys he went full on shojo heroine and dyed his hair fucking blueberry blue, snagged an off the rack sleeveless t-shirt, went out with his apparent friend group to hit up a dank busted club, choked down two glasses of lower shelf fireball and then as he's living his best-worst dancing on my own by robyn life and some rando is like hey babygirl lemme whisper in yo ear and tries to give him some off-brand ecstasy that looked more like those dissolvable tablets your parents fed you when you were 11 and tasted like ass paper when

BAM IN COMES KIM WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!! giving off "only I can call chay babygirl and my rights were revoked so your ass DEF can't call him that" energy and smacking away the discount walmart drugs pulling chay away by his goodwill tank top and Rando is like "hey I was shooting my shot!" and kim knocks that man on his ASS with the most emotion he's had the whole show bug eyed and clenched jaw like he was gonna rip old dudes throat out with his teeth pointing his finger at him like "DARE said no drugs!" while Chay's other friends in the back are like "BEYONCE???" (new york voice) b/c kim montana just kidnapped chay and almost dog walked their other friend in the middle of the club

#kinnporsche #kimchay #kim theerapanyakul #chaos pikachu speaks #pikachu's chaotic recaps

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pitchsidestories · 16 days ago

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met someone II Lena Oberdorf x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1452

a/n: dear readers, the poll chose Lena Oberdorf for this oneshot, we hope you're enjoying it. 💖💖

“Lena?”, Lea sounded surprised.

“Lea, this bar sucks!”, the dark-haired woman yelled into her phone

“But that’s there all the hot lesbians are according to Georgia.”, the blonde frowned.

“Georgia is wrong. The thing is full of straight women.”, she observed with growing frustration as a group of them was laughing hysterically about a joke one of the girls had made.

“Wait, but it’s a gay bar are they all celebrating their bachelorette parties?”, the forward asked confused.

“I don’t care what they do here but they’re all here. I think I’ll go home.”, Lena replied grumpily.

To lighten up her best friend’s terrible mood the blonde suggested. “Tomorrow at my place? I’ll cook a lot of hot chocolate and then we’ll watch a stupid romcom?”

“Didn’t you do that today already?”, the brunette teased the older player.

“Uhmm.”, Lea responded awkwardly.

“I know you.”, Lena stated chuckling.

“Well, I can do it two times in a row if you don’t tell our coach.”, she answered sheepishly.

“Okay, I won’t tell him if you don’t tell him that I’m out at a bar.”, the younger footballer offered grinning.

“We’ve a deal. See you tomorrow night!”, Lea chirmed.

“Bye.”, the brunette ended the phone call. Her dark eyes wandering one last time through her surroundings. The bar had its charm, she could admit that. It had a fading elegance to it like an old diva where you could tell that the woman once was a great beauty, something with a lot of history.

The barkeeper had mentioned to her that back in the 1980s Freddie Mercury was a reoccurring guest. Probably it was a bit more colourful back in the day.

For a second Lena tried to imagine how it would’ve looked like when the British rockstar was still alive but when her eyes locked with yours and all she could think about was you. Why hasn’t the football player noticed you before?

“Uhmm hi.”, the brunette greeted you nervously.

“Hey.”, you bit your lip.

“I’m Lena.”, the stranger introduced herself. Her smile was infectious, it immediately calmed you and made you feel less awkward than you’d usually feel in front of a person you just met.

You told her your name and when added. “You’re alone here too? There’s a lot of groups tonight?”

Lonely hearts recognized each other you thought to yourself. Especially in a crowded room where people who came alone were rare.

“Yeah, I was about to go home. But then I saw you and I thought.. I could at least try and shoot my shot.”, Lena winked.

“That’s funny because I was about to leave too until I saw you.”, you confessed without hesitation in your voice.

A smile spread across Lenas face: “Oh really? Looks like this was meant to be.“

You chuckled in response, teasing her: “Are you a romantic, Lena?”

“Not really.“, she shook her head, her smile unwavering.

“So you don’t believe in love at the first sight?”, you asked.

She tilted her head slightly: “I believe in attraction at the first sight.“

You could barely tear your eyes away from that smirk, confident and cool.

“Me too.“

Lena pointed back towards the entrance of the bar and suggested: “Maybe we should stay for another drink?”

You nodded quickly: “Yes.“

Unsurprisingly, the bar was still crowded when the two of you went back inside. Lena led you right towards the counter to two empty bar stools. She had already ordered drinks while you sat down.

“Come on, it’s on me.“, she grinned as she pushed one of the glasses towards you.

You smiled politely at her: “Thank you.“

“You’re welcome.“

You sipped on your drink. Despite its dangerously clear look, you could barely taste the alcohol.

“So, what got you here tonight?”, you asked.

“I moved here a couple of months ago. I guess I’m just looking for someone…“, Lena admitted willingly.

It was more than understandable.

“A big city like Munich can get lonely…“, you mused, absentmindedly swirling the liquid in your glass.

Observing you, she raised an eyebrow: “Speaking from experience?”

“I do…“, you replied but quickly frowned at yourself. That sounded all wrong, you weren’t lonely. “I mean I love my friends…“

“But a romantic relationship is different. I get that.“, Lena completed your thought.

You paused for a moment, not because her interruption felt invasive, but because you felt an immediate connection.

“It is.“

“I feel the same way about that.“, Lena agreed.

You lifted your glass and clinked it against hers: “Cheers to the Lonely Hearts Club.“

Lena laughed: “Who knows. Maybe we’re at the right place at the right time and won’t be part of that club for much longer.“

Your heart skipped a beat, swelling with hope that this could be more than just a last-minute flirt at a bar but your forced it to calm down.

“Do you want to go for a walk after this?”, you asked, once your heart had started pumping blood to your brain again.

Lena checked the clock on her phone and nodded: “Sure.“

“Perfect.“

Both of your glasses emptied quickly.

“Ready to leave?”

“Yes, I’m ready.“, you said as you got up.

“Let’s go.“

Lena followed you outside where you both were met with the chilly breeze of the late night.

Side by side, you started walking against the cold. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk just enough. You watched the shadows dance across Lenas face as you walked to nowhere in particular.

“Do you like living in the city so far?”

“I do. I expected the move to be harder but.. I like it.”, she admitted. You could tell that the young woman meant it. Immediately you asked yourself where Lena had lived before. Possibly somewhere smaller and calmer.

The brunette glanced at you with curiosity. “What about you? Have you lived here for a long time?”

“Yes, I moved here for university. It felt very freeing.”, a shy smile played on your lips as you spoke.

“I can see that.”, she observed in a friendly tone.

“In Munich you can be yourself.”, you added meaningfully.

A moment of realization hit the dark-haired woman unexpectedly. “You came out here, huh?”, Lena recognized.

“I did.”, you nodded. Pictures of the past were flashing behind your eyes. The small Bavarian village you grew up in, the catholic church being the centre of everyday life and gay people were basically non-existent. When you came to Munich it felt like you were able to breathe normally for the first time in forever.

“I think I understand why this city means so much to you.”, the brunette replied.

“You were out before moving?”, you asked her although it was more an observation than a question.

“Yes, for a while. I’m a football player so everyone is very open about it.”, Lena explained blushing.

“Ah a football player.”, you smiled at her mildly.

“Oh. You don’t sound impressed.”, she stated sounding almost a bit disappointed. But from the inside the midfielder felt relived too as sometimes the only thing women found interesting about her was her job.

The Lena off the pitch didn’t interest them at all, the one who loved her friends and family fearlessly, who liked to have fun, party a little and who wanted to take care of a dog again, but knew she wouldn’t have enough time without a partner to help her.

“No, I was just wondering why your arms are so impressive.”, you countered grinning, your fingers intertwined as you kept walking.

“You’re impressed by my arms? You should see my thighs.”, she smirked.

“Can’t see them through those trousers.”, you continued the banter making the woman you felt attracted to break into a warm and loud laughter.

“Sorry that joke went a bit far for a first meeting.”, Lena biting her full lips apologetically.

“A little but I’m already liking what I can see.”, you responded truthfully.

“Oh, you do?”, the football player raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, too much honesty?”, you chuckled.

“No, I like honesty.”, she replied earnestly.

“Same. So, what if I’d like to see you again?”, you questioned bravely, your heart pounding hard against your chest.

“How about tomorrow?” That ask sounded like music to both of your ears. Like this night might came to an end but it was only the beginning for you two.

The following day Lea exclaimed surprised. “Wait, you’re bringing a plus one to our movie night?!”

“Either that or I have to cancel. And you won’t forgive me for that.”, Lena said smiling.

“Okay, you can bring her.”, the striker sighed dramatically.

“You won’t regret it.”, the brunette promised wholeheartedly. Lena got butterflies in her stomach as she thought about you.

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itzmnne-3-111 · 9 months ago

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Tears & Kisses★

Shopping with your big military husband!♡

Husband! Ghost who keeps his hand on the small of your back as you two walk around the mall your eyes on all the pretty stores as you walk past.

Husband! Ghost who won’t go in Victoria Secret with you cause he thinks he’d scare the people inside but he comes in once you tell him he can pick out a new pair of lingerie for you.

Husband! Ghost who rambles on about some comic he saw in a stores window and how he’d sneak off to read it when he was younger when his father wasn’t home. Him not noticing you went to the store to buy him the coming instead of the bathroom like you said.

Husband! Ghost who takes you to Hot topic and Spencer’s so you can get all the little shot glasses and Hello Kitty themed things for your collection but he walks out when he sees a tiddy cup on one of the shelves.

Husband! Ghost who takes you to the food court so you can get some of the ice cream and Barbie themed pretzels you saw in a ad.

Husband! Ghost who takes you shoe shopping and sighs once he buys the both of you pink and black matching crocs with all the jidbitz ofc! (I dunno how to spell it- 😭)

Husband! Ghost who carries you on his back to the car while he carry’s all the bags full of the stuff you bought after you got tired of the walking

(A little bit of smut ♡)

And Husband! Ghost who gives you the best sloppy kisses while he fingers your soft pussy after he saw the comic you bought him with your own money♡

#chubby reader #black reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x black reader #tears & kisses #bimbo!reader #simon riley x bimbo!reader #♡

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scremogirl · 1 year ago

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✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere childhood friend #yandere student council president

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writingwisterias · 18 days ago

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Hello! Can you write a little drabble of Leon saving his best friend(crush) from her crazy ex? Protective Leon for the winnn

I sure can! I hope you enjoy it, thank you for the request- it's a little bit longer than a drabble because I got carried away :)

Leon Kennedy x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship, Crazy Ex, Friends - Lovers, Abusive relationships, Wounds, light violence, Protective Leon, Abuse (Not from Leon), (Partner is a Boyfriend) Please take warning when reading Under the cut! My Dms are open if there's a tag you think I've missed or need someone to talk to :)

Leon grumbled as he opened the door to his apartment, his muscles aching from his last mission. He almost gave up and chose to sleep on the couch but after deciding to give his back some release, he stumbled to the bedroom, allowing the soft comfort of his bed to envelope him as he flopped on it. He groaned in relief, finally shutting his eyes to let the jet lag catch up and fall into a long sleep. Only for his phone to ring in his pocket. The vibrations were angry against his leg, a constant reminder that duty calls. He pried the thing from where it was trapped against his thigh and the bed. He flipped it open bringing the speaker to his ear before grumbling out "Agent Kennedy?"

If you were in dire need of his help you would have laughed or made a joke at how formal he sounded; instead, a whimper left your lips. You brought your hand over your mouth stifling the noise in case you woke up your Ex who had now passed out on the sofa. Broken glass and furniture littered the room, your arm having small scraps where some had caught you in the ordeal. You didn't mean to anger him, you were just asking what he wanted for dinner which distracted him and caused him to lose focus on his game. Apparently that resulted in a full-blown tantrum, he threw anything he could at you whilst spitting insults in your face. You cleared your throat before speaking again, your voice barely above a whisper - half worried that the phone wouldn't even pick it up. "Leon, can you come and get me, please? I need help"

Leon shot up immediately, any weariness that lingered on his body gone at the sound of your voice. "Hey, where are you? I'm on my way" He said, checking his pockets for his keys before leaving his house. He opted for the bike, choosing speed to get there faster. "I'm at his house, he just...I don't know Leon, he just got mad. I need to leave whilst he's asleep" You whimpered. The fear in your voice broke his heart, his brain already raking through all the roads to get there faster. "Wait for me outside okay? I'm on the bike so I'll be there as fast as I can"

You tried to go outside, but the creaking of the front room woke him. Leon could hear the arguments when he pulled up outside, the front door cracked open ever so slightly. Without hesitation he barged in, his footsteps noisy as the glass crunched beneath his boots. You couldn't tell if the sight of him terrified you or gave you relief. You knew he would come, he always did your Leon. Perhaps this time he would stay, chose you to talk about everything he went through instead of pushing you away. You got tired of waiting. Waiting for him to decide what to do, what he wanted. The two of you got into an argument a few months ago, he was drunk and begging for your forgiveness. Perhaps you should have accepted his offer, his promises of self-improvement. Then maybe you wouldn't be trapped here, against the wall with the breath of your supposed lover on your neck as his dirty hands pinned you against the wall. Did he not notice the tears that trickled down your cheeks? The way your frame was shaking?

Leon acted before he thought it through, dragging him away by the collar of his shirt. He stumbled to the ground with a loud thud, his body a heap against the couch. "Back off" Leon growled, his body stiff as he stood in front of you daring the man you claimed to love to fight. His eyes were piercing, and his brows lowered as he stared. It was almost terrifying but in a beautiful way. You looked at the small wrinkles on his face, the slight stubble that had grown in over his time away. He smelled of gunpowder, you could feel the heat from him as he moved back shielding you as the dickhead rose again. His steps were swayed as he moved towards Leon, his fist clenched as he prepared to swing but Leon was faster. One hit and he thumped to the floor again now unconscious and with a black eye.

Leon turned to you, his hands gentle as they landed on your biceps. His eyes softened as he looked you over, taking into account all the small cuts and bruises that now littered your skin. Instead of speaking, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you holding you close. Your body slumped against him as you began to cry, your hands desperately clutching at him. You could hear his coos as he tried to calm you down. "I've got you"

"He won't hurt you anymore, I've got you now"

Upon returning to his place, he sat you on the sofa before leaving to find a medical kit. You scanned the room spotting the duffle bag abandoned at the door along with all of his other gear. Guilt ate at your chest as you realised he had just returned from another grueling mission. Leon walked back in, his browns pinched together in concentration and concern...the two looked so similar you often found it hard to tell the difference. "I'm sorry I called you..you look like you just got back" you mumbled looking at your hands instead of him. You felt the sofa dip as he sat down, the medical supplies laid out on the table. His touch was feather like as he gently grasped your hand, pulling it into his lap forcing you to look at him. "How long has he been like this?"

His voice cracked as he spoke the words, his own guilt at letting a petty argument get in the way. He should have checked on you, messaged you, begged you to talk to him but then maybe that would have made things worse, for that was why your ex was angry in the first place. The two of you had always been close, meeting in the mess of Raccoon City you shared trauma allowing you to rely on each other. Everything Leon went through was so you and Sherry didn't have to, and you turned him away after Spain because your partner was jealous.

"A few months, I thought he would change...this was the worst"

The tears threatened to spill from your waterline as you held his gaze. Apologies ready to spill from your lips the more you looked at him. Leon was angry you didn't call him, angry you were going through all of this to add onto the shit the world had already thrown at you. Yet your kindness never wavered, never changed. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, you can stay here"

He returned his attention to the small cuts, making sure they were clean or putting witch hazel on the bruises to help them heal. His touch was never firm, only showing how caring he was. Leon looked at you when he finished, unspoken words and emotions held in his gaze again. You felt your heart flutter as you looked at him. "Leon..."

He silenced the rest of your sentence with a kiss, a quick one, almost as if he hadn't meant to do it. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean...I mean I did...but-"

You cut him off with another kiss, this time your fingers weaved into his blond strands. The events of the day melted into passion as he forced his love, promises of devotion into the kiss. Promises of a better future

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x you

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skzdarlings · 2 months ago

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deleted scene ; sharing a bed with lee know

original sharing a bed one-shot with lee know.

author's note: this is incredibly random, but this is a deleted scene from the lee know instalment of the sharing a bed series. it got cut when i decided to start the story after their big fight rather than show the build-up, but this scene was really cute and i always missed it lol so i am randomly posting it now.

content info: just fluff, some reader crying, and minho being secretly whipped.

word count: 890 words.

“Oh no!”

Minho looks at you over the top rim of his glasses, his mouth full of food. His phone falls forgotten on the wooden table.

Pouting, you push your salad towards him.

“They put in the red onion,” you say with more misery than a salad miscommunication warrants. Much to your horror and his immense bemusement, tears fill your eyes. “I said no onion.”

He chokes on his food, trying to swallow quickly so he can talk. You wipe a stray tear while he hacks into a napkin. His own eyes are now watery from his spontaneous pork-induced brush with death, but he reaches across the picnic table to wipe your face first. He’s Minho so it’s more of a gentle slap on each cheek, but you take it with gratitude.

“It’s okay,” he says, firmly but carefully. Your behaviour is probably confusing him as you are notoriously composed and pragmatic by nature, so red onion is the last thing he would expect you to cry about. “Just ask for another one.”

“I can’t,” you say with a wobbly bottom lip. You shove the salad further away like a petulant child. “The line is too long now. We don’t have time to wait for our turn then wait for them to make a new one. We have to be back on the highway in no less than twenty minutes or else we aren’t going to beat the rush, and if we don’t beat the rush then we could be late getting to the camp site, and then we could lose our reservation. And I can’t eat this salad because the onion is so strong that it overwhelms everything else. It’s fine.”

It’s fine. It’s fine. Just one more thing gone wrong this week. You didn’t cry about the guy. You didn’t cry about the job. You are crying about the red onion. It’s fine.

Minho takes off his reading glasses as if looking at you directly will help him make sense of your nonsense. He doesn’t say anything, just stares with his dark brows knit together. Wisps of dyed blonde hair and their darker roots flutter under the circle of his backwards cap, a cool wind brushing over your picnic spot.

Of course the weather sucks too. You and your best friend finally have a shared weekend off and you decided to go camping, so of course it’s been overcast and grey for the whole drive so far.

Of course the rest stop cafeteria put red onion in your salad.

“Okay,” Minho says after a minute of just staring at you. He mutely slides his plate toward you and takes your salad for himself. When you try to protest, he threatens you with a plastic knife. “Eat,” he says, pointing to the dish with the knife. He digs into the salad without further commentary, returning his glasses to his face and picking up his phone to keep reading.

You stare despondently at the dish for a moment. Then that bottom lip wobbles more, and more, and more, then suddenly—

Minho drops his phone again, startled when you burst into tears.

“Ahh,” he says, reaching for you with both hands this time. He tries to reach past your fingers to cup your face, but you are rubbing your eyes and also bouncing with your hiccups. He eventually gets a semi-stable grip of your chin, thumb pressing hard to tug your face to his when you look away. “Baby,” he says, “what the fuck?”

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say, still hiccupping. “You just l-l-love me so mu-u-uch!”

“Um,” he says, frowning. “Sorry. Here.” He swaps your plates back. “I hate you. Fucking bitch. Eat your fucking onion salad.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. It coaxes you out of hiding, your tear-streaked face turning to his willingly.

Minho can be loud and goofy, and he’s something of a lunatic around his guy friends, but you and him have always had a quiet, easy friendship. You are the epitome of regimented and organized, not to mention the very definition of introverted, but he’s so easy-going that your flow as a duo has always been seamless. You can sit together for hours in silence and not feel awkward once. His presence alone brings you comfort. He has seen many sides of you over the years. Annoyed, happy, content, frustrated, disappointed. You frown a lot. You don’t tend to overreact.

Bawling your eyes out is a new one.

“I’m fine,” you say with a sigh.

“Oh, well, if you’re fine,” he says dryly, picking up his phone and pretending to return to it.

When you giggle, he smiles just that bit, putting the phone down again. He is clearly out of his element as you seldom require active solace in any sense of the word, so he just sits there flexing his hand and staring at you.

“Should I… kill them?” he asks uncertainly, pointing over his shoulder to the food stand.

You laugh again, the sound still a bit shaky. You shake your head.

“Are you sure?” Minho asks. “We could probably run them over on our way out.”

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m fine. I guess I’m just a bit worked up.”

“Hmm.” He switches your plates again, giving you his food. “Try being worked down for a bit.”

“Okay,” you say with a snort. “I will. Thanks.”

He smiles a little smile, the kind reserved just for you. He looks satisfied he has done his job for now.

You can't help but smile back.

#not gonna overly tag this one. just a fun post for followers who liked that one shot haha #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader

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livinginshambles · 1 year ago

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Preview: No, you listen to me | James Potter x Fem!Reader

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Note: Not proofread, grammar mistakes, probably. I feel bad for making you guys wait so long, but uh, full fic will take me a moment.

Masterlist Part one. Part three

----------------------------------

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud, the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out had. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of. Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Full fic.

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter angst #james potter fluff #marauders era #marauders x reader #james potter fanfiction

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myuminji · 2 years ago

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Just a comic about two people catching up again [Angel AU]

[ID: A Trigun comic of Wolfwood after his death in Trigun Maximum.

Abbreviated ID: Wolfwood is now an angel with wings and a halo tied to his grave. He cannot be seen or heard by others, but Livio visited his grave and mostly filled him in on the finale, and Wolfwood waits for Vash to show up. When he does, Wolfwood is stunned and worried by his black hair, though he deems Vash fine when he pulls out drinks for them both.

Vash pours the drinks and talks. He confesses that he killed someone and calls himself a coward and the worst, apologizing for being selfish and not saving Wolfwood. Wolfwood angrily shouts that everything was his decision, and Vash is an idiot for blaming himself.

He says that Vash has done so much for Wolfwood and for others, and he calls Vash brave. Vash falls asleep with tears in his eyes, but he seems lighter when he wakes up. Vash leaves, promising to return, and Wolfwood says that he'll "watch him from afar... again." The title is "#1 'What happened to your hair?'". Full ID below readmore in 21 paragraphs.

The comic starts with a dark, noise-filter panel of the Punisher being used as Wolfwood's gravestone, with the quote "Nicholas D. Wolfwood has died" written over it.

Below that is Wolfwood, who has wings and a halo. He sits pensively and narrates, "At least, that's what everyone has come to believe, including me. Yet here I am, still roaming on this damn barren planet... But I wouldn't say I'm quite alive anymore. Since I couldn't feel hunger or thirst like I used to." He thinks, "'Ghost,' like those horror stories was it?"

He narrates over sketchy panels of himself frowning while floating next to his grave and yelling at Livio. "There, are other things I found that fits the term, like how I can't bring myself to far too far from my grave, or how others can't see me at all." We see Livio tearing up and saying "Nico-nii..." while Wolfwood furiously waves his arms and shouts, "I am!! Here!!!!"

Livio is shown speaking with a teary smile while Wolfwood leans against Punisher and listens. Wolfwood says, "Livio is the first and only person I've met so far. And luckily, he was quite a storyteller. I was able to get a grasp of the situation, and its aftermath. And what happened to him in the end."

Livio smiles and says, "It's been three months ever since... But even if we couldn't get ahold of him now, I'm sure he'll come back to you someday." Wolfwood narrates, "—And knowing that idiot, he probably would."

A close-up of Vash's coat in the wind as Wolfwood narrates, "So it didn't come as a surprise to me when he visited my grave. I'd even thought up of things to say when we meet again. Everything was thrown out of the window when he appears, of course. I could vividly remember the one question that burns in my head..."

Wolfwood looks shocked as Vash, hair fully black, waves cheerfully, "Yo! It's been a while, hasn't it? Wolfwood." Below the two floats the question: "#1 'What happened to your hair?'"

Wolfwood sweats, "Spikey, your hair. Doesn't it mean... Are you okay???" Vash smiles sheepishly, "Ah, I hope you're not mad I didn't come sooner, don't haunt me please..." Wolfwood shouts, "That's not the problem right now!!" Vash pulls something out and exclaims, "But look what I got for you!! Alcohol!!!" Wolfwood shouts, "What sort of person do you see me as!?"

Vash excitedly pulls out a bottle and two shot glasses. "It's not the only reason why I'm late, but it did took me a month to hunt this down... I recall you said you wanted to try them, right?" Wolfwood buries his face in his hands and says, "Where the hell are your priorities... You know what, yeah. I'm not gonna ask anymore since you look fine."

Vash smiles a bit tiredly and says, "Hmm,, I'm glad this place hasn't turn to ruins yet~ I've still got lots I need to tell you that's happened out there! And I thought it's better to talk about it with drinks on the side…" He clinks two glasses together. "So, cheers! ..."

He and Wolfwood are both awkwardly silent, and Vash sweats and frowns nervously. Then he pours a glass onto the ground, and Wolfwood furiously shouts, "D'ya really expect me to drink off the ground!? Stupid needle noggin!!!!!"

Vash laughs sheepishly, and he speaks via empty speech bubbles while Wolfwood listens, drinking with a small smile. Vash says, "... And when that happened I..." He drops his gaze and says between long pauses, "I..... When that happened......" Wolfwood watches him seriously as he says, "... Say. Wolfwood, is this how you've felt all the time?"

Vash looks down sadly. "You I see, I... killed someone in the end." He laughs, eyebrows drawn in. "I guess you're right. I am bound to choose someday." He takes another sip, then downs it and falls backwards. "Isn't it funny? That I've called you a coward once for killing... But guess who's the coward now~? It's always been me, isn't it?"

Vash lies on his back and laughs. "... Haha. I wonder if you're laughing too. I really am the worst, aren't I?" Wolfwood looks down as Vash continues, "You've done so much for me, but all I've caused you are troubles. I was selfish, always chasing after my own goals... That you couldn't ask for my help. That I couldn't save you. Just what kind of friend am I?"

Vash scrubs his eyes with an arm and says shakily, "Sorry... Wolfwood... I'm so sorry..." A close-up panel of his mouth shows Wolfwood saying, "... Just so you know--" Expression unimpressed, he exclaims, "There's no way in hell I'm accepting that lousy apology! You drunkard!"

He stands up and seems to kick Vash, who's still on the ground and mostly out of sight. Wolfwood demands, "Why are you even sorry for something like that, huh?? I chose my own path. It was all my decision! How many times do I say it to get it stick in that thick head of yours? Stop. Blaming. Yourself. For the things. You've not done. Idiot! Stupid spikey hair!!"

Vash's face is cut off, but a tear in his eye can be seen as he weakly says, "... oof.. wood..." Wolfwood looks tired and sighs, "... Ha... Don't feel bad about me. Until when will you realise just how much you've done for us? You've done more than enough for me, Needle Noggin."

The perspective zooms out to focus on the sky and two moons, including the fifth moon. Wolfwood's wings and the Punisher can just be seen at the bottom. Wolfwood says, "And you're brave, to go against what you've been taught your whole life. You're not a coward. You faced them until the end. So don't sell yourself short like that next time, okay?" We see Vash's face, smiling with tears in his closed eyes. Wolfwood concludes: "I'll get mad."

Wolfwood narrates, "—He passed out right after for the whole night on the cold ground. I realised how little I could help in the situation." He tries to drape his coat over Vash, sweating, and wonders, "Wouldn't it just pass through ...?"

Time passes, and Vash gets up with a sneeze and rubs his eyes. Wolfwood watches him with his eyebrows raised, and Vash laughs quietly and a bit nervously. Wolfwood narrates, "As if he'd heard my voice, a burden seems to be lifted off his shoulder when he woke up. That, or maybe he'd forgotten what happened last night. He was quick to take his leave right after.

"And so, Vash the Stampede went on a journey with a promise." Vash waves goodbye, turning to leave with his bag in hand. "I'll be sure to bring back more stuff next time!! See you later!" Wolfwood concludes, "While I watch him from afar... again." Wolfwood sits below the Punisher and waves back, saying with bemusement, "Has he never heard the phrase 'do not disturb the death?' He really throws me off..." The title is named, and it says "/ END." End ID]

[link to Image ID reblog post!]

#''if you can't go to see the world I'll bring the world to you instead'' post trimax vash who often comes back to ww bringing things he foun #and it piles up. alot.#i have up to 8 chp of these tho idt i can draw them all haha #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #trimax spoilers #trigun maximum spoilers #vashwood #centric #/p

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fairyysoup · 17 days ago

Text

the devil i know

chapter nine: need your body when my fire's cold

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: With the full moon tomorrow, you're feeling a little more pent up than usual. Perfect time for your ex to reappear.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!, 🚨reader has gone into heat🚨, oral (f receiving), piv sex, bondage with a paranormal twist, (being gagged and bound by snake tattoos that are telepathically controlled by a demon), magic, possessive behavior, past abusive relationship, attempted assault/murder, death threats, animal death mention, being held at gunpoint, immortal character(s) get shot but it's ok, gore, blood (lots of it in fact), minor character death, trauma, panic attacks, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The day before the full moon, you start to feel feverish.

And not just a normal, regular fever either. Everything feels hot and pulsing, like your body is filled with some unseen electricity that’s surging through you, lighting your nerves on fire. It’s been torturing you all day. All through your shift at the diner, all through the long, grueling hours that it has taken for you to get home. Waves of heat rushing through your body, drenching you from your head to your toes in sweat.

You wondered, at first, if Eddie was possessing you again, but it felt like your body answered that question for you– with a gush of arousal between your legs at the mere thought of him, soaking your panties. You didn’t hear his voice in your head, didn’t feel any sort of weird jerking of your limbs or touches on your skin that shouldn’t have been there. He isn’t possessing you.

You wondered if, maybe, you were somehow channeling that same strange magic again– the kind that he showed you how to use, to transform a water glass into a flower vase. That had felt so concentrated, though, in one area of your body. This is an all over ache, an all over fever. It doesn’t feel like the magic that you’ve used so far.

So… why are you feeling like this?

You considered calling out of work sick, but when you got to the diner and you looked around you, absolutely no one seemed enticing. Like your body was recoiling from anyone else, you physically shuddered at the prospect of anyone touching you but Eddie.

Which would normally be fine, except your body is going insane. Heat below the surface of your skin makes you perspire. The moon hangs overhead, bright white in the sky and looming like it sees you, and knows what you’re going to do tomorrow night.

How you’re going to give yourself over to Eddie, fully. Completely. More than you even have yet– if you can count it, it’ll be the first time you two honestly fuck, and you can’t contain yourself at the thought. Your skin flames, your heart pounds. You feel like climbing up the walls. You’re excited and you’re nervous, and just thinking about the prospect makes… whatever’s happening to your body ruin yet another pair of your underwear.

When you get home again, you run a cold bath. You tear at your clothes as you go, moving through your apartment. Dante is nowhere to be found, somewhere off in the aether doing his hellhound business again. You’re getting used to him coming and going just as often as his previous owner does.

When you sink into a cold bath, it’s like heaven on your overheated skin. You don’t know if this is technically good for you– you wonder if your body can handle this elevated temperature. Considering you can make coffee boil with your touch and telepathically transform glassware, you’re having trouble telling what’s within the realm of possibility, these days.

Inevitably, your thoughts turn to Eddie. Where he is, what he’s doing. If he’s feeling the same thing that you are, this infernal heat that’s taking over your body and making it difficult to focus on anything other than the thought of him.

Your wandering fingers dance over your wet skin and you dream that they could be his, and it’s bad enough that you’re wanting him so much you can practically taste it. But you still haven’t quite faced the realization that started nagging at you just days ago.

You love him.

This was not the plan. Ideally, you figure you would have fucked the demon on the obligatory days once a month, and otherwise you would have gone about your life, business as usual. But you guess that making a deal with a demon doesn’t exactly lend itself to business as usual. And you sure as hell didn’t expect your demon to be so… so perfect.

Perfect for you. A fucking nerd with a heart of gold, even if he does keep running around trying to maim people who hurt you. He’s adorable, he has a sense of humor. He brought you an entire garden’s worth of flowers– they’re still on your counter, miraculously still fresh nearly a week later, half of them stuffed in the vase that he helped you create before he put you back to bed. Tucked you in and kissed your forehead and then fucked off like he knew he’d made you cranky.

You think you’d do anything for him, if he asked.

If a deal with a demon is something like a marriage– and your deal includes the stipulation of sex– wouldn’t it make sense for you to fall for him? Isn’t this all just a stereotypical marriage of convenience trope wrapped up in a little supernatural bow?

Whatever the reason, rational or no, you’re falling for him. That pyroclastic flow of his that you’d sworn would burn you alive when you first met him to make the deal– it's caught you, and it’s completely decimating you. Covering you in ash and boiling your blood. You can hear it roaring in your ears.

…Actually, that’s just you boiling your bath water.

“Shit.”

You leap up, splashing water across the floor. The paint on the sides of the tub is bubbling up and peeling with the heat of the water as it rolls like a jacuzzi and threatens to spill over. You’ve been boiling it as you lay in it, thinking about you and your little demon problem.

Well, that’s the first time you’ve ever managed to do that. So much for cooling off.

You wrap yourself in a towel, and you hope that you won’t manage to set that on fire, or something. Eddie’s mark on your arm twinges, pulsing beneath your skin. You need to calm down, before you manage to burn the fucking house down.

As you pull on a thin nightshirt– something breathable, which hopefully won’t make you sweat too much in your sleep– there’s a knock at your door. You drag your hands down your face and heave a long, extended sigh. You just want to sleep. You just want to wait out the day tomorrow until you have to meet Eddie at the crossroads, and then…

And then you hope for some kind of relief to your frustration.

There’s another knock, more forceful this time. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and steel yourself to go answer the door. Whoever the fuck is bothering you at eight o’clock in the evening better have a good fucking reason.

As you cross your living room to the door, there’s a scuffling from the direction of the couch, and then Dante emerges from the darkness. At first as a shadow, and then he materializes into his full Rottweiler self, and barks. Very, very loudly.

“Dante!” you yelp, trying to shuffle toward the door as the dog jumps at you, barking and trying to bite at the bottom of your nightshirt. “Baby, I know, I’m happy to see you too, but I gotta get the d–”

The door is knocked open just as soon as you unlock it, throwing you back and onto the floor. Dante skids toward the door, snarling, growling and baring his teeth at whoever it is.

“Andy?” You look up to find your ex closing the door behind him. “I thought you were– what are you doing here?”

“Look at what you did to me, you bitch,” Andy snaps, and turns toward you.

You’re a little too distracted to do what he says, though, considering he’s pointing a gun in your face.

Adrenaline cuts through your body like a knife, making your limbs tremble. You can hear Dante barking, distantly, like from underwater. You feel nauseous, a roiling in your gut about to spring forth. Ohhh, this is a bad time to be having a panic attack. “Andy, I don’t know what you’re–”

“Look at what you did to me!” Andy’s shouting makes you tear your eyes fearfully away from the gun. You don’t want to look at his face, but you do. You do, and it makes your stomach lurch even worse– because only half of it is there anymore.

The cops who came to the scene said that Andy had sustained third degree burns, but they didn’t say where. You figured they were probably on his arms, maybe his chest and his legs, since he was reaching for the car door. You didn’t know that half his face had been taken off with it. Clearly, his time in the ICU hasn’t been enough for the wounds to heal properly; the skin is still blistered and oozing in places. His nose a burnt nub, his lips curled back from his teeth in a permanent smile that makes him resemble the phantom of the opera.

Okay. This is really bad. You’ve never tried calling for Eddie before, and you don’t know how to consciously do it– you’ve just done it on accident a few times, and he’s answered. You hope that he answers now.

Eddie. I really really need your help right now. Please.

“Shut that fucking dog up before I put a bullet in it,” Andy snarls, gesturing to Dante with the gun.

“Dante,” you whisper desperately, reaching for the angry, over-protective Rottweiler. “Down. Down, baby, it’s okay.”

Dante backs off, but only a bit.

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK.

“You should be in the hospital,” you tell Andy, for lack of anything else to say. You can’t even begin to understand why he’s out, looking the way that he is. He shouldn’t be walking, shouldn’t be talking with the amount of damage he’s taken.

Andy shakes his head. It makes a disgustingly wet clicking sound, and you wonder if somehow, some way, he’s been magicked out of there by your paranormal circumstances. Wouldn’t it just be the comeuppance you deserve? You wonder if tonight is the full moon, and you miscalculated the timing of the ritual. Have you unintentionally sealed your fate? Not held up your end of the bargain?

“I left,” Andy tells you, and his voice is grating and rough with the damage his throat has taken. “As soon as I woke up– couldn’t let you get away with it. Fuckin’ witch.”

You knew Andy to be a hypocrite, sure. He roped you in by claiming to hate the bigots in town who harassed you. He would talk shit about church and about religion, and he could honestly give a fuck about scripture. You’re not sure that he’s ever actually picked up a bible. But then, he could also be known to break up dinners and conversations with the same vapid evangelical rhetoric. “Prepare to meet Jesus your Maker, my friend, because the end of the world is coming in three weeks! Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife… or girlfriend, or whatever.”

It took a while for these moments to really pile up– a few too many dinners and gatherings embarrassingly ruined until it was too much to laugh off as a joke– and ultimately it was what spurred you to finally try to “end” the relationship. This was all, usually, a way of peacocking and showing off his supposed “piety” to the other people in town. Always on a high-horse about something. Usually it stemmed from his intolerance of other people’s idiosyncrasies. But you wouldn’t have expected him to fall into the hunt-the-witch category.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” you retort, starting to scoot backwards on your hands, slithering slowly away from the gun in your face. Eddie’s mark on your wrist throbs, your hands heating up and beginning to scorch the floorboards you crawl across.

“I know that you did.” He shakes the gun, as though it’s going to get his point across further. “I know– I know you fucking did something. Black magic or some– some demonic shit! I felt it! Look at my fucking arm!”

Andy brandishes the arm that you grabbed, when he tried to cut into Eddie’s mark on your wrist. The welt is still angry and red, the clear imprint of your hand raised on his skin.

“You did this to me,” Andy repeats, looking more and more crazed. His blue eyes are wide and flashing angrily as he gestures with his gun. “You fucking cursed me, you marked me with your– your Devil’s mark! I’m gonna make you take it back, put things right. Take it back or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Dante leaps forward again at the jerk of Andy’s gun, putting himself between you and the weapon.

You shake your head, trying to figure out how to calm Andy down, or disarm him. You’re a witch, right? You’re a witch, and you have some kind of crazy power in you– you can transform objects with your mind. It can’t be so hard to just… turn the gun into a rubber chicken. Right?

Rubber chicken, rubber chicken. You can’t focus well enough. Dante is still barking, baring his teeth and growling at Andy. “I don’t know why your car exploded–”

“SHUT THAT FUCKING DOG UP!” Andy roars, and before you can even tell Dante not to, the hellhound’s eyes glow red and he springs for Andy’s legs.

You scream as the gun goes off, your heart plummeting into your stomach. A sob escapes you, tears pricking at your eyes and flowing over onto your cheeks. For a second, you fear that Andy has killed yet another dog in front of you, that you’ll have to bury Dante beside Lacey in the woods. In your panic, you somehow forget that Dante isn’t from your world, and a spirit can’t be killed twice.

You leap forward to grab at Dante, to hold him if he’s been hurt– but Dante isn’t even fazed. The bullet passes through the dog’s body, bounces off the floor and ricochets off into the living room somewhere. He sinks his teeth into Andy’s thigh, tearing into the flesh without remorse. He bears down, snarling, blood spurting from the wound and beginning to drip onto the floor.

Andy howls, and kicks his leg until he’s able to fling Dante off. Dante skids across the floor, and comes to a stop just in front of a pair of black boots, materializing out of the darkness.

A hand drops down, fingers clad with chunky silver rings, and pets the growling hellhound’s blood covered head.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, just as his form solidifies from the shadows. He lifts his hand and sucks the blood from his finger, gazing up through his bangs at Andy.

“Eddie.” Just one look at him, and warmth floods your system. You go to stand and throw yourself at him, but Andy points his gun at you again. He isn’t looking very good– cringing and clutching at his wounded leg, the hand with the gun shaking as he holds it towards you.

“This is your little fucking boyfriend?” He tries to sound intimidating, but his voice wobbles as Eddie lifts himself to his full height, fixing him with an unblinking stare.

Little. Right.

“Sure am.” Eddie tilts his head. “And you’re a piece of shit who’s had too many second chances.”

You watch as Eddie steps forward, and the gun swivels toward him. Andy shouts, “DON’T MOVE! I’ll shoot you, motherfucker!”

“Shoot me while you’re talking, it’ll save time.” Eddie pauses, and bends down to take your burning hand. He gingerly wraps his arm around you and lifts you up easily, like you weigh nothing.

You stand on shaky legs, squeezing his hand as Eddie presses his lips to your feverish forehead. Relief spreads from his kiss like the antidote to a poison, calming your panicked mind and urging your tense muscles to relax. Sniffling, your voice is sticky with tears when you whisper, “I called you.”

“I know,” Eddie says apologetically, wiping your tears away with his clean hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so lo–”

“Aww aren’t you two just so fucking cute,” Andy sneers, interrupting him. “Guess I’ll just have to kill both of you. I bet you’re just as into that devil shit as she is. Couple of fucking freaks, the both of you.”

Eddie scowls, turning his head to glare at Andy. He squeezes your hand, guiding you to hold onto the counter before he lets you go. “You’re so right. We’re perfect for each other. He doesn’t even know how right he is, does he?”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out– you’re just sort of staring, dumbfounded, as Eddie turns to advance towards Andy.

The gun fires three times, and Eddie stops in place. He puffs out his cheeks and groans, turning toward you with his hands on his hips. Wide-eyed, Eddie looks at you with a perturbed expression. “He shot me.”

Three bullet holes litter his chest, ripped into the fabric of his Metallica t-shirt. There’s no blood that you can see, but the bullets force their way out of his skin, dropping to the ground with a quiet plink, plink, plink.

You blink, and you set your jaw. Beyond the fear, and the tears, your mind burns with malice. “He did.”

“What the fuck?” Andy, looking afraid all of a sudden, like he only just realized that he’s in over his head, starts backing away. “What– what the hell is happening–”

“What, what, what?” Eddie hisses mockingly, his black eyes flashing with amber sparks. He bites his lip as he gazes at you. “I should show him, right?”

Show him…? You don’t even care what Eddie’s suggesting, really. You’re just beyond mad and vibrating with it– nerves and anger and searing infernal heat that’s starting to sizzle the very sweat on your skin, the longer you look at your demon.

You nod at Eddie. “Do it, baby.”

Eddie grins. His eyes catch fire as he turns back to Andy, and grabs him by his throat, lifting him into the air with one bloody hand. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that, buddy. Now you’ve made her mad. And I do whatever she wants.”

You watch as his shirt and jacket melt away, baring his chest and a pair of broad, pale shoulders that are covered in the faded scar tissue and tattoos, creeping up onto his neck. The tattoos swirl and move on his skin, like they’re alive– snakes curling and slithering up each arm, bat wings wiggle like they want to pop out of the skin and take flight. Skulls scream and laugh, spiders crawl. There are so many it’s like a second skin, almost as if he carries the entirety of Hell on his body.

His hands grow long claws, his head a pair of horns. And then, just like you thought they would, the wings unfurl. Enormous, they extend from his back, inky black and pointed. Taking up what little space there is in your entryway.

Your breath stutters in your chest, realizing that this is what Eddie’s true form is. The one that he said you wouldn’t like, if you saw it.

He was very very wrong about that.

Andy kicks, his blistered skin oozing at the pressure of Eddie’s hand squeezing him, and he howls at the sudden contact. Dropping the gun so that he can grab at Eddie’s arm, he gurgles, “What the hell are you?”

Eddie’s eyes burn as red as the blood on his hands when he bares his fangs. “The Devil.”

Oh. His voice. It has that same deep cadence, but it sounds smoky, almost rumbling directly from his throat rather than out of his mouth. It sends another wave of heat through your body, the same kind that boiled your bathwater and burned the shape of your hands into your floorboards.

There’s a swelling in your head and in your chest that’s starting to creep down into your stomach. A vibrating in your bones that you feel will split you apart. You groan quietly, clutching your middle.

Eddie unhinges his jaw. All the way, his mouth practically splits his face in half to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth that shouldn’t realistically fit there. His long, forked tongue extends to lick Andy’s burned flesh, roaring at him as Andy shrieks. Eddie pulls Andy close, as though he means to swallow him whole.

But a wet crackling noise rips through the room, and then Andy explodes.

He bursts like a water balloon, splattering blood and bits of flesh all over the walls, all over Eddie, all over you. You stand tensely, open mouthed and with your shoulders pulled to your ears as it rains down from the ceiling, splashing onto your floor. In the silence afterwards, you hear Dante stop growling and start gnawing on a piece of Andy’s flesh that dropped to the floor beside him.

Eddie’s jaw closes and melts back into his normal face, his wings closing and retreating into a tattoo on his back. He blinks, stunned, and then turns his head and looks at you in shock. He raises his eyebrows, his face completely, comically red to match the color of the volcanic flames in his eyes. A piece of torn flesh hangs in his hair.

And that sick feeling you’d been having is suddenly fucking gone.

“Did–” You stop, smacking your lips as metallic blood oozes into your mouth. Your hands are clenched, held up by your face like you’re trying to shield yourself from it. Not that it’s helping. “Did I do that?”

Eddie nods slowly, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. He starts to laugh.

You shake your head, clapping your bloody hands over your mouth. It makes a wet slapping noise. “No– Eddie, don’t fuck with me right now–”

“Sweetheart… You blew him to smithereens!” Eddie cackles, rushing forward to wrap his arms around you. You squeal as he lifts you, jumping up and down with you like you just won first prize. “That was so fucking metal! Holy shit!”

You grab onto him with shaking hands, pressing your face into his neck. His bare skin is warm and slick, his scars bumpy against your cheek. “I thought I was just having a panic attack…”

Your demon, your self-proclaimed boyfriend, giggles like a child on Christmas and twirls you around. “That’s what he gets! That’s what anyone fucking gets for messing with my baby…”

“I was just so angry,” you tell him shakily, clutching to him like a lifeline. “He fucking shot you and he shot Dante and I– I just wanted him gone.”

“Well, he’s gone now.” Eddie snickers, pressing his blood soaked forehead against yours. “He’s gone now, you fucked him up so bad. Attagirl.”

You hold Eddie’s face and kiss him earnestly, fiercely, with everything you have in you. He grunts, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you flush against him, kicking up a squelching wet noise that would throw you off if you were thinking clearly. That same heat that’s been bothering you all day blasts forth, setting you aflame. A beast howls in your chest, snarling and vying for his attention.

“I just wanted to protect you, Eddie,” you tell him between frantic kisses. “You’re mine. No one touches what’s mine.”

He takes a slow breath and releases it with a warm purr deep in his chest. Your hand strokes his cheek and he nuzzles into it, his glowing eyes fluttering shut, and you feel an inordinate amount of pride welling up inside you.

You’re holding a demon in your hands– a real, actual demon– and he’s purring like a kitten over it. He has claws that could kill you with a single swipe, fangs that could tear flesh from bone, power beyond believability, and he’s yours.

Your kisses turn heated and deep. You scratch your nails down his chest toward his belt, pressing yourself further against him. Eddie chuckles against your lips.

“You know, you have a habit of trying to fuck me whenever Andy gets blown up,” Eddie points out, pulling back just slightly with a lopsided grin. “Should do it more often.”

“God, I’ve been so horny for you all day,” you hiccup, already frustrated as your fingers slip across the metal, fumbling and awkward as you try to undo it quickly. “I don’t know what it is, I feel like I’m gonna explode if I don’t have you right now.”

“You want me like this?” Eddie asks. Even though his voice is deep and sultry, there’s a touch of insecurity in it. “I know I’m not much to look at, sweetheart.”

You shake your head. “You’re gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous, Eddie, you don’t even know.” Your voice is coming out breathy, near panting as you lay kisses to his lips and cheeks, tasting Andy’s blood in your mouth.

The heat of your own body matches Eddie’s to the point that his skin– which always feels too hot, almost to the point of burning– feels normal to you. It makes your mind reel, and you don’t have to steel yourself before pressing your body against him, grasping him in your hands. His flesh is damp and sticky, and his hair still drips with blood; none of it makes a difference to you.

He yanks you against him, his claws tearing into the threadbare fabric of your nightshirt. He nearly snickers at it. It’s barely covering you as it is, all your curves and edges on display as the wet cotton clings to your body. With one sharp tug, the shirt rips and falls away from your chest.

You moan when his tongue gently glides along your shoulder and up the side of your throat, collecting the blood on your skin. Your cunt throbs with desire and your own blood boils with a need you haven’t felt before.

“So fucking cute,” Eddie coos in your ear, somewhere between chastising and affectionate. “Just can’t wait for it, can you? Gotta get all impatient with me the night before the full moon?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Your voice sounds pathetic. Whining, practically crying for it when you’ve got him so close, and his tongue on your bare skin is enough to give you a head rush. You think the touch of it ought to melt you to your core.

Well. Something’s melting in your core, anyway. And Eddie’s all too aware of it; he slides two thick fingers between your legs, urging your thighs apart just barely so that he can stroke you where you want it. He hisses through his teeth, his fingers coming back dripping with arousal and blood that isn’t even yours.

“I should make you wait,” he murmurs as he stares down into your eyes.

You can already feel yourself shaking your head, your hands grabbing for him desperately. It’s ridiculous– just the thought of him leaving you like this has you near tears. “No, please–”

“I said I should,” he tells you as he licks his fingers in front of you; a forked tongue flickering over the digits before disappearing again. “Not that I will.”

You heave a relieved sigh, a noise of contentment as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw.

“You’re gonna wish that I did, though.”

“Eddie, what– HOH FUCK!”

You screech as Eddie manhandles you down onto the floor. Puddles of blood squelch beneath your body as you come in contact with the wood, flopping onto your back as he kneels and crawls over you like some kind of predator.

You hum. “You know, we tend to fuck in my kitchen a lot–”

Eddie shushes you. A tattoo of a snake slithering along his forearm leaps out of his skin, forming into a 3D image. Before you can even comprehend it, the snake circles your head and slithers its way into your mouth.

You make a noise of surprise. The snake doesn’t delve too far, just enough to gag you. It tastes like blood and Eddie’s skin. Discreetly smoky and laced with salt.

“Whose fault is that?” Eddie asks, dipping his head to lick a long trail up the center of your stomach, the two appendages of his forked tongue tickling your skin and making you squirm. “Be a good girl and lay still for me.”

You grunt, scowling down at him. Eddie snickers– even with all his skeletons out of the closet and his magic surrounding you, you still behave like such a little brat. He moves slowly, dragging his nose up your torso, and letting his breath billow across your oversensitive skin. His arms cage you in, his knee slotting between your legs until the damp fabric of his jeans just barely brushes the lips of your pussy.

You whimper, bucking your hips instinctively towards that contact. He jerks it away just as quickly; the snake in your mouth, made of his own flesh, inches forward until you just barely gag on the intrusion.

“Sweet little thing,” Eddie purrs as he stalks up your body, his tongue flicking out to lick the blood from your breasts. He groans in the back of his throat, almost as if he’s savoring the taste of it. The fact that it’s also driving you insane, the slippery and hot caress against an erogenous zone, is just a happy byproduct. “You forget that I have all the time in the universe. I can do this until the end of time, if I want.”

You’re dizzy with arousal, oversensitized from every point of contact he’s giving you. You want to tell him that you’d fucking love it if he did keep you here forever, but all you’re able to do is moan around the writhing extension of him in your mouth.

He takes his fucking time licking the blood from your skin, his inordinately long tongue dancing between your breasts and over your stomach, until you swear that he’s going to try to clean you entirely. But he stops just over your pelvis, and his tongue just barely flutters over your clit.

You scream. Your hips jump, back arching at the sudden touch, while your toes are curling and all your muscles are drawn up tight and aching.

“I know, baby,” Eddie murmurs softly. He tuts, his mouth dragging so softly over the skin of your pelvis that it makes your hips jump, and you bite down on the snake in your mouth just as he bites down on the plush of your thigh.

To offset his gentle voice, another snake leaps from his arm and latches around your waist, pinning you to the floor. You whine brokenly, just a sob around the one in your mouth, as you feel two more slithering along your skin and winding around your legs to pull them open.

“You’re intoxicating,” Eddie sighs, just watching as you lay there, pinned down with the extensions of his body that he controls as easily as his own hands. Your hands still scratch along the floor, lifting to grab onto something of his.

Eddie gives you his own hands; he laces his fingers with yours, sticky blood gluing them together.

You squeeze his hands when his tongue glides through the lips of your cunt, sweeping over the soft, hypersensitive flesh. Something about him finally touching you after you’ve been starving for it all day, and the exposing position you’re in, splayed open and unable to move, makes it easy to give up control.

The sounds coming from your throat are sharp and quick, mingling with the noises of Eddie below, of the snakes hissing along your skin. He clamps his lips around your clit and sucks, as the tendrils of smoke and metaphysical matter that make up the snakes on your skin morph and change into hands– many many hands that caress you and grab you everywhere. Your breasts, your arms, your legs. A palm on your chin, forcing your head back so you can’t look, only feel.

With a moan, you rock your hips against Eddie’s face as best you can, given the circumstances. There’s so much happening, you barely even notice when your orgasm hits, and by that time you’re completely unable to stop it. You cry out around two rough fingers, shoved deep into your mouth to replace the snake that had been gagging you, as you squeeze at the two hands pinning your own against the floor.

When the hand in your mouth disappears, you’re panting. Gasping for breath, punctuated with little moans that don’t stop, because Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps lapping up the arousal that drips from your swollen pussy, letting his tongue prod into your entrance like he means to fuck you with it again– knowing how well that went over last time, you don’t doubt that he would try, just to extend the torture.

Just to remind you that he could do this forever.

But he pulls away and sits up, and finally looks down at you, shaking on the floor. A smirk adorns his bloody, glistening face. “You still want more, princess?”

You nod with all the strength you have, reaching for him.

You should have known that, after watching him morph into half a dozen different shapes and sizes, he wouldn’t have to undress himself. It still doesn’t make it any less surprising to you when his pants just fucking melt out of existence, like it’s all just made of smoke.

“Couldn’t have done that when I was fucking with that goddamn belt buckle?” you grumble, finally finding your voice.

His eyebrows jump, a gorgeous grin spreading across his face. So much like the first one he ever gave you, there at the crossroads– brilliant, sharp teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes. Something that you’d kill to see every day for the rest of your life and beyond it.

“You’re… you’re impossible,” he giggles, crawling up your body to plant a wet kiss on your lips, tasting of metallic blood and salt and sweet smoke. Everything that you know and love about him is wrapped into one kiss.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, deepening the kiss until your teeth clash and you suck desperately on his tongue. He hums, dropping his hips to yours. The slick glide of his cock through your folds is so reminiscent of the dream he’d superimposed himself into, but this time it’s real, and it’s so much better. Hotter and wetter than you’d expected, kicking up an enormously loud, slick sound, echoing the slippery blood you roll around in. Your mouth drops open in a gasp, clinging to him as he grinds against you.

“This what you want?” Eddie’s voice wavers, a soft groan in his throat slipping out at the end. He huffs, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. “Fuck, tell me you want it, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.”

He sounds just as broken as you. Maybe just holding on by a thread, but it’s just so thin. You can’t help the mess that it makes of you, your pussy drenching him the more he rocks against you. The sound of his voice crackling, the low and smoky demonic tone of it giving way to weakness at the feeling of your body against him, is so profoundly erotic.

You try to answer him. You do. But between the slow grind of his cock against your clit and his broad hand wrapping around your throat, all you manage to do is allow yourself to moan into his face.

Eddie tightens his hold on your throat just a touch. He spits, and a drop of his saliva hits your waiting tongue. He growls, “Tell me.”

You sob, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try desperately to rock against him. “Pleasepleaseplease– Eddie, I want it. W-want you so bad all the time, oh my god–”

“No god here, baby,” Eddie tells you heatedly, the smoldering lava pools of his eyes boring into yours. “Just me.”

He splits you open slowly, like after all of this terror and bloodshed, he’s afraid you might break. His cock slides thick through your walls, stretching you until you swear you can’t take any more and melting you from the inside out.

It’s blinding, searing bliss and agony all at once. He glides in so smoothly, because you’re practically fucking drowning him with your want.

He draws out even slower, letting you feel every ridge and vein as it moves through you, making your toes curl, your chest burn. Your clit throbs hard like it’s feeling neglected, but you can’t muster the ability to do anything about it.

You’re a whimpering mess. Watery-eyed and half insane with how much lust is flowing through you. You aren’t even aware that you’re babbling and whining until Eddie tucks his thumb between your lips.

“Shhh.” He guides your head back and forth, shaking it from side to side gently as you stare tearfully up at him. “No whining.”

You pretty much do the exact opposite. You want him to go faster. You want him to go deeper. You want him, you want him.

Eddie thrusts the rest of the way in, like he read your mind. You’re almost sure that he did, or is. He must be. It’s the only explanation for how he’s able to give you everything you want, exactly when you want it. You think you want his hands in your mouth, he gives them to you. You want him to fuck you harder, he does.

The force of your cry makes it ring sharply around the room, magnified by the wetness on the walls and floor. Your back slips through puddles of blood on the hardwood. It’s frankly disgusting, and yet…

“Ohhh you’re such a fucking freak for liking this, baby,” Eddie chides, confirming that yes, he can hear your thoughts. He sees every one of them, like he’s inside your own head, and it makes you burn for him even worse. He grins down at you as he jolts you along the floor with another thrust. “I love it. Y’so fucking perfect for me.”

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into hot skin and pulling him down until his chest is flush with yours. “Whose– whose fault is tha– huhh!”

His hips rock backwards and roll into yours so fluidly that it astounds you with its grace. There’s always going to be two sides to him– smooth and rough. Sharp and soft. Juxtaposed and yet complementary.

“You feel so good,” you whimper softly, your voice coming out small and feeble.

“And you feel like heaven,” he whispers hoarsely, his nose nudging against yours. “Closest I’ll ever be to it.”

You arch your head back, exposing your neck to him as you cry out toward the ceiling. There’s nothing in your head except him– he’s managed to take the rest of your world and shrink it down until he takes up the brunt of it.

Eddie chuckles, like he knows. He knows what he’s doing, knows that each stroke of his cock is just stoking the fire that burns under your skin. His cock dragging slow and purposefully through your cunt, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you scream with pleasure. His tongue on your exposed neck, his claws digging into your thighs hard enough to draw blood.

Not that you need any more of it.

“That’s right,” Eddie croons as you moan loudly, dragging his mouth along the curve of your throat, lingering over your shoulder. “Let me hear you, little witch.”

Your body tenses and you tighten down around him, letting out a long amalgamation of noises that you’d been holding back. You’re starting to forget where you end and he begins, like the longer this goes on the more you start to fade into him like a shadow.

Eddie tucks his face into your shoulder and whispers something you don’t quite catch. You’re dizzy and your pussy pulses angrily in warning. Your mounting orgasm feels devastating already, like you’re on the brink of being torn apart.

“Mmm, getting close, isn’t it?” Eddie muses, and he sounds far away, like he’s talking to you from underwater. His voice is soft and sinful, exactly what you think it should be. “I can feel it, baby. Dirty little girl just loves getting fucked by a demon, doesn’t she?”

“Eddie, please–” you cut yourself off with a gasp when his thumb touches your clit, and you convulse once like you’re about to have a fit.

There’s a snicker in his voice, but you don’t miss the soft staccato breaths that he takes when you tighten around him again. “What, y-you wanna hear how– how wet you are? Fuckin’ drenching me, baby, it’s so fucking good–”

You sob, grabbing at him and smacking at his shoulders like that’ll get your point across.

He chuckles again, and his voice is absolutely wretched when he rasps, “If only Andy could see you now, huh?”

His words knock you directly into your orgasm, which was… much closer than you both realized, apparently. You clench down around his cock and your hips jump up, rocking desperately against him like he isn’t giving it to you exactly how you want it, already.

Eddie’s breath catches, going silent for a second before he groans loudly into the crook of your neck. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, holy shit–”

The break in his voice simply kills you, dead. You cum around him hard, while his thumb continues to circle your clit in slow, gentle circles. So much gentler than you imagined he would be. Soft to offset the sharpness of his claws.

Or the sharpness of his teeth, rather, because he gives you one ragged moan into your overheated skin before he’s sinking his fangs into it. The sting is only as intense as the second wave of your orgasm, which sends sparks and shockwaves through you so hard that you swear you actually are burning alive beneath him.

Eddie cums for a long time. He keeps moving through it, slowly pumping into you and drinking your blood like it’s a means to sedate him. By the time he’s finished you’re so spent, it’s like the very life has been drained from you. Your limbs and eyes are heavy, your hands on his body are weak.

In the silence, you hear a crackling. A wave of heat, a cloud of smoke that engulfs you both– like the hellfire that he embodies no longer just belongs to him, but the both of you.

Eddie’s fangs retract from your skin, his tongue leaves you. He says your name softly– a quiet cooing, sing-songy and sweet. You hum, and your head lolls tiredly towards his palm against your cheek.

“Sweetheart,” he says, a little more urgently now. “You gotta get up.”

“Mmmm no. Let’s stay here.”

Eddie huffs, and then deadpans, “Your apartment is on fire.”

Your eyes shoot open. First you meet his eyes– crackling flames dance in them, but not the way that you’re so familiar with. They reflect on the surface of his eyes, rather than coming from within. Half his face is lit in an orange glow, flickering and dancing, making the shadows dance across them more than normal.

Then you feel the heat. It’s more than him, more than you. And then the smoke alarm in your bedroom starts shrieking.

The room is engulfed in flames. The flowers preserved in the vase on your counter wither in the heat and crumple like paper. The walls, the furniture, the floors catch on like you live in a tinderbox. Fire surrounds you so closely that it should burn you.

It should. It doesn’t. You feel the heat, but it doesn’t hurt. It tickles, it warms you like a soft blanket.

“How the hell did that happen?” you splutter, cringing and grabbing at Eddie as you hear a cupboard lose its structural integrity and collapse, along with all the dishes inside of it.

Eddie giggles, his cheshire cat grin splitting his face wide. Dimples on show, hair reflecting a little bit of gold from the fire, he says, “We’re just a lot more powerful than you think.”

You gaze around at your burning apartment. All the mediocre remnants of your life peel from the walls and settle as char on the floor. Dante is once again long gone; you didn’t figure he would stick around.

Turning your head back to Eddie, you blink slowly, feeling lulled by the warmth surrounding you and the weight of his body on yours. You almost don’t even care about the hardness of the floor and how it’ll be murder on your spine in the morning. Eddie peers down at you with an affectionate smile, his thumb stroking your cheekbone lovingly.

“Oh fuck,” you say after a moment. “I’m not gonna get that fucking security deposit back, am I?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #tdik!fic #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie #demon!eddie munson #roses*

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tikosblogg · 5 months ago

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Best friends.

Summary: y/n and Noah are bestfriends/house mates and y/n is an INNOCENT virgin, but she has been so horny for days, but can’t seem to satisfy the urge. So Noah offers his help.

Warning: guided masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft dom Noah, praise. Nothing crazy, actually kind of sweet, talk about growing up religious.

A/N: I’ve had this thought for DAYS. I finally decided to write it all out. Kind of short, sorry about that. Please enjoy!

“FUCK THIS” I groaned, pulling my hand out of underwear. I’ve been at this for an hour and half now. Nothing is working. My fingers, my brand new vibrator, porn. NOTHING is getting me off. Probably because I haven’t really done this before a week ago.

I am a 25 year old woman…and virgin. Now before you judge, it’s not all my fault. I grew up in a super religious family. Church every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday. My parents were so extremely strict, I never had freedom. I was never able to do anything, or go anywhere. I never had friends, unless they were from church. Then there was the number one rule “NO BOYS.”

As soon as I turned 18, I fled that house. I went to college. I never went back. I don’t have a great relationship with my parents because of that. So as a result of growing up the way I did..even at college I didn’t really have the social skills to make friends, or meet any guys…

I just stuck to studying, and eventually graduated. Then I started working as a full time producers assistant. That’s how I met Noah. He was in the studio one week, working on some tracks. I was there the whole time. We talked a lot, got to know each other. We became great friends. I met the rest of the band, we got a long really well.

Now here we are 2 years later, I moved in with Noah and the guys. I ended becoming Noah’s personal assistant, and the rest is history. I groaned rolling over to check the time on my phone. 11:30pm. I sat up kicking my comforter off, and sliding out of my soaked panties making my way to the kitchen. The whole house was dark, and quiet.

The boys just got done with the tour, so all the guys went home to see their families. It’s just me, and Noah. He’s definitely passed out in bed by now. I padded across the cold tile, grabbing a cup from the cabinet. I filled it up with water, and hopped onto the kitchen island. I chugged the water down, placing the empty glass beside me. Dropping my face into my hands, I let out another sigh.

I couldn’t stop the tears of frustration from falling down my cheeks. I have all this pent up frustration that I can’t do anything about it. Probably because I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know why I didn’t start trying to get to know myself sooner. Growing up the way I did, and then going without as long as I did…I just never had the urge.

Ever since I moved in with Noah, I’ve experienced all these different feelings. Im not blind, Noah is my best friend, but he’s hot. Probably the sexiest man to walk this earth. Like when he walks through the house without a shirt on? It feels like my entire body is on fire. When he calls me sweetheart? Instant butterflies. One time he hugged me, and his hands were just above the top of my ass and I almost lost my mind.

I continued to let silent tears escape, until a soft voice made me freeze. “Y/N?” My head shot up, looking towards the hallway. Noah stood there in his joggers, his hair a mess. He wore a concerned look on his face, as he walked over to me. “What’s going on sweetheart?” He cupped my cheeks in his hands, gently wiping my tears with his thumbs.

I shake my head, giving him a small smile. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, I promise.” There is no way I’m telling him. Oh you know, just can’t make myself cum. So I decided to come in here and cry about it. “You’re obviously not fine. Please, tell me.” He spoke so softly. He readjusted to stand between my thighs. He was so close, I could feel my heart speed up, and my face flush. Quickly remembering I’m not wearing panties. Noah and I have always been able to be honest with each other, but this is humiliating.

He knows I’m a virgin, but the idea of telling him I can’t even get myself off is next level embarrassment. “Everything is okay. I’m just…” the words caught in my throat. One of his hands left my cheek, landing high up on my thigh. “Just what?..” His hand felt hot to the touch. I could feel my pussy throbbing. He has no idea what he does to me. God I really need to stop thinking about him this way. It doesn’t help when he’s this close to me.

I closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Nuzzling deeper into his hand, I continued. “I’m just frustrated.” He lifted my face up towards his, sliding his hand up and down my thigh, in a comforting way. Only it didn’t feel too comforting. “Frustrated about wha-“ he stopped mid sentence, as I tried squeezing my thighs together only to be stopped by his body still standing between them.

I quickly squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment. His eyes moved from my thighs, back to my closed lids with a stern look. I was caught. He is about to laugh in my face, and walk out. I slowly opened my eyes, to Noah’s looking straight at me. They looked two shades darker. I decided to try and explain myself.

“I can’t….i tried to ..” I dropped my head in shame. I know I can trust him. I don’t know why this is so hard. He pulled me closer until my head was against his chest. “You tried to what?” His voice was just above a whisper, as he ran his fingers through the side of my hair. “I tried to..to touch myself and….” He nodded his head encouraging me to continue. “I’ve tried for a week straight, but it’s not working. I’m getting frustrated. I can’t take it anymore.”

I let out a loud sob shoving my face deeper in his chest, wishing I could shrink myself so small I’d disappear. I realize I’m probably being very dramatic, but I just don’t care anymore at this point. I’m going insane. After a few seconds of silence, Noah finally pulled away bringing us face to face. He wiped the rest of my tears before softly speaking. “What have you tried?”

I shook my head between his hands with a soft laugh. “Everything Noah. My toys, my hands. Nothing is working.” He stood silently, still watching me. Clearly battling himself with what he was gonna say next. “Y/n…I can help you…I mean if you me to.” My eyes widened into saucers. Help me? He wants to help me get myself off?

He noticed the panic on my face, quickly speaking up. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I just wanna help you.” Before I could even give it a second thought, my head was already nodding yes. He gave me a soft reassuring smile, before helping me off the counter. “C’mon we’ll go to your room so you’re comfortable.”

I grabbed his hand that he held out for me, and quietly followed him back to my room. When we walked in, he led me straight to my bed. He climbed onto it, and settled up against the headboard patting the spot between his thighs. I hesitated before finally crawling on to the bed, and situated myself in front of him. He pulled me back against his chest, before placing my legs over each of his. Spreading mine apart as far as they could go.

“Okay, just relax. Show me what you’ve been doing.” His hushed voice was right by my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He reached around me, slowly pulling my shirt up. I felt his breath hitch when he realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I nodded my head, reaching down to play with my clit. After a few minutes some soft moans left my lips, but I still wasn’t getting anywhere with it.

I huffed, pulling my fingers away. “I can’t Noah…it doesn’t feel right.” He ran his hands down my thighs, putting his lips to shell of my ear. “You gotta focus on the feeling sweetheart.” I groaned at his gruff voice right in my ear. His hand was creeping closer, and closer to my soaked pussy. I bucked my hips up slightly, to finally get his fingers where I needed them most. But he kept them still.

I’m losing my patience, and I don’t care anymore. I need him to touch me. “You have to be turned on enough before touch yourself baby.” Baby….that did it. I finally grabbed his hand, sliding it a half an inch over to finally touch my poor neglected clit. “Please Noah…just please touch me…please make me cum.” I was a whining mess.

He groaned, when his fingers met my soaked cunt. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking desperate for it huh?” I quickly nodded, letting out the most feral moan as he finally sunk a finger into me. “Oh my god Noah..” he pumped his finger a few more times, pulling out to softly rub my clit with the wetness leaking out of me. “You’re so fucking wet sweetgirl…what made you like this?”

He asked rubbing my clit with a little more pressure. I threw my head back onto his shoulder before moaning out. “You..fuck Noah you did.” He placed soft kisses against my neck, now shoving two fingers inside my pussy. “Yeah baby?” I whined at the slight stretch. I’ve never felt so good. He pumped them deep, crooking his fingers up, causing me to buck my hips at the amazing new feeling.

“You like when I do that baby?” He asked, doing it faster. I moaned nodding my head, not being able to get any words out. I jumped when a smack landed on the inside of my thigh. “Use your words baby.” I let out a breathy yes, as his other hand joined in rubbing my clit. “Oh fuck Noah please, don’t stop.” He pumped his fingers faster, while rubbing my clit, making me see stars.

“C’mon baby cum for me. Cum on my fingers.” That’s all it took, before I was screaming his name finally reaching my orgasm. His hand left my clit, before grabbing my jaw, and bringing my lips to his. We shared a heated, messy kiss while his fingers continued fucking me through my high. “Fuck you’re such a good girl y/n.”

He finally slid his fingers out of me, placing one more gentle kiss against my lips. “Fuck….thank you Noah.” He smiled, before shoving his fingers into his mouth. I watched in pure shock. That had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. “You taste so sweet baby.” He gently pushed me forward, before turning me around shoving me down on my back.

“Noah what are you doing?” He hovered above me, before sliding down until he was face to face with my pussy. “You said you’ve been trying for a week…you can give me one more right?” I was speechless. He wants to eat me out? All I could do was nod my head, as he slowly lowered down until his tongue was on my now sensitive clit. “Oh fuck!” My hands went straight to hair, tugging it. He groaned against me, sending vibrations through my core.

He swirled his tongue in quick circles around my clit, before shoving it as deep inside me as he could fucking me with it. I bucked my hips, quite literally riding his face. He pulled it away, licking from my hole, back up to my clit. “Fuck Noah I’m gonna cum.” He pulled away replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing in achingly slow circles.

“Yeah? Are you gonna be good girl, and cum on my tongue this time?” I whined, nodding my head pulling his face back to my pussy. He ate me like a starved man, until I was coming apart for the second time tonight on his tongue. He pulled away, slumping down onto the bed beside me. We sat quietly, both breathing heavily. I looked over at Noah, and we both had goofy smiles on our faces.

I couldn’t help but notice the large bulge in his pants. Maybe I could learn another thing or two before the nights over, what are best friends for….right?

Part 2????

#bad omens #noah sebastian #badomensimagines #noah sabastian smut #noahsebastiancult #imagines #bad omens cult #bad omens band

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komotionlessqueenmm · 2 months ago

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Polar Opposites

(1-1)

Short story # 21

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - You and Bruce have absolutely nothing in common, and yet he can't seem to get enough of your attention. He is completely desperate to make you his, and prove to you that he's more than the tabloids make him out to be.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW (There is cussing & talk of violence.)

Reading time (roughly) - 25 minutes

Reader is fairly covered in tattoos, and is more on the metal head/tomboy style. Enjoy.

(Y/n) has known Bruce for a year now, having met him by chance while at a gala. She was a waitress, serving glasses of champagne to the stuck up society of Gotham. She smiled charmingly to each and every last one of them, despite wanting to tell them to fuck off every time one would catch sight of her tattoos, scowling at her in disgust as if she were the scum of the earth. That is until she crossed paths with Bruce. She'd offered him a drink with a smile, a well practiced role to play while working jobs like this. He'd accepted a glass, and when she turned to move on to the next guest, he caught sight of the tattoos decorating her hands. She was technically supposed to wear these delicate white gloves, to look more appropriate, and to hide her ink. But she had a habit of loosing her grip on her drinks tray while wearing them. So against her bosses wishes, she went without them. Before she got even a step away, Bruce had taken ahold of her elbow, of the arm not carrying a tray full of expensive champagne, and tugged her back to his side.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a bit of a bite in her tone, despite the smile gracing her lips, her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Without a word Bruce pulled her hand up into his line of sight, closely observing the fine details of her tattoos. (Y/n) tried tugging her hand free, but he kept ahold of her arm, ignoring the curious looks of other party goers. "Back off man." (Y/n) hissed, dropping the tray of champagne, she yanked back with full force, effectively tearing herself free. People gawked and gasped in surprise at the sudden noise of the various glasses breaking. While (Y/n) glared daggers at Bruce, who still hadn't uttered a single word, her boss rushed over to see what had happened. His eyes widened considerably when he saw (Y/n) glowering at the Bruce Wayne. The man quickly made up his mind, and stormed to (Y/n)'s side. Without asking what had happened, or even considering the needs and feelings of his employee, he tightly gripped her bicep. "You're fired." He hissed in an hushed tone, not wanting to draw any more attention to the situation. Her attention snapped to him in an instant, her anger now palpable to anyone with eyes. "That's fine." She hissed pulling back her arm.

Unlike her now former employer, (Y/n) was content with making a scene. Without a second thought she ripped open her white button up top, the buttons flying in every direction, she aggressively yanked the material from her arms, and threw it onto the wet floor. The black tank top she wore underneath clung to her like a second skin. Bruce wanted to intervene, but the sight of tattoo sleeves she sported made his voice catch in his throat and die. She was unlike any woman he'd seen before, clearly covered in a vast array of ink, with a confidence that rivaled his own. Her former employer scoffed at her defiance. "You'll never get another job in this town." He threatened her. "We'll see about that." She shot back before turning her back to them, intent on leaving, and giving Bruce a glimpse at the tattoo that covered her back and shoulders. "I'll make sure of it!" The man shouted, clearly enraged by her attitude. "Get fucked!" (Y/n) shouted over her shoulder, practically shoving her way passed the Gotham elites. It wasn't until she was out of sight, and the man began apologizing to Bruce that he snapped out of his daze.

Without a second thought Bruce dropped the glass of champagne he held, and rushed to follow after the woman who'd stunned him into a stupor. By the time he rushed out into the chilly night of Gotham City, she was long gone, like a mystery of the night she'd vanished without a trace. Bruce's heart raced in his chest, looking up and down the empty street, he ran in the direction he hoped she'd gone. But she was long gone, and Bruce hadn't felt this lost in a long time. He'd called Alfred and had him look into the catering company for the gala, and asked him to find out who all of the employees were. By the time he arrived at the mansion, his loyal friend had all the information he'd asked for. A list of each employees name, paired with pictures, printed off and waiting on his desk. Bruce sifted through the papers for several minutes before finding (Y/n). He said her name in a soft whisper, repeating it a few times to really get a feel for it. With her paper in hand, and without saying a word to Alfred, he went down to the batcave. Punching her full legal name into his computer, he scoured for any information.

She had no criminal record, which he was a bit relieved by, but he did find her various social media accounts. Practically stalking them he learned all that he could in one night. She was new to Gotham, and she seemed to be struggling with adjusting to her new life there. From what he gathered, she'd been apartment and job hopping, seeming to get herself into one pinch after another. For several weeks he stalked her accounts, and tried pinpointing where she'd be working or living next, anywhere he could bump into her at, that wouldn't make it obvious he was desperately trying to find her. And ironically enough it had been purely accidental when he ran into her again. He was making his way up the stairs leading to the Gotham library, intent on picking up a few books to take his mind off of (Y/n) for a while. When the noise of a rumbling trash truck caught his attention, he wasn't sure why, he'd heard them plenty of times and never paid them any mind before. And then his eyes landed on (Y/n) as she heaved a couple trash bags into the back of the truck. His heart froze up for a moment, then he was jogging across the busy street to speak with her.

Cars honked at him, and he waved apologetically, the commotion catching the elusive woman's attention. When her eyes locked onto his familiar face she scowled, he tried to smile at her, but she didn't seem interested. "What the fuck do you want?" She grunted with annoyance. "Look I'm sorry about what happened at the gala that night." He said. Wincing a little when she rolled her eyes before turning back to her job. "Really I-" She cut him off when she swung another trash bag into the back of the truck, the sticky black bag just barely missing him. "How about you do me a favor." She huffed before tossing the last bag in. "Anything." Bruce said, totally ready to offer her anything she asked for. "Hop in the back of the truck where you belong." She said with a sweet smile, before pulling the lever that crushed and packed the trash into the back. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle, finding himself at a loss for words again. "How... How about a job?" He tried hollering over the noise of the truck, sighing under his breath when (Y/n) looked at him confused, clearly unable to hear him over the noise.

"I said HOW ABOUT A JOB?!" He hollered louder, feeling a tad bit embarrassed when she cut off the noise halfway through his sentence. "I've got a job thank you." She mused as she stepped up onto the back of the truck, ready to signal for the driver to take off. "I could offer you something better." He tried, but she only laughed. "I ain't no pencil pusher Mr. Wayne." She shot back, and before she could signal the driver, Bruce grabbed her arm, not carrying in the slightest about the sticky feeling of her work shirt. "Please let me help." He begged with a soft look in his eyes, but the confusion in (Y/n)'s eyes turned to anger. "I don't need your fuckin' charity." She hissed before flagging the driver down, having yanked her arm away. The truck jerked then pulled away, and in his desperation Bruce chased after her. Only to loose sight of them after they'd gotten far enough away and they turned down another road. Leaving him there panting for air, his chest feeling tight for having been so close, and letting her slip between his fingers again.

He would go on for several more days trying to track her down, only to be surprised when she showed up on his doorstep one evening. She looked worse for ware, her lip busted and swollen, a nasty bruise blooming on her jaw, and her knuckles busted and swollen. "What happened?" He asked as he rushed her inside, having answered the door while Alfred was busy with dinner. "What's it look like." She huffed, leaning into his hold with a hiss, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Got jumped." She added, walking on wobbly knees. "What, why?" He asked as he sat her down at the dining room table, kneeling at her feet to asses the damage. "Didn't think to ask 'em." She chuckled bitterly, groaning in pain she clutched her ribs. "You need to go to the hospital." Bruce said as he stood up, intent on calling for an ambulance. But he froze in his tracks when (Y/n) quickly took ahold of his arm. "No fucking way." She hissed, slouching back into the seat when he turned back to her. "Why not?" Bruce asked as he knelt to be level with her.

"Can't afford it for one." She chuckled softly, grunting again with her hand against her ribs. "I'll pay-" He tried but she cut him off with a glare. "You should see a doctor." Bruce tried to reason with her, frowning when she laughed a hardy type of laugh. "If you think I look bad, you should've seen the other guys." She said with a grin, and he couldn't help but believe her. "I think you have a broken rib." Bruce pointed to where (Y/n) clutched her side. "Oh yeah it's definitely broken." She said it so casually Bruce was at a loss for words. "You got a first aid kit layin' around in this estate of yours?" She asked him in the softest tone he'd heard from her so far. "Yeah of course, stay here I'll be right back." He said before rushing off. Another door opened into the room, an aroma of food wafting into the room, making (Y/n)'s stomach turn with hunger cramps. "Oh hello." A gentle voice entered the room, and when (Y/n) turned her head to greet the individual, the man gasped in shock at the sight of her. "Oh you poor woman." He said as he rushed to her side, leaving the trolley of food behind. "I'm alright darlin'." She drawled with a small grin, trying to reassure the older man.

Bruce came rushing back into the room, a first aid kit in hand. "Master Bruce shall I call for an ambulance?" The Butler asked as he turned his attention to his employer. "No Alfred that won't be necessary, set the table for two, and have a guest room ready." Bruce said before ushering (Y/n) to her feet. "Very well master Bruce." The Butler bowed his head slightly and set to work. "I've got a small room set up as an infirmary, it'll be easier to patch you up there." Bruce said as he led her down a hall. "Of course you do." She rolled her eyes, despite the amused grin on her lips. "Why didn't you just take me there in the first place?" She asked as they neared the end of the hall. "I honestly forgot all about it." He admitted with a chuckle, flushing in embarrassment when she shook her head in disbelief. "You're an idiot." (Y/n) muttered as they entered the "small" room. "Only when I'm around pretty girls." He said with a grin as he helped her sit down onto an examination chair. "That's nice dear." She retorted sarcastically with an equally sarcastic smile, making Bruce chuckle softly.

Methodically the billionaire cleaned up the scrapes and cuts. Having to dig out small chunks of asphalt from her banged up knees. She hardly reacted to any of it, simply watching him with curiosity. "I never would have guessed you could do something like this, let alone be willing to actually do it yourself." She stated as he pulled the last of the asphalt from her knee. He peered up at her, with an unreadable expression. "There is a lot people don't know about me." He stated before cleaning the cuts on her knees with warm water and a washcloth. "I guess so." She mused, glancing up when the Butler entered the room. "I took the liberty to bring some Tylenol extra strength, and a glass of water." The older man said as he placed a tray with the items onto a nearby table. "Thanks Alfred." Bruce said not looking away from his task at hand. Without a word the Butler left the room, closing the door behind him. "Can I ask you something?" Bruce asked as he moved onto her opposite knee. "You just did." (Y/n) said with a grin, chuckling when he gave her a pointed look. "Ask away." She hummed with amusement.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her, focusing his attention on cleaning her knee. She was quiet for a short while, and when she didn't answer his question, he looked up to find her with a lost look in her eyes. "I didn't..." She bit her raw lip, ignoring the sting she felt when she bit onto the cut. "Hey look at me." Bruce pulled her attention back to himself, effectively getting her to stop biting her lip. "What's wrong?" He asked in a gentle tone. "I didn't know where else to go." She admitted in a near whisper. "I don't... I don't have any friends in this fuckin' town... Everyone I've met hates me for one reason or another... Except for you... I think." She muttered the last part anxiously. "I don't hate you." Bruce assured her with a smile. "I was kind of an asshole before, so I wouldn't blame you for hating me." She admitted, making Bruce chuckle. "I kind of deserved it." He argued with a smile, making (Y/n) smile right back, then her smile washed away, and she looked lost again. "Those guys... They weren't just trying to jump me... They were trying to kill me." She said as she picked at a torn part of her pants. Bruce gripped her calf a little tighter, but she hardly noticed. "I've done things I'm not proud of, and I can look after myself okay..." She exhaled heavily through her nose.

"But I'm fucking scared, and I can't go home because they know where I live." She continued, jumping slightly when Bruce suddenly cupped her bruised cheek. "You don't have to worry about that right now okay, you're safe here. I promise." He was sincere in his words, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. "Thank you." She whispered softly, a stray tear falling from her cheek. It was the first time she'd cried in years. After Bruce had finished patching her up, he passed her the pain killers and water. His eyes idly scanning over the tattoos decorating her arms, only just realizing her legs appeared to be just as covered as her arms, tattoos peaking through the various tears in her jeans. "Why do you have so many tattoos?" He asked suddenly, as (Y/n) sat down the now empty glass. "Why does it matter?" She shot back with a bit of bite, having grown sick of people judging her for her choice to get tattoos. "It doesn't, I'm just curious." Bruce explained. (Y/n) eyed him for a moment or two, before responding. "I never felt all that comfortable in my skin, but with these." She held her arms out to him, showing off the intricate work. "I feel more at ease, with it all... I feel more like me." She explained and Bruce found himself understanding her reasoning entirely.

That night was a year ago on this very day, and Bruce couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome of their chance meeting. (Y/n) opened up more to Bruce during her stay at the mansion, telling him all about her past, and her passions. And while they had nothing in common, he felt that he connected better with her than he had anyone else in his life, especially the women. When (Y/n) was all healed up, Bruce had offered to teach her some hand to hand combat techniques, claiming she could benefit from knowing self defense. She had agreed with a grin, and by the end of it, she'd thoroughly kicked the billionaires ass in every sparring match. Even when he tried adding in some mixed martial arts, she excelled past his skill set as if she'd been doing this her whole life. If Bruce wasn't smitten before, he definitely was after that day. After a few months of getting to know eachother, Bruce made the bold choice to invite (Y/n) to move into the mansion. He half expected her to decline and say something snarky or sassy about it. But she surprised him yet again, and accepted his offer with a soft smile.

To say he was overjoyed would be an understatement of the highest degree. And after a few weeks of adjusting to her new life at the mansion, (Y/n) made it known how she had come to feel about the billionaire, and they began officially dating. In his excitement to show her off, Bruce asked her to attend a gala with him. And she swiftly declined, telling him she'd never attend one of those shitty parties again. But today he was adamant about convincing her to join him to a big Gotham ball being thrown for charity. "Please darling, these things are always so boring without you." He asked as he sat beside her in one of the many sitting rooms of the mansion, she sat reading a book, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I've got a beautiful dress for you." He said, as he traced a line up the ink marking her thigh. "I don't really do dresses." She pointed out with a grin. And it was true, she mostly wore band shirts, jeans or shorts, with either combat boots, or converse. Something Bruce considered a breath of fresh air, compared to stiff models in tight dresses and high heels. "I think you'll like this one." He said with a grin, having had this dress made just for her weeks ago. "Please my love, go with me." He begged as he slid closer to her on the couch. The contrast in their outfits almost comical.

"And what do I get in return?" She asked with a grin. "Anything you want." Bruce promised, prepared to give her the world on a silver platter. "I want a ride on the batbike." She stated, having been privy to his secret identity since she moved in. "It doesn't exactly seat two." Bruce pointed out, a fact she already knew. "Hm what a shame." She mused before turning her attention back to her book, Bruce sighed in defeat, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He then muttered something, but (Y/n) hadn't caught it. "What'd you say?" She asked him. And he lifted his head, resting his jaw into her shoulder. "I'll let you drive the batmobile." He said in a whisper, grinning when her head whipped over to look into his eyes. "Liar." She accused as she squinted at him. "When have I ever lied to you?" He asked with a knowing smile. "Fine you've got a deal, Batman." She said with a cheeky grin, chuckling when he leaned forward to nip her jaw.

"Come on darling, you need to get ready." He encouraged pecking her cheek afterwards. (Y/n) sighed softly as she sat her book aside, taking Bruce's hand when he offered it to her, assisting her to her feet. He led her to their shared bedroom, and into the expansive walk in closet. Where a long silk black dress hung on display, another attempt to convince her no doubt. (Y/n) observed the gown with curiosity, an amused grin tugging at her lips. The bust was cut low, the back completely exposed, with fine chains keeping the back together. When she touched the dress she realized the skirt was slit on both sides, which would allow both her her legs to be exposed high on her thighs. "Bruce Wayne, are you trying to slut me out?" She asked when she turned to her boyfriend, a brow arched in question. Bruce's cheeks tinted pink, and he seemed a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to show off how incredible you look." He stated, knowing full well the dress would expose a vast majority of her tattoos. "Uh huh sure." She said with a grin, moving to shoo Bruce out of the closet. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked." He pointed out with a chuckle, (Y/n) scoffed despite her amusement.

"Yeah well I don't want you to see my struggle as I try getting this contraption on." She said as she pointed back to the dress. "I could help you know." Bruce offered. "Nope. Last time I let you assist me with getting dressed, you couldn't keep your dick in your pants." She sassed with a small laugh, and while she was right Bruce had intended on protesting to the statement, but stopped short when he remembered the heels she was going to need for the evening. "Oh I nearly forgot, you're going to be wearing these heels." Bruce said as he picked up a black pair of heels, which had small chain accents to match her dress. (Y/n) eyed the heels then Bruce skeptically. "I don't do heels babe." She pointed out. "Well you can't wear your combat boots." He argued with a small grin. "I don't see why not." (Y/n) giggled, but took the heels anyways. "Okay now out." She shooed him away, smiling when he held his hands up in surrender. "Okay okay I'm going." He said as he backed out of the room. After he closed the door behind him, (Y/n) turned her attention to the dress. Despite herself she found the gown beautiful, and she felt a little excited about going to the ball.

Once she was finally dressed, high heels and all, she exited the closest to find Bruce waiting patiently for her. His eyes widened momentarily, and his breath hitched. He stood up and approached her with slow steps, as if he were in a trance. "You... You look incredible darling." He finally breathed out, taking her hand in his, he had her turn slowly, showing everything off. "I might not be able to resist you." He said with a sly grin. "You better mister if I'm going to this thing, I'm gonna make it worth of it." She sassed before walking to the vanity. "I have something else for you." Bruce said as he walked across the room, coming to her side with a large box which clearly contained jewelry of some kind. "I don't like diamonds you know." She eyed him wearily. "I know you don't, but I do know you love amethyst." He opened the box, revealing a glamorous necklace. "Allow me." He said as he pulled the necklace from the box, placing the cold item around her neck. (Y/n) sighed almost dreamily at the feeling of its weight, it sat high on her collarbones, with a large center piece which lay against her sternum. She did find the necklace stunning, but she felt odd wearing it.

"It's not really my style, but it is very pretty." She admitted to him, looking at him through the mirror as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know it isn't your style." Bruce said before tracing her jaw with his thumb. "But I hope you'll indulge me tonight, and continue to wear it when we "retire" for the evening." He said with a suggestive smirk, his words making (Y/n) chuckle softly. "If you ask nicely enough, I'll wear nothing but this necklace anytime you like." She said with a cheeky grin, leaning into her boyfriends touch. "You're really making this hard." He said as he closed his eyes, trying to keep his composer. "What am I making hard?" She asked with a small laugh. "You're making it hard not to ravage you and ditch this ball." He said as he opened his eyes, unsurprised to find her smirking at him. "Yes well I plan on making good on my part of the deal, I'm driving the batmobile if it's the last damn thing I do." (Y/n) said with determination, making Bruce smile at her. "Well then let's get this over with, so we can leave early, and I can have my way with you when we get back." He hummed as he took her hand in his, hooking their arms together once she was standing. "You're insatiable." She mused before pecking his cheek. "I'll never get enough of you darling." Bruce said before pulling her in for a proper kiss.

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