#My writing.

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 (𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞) 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 」 ⋆

feat. — toji fushiguro x f!reader, kid!megumi

word count. — 1.4k

content. — sfw, non-sorcerer au, established relationship (marriage), mostly just fluffy domestic stuff, reader is addressed as ‘mom/mama/mommy,’ toji’s kind of a bad parent but he’s working on it, brief mention of toji smoking (cigarettes), overprotective!toji, very minor suggestive themes (from toji 🙄 he’s a walking cw/tw)

notes. — idk. this has been incessantly on my brain pretty much from the moment i  woke up today, even to the point where i was writing half of this at  the laundromat lmao. mother’s day yesterday had me feeling some type of way, so here have some fun headcanons from a strange eldest daughter!!!! (i might end up doing a set of these for gojo x reader too 🤔)

⋆ 「 — he’s not your biological son, but you’ve been around since you started seeing toji when megumi was still a baby. but now, a few years later, you might as well be his real mother. you certainly act like it and feel like it, so toji gladly initiates the conversation about official adoption. it just makes sense. you eventually explain the situation to megumi as best as you can simply so that he doesn't grow up thinking he was lied to or anything of the sort, but as far as he's concerned, you're his mom whether it's by blood or not.

⋆ 「 — and oh, megumi’s a mama’s boy. i imagine he’s just a little bit of a healthier kid vs. canon given the better family situation, but he’s still always a bit of a grumpy baby, appreciating his autonomy and trying to be as self-sufficient and mature as he can be. but he’ll most certainly run to you when he needs help, is truly hurt, or just needing a bit of comfort. you’ve always treated him so softly and kindly with understanding, so he honestly feels more comfortable coming to you most of the time instead of his dad.

⋆ 「 — he likes the way you organize the bookshelf in his room or fold and sort his clothes in special little ways. he gets upset any time toji tries to put a book back in the wrong place or can’t figure out where his damn socks are. gumi will scowl and say, “that’s not where it goes.” or go deadpan and be like, “mom always keeps the socks in the bottom drawer.” disappointed that his father can’t even remember. toji just grumbles and says, “your mama’s gonna ruin you.”

⋆ 「 — has called you 'mom' basically since he was old enough, but don't let him fool you. megumi will drop the big boy act and come out with 'mama' or 'mommy' when something's wrong or he's really excited. he'll come to you with quiet tears and sniffles, a little ashamed that he's crying, but present to you a scraped elbow, "mama... it hurts." you clean up the scrape and explain to him the little medical details in a somewhat understandable way to help him focus on something besides the pain, and you tell him that it'll be okay, and that it's alright to cry. or on the flip-side, you and toji take him to the zoo, little gumi on his dad's shoulders, and he gasps and points excitedly, "look, mommy! look at the big elephant!" and it feels incredible to see him be so spirited.

⋆ 「 — along the lines of the art from this post and the thought i had about it earlier, just imagine that you're at some event (maybe like a birthday party or something), and toji's been hauling megumi around. they're both so over it at this point and are like 'please get me out of this' so as soon as toji walks past the obnoxious inflatable bouncy house, he smirks and just YEETS that kid inside without a second thought. after regaining his breath, megumi just looks at his father with the most EVIL little scowl as other kids bounce around him with smiles. by the look on that child's face you could've swore that his father had just done him the ultimate betrayal.

so gumi slides out and hurriedly makes his way over to where you're sitting off to the side, quietly climbing into your lap for a little bit of solace. he wiggles in close to your chest and you tuck him under your chin with a ‘come here, sweetpea,’ rocking slowly and humming something soft because he always seems to like it when you do.

toji comes over and you look at him through narrowed eyes. "kids are supposed to like shit like that," he says.

"you know he likes when things are more quiet," you respond, and toji rolls his eyes at how you seemingly spoil your son.

"just thought it might be good for him to try and get along with the other brats." toji tries to cover up the fact that he tossed his kid for the sheer personal enjoyment of it.

you huff in disbelief. "oh, like you get along so well with everyone?"

he scoffs and moves in behind you, leaning down to place a kiss on your neck. "i get along with you," he says almost suggestively.

you just keep stroking megumi's hair and give the top of his head a gentle kiss. "yeah, well not today," you say, shooting a smug, resolute smile towards your husband, ultimately taking his son's side.

⋆ 「 — outside of his alone time, megumi would honestly much rather be with you instead of other children. toji thinks it's probably unhealthy and you're inclined to agree, but you also don't want to force megumi into situations that will just make him miserable. so, when appropriate, you don't mind at all pacing around with him in your arms or have him walk next to you (maybe holding your hand if he’s not in a ‘big boy’ mood), teaching him about the things you see in the woods, the park, or even the museum. when toji's not away working, he'll join too because it admittedly makes his heart feel soft to watch you two together. it always has, because you've been doing this with megumi since he was a baby. it never gets old. if it wasn't already so difficult trying to figure out how to do things right by his son, he'd want you to give him even more babies.

⋆ 「 — megumi likes doing things with his dad sometimes too, though. toji tries his best to do it right and watch both his mouth and his temper. you like seeing them getting along, even if it's just quietly watching tv or a movie (probably a cartoon where toji gets kind of into and will ask the occasional question like "why does that one stupid chick keep doing that?" and megumi just shrugs like, "i dunno. she is pretty dumb.") or playing ball outside because gumi's starting to show some athleticism. but you have to remind toji that he can't always be so rough or competitive with games because megumi is literally a child.

⋆ 「 — toji can also be way too overprotective of you two at times. you'll be out and about and he'll just be wearing such an intimidating expression as he walks behind you both, on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause trouble or take the wrong sort of glance at his wife. he'll even snap at people for walking too close or like cutting in line or something petty, and you have to tell him stop acting like an attack dog and looking like the grim reaper because dear god you're literally just having lunch at the park. even at his age, megumi's just eating his ice cream and looking at his dad with his little baby deadpan expression and thinking "this man really needs to take a chill pill." other times he can be more relaxed, however, obviously confident in his ability to protect you. it depends on his mood. but that still doesn’t stop him from being embarrassing and going off on people in public if something happens.

⋆ 「 — you also know all of gumi’s favorite meals and snacks. it’s yet another one of those things where, if his dad does it wrong, megumi expresses a disappointment beyond his years. toji will be making and packing his son’s school lunch just as instructed by the notes you gave him, but it’s by no means as neat and meticulous as when you do it. toji’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth with furrowed, concentrating brows, his free hand shakily reaching for a cup of fresh coffee, and megumi’s standing there with his little backpack, criticizing his father the entire time. “mom doesn’t do it like that,” he says.

“well mom ain’t here right now. and it doesn’t matter how the sandwich is cut, is still tastes the damn same.”

gumi doesn’t even physically react, still wearing the same neutral expression, just waiting for his dad to hurry up. “mom says you shouldn’t smoke. and she also says not to use bad words.”

toji scoffs and then smirks. “well mommy uses all sorts of bad words you don’t even know about when her and daddy have play time.”

megumi’s already almost late for school and can barely feel his feet from how tight his dad tied his shoelaces. he also asks you later about “play time,” and you want to absolutely murder your husband over it.

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙐𝙕𝙕𝙇𝙀 𝙋𝙄𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙎.

( 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪𝖳𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 #1 ･ 𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘎𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 )

𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔!𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗫 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗔!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / omegaverse / reader has a vagina but no gendered pronouns / some imbalanced power dynamics due to wriothesley's position / very brief mentions of + allusions to: crime, prostitution, underage sex / elements of size kink / knotting / biting / a bit of blood / 4.2k words

i know what you're probably thinking: robin, why not omega reader?? well, i thought about it, but then i liked this idea better lol. one of my favorite personal omegaverse headcanons is that betas are able to somewhat hormonally shift to try and temporarily fill the role required by an individual they are in close proximity to, and if exposed long enough, can even become almost a pseudo version of an alpha or omega—at least when it comes to pheromones and maybe some slight physical and behavioral changes. so that's my inspiration, and there are definitely some elements of it in this piece. i hope you enjoy! (dividers by cafekitsune)

The Duke didn’t earn respect through fear but instead through actions that proved he deserved such esteem; however, you had become aware of the fact that he’d always been rather adept at keeping secrets, and while it was more often than not for the good of others, you couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things he kept locked away for his own sake as well. 

Wriothesley was notoriously difficult to get close to despite his knack for making connections, and after becoming more acquainted with him following your arrival at the Fortress, your curiosity was inevitably piqued. It was nigh impossible not to be intrigued by the highly competent and fiercely handsome administrator of exiles, especially when he had always treated you like something of an equal—a friend, even—yet kept himself at an emotional distance. You concluded it was silly to assume you might ever have a chance at being privy to his private thoughts, but it couldn’t hurt to daydream of the possibility once in a while. There certainly wasn’t much else for you to do down here.

But what you hadn’t really expected was for one of his secrets to be revealed like this.

Sure, he had the disposition for it; in fact, your original inclination upon meeting Wriothesley for the first time was to think that he could be nothing other than a true alpha, his burly figure and authoritative presence lending well to most of the stereotypes. But he never commented on the matter, nor was there any other indication that such was the case. Your fellow inmates held speculation on occasion, but generally came to the conclusion that the Duke was nothing more than a beta gifted with the chops to get things done.

They were wrong. Because that’s what he wanted them to think.

Wriothesley detested the thought of the masses believing his accomplishments were due to his status as an alpha. That was simply never his goal nor his motivation, for all he’d ever wanted was for everyone to be on a relatively equal playing field. In all honesty, his biology had been nothing more than a distracting irritation along the way, clouding his mind when he usually preferred clear judgment. He wasn’t a stiff without a penchant for fun, but being forced to surrender to the impulses of his body hadn’t always gone well for him in the past.

His self-control was unparalleled when assisted by the strong cocktail of hormonal suppressants that Sigewinne was able to regularly administer to him in secret. Not everything was completely erased after having been on the medication for so long, but it was usually more than enough to keep himself in check without having to go to extremes. But it seems his luck had finally run out.

Wriothesley’s office has become a prison within a prison, keeping him locked inside whilst keeping everyone else at bay.

“Please do not disturb the Duke. He is recovering from an illness,” Sigewinne had said, but even several days later, you haven’t seen a single trace of him. You wonder just how bad of an illness this actually is to have him isolated in the administrative office rather than the infirmary, and it leaves you feeling worried for the man you trust most down in this little corner of the ocean. 

Perhaps it’s silly, but having a chat with him after bringing the latest edition of The Steambird to his office every day has become your most beloved routine. It makes you feel as though you’re doing something worthwhile, and it gives you an excuse to see him more regularly than most might—perhaps even have a warm cup of tea if you’re lucky. He also seems to enjoy your company well enough, or at least that’s what you’ve always hoped.

With fresh newsprint between your fingertips, you think surely it can’t be too bad of an idea to check up on him now.

You convince the guards to let you through with the promise of leaving the paper at the inside of the door along with some items you had bought at the cafeteria with your extra credit coupons. You’re sure someone had to have been bringing him regular meals, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little something extra if he had the appetite for it. Warm food could do wonders when you weren’t feeling well.

Upon entering the large doors to the office, you call out, “Wriothesley? Sir? It’s just me. I’ve come to bring you the paper and a few things to eat.” 

You hate to sit the items directly on the ground, so you use one of the spare boxes in the lower lobby as a makeshift table, hoping it’ll be easier for him to reach as well. 

“I know you haven’t been feeling well, but I just wanted to check in on you.”

You are met with nothing but silence and assume that perhaps you had stumbled in on Wriothesley while he was sleeping, but as you grow closer to the winding stairwell, your ears pick up on the faintest of noises; it sounds like someone huffing and groaning in discomfort, and you are immediately stricken with concern.

Taking the next few stairs upwards, you call out once more. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

It’s really none of your business, but you simply can’t help yourself.

“I’m fine,” he rasps between heavy breaths, making you freeze in your tracks. “Just… stay down there.”

You are inclined to obey given his insistent tone and subsequent silence, but the moment another painful-sounding cry pierces the air, you can’t stop your feet from scrambling up the rest of the staircase. 

As soon as you reach the top, your eyes begin scanning the room for the visual of an ill and impaired individual, expecting to find him immobilized on the office’s sofa or even the cold, hard floor, but you are met with nothing of the sort.

Wriothesley sits limp in the desk chair with an unbuttoned vest, shirt and trousers, skin drenched in a feverish sweat, and a heavy, swollen cock pulsing out the remnants of an unsatisfactory orgasm. His legs are spread wide and covered with release, chest heaving and glistening in the low light alongside the protruding knot that your gaze can’t help but fixate upon.

“I told you to stay away,” he says with breathy defeat, far too exhausted to try and cover himself up like any half-decent man might. He’s been caught and seen for the animal he truly is, so there’s no use in attempting to deny it now. He hasn’t the energy.

With wide eyes, your heart pounds. “You’re an alpha,” you state rather matter-of-factly, frozen in place, almost as if trying to convince yourself of the reality staring you straight in the face.

“What gave it away?” Wriothesley replies while wiping the sweat from his brow. He apparently still has the capacity for a touch of sarcasm.

You can smell it now—the potent pheromones circulating throughout the air, casting a thick shadow over the room, even for someone with the nose of a beta like yourself. Wriothesley is so deep in a rut that it’s impossible for anyone not to notice, which is precisely why you assume he’s been locked here in the office with no contact for days on end.

And by the look of him, isolation hasn’t provided much relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were—“

“Don’t,” he stops you, finally working to shove himself beneath the confines of clothing despite the perpetual aching hardness between his legs. “Just… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

You cannot begin to fathom why that is his first request, but you have no reason not to try and honor it. It seems you’ve finally gotten your glimpse into the Duke’s private life, albeit not quite in the way you had anticipated.

Searching for the right words to say, you try and open your mouth to form some sort of response before he speaks again.

“Sigewinne is the only one who knows,” he adds, sinking further into his chair, “but I wouldn’t put it past Clorinde to have some idea.”

You are able to infer from that information alone that he has been using the medical expertise of the head nurse to conceal his biological truth, but it would appear that not even her assistance is enough to keep such things indefinitely at bay. You deduce that Wriothesley has been sentenced to ride out a rut that is far overdue, judging by the iron grip it currently has on him.

You are glued to the spot, standing and staring as you sort each piece of information within your mind. Meanwhile, Wriothesley steeps in the humiliation.

He wishes you would go back down the stairs, taking the secret and your increasingly potent scent with you while leaving him to hope you might have it in your heart to keep this to yourself. He’d rather not be gawked at like an animal in a cage, but he supposes that’s more or less what he has actually come to be. Perhaps it’s what he’s always been.

But you don’t leave, and he doesn’t have the strength to make you. Even if an aggressive streak were to be triggered and brought to the surface, Wriothesley doesn’t think he’d be able to make you the subject of it. Ironically, that frightens him.

He finds your presence alluring but your silence deafening, his own heavy breaths being all that fills the air until you finally decide to make a move. 

Instead of walking away, you step forward. He eyes you, almost as though you’re predator and he’s prey.

“I can help,” you say, a certain decisive tone coloring your voice.

“What?” he replies, taken aback. It’s an admittedly enticing offer given his current state, but is entirely inappropriate nonetheless. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’ve done it before. Once.” It’s a half-truth—you’ve been with an alpha once in your life, but it was in exchange for mora, and certainly not during a rut. But something is compelling you to convince him of your capabilities.

Wriothesley’s cock throbs with each step you take closer to the desk, the energy in the air intensifying beyond comprehension. He can’t imagine using a beta to ease his suffering, forcing someone’s body to accommodate him when it isn’t truly meant to, but every second that passes brings him closer to seeing that he’s fighting somewhat of a losing battle.

It’s not that he hadn’t thought of it before; hell, you’d flashed through his mind several times before he’d blown a thick, wasted load all over himself to try and break the fever. But to succumb to this weakness… it would damage his pride, and the walls he’d so expertly built around himself along with it.

When you’re inches away from the front of his desk, Wriothesley uses his remaining willpower to rise to his feet and make a display that will hopefully ward you off. He plants his palms flat against the wood, leering forward with an expression that looks more pained than authentically wrathful. “You need to leave. Now.”

Were this any other situation, you might be stricken with fear that would prompt you to obey such an intimidating command, but just as he feels compelled to preserve his dignity, you feel the pull of biology and personal conviction keeping you rooted in place. The Duke’s voice does indeed cause your stomach to flip with the sting of anxiety, but it ultimately doesn’t affect your decision.

You lean forward and mimic his position, pressing your weight against the desk until you’re at eye level with him, resolve completely unwavering. “Wriothesley. Let me help you.”

You possess a determination he can’t help but respect, padded with a layer of genuine concern, and he can feel your breath like a warm breeze dancing across his skin. Mixed with the modest yet sturdy quality of your scent—an aroma that he swears only keeps getting sweeter by the minute—it dopes him up like a drug.

Neither of you is entirely sure who was the first to lean into the kiss, but Wriothesley does know that he had every intent of doing it regardless. And now that your lips are on his, coating his tongue in a layer of honey, he finds himself somehow possessing both a raging inferno of thoughts and the utmost clarity of mind.

Truthfully, he hasn’t done this in years. Not since he’d first presented as a teen and mindlessly tracked down the nearest omega in the Fortress. She had been more than willing to break him in, and Wriothesley still has yet to decide whether that was a blessing or a curse.

You’re uncertain of whether you’re driven by the physical need to ease another’s pain or your own selfish inner desires, but none of that will really matter by the time this is over with. All you can focus on in the present is the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth like he’s exploring, consuming, rectifying. There’s almost something juvenile about it.

You climb over the width of the desk to lessen the distance between you, knees dragging over wood until you can properly sit yourself in front of him. Wriothesley happily accommodates you with a couple of strong arms pulling you forward so that he may press himself between your thighs, opening them up to provide him with more access your scent.

“I could smell you coming up the stairs,” he pants between frantic kisses, bulge grinding against your center like an omen.

“You’ve been pent-up for way too long if you’re smelling betas,” you reply. It’s not untrue, but the smell of him has weaseled its way around your senses as well, stronger and with more allure. Perhaps this is what happens when you accidentally spend too much time with an alpha in hiding.

Writothesley nudges your jaw with his nose and cascades kisses down your neck like he’s been your lover for a hundred different lifetimes. “Yeah, well maybe I just really like this beta,” he says before tonguing over your scent gland with a nice, slow drag, instincts more in control than anything. You’ve broken him down like a man made of straw.

Little by little, he practically coaxes the pheromones out of you, your body working on overdrive to try and compensate for what you lack. It doesn’t hit quite the same as it might if you were an omega, but Wriothesley hardly knows this difference, and even if he did, he doesn’t care; this is the only relief he’s felt in days—years, even.

Your fingers wrap around his length, and he hisses against your throat, hips reflexively bucking forward in the search for more. He’s hot and throbbing, aching to be buried in a warm cunt that he can claim with a knot, and it’s never felt so good to be completely at the mercy of his own instinctive drive. In his compromised state of mind, Wriothesley wonders why it is that he’s been fighting it off for so long.

“I think that’s just the rut talking,” you say, breathing into his mouth as you pump his cock a few times for good measure, every inch already standing at attention for you. A fountain of pre-cum dribbles from the head and down the underside of his shaft, and you’d like to believe it’s because of the way he feels about you, but you wouldn’t be willing to bet very much on it.

However, he challenges your sentiment.

“Not a chance,” Wriothesley states rather assuredly, slamming his lips into yours for another selfish taste. You’re curious as to whether or not it’s the truth, and if it is, how long he’s been managing to keep this secret as well. But, once again, the logistics of it don’t matter, because he’s leaning you back until your spine makes contact with the desk, completely intent on sealing the deal either way.

Your shoes are pulled off with haste, as well as everything from the waist down, his brute strength hardly requiring him to fiddle with any intricacies involved in your clothing. Wriothesley is simply desperate to see your dripping slit with his own eyes and run a thumb through it, spreading the relatively meager amount of slick around your folds and sizing up the little hole that’s tucked inside.

He won’t fit. He’s not supposed to.

But it’ll be tight. So tight. He can already feel the squeeze.

With a bead of sweat racing down his temple and a rough thumb circling around your entrance, he asks for clarification. “Are you sure about this?”

You wish he’d move higher, press his fingerprint to your clit or at the very least stick the digit inside you, but he exercises more patience than your typical alpha might. How long will it last? You don’t dare try and find out, instead nodding your head with confidence. “Yes. I’m sure.” Your back arches off the surface, seeking more stimulation between your thighs. “It’ll be fine.”

Your scent swirls around his head like an aphrodisiac, and the consent is all he requires to further indulge. Wriothesley steps back and bends forward to seek the smell at its source, letting the fantastical feeling overtake him and launch a wave of desire straight down to his cock. His nervous system is ordering him to do nothing other than fuck and fill, but even so, he licks filthily up your slit with desperation, collecting you upon his tongue to get one last hit to fuel the high.

The sensation pushes a shiver through your center all the way to the tips of your fingers, and you’ve never fed off of someone’s need in a manner such as this until now. You might not offer exactly what nature dictates he requires, but the utter lust that drips from his mouth and the gaze of those icy blue eyes makes you believe for a moment that perhaps you really do. He taps the heavy head of his cock between your folds, and it somehow feels more right than most anything thing else in your life leading up to this point.

Wriothesley is captivated by the slick sensation of sliding himself along your pussy, watching the sticky fluid claim the majority of his length with its clear shine. His heart pounds from the intimacy of it until he’s pushing inside, no longer able to keep himself from being inside you.

It’s a quick coupling—pulsing tip dragging forward until it reaches your limits a second later, parting you around him with a burn that makes your nostrils flare. He doesn’t slam his hips into yours because there’s still a few spare inches he can’t quite work inside, and now that you’re stretched around him, you’re grateful for His Grace’s mercy.

Your determination had caused you to overlook the sheer size of him—or rather overestimate your own ability to receive it—because Wriothesley fills your insides to a degree with which you were hitherto unfamiliar. To turn back now, however, would be to admit cowardice and defeat, an embarrassment you should not wish to bring upon yourself were he even to allow you, and truthfully… you aren’t entirely opposed to this feeling of fullness, whether it brings discomfort or not.

Your thighs tremble at the same frequency as your lower lip, but you otherwise maintain a face of bravery as the Duke begins to move his hips, forcing you open again and again until you begin to accept his body as part of your own. He drops to hover over you with a growl that echoes along your throat before teeth graze over it, keen on sinking into flesh but still strong enough to refrain—that is, until your first moan wraps around his ear like your arms around his back, coaxing him into allowing himself to be free.

Wriothesley’s fingers anchor themselves into your hips as he moves into you with an increasing intensity, pushing a little more of his length into you each time now that your cunt has decided to receive it with a sticky, wet noise upon every thrust. He can feel your walls trying to allow him to carve a space inside them despite the lingering resistance that dizzies him, making him have to add a little more force behind each movement of his hips so that you can’t successfully shut him out.

It’s as though he’s invading your entire being—cock reaching your throat and stealing your breath, heavy rib cage weighing upon your chest until it seems as though your bones might fuse together into an anomaly. If he could speak or show you the inner workings of his mind, you’d know that he feels the same way, and while the overwhelm brings forth a sudden surge of anxiety, neither of you would alter the suffocation. 

Who says your bodies weren’t meant for each other? Sometimes the wrong puzzle pieces still fit together.

Once he’s managed to nestle every inch inside of you, even down to where the knot will start to swell sooner rather than later, the force of Wriothesley’s thrusts reach a caliber that shifts the massive desk beneath you. He bruises your hips with every slam and every squeeze of his fingertips, but it all pales in comparison to the way the pleasure blooms within you each time his broad tip nudges against your favorite spot. That paired with the dark, coarse hair that grinds into your clit makes you incapable of acknowledging anything else.

Your fingers grasp at his shirt while he huffs and grunts in your ear, cock stretching out your hole and effectively making it his, even if only in his mind. He kisses you until someone’s lip is nicked open by teeth and spreading copper between your tongues until moments later, you sense an increase in his pace.

“Bite down wherever you can,” he tells you breathlessly between the groans falling from his lips, and you search his face with a confused look in your eye. “Just do it,” he insists.

Wriothesley feels the base of his cock beginning to swell, release inevitable now that he’s had his fill. He buries his face so that he can feel your pulse and push into you with all he has, and as he feels you obey his command, teeth sinking into the flesh of where his shoulder meets his neck, he can’t help but return the favor, stinging you with his own canines.

The rush of pain and the growl he emits has you spasming around his cock in an instant, vision going dark and a small gush of fluid splashing around the knot that pops into your hole immediately after. Your eyes shoot open at the feeling as Wriothesley stills himself almost entirely, cum rushing out against your womb in thick ropes until you feel completely full of fire. All you can do is bite down harder with a whimper as your entire body tenses from the pain, meanwhile Wriothesley mindlessly rocks his hips like an animal to fuck himself deeper until there’s absolutely no room left for him inside you. 

Tears brim at your eyes even after the worst of the burn is over, and you didn’t think you could feel any fuller than you did before, but he has proven you wrong once again.

Wriothesley shudders and heaves for breath above you, releasing you from his bite and re-orienting himself post-euphoria. You follow suit and slowly bring your mouth away from his skin, only to see a small trickle of blood making its way down his collarbone and dropping directly onto your clothing. You hadn’t even noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now.

He takes note of your wet lashes and feels an ache of regret deep within his chest. Although he could hardly begin to describe the heavenly experience that had just consumed him, he is unable to separate himself from the guilt of what he has done to you.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he pants, even as his body grows boneless while he is still locked inside you indefinitely. You find it ironic given that he is the one who drips with blood, but you wouldn’t even notice if you had been punctured as well.

Your body learns to relax around the intrusion and lets you finally release the breath you’d kept trapped high up in your lungs, granting you the faculty of speech.

“No,” you reply, knowing full well that having the Duke escort you in his arms across the Fortress, each of you doused in sweat and each other’s scent, would only mean the mass unveiling of his secret. “Just… let me rest here for a moment.” Given the way his hips are sealed against yours, rest is your only option.

Wriothesley admittedly cares little for his reputation at the moment—not when your well-being has crept into his chest and taken immediate priority. He certainly isn’t opposed to spending an inappropriate amount of time welded against you, appreciating how beautiful you look misted by sweat and bearing the imprint of his teeth, but he knows that the longer you’re here, the more he’s going to want you for good.

“I’d be happy to oblige, but…” he pauses and presses his forehead to yours, “if you stay here, I’m only gonna end up wanting to do that all over again.”

[thesoftestpunk]

I want you, Baby I need you

Summary: your friend tells you someone may like you and so stupidly, you begin to think about them a little differently

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: I feel like my brain fog made the pacing weird :/

Warnings: bullying, girls being mean :(, lots of fluff and pining!!

Main Masterlist

Pt.2

“Guess what?” One of your teammates, Christina, asks the second you place your tray down on the table, looking too smug for your liking. Before you can even ask, she’s talking over you. “The freak has a crush on you.”

“Who?” You genuinely forget who she’s referring to for a second, but her scoff seems to jog your memory. “Oh. Eddie Munson?” 

“Who else?” She sneers, and everyone else around you laughs like it’s some huge joke, but you’re certain she isn’t joking. “God, how embarrassing.”

Your cheeks burn as they laugh even harder. You let out a weak chuckle, feeling the world around you shrink and become suffocating. 

“Yeah,” you let out, trying to play along. “Could you imagine? Me and him?” 

You blatantly refuse to call him a freak. Since moving into town two years ago, you quickly learned city life and small town life were completely different worlds. Despite falling in with the semi-popular crowd by joining the swimming team, you understood the struggle Eddie and his friends had to go through. You weren’t freak status back home, but you weren’t popular either. Not always well known, but always well liked, and your new friends teasing him about the rumor makes you worry about it spreading. For your sake and not his. You don’t want to deal with any sort of teasing from anyone.

Guilt crawls up your throat as you steal a glance toward his table, catching his eye as he curiously looks on at the boisterous scene going on around you. You give a quick smile, which probably comes off as more of a wince, and turn back around. In all honesty, he hasn’t been on your radar. You don’t know much about him other than the fact that he’s loud, labeled The Freak of Hawkins High, and has made a scene or two in class. 

“Oh god,” Christina sighs out, wiping nonexistent tears from her eyes. “Pathetic.” 

Humming half heartedly, you focus on shoving your shitty school food around your tray instead of eating it, a sudden pit sitting heavy in your stomach. Because Eddie having a crush on you actually felt flattering. 

You choose to sit next to him in English, even give a small smile when you sit. There’s still time before the bell rings, and you find yourself glancing over at him. You open and close your mouth, uncertain of what to say until the words suddenly come tumbling out.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

For a second he doesn’t realize you’re talking to him until the silence makes him look up and realize you’re staring straight at him, expectantly. He points to himself as if asking ‘me?’ eyebrows raised and his already wide doe eyes getting even wider. And you nod while fighting off a smile. 

“Why d’you wanna know?” He eyes you suspiciously, certain that whatever information you’re about to get out of him is going to get back to your friends and fuel the constant fire over his head. 

“I dunno,” you shrug a shoulder, but you’re honest. What the fuck were you supposed to say to Eddie Munson anyway? He was intimidating as hell because he put himself in the spotlight like it was nothing. It isn’t like you hate attention, but too much makes you nauseous. “Thinking about getting one, I guess?”

“You guess?” His head tilts, causing his hair to cascade over his shoulder. Of course he would be defensive. Christina was just making fun of him less than an hour ago. 

“It’s- forget it,” you shake your head. You can’t believe you would trust your nasty, mean friends when they said he had a crush on you. 

Turning back to the front of the classroom, you wait painfully for the bell to ring, and once it does, the room fills quickly with slightly out of breath students. A couple of your teammates wave at you until you finally break and they gesture wildly, asking ‘what the fuck are you doing sitting next to him?’ All you can do is give an apologetic shrug and decide you’ll lie to them later and say it was the only seat you could find. They just roll their eyes and pull out their textbooks. 

“Five.” Eddie’s voice surprises you. 

Turning your head, you hope no one sees when you ask. “Did they hurt?”

“No, ‘course not.” He bites back a smile, trying to act all tough. 

“Liar.” Your nose scrunches and it makes him laugh at how cute it is. 

You don’t mean to, truly, but now you look out for Eddie in the halls, stare at him during class, and hope for one more conversation. One that’s less embarrassing, but you do hope. Despite your friend's relentless teasing after English class the other day, you give a small wave back anytime he gives you one. You never initiate first, too shy and afraid it’ll lead to more teasing. This way you can just say you’re being polite when you wave back and they see, but more often than not, they’re too caught up in their own little worlds. Even though you’re scared they’ll tease, you keep an eye out for him and you learn more than you ever knew before. He’s polite. He lets the cheerleaders walk ahead if they bump into each other at a corner in the hall. One arm is tucked behind his back as he sweeps the other out and he bows a little. They give him weird looks respectively, but he just smiles and moves on. He might joke around with his friends, but if you listen closely, you can hear the kindness and compliments hidden underneath the meaning of his words. The group is small, but he holds the same amount of care for each and every one of them. Including his ‘little sheepies’ which you don’t fully understand, but he used a lot of words you don’t understand, and you thought you were smart. After a little investigating, you learn some of them are made up, but you seem to like the fact that he’s nerdy and into this series called Lord of the Rings. 

You’re starting to like Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Christina moves in your line of sight, in front of him. You’d positioned yourself at the cafeteria table so you didn’t have to turn around to subtly watch him anymore. “Are you staring at the freaks?”

“Stop calling them that,” you roll your eyes. “You know I hate that.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “Just, you know, being honest. What’s so interesting about them anyway?”

“Nothing.” You mutter, going back to nibbling on the shitty cardboard pizza they served today. 

She turns around and gets the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen from her when her eyes connect with Eddie’s. 

“Holy shit. You’ve got a crush on The freak!”

“Christina!” You swat at her, but it’s too late. Everyone else at your table already heard and is staring at you incredulously. “I- I do not.”

“Puh-lease. You’ve been making googly eyes at him for weeks at this point!”

“It hasn’t been weeks,” you mutter under your breath.

“Ew!” Another one of the girls scrunches her nose and jabs a thumb in his direction. “Him?”

“Better be careful, Y/N,” another taunts. “Don’t wanna find you in the woods. I heard he, like, sacrificed a girl out there last year. No one’s heard from her since.”

“Oh my god, me too!” Christina pretends to look concerned. “You think that’s what happened to Nancy’s friend too? What was her name? Bev?”

“Didn’t he like…” the girl to your left leans in and stage whispers, but she could be heard from across the room if you listened hard enough. None of them understood the concept of speaking at a normal volume. “Bite a bat's head off?” 

“That was actually Ozzy Ozbourne!” Eddie leans so far back in the chair that the two front legs don’t touch the ground, one of his legs lifted so the bottom of his dirty Reebok’s supports his weight against the table. 

You’re mortified at the idea that Eddie has heard every single word, but he was at the other end of the long table today. 

“Ugh,” Christina rolls her eyes again before turning to face him. “As if we know that freak either!”

“Tina,” you hiss, not wanting to start a scene over this nonsense. 

“Whatever. You don’t have a crush.” She fully faces the table again and starts talking about the party at Jason’s after the game on Friday. 

You go to throw an apologetic look at Eddie, but find him missing from the table, and a couple of his friends send glares your way, making you shrink in shame. 

Eddie isn’t in English, or History, and you find out through the grapevine he skips the rest of the day entirely. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do, but you feel like it’s your fault. The days leading up to the party, he seems to avoid you, eyes darting away quickly and showing up late enough to class that it’s guaranteed there’s no free seats around you. Christina seems to take notice of your sour mood, but only asks once. You lie and say you’re fine, but you feel sick to your stomach. You never actively partook in the bullying, but you never stopped it either. 

The day of the game finally rolls around, filled with school spirit and a pep rally, but once again Eddie is nowhere to be found. Not that he’d ever attended a pep rally in his whole high school career, but you at least expected to spot him at lunch. He’s even absent from your shared classes. After school, you hang around in the parking lot, wasting time before you all have to go home and get ready for the game. You frown as you observe his friends, chatting away aimlessly and occasionally throwing candy around. They hang around what you think is Eddie’s van, but if he skipped all day, why would he be here now? 

“Hey,” Christina’s voice surprises you, quiet and genuine. “Just us girls… you have a crush on Munson?”

“I…” you trail off, surprised she isn’t faking her valley girl voice, and you feel like you can trust her once again since you met her two years ago. She wasn’t your first friend in Hawkins, but you had been close when you first joined the team. “I dunno. He’s actually kinda sweet. Maybe?”

“Seriously?” And then she guffaws, catching you off guard once more. “Ugh, grody! Guys, Y/N actually has a crush on Munson!”

“I- I didn’t say that!” You can’t believe Christina would do something like that. As you watch them all laugh and tease, you wonder when they all got so mean and why you started letting them get away with it. 

“You said maybe. That’s, like, totally a yes!”

“Like it’s such a bad thing to have a crush on me?” 

Everyone quiets as you slowly turn around to find Eddie standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Eddie, I…” you aren’t even sure what to say as he glares down at you. 

“I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging around you, Munson.” Christina’s voice makes you squeeze your eyes shut in frustrated embarrassment. “Even your parents couldn’t stand to stay around. Must be hard having a cultist son. Fucking embarrassing.”

The lot gets so quiet, you can hear the grinding of his teeth as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t even dignify her with a response, turning and walking away before anyone can see the red staining his cheeks. 

“Tina… that was major harsh.” One of the girls breaks the silence. 

“Oh, eat my shorts, Janice. Are we getting ready at my house or not?” 

Everyone seems to hesitate but Christina was captain of the team. No one was going to say no. Well, no one but you. 

“I’ve, um, got a thing. I’ll meet you guys at the game.” You glance over toward Eddie, watching as he harshly shoves his shoulder back to avoid one of his friends' hands. 

You shouldn’t go to the game, but you do.

Janice called you from Christina’s house, sounding hopeful. You promised to be there, despite your whole body screaming at you to just stay home. Janice promises the whole thing will blow over by Monday, and something else will come along. But it won’t just blow over with Eddie. You know that. He had looked so hurt when you turned around to face him. In all the years of getting bullied, that was the first time he showed anyone what their words did to him. And it was your fault. 

You had promised Janice you’d be there, but when you stand outside the gymnasium, you can’t make yourself go in. Can’t make yourself face who you thought were your friends. So, you walk down a path between the large building and the school and take out a key. The pool was somewhat separated, but you could still hear the muffled band playing when you entered the echoey room. You keep a spare swimsuit in your locker for this exact situation. The sport helped clear your mind and you needed to get rid of the image of Eddie’s broken look.

You swim even after the cheering and the band stops. You swim until you feel like your limbs are going to fall off, and even though you don’t want to, you shower off the chlorine. As you step out into the somewhat cool autumn air, a double door bursts open, and the kids that come spilling out make you stop. 

His little sheepies. Which means… 

Fuck. 

Eddie is the last one out, smile so wide you can’t help but wonder if it hurts. They all talk over each other, but Eddie just seems to watch over in pride. You take a step back into the shadows, hoping your bright multicolored windbreaker doesn’t give you away. 

“Hey!” Is that… Steve Harrington? “You guys were supposed to be done an hour ago.”

“The campaign ends when it ends, Steve!” One of them retorts back. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have all night Henderson. Let’s go!” 

All three freshmen rush to Steve’s BMW and scramble inside. He and Eddie share a nod before he gets in and peels out of the lot, and you can still hear all of them shouting in excitement. The other three seniors exchange goodbyes before parting ways, but Eddie sticks behind. Neither of you move until all the cars are gone except for his van and yours. Why the fuck hasn’t he moved? 

“Is it just you?” Eddie finally speaks, turning toward your piss poor excuse of a hiding spot. “Or is the rest of the team waiting somewhere?”

“I’m- I’m alone.” It scares you once you realize you’re the only two on the property. Probably the only two within a few miles at this point. “Look, I’m really sorry about them. Christina especially. I don’t know when she got so…”

“Bitchy?”

That makes you breathe out a laugh, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

It’s quiet for a moment as he shifts his weight to his other leg, observing you and the whole situation. 

“Do you want to sit by the pool and talk?” It’s starting to feel pretty creepy outside, and the cold night wasn’t helping your wet hair.

“I thought it was locked after hours.” 

You hold up the bronze key, but offer up an explanation anyway. “My uncle is actually the coach. He got me into swimming competitively in the first place. Technically I’m not allowed to bring friends in but…”

“Good thing I’m not really a friend.” He walks past you and you’re a bit frozen in place, not believing he accepted. 

You’re nervous as you unlock the door once more and wave him inside like he would but you give an awkward curtsy. As he’s turning in a small circle to take in how the water reflects off the walls and ceiling, you slip off your shoes and roll up your jeans as far as you can go. He begins to do the same when he sees you sticking your feet in the water. 

“Jesus Chri-! That’s cold!” His voice bounces off the walls, and your laughter follows. 

“Well, yeah, most pools are.” You tuck your hands underneath your thighs and move your right leg around in small circles, disrupting the water. “Didn’t see you at the game.” 

“That kind of stuff is bullshit. Forced conformity.” Before he goes on a rant, he looks at the sly smile on your face, as if you were going to enjoy this topic of conversation. But he knew you’d react either of two ways if he kept on. Confused, or freaked out. So he leans back on his palms and tries to act casual. “And if I’m guessing right, you weren’t there either.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” You give a halfhearted shrug. “Christina really… what she said about your parents— I just don’t see her the same anymore. I don’t know how it happened, but she just got so mean, and everyone’s too scared to say anything because she's the captain. Sorry, I’m- ranting.”

“Christina wasn’t far off.” 

The admission bounces around as you look at him.

“Eddie…”

“It was forever ago.” He kicks the water, causing a small splash. “Aren’t you co-captain anyway?”

“Yeah? So?” You didn’t think he would know that, and it makes you feel all mushy inside that he knows something so simple about you. 

“So don’t you have us much say as her?”

“With her tyrannical rule? No way.” 

“No shame in running, but sometimes you gotta be the hero.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “I’m sure getting to Mordor would be easier than standing up to Christina.” 

“You’ve read…?”

“No.” That’s a half lie. “Well, sorta. I haven’t gotten very far. I don’t know if it’s my thing, but you talk about it so much, I wanted to check out all the hype.”

Eddie looks taken aback, mouth hung open. 

“Is that what dungeons and dragons is?” You ask curiously, which seems to take him back even more. “I mean everybody says it’s bad, but it’s just nerd shit, right? Sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It is nerd shit.” He straightens his back at the new topic of conversation. “All it is, is tabletop fantasy role play. Doesn’t have to be like Lord of the Rings. You could have a whole western fantasy campaign. Maybe even in space.” He’s ranting, and god does he know it, but you lean in instead of awkwardly looking away like everyone else does.

“Campaign…?” 

“Well, it’s…” Eddie thinks for a moment before explaining in the most simple of terms how a campaign works. You nod along, enthralled by every detail, even when he derails and starts rambling about character class and stats. He rambles on about their current campaign to help explain better, and he uses silly voices and moves animatedly. You laugh, but not at him. He continues to tease, loving your laugh and that you aren’t making fun of him. His arms flail a bit and he gives a few teasing nudges, but in his excitement he forgets his strength. 

“Wait, Eddie-!” You fall in the water, grabbing on to him in an attempt to stop, but end up pulling him down with you. The both of you come up spluttering, but you end up laughing at the mop of hair on his head. 

“Shit,” he laughs nervously. “It’s deep.”

“Wait. Can you swim?”

“Well, I’m no athlete, but yeah. I can swim.” 

“Well…” you swim forward, a sly smile creeping its way onto your face. “Might as well, right? We’re already in here. You’ll want your jacket off, though. It’s gonna be too much dead weight.”

“Right, I’ll uh…”

“Here, I’ll keep us afloat while you get it off.” 

Before he can understand what’s happening, you wrap your arms around his waist, your face entirely too close to his. With what little space you have, you can see freckles splashing across his face, and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep your composure. He avoids eye contact as he struggles out of the leather, the tip of his tongue making a surprise appearance, before tossing the jacket aside and it lands with a loud wet slap. 

“Cool. Now good luck catching me!” You splash him a little harsher than you had intended, but you make a dash to escape.

“You’re gonna regret that!” 

You’re a lot better at swimming than he is, almost too fast to be caught, but you slow down after awhile on purpose. As his hand wraps around your ankle, making you squeal, you tell yourself you did it to not wear him out and frustrate him. That you didn’t want to anger him, as he’s pulling you into him and dunking both of you under water. You struggle against his arms, but he’s strong. You can feel the unexpected muscle against your hands, but he lets you go too soon and you both come up gasping for air. 

“Told ya.” water sprays a bit from his mouth as his chest heaves. 

“You cheated.” 

“I never cheat, sweetheart.” He wades toward you slowly, dropping down just until his mouth sinks into the water. 

“Eddie Munson, don’t you dare,” you warn but your tone is too light. “You dunk me again, I’ll- I’ll make sure you smell like chlorine for a week.” 

He doesn’t listen, and you swim backward until your back crashes into the tiled wall. The cold sends a shiver down your spine. Definitely not the way Eddie comes back up, water dripping from his chin and his arms blocking you in on either side of you. His eyes drop to your lips and you find yourself breathing heavily for a completely different reason, your chest brushing against his with every inhale. Neither of you make a move, just admiring every detail you can while breathing each other's air. Just when you think he might, a loud bang comes from one of the locker rooms, making you both jump and look around frantically. You find yourself gripping one of his forearms tightly in shock. 

“We should- we should probably get out.” No one else had access to the pool except your uncle, but you doubted he would come by at midnight. He trusted you to not fool around, and you really hadn’t let him down until now. “I swear the locker rooms are haunted.” 

Still, you don’t move until he does, and swim to the nearest ladder to get out. The only sound is the water from your clothes dripping on the floor, and suddenly you feel exhausted. Your clothes feel heavy as they cling to your skin. Without discussing it, you both start peeling your clothes off, slightly turned away to give each other privacy. As you’re wringing out your shirt, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at Eddie, and catch the way his shoulder blades move while he does the same. His eyes catch yours and you smile sheepishly before turning back around. You’re both down to your underwear, unsure of how to proceed. 

“We should shower. Alone I mean. You can go to the boys’. There’s towels.” You speed walk away, too self conscious to hang around too long. 

“Wait!” He follows you quickly, careful not to slip. “You’re just gonna drop the fact that the locker rooms are haunted and then leave me alone to fend for myself?”

Your footsteps slow, and you let out a small huff because you know you know you’ll feel guilty until the end of time if you do that to him. 

“There’s going to be rules, Munson.”

“Oh, of course.” He agrees quietly.

“We go in at the same time and undress fully in our own shower. You’re not to come out until I have, and even then, you’re not to look anywhere but your own shower. When I say it’s okay, you can leave, got it?”

“I think you forgot the part about the towels.”

“Do not make me regret this.” 

You’ve never been so self conscious showering until now. Even with a zero percent chance of Eddie seeing you naked, you worry, but you also think about the fact that he’s in the same exact state you’re in right now. That somehow makes the whole thing feel way too intimate, and you can’t believe the first time you got to hang out with your -possible- crush, you both end up naked. If that basic, no detailed rumor got out, you’d surely die of embarrassment. Turning around, you place your face underneath the stream of water, trying so hard to not think about the small glimpse of his torso that you got. The dark patch of hair sneaking underneath his boxers that clung to his thighs from the water. 

“So, are you from Hawkins?” His voice brings you out of your wandering thoughts. You quickly turn the knob from hot to cold in hopes that it keeps you calm.

“My parents are.” Looking down, you watch the water swirl around at your feet. “My grandmother got sick and my uncle couldn’t take care of her by himself. So, we packed up and moved back here, but I can tell my parents are happy to be back home. It’s less demanding than the city.”

“The uncle being coach thing makes a lot more sense now.”

“Not a lot of people know actually.” You turn the water off completely, and wrap your arms around your torso self consciously. “I’m getting out now.”

It isn’t the easiest topic of conversation, but when she had first gotten sick two years ago, your mother went to stay with her for the three months she had been told she would live. When it was clear she was going to hang on longer than expected, they decided it would just be better to move permanently and the old lady was still sticking around. Despite being so sick, you liked hanging out with her most afternoons. Even if she forgot who you were.

You carefully walk out of the shower, towel wrapped around yourself tightly, and as you pass by the stall that Eddie is in, you catch a glimpse in the crack between the curtain and wall. All you manage to catch is the back of his head, arms extended upward to wash out whatever shampoo you’d let him borrow. He begins to turn and you look away with your cheeks burning. You attempt to dry your hair underneath one of the hand dryers, and it isn't long when Eddie comes out, damp boxers back on and using the towel you gave him to rub his hair dry. He pauses seeing you kneeled down, holding the towel to your chest so that nothing gets exposed and he realizes he forgot to wait for your okay, but you don’t seem to mind as you give a soft smile. 

“I’ll grab our clothes.” He says when the dryer finally turns off and leaves you to get somewhat decent. 

He’s suddenly so quiet as he hands over your clothes, no witty comment or joke as the two of you get dressed. All there is between you are stolen glances and nervous smiles. Once fully clothed again, you walk beside him, feeling a little stiff. Not from how your cold clothes stick to you, but from nerves. The soft lights from the pool make his face glow, and your stomach drops in the best way possible. He gets the door for you, and waits with his hands stuffed in his jacket as you lock up. The grass crunches underneath your footsteps, dry from the temperature and lack of rain. Neither of you speak, until you hit the parking lot, cars too far from each other to continue walking together.

“Were they right?” You ask before he gets a chance to escape, arms anxiously crossed over your chest. “My friends. ‘Cause if they were… I think I have one too.”

“Have what?”

Shit. You were too vague.

“A crush, dummy.” 

Realization dawns on his face as he absorbs your confession. He can’t believe it, and the worst smallest part of him thinks you’ve done this whole thing as a joke, and someone is going to pop out with a camera to capture how big of an idiot he’s been. All that happens is you chew on your bottom lip, anxiously waiting for an answer, and he's leaving your heart out in the open for too long. 

“Yes, yeah, they were right.” He watches how you smile and takes a mental image to last forever. “I’m not really quiet about anything.” 

“I just never expected…” you shake your head and look at your feet. “You. You’ve just so suddenly become this big thing in my life.” 

Eddie barely has to take a step to be close enough to take your face in his hands and lift your head up to pull you into a searing kiss. It’s so unexpected that you laugh in surprise against his lips, but he smiles at the sound. When you’ve settled down, you move your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, eager to feel his heartbeat slow to match the rhythm of your own. He kisses you so sweetly, you really do think he’s a gentleman. A quick slip of his tongue doesn’t change your mind either.

“If you don’t stop me,” he gets out between kisses. “We’ll be here all night sweetheart.”

“I like that idea,” you tease as his lips move along your jawline, and down your neck. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you focus on every feeling.

Eddie pulls back, showing some self restraint and you almost whine at the loss of contact.

“You’re gonna get a cold if you stay out here.”

“So will you!”

“I’m going to walk you to your car, and you’re going to go home and get all snuggled in bed, okay?” He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, the ghost of a smile ever present.

“Fine.”

Eddie takes your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and walks the short distance to your car. You make no move to enter, back pressed against the driver side door, and grab him by his jacket. He braces himself with one arm, looking down at you, his other hand stroking your cheek with the back of his pointer finger. The featherlight touch makes you shiver, and you find yourself getting lost in his almost pitch black eyes. Those eyes that are so beautiful and full of lashes, that a cow would be jealous. You pull him in for another kiss, arms wrapping underneath his jacket and around his small waist. He groans into your mouth, not wanting to leave if you were going to kiss him slowly like that.

“I’m personally thanking Christina on Monday.” He gives your knuckles a quick kiss before taking a few steps backwards, not wanting to look away, and turning for his own vehicle.

Christina’s head almost explodes when he does exactly that and plants a kiss on your lips in the cafeteria, but you just act innocent when you take his outstretched hand and move to sit with him at his table. It felt good, and it felt even better when you give her the finger when she wouldn’t stop staring.

[elliewlums]

ellie w a gf who loves titplay and has big tits?!!??!? y/n would prolly cry if her nipples weren’t stimulated enough LOL even out of bed i think ellie would love touching all up on them

ellie’s a mf to motorboat between ur tits for 2 reasons.

1. she is a literal child. she thinks it’s the funniest thing on the entire fucking planet.

2. boobies. girl loves some boobies.

but fr she loooves to put her face in em and hold em and squeeze em like little stress balls when you’re in bed.

and when ur fucking??? goddamn.

she makes you work for your pleasure - spoiled little pillow princess that you are - and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling your back to her chest as she guides you on and off of her strap at an agonising pace; it’s just enough to feel really fucking good, but not to get you to where you need to be.

ellie never knew how sensitive tits could be. it sounds silly but it’s true! because there you are, fucking yourself back onto her silicone cock, and as soon as she palms your tits, pinching and rolling your taut little nipples between her fingers, you’re gasping and whining and cumming, oh fuck you’re actually cumming around her strap from that alone.

“good girl, oh good fucking girl. that feel good, baby? yeah, i bet it does.”

after that she lays you down on the bed real comfy, pushes your knees to your chest and absolutely goes to town on your messy little cunt. because you earned it, she says.

that’s code for you made her really fucking horny.

[father-in-lawliet]

kind of a messy test but it came out decent enough. writing hurt.

[irellia]

516.

Snippets of Vi's life in prison as she grows from a girl into a woman. / word count: 4,182 / blood, death, violence cw

i.

She looks up when the cell door rattles. Despite the deep dark bruise she can feel blooming on her left cheek, the crack in her jaw that makes her whole face ache like it's being split in half every time she inhales, she musters every drop of bitterness in her blood to say, with an impeccable tone of cheery hostility, "back for more? can't get enough of me?"

She has been a Stillwater Bay prisoner for five years and eight months when the nameless soldier standing guard that is now leaning heavily against her cell door says, “I knew you... when you were a kid. I knew your father... Vander?”

Vi stares up at the ceiling, watching the lightbulb overhead ripple red, hating the lazily-amused tinge to his voice.

"congrats. so did I." she dead-pans, and does not look at him, her eyes are hard and on the ceiling, her hand curled into a fist at her side on the bed, and she can smell the salt tang of her unwashed sheets,  her knuckles (thin-skinned, still healing) cracked and bleeding all over them. She's got blood on her mouth, too, a tooth missing, and the old scar on her upper lip is throbbing. She does not mind it; she sinks her teeth in it and bites, listens to the slow rhythm of the guard's breath, the low chuckle that escapes his throat at her sneer.

"he was a good man. a decent man. You could count on him to make things right. He saw reason." the guard won't take a hint, won't go away, and Vi snorts, does not ask what reason means to people like him whose whole life has been a smooth trail, does not even wanna know. Her eyes are on the ceiling and her hand is bleeding on the bed and she digs her nails into her torn palm, blood gushing from the wound and sinks them deeper, her teeth snagging her lower lip.

She hears the fizz and flicker of the fluorescent lamp overhead, feels the sweat that is trickling down her back and soaking the waistband of her trousers; she can smell the hot blood spouting between her nails, the ripe heat of the air that's drenching her cell, the reek of her bed.

“What happened to you?” the enforcer asks, holds onto the bars of her cell door. “I mean—fuck, you were a cute kid, a good kid. Vander was proud of you.” and she can't stand the shape of her father's name in his mouth, she wants to tear it from his tongue, does not wanna hear it, not from someone like him, another asshole criminal in a fancy suit, biting off more than he can chew, thinking that he somehow knows anything about them, just because he didn't kill her people, didn't shoot them dead, didn't drag Vander away into a cell like they had done to her; he still came for them like the mouth of a gun held to their head, still pushed them deeper into the cold dark mouth of their death, stripped them off their freedom, their choice, him and his asshole friends, every last one of them.

How fucking pathetic, to think that she will give a fuck about what he has to say about her, or Vander or what he thinks be knows about them.

Vi opens her eyes, watches the ripple of the fluorescent light overhead, like the shimmer of heat, like water. Her hand curls into a fist, blood leaking through her fingers, hot and thick in her palm. Her sheets are crimson next to her thigh, they stick to her gloves. Under the top bunk, someone has scratched be well in tiny handwriting. She blinks at it.

She says, finally, “you've no idea what you're talking about.”

ii.

Perhaps she should have tattooed a chemical hazard label right across her mouth: this woman is highly reactive, warning; contents under pressure, will explode right into your face if pushed the wrong way.

She's got one ear scarred from where she launched herself at some asshole cutting in line in the chow hall, and got his teeth in her face. He had gotten her fist in his throat and her nails in his left eye, and she had been sent to solitary confinement for a month.

She's got a bruise twice the size of her hand on her left thigh, another sprawling black and purple across her lower back.

She doesn't remember the last time she's eaten more than soupy, green slop and dry bread.

She doesn’t remember what it is like to feel the sun;  all that she knows is the soreness of touch and the pain of every breath, blood on her hands and broken bones. Her fists fly when someone touches her food, shoves her out of their way, sneers at her; she picks fights with every last one of them, every last little bitch they haul off whatever little hole Silco's got them working in and stuff them in her block; she's got thunder in her blood and she is angry, she is furious, years of being shoved into cold, dark places have left her dark and cold herself, her body scarred and bruised; every bone, every surface of flesh, aches.

Her senses are simultaneously numbed as well as in overdrive; she's got a warning in her mouth and her eyes are sharp like the blunt edge of her knuckles, a fist through a drywall.

They throw her in solitary at the drop of a hat, for the slightest reason; it's like she's got eyes stuck on her back 24/7 and she can't throw them off, they are a hand around her throat, choking the air out of her: she breathes the wrong way, does not show up at work, stares at a guard a little too long, a little too hard, and it's over; they steal her meals, stall her in the maintenance room until she's missed dinner, or outdoors time, and the dark, deep anger inside of her flares up and explodes; she's always one step away from flying off the handle, but takes the taunting anyway, takes the beatings and the sneers and the laughter, because she's got to, won't bend for them, won't fold herself into something smaller. She gives as much and as violent as she gets; she's on her way to the chow hall, once, when a guard forcefully steps in her way and sneers, blows his cigarette smoke in her face, patting her down, a sudden inspection, but she's done nothing, she's worked all day at their maintenance room, and she's hungry, she's fucking starving, and he is in her way, his hands on her waist, on her thigh; her fist flies before her mind registers what it's doing, and it's her knuckles, hard and bloodied, smashing through his teeth, a feral, crippling blow to his throat, and he is howling in pain, reeling back in shocked agony, blood gushing down his chin; "fuck you!"  Her entire body heaves as long, shrill, dark screams pour out of her throat, "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" and she now uses one hand to grab onto his shirt, her other hand curled into a hard fist that plunges into his face over and over again. She heaves forward once more and topples over him as they crash onto the floor with her on top of him, and her fist is a dark, black blur in his face. "fuck you!" her hand is numb and aching, scarlet with blood, "fuck you!" her eyes are blurry and heat consumes her. Her whole body is shaking, her other hand furiously clutching at his throat as she lands blow after blow into his face, and then, there are hands on her shoulders, grabbing at her, a foot in her side, kicking out viciously and she screams, like a wild, feral animal, she bucks against them, growling and shoving at them as they drag her down the halls and push her into some cold dark cell. Her cheek smacks the wet floor. She moans, feels the hard sharp edge of a boot in her side, and a dark rivulet, meaty and viscous, slips from her mouth. There are hands and boots all over her and her body is burning with the pain of them, her head is spinning and she cries out, a long, shrill, deafening wail of pure, hot rage, swimming on her elbows on the wet tiles, dragging herself to the corner. She hears the steel door be slammed shut with a clang.

She lays on the freezing floor curled up in a ball and screams, clutches at the tiles furtively, her throat raw and gutted, making clogged snorkeling noises.

She passes out.

It’s an image that she has replayed a thousand times in her mind — a glimpse into her safe haven, a recollection that invokes a cosmic sensation of solitude and mental quiet.  Though they seek to break her:  in mind, in body, and in spirit, when her mind is at its wit’s end, she thinks of her, of that moment just before dawn, Powder and herself sitting on that rooftop, watching the lights of the city blink like fireflies and laughing; her little sister's hand in hers; Vander, a warm, soft shadow at their backs, and she is well.

She can do anything.

Take care of Powder. Protect the family.

She gasps awake, her heartbeat shattered in her throat.

She sways on her feet and, groans, slapping her hand around in search of the bed. She can't find it, and she blinks furiously, eyes straining against the darkness that's swallowing her up. There's no bed in the cell, and she slumps against the wall, a pathetic, pained little whimper spilling from her lips.

She's no longer herself, she is anger trapped in tissue-paper skin, netted between bones like gunpowder— balanced on the precipice between death and the silent vastness of her guilt.

I can't. I can't... I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,

she answers him in her head, and passes out again.

This time, no one comes for her, the both of them dead and gone; even the ghosts that haunt her dreams abandon her, she's well and truly all alone.

iii.

She sits on the edge of her bed and peers at herself in the cracked mirror, her hands on her ear, needle piercing into the shell of it, splitting it open. Her cellmate stands at her back, looks down at her, says, "let me do it" and Vi shoves her hand away, says "I'll do it."

Blood trickles down her wrist and she can feel the sharp ache of the hole she is puncturing open. She can feel her cellmate's breath against the back of her neck, and when she feels her hands on her now, carefully sliding the earring through the fresh piercing, Vi does not flinch away. She pours alcohol over her ear and Vi hisses through her teeth and bangs her fist against the wall, and that earns her strange laughter from her, a flick in her cheek. "there. pretty." she says, and Vi snorts, meets her eyes in the mirror. "lets do your nose." she says and when she reaches for the needle, Vi lets her pry it from her hand.

iv.

Something about her feels wrong as she makes her way from her cell to the gym down at rec like she’s more storm than woman, a danger-zone high-risk disaster area, full of sharp bone slabs and a dark snarl on her lips, rough calloused hands swathed up in wraps soaked through with blood. Her lower lip is split but it’s healed over, congealed dark blood in the corner of it.

She takes her anger out to the walls and the punching bags; but she does not stop there; she takes it out to anyone bold enough to get on her bad side, give her a look she does not like, sound a little too condescending for her liking when answering a question she's asked or demanding that they return something they've taken or she believes they've taken from her; she takes it out on the assholes at chow hall that cut in line, to the prick that steals Zeri's smokes, and the guard that gets too handsy with Janna.

She doesn't mind the solitary anymore; if anything, she almost welcomes it. Whatever they throw at her, she takes and gives back twice as much.

The next time a guard gets all up in her face, she does not hesitate.

She swings at them with everything that she's got.

v.

The only time she finds herself actively pouring every last ounce of willpower she's got in her to behave and stay out of trouble is when she starts working on her tats. She doesn't wanna fuck this one up, doesn't wanna have to spend half a month in solitary, tattoos half finished, or worse, ruined in her hurry to get them done before they throw her equipment out.

She's been given a sketchbook and a pen at one of the art classes this Piltie (that Vi vehemently thinks fancies herself some sort of noble saviour) holds every week down at the rec, and although she does not actively participate, sometimes she'll sit and silently watch them work with a snarling smirk draped across her lips, chugging coffee (she's put too much milk in it and it's burnt but she chugs it all down anyway) and when Noble Lady who fancies herself a saviour of poor misguided souls looks her way, tries to catch her eye, Vi pretends she does not see it. She's been staying up at night in her bed, scribbling away in it until she passes out, pen in hand, sketchbook sprawled open next to her pillow. When she runs out of pages, she scowls and doesn't say anything, but she doesn't take her sketchbook down at the rec anymore. She shoves her hands into her pockets or chugs down black coffee, standing against the wall, pretending she's not there for the class.

Somehow, a brand new sketchbook shows up on her bed. She does not question it, won't look a horse in the mouth.

She's got so much art in her that she doodles on her hands until it spills up her wrists and on her kneecaps with their little goosebumps, ink splashing onto her neck and arms and even her back, the part of it that she can reach.

Something's snapping in her mind, synapses flashing, and for the first time in years, she feels alive, she's crackling with it, the fire, the want, the exhilaration.

She gets down to work: makes a tattoo machine from the motor of a portable record player she steals from rec. The barrel for the needle is made from a hollowed out pen. She scoops the plastic out and fills the tube with sooty, thick ink she's made out of burnt plastic, makes the outer case of the pen shorter by cutting it in half. A sharpened guitar string from Zeri's old guitar is what she uses as a needle, shoves it through the barrel and connects it to the motor.

She sets to work. For days, she sits in her little cell and plunges the needle through her skin, feels its sweet, sharp kiss as she moves it along her arms.

When Zeri silently comes to sit next to her on the floor and eyes her doodles in her sketchbook, Vi gives her a strange look. Zeri offers to do the parts of her back she cannot reach, and Vi tells her to fuck off.

Later, when their cell block's dark and quite and there's only an hour of light left before they're forced back into their cells to sleep, she slips into Zeri's cell and leans against the doorframe, watches her bury her nose deeper into her book, sprawled across her bed.

She says, "Sooo..." and strange, sly bashfulness pauses on her lips, frothing at the corners of her heart-shaped mouth, tugging gently at the seam of her lips. "You still wanna help, little one?"

She does.

vi.

She remembers this one time when she was 9. Powder had been sick, burning with a fever that had been refusing to abate for days, and she had helplessly sat on the floor by her bed and had sellotaped her entire hand for some unholy reason, probably because she had been going fucking stir crazy with worry and guilt that she could not make this right, she could not punch the hurt away and Pow had been whimpering in her sleep, calling for their mother and Vi, mother and Vi, and Vi could have never given her mother but she had sat there curled up close to her and whispered that she was there, she wasn't going anywhere, she was never going to leave her, it would be okay.

She had sat fuming in her helplessness, had sellotaped her hand from her elbow right down to her fingers, and then, she had just knelt there, at the side of Powder's bed, sobbing because she had been terrified that she would never get out of it, she couldn't move her hand, couldn't even lift her fingers enough to touch Powder, and she had sat there and sobbed into her little sister's sheets until Vander had come in to find her crying and had had to cut her out with scissors, and to this day she could still remember him patting her head, telling her that it was going to be okay. "Why'd you trap yourself?" he had laughed, ruffling her hair.

Vi hadn't given him an answer.

It comes back to her one morning as she stares at her ruined cell after a sudden inspection (she had been the only one in the whole cell block to be marked for it, then again, she had kind of been expecting it after beating those assholes up with the barbell and her fists down at the courtyard during mandatory exercise; she had come to know now it was common procedure after a malfeasance— huh, what a ridiculous fucking word to use to say that she's beaten some dick's face into a bloody pulp), her whole life scattered along the floor: her wraps, her pencils, the few clothes she's got, an empty can of beer that she has been using to spill the ink she makes out of burnt plastic cups she steals from the chow hall to draw.

She cries over her torn sketchbook with a laugh in her throat, alone in her cell.

vii.

Pink, they keep calling her.

Pink, they sneer it at her like it's her name.

Pink, and Kid, and 516, sometimes just "five one' six" or "five sixteen!" like she's some dusty file shelved away in their cabinet that they suddenly need to spread open and read through, nothing more than the color of her hair, a number, an age.

She's pretending to sweep the floor when it happens, a chore she's never willing to do. The constant flicker of the lightbulb overhead is pissing her off, and she lifts the broom and taps it hard, shaking it back and forth. The buzzing stops.

Someone howls into the silence, a bloodcurdling, dark shriek of terror.

The block is flooded with enforcers, and she stands in the hallway in numb confusion, and gasps when they drag a dead girl from a cell.

She can hear the wet, slick noises her body makes when they drag her out into the hallway, blood streaking the floor like a ribbon tied to her throat.

Someone tries to pump the life back into her heart, but she doesn't come back.

Vi watches the red ribbon of blood around her throat, blinking hard.

They ask for her name, and no one gives it to them, but they keep asking. The air ripples, filled with the metallic stench of death. A fly buzzes around her ear.

There's a rough, hard hand on her shoulder, and she's shoved back, spit splattering against her cheek, and she's shaken out of her daze. She growls out "I don't know." teeth snapping.

"two ninety." someone calls the girl on the floor. She's two ninety to them. "She's dead." She's two ninety to everyone. She doesn't know her name... She never asked.

"hey, grab her legs. Help me pick her up" one of the wardens says to the other.

"Hey! Hey! Five sixteen! clean up the mess!" They bark in her ear, and as she watches her broom swirl the last of the girl's blood on the floor, something inside of her snaps.

She's got a fucking name.

The next time she walks down that hallway, she stops to stare at the floor, the fading crimson stain that has soaked through the tiles, won't ever be completely scrubbed off as though some part of the world is refusing to forget her.

Her name had been Alys.

Vi's name's tattooed on her left cheek.

viii.

“you can be so nice when you want to.” her hands are on Vi's lap, they are sitting in her bed, in her cell, and Vi is painting her nails with delicate strokes of the brush. Her teeth have left bright marks on her lips from the searing tangibility of her concentration. Her patience astounds the other girl, she's never seen Vi hold still for more than ten seconds at a time, yet here she is, brush in hand, lips pinched; the detail is so miniscule and there are small red marks on her skin where Vi has pinched her for fidgeting. Vi's eyebrows have long since been furrowed into harsh lines, so drawn, she's cocooned herself with her thoughts. Her voice is absent when she responds, noticeably lacking in any interest.

"Hey! You gonna let me do this, Miss Chatty, or not?"  Vi taps her leg once. “Keep still.” Is all she says.

There’s a fleeting smile in her eyes. 

ix.

"hey" she smirks her way to where this massive dude is standing, broom in hand, sweeping the floor. He doesn't recognise her, that much she can immediately tell by the way his eyes (dark, cold eyes, eyes with teeth) sweep over her like she's something he needs to scrub clean too, and sudden, furious anger swells up like a flood in her throat. She swallows.

"I didn't know they locked up little kids."

Her cheek spasms.

"funny. They don't."

He just stares at her meaningfully, like she's some kind of a joke, and laughs. Sharklike, his missing teeth feel like they make the bark harsh.

"you gonna give me what I want, or we gonna have to add another missing tooth to your fucking collection?" Vi growls.

He blinks, his eyes empty and on her, like the barrel of a gun held to her teeth.

She's been his shadow, sleek, unassuming, watching him for days now; he's got answers and she will not walk away from him without them.

He pats his thigh, and Vi knows what he's got stashed away there, has watched him use it on another dude at mesh, unblinkingly chewing down her dry bread as her eyes trailed after his every little move like a hook, sinking into the prey.

"I know what you're in for. I know who you and your little friend work for. So." Easy way or hard way, goes unsaid, she cracks her fingers hard, violently rolls her left shoulder into a slow shrug. "Where's my fucking sister?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." A shrug, more laughter. Rotten, yellow teeth.

"bet you fucking do."

"Don’t let ugly words touch those sweet lips baby, I’ll wipe your mouth clean."

Her fists clench, her mouth twitching spasmodically, "and I'll color you purple." she plunges forward, follows her anger like a fishing line. She cuts out safety and speeds towards the ocean of her fury.

When they drag her away from him, she's laughing, her hands are numb and aching, crimson with blood.

"I got all I wanted." She hisses in triumph, and they have to rip her off of him, but she doesn't struggle when they haul her off, clawing at her back, shove her back into her cell block. Her laughter spills like gasoline through the hallways, waking everyone up, even the air is thrumming with it, sharp and hot.

That night, before she sleeps, she adds the spiked knuckles she's stolen from him in the collection, under her bed.

"fifty-two..." she whispers, and tosses the t-shirt that she was wearing the day they had brought her here, back over the weapons, shielding them from view. They'll be fucking gone next time they toss her cell, but for now, no one's gonna get their hands on them.

Her head feels lighter when she lays her body down on her bed.

She stares at the tally marks on her wall until she falls asleep.

[wickmitz]

tiny paws grip at him, fisting into cloth and spiked fur alike to tug him endlessly forward -- and freckle wonders if she notices that he trips over his own paws to try and match her pace. listens to the hightail click-clack of heels ground into stone and polished wood, sees a sliver of assured smile carving it’s way into one tender cheek. there’s a patience and impatience about his accidentally acquired girlfriend that he isn’t sure what to do with, besides his usual awkward staring ; as if behind the veil of choppy, self-made bangs would give him something more than mindless direction or giggles. and something is building in his stomach and his chest all the same, some sort of blockage he can’t dwindle. he, impossibly, nervously, seriously wants to be good for her -- to her! watches how dark fur simmers into something softer and light when they huddle in the backseat of a car, how rays of sunshine catch on the tips of perked ears, reflecting off the pearl white of whiskers, and freckle thinks pretty, with enough of an admiring lull that he sizzles through orange fur straight down to his singular freckle. he wonders if ivy would like it. if there’s things she enjoys about him at all, or if she’s just having her fun. her paw touches his arm, tiny claws rested right below shoulder, so he does what’s expected and follows : leaning where she puts some weight, following her muffled excitement of a command, until lips grace his own, trailing across fuzzy muzzle and onto equally fuzzy cheek. he still … squirms, flinches, squeezes wide eyes shut and feels fear lance through him, always imagining brimstone close by. but he’s getting better at it, this, well, boyfriend thing -- and ivy is nothing but undeterred in a way most people wouldn’t be. so he thinks about it, about growing into this, finding a home within it, somewhere, and moves his head just slightly, a nudging thing, and for the first time places an answering kiss on her neck.

[willysnylander]

I COME WORH A WORD AND A PAIRING!!!!! to be simple it is just ‘sweet’ + nicojack :]

thank you so much for this, olive!! hope you like it! <3

“I got you something.”

Jack’s eyes are bleary as they lift to Nico’s face - the pain meds he’s been on since the surgery make him tired, so he’s been napping a lot lately - and the smile that takes over his face is tired, but Nico still thinks he looks beautiful.

“Yeah?” Noticing the way Nico holds one hand behind his back, Jack immediately attempts to peak around his boyfriend’s waist. “What is it?”

Nico quickly twists, keeping his little present hidden from view, and laughs a little when Jack pouts.

“Close your eyes, schatz,” he instructs. “It’ll be a little surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Jack mumbles, voice closer to a whine than it probably would be if the pain meds weren’t still affecting him. In addition to the tiredness, they’ve also been making him a little more emotional than usual, which he’s complained to Nico several times by this point that he hates; Jack is the kind of person who prefers to have a grasp on what he’s feeling and how much of it he outwardly shows, and it hurts Nico almost as much as it hurts Jack himself to see that, on top of the still-not-completely gone pain in his shoulder and the tired sluggishness that the meds have made settle over his brain, some of his control has been taken away from him.

But, well, that’s what Nico’s little present is for, isn’t it? A little thing to cheer him up, to clear away the air of tired sad in pain that has been drifting around him since he got hurt again, even if only for a few moments.

“Close your eyes,” Nico repeats, “and hold out your hands. Don’t open them until I tell you.”

Jack heaves a sigh that he would likely insist is not dramatic at all, thank you very much, if Nico were to tease him about it, but he obeys. Despite his annoyed act, Nico sees an anticipatory smile fighting to make its way onto his face, and the sight makes his own smile stretch a bit wider.

He makes sure the gift is set securely in Jack’s palms, not wanting his boy to drop it and risk making him even sadder, then says, “You can open your eyes now.” When Jack does, and Nico watches his eyes light up and hears the tiny delighted gasp that escapes him, it’s all he can do not to grin so wide it splits his face.

In Jack’s hands, partially wrapped in a white napkin so it doesn’t make a mess of his palms and fingers, sits an impressively-sized cinnamon roll, big enough to give their team nutritionist a heart attack if the poor guy was ever to see it, golden-brown and slathered with cream cheese frosting that hasn’t even hardened yet. It’s still warm through the napkin; a worker at the bakery down the street from Jack and Luke’s apartment where Nico bought it, the one Jack loves and has regularly mourned not being able to visit every day because of their diet plan, had just been putting a fresh batch into the display case when Nico had walked in earlier, an amazing little stroke of luck.

“Neeks!” Jack practically squeals, looking up at his boyfriend with a huge grin. He certainly doesn’t look as tired as he did only a moment ago - his eyes are alert and shining with happiness. “Is this from the bakery down the street? You did not have to get me this, oh my God.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” says Nico. “But I wanted to.” He moves from where he’s been standing above Jack to sit on the couch beside him, leaning over to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek as soon as he’s seated. “You deserve a little something sweet.”

What he really means is, You deserve something that’s going to make you happy, even if it’s just something as small as this. You’re going through a lot right now, and I hate that I can’t fix everything that’s wrong, but I can do this for you. You deserve everything sweet and good in this world, and I would get it for you if I could, but since I can’t, I’ll give you this instead.

He means all of that, but he doesn’t have the courage to say it, so he just leaves it at that. Somehow, he gets the feeling that Jack understands, anyway.

His boy turns to look at him, smiling in that way that makes his eyes and nose scrunch up, that way that makes sunlight explode in Nico’s chest whenever he sees it. Still holding the cinnamon roll in his hands like a precious treasure, he pecks Nico on the lips and says, “Don’t even need this. Already got my something sweet right in front of me.”

Nico laughs, even as Jack’s words make the sunlight in his chest shine that much brighter. “You’re so cheesy.”

“You know you love it.”

“Of course I do,” he agrees without a hint of hesitation. After taking a second to feel good about the slight blush that blossoms across Jack’s cheeks when he says that, he reaches over and taps one finger against the inside of Jack’s wrist. “You should start eating that, they’re never as good once the frosting hardens.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He brings the cinnamon roll to his mouth, carefully rearranging the napkin so that he can hold it to eat it without getting his fingers sticky, and takes a big bite. His eyes close as he chews, and Nico has to fight a smile at the loud, satisfied moan he lets out, even tilting his head back slightly and letting the longer bits of his hair fall around his shoulders.

Jack takes two more bites, getting half of the pastry gone, before he turns back to Nico, smiling wider than Nico thinks he has since he hurt his shoulder. The frosting is smeared around his mouth a bit, little flecks of it caught in the fuzz on his upper lip. His eyes, Nico’s favorite shade of blue, are brighter and more alert than they have been in a little bit, crinkling at the edges from his joy at the simple pleasure of a sweet treat after the stress and pain the last few weeks have held for him.

It’s a relatively simple sight, a bit of a messy one even, but to Nico, right now, seeing the man he loves smiling and happy is damn close to art.

“Thank you, Neeks, really,” says Jack, never losing that beautiful smile. “This was really thoughtful, and I definitely appreciate it. You’re always really good to me, I probably don’t thank you for that enough, so thank you.”

And rather then telling Jack that he doesn’t need to thank him, that would do anything if it meant making Jack happy, that he loves Jack more than he will ever be able to properly express in words, Nico answers his boy with a kiss. It tastes of sugar, cinnamon, sunshine, and love.

send me a pairing + a random word and i’ll write you a little something!!

[shinycollarboneapologist]

hoax

pt 3 to the taylor!verse or they definitely learn how to communicate. 

content: not entirely smutty, but alludes to smut so 18+ only please, hurt no comfort, matty lies :/

matty’s departure for a tour usually pans out in one of two ways: a. you aren’t even privy to the fact that he’s left until he sends you a random dick pic in the middle of the afternoon, claiming it's two am his time and he misses you so so so much, or b. you’re getting woken up at six in the morning because he’s conveniently forgotten to secure a ride to the airport.

so, you sit and wait for the text. either one would work at this point, (though you’re a bit impartial to not being woken up with a picture of his dick).

you don’t just get a text however, you get multiple. a slew of messages wake you up from your slumber. multiple are him just asking if you’re awake because he’s bored out of his mind without you. others are him telling you all about the city he’s in and that you have to come visit because there’s so much good food and record shops and the vintage store he found has the best band tees he’s ever seen so he needs to know your size as soon as possible so he can buy you one. there’s an interesting use of emojis, too. you laugh to yourself as you begin to reply, but you’re immediately cut off by an incoming facetime from the man in question.

this continues for a few days- him in constant contact and you both ending your night on the phone together with him making promises of sweet nothings and baseless love. it's like he took a page right out of the “how-to-be-a-boyfriend-without-the-label handbook”, the perfect page at least to make you feel that deep down maybe in some parallel lifetime you were his and he was yours. and when he talks you through a mind-numbing orgasm later that night, having you puppeteer a ghost of what he would do to you had he been there, he asks you if you're his. and like you always do, you say yes through gasps for air and contorts of pleasure. you never ask if he’s yours though, the thought slips your mind at the moment. but you don’t need to because you know.

the next day, he calls and asks what your schedule looks like. you tell him there’s a lull in filming at the moment and that you’re free until a little over a month from now. he giggles, deviously, and you have half a mind to ask him what that’s all about. but he ends the call before you can. your confirmation comes about an hour later when you receive a text message with hotel and flight information and a cheeky “see you soon x”. you don’t push the envelope by questioning his intentions. instead, you make sure you tie up any loose ends for the next week and pack a bag.

he picks you up from the airport in yet another rented red convertible.

“you have a type, don’t you?” you laugh.

he shoots you a look, tossing your bag that he insisted on carrying for you into the backseat. “piss off.”

it only fuels your laughter, watching the way his face scrunches up as he rounds the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“mean it. I’ll leave you here,” his tone sounds serious, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips and a glimmer in his eyes.

you roll your eyes as you hop in the car, “who’s going to get you off then, hm?”

he doesn’t respond. his hand finds itself on your thigh and that’s the answer you need.

for the first few days, it all seems normal. you fall into a sense of routine quite easily; waking up in a new hotel room, eating the hotel’s excuse for breakfast, lounging by the pool for a few hours, getting ready, going to the show, leaving for the after-party, leaving said after party early with matty whispering filthy promises in your ear, ending up in his room yet again, and then sneaking back out to your own hotel room before anyone would notice you were missing. it’s easy, to fall into this routine with him- especially on the days he has off and you two muck about in new cities, acting like tourists and finding new vintage stores. it’s like there was no ignoring and pining, just two friends (who happen to know each other’s bodies like the back of their hands) exploring and having a grand old time. painless, fun. easy.

until it isn’t.

she shows up on the fifth day of your trip. a woman mirroring your features. she’s an actress with a name that sounds like yours.

you had hardly noticed until you go to breakfast the next morning and she’s sat next to matty. your seat. he’s laughing at a joke she’s telling, wrapped up in her effortlessly. you don’t blame him. she’s funny and beautiful. you don’t blame her either for the way she looks at him because it's the same exact way you do.

he introduces you as his friend, with his arm wrapped over her shoulders and a permanent smile on his lips. the knife is twisting deeper. the wound only grows larger as she giggles out how matty’s told her so much about you and how much she loved the last movie you were in and did you know that matty and george had a hand in the soundtracking, they’re so talented, aren’t they? through a pained smile, one that matty would’ve picked up on (should’ve picked up on) had he been paying any attention to you, you’re nodding and thanking her. you excuse yourself before you can endure anymore, blaming it on a conference call. you feel stupid. used and stupid and confused.

you don’t notice matty’s eyes following you out of the room, a sallow expression overtaking his once gleeful smile.

there’s a knock at your hotel room. It’s just after two-thirty in the morning. you’re barely even opening the door before he’s pushing his way in, taking you in his arms and kissing the breath from your lips, sucking all of the air out of your lungs. you melt into him as you always do, fingers tangling in his hair and whines vibrating onto his lips. he takes you apart bit by bit with his tongue like his life depends on it, building you up to a blinding finish over and over and over again. you’re practically pulling him off of you in an attempt to hold onto whatever sanity you have left. and when he kisses you again, you taste yourself in his mouth; a small sliver of the remnants of your fantasy. he kisses you like he’s yours; your own perfectly curated shade of blue, a color mixed so tenderly and carefully like no other you’ve ever known.

you don’t ask him if he is yours, because you don’t have to. you never have to. not with the way he looks at you, a reflected image of your own dazed smile.

the last girl leaves and is replaced with another mirror of you. his late-night visits become far and few. time’s slipping away as quickly as he is, and there’s only three days left before you’re due back home for a photoshoot.

you didn’t notice it all until george brings it up as you two share a smoke on a balcony overlooking a new city. the air is crisp and the warmth brought by the blanket over your shoulders is a necessity.

“where’s matty?” he asks, exhaling the cloud of smoke in front of him with an outstretched hand holding the joint out to you.

you gladly accept, shrugging your shoulders and taking a hit, “haven’t seen much of him besides when he’s on stage.”

his eyebrows furrow and a tilt of his head comes soon after. you don’t like that look. it bubbles a deep feeling in your chest that radiates throughout your body and out into the air. you exhale as a means to eradicate it all, trying to push it away but there’s no use.

“weren’t you with him last night? i called and heard a voice in the back, sounded like yours.”

with the look you give him, he knows he’s ultimately shit the bed. your mind starts racing to matty telling you he was going to be busy for the next few nights, something about rewrites and creative processes but your mind was too hazy from the pleasure induced matty high to have it really resonate with you. you remember how he answered a phone call in the other room, just out of earshot so you wouldn’t be able to hear him. the feeling only grows.

“i uh, i wasn’t. i thought he was with you,” you swallow, thickly. your throat feels dry, but you’re accepting the joint again anyway.

george just shakes his head, offering you a solemn glance.

you feel sick. he’s on tour; singing songs he’s written about you yet, still shacking up with girls that aren’t you but look and act like you at the end of the night. so what's the matter with you, exactly? he makes you promise him that you’re his and you’ve never once asked him if that was reciprocated. he’s never once said it. but he acts like he’s yours in the middle of the night and under the covers and over text messages at ungodly hours. he tastes like he’s yours when he kisses you with so much fervor and longing that you forget how to breathe.

there are two days before you have to leave now. after the revelation on the balcony with george, you find yourself packing your bags, hurriedly. deuxmoi is calling her his next girlfriend, going on and on and gushing about how happy he looks for once. you’re sick to your stomach, excusing yourself from the gig that night with a lie about some casting call with your manager.

it’s late when they get back and matty is still riding his stage high. when he sees you outside the hotel, hushing furious secrets on the phone, it all comes crashing down. bile rises to his throat and he approaches you with a cigarette tucked between his lips.

“so we lie to each other, now?”

you jump, not expecting to see him until morning. your scoff falls into the air, ignored as he stares at you indignantly awaiting your response.

“you’re one to talk, matt.” the name feels foreign on your tongue, syllables that haven’t escaped your vernacular recently.

“if you didn’t want to come tonight, why lie about it?” it was a blow to his ego, no doubt, to not have you there tonight. but he deserved it.

“i’m not the liar here.” your words cast a heavy dark cloud over him, “why have you been avoiding me?”

“i didn't... i’m not avoiding you,” he sputters.

your reserve breaks, another lie.

“did you invite me here just so you could sleep with me if one of your friends didn’t feel up to it?”

the words leak out of your lips, dripping with malice like white-hot venom. they’re out in the open now, there’s no way for you to take them back as you wait for his response. the end of his cigarette illuminates as he takes another hit, eyes forward now. he didn’t dare make eye contact, too afraid of the nonsense that would boil over if he did.

“it’s not.. it’s not like that-”

“then enlighten me, matty.”

matty looks at you, finally, pensive as if waiting for you to go on, “i don’t understand.”

“why did you invite me here?”

“i think it’s pretty obvious?” an awkward laugh falls from his lips.

“god, i’m so fucking dumb,” you groan and run a hand over your face, wishing the earth would just swallow you whole, “i’ve been here waiting for a sign that maybe just maybe things were changing and i didn’t waste years of my life pining after a man who doesn’t care about me but instead sees me as an opportunity to get laid when his long line of women runs dry.”

“that’s bullshit! you were off doing the same things i was-”

“yeah, but i stopped because i…”

“you what?”

“i fell in love with you,” you confess.

you watch as his mouth bobs up and down. the air feels as if it’s been sucked out of your lungs, yet again, and you so badly want to just take back everything you said, beginning with your inquisition and your later revelation to him. you’re not sure if you even want him to say anything at this point, knowing that whatever he says is not going to help you lick the self-inflicted wounds or heal the mess you’ve so brilliantly perpetrated.

there’s an utterance of your name as he tosses aside the ember of his cigarette. you shake your head though, don’t want to hear what he has to say. the moment has come and gone, fleeting like a flash of lightning before a clap of thunder. he steps towards you, hands shifting as he wonders if he should touch you or just keep them to himself. he chooses the latter and you have to swallow down the tears as they sting at the corners of your eyes. you’re not about to give him the satisfaction.

“you don’t have to say anything,” your voice permeates the thickened air. his eyes search yours relentlessly, but you remain stoic in how you speak. “but if it isn’t obvious. this,” you gesture between the two of you, “i can’t do it anymore. at least not like it was before. and i’m not about to push you into something you’re not ready for. so, i’ve decided to just take myself out of the equation.”

“well that’s hardly fair,” he scoffs, his voice laced with his own thick emotion.

“i need to do this for me, though.”

“if you just give me some time-”

“matty, i can’t. if it’s taking you this long to even remotely have a response towards me telling you how i feel then it’s not going to happen and we both just need to move on.”

“but,” he swallows, “i want you to stay.”

“i can’t, not like this.”

“you knew what this was when we started, so i don’t know why you’re getting like this. can’t we just forget this happened? i won’t see her again if that makes you feel any better,” matty’s eyes are red and bloodshot and you watch as he blinks a few times as if to ward off tears.

“you can’t treat me one way behind closed doors, telling me you’re mine and kissing me like that and filling my head up with this faithless love and then make it out to be like none of that has ever happened.”

“that’s how it’s always been!”

“why can’t you just face the fact that things have been different between us?”

matty looks down at his shoes, “i didn’t notice that…”

“that’s bullshit, matty.” you cry out.

“i don’t want you to leave. not like this.”

“then give me a reason to stay. tell me that it’s not just in my head, that you feel what i feel, and that i’m not just imagining it all,” you plead, “tell me you want me the way i want you.”

matty stays silent for a minute or two, you’ve stopped counting. instead you’re holding your breath to put off crying, trying to will some kind of higher being to reverse the clock. you feel your grip on the upper hand begin to slide when his eyes meet yours again. he utters your name, begging with you. but it’s too late, you’re exasperated and tired of the back and forth and on and off and hot and cold. you just want to hear him say it. you’ve never had to ask him before, but your assumptions have left you feeling empty and slighted.

the second utterance of your name is all the confirmation you need. your eyes are stinging and you just shake your head at him, but he keeps speaking anyway. you wish you could stop listening, stop falling into his trap.

“i do want you. always," he steps towards you somberly, hands outstretched.

“you know that’s not what i mean,” you whisper in fear of what your voice would sound like even a decibel louder. you’ve lit the candle from both ends, enjoying the feeling of claiming him as your own and having him around without the vindication that he feels the same way. and now you’re left with the ashes of what was, forced to clean up the mess that’s left behind and hopefully clean up yourself as well. for years, you’ve put him first, let his entire being consume you whole, and paint you a shade of blue. but it was all a hoax, a game constructed by the man who stood before you so he could have his cake and eat it, too.

that seems to be enough for him to drop your hand. you hadn’t even realized he picked it up. and that’s the worst part of it all, you think, is he’s letting you go now without so much of a fight. the war is over, a winless fight, and as the dust settles all you can think about is how you’ve never once gotten the clarification.

you never asked him if he was yours because you never had to. but in hindsight, maybe you should have.

[tiredcowpoke]

ON THE TIP

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader Request: Not a request. Blurb: Away from camp, you finally manage to tell Arthur something that you have been meaning to for a long while. Warnings:  Mentions of a previously abusive relationship (not graphic), angst, but ultimately a lot of fluff and emotional stuff.  Note: This is really self-indulgent. I had a spark of an idea and it really took off...somewhere. lol I hope you enjoy this sweet, little thing.

Evening was starting to set, casting the area in a warm glow as the sun gradually dipped down behind the treeline.

You sat near the fire you had made, the bedroll not quite giving you much comfort but the tree truck at your back at least allowed you that extra support. The day’s heat still lingered, even with you choosing to sit a little further back from the fire to avoid overheating yourself. It was going to be one of those nights.

Still, you took these moments when you could.

It was getting harder and harder to pull Arthur away from gang business, as much as you respected the role he played and his duties. Yet, you had long observed that he was overworked, almost the first person up on the list to clean up other people’s messes that reasonably could have been handled before his involvement. It was one of the more common things he complained about when he’d finally settle in for the night, if he wasn’t coming in late at night and gently rolling you onto your side so he could slip in behind you on the cot.

So, when the camp seemed quiet and Arthur approached you with a quip about getting out for a while, it was hard to tell him ‘no.’

Leaving was good for you, too. A break from the camp–the chores, worries, and dramatics, depending on the day usually. It also gave you some comfort to know that you didn’t have to worry about Arthur, either. He seemed more relaxed during these moments, and it allowed you to relax too. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were more intune with his emotions when he was in camp. It was something that started to happen as you got closer, and only continued beyond that point. You could see the stress in his brow, feel the tension in his shoulders when he’d pull you into him near a campfire or when he wrapped his arms around you at night.

It felt a little easier to breathe when you finally got away from camp, sometimes. Even if it was for an hour.

Though, the sound of hoofbeats and some rustling in the bushes ahead of you pulled you from your thoughts. Sure enough, you saw the familiar horse and equally as familiar rider, Arthur taking his time to settle his horse beside yours. A rabbit hung, skinned, on the side of his saddle. You figured that was dinner for the night, which was fine with you.

“Think we ain’t the only people out here today,” Arthur commented, turning toward you as you glanced up from where you were carving a slice from an apple, “Animals are kind of scarce and I don’t wanna go stompin’ off into the bush.”

“There’s enough here to get us through the night,” you said, finally cutting off the piece of apple and held it out toward him as he approached.

Arthur muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ as he took a bite from it after slipping down to sit beside you against the tree trunk. Naturally, you found yourself leaning against his side as you continued to cut away at another piece of apple for yourself, allowing the silence to settle as Arthur’s voice was replaced by the light wind in the trees and the crackling of the wood on the fire. You felt him slip his arm around your back, hand coming back to rest on your arm.

It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t show affection toward you around camp, but in private he allowed you in closer like this. The kisses were slower, lingered a little more, and neither of you were rushed to be anywhere or doing anything. You could still remember how long it took for both of you to feel awkward like this. Weary and haunted by bad experiences, you didn’t particularly let people close. Arthur seemed the same way, only mentioning his past relationships once or twice early on but it was clear that he had backed away from the concept.

Yet, things were just…different.

Of course, you knew who Arthur was. You knew who you were, too. You had seen his uglier sides, the violence that the life he led pulled out of him. It had pulled things out of you, too, that you weren’t proud of. Yet, you saw the quieter side of him, too. When he had his nose buried in his journal or was listening to other stories the camp members would tell around the fire at night. How he talked to Jack, the other women around camp. The way he acted around you, too, the awkward friendship that shifted to a genuine kindness and fondness, the shared glances and inside jokes, the way he cupped your face when he kissed you for the first time.

You noticed a few complexities about him, probably more than Arthur saw in himself.

Given the violence that you had experienced in your past relationships, the yelling, fighting, sneered insults that still sat under your skin in some places, Arthur kind of took you off guard. If he was as rough as he came across sometimes, perhaps you could have expected the path your relationship would go. It would’ve been simple: you would’ve thought about him a certain way, he would’ve burst that bubble, and that’d be it. You knew Arthur had tried from time to time in the beginning, when things were new and uncertain. Quickly thrown up guards and pointless fights and arguments that’d never stay too long, in the end.

You shifted, stretching out a leg as you tried to will yourself back to the current moment.

“If your eyes weren’t open, I’d think you fell asleep,” Arthur commented, making you let out a small hum as you grinned softly.

“Something about places like this push me right into my head,” you replied.

“Me too.”

“Your thoughts are probably more interesting than mine,” you said as you shifted somewhat to tuck your knife away as you finished off the apple.

“Wouldn’t say that,” he muttered.

“You wouldn’t feel the need to write them down if you didn’t think they weren’t interesting in some way,” you said, leaning back into his side with a sigh. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but you’re more interesting than you let on.”

“Interestin’ in like a third limb or a weird animal, maybe,” he returned around a small huff–you knew better than to take it as genuine humor. Not wholly, at least. Another wall he insisted on putting up, as much as you saw through it at this point.

“More like a puzzle or a riddle.”

“Hope the answer is worth it.”

You frowned, brow furrowing. You knew this aspect of Arthur was an uphill battle, one that he may never win, but a part of you always felt obligated to argue otherwise. Which was probably why you found yourself shifting back so you could swing your leg over his legs, straddling his lap so you could look directly at him. You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips at the surprised look that settled in his expression, though his hands coming up to wrap around your lower back had you getting a little more comfortable. You cupped the sides of his jaw, a good-natured smile settling on your lips.

“I didn’t follow you out here so you could talk like that about yourself all night,” you stated, looking semi-sternly into his eyes before your expression softened, “But…I don’t really care about solving the riddle, so to say. I’m not here to…I don’t know, solve anything.”

“Well, I’m wishin’ I understood you a little better right now,” Arthur muttered, but the light playfulness was hard to miss. You let him pull you into a quick kiss, his free arm pulling you in closer so your bodies brushed a little more.

The shift in tone was a bit of a reassurance, but you knew you weren’t done. Really, there was something sitting heavy on the tip of your tongue. It kept appearing more and more whenever you were truly alone with him like this. The words were there, you knew what they were, yet there was a fear in you. You had said those words once before, to the wrong person, and there was that guarded part of you that feared you would do so again. Yet, everything about your relationship with Arthur seemed to rebuttal most doubts you had.

…You just needed to know if you were alone in the feeling.

Pulling back somewhat from the kiss, you leaned back somewhat to look over his face. His eyes seemed to search your own, a slight pinch between his eyebrows as you looked at him without speaking as you could feel a rush of thoughts battering against your skull. Yet, a part of you knew how you wanted to go about this.

“The last time I was in a situation like this…well, you know what that was like,” you said, dropping your gaze for a few moments. “I got told I was…many things. None of them too nice. I was told I wouldn’t ever find someone who’d…actually want me. I believed those things for a while, for a long while. I didn’t…intend for that to shift, it just happened…”

You let out a small sigh against the way your heart was racing, the momentary confidence you had only a minute ago starting to ebb out. Still, you couldn’t pull things back in now. You lifted your gaze back up to meet his own, smiling softly.

“You remember…a couple months ago, back before everything got thrown on its head? I got that…terrible little bullet wound?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, the look of confusion still not leaving his expression but he nodded lightly, “Never heard you holler like that before when Grimshaw pulled that out.”

“Not…not exactly talking about that, but it was a couple days after,” you continued, tilting your head somewhat thoughtfully. “I was feeling…really sorry for myself. I don’t know if I told you, but I kicked myself for such a long time that you found me like that. Over an injury, no less. Yet…you seemed to know exactly what to say. What’d help, what’d make me feel better. I realized after that…that most people I’ve had in my life, they only seemed to know how to do the opposite. A few of them purposefully doing so. I realized something, then, and��it kind of scared me, but I know it’s true…”

“Darlin’...” Arthur started, a hand coming up to rest against your cheek, his voice soft, but you knew you just had to say it.

“I realized back then that I’m in love with you, Arthur,” you stated, fighting the urge to shut your eyes or look away. “I love you. I just never really found the right words, but I need you to know that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time, seeming to almost process that. You couldn’t help the way your stomach tightened, the sting of rejection starting to prick at your eyes. He didn’t try to move you, however, hands still grasping onto you. Finally, he looked you in the eyes again.

“That’s really true?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice even as you spoke. “I tried to convince myself that it was something else for a good while, but that feeling’s just grown harder to ignore as time went on.”

“...I ain’t…” he started, shaking his head, “I didn’t ever think someone’d feel that way ‘bout me again.”

“Well, I do,” you confirmed, swallowing thickly as you gripped his shoulders somewhat as if he’d support you crashing down if he said what you feared he was going to. “If…if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. Just…say it. I made my mind up a long while ago, so trying to convince me out of it will just hurt more.”

“Sweetheart…” he started, reaching out to cup the side of your face again as he forced you to look at him. “I…know I don’t deserve a lot of things, I don’t deserve you. You could leave, fall for a better man. Yet, when I’m with you…”

“Arthur…” you started, ready to remind him that going this route would just hurt you more, yet you knew what was coming and it was choking out the words that wanted to get out.

“You make me happy,” he continued, “I know I might not be able to give you the same feelin’ all the time, but…I love you, too. Don’t think I’d ever get to say it, but I do.”

The relief had you almost crumpling, your mind taking a moment to catch up. You almost didn’t realize you had started crying until you felt Arthur pull you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you shook from the strength it took to not completely break down and just really send the wrong message. Yet, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his jacket. All those years you told yourself you were unlovable, that you were better off for it, and yet the opposite was staring you in the face.

It was a lot to process. Yet, despite the tears that were on your cheeks and stung at your eyes, you shifted so you could pull Arthur into a kiss. He responded instantly, holding you close as you let the gesture chase out the doubt that had settled heavily over you in the last couple moments.

“Scared the hell out of me, Morgan,” you muttered once the kiss was broken, Arthur pressing his forehead against your own.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered in the space between you two, “Won’t be the last time I’ll scare you, I know, but I’m not goin’ anywhere for as long as you’ll have me.”

“As long as you’ll have me, too,” you replied in return, letting out a soft chuckle. “Say it again?”

“I love you, darlin’,” he said after a moment, “Have for a while now.”

“I love you, too.”

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝. 」 ⋆

toji's tired and doesn't feel like hearing you run your mouth in the passenger's seat of his car. so you find other ways to occupy yourself.

pairing. — toji fushiguro x f!reader

word count. — 893

content. — nsfw (18+ only), established relationship, daddy kink, toji's a lil mean (duh), pet names (baby, babygirl, little girl), finger sucking, masturbation (f), brief mention of penetrative sex.

notes. — i have toji brainrot so bad rn y'all it's not even funny. so i had to write this while working tonight LMAO i just needed to get it out of my brain. hope you enjoy <3

It’s late, and the back roads are lit up only by the headlights as the two of you skirt around curves in his expensive car. You’d bet money that you’re going well over the designated speed limit, because Toji, despite being exhausted from a long day, is still fulfilling his habit of being on the brink of reckless driving. The air is cool where he has the driver’s side window down to let the smoke from his cigarette stream out, and he’s silent as you seemingly burst with energy next to him.

You’ve been rambling on for a few minutes now about something you’ve been particularly excited about as of late, chatting your tired boyfriend’s ear off without realizing it. The low hum of the radio hardly even gets to make itself known beneath your continuous jubilant speech.

“And I can’t believe that—”

“Baby,” Toji’s voice is raised just the slightest bit to overpower yours, cutting you off before you can go on. You watch as he inhales and exhales his final breath of smoke, flicking the cigarette butt outside and rolling up the window. “Can you do daddy a favor and shut your fuckin’ mouth for a minute?”

You can finally hear the radio now that silence sweeps over you and you’re able to absorb the nonchalant harshness of his words. It doesn’t affect you too badly, however. He’s always like this. 

But narrowing your eyes into a half-hearted glare, you declare coldly in his direction, “You’re mean.”

The both of you know that you aren’t exactly heartbroken, nor are you entirely serious with your angry pout and juvenile words, so Toji speaks just as apathetically as before, “Yeah, well cry me a river over it, little girl.” He reaches a calloused hand over to roughly squeeze at your knee. It hurts a little, and there’s no smile from him nor a laugh, but you’re fully aware that it’s his way of being somewhat sadistically playful, attempting to dismantle any potential hard feelings.

Toji loosens his grip but leaves his hand there, letting you feel its warmth against your chilled skin. His fingers are so large and picturesque in a rugged sort of way, thumb stroking absentmindedly as his gaze continues to pierce ahead at the road. It’s so quiet that you suddenly feel the urge to be a little impish; maybe there are other things you can do with your mouth besides talk.

Taking him by the wrist and forearm, you guide his hand up to slide two big fingers between your lips, soaking them in the saliva that freshly pools in your mouth. He tastes like salt and nicotine, all too familiar against the flat of your tongue, and it prompts you to start a gentle suck. Toji smirks and huffs at the feeling of your hot mouth around him, muscles flexing but resisting the impulse to fuck his fingers forward until the tips hit the back of your throat. Instead, he lets you occupy yourself with your ability to take full control.

This new sense of quiet is oddly like music to his ears, only interrupted by the occasional suckling noise and the tiny hums you make in between them. “That’s a good girl,” he drawls and praises with a wicked smile on his face, pressing his fingers down against your tongue for only a moment and stealing a glance over at you as he does so. Then he starts to laugh. "Shit, I shoulda had you doin' this ten minutes ago. Shuts you up nice and good, doesn't it?"

You remove his hand long enough to take a breath and reply, perhaps with a hint of defiance, “Yes, daddy.” It makes his cock twitch when you say it like that.

Toji chuckles again. "That was a rhetorical question, babygirl, but I like where your mind’s at." He never intended for you to stop sucking or being quiet, but he’s too delighted to be bothered by it in the least.

After another minute of working until your tongue is almost sore, the heat between your thighs has increased to an intolerable amount, leaving you yearning for more than just the solution to an oral fixation. You weasel a hand down to work through fabric until a fingertip can gather some slick and swirl it around your clit, causing your cunt to clench and throat to moan around Toji’s fingertips. His head turns to look as you do so, jaw slack, and the car swerves a bit after he loses his focus on driving.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna run me off the road.” He grits his teeth and pulls his fingers from your mouth, gently gripping you by the jaw as he takes a moment to correct the steering wheel. Once on another straight path, Toji looks back over at you stroking your clit and presses his thumb past your lips and onto your tongue. You look at him with furrowed brows and moan, drool now spilling down your chin. 

“Screw this,” he mutters, deciding he’s finally had enough. Within a second he’s pulling the car off the side of the road without warning, throwing it into park and undoing your seat belt with haste.

It doesn’t take long for him to have you sitting nice and pretty on his cock, and he’s not complaining about the noise this time.

[umemiyan]

𝗠𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / oral (m!receiving, reader giving) / deepthroating

“Megumi, look at me,” you beg sweetly, first with your voice and then with your eyes, gaze shooting up at him from below, from between his thighs where you take up space. His shaft is soaked in spit and plunged into heaven every time your warm mouth works its way down it, and the young man fears his heart may burst from the way it pounds like a war drum beneath his rib cage.

“Baby, please?” you ask once more, desperate for compliance.

He can’t look at you; he can’t do anything other than grip the edge of the sofa and keep his line of sight far from where he knows you are. It’s humiliating to be acknowledged with his cock in your mouth, although it certainly isn’t the first time, but Megumi fears he’ll never grow accustomed to being so exposed, to receiving pleasure from another for the sake of it.

But he can’t deny you, either. He can’t grit his teeth and ignore the plea for all of eternity, not when you’re the one who gives him what little worth he believes he has. But you back him into a corner with your desires, with a hot tongue that pricks at the animal part of his brain so well. He’s caught in limbo, stuck between hating himself for loving your throat and adoring you for offering it in the first place. though he wishes you wouldn’t so that he’d have one less raging war to fight in his mind.

Nearly above all, Megumi fears that looking you in the eye will make him shoot his load straight down into your stomach like a weakling. He’s already at the precipice, staving off the impending orgasm with his remaining willpower, but you shatter his resolve with your most ardent plea.

Sharp and troubled eyes flick down to see the drool slicking your chin and the hunger in your gaze as it locks onto his, maintaining itself even as you slowly, deliberately take every last inch of him until your nose breaches a dark patch of hair. Like you’ve calculated it. You’ve nestled him in your throat with watering eyes, and Megumi’s hips buck, cock twitching with its first shot of release and the rest following shortly after, you gulping it down in earnest.

He grunts and shakes with every swallow, huffing almost as if it induces a great pain, teeth threatening to crack under the clench of his jaw. A drop of sweat races down his temple and over his drumming pulse, leaving him mildly wrecked as you pull off him with a smile. He’s shaken and conflicted still, but the post-orgasmic haze renders him powerless against you planting yourself in his lap and pulling him in for a kiss of victory.

Megumi can taste himself on your tongue, and he even chases the flavor as a reminder of the (perceived) burdens you carry for his sake. But none of it is burdensome to you, not when he is filled with glee, and you grin triumphantly with having sent pleasure and love bursting through his chest once more. Perhaps one day, you’ll no longer have to beg for him to let you.

[thesoftestpunk]

Will you be mine?

Summary: your crush is starting to become something more

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: This took for-fucking-ever, I'm sorry. I had a 5 month writers block

Warnings: Minors DNI!! If I find out you read this, I'm calling your mom. Lots of making out, dumb sex jokes, first time, smut, oral, piv sex, virgin!Eddie idk if I missed something lemme know. Also reader can honestly be read as plus size. I try to be inclusive.

Pt.1

When Eddie truly saw you for the first time, you were actually giving Dustin directions to the theater department, already late to swim practice, but you nodded along to his excited ramblings about joining Hellfire. You wished all three freshmen good luck and when you passed by Eddie, you smiled. Not even a half-assed, polite smile, but a full one. It’s so out of the ordinary for him that he just gawkes at you with wide eyes until your smile falters a fraction, and you move on. 

It’s been two years since you’ve moved into town, so he’s seen you around school before, but it’s the closest your worlds came to colliding, and in response to that, you smiled. Most people turned their noses up at the sight of him but the harder he thought about it, you never did. Not in two whole years. Even when his hair went through a terrible awkward phase. 

It set his curiosity in motion, unintentionally looking for you any chance he got. It was easiest in class, stuck in the back by choice, but that meant no one was looking at him looking at you. You sat with your friends any chance you got, devoted yourself to them, but anytime they made a snide comment, he saw you withdraw just the slightest bit, eyes drifting and frown deepening. Eddie never liked it when you frowned. In fact, anytime he could tell you were having a bad day, eyes burning with tears, he’d act like a fool in class. At first, you remained nonchalant, eyes drifting like they did with your friends, but the first time he got you to laugh, his heart felt too big for his chest. 

“Again?” Gareth teased when he caught Eddie drooling over you instead of the worksheet in front of him that only displayed the addition of his crooked name and nothing else. 

“I think I like her, man.” Eddie tries to keep his voice low. If anyone caught wind that he liked someone so high on the social ladder, he’d be eaten alive. The teasing over his hobbies he could take, but getting his heart caught on his sleeve and then stomped on made him nervous. 

“You should just ask her out.” Gareth says it so nonchalantly that Eddie can’t help but scoff.

“She’s friends with Christina Whitlock, wannabe cheerleader. She’s worse than Carver and his goons. I’m not going to put myself on the chopping block willingly.” 

“It’s either you ask her out or suffer in silence.” 

Eddie looks at you sitting in the front of the classroom, smiling at something you’ve been told, and his heart sinks a little. 

Then everything shifted after you sat next to him in English that day your friends seemed to be making fun of him about something. At first he thought you did it because you felt guilty, but when you seemed genuinely curious about his tattoos, he let his guard down. Which seemed to backfire pretty quickly. He had to endure hearing you say you didn’t like him, not once, but twice.

When he had lost all hope, you invited him to the pool. He almost didn't go, fully expecting you to turn him down politely, explaining that you were only being nice out of obligation, but none of that happened. When you had expressed your shared feelings for Eddie, he felt unadulterated joy. That was until he kissed you, and it seeped out of his skin, unable to be contained any further. Now, he got to walk hand in hand with you down the halls of the school, giving each other knowing looks when Tina stared the two of you down like she couldn’t believe you would have the audacity to hold hands. 

You always initiated the pda, and he shook off the nerves just to feel the soft skin of your palm against his. He kissed you in private, not wanting any chance of a moment ruined. But you can’t seem to get any privacy for anything more than making out. You’ve come close to the idea of more but that’s all it seems to be. An idea. It’s a lot of getting interrupted in your bed, Eddie’s hand just having slid underneath your underwear and one of you freezing at the sound of the front door. You always proceed to hiss out ‘shit. Someone’s home,’ before the two of you scramble to get decent and when, nine times out of ten, your mother checks on you, you pretend to be studying. 

Despite his -albeit joking- begging, you refuse the idea to do it in his van.

“I’m a bit of a romantic,” you argue. “So I don’t want our first time to be in the back of your smelly van.”

“Okay, it won’t be there.” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “It’ll be up front.”

You shove him off of you as he laughs maniacally, now beside you on your bed. Taking your childhood stuffed rabbit, you whack him in the shoulder playfully, and he catches it quickly. 

“How dare you use miss hoppity as a weapon!” He teases further. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Munson.” 

He screams dramatically when you roll over on him and attack his neck in rapid kisses, making him uncontrollably giggle. He had warned you he was ticklish in some parts, and you quickly learned where for your own personal enjoyment. 

“Uncle! Uncle!” He gasps out between bouts of laughter, even though he loved the feeling of your plush lips against his neck. His beautiful neck that left your mouth watering and legs clenching at the sheer thickness of it. Just more space to place kisses. There’s a moment when he’s calming and you’ve placed both hands on his stomach, neither worrying about your mother coming to check up on the commotion you just caused. You feel him harden underneath you, just like every time you get pulled onto his lap. He can’t help it. The way your legs spread just for him, and how your shoulders relax with ease gets him going. 

“What?” You whisper when he just continues to stare like you’ve told him he’s won the lottery. 

“I haven’t taken you on a proper date, have I?” As he asks, his smile turns downward at the sudden realization. 

“No, but I don’t mind.” You trace a finger from the back of his jaw to his chin and give a little pinch. “I like this time together. Just us.”

“Well, I’d be a terrible–” the words get caught in his throat as he almost says the big word. Boyfriend. Neither of you had broached the subject, and maybe that’s why he’s brought up the fact that he hasn’t taken you out. Whatever this relationship was, he was afraid he was going about everything in the wrong way. He should have taken you out before even kissing you, if any romantic driven book he’s read has told him. “-guy if I didn’t.”

“Okay,” you ignore his fumble, bumping your nose into his. “Take me out then.” You flatten your chest to him to feel the rumble of his victorious laughter, but then you remember where you are, and your bedroom door is open fully. “We need to get up before the guard does her rounds.”

You untangle yourself from him, giggling as he has to adjust himself if your mom actually does make an appearance. 

“This Friday, sweetheart. I’m picking you up at seven o’clock, sharp.”

“I look forward to it.”

***

Eddie says he would still rather not be seen at any school event, but he shows up to your swim practice, fulfilling his promise of being in the closest spot on the bleachers as he’s allowed. He drives you home from every practice, bragging about you to you. It’s selfishly endearing listening to the way he talks about how proud he is of you for how talented you are. The rest of the girls on the team didn’t understand his insistence on catching at least the last ten minutes. Usually he would be meeting with hellfire, but he would try and make it just to cheer you on, even if he was explicitly told not to by your coach. 

“He was here again today.” you hear Christina whisper to one of the girls. “I’m starting to think it’s not just for Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” She asks innocently.

“I mean… it’s kinda pervy, right?” 

“Ugh, totally.” Another agrees. 

A chill runs down your spine at the idea of that rumor spreading. Something in you snaps as you slam your locker door shut before turning to see their shocked faces. 

“Eddie is a gentleman,” you glare at Tina. “I don’t care that you all think I’m a freak too, now that I’m dating him, but you need to remember I’m co-captain. Keep his name out of your mouth, and if I hear any sort of disrespect about him, you’re doing drills until you puke.” 

“You’re only co-captain because you’re the coach's niece.” Christina crosses her arms defensively. 

“The only reason I’m not captain is because of nepotism. He didn’t want you whining all the time, but I work my ass off harder than anyone in this room. You could stand to be a little more humble, Tina, considering how slow you were today.” Your hands shake as everyone looks back and forth between you and Christina like they’re at a tennis match, just waiting for a full on cat fight to break out. “So, do you understand me?”

The locker room is silent as you stare down Christina, challenging her to retort back, but she actually looks flustered and nods. It has the others nodding along in a chorus of agreement. There’s no more chit chat as the girls rush to finish getting dressed. You’re one of the first few to leave, leftover anger and adrenaline making you stomp on your way out. That is until you see Eddie and feel your whole body relax. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says his usual greeting. 

Sudden tears burn your eyes as you rush forward to tackle him in a hug, causing him to stumble backwards a couple of steps. He chuckles, arm coming around your middle as he assumes you’re just that excited to see him. A sniffle gives you away immediately. 

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling away to look at you. His eyebrows draw together in concern as he looks you over, hands on either side of your face to inspect closely. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yes, I just-“ you wipe your nose with your sleeve, feeling yourself get small. It’s the first time he’s seen you cry, and you don’t want to make him worry about why. “It’s stupid. Can you just take me home?”

“You can tell me.” His thumb moves back and forth over your cheek. 

“Eds,” you let out a wet laugh. “I’m fine.” To prove this, you give him a kiss. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Alright,” he eyes you warily, and even the door to the locker room, but wraps an arm around your shoulder to walk out with you. 

You’re sour for the rest of the week, not even indulging in teasing Tina about your relationship publicly. Eddie knows you’re in a mood, but he has no idea why. He tries everything he can think of; jokes, the little kisses on your collar bones that make you smile, and more jokes, but you just seem lost in your own world. For a moment, he worries you’re tired of him already and the pressure of being seen with him has become too overwhelming, and for his own sanity, he does some digging. 

It takes bribing four different people. One offer to deal at a party sends him to  Andrew Rickman,  who gets some weed for a huge discount, to send Eddie to his girlfriend, Jessica Armstrong who finally sends him to Janice Freedman and a promise to pass along her phone number to Gareth, and he’s sure he’s figured it out. 

On Friday’s you swim on your own. Eddie knows to leave you be for an hour before entering the pool house to catch you just as you’re towel drying your hair. He doesn’t like wandering the halls to risk getting yelled at, so he waits in his van, blasting music while smoking a joint. 

“Have a good swim?” His arms wrap around your waist from behind, the smell of chlorine invading his nose. 

“Mmhm,” you hum, melting into his hold. You had pushed yourself to relieve the frustration because you didn’t want to ruin Eddie’s date plan. 

“Just ‘mmhm?’” He copied your tone, slowly placing kisses along your shoulder, and up toward your neck. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” You remind him, voice stern, but he knows there isn’t any anger behind it. 

“Got away with it last time didn’t I?” He spins you around by your hips, making you wonder what’s suddenly gotten him in this mood. Eddie captures your lips, pulling your body flush against his, and tips your head back to deepen the kiss. It leaves you breathless immediately with how desperate it feels. 

“Eddie,” you sigh when he breaks it to move to your neck once more. His ring covered hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and giving a squeeze. It’s a shame he didn’t show up sooner or he could’ve done this when you were wearing nothing but a towel. “Seriously? Here?” 

“No,” he snorts, trying to behave. “I’m a gentleman.” 

“Not with that poking me in the thigh.” 

Before he gets the chance to laugh, someone is clearing their throat, making the two of you jump apart. Tina looks to the side, looking more than embarrassed by the obvious bulge in Eddie’s pants, and your kiss stained lips. 

“T-Tina,” you step in front of Eddie for his sake. “What, uh, what are you doing here?” 

“I signed up for extra practice time.” For the first time, Tina seems small, almost afraid to admit she needed the extra time in the water. “Guys aren’t allowed in the girls locker room, Munson.” 

“I’ll wait outside.” Stiffly, he leans forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek from behind before rushing out. 

“Sorry,” you apologize before she can berate you for it. “I thought we were alone.”

And strange enough, she doesn’t. 

“I used to sign up for the latest slot so Declan and I could be alone when we first started dating.” She opens up her locker in search of her suit. “Just don’t go making a habit of it. Coach nearly tore my head off. Can’t imagine what he’d do to his niece.” 

“Right,” you laugh sheepishly, but catch a glimpse of the Tina you became friends with two years ago. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me yet.” She hardens once again. “You’re doing drills for getting caught.”

You sigh. Tough Tina was back. 

“Aye aye captain.” 

After you rush out, tail between your legs, you smack Eddie in the shoulder with the sleeve of your hoodie. He flinched back like it hurt, but the smile completely gave him away. 

“You dingus!” You try to keep your voice down, but the shrill tone still echoes around the building. 

“Ow!” He laughs more than he does whine. “I can’t appreciate you for sticking up for me?”

“What?” You stop winding up for another smack. 

“I heard what you did for me.” He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you close so he has to speak quietly. “No one’s ever stuck for me like that before.” 

“Well, I- I was just being honest…” your cheeks burn at the way he looks down at you, one corner of his lips tugging up. 

“Mm, well, I find your honesty extremely hot.” 

“We can not get caught by Tina again.” As much as you wanted to reciprocate his appreciation, you weren’t looking forward to extra punishment for making her endure another shared kiss between you and eddie. “You need to take me home so I can get ready for our date.”

“What’re you gonna wear?” 

“Only if you tell me where we’re going but it’s—“

“A surprise,” he finishes for you.

***

Eddie shows up at your door on time for once. He isn’t allowed to pick you up for school, or else you’d be chronically late for first period. He had told you to dress casual, but you can’t help but grab your short tan pleated skirt to match your white shirt with extended shoulders and a jean fabric vest. (A jest if you will). To top it all off, you wear your favorite beat up sneakers and ankle socks scrunched down. When you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat and you take down the hall, shouting at your parents that you’ll get the door. Your dad beats you to it on purpose, but he’s already met Eddie. They were uncertain at first, but Eddie was polite and followed your house rules. To an extent. It was all a front, and you knew it killed him just a little, but he also knew if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to date you. 

He takes you to a local restaurant, nothing fancy, but also not cheap. you love it either way. It never really mattered what the two of you did together, as long as you were doing it together. He’s a bit quiet as you eat, eyes scanning the room, but after you get him to loosen up, he acts like he owns the place. He leans back in his seat, arm thrown over the back as he heavily flirts with you, not even wondering if the other patrons are staring or not.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles while fumbling with the crumbled bills when he pays. You know he doesn’t have a traditional job, selling drugs to help his uncle with expenses, and it makes you wonder how much extra he had to sell just to take you here. There’s a pause as he calculates if there’s enough for a tip before slapping the money down and smiling at you to wave off your worry. 

“Eddie?” You gently take his hand after he’s pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you- you know you didn’t have to take me somewhere that nice, right? I would’ve been fine if you made me, like, chef boyardee at your trailer.”

“I gotta make my girl feel special sometimes, right?” He flashes you that confident smile and brings your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles. There’s a tug in your stomach when he calls you ‘my girl’ and you bite your bottom lip to stave off your sheepish grin. “Plus, the night’s not over yet. I got one more thing for you.”

You aren’t sure what to expect, but when he pulls up in front of his trailer, you feel a bit of a relief. Not because you don’t like being out in public with Eddie, you do, but you constantly worry about someone making a rude comment his way and upsetting him. In the time you’ve known him, though, the insults seem to roll off his back pretty easily, and you’re unsure how he does it. Every insult repeats in your mind for hours after. 

“Give me five minutes.” Eddie leans over to give you a quick kiss on the lips. 

“What, gotta hide all your cum socks before I go in?”

“I’ve got some class.” Eddie’s breath tickles your lips as he doesn’t lean back just yet. “I washed them yesterday.” 

As he gets out of the van, you laugh to yourself, even when he’s unlocking the door and disappearing inside. You stay inside the vehicle, only unbuckling your seatbelt and glance outside the window. The openness of the area combined with how dark it is leaves you a little unsettled. It’s eerily quiet, and you can tell even with the windows rolled up. A lone cricket and distant barking seems to be the only noise going on around. Turning by your torso, you see there isn’t much to the back of his van, bits of carpet pulling up here and there along the seams, a guitar case covered in stickers similar to what’s on his jackets, and ashtrays with cigarette butts and half smoked joints. There’s a rug thrown in the middle, probably to cover a stain or his attempt to class things up. A sharp knock startled you out of observing the burnt orange and red curves and sharp corners. 

“You okay there?” Eddie teases after opening the passenger door for you. 

“It’s scary as shit out here.” You take his outstretched hand and hop out of the van. “It’s way too quiet.”

“Let me lead you to safety, princess.”

Inside, the trailer is lit by the dim lamp in the corner of the living area, but mostly by the scattered candles along random surfaces leading toward his bedroom. The low lighting flickers off the reflection in the mugs lined along the shelves, and shadows dancing along the walls. Eddie leads you down the short hallway before you can even comment on his romantic decor. You’ve gotten a peek of his bedroom in past visits, but the two of you usually would hang out on the couch, so you know he’s tidied it up for you. There’s still plenty of clutter along his dresser and desk, but his floor is clean from any clothes or trash strewn about. 

He stops you at the end of his bed, your calves brushing against the sheets hanging over the side. Slowly, he brings up your hand to place a kiss on the back of your palm, causing you to shudder. A smile grows on his face and you can see it despite your hand being in the way. He lets go to drag the vest off of your shoulders and when it registers in your mind that he wants it off, you move with him, his face getting close to yours when he has to help your fumbling hands through the holes. You’ve been kissed by him a dozen times but when he dips his chin up to connect your lips, your skin burns in a want you’ve never felt before, as if he’s kissing you for the first time. You both move in sync, dipping down onto the bed, and not breaking contact until he’s hovering over you, delight making his features glow, but you can see the small bit of insecurity in his eyes while he seems to gather up his nerves. 

“Will you be mine?” It’s quiet, intimate, barely above a whisper, but leaves his voice graveling deep enough to send a jolt up your spine. “My girl? Each second with you…” he trails off, shaking his head as his lips split into a grin. “It’s a piece of gold, sweetheart. I want you to be mine.” 

“I-“ you huff out a laugh, his bangs moving with the small gust of air. “I thought I already was. Have been since you kissed me.” 

If his grin could get any bigger, it just did, and his body relaxes, his weight heavier on top of you. The next kiss he gives you is all teeth and tongue, before he calms and kisses you proper. Kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, his lips and the gentle swipe of his tongue erasing all the others that came before. Your giggle is muffled into his mouth, trying to pull him closer than he already was, but there wasn’t any room left. If you could find it within yourself to let go of his shirt, he could be pressed firmly against you, but then you would just want his shirt off, skin to skin, only for that to still not be enough. 

A small moan from you escapes into his mouth when he grinds his hips down into yours, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he does so. His large hands slide up your hips, your shirt coming up with them, and up your ribs until he’s exposed your chest. You hadn’t even bothered with a bra, not entirely expecting the night to go this far. His eyes widen at the surprise, and his cheeks go pink like he’s never had the pleasure of being inches from any pair of tits. Especially a pair like yours, beautiful and on display just for him. His mouth wraps around your right nipple, his teeth sinking into the perked up flesh, and a pained squeak falls past your lips, the sharp sting only working you up more. As an apology, he releases your nipple to swipe his tongue over it in circles, while his other hand cups your other breast, giving it a perfect squeeze. His lips move down, alternating between kisses and biting the soft flesh of your stomach until he’s positioned between your thighs. Looking up, as if asking permission, to which you nod vigorously in agreement, his hands wrap around your legs to rest them on the top of your thighs, fingers digging into the meat as he kisses the inside of your thighs. You can’t help but squirm when he pushes up the fabric of your skirt with his left hand, the one with all the chunky rings, and leaves it there to rest and places one single kiss on your clothed pussy. 

A broken whimper from you gets him into motion, removing his hand from the thigh for a brief moment, moving your panties to the side and licking up you slowly. Eager, he burrows down, his tongue swirling around your clit, nose pressed against your pubic bone, not minding the scratch of the coarse hair. In desperation to hold onto something to steady your uncontrollable squirming and maybe to just find a grip of reality while your mind floats into a high, your hand falls on his that kneads the flesh of your stomach. The lumpy metal digs into your palm, the pain bringing you further back to reality. His mouth, his hands, his heat leaves you for a moment, looking up to the panting mess that you are, and you whine at the lack of touch. One by one, Eddie removes the large jewelry while maintaining eye contact and tosses them to the side before slowly laying back down on his stomach. Slowly his eyes land on your drenched pussy, and you’d feel uncomfortable if it weren’t for the hunger in his eyes. 

“Wait,” you breathe out. Removing the spare scrunchie from your wrist, you sit up to gather all of his hair quickly, apologizing when your fingers get tangled in the curls, and put it all into a messy bun. You don’t even get to soak up the image of his hair being held by something of yours before he’s gently laying you back down, and his mouth returns to his previous work.

His heavy hands hold your already trembling thighs apart. A hesitant finger hovers near your wet entrance, sliding in slowly. You sigh in relief until he experimentally strokes your core, breath caught in your throat and back arching slightly off the bed. Pleading words, begging breaths, you want for more of his hefty fingers inside you, stretching you out for what you expect to be more later. He complies easy, tongue and fingers moving in sync faster, enjoying every moan that falls past your lips. His name is whined out on repeat, each one raising in tone and intensity along with the pressure in your stomach. He laps up the mess you make as you clench around his fingers and fall over the edge for the first, but not final, time of the night. Soft kisses with the intention of being soothing are scattered along your thighs and stomach as his soaked fingers rub your overstimulated clit, letting you catch your breath as you ride the high just a moment longer.

“Fuck,” you huff, a dazed smile following. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Eddie moves so he’s hovering over you, chin glistening with his work. “Fantasy novels.”

“No, seriously.” With your thumb, you wipe the wetness off of his chin for him. There’s a beat of silence and you realize he isn’t joking. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well… yeah.” 

You sit both of you up, scooting up his mattress until your back touches the wall. There’s the pull of rejection in his chest the further you move away, the absence of your touch and the distance between the two of you sends a message that you don’t want to go further anymore. 

“But you-” you pause, adjusting your shirt so it isn’t exposing your chest. “You… you’re you.”

“That’s the problem, apparently.” The defeat in his voice makes you wince in regret. 

“No, I mean… you’re in a metal band and-” you almost don’t say it. “And I’ve heard… y’know.”

“That I’ll give a discount for putting out?” Amusement flickers in his eyes at that particular rumor. “Okay, I let one girl give me a handy, but that’s it. I’m a massive virgin otherwise.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small, going quiet so you can process what he’s told you. “Well, if you aren’t comfortable we don’t have to.”

“I set up the place for that purpose.” your stomach twists at the image of him excitedly getting ready, lighting the candles to set the mood all with the cute little smile he gets. “Unless you…”

“I’m not.” You almost feel bad for admitting it, but you didn’t regret losing your virginity to someone else. He didn’t seem jealous, just understanding. “And I wouldn’t mind.”

Eddie’s smile grows. “Good ‘cause I bought an entire box of condoms.” Leaning over, he pulls out the comically large box from his bedside table. 

“Were you expecting a sex marathon?” You gawk. 

“That’d be ideal.” 

You shut him up by swiftly removing your shirt and tossing it in his face. He’s quick to pull it off and toss it to the side, but you’re quicker in moving forward, hands falling on his shoulders and pushing him down so he’s on his back. If his hair were loose, you’d be distracted by the halo it created around his bed, but it isn’t. Instead it’s already fighting the scrunchie, his bangs falling down in sparse strands, making him look more innocent than he ever has. Crawling into his lap, you take care in placing yourself directly on his growing hard-on. His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, gripping tightly while you run yours up the entirety of his torso. A couple tugs on the fabric is your way of asking him to sit up enough so you can take it off. Immediately, your eyes land on the one tattoo you haven't had the pleasure of looking at for longer than a few seconds, and slowly you take in the small patch of hair in the middle of his chest. What gets your mouth watering is the thicker patch leading down underneath his jeans. On his back, you can see the peaks of his hip bones leading down to the short valley to his happy trail.

You drag your nails over the thicker patch of hair, smiling to yourself at his sharp intake of air, the upward tilt of his chin from your peripheral, working him up to squirm just as much as you had. He’s a whimpering mess while you only touch him anywhere besides the one place he wants. Desperate, he moves your hips for you, begging for any amount of friction. Almost defiantly, you scoot back, sitting on his thighs instead, and he huffs indignantly. You smirk, bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling fully at his pouting.

“Please,” he begs breathless, hips jutting into the air despite no available pressure from your weight. 

Giving in, you unbutton his jeans, finding the way they pop open satisfying, and tug slowly on his zipper. You can perfectly see the outline of his dick through his tight boxer briefs. You want to take your time, slowly pull his jeans off first and then his underwear, but that flies out of the window when you see just how girthy he is. You don’t undress him in any manner, running the palm of your hand up his length, a long moan filling the room. Leaning down, you kiss his stomach, his muscles jolting in surprise. You slip your hand past the waistband, fingertips brushing against the tip, already dripping at your light touch. Experimentally, you give a light squeeze when you’ve wrapped your hand fully around him. Using his pre-cum as aid, you start slow, his moans coming from deep in his chest. Slowly, you start increasing your speed, dropping kisses along his skin when he seems to get too quiet. 

“Baby, you gotta stop,” Eddie pants. You pull away completely, confusion and hurt covering your features. “No, no,” he takes your face between his hands. “I’m just gonna explode if you keep touching me like that, and I’m not quite finished with you yet.” 

You pause, blink once as heated shock covers your body over the realization. You almost made him cum too fast. Pride fills your chest, and you aren’t sure if it’s a bad feeling to have, but he returns your sheepish smile by grabbing a condom from the box. With fascination, you watch him as he rolls it on, not having had the luxury of witnessing this part. It was too dark or too quick before. There’s a bit of a struggle and you reach out to help but stop yourself, not wanting to take over. 

“Got it,” he smiles. 

“And you’re sure you want to…?” You aren’t afraid, but this is new to him. You don’t want him to be afraid. Everything should be perfect, though you know nothing ever is. 

“Do you?”

“Of course, Ed’s.” Running a hand down his chest to his stomach, to land on his strained cock, you give a reassuring smile. Before you climb back in his lap, he helps you out of your underwear, watching the way you smoothly throw a leg over him and line yourself up expertly without even looking. Raising your brows to wordlessly ask one more time, he answers by resting his hands on your hips, eyes never leaving yours. As you sink slowly down, there’s the familiar burning stretch that causes you to whimper, even more by his girth, but it’s all covered up by his moans. You bottom out, wiggling experimentally while he adjusts to the feeling.

And then you start moving your hips.

Slow at first, grinding your pussy into him, his head falling back onto the mattress and eyes squeezing shut. If he had any nails, they’d be digging into your skin, leaving crescents behind to remind you of this moment later, but his fingers are dull, pushing and pulling you into a perfect rhythm. Leaning down, you press kisses and soft bites onto his neck, your tits flat against his chest and moving with every desperate thrust he gives into you. You support yourself by your forearms, stopping your movements and letting him fuck himself into you. He’s a beautiful flustered mess when you look at him. He opens his eyes just a sliver to catch your smile. 

“Feel good?” You ask, voice soft.

“Mm-hm.” He can’t even speak, brows furrowed together roughly. “‘M gonna—“

“Go ahead.” You place a kiss on his pulse point, swallowing your moans as he thrusts harder, hitting your g-spot. His arms wrap around your waist holding you still, his hips becoming more erratic. “C’mon baby,” you coo. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, giving a few good thrusts before his hips stutter. You give him a moment to catch his breath, the only sound in the room being his panting. 

Leaning back, you smother his face in kisses, feeling his laughter vibrate underneath your chest. 

“Hey,” you say semi-serious, his soft eyes meeting yours. “You did great.”

“I sure hope so.” He finally slides out of you and you whine in indignation, missing the feeling of him already. 

“You did.” You insist. 

There’s this moment where he almost looks like he believes you and you get this warm mushy feeling in your chest at the realization that you’ve had your first time together. Not in the back of his van but in a lovingly decorated trailer with zero chances of being interrupted. To top it all off, you’re also officially his girlfriend. 

“Sweetheart?” He breaks you out of your revere. “Kinda need you off of me to get this thing off.”

“And then we cuddle.”

He smiles. “And then we cuddle.” 

Rolling onto your back, you realize you’ve still got your skirt on, laughing to yourself as you take it off. You look around and find a shirt, unsure of whose it could be, and slip it on, watching Eddie walk out of the room despite promising to get back in bed. A moment later, he returns with a damp rag, gently spreading your legs and cleaning you up the best he knows how.

“I got it, thank you.” You take it from him gently, getting the spots he couldn’t and hand it back. He immediately tosses it behind his shoulder, hoping it lands in his laundry basket. “Eddie, gross.” 

“No time, my dear.” He crawls in right behind you, pulling his comforter over the both of you so you don’t end up cold. His nose nuzzles into the back of your neck, lips leaving soft kisses on the top of your spine. 

“I can’t sleep over,” you remind him, eyelids already feeling heavy.

“I know.”

“My dad wants me back before midnight.”

“I know.”

A hand snakes over your side, wrapping around your middle to pull you flush into his chest. He breathes you in, the smell of your honey shampoo tingling his senses. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hm?” He sounds sleepy and you know you’re in trouble. 

“We can officially do it in your van, now.”

“Finally,” he teases. 

Tag list: @hesvoid3434 @jane-ways @akiratoro420 @ali-r3n @stupid-infinity (there were a couple of you it wouldn't let me tag, sorry <;3)

[elliewlums]

can you write general hcs of ellie williams x reader ♥️

ellie williams hcs <3

content warnings: smut implied + briefly described, use of a strap on, possessive!ellie😩

ellie is the QUEEN of casual dominance. a hand on the small of your back to guide you, a warning look to keep you in check in public, fingers pinching your chin and tilting your head up when she talks to you. when you really act up, she even crouches, elbows poised on her knees as she reprimands you (it always ends in an apology. and some other things…)

such an ass girl. astronomically so. grabs it with both hands when you walk in front of her and admires how the flesh moulds and squishes under her slender fingers. when you bend over, she pretends to fuck you from behind, moaning and groaning like a pornstar until you swat her away and grumble an exasperated “quit it, el.”

she’s definitely a night owl; ellie’s a light sleeper. she tosses and turns and sometimes gets up in the middle of the night for a walk. but now she has you - her sleepy girl - she’s far more still, in efforts to keep you asleep and comfortable if nothing else.

JEALOUS JEALOUS JEALOUS GIRLLLL. so very possessive over you; she has a seriously short fuse when guys try anything with you whatsoever, likes to keep you close and tucked into her side. will stand between you and other people if she feels threatened. and she is liable to start swinging if she feels it necessary. you spend many nights after parties patching her up, perched on her lap as you dab at her bloody face with a damp cloth. (p.s: it always ends in sex.)

she’s also possessive in the nature that she just loves to have you close all the time. if you stray too far away or talk to someone else for too long, she will pout like a child.

she likes to hold the back of your neck when you’re walking; it keeps you close and touching just how she likes. plus, it gives her the perfect grip to pull you back and kiss you whenever she feels like it.

such a dom. loves to make you work during sex until you’re crying and all tired out and pushing halfheartedly back onto her strap. she eventually takes pity on you, but not until she makes you beg and whine beautifully for her plastic cock.

calls you cute pet names just to watch you fluster and hide behind your hands. she coos out a ‘baby,” and suddenly you’re shy and flushed white-hot. it makes her absolutely ravenous to get her hands on you.