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lewdmommie · 1 year ago

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One night stand

Summary: y/n is forced to do some after hours training with König

🎀Warning🎀: 18+NSFW, Oral sex, raw sex, breeding, rough sex, fluff, slight angst,praise/degradation kink, size kink etc…

ClingyKönigxreader💗

Part 2.

Part 3

Word count: 4.k

“That was good but you’re leaving yourself open.” A gloved hand takes hold of your wrist. He lifts both arms, protecting your face. Your eyes dart up catching a brief moment of eye contact before he quickly looks away. Green. His eyes were green, you hadn’t noticed till now. König was sweet but he made sure to keep his distance from people—the fact that you were this close to him at all was a shock. Sgt. Ghost didn’t take kindly to your recent mistake on the last mission. He doubled your workload and put you on probation, because most of the Barracks were close friends of yours, he assigned you the quietest person on the team. Now you and König spend three hours a day training after hours. While your peers train together, you're mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Ghost doesn’t let you train during work hours in case your colleagues distract you. This was a punishment and he made that clear. “I’m sorry you have to do this with me everyday. This is my punishment, you shouldn’t have to suffer on my behalf.” He shakes his head at your apology.

“I don’t mind…I know how Ghost gets.” He places both hands on your hips, rotating your body. The truth is he really didn’t mind, most days he looked forward to seeing you. “Keep your core strong.” He instructs. His fingers travel up the curves of your body as he repositions you. His large hands warm up your waist as ungodly thoughts intrude your mind. The mask made it impossible for you to read his emotions, any expression came from his eyes (which he often hides). The only change you could see was the way his breath hitched as his finger accidentally grazes your breast. He was always so respectful when touching you, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Once your body is angled correctly he lets go, taking a few steps back. It almost seemed like he was avoiding the closeness. “Now attack me and defend.” He orders. You lunge forward —jabbing left, right,left,right. He blocks every punch effortlessly, guarding his face. He dodges, dipping low and charging at you. His arms wrap around your thighs hoisting you up. Your fingers interlock beating down on his back, trying to break his iron grip. He stumbles, arms loosening just enough to break free. Your feet hit the ground, König grunts as your fist connects clean with his jaw. “Uhn that one actually hurt…good job.” He waves a hand of surrender while rubbing his cheek through the mask. You run over to help. “Are you alright I’m so sorry-“ his hand shoots out, snatching your arm, spinning you. His solid arm tightens around your neck trapping you in a chokehold. His breathing is shallow, body tensing as your ass presses against him. You reach up and caress his forearm. He hadn’t realized just how small you were compared to him till now, his body engulfed the entirety of your frame. He notes how perfectly you fit in his arms and how easy it’d be to break you. Your head rests just below his pecs, the smell of your hair product wafts up his mask, he inhales the sweet scent. His bicep flexes, tightening his grip, your eyes flutter and a quiet moan falls from your lips. You loved that light headed airy feeling of being choked.

“N-never let your guard down.” He let’s go, gently pushing you away, putting a giant gap between the two of you. “Even if you think someone is done, be prepared to attack…” he trails off getting distracted by how sexy you look after an intense workout. How fast your breathing is, how your hair is messy with sweat, how your lips part as you catch your breath. He wanted to be the one to work you out.

“Oh whatever you cheated .” You laugh squatting down as you catch your breath. König crouches, grabbing his flask from the ground. His large, veiny hands twist the top off in one swipe. Unconsciously, he lifts the bottom of his mask to drink, showing you a glimpse of the lower half of his face. His jaw tenses, a trickle of water spills down his chin as he swallows. His adams apple bobs with each gulp. You gawk at the scene in front of you, thinking it has to be a daydream.

“Water?” He holds the flask to you.

“S-sure.” You ease to a sitting position on your knees reaching for the bottle. You stare at the rim that just grazed his lips. Does this count as an indirect kiss? You think. He watches you place your lips in the exact spot he’d drank from, flushed with excitement. He wonders if your lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be. How they’d feel melding with his…how they’d feel wrapped around his dick. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that would never happen and that you didn’t see him that way.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, looking at you with big green eyes.

“Sergeant told the cafeteria to only feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, so I haven’t eaten anything of value.” Your stomach grumbles on que.

“You must have really gotten on his bad side huh?” He offers you a hand,helping you to your feet.

“Unfortunately.” You dust off your pants and begin collecting your belongings.

“Since we wrapped up a bit early, how about I take you somewhere you can get real food.” He offers, packing his duffle bag.

“You know how tight ghost keeps the kitchen locked up…” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Who said anything about the kitchen?” His voice sounds mischievous.

“You don’t mean-?” You shake your head, stuffing your hat and jacket in the bag.

“Come on, he’ll never know I’ve worked with him long enough to know his blind spots.” He tilts his head expressively.

“Fine but if we get caught, you ordered me to go.” You hike your bag onto your shoulder, walking past him. He smiles behind you.

“Puedo pedir dos margaritas?(may I have two margaritas) Sí…un bistec nacho y un burrito de pollo(one steak nacho and one chicken burrito)Eso es todo, gracias(that's all thank you).” He says expertly, the waiter nods thanking you before going to pin the order up.

“Wow I’ve been deployed here longer than you and my Spanish is still choppy.” You toy with some lime slices on the table to keep yourself busy. König watches you closely, an amused look in his eye.

“I can speak a few languages but I’m not good at them all.” He looks you up and down, the lights from the club area illuminates your skin. Your hair is pulled in a now messy bun. Cute strands stick out from your training session. He is especially drawn to your lips, the way you lick and nibble your bottom lip when you’re nervous. His eyes dart away when you feel his gaze lingering and look up.

“What other languages do you speak?” You stare out into the dance floor, watching the locals swing and jump to the music. They looked carefree and happy, it’d been so long since you’ve felt good or even had a good time. Ghost saw a lot of potential in you so he stayed on your ass 24/7. Tough love is what he liked to call it.

“German is my first language.” He reveals.

“German? That’s so cool , say something in German.” He chuckles at your excitement.

“Ich möchte dich über diesen Tisch beugen und dich dazu bringen, mich ganz zu nehmen (I want to bend you over this table and make you take all of me)” he leans forward, green eyes boring into you as he says this,making sure you can hear him over the music. You had no idea what he just said but it made your thighs clench under the table.

“W-what does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day.” He shrugs. You toss a lime, it smacks his vest with a small thud.

“I thought friends don’t keep things from eachother.” You tease. The server brings out two large glasses with salted rims, there was no way you could finish this entire thing. He places the margaritas on either side of the table along with straws. König tears open his straw taking a long pull from his drink.

“Whoa it’s strong.” The fruity syrup barely covered the 3 shots of liquor . You indulge, sucking a mouth full of the frozen drink. It tastes strongly of strawberry slushie and tequila, the salted rim balances all the flavors with a sour finish. The alcohol must have been hitting him pretty fast because all he could imagine is him being that straw. How good the inside of your mouth must taste and feel.

“You’re right…I see why everyone is having such a good time.” You joke, taking another sip. A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, he loved the way you always spoke your mind. It’s one of the qualities that always got you in trouble with ghost. Nothing made him laugh more than watching you stress ghost out with your witty personality.

“I guess we’d better join the party.” He raises his glass for a toast before chugging half.

The server brings out hot plates of food, everything looked and smelled amazing. Your stomach growls at the sight of real food, the liquor (coupled with only eating sandwiches for a week) takes effect making you absolutely demolish your burrito. König shyly slips a few chips under his mask, he never ate around people since it usually required the mask to come off.

“This is soooo good.” You say having another bite.

“I love this place. I come here often.” He slides in another chip.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave base unauthorized or maybe that’s just me.” Ghost had a tendency of giving you extra rules for your troublesome rap sheet.

“We aren’t but if you don’t get caught, did it ever happen?” He laughs, taking the final sip of his drink.

“And they call me the troublemaker.” You say glancing at the dance floor again.

“Do you want to?” He asks.

“Want to what? Dance?…no I don’t uh I don’t dance.” You dismiss quickly.

“ I’ve seen you knock grown men out y/n, dancing can’t be much harder than that.”

“You know you’re much more social than usual.” You observe.

“Only when I’m with you.” He grabs your hand leading you to the crowd.

The music thumps with bass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. A sexy song plays through the huge speakers near the DJ station. People couple up, swaying their bodies to the beat. König slips an arm around your lower back pulling you close. You struggle to find the tempo, moving left to right awkwardly. He takes your hand, spinning you around. His eyes trace the line of your body before pulling you back into his chest. You giggle at how ridiculous you look compared to his smooth rhythm. Your foot slams down on his toe as you try to find the beat “I’m so sorry! I’m so bad at this maybe I should sit-“

“Let’s try this instead.” His knee forces your legs apart, giving him control of your movements. The feeling of his thigh pressed firmly against your heat makes your head spin.

“Follow my lead.” He commands.

His waist sways back and fourth, rocking your bodies in unison. You copy his actions, grinding your hips together, the grip on your waist tightens. The fabric of your pants rub creating friction between your legs, his cock reacts to the closeness, beating as if it was dancing along with them. finding the rhythm, your body starts to move on its own.

“Scheisse (Shit)” he groans as you turn around and twirl your ass on him. His head falls back as you start to swirl your hips down and back up slowly. His big hand slides over your stomach holding you as close as possible, his rock hard member strains through his thick camo pants. Your eyes close as you grind into him, his finger grazes the exposed skin peeking from under your shirt. He trails that same finger up your torso, between your breast and up your neck. His hand rests at the base of your throat keeping hold of you as your bodies whirl around the dance floor. He spins you back around to face him, for once he demands eye contact and you’re the one shying away. You stare at the floor, giant hands cup your face pulling you to meet his feverish gaze.

“Don’t look away from me.” König’s voice sounds different, More rugged. His shoulders hunch as he leans down to your height as he speaks. “Bitte komm mit mir nach Hause” he whispers in your ear.

“What’s that?”

“Please come home with me.” He breathes.

“How the hell did you convince Ghost to let you room by yourself ?” You ask, stepping past the threshold.

“ My social skills and big personality helped with that.” He jokes sarcastically. König wasn’t required to room with anyone thanks to his close connection to the sergeant, leaving the two of you completely alone in his quarters.

“Well I guess if you don’t talk much there isn’t much you could say to get in trouble.” You ponder.

“Yeah you should try it.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

“Try what exactly?” You ask appalled , holding your chest dramatically.

“Not talking. That mouth of yours is dangerous.”

“Give me one example where I said something worth getting punished for.” Your arms cross.

“If I recall correctly you said and I quote ‘why would I listen to a dude named Simon?’ ” he says in a high pitch voice mimicking yours.

“First of all he wasn’t supposed to hear that, wrong place at the wrong time on his part and secondly Simon is a funny name, the jokes practically write themselves.” He pauses for a second before doubling over with laughter.

His keys clatter on the kitchen counter as he wipes his tears of laughter away. You set your bags near the couch and sway on your heels nervously, unsure whether to sit or stand. Strong hands settle on your shoulders working away the tension you’ve been holding for god knows how long. Your head rolls back into his touch, he kneads your muscles like dough relieving any and all stress. “That feels so good, König.” You groan, closing your eyes.

“Come with me.” He grasps your hand leading you down a hall , stopping at a closed door. He twists the knob revealing a very plain bedroom, a queen sized bed with black sheets, a desk, and stacks of paperwork are all that decorate the space. There are two extra doors, one leading to the closet and the other to the bathroom. You laugh at his clumsiness. He’s clearly tipsy as he staggers to the door.

He slips his gloves off and opens the cabinet below the sink, rummaging around and pulling things out onto the bathroom floor. Finally, he emerges with a pink topped bottle. “Baby oil” the label reads.

“Strip.” He says, unbuckling his bulletproof vest and laying it on the desk chair.

“S-strip?”

“Yes, so I can massage you. That is what you want isn’t it?” He removes his thick camouflage jacket revealing the snug black material of his undershirt.

His muscles bulge veiny and tight, stretching the fabric. It was true, you did want his hands all over you. Ever since you two started training together, you found yourself fantasizing about being split by that monster of a man. Your hands fumble with the buckle of your pants as you kick your boots off. He advances, towering a wapping 6'6”. You shift with anticipation, looking up at him with gleaming eyes. The tips of his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, swiping it over your head. Your scrunchie is taken along with it, freeing your hair (for my fellow natural haired girlies let’s just say you have braids or a wig). If you’d known you’d be stripping for someone tonight, you would have picked sexier underwear. He’s silent as he takes in how perfect you look in your plain gray and white bra/pantie combo.

“Lay on the bed.” He instructs unscrewing the baby oil top.

You listen, climbing up into the comfy cotton sheets, using your arms as pillows. He’s flustered at how obedient you are, since that wasn’t a side of you he’d seen before. The military couldn’t break you…but he would. He stands at the side of the bed admiring every dip and curve of your figure. Flipping the bottle upside down, Slick cool oil slides down your back. His thumbs rub circles along your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. His long fingers slip under your bra strap, he huffs in frustration.

“In the way-“ he unclasps it skillfully. Your face is burning with embarrassment, there was no way you were laying in Königs bed half naked. A shiver runs down your leg as he slides down the elastic waist of your panties. He begins working and kneading your lower back, squeezing the plush skin of your ass. The crotch of your panties were soaked, leaving a huge wet spot on the gray fabric. He inhales, your arousal was palatable, his dick pulsates at the scent of your glistening womanhood. Your panties glide down over your ankles as he slides them off, tossing them into the corner.

“Flip over.” He grunts, tossing you around.

Your breast fall from the unclamped bra, hard nipples on full display. König doesn’t hesitate yanking and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“On your knees.” His voice is breathy and low.

your eyes stay on him as you shift onto your knees, hands holding your chest shyly. Gently he pulls them away, slipping the straps down and off your arms. Because of his height, you’re at perfect eye level with his throbbing erection. His breath hitches as your elegant fingers undo the zipper of his pants, his earthy green eyes flutter. His big hand cradles your cheek as he watches you work to release him from the shackles of those annoying pants. His cock burst free, slapping his lower stomach. Although you couldn’t see his face, the state of his arousal was evident. Veins root from base to tip, beating rhythmically along the upward curve of his sex. His tip is blushed and oozing with pre-cum, his breathing accelerates with need. You run your tongue up the length of his rock hard shaft, he grunts head lolling back. Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing him before opening nice and wide.

“Scheiße (Fuck)” he pants, caressing your cheek pulling your warm wet mouth down on his cock. It was even better than he’s imagined, his hand sets the pace rocking your head back and forth. Tears prick your eyes as he begins moving faster, fucking your throat. Each thrust deeper than the last, his hand moves to the base of your neck feeling how deep you can swallow him.

“You look so fucking pretty sucking my cock.” He wipes a stray tear with his thumb.

You gag as he pushes further, your throat muscles contract around him before he pulls back.

“Oh naughty naughty girl. You almost made me cum.” He teases, lightly pushing you back onto the bed. The mattress creaks from his massive size as he climbs between your legs, peering down at you. Your hand reaches under the mask, he firmly grips your wrist forcing it to the bed.

“Ask nicely.” He orders.

“Can I touch you…please.” You beg.

He releases your hand, it finds the bottom of the mask, sliding underneath to find the stubble of a 5 o'clock shadow and soft lips. Your finger strokes his lower lip, it is plump and warm.suddenly, his mouth opens nipping and sucking the skin of your curious finger. “Ah what are you-“ you moan arching your back. Pushing your hand away once more, he leans down, capturing your parted lips. Your lips dance in perfect harmony, melting into one another. He moans into your mouth, his jaw tenses as your tongue pushes through savoring the flavor that is König. The head of his dick pokes at your slippery slit begging for entry, you can feel how hot he is all over causing your temperature to rise.

“Open up for me, I’m gonna give you everything I have.” He groans, plunging inside with a flick of his hips. Your hands claw at the smooth skin of his back as you stretch around him, his girth almost too much to handle. You cry out as he thrust deeper “Just alittle more baby, you’re taking me so well…s’good s’fucking good.” He pants filling you to the brim. He stays still for a moment letting you adjust to his large size, the pressure in your pussy nearly makes you cum right then and there.

“I feel you twitching around me princess, you can’t cum yet, I’m not done breaking you.” He pulls back before slamming back in, hitting the back of your cervix with each thrust. There is a delicious ache in your belly as he impales you, the curve of his dick reaches places you didn’t even know existed.

“Ah ah s’to big I-I can’t I can’t.” You cry biting the skin of his chest to hold back your screams.

“You’re gonna take what…I…give…you.” He pounds with each word. He sits up pushing your knees to your chest forcing even deeper inside your velvety walls. This position gives him access to your stiff wet bud. With two fingers he spreads your creamy folds watching his dick pump in and out of you. Every thrust his cock emerges more coated than the last.

“Your pussy is so fucking gorgeous , look at that needy little clit.” He flicks your bud, rutting into you with all his strength. His long fingers grab your throat, your tongue lols out as he chokes you. He alternates the pressure taking you up and gently bringing you back down. “That pretty mouth isn’t so dangerous now.” Your quivering walls clench around him threatening to overflow.

“P-please I’m gonna…ah!” He pulls out, gripping your waist as he throws you around, roughly raising your ass to him. Before you can register the change he splits you apart once again, slapping your plush ass, leaving hot hand prints on your skin. Those giant hands push and pull you back on his cock, using your pussy to make himself cum.

“You have such a cute tummy.” He reaches around pressing on your lower belly feeling how full it is with his cock.

“You would make such a pretty mommy.” He praises fucking you faster and harder. That throws you over the edge, your body convulses and clamps down icing his dick with your sweetness.

His teeth clench with an inhuman growl as his rod twitches and throbs before shooting your insides with his hot seed.

“Late again huh, rookie? That’s an extra week.” You jump, turning around. Ghost stands over you. It was true last night’s events made it impossible to wake up at 5 am with the other soldiers. You ended up sneaking out of Königs bed in the middle of the night, hoping you could sneak back into your barracks undetected. The mission was success. You slipped into your bed at 2 a.m before anyone could realize you were gone. Unfortunately, that means you overslept, waking up three hours late.

“I was…sick.” You lie scrubbing the bathroom tiles diligently.

“Sick? You were fine yesterday.” He says with a flat tone.

“Must have eaten something bad, all those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must have taken a toll.” You grunt, rubbing your stomach.

“Next time you’re sick. You report it to me in advance.” He orders.

“How can I predict when I’m gonna be sick?-“

“Don’t question me.” He spins on his heels walking out the bathroom.

“Okay Simon.” You mock.

“What was that rookie?” He calls back.

“Nothing Sargeant!” You exclaim.

He walks away finally, leaving you with the smell of bleach and toilet water. Your arms ache from scrubbing. throwing the sponge in the bucket of cleaning solution, you sit back against the wall thinking about last night. All morning you avoided seeing König, ducking and dodging him in the halls. Every time you thought of him, your face burned with embarrassment, there is no way you could look him in the eye after that. For now your plan is to just lay low in hopes he was too drunk to remember anything. It was nothing. Just a drunken one night stand.

“There you are.” He charges forward looking down at you.

“H-here I am whats up König…do you need a copy of that report-“

“Why did you sneak out last night.” He interrupts.

“Psh me? Sneak out I didn’t sneak out. I just went for a walk…and ended up in my bed.” You reach into the bucket with gloved hands wringing the sponge out.

“Why couldn’t we sleep together?” He asks.

You fly to your feet in a panic “Shhh! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Superior and subordinate relationships are strictly prohibited!” You whisper/yell.

“Right…hm, okay in here then.” He takes your hand leading you into the stall furthest from the door, The lock clicks behind you.

“Can’t this wait till after hours.” You say with an annoyed tone.

“I want an explanation.” His arm rests on the wall above your head.

“This. This is why I snuck off, to avoid whatever this is. Now I’m stuck in a bathroom stall talking about…feelings.” You hold your stomach making a pained face.

“This isn’t funny.” His voice is low.

“You’re right it isn’t but it is complicated .”

“Y/n? You in here?” A voice calls.

You mouth shit, covering what you assumed was his mouth through the mask.

“Yeah! I was just cleaning!” You call back.

“Who were you talking too?” She asks her foot steps advancing.

“No one! Here I come!” You let him go squinting your eyes.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers sharply, moving to the side.

“I can see that.” You grumble walking out the stall to greet your friend.

…to be continued?

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

ok what about virgin!eddie x reader -- "when he wears THAT flannel" i just want to see him getting showered in compliments and fawning over the attention, he deserves it !!

thanks for ur request angel :D — eddie tries to wear something new and you can't stop ogling at him (established relationship, fluff, part of the tcar universe, 0.8k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie attempts to hang ghost lights on the ceiling of the living room. It’s made only slightly difficult by the rickety step stool he stands on. It’s damn near impossible with the thick flannel constricting his arms.

“Fuck…” he grumbles like a storm cloud, face scrunched in a subtle pout.

You squint up at him from where you untangle the string lights. You watch him rotate his shoulders in distant discomfort, still trying to get used to the new shirt Uncle Wayne bought him.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, it just… fits weird.”

He squirms in his skin again, and you bite back a laugh.

Your gaze falls to his pale tummy when his arms raise to pin the lights to the wall. His skin is milky white, powder-soft. A tuft of chestnut hair peeks out from the hem of his sweatpants. It suddenly becomes dreadfully difficult to look away from his happy trail.

“I don’t know…” you hum, shrugging as your fingers work a knot from the tangled wire. “I think it fits perfect.”

His chocolate eyes narrow down at you. He playfully jerks at the inch of string lights you give him, tugging down the bottom of his flannel with his free hand. “Keep it in your pants, freak,” he mumbles, a crooked smile hinting at his lips.

You pull yours between your teeth to conceal its brightness.

Eddie keeps working but grows bitterly aware of the fabric weighing on his torso. He’s not used to wearing something so heavy, so dreadfully un-lived in. It’s thick and itchy, so overwhelmingly overstimulating that it’s almost impossible to move in.

Then he feels your eyes on him, and there’s nothing he loves more than your attention, but he still feels a bit like a teenage boy. He’s lanky and clumsy and insecure in just about every aspect, but especially in his body.

It’s weird to have someone who loves him and thinks he’s pretty. It’s good, amazing even, but weird nonetheless. It should make him feel better about himself, and it does a lot of the time, but it also makes him extremely hyperaware of what he looks like and how you must see him.

So when he lifts his arms too high and his pale, pudgy midriff flashes for a second, he huffs all dramatic and stomps down the ladder. “Alright, I’m gonna go change—”

“What? No,” you whine instantaneously, pouting more sincerely than he’s ever seen you. “You look so cute, Eds. Don’t take it off.”

“I look like a lumberjack,” the boy scoffs.

“A very sexy lumberjack,” you correct with a pretty smile.

Eddie grins back, all wide and rosy. He cups your face with warm, calloused palms. “You’re real cute when you lie to me, you know that?” he teases with a scrunched nose.

“I’m not lying! I wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t true!”

“No?”

“Nope,” you answer, popping the ‘p’ and shaking your head in his hands. “I’m obsessed with you, and I’m a terrible liar. So you’d definitely know if I wasn’t telling the truth.”

Eddie hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Fair enough,” he mumbles with a curt shrug.

“I, for one, think you look very, very handsome.” You grin and lean forward to kiss the very tip of his nose. It’s warm and pink like the rest of his crumbled-up face.

“Thanks, mom…”

“And I think you look super cozy, too,” you confess, spreading your palms along his covered stomach.

“Cozy?”

“Yeah. You know, like soft— nostalgic. Like a house—”

His chin falls to his chest as he flashes you an incredulous, deadpanned look. “You’re saying I look like a house?”

“No, dummy! You don’t look like a house! You… I don’t know, you feel like a house,” you stammer, then inevitably start to ramble. “Like, you look like where I wanna come home after a long day at work and throw down my keys and take a nap, you know?”

You feel safe, is what you’re really telling him. You feel like where I wanna spend the rest of my life.

Eddie grins so brightly his blushed cheeks start to ache. He can’t help but tease you, anyway. “You got… all that… from a flannel?” he jokes slowly.

“No!” you scoff with the roll of your eyes, perhaps too quickly to be true. “…Not totally. But I do love the easy access, though.”

A tingle rushes up Eddie’s spine when your fingers migrate beneath his flannel. Your touch is soft and cold compared to the warmth of his belly. Your nails scratch at the sparse tuft of hair of his happy trail. He swears his vision goes white for a blink.

He doesn’t get the obsession you have — with his stomach or with him at all — but he revels in it, anyway. He feels like he should. Most people don’t get to find their soulmate, and he gets an entire lifetime with his.

“You’re crazy,” he says, shaking his head and beaming wide.

“For you,” you croon, lovesick and honeyed.

He laughs. “And cheesy."

You shrug and smile, his hands on your cheeks. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

And if this is the worst, Eddie can’t fucking wait for a lifetime of evil.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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totheblood · 2 years ago

Note

can you do angsty ellie headcanons? maybe how she reacts in a fight/what makes her angry? or ellie being mean to reader and having to apologize??

a/n: of course!!! this is NOT proofread... and there is some ai audios at the bottom... enjoy!

angry gf ellie

ellie does her absolute best to not get upset with you

like she really does because her mouth is a bitch when she's mad

but sometimes you take things a little too far and ellie has to fight with herself to not lash out at you

"ellie, i wasn't actually flirting with her. i was just trying to tease you." you would say in a worried voice as you watched her pace the room and avoid eye contact with you

"in what fucking world would you think i would like that?" she would spit out, flinching at her own tone

"i jus-" you try and justify it but you know you have pushed her a little too far

she would probably cut you off with the sound of your name, her voice much gentler this time

"can you just go? i need to be alone right now."

ellie is also very good at the silent treatment which drives you crazy

she would avoid you for days after the incident, not wanting to get in a full-fledged fight with you

she keeps imagining you playfully laughing and touching someone else's forearm and it drives her crazy

she doesn't even know why you would do something like that, was she not giving you enough attention?

so she would end up at your door late at night with her foot in your mouth

upon seeing your tired face, probably from the stress she caused you, she would immediately fold (ellie is such a simp it's embarrassing)

she just forgets what she's mad about when looking into your sad eyes, your face already in the palm of her hand

"baby," she would coo

"'m sorry els, it was so stupid. i don't even know why i thought that was a good idea because if you did that to me i would probably lose my mind, so please don't break up with me. i promise it will never-" she would watch as you rambled on but get absolutely thrown by the 'don't break up with me' comment

"hey hey hey, who said anything about breaking up? i was just upset, is all. don't like seeing my girl touching anyone else, yeah? we're okay, i promise." she does her best to reassure you, but when the worried look on your face doesn't go away she decides to press a kiss on your forehead

"you promise?"

"i promise. -- now are you going to invite me in? it's fucking freezing out here!"

ellie only gets angry at the sight of two things: you with another person and you injured

it's why she tries her best to be the only one who goes on patrol with you, but since shifts rotate sometimes you have to go with someone else

and that someone was jesse, who you loved but who ellie hated for you to be on patrol with

she knows what you and jesse are like around eachother (distracted) and you always come back with a few extra scratches when you're out with him

this time you came back on the back of jesse's horse with blood dripping down your forehead

upon seeing you ellie is immediately fuming and running out from the shelter of the stable to help you off the horse

she tries to be gentle in helping you down but she's shaking and your blood has started to drip onto her hand

"what the fuck happened, jesse?" she says in a huff as the men in the stable rush over to help her get you down.

"raiders, they just came out of nowhere." he sighs, hand on his head because he knows he's about to get it from ellie

"they came out of nowhere? or were you just not paying any fucking attention?!" she glared at jesse as you toppled over into her

"c'mon baby, you're okay." she'd press a kiss to your forehead ignoring jesse as she got you to the infirmary

but once you were all stitched up and alert? she was on you in an instant

"you always do this and i tell you every time that one day it's going to cost you your fucking life! and that day was almost today! -- do you know how lucky you are?"

you were just blinking up at her with your eyes wide, it shocked you that when you finally came to you were recieving a lecture from your girlfriend

"ellie, i'm too tired for this."

"oh, you're too tired? imagine how tired i am! how tiring it must be to wait for days not knowing if your girlfriend is dead. but noooo, jesse is just that fucking interesting that you have to risk your life to laugh at his lame jokes."

"what do you want me to do?" at this point you're just trying to get the pounding in your head to stop

"i want you to focus when you are on patrol! act like your life means something!" she's practically begging at this point

"okay."

"okay?"

"anything to stop you yelling at me, i really don't feel good." you say, leaning over to throw up into the closest garbage can

and just like that ellie is your ellie again, she's rushing over to hold your hair and rub your back

when you finish she gets up to throw the trash outside so the room doesn't stink

she hates being mad at you, but she hates upsetting you

"look, about what i said earlier; i'm sorry. i don't know what would happen, what i would do, if i lost you. i didn't mean to take it out on you."

you grab her hand and squeeze it lightly, "i know and i love you."

"i love you more."

but then you're leaning in to give her a kiss and she remembers five minutes ago when you were throwing up everything inside you

"i'll give you a kiss later…after we get those teeth cleaned."

ai audios:

i had more... but there's an upload limit

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable.

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock.

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact.

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade.

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now.

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand.

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada.

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada.

So dada started making you little trinkets.

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating.

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task.

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.”

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.”

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!”

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected.

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers.

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on.

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper.

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much.

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that.

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing.

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face.

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!”

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock.

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement.

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted.

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that.

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face.

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one.

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes.

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions.

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him.

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter.

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray.

A rustle from above.

“Attack him!”

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes.

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing?

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word.

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ.

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.”

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!”

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it.

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood.

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake.

She did.

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic.

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul.

But she was wrong.

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language.

Losing. It was all about losing.

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love.

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together.

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses.

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.)

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen.

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…”

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip.

You had gone slack in his arms.

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple.

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day.

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other.

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back.

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time.

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap.

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort.

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface.

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass.

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there.

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action.

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again.

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you.

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right.

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough.

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision.

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing?

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family.

You had died in his arms.

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind.

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless.

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?”

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood.

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out.

His daughter’s blood, on his hands.

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!”

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides.

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake. “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!”

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings.

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name.

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…”

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!”

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister.

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively.

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate.

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty.

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy.

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart.

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake.

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do.

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails.

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon.

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still.

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng.

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once.

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well. “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children.

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful.

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed.

It would never fly again.

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.”

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be.

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one.

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain.

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman.

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

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dollfacefantasy · 1 month ago

Text

ADD TO THE COLLECTION ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: rick finds an old halloween mask out on a supply run. he brings it back to you, and the two of you put it to good use

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, mask kink, praise/degradation, cnc sorta

a/n: yes i wrote another ghostface mask kink fic. idc idc. you can pry that idea from my cold dead hands. every single man i simp for will have one if it's the last thing i do <3

kinktober slot: day 4 - mask kink

"Ew. You know that thing probably has like a billion diseases, right?" you say, a wide smile spreading across your face as you look at the raggedy Halloween mask in your boyfriend's hand.

The slender, pale face stares back at you with its motionless expression of horror. You hadn't seen one of them in a long time. Certainly not since the world went to shit.

"A billion? I don't know about that. Maybe a million," he teases.

Rick enters the room and approaches where you sit on the bed, wanting to show off his find from the supply run a bit more.

"Don't bring it too close to me. I don't wanna catch something," you say with a hand raised in defense.

"So dramatic," he mocks, "I'm not gonna put it on you."

The wooden floor creaks below his boots as he steps to the edge of the mattress. He sits down, the foamy surface dipping with the addition of his weight.

You can't help leaning forward a little bit out of curiosity. Scooting closer to his side, you look between his face and the mask.

"Were you guys raiding a Spirit Halloween or something?" you ask, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He chuckles. His hands rotate the mask between them. It actually isn't in horrible condition. Maybe a little dusty, but there aren't any huge stains or tears. Visions of him wearing it rise to the front of your mind. You could imagine his head turning, the hollow black eyes following you as he watched your figure move about. The thin fabric fanning out over his shoulders also comes up. Your favorite though is the thought of how it would look above you while he thrusts in and out of you.

Shaking those images out of your head, you refocus when he answers your question.

"No, nothin' like that. I just saw it and thought of you," he tells you, turning his head and pecking your cheek, "I remembered you tellin' me how you used to love those movies."

You almost visibly swoon. "That's so sweet. Slasher movies make you think of me," you coo, "How did I get so lucky?"

Your arms slide up and drape around his neck, bringing you closer so you can nuzzle the side of his face. His skin scratches at you a little bit. The prickle of stubble was rising again.

He returns your affection and pushes the mask aside in favor of pulling you into his lap. The two of you melt into each other and then back onto the bed. One of the perks of living in Alexandria now was not having to wait until everyone fell asleep for the night to go at it.

Rick could be so soft for you. Ever since the two of you met, he seemed so naturally protective. He always lets you hold his hand. Your safety was his top priority along with that of his kids. Before the world went bad, you'd bet he was the kind of guy to hold the door open on dates and call women "miss" or "ma'am."

You're pretty sure that's why you want to see him in that mask so bad.

You knew Rick had another side to him. Something beneath the mask of being the good guy. You'd seen it before a few times. The nights where he ended up soaked in someone else's blood, the sticky crimson liquid coating his facial hair, staining his clothes.

A week after he first found that mask, he comes to your room at night wearing one of the pieces of clothing that's been marred with someone else's insides.

The mask over his face has been cleaned. He clearly washed away the dust and any other sign of mileage on the thing. The ivory plastic front shines without a spot of grime while the black fabric draped atop his hair sits there, dark as the night sky outside.

It's a sharp contrast to the white t-shirt he has on. The cloth pours down his neck and over his shoulder onto the light garment. But the abdomen of this top isn't as pristine as the collar. Blood speckles across the snowy threading, the pattern spatters in a way that makes it look like one of those ink blot tests. If you were the one being questioned, you'd say it looks sort of like a tree.

He stands there against the frame of the doorway in silence, waiting to be noticed. You had been cleaning your boots. When you finally finish, you rise from your spot on the edge of the bed and tuck them in their normal spot against the wall. Sighing, you lean back and prepare to finally have nothing left on your to-do list.

But you feel the other presence in the room. You catch him in your peripheral vision, and a gasp tears through you. Your heart springs from a calm resting beat to erratic thrashing against your ribcage. Thoughts melt from your head while breaths grow spikes in your lungs.

Once you turn your head fully and give your brain a second to register that it's only him, you start to calm down. You let out a deep sigh and put your hand across your chest.

"God, don't do that," you huff, "You scared me."

He doesn't respond.

You continue to catch your breath before looking over at him again. Your eyes scan up and down his figure. He leans against the wall so casually. His arms cross over his chest while his ankles hook one on top of the other below. Even though you can't see his gaze, you can feel the intensity of his pupils on you.

"You're lucky I didn't have my gun on me," you tell him and narrow your eyes.

Again, you get no words out of him. But this time he does push off the edge of the entryway and step forward. He swings the door shut behind him and continues to stare you down.

It's weird. Having him just stand there, digs a pit in the bottom of your belly. For a split second, your mind floats the possibility that this isn't him. The paranoid sector of your head poses questions like what if this was someone else who just found the mask? What if they just looked like Rick?

But then his arms drop from his chest and you see the silver of his watch glimmer in the pale moonlight.

It doesn't kill the tingling in your nerves any; rather, it transforms the sensation. It's a different kind of strange seeing Rick act like this. It wasn't the version of him that came out for a true threat. He was never so silent when that was the case. In moments of desperation, he became feral - eyes darting around, limbs taut with the preparedness to strike. But that's when you realize this isn't a moment of desperation. He's the one in control. He's the threat in this situation.

"You're not even gonna try to run, little girl?" he asks, his voice coming out in that familiar drawl but with a little edge to it.

Your spine lights up like a fuse. Excitement seeps into your bones. Everything feels jittery. You don't know what to do or say. In this moment, you just want.

"You're in the way. I don't have anywhere to run," you say. Your voice waivers almost as if you naturally fall into the role of the helpless victim.

It's weird hearing yourself like that. In the world you lived in, you never wanted to sound like that. Showing weakness meant death. And hearing it from someone you loved meant their time was coming to end. Being able to express it now though, it felt different. You weren't sure how to articulate it, but that could be due to the fact that you'd never been so turned on before in your life.

He approaches you further. The wooden floor boards creak beneath his slow steps. You try to back up but your knees hit the mattress.

"No runnin'? You're gonna make this too easy for me," he chuckles, "Put up a little fight."

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip. He leans in closer to you, reaching up to drag his fingers down your cheek. You try to lean back but end up having to sit on the bed and scoot away on the mattress to create some distance.

He just laughs and grabs your ankle, preventing you from getting too far. You try wriggling your leg a little bit, but he tightens his grip and grabs the other one.

"Tsk, tsk. Pathetic," he taunts, "You're just gonna let me take what I want?"

You try kicking a little harder, but it's of no use. Each jerk of your leg goes to waste. Nothing changes. There would be no difference if you didn't move at all and just made what he said true.

"So cute," he mocks, "Just tirin' yourself out for me."

"It's not fair," you whine. You roll yourself onto your belly and try to drag yourself away by grabbing the edge of the bed. He doesn't let you though. Even though Rick was lean, he didn't lack strength. That coupled with his training as a pre-apocalypse police officer meant he knew how to restrain people. You whimper and buck your hips to try and create some momentum to get away, but it's all of no use.

"You cheated. You didn't give me a chance to run," you continue to pout before repeating your prior sentiment, "Not fair."

He laughs and whips you around onto your back again. This time he leans forward and tugs your hips harshly, dragging you over the collection of blankets so that your ass is flush against his semi-hard bulge.

"Who said I have to play fair, princess?" he asks, "Weak little thing like you wouldn't have made it far anyways."

Another whine bubbles from your lips as you squirm. He looms over you, keeping you accessible to him with the weight of his body. As he closes in, your breathing becomes heavier. The white ghostface stops inches away from the tip of your nose. You stare into the expressionless eyes of the match while your cunt throbs against the heat of his pelvis.

"You're lucky I caught you here. Spares you the embarrassment of getting dragged back, kicking and screaming. Or even worse, me pounding you into the grass out there where anyone could see," he breathes.

You shudder at the images his words create in your head.

He can feel the tremble of your limbs, and he pushes the mask up slightly to bare his lips. For a second, you think he's going in for a kiss. And in a way, that's true. But it's not on your mouth. Instead, he ducks down to your throat. He attacks it with fervor much more intense than what you usually felt from him.

These kisses are hot and open-mouthed. The tip of his tongue tickles your pulsing skin. His lips feather against it while his teeth nip and tug. All you can do is melt under it. You try to keep in character and put up a bit of resistance, but it's not a strong performance.

His fingers hook over the top of your little sleep shorts and panties and pull them down to your mid-thigh. That was all the room he needed. His hand not clutching one of your biceps slides down between your thighs. He can feel the slick on his fingers in seconds, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Oh, you're a bad girl, aren't you? The slightest bit of attention, and you're dripping. I didn't even have to do anything," he says.

After those words hit your ears, he pulls back. He tugs your shorts all the way off to free your legs before he shoves his jeans down far enough that his length can spring free. He's almost fully hard. The sight of your slippery cunt makes it easier to take it from almost to solid.

He strokes it and watches you. It's obvious how ready you are, but he can't help but want to draw it out a little more.

"Take off your top," he commands.

Your breath hitches, and you swear you feel your heart stutter. Of course, he'd seen you naked before, but it felt new here. This wasn't Rick's cool blue eyes gazing down at you with love. It was the dark, empty patches of painted plastic.

Nevertheless, your hands venture down and peel your shirt from your body. Once it's gone, your tits are left exposed to his view. He doesn't touch them, and you can't see if he stares directly at them, but it feels like he does.

He pumps his cock a little faster. A small groan rumbles from his mouth.

"I don't even have to say it twice. You didn't even need to see my face to listen. I either have you so well-trained, or you're just the most natural slut out there, babydoll. Just waiting for orders to follow like a little puppy," he rasps.

He pushes forward and slides his leaky tip against your folds. A small whine sneaks out of you at the pressure on your clit. The head nudges it before gliding down toward your entrance again where it pops in.

You both hiss at the feel. On his part, you're already so warm and tight. For you, it's the mild stretch combined with the satisfaction of having something inside you. Either way, it's just a taste of what's to come.

He sinks in more, guiding the rest of his shaft into your pussy. Whimpering, you arch your back off the bed the tiniest bit. His hand lands on your tummy and pushes you down again though. He forces you to take it all and then rocks his hips back and slams forward again.

"So sensitive," he teases.

His hands curl around your hips before he starts thrusting. Like the earlier kisses, his pelvis snaps against you with more force than usual. Your eyes roll back from the bouncing rhythm while your fingers clutch the linens beneath you.

"Poor baby. You never had any fight in you to begin with," he teases, "You give in so easily."

"It- it's not my fault," you whimper. More moans seep out of you. It feels like every slap of skin on skin knocks a new noise from you.

"Oh yes it is," he grunts, "You didn't even try because you want this. You just wanna be filled up. Don't even care who's doing it."

As he says that, your hazy eyes look up at the mask. "Do too..." you pout.

Your walls squeeze around him tight at the sight of the haunted face watching you. It bobs a little with his motions as well, shaken by the force of them.

He laughs at you from beneath the mask and speeds up a little. You clench around him in tandem with your toes curling. He leans in and bends you further in half on the mattress.

"Ok sure, sweetheart. That's why you didn't even need to see my face before I slid my dick inside you," he breathes.

Your little clit throbs at the words. As if he can sense it, one of his hands rises to thumb at the nub. Your hips buck in response, eager for more. Deep, whiny sighs flood into the air from you. He can't get enough.

"That's right, keep squeezin' me, darlin'" he says, arousal infecting his tone now too.

You nod like you have a real say. The way he was battering your pleasure spots and swiping at your clit had you tightening up involuntarily. He still moans with the feeling though. His head tilts back. You can hear his panting getting louder below that mask.

A few strokes later, he reaches up and yanks it off, dropping it to the floor next to his boot. His hair hangs damp against his forehead while his cheeks are a little flushed from the heat. None of this stops him from fucking into you though. It's as if he can't stop. The chase for release captures him on a deeper level.

Even without the help of ghostface, his stare is intense. His pupils glare into you as he provides you with more pleasure than you know what to do with.

"You think you're gonna cum for me? Gush all over my cock?" he croons mockingly.

You nod. Your arm weakly flies up so you can grab at his wrist. "Need it, Rick," you whine.

He chuckles, a small smirk teasing his lips. "You can have it then. Let it go for me," he says.

Your hips buck in time with the next handful of whimpers that leave your lips. The climb to the top feels so fucking good. Your core sizzles up until it reaches a fever pitch and you explode into white hot pleasure. A low, satisfied hum reverberates from you as your eyelashes dust your cheeks.

He fucks you through the feeling, one hand on your throat, the other down at your clit, swirling around the small nub a few times to give you the extra boost. It makes you nice and tight around his dick. Your walls squeeze like a vise. He has no choice but to let go.

As desperate as he is to fuck it deep inside of you, he stops himself at the last second and pulls out. He grabs his cock at light speed before that feeling can vanish and pumps it at the same rhythm he'd been thrusting into you.

Warm, milky ropes of cum shoot out onto your belly. The splatter across your skin, glimmering in the cool light of the night. You force your eyes open when you hear his deep moan. You're almost certain you've never seen anything as beautiful as Rick's face when he releases. His brows furrow while his jaw relaxes. He parts his lips in a small o. You watch with droopy eyes, the haze of lust still not totally gone yet.

When he's finished, he stares down at you in a similar fashion. His hand cups the back of your neck so he can bring you up to give you a kiss before he goes and grabs a towel. The bloody shirt he'd been wearing is gone when he returns. He cleans the spend off your belly and then crawls back into bed with you.

You snuggle up to him, ready to close your eyes and conk out. But then you think of something.

"I knew it was you before you took off the mask," you say. The flesh of your cheek smooshes against this chest.

He looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Cause your watch," you say proudly, as if you'd discovered some great clue.

The information registers but then his lips break into a grin. "Hmm, smart girl. I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever put on the mask for something secretive," he teases before yawning and tugging you closer to his side.

"Mhm, cause I'd figure you out right away," you murmur.

"I'm sure," he agrees, pressing a few kisses to your head. "Get some sleep, baby."

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x you #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n

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revelboo · 16 days ago

Note

I blame you (respectfully) for falling back in love with Starscream… and finding my Transformers Armada Starscream figure after years of him hiding.

Haha he’s too fun to write! 18+ Mutual frustration 🌶️

Everything is Alright Pt 40

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Every day it’s a little harder to ignore. You fall asleep against his chassis alongside his canopy, his servos sliding down your spine until your breathing evens out. And he just lays there staring at the ceiling wanting something he can’t have, aware of your warmth and softness, the feel of your breath on him, an intimacy that makes it even harder to not just give in. Every little touch of those hands on the back of his to get his attention, those little smiles for him alone, drive straight through him, stirring that hunger he shouldn’t even entertain. Those errant thoughts so common now as he watches you and wonders. And needs more now than just your voice and smile. More than he can ask for.

• Primus, help him as you shift against him, a leg sliding over his plating. Making a soft noise in your sleep and he vents as your scent changes. That subtle shift going straight to his spike as he drapes an arm over his face. Tempting him to just free himself and take care of it even though there’s no way to do that without waking you. Gritting his denta he runs a shaking servo along your spine, feeling you arch into the touch with a breathless little murmur. That temptation to just mass shift, roll you under him, and find out if you’re compatible once and for all almost crippling.

• A wicked mouth on your neck as big hands surf along your sides. Exploring slowly as that mouth gently bites then roams your skin in a trail of wet heat as Starscream moves over you. Legs parting for him, welcoming him inside. Needing this. Something bumps your head and the dream slips out of your fingers. Groaning, you lift your flushed face to find him watching you with an almost predatory intensity, the finger he nudged you with lingering against your hair as you come fully awake. That dream again. You don’t even know what is under his plating, but that hasn’t stopped your sex deprived brain from deciding that he not only had the necessary equipment, but that he should play the starring role in your needy little fantasies. And you can only hope you weren’t grinding on him, because you’re wet and already mortified enough about dreaming of sex with him while lying on top of him. Especially as he slowly vents and you wonder just how good his sense of smell is.

• Shuddering under your little frame, he drapes a servo against the back of your shoulders, rubbing gently. Trying to get himself under control when his spike is aching and it’s a struggle to remember why giving in is such a bad idea. Especially when you look up at him like that, your face flushed. Biting back a groan, he curls his servos around you and lifts you from his chassis so he can slide off his berth and carry you to the desk and your things. His touch lingering when you timidly reach to touch his servo. “I’ll see you later,” he growls, leaning down to vent in your scent, reluctant to leave for rotation. But he’ll have to deal with his current problem in the wash racks first.

• The way his voice dipped into that rasping growl does things to you. Completely inappropriate things as you sit on the edge of your bed and watch him go, wondering what exactly is wrong with you that just the sound of his voice can draw you tight with breathless anticipation for something you can’t have. Something impossible.

• Under the spray, he doesn’t even hesitate, freeing his spike and fisting himself as he remembers that little noise you’d made in your sleep. The way your lips had parted as you’d shifted restlessly against him. Pretends you were dreaming of him as he strokes himself, wings trembling. Optics shuttering so he can focus on that image. Pretend your soft little hands are sliding over him. Little head tipped up, lips parted. Would you let him in? What would you taste like against his glossa? Growling as he ruts against his hand, his helm bumps against the wall in front of him as his movements become more urgent. Would you be soft inside too? Hold onto him as he loses himself inside you? Groaning as he releases, his wings shudder and he tilts his face up into the spray. Knows something has to give and soon.

• Hips lifting as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and stroke yourself, you try to chase that high. Need to take off the edge from the dream as you fuck yourself with your fingers and try to recall those lovely details. The shape of Starscream mass displaced but still so big over you, the warm brand of those hands on you. It’s not Star that comes to mind, though. Head thrown back, you whimper as you imagine big hands gripping your hips, tightening until you know there’ll be bruises instead of his usual gentleness. Seeing your own dazed eyes reflected in Soundwave’s visor as he buries himself inside you. Hips snapping against yours, because if this is all you can have, why not claim them both as yours. Why not indulge in harmless fantasies?

• Hand frozen an inch from the access panel, Soundwave vents roughly. Unable to move away or forward as your mind crashes into him from the other side of that door. Your need slipping through his defenses so easily, sinking into him. As he catches glimpses of your thoughts, just little fractured images, but enough to string him tight, because they’re so much more visceral than what he’d picked up from Starscream about you. That need and desperation chained to images of him, fantasies that slip into his own processor and take root. You’re his as much as Starscream’s and somehow you understand that as he presses a palm to his helm, overwhelmed with you. His own spark and spike responding, wanting to claim what’s his.

#transformers x reader #idw starscream #starscream x reader #idw soundwave #soundwave x reader

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marcsburnerphone · 1 year ago

Text

Wish I never came

Captain john price x f!reader

Summary: being johns wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst(why doesn’t anyone write about how scary price can be when hes angry peepaw is cra), hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is fucking scary.

Part 2 out now!

—-------------------

Every first friday of the month you bring the boys and your husband a homemade meal to base. It’s been tradition for almost two years now since the first time you did it on a whim, John begged you for a good roast so you surprised him with some and since there was so much you’d brought the rest for his task.

Today you've perfected the dish gaz asked for, they decided rotations on requests now because it became unfair when soap requested meals only he liked 4 months in a row.

You packed all 4 meals in airtight thermal containers and put them in the car before heading towards base about 2 hours away. The military police men greeted you by first name when you arrived and buzzed you in.

“I've never been happier to see someone in my life.” soap rushes you and traps you in a hug while gaz takes the two bags from your hands.

“Good afternoon, wheres simon and john?” you greet both of them with smiles something that was relieving to see in a place like this. The common area was empty during this time of day so it was clear they weren't here.

Before they could answer simon came in, eyes looking more exhausted than usual. He gives a weak attempt at an ‘hello love’ a common and yet sweet name they’d picked up for you.

“I honestly wouldn't go into his office right now hes a little um on edge i’d say.” he grabs his thermal bowl from the bag its always the black one, this way they dont fight over which bowl has more.

“Nonsense simon he’s my husband, im just going to bring him this and be on my way.” simon shook his head turning a satisfied groan at the taste of real food in his mouth to a disapproving one at your persistence.

“love maybe listen he’s under a lot of pressure right now, its really not the time.” gaz interrupts simons beginning of a sentence.

Without another word you just grab his bowl and a fork setting off torwars his office which at this point you could get to blind.

“Are we just going to let her do that.” gaz looks to the two men.

“We warned and she’s right thats her husband i mean worst he’ll do is ignore her, loves her too much to hurt her.” ghost grumbles.

—

The air is tense on your way down the hall but you approach his door regardless as the familiar scent of a lit cigar fills your senses. You give two knocks before walking in.

“Hey just brought you some lunch.” you say quietly as you walk in observing the splay of files on the floor and desk.

He grunts and doesn't even spare you a look which yeah it stings but it was expected.

“Okay then can I leave it right here?” you point at a spot on a coffee table thats somewhat clear.

“Do whatever you want with it, mm not hungry.” he says lowly while taking another drag from his cigar letting the ash fall freely.

“So should i just leave it in the kitchen, i can just-.” you didn't know why you were rambling or nervous even john had only ever made you feel safe.

“I fuckin said do what you please with it, I’m busy.” the tone made you shiver, and yes maybe you should've just left it and talked to him later but this wasn't a behavior from him you've ever experienced.

“John I-”

“Jesus fucking christ take the food, leave the food I dont fucking care but get the fuck out of here as soon as you can thankyou!” His voice makes you flinch as he throws a stack of papers on the floor with an unneeded force, he yelled at you for the first time ever and you couldn't even process it. Was time bending or had the air become thin, you didn't know but you took a few weary steps back towards the door and left the food by the entrance on the floor finally closing it, once you were back in the hallway air found it’s way to your lungs as you took a deep breath.

“Hey its okay come on.” gaz was there gently caressing your arm along with the two others catching up behind him in the distance.

They never thought hed talk to you like that but right when they heard that deep threatening drawl boom from the common area gaz was the first one up and out. He was always overly protective of you.

You weren't crying, no but you wanted to. You just closed your eyes for what felt like ages and whispered an ‘I’m okay’ and left without another word.

Once you reached the comfort of your own car your heart caught up with the speed of your brain and tears poured, the last time you’d cried like this had been in childhood. Without another second you sped around the lot and out of the exiting gates wishing you'd never entered them in the first place.

You got a call not so long into your way home, maybe five minutes if you estimated correctly and you almost gagged at the picture of you and john that popped up as he rang you.

The boys were the ones to call next but you just dazed out on the long road ahead, disassociated from the outside world around you. You stopped at a cafe you particularly enjoyed in a town near your home needing to clear your thoughts.

Price had waited and even started counting seconds to see if you'd pop up on the ring camera he installed to keep an eye on you, it brought him comfort especially when you'd make cute gestures at it or talk to him through it as you brought groceries inside. But now you should've been home an hour ago at most and still no sign of you.

He had not comprehended how loud he could get and he really only snapped out of it when soap appeared in his office with a very disapproving look. Then he finally noticed the look of fear in your eyes or how the sweet smile you always wore was a frown and then his gaze made it to the container he’d grown so familiar with by the door.

“FUCK!” he could cry grown man tears, he spoke to you how he sometimes speaks to his soldiers and the strings in his heart felt like they were on the verge of combusting.

“You fucked up captain.” soap added to the fuel before leaving his office.

—----------------

Anyone feel that chest pain.

Re-blogs and feedback are appreciated 🫶

#captain price #john price #task 141 #captain price x female reader #barry sloane #john price x female reader #angst #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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that-student-that-has-homework · 9 months ago

Text

Matching - Portgas D. Ace

Find more of my work here: Tumblr MasterList

This is a little idea I had for a larger Ace fanfic I'm working on. I might revise this! Please let me know if he's in character or not...I'm starting to have my doubts.

It had been the better part of a week. No, maybe a whole week at this point. While before you’d spend most of your free time around him, now you were constantly “busy.” Heck sometimes he even finds it difficult to find you on the Moby Dick! Was this the end of the honeymoon phase everyone warned him about?

Were you starting to get tired of him?

You kept sneaking around...without him! Before you used to sneak around together! Worse still is…every time he pops up to see you, you always seem like you're hiding something. It's like quickly stashed papers, and tightly clenched fists. It’s the way you spin on your heel, and tense up, when you used to not do that at all.

What was maddening was how when the evenings would hit, or even at random parts of the day, you’d run and crash into him with a huge hug. You’d beam at him bright and genuine just upon seeing him, heck you’d be practically vibrating with joy as you’d squeeze the life out of him. He’d almost turned to fire once.

Maybe you weren’t tired of him?

When you did cuddle with him, your eyes seemed to linger on the tattoo on his arm. He’d even woken up to you tracing it with your finger once before. You’d looked sheepish that he’d caught you admiring it…actually you looked a little…panicked too…

You’d squirmed in his grasp when he asked you about it. Saying things like how it’s pretty, and how it’s a tattoo unique to him, so you were admiring it. You're pretty good at dodging his line of questioning whenever he voices his suspicions about your behavior. You were also incredibly sneaky about distracting him with your affections, and by the time he’s regained his original line of thought, you’d already be gone.

There's something fishy in the air and it's not the sea king he caught the other day.

He only finds out what it is you'd been scheming behind his back when he gets back from a mission. He was so distracted for most of it. He couldn’t figure out why you were so clearly avoiding him sometimes…were you having second thoughts? What was going on? Was this an elaborate prank?

He was still in a daze as he made his way back to the Moby Dick. You used to bring peace, yet right now you’d thrown him into turmoil. He hated the way he was doubting you. He hated not knowing what was wrong.

“Hey look Ace’s back!”

“How’d it go champ?”

“Aaaaaaacee!” It was your voice that pulled him back completely.

He’d barely had a moment to look up than you’d thrown yourself on him with a hug. The force of it all almost send him toppling backwards. His hat had been knocked off his head, and he could feel the press of its medallion on his throat. He's relieved at how genuinely happy you are to see him, yet still an unease twists up his stomach in knots.

You pull away much too quickly, pulling his arms and rotating them, checking for any damage. The way you're checking up on him to make sure he's not hurt and that he's okay floods his entire system with warmth. Yet he can't help the constriction in his chest and the nagging as to what it was that had you sneaking around before he left if you missed him this badly?

He can hear the crew laughing at the obvious display of affection.

“Being bold there little missy,” they taunt you.

You shrink in on yourself a bit, embarrassment catching up to you. However when you take his hand in yours, and whistles and cheers break out, “I was doing it for Ace,” the timidity in the lines of your shoulders and face brings the heat to his own face, “I thought he might like it.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Yet his brain screams at him, then what was all that sneaking around about?

Unsure how to deal with things, he just studies you closely as you ask him about how things went and how the mission was. You're not up to anything really, or at least it doesn't seem like it. You're as attentive and engaged as ever, things are just as they used to be before.

You drag him to the kitchen, knowing he must be hungry as he usually is after a mission. You even sit with him in your little corner of the mess hall while he eats, something you hadn’t done much prior to his departure. He's talking to you about the guy with the interesting abilities that he'd fought with his mouth full, and you're indulging him.

Yet even as he tries to fall into your old pattern, the confusion only festers further. What had been going on with you?

He feels absolutely awful, doubting you with the way you’re listening to him like he's the most interesting guy in the world. To be fair, to you, he really is. He keeps talking and chewing and answering your questions, yet the thing he really wants to talk about is bubbling just below the surface. Somehow all the tension and excitement peaks and he goes head first into his plate of food.

When he finally comes back to, there’s no food on his face, and he’s resting on his arms on the dinner table, his plate off to his side. You’re still next to him, gently brushing your fingers through his hair, patiently de-tangling any clumps you come across. He groans while sitting up and blinking the sleep away.

“You’re up,” you observe aloud, “here let me clear these out of the way for you.”

You get up from beside him, unthinkingly pulling your sleeves up your forearms, and reach for the plates around him. He notices something odd about one of your hands as you walk away with the stack of plates in your hands, but before he can say much you're already on your way to the kitchen counter. He watches you, lethargically shoving food in his mouth as you hand the dishes over to Thatch, who looks at your hands, then looks his way for a moment with an amused grin.

He could actually hear the next thing as the cook raised his voice, “nah leave those dishes to me, go hang out with your loverboy.”

Had the pirate not shoved you away with a plate of food in hand, Ace got the feeling you would have pointedly ignored Thatch’s teasing to do the dishes. You walked back, your brow and lips pursed in a kind of indignation. He couldn’t help the little huff of amusement. You’d gotten much better at handling their teasing over time, but he wouldn’t deny it was cute how it would get to you sometimes.

You took a seat beside him again, sliding the plate the cook had given you towards him. Your…well he could only hope he was still really your beloved, just stared at you in silence as he chewed. For some reason it made you squirm.

That’s it. He’d had enough. He has to figure this out. You’d said it yourself, it’s really important to communicate things! That’s how relationships last!

“You’ve been real weird lately,” was what came out as he grabbed the new plate of food, “you been avoiding me?”

His brow furrowed at the way your gaze immediately fell, taking your expression with it, and how you began to fidget with your fingers - a nervous - wait. Ace’s hand extended to grab your left one, bringing it up to his face.

There on your left wrist, right where your pulse sat, in black ink sat the letters ASCE, arranged horizontally and smaller, but a perfect replica of his own otherwise. Instinctively he rubbed his thumb across it, almost as though he was checking to make sure this wasn’t an illusion and that wasn’t just normal ink from a pen.

You were looking back at him, he could see it in the way your shoulders bunched near your ears, and the wobble of your lips, and how you couldn’t keep eye contact for too long, but kept glancing back at him…you were nervous. He absentmindedly began drawing circles on your wrist, just staring at you.

“I was avoiding you, I guess,” you admitted, “I was hoping to surprise you with that,” your free hand moved to play with the hem of your shirt, as you shrunk even more, “was it presumptuous of me? Should I have asked first?”

“For a second I thought I’d managed to chase you away,” he admitted quietly, looking back down at the mark of permanence you’d etched into your skin, “that you’d gotten sick of me.”

You snatched your hand away before he could think, moving in to embrace him, “get sick, of you? Then I’d be a tasteless heathen or…whatever, unworthy of you- totally - completely - absolutely unworthy of you!”

Your arms tighten around him, “I’m so sorry I put you through that love.”

“All that sneaking around was for this tattoo?” He couldn’t help the involuntary little crack in his voice. “You really did surprise me darlin’.”

He pulls away from you first and his hands find your wrists, and his eyes again fall onto the symbol, the symbol of him, lovingly tattooed into your skin. A mark to let people know just who put the ring on your finger.

He didn’t look up from it, even when you spoke up again, “Ace,” he just traced circles over the mark that sat proudly in bold black letters, “I’m really sorry that I made you feel that way - wait does that sound? It’s not-no wait. It’s my fault!” He glanced up at you for a moment as you struggled to put what you wanted to say into words, working strenuously to apologize sincerely.

His lips wobbled upwards.

He couldn’t help it.

You’d gone out of your way, to tattoo his mark onto your body. He couldn’t help but stare at it as he continued to rub circles with his thumb. Not only that, you were straining yourself so much all because he voiced that damned insecurity of his.

“I didn’t mean to put you through that?” You tried again. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but I didn’t want to hurt you.” You paused, and he felt you move closer. “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you-no-I’m sorry that I did hurt you.”

There was a pricking at the corners of eyes, as he finally took his eyes off your little gift to him to look at you. There was a kind of relief, or maybe it was appreciation? Maybe even a tinge of surprise? He was touched, that was one thing he knew for sure-if the fire that burned in his chest was any indication. He was a sick bastard for appreciating this, wasn’t he? Seeing you so genuinely apologetic - it was alarming really, did he really deserve this apology when he was doubting you? How could he ever hope to compete with this?

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, doll,” his voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he continued to rub circles into your wrists.

“No I do,” you insisted, “Ace, I’m happy you’re communicating how you felt to me,” you responded quietly, but firmly, “so don’t downplay how it felt when I was the one being sneaky.”

“You didn’t mean any harm though,” his lips pull into a gentle smile as he slowly brings your tattooed pulse up to brush his lips against it before flicking his gaze to meet yours, “you were here prepping this lovely gift for me and I was only thinking of myself.”

A smirk tugs at his lips at the way you have to shake yourself out of whatever spell he’d placed you under, “just because I didn’t mean any harm, doesn’t mean I didn’t do any harm,” you press on, shuddering a bit when he brushes another kiss to your pulse, “if you did the same, I’d probably have felt the same way too, you have nothing to feel bad about.”

“Forgive me for doubting you, cariña?”

He almost laughs at the affronted look you give him, firing back a, “forgive me for hurting you, love?”

“Nothing to forgive,” he’s smiling more now, “I’m glad you were being so sneaky, made this surprise all the better.”

“Don’t downplay your feelings Portgas D. Ace,” he could hear your frown, “your feelings are important to me, you’re important to me.”

“My full name cariña?” He couldn’t help but tease.

“Yes,” you answered immediately and he looked up to see how upset you looked - it was almost annoying - he’d rather not dwell, “I want you to get just how upset you were off your chest.”

That got a chuckle out of him, despite the irritation that was rising.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” his smile fell for a moment, “I don’t want to ruin this happy moment with stupid emotions in the past.”

“But I don’t want them to fester-”

“Mi amor,” he looked at you, almost pleading, “it’s true I felt like you were ignoring me, but seeing your little surprise makes me the happiest man on the five seas.”

Seems that was enough to quiet you. Though… “six, if you include the All Blue.”

When you chuckled at him, he felt his smile returning. He honestly couldn’t care less about the past. He’d said his piece, you’d talked it out, he didn’t care anymore.

“So, you know I love you right?” The timid way in which you asked was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Yet, he grinned, and brought your marked pulse up to lips again, “I love you too.”

“Oi get a room!” The two of you startled at the sudden shout coming from the other end of the mess hall. “Sure we can barely see you in your little corner, but the lovey-dovey energy in here is off the charts!”

“Shut up Thatch!” Ace fired back. “You’re just mad you can’t gossip to Marco about it!”

“You’re the one blocking the show!”

“Good!”

“It’s real funny though,” there was a pause, “who’d have thought the wild Fire Fist was actually a huge pile of mush!”

With the newfound yelling, people started to file into the mess hall. Which was when he noticed it was mostly empty prior to that. Of course among the people who filed in was the aforementioned first division commander.

“You like your little surprise Ace?” He asked the younger man.

“Wait you knew?”

“Who else would she ask yoi?” The medic gave him a lazy grin before turning to you. “So, did you get to say what you wanted to say yoi?”

Ace studied you as you shook your head looking both disappointed and sheepish.

“What did you want to say?” He couldn’t help but ask.

You huffed, a sheepish smile wobbling your lips, as you moved to his left side, your right hand pushing his upper arm to show more of his tattoo.

"See,” you held up your own tattooed wrist next to his arm, “now we match."

Extra:

Ace later: “I’m gonna marry her.”

Marco (who is next to him): “aren’t you already married?”

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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omega-e123 · 2 months ago

Note

waittttt so imagine this just some shadow headcannon i got.

Shadow because he's at least part hedgehog gets more mellow and sleeply in the winter because normal hedgehogs do hybernate. So in the winter he is very clingy to his lover, and wont let them leave his side as he falls asleep now and again.

S/O: shadow i gotta get up and cook dinner pleaseeeee (is trying to get out of his hold)

Shadow: (who is half asleep) you can eat at the end of winter, now be still and let me sleep. (Has his love in a tight hold as he naps again)

Idk thought it was cute lol.

Oh man, Shadow during winter is much more domesticated and soft spoken with his partner!

It’s probably the closest you’ll see how he acted on The Ark with Maria. Before he literally almost died falling down to earth.

✼　He’s much more prone to initiating PDA. While hand holding is in there, Shadow rathers you link arms as you walk down the street. Keeps you and him warm as a bonus!

✼　If you choose to shove your fingers in his chest fur “for warmth” he won’t argue. A little reluctant, but he’ll allow it.

“Cold again? Hnff!~ You should invest in some gloves,” Shadow playfully complains, wrapping his arms around you. If you do actually buy warm gloves, expect them to disappear a week after every now and then. “At the rate you’re asking, I’m starting to suspect it’s simply an excuse to touch my chest”

✼ Gift him a scarf or a coat and he will refuse to take it off. That scarf is going with him everywhere he goes.

✼　Shadow doesn’t have many clothes, but he does own a small collection of jackets. Some of which were bought because they looked good on you. Yes, they’re specifically just for you to “steal”. It’s better than you getting cold and sick!

✼ Winter time is the season where Shadow gets the most sleep. Usually the most sleep he gets is the recommended amount, which is around 7-8 hours. If Shadow is left idle for too long, he tends to accidentally sleep 12 hours. Which means if you’re not careful, you’re stuck in bed all day with nothing getting done.

Set a lot of alarms, call him throughout the day. Keep him busy! He will feel a little guilt letting the day go by like nothing.

Good luck even moving if he’s cuddling you. Shadow has you in his grasp so tight, you can barely even rotate your body.

✼　Snowboarding and ice skating are his favorite winter hobbies. Shadow does to speed skating, but you can often find him figure skating more often than not. He finds it as a good way to fine tune his movements.

If you don’t know how to ice skate, he is more than happy to teach you. The absolute patience this man has is astounding.

“Don’t worry about falling. Focus on me and keeping your balance, alright? You got this. Keep holding on.”

Going down, he’ll catch you every time, even if it meant falling with you. Shadow will at the very least cushion the fall for you.

✼　At home, Shadow does his best to keep physical contact with you. Washing dishes? His arms are wrapped around your waist, hugging you close. Chilling on the couch? At least one limb is on you. Whether it be his leg, his arm on you, or resting his head on your shoulder.

His face’s favorite spot is the crook of your neck. Do with that as you wish.

#shadow the hedgehog #sth #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #sonic the hedgehog #➺ inbox #➺ anon

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intoanotherworld23 · 10 months ago

Text

Good And Bad

Pairing: Reader x Joel Miller

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, this one shot is all smut and sex so ye have been warned, unprotected sex, bondage, slight bdsm, oral female receiving, minor fingering, dirty dirty sex

Summary: You just want to be a good girl for Joel, but you can’t help but wanting to be bad at the same time

Authors note: Man I only imagine what those hands of his could do! Reblog reblog reblog! I can’t stress how much reblogging helps out writers! If you guys enjoyed please let me know! Plus my tag list is always open so don’t hesitate to ask me! Thanks everyone so much! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

"God that feels so good."

The heat between your legs was becoming almost unbearable at this moment. It was like an ache you couldn't get rid of, and it was starting to get to you.

Fingers gripping onto the hand rails behind your head as the silk fabric started to cut into your skin. The more you pulled the tighter it seemed to wrap around your wrist.

Back arching off the bed as your toes became entangled in the cold sheets. It was like you were being tortured, and you loved every minute of it.

Your legs were numb to feeling as they were constantly shaking, and thick hands were gripping your soft flesh.

A wet tongue lapping relentlessly at your raw core. Running circles around your dripping opening like you were his last meal. The sounds of your slickness like music to his ears. He could keep you like this all day, and you knew he would too.

"Mhhhm. More Joel." Whispering just enough for him to hear.

"You want more?" Tongue sucking onto your clit making your cry out.

Diving his tongue right in as his fingers spread your lips apart getting easier access. Nuzzling his face so close his nose was brushing against your clit. His tongue massaging your inner walls as his hands rubbed soothing circles on your outer knees.

Rotating your hips against his face wanting more, but unable to open your mouth and say the words. His tongue literally had you speechless right now.

"Something wrong sweetheart?" His tone condescending as he smirked up at you. "Did you need something?"

Pushing two fingers inside of you admiring how tight you were. Biting your bottom lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. His fingers felt so delicious inside of you.

Your limbs felt so heavy but relaxed at the same time. Whining down at Joel to go faster, and he responded with a light chuckle.

"Can't wait to fuck that little cunt of yours." He says biting his bottom lip.

His thick fingers continued to slowly thrust and curl inside of you. Waiting for your response as you gasped when he sharply pushed his digits all the way up into your cervix. He was in complete control over you, and had you right where he wanted you.

Joel quickly realized that you weren't responding or saying anything. He found it quite amusing that you wouldn't say anything back almost like you were trying to hold back, and didn't want to be too loud.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased when you weren't responding.

Watching intensely as your mouth hung open, and only little squeaks came out. Kissing up your stomach as he nuzzled your hot skin loving how vulnerable you were for him. Really pulling against your restraints hoping he would untie you.

"Such a poor little thing aren't you." Joel coos into your ear. "So desperate to cum."

"Joel." Mewling desperate to grip onto his locks or just something.

Instead of responding he just pulls apart your thighs even more. The slight burn radiating all the way down to your calves. Meanwhile he just stared between your legs licking his lips noticing just how wet and raw you looked.

"Fuck just look at you." Shaking his head in almost disbelief you were all his. "Look so fucking beautiful."

Watching as he lowers one of his hands to grip onto his very erect cock. Stroking himself groaning in pain from how sensitive he was. All he wanted right now was to bury himself deep inside of you.

Even though it was a very simple motion it was still the hottest thing you had ever seen. Grinding your hips into the air wanting him to touch you or something. Of course Joel saw what you were doing and grinned down at you.

"What do you want baby?" Reaching out to grip softly onto your neck with the same hand that gripped his cock just seconds ago.

"Joel please." Whining up at him just hoping he would give it to you.

"No no." He shakes his head at you. "My sweet girl I want to hear you say it."

His hand tightening around your neck just slightly. Feeling the pressure of his fingers against your throat. Smoothly running his hand down past your collarbone, and in between your breasts. Feeling just how heavily your were breathing.

Joel was known for pushing you past your comfort zone. He wanted you to always give in to what he wanted when it came to sex. He wanted you and nobody else.

Just to tease you even more he places the tip of his cock at your entrance. Gathering your juices and rubbing it up and down. Twisting your hips to get more, but he just grabbed your hips to keep you still.

"Tell me like the good little girl you are." His tip barely just entering you.

Hoping that Joel would just give in push in all the way, but he wasn't having your silence. He kept it there while wiggling his hips just to tease you even more.

"Wanna hear that pretty mouth speak." His tone very low as his eyes became darker.

"Please fuck me Joel." Finally able to say the words. "Just fuck me so hard I want your cock so badly."

Smiling down at you as he leaned forward to attach his lips to yours. His mouth moving along yours in such a sensual manner you felt so many sparks of fireworks. Feeling the outline of his cock pressed against your pussy.

Pushing his tongue inside your mouth at the same time he pushed his length inside of you. Swallowing your moans as his hips were pressed into your pelvis. Staying there for just a few seconds so you could adjust. Savoring the moment your walls enclosed around him like little suckers.

"Such a tight delicious pussy for me." He groaned as he pulled out and pushing back in. "Gonna have to fuck you more often sweetheart."

He begins to pound into your cunt with no mercy. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours. Moving the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. His little grunts echoing in your ear and he moved relentlessly inside of you.

Feeling the fabric rubbing against your skin even harder creating a painful burning sensation. Typically the pain would have brought tears to your eyes, but right now it was only heightening the pleasure even more intensely.

"Look at me baby girl." Commanding you noticing your shut eyes. "Look into my eyes as you cum around my cock."

Noticing how his jaw clenched as he grit his teeth staring deep into your eyes. Feeling your cheeks begin to become hot with such an intimate interaction. It was just you and him in this moment, and he wanted you to become lost in each other.

"That's my good girl." He praised you. "Always such a good sweet girl for me."

Wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as you began to feel that intense feeling building inside your stomach. Breasts bouncing back and forth with the motion of his rocking. His eyes looking down at them with lust. Unable to bear it anymore as he attached your left breast into his mouth.

"Oh my god." Crying out throwing your head back.

Joel could tell you were right there with each squeeze around his cock. He wanted to cum at the same time that you did. Holding himself back from spilling his seed inside of you too soon. Sweating so heavily he felt like he would almost pass out.

Lifting his head to look down at where you two are connected. Noticing as each time his cock pulls out a white creamy like substance strings along his length. The image drives him absolutely feral. Moving in and out of you so harshly your afraid he might actually break your body.

Your pathetic whimpers and moans are what keep him motivated. His eyes staying concentrated on your completely blissed out face. Your pupils absolutely dilated from being high off of each other.

"Cum for me sweetheart." He begs you unable to hold back any longer. "I'm right there."

One of his hands reached down between you two to rub circles against your bundle of nerves. That was enough to send you spiraling. Your toes curling as your whole body shook with such an intense orgasm. Legs trembling against Joel's hips as he held onto you.

Spilling his own seed inside of you his cock twitching a couple of times as he drained the last of his fluid. Laying against you feeling absolutely tired but relaxed.

"Was that okay?" He asked timidly as he reached up to untie your sore wrists. Your limbs falling straight down. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No." Responding out of breath eyes fluttering. "No Joel it was perfect."

"Good." He smiled up at you snuggling against your sweaty body his head on your chest. "Cause I'm not done with you yet."

#Joel Miller #pedro pascal #Joel Miller smut #pedro pascal smut #Joel Miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #Joel Miller imagine #pedro pascal imagine #Joel Miller fic #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months ago

Text

hold me like water

foreword: followup to my unofficial eddie x shy!reader series. not necessary to read in order but here’s one and two if u want. this takes place after the events of s4 but everyone (including the trailer sorry i’m too attached) is mostly fine and so is the town. except for all that pesky PTSD… lol. written epilogue-style but I just wanted to give them something soft… not done w them yet!!

cw: PTSD, nightmares, trauma bonding, medical stuff, scarring/wounds, light smut post-traumatic event, R has breasts+a vagina, R wears a bikini

wc: 3k

___

For the first month, you don’t leave the trailer.

More specifically, you don’t leave Eddie.

While he’s recovering from the attacks, you confine yourself to his room; Wayne had pulled in a comfy armchair for you when he realized you’d been sleeping on Eddie’s floor for three nights in a row, just to be closer to him than the guest bed down the hall.

Now, with the chair, you’re actually getting some sleep at night- enough to tend to Eddie’s wounds every morning and evening without yawning comically loud.

After the first few weeks of healing, while Eddie is still tender but learning to walk shakily with the use of a cane, you still stick to the boundaries of the trailer. Neither of you really want to go anywhere, anyways: Hop’s instructions to keep a low profile while the dust settles on the murder investigation have to be taken seriously.

Plus, Eddie and you are very well taken care of by your friends-turned-family. Anything you could ever want for shows up on your doorstep and kitchen counters by a rotating crew of familiar faces; Mrs. Byers brings groceries and finds excuses to stay longer, busying herself by making tea, doing the dishes; Mrs. Wheeler brings casseroles and her son, who steals Eddie away for intense D&D discussions (Eddie made Mike interim DM, and the power’s really gone to his head).

The trailer is almost always filled during the day, bikes in a heap on the front strip of grass, Beemer parked at an angle to avoid a popped tire. Steve picks up Eddie’s medication every Friday, brings it over along with a bunch of VHS’s and Robin. Sometimes Jonathan and Argyle join in on movie nights, too, and Nancy when she’s not busy with work.

It’s easy and peaceful, spending time with people who understand and share the same traumas. People who don’t stare at the bandages or Eddie’s cane or ask why you won’t leave the trailer any more.

The government officials from the now-defunct Hawkin’s lab call every few days, wall-mounted landline ringing like a toll bell at 3pm sharp. You tell them the same thing, every time, curt and firm- if they want to interrogate you and Eddie, they’ll damn well have to come here. Or drag you, kicking and screaming.

Steve asks about it one afternoon, naive and confused with the force of your phone slamming- “Y’know, they probably just want you to sign one of those Don’t-Talk-About-This papers and give you a bunch of money. I heard they’re setting up college funds for all the kids-”

“Good for them.” Your dry remark cuts in smoothly from the couch, hand on Eddie’s knee as a lifeline. In a voice wobbly with anger, eyes glittering with unshed tears, your chin tilts up, defiant- “It’s the least they can do. I want them to look me in the eyes when they try to grovel for my silence. For Eddie’s. After all they fucking did to us, to the town-”

Eddie’s hand slips over yours, squeezes. Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture, surrendering with haste, then retreats to the kitchen for movie night snacks.

“Never heard you so bossy before,” Eddie murmurs, at the shell of your ear. Goosebumps cascade across your neck when he rests his heavy palm there, cold rings warming to the temperature of your skin. “Goin’ to bat for me. It’s hot.”

You’re a couple of steps removed from the quiet, shy thing Eddie’s known for years. Seeing the love of your life almost bleed out in an alternate dimension will do that to a person.

Owens shows up at the trailer one morning, at the end of summer after all the phone calls provide no results. Him and two of his muscliest-looking lab guys are met by you in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and somehow looking fierce despite the fuzzy blue bathrobe you’re swathed in.

“The goons stay outside.” Your word is final. Even the doctor knows it.

The two men in coats settle on either side of the porch, while Owens is allowed to sit at the kitchen table indoors, accepting a mug of coffee Eddie generously supplies (you certainly aren’t in a hospitable mood, glaring daggers at him from the opposing chair).

Predictably, the doctor explains he’s here with some NDA’s for both you and Eddie to sign, the shiny promise of a government-allotted chunk of change waiting on the other side.

Hidden from view under the table, your fingertips skate over Eddie’s palm, lying open and pliant for you. Calmly, like you’re stating the weather, you tell Owens to double his offer.

By the time he’s done using your phone, Owens is wiping sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. Once the papers are signed, him and the lab goons load back into the shiny black car like silent sentries.

They leave, and Eddie laughs, a full, rich noise that makes your heart ache. His fist slams the table in excess of humor, mugs jumping with a clink. “Goddamn. You just made the richest guy in Hawkins run off with his tail between his legs.”

“Pretty sure Harrington Senior has him beat,” you mutter around the rim of your coffee, unable to repress the satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips.

The payoff is a sickening amount, more money than you or Eddie have ever seen- enough to send you both to college, twice, with a hefty nest egg for the future leftover. You put the bulk of yours in a savings account, just so you don’t get dizzy looking at the numbers.

Eddie does the same, with the exception of a down payment on the vacant trailer at the end of the park. Along with the new place, Wayne gets a fresh mattress, a couch that doesn’t have holes, and a proper, working stereo to play all his “old man country” tapes (in Eddie’s words). The quiet and deep thankfulness Wayne gives you both makes you feel like you’d do it all over again, like the fight was all worth it for the Laz-E-Boy in the corner and the new mug collection shelf.

Eddie floats the idea of college again, now that you’ve got the funds to make it possible. You’ve certainly got the time, too- neither of you have any need to work long shifts at the diner or garage anymore.

Unfortunately, this makes it all the more easy to form reclusive habits. By autumn, the solidness of your refusal to leave the trailer has less to do with helping Eddie than it does with your own fear of what lies beyond the comfort of your home.

Most days, you work on healing. Eddie’s still your lifeline, gentle encouragement turning stern when you need it the most- he talks you into visiting Max by yourself, a veritable feat; the short walk between the two trailers feels like death, your knock shaky with nerves. It feels horrifying, to walk the thin line of being both braver and more scared than you’ve ever been.

You stay for an hour. The next day, for two- Max has a new kitten that passes the time easily, the girl giggling behind her new thick-rimmed glasses while pulling string across the floor for the tiny thing to pounce on. One night, you bring dinner for both the Mayfields and stay well past supper; it’s nearly 11 by the time you return to Eddie’s open arms, triumphant in your success with a tupperware of Mrs. Mayfield’s cookies to boot.

Your bravery builds in increments. Eddie cleans the rust from his van that’s been sitting untouched since spring, and takes you on drives that go a bit farther each time. The Byers’ place for lunch, Dustin’s to pick up an extra radio, then all the way to north Hawkins for more of Mrs. Wheeler’s plastic-wrapped dishes she asks you to relieve her of.

When winter rolls around, Steve takes advantage of his now-permanently empty home to throw a holiday party. It’s loud with chatter and overwhelming with noise but it feels so good to be surrounded by it, by everyone, Eddie’s hand a steady comfort on your waist or lower back as you eat and drink and make merry with your friends.

Hop pulls it off, a Christmas miracle- all the murders get pinned on Jason, buried six feet under with parents who skipped town ages ago. You’re out for groceries one cold morning and realize that not a single shopper has even given Eddie a second glance, conspicuous as he is in black leather and flashy silver jewelry.

The strings loosen with a sigh, fluttering in release, allowing some space for you both to breathe.

Sex has been… different, lately. There’s been lots of readjusting, both physically and mentally- accounting for unforeseen muscle spasms, bone-deep bruises hidden beneath rippled skin, tissue and scarring pulled taut, testing the limits of new pains.

The first time, just a few weeks after the attacks, Eddie had begged to go down on you. He wanted the comfort of your thighs, your taste and scent, all-consuming, to think about anything else other than his wounds.

You’d been more than hesitant, terrified of hurting him, of letting your focus shift inwards. More in your head than ever, it took Eddie over an hour to coax an orgasm from the walls that’d been built back up around your pleasure; even with his lithe tongue and long, seeking fingers, it took forever and an age to get you anywhere close to the edge.

Eddie didn’t complain once- in fact, he kind of got off on the amount of time you let him spend between your legs. The muscles in his right arm were trembling by the time you clamped down on his fingers, jaw burning but keeping the suction at your clit even while your hips rolled strong as a tidal wave against his face.

And before you could open your mouth to apologize, or say something equally silly, panting and wrung-out and heartbreakingly beautiful against the pillows, Eddie’s teeth flashed at the inside of your thigh.

You’d jolted, breathless and giggly, endorphins soaring as he’d tenderly crawled up the length of your body to slip his tongue between your lips, sharing the earthy tang of your release.

“One more,” he’d said, uninjured arm taking the bulk of his weight while he dipped down to mouth at your breast. “And this time, put your hands in my hair. I’m getting jealous of the sheets.”

As Eddie’s physical limitations lessen with time, your mental barriers ease, as well. There’s still some stilted moments of relearning, of working together in bodies that don’t always respond the way you want them to.

There are raw, stripped-open emotions that have you clawing at Eddie’s back, his nails leaving indents on the flesh of your hips. To keep pressure off the worst of his side wounds, you find new positions, usually some form of your thighs draped over his or the welcome weight of you in his lap.

He’s endlessly patient. The kind of patient that makes you want to run, far and fast, and he knows it; when your pleasure recedes, frustration in the form of tears and hands pressed to your face, Eddie’s there to soothe. To try a new angle, to slow down or speed up, offering a break or an extra pillow to keep you comfortable and feeling good.

If you were comforted by each other’s presence during the night before the Spring Break from hell, it’s tenfold now. Neither of you will sleep a wink if Eddie’s not wrapped around you like a koala, snoring gently, overheated and tacky with sweat by morning but neither willing to compromise the closeness.

Nightmares are easier to handle, too- you’re there to soothe the sweat-coated bangs from Eddie’s forehead when he wakes up whimpering in fear, coaxing his panic and adrenaline back down. He’s so fine-tuned to the rhythms of your body that even though your own nightmares rarely end in noise, Eddie often wakes anyways from the disturbance in your breaths.

Just as you do for him, sometimes all it takes to get you back to sleep is a tender voice, a stroke of the arm, a reassurance in the dark that he’s with you.

A year after it all happened, Eddie hears you singing in the shower.

If he wasn’t craning to hear the gentle splashing noises as confirmation of your presence, he would’ve missed it. Eddie leans with his good shoulder on the wood frame, door partially cracked to let the melody of your voice float through.

Stevie Nicks is crooning sweetly from the handheld radio on the bathroom counter, and you, just as sweet and twice as pretty singing along.

Eddie closes his eyes, puts a hand to his chest; through the fabric of his shirt he feels the raised, bumpy edges of scar tissue, but there’s something beyond it. Curling around his heart, making it ache- it feels like healing. Like getting better, at least well enough to sing.

He’s dumbstruck with it.

That summer, he takes you to Lover’s Lake.

It’s just the two of you, which makes it easy for Eddie to go shirtless; currently, he’s enjoying the way you’re watching him from the back of the van, bare feet swinging and paired with a killer black bikini that he begged you into.

He’s not so sure the scars that criss cross his front and sides are as “metal” as you claim they are, but he’s trying. He’d drag himself over hot coals just to get half a smile; going shirtless is nothing.

You reach for him, and he walks into the V of your legs willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, head pressed to the middle of his sternum. Eddie plants his hands on either side of your hips, drops his chin to fit you under it.

“Come swim with me.”

In response, you sigh- a longsuffering, worried sort of noise that leaves your lungs and enters his. He’s been trying to talk you into it for weeks- it’s a miracle he’s gotten you both this far, dressed and ready to take the plunge.

Eddie’s not really sure why this swim is so important to him. It might have something to do with the fissure at the bottom of the lake, all scabbed over and sewn back together; or maybe it’s the surface, skimmed by a light breeze and rippling gently, nothing of monsters or alternate dimensions leftover to disturb the placidity.

Eddie wants to prove that it’s safe, for you and for himself. That the nightmares and the sticky feelings and the tears, they all mean something, of course they do- but the only way to is through.

So he takes you by both hands and you only drag your feet a little until he’s walking backwards on the shore, water lapping up to his ankles, and you freeze. Heels digging into the wet earth, tense under Eddie’s grasp, eyes wide and darting around like something might come crashing through the treeline.

“Hey. Look at me.” In a voice that’s reserved for you and you alone, Eddie speaks softly, calmly, letting out all the tension of his pull to just hold, instead. “You’re safe. There’s nothing out here that’s gonna hurt us, okay? Steve went all the way back down to the bottom to make sure. No more gate. No nothin’. It’s just a lake.”

“Just a lake,” you repeat, like a mantra as you take another step. The water rolls over your feet; Eddie murmurs his encouragement while leading.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s just a lake. Our lake.”

The water rises, up the back of Eddie’s calves, swishing around your shins; the pebble-rock floor shifts with each step. You and Eddie used to spend long summer days here, swimming and picnicking and fucking in the back of the van, syrupy-slow and stretched with time.

“Our lake.” You’re shivering, teeth chattering, even though the air is hot and the water is just-cool.

Eddie rubs at your upper arms, allaying the goosebumps; waterline up to your waists, now. The rock you’re balanced on beneath the surface jolts, and you stumble forward into Eddie’s arms; in a smooth maneuver, he catches you while sinking into a crouch, pulling you both from the safety of the shallows.

Then, your kicking feet meet nothing but the vastness of the lake, nails biting into Eddie’s arms, fear rattling through your spine until Eddie- treading water while valiantly supporting you, too- tosses his black hair back and whoops.

The sound is loud, joyful, ricochets across the lake and bounces back from the other shore. He crows at the sun, startles a laugh out of you as he clings harder, kicking to keep you both afloat- “Holy SHIT! We’re swimming in Lover’s Lake!”

“Holy shit,” you agree, giddy and breathless, nerves turning over into disbelief, excitement. “We’re swimming in our lake.”

Eddie kisses you. It’s sloppy and he misses the middle of your mouth as you both try to keep the other from slipping under, teeth clashing, giggles escaping around the sides. He puts a hand dripping with lake water to your cheek, holding you in place, thumb pressing gentle just under your eye.

“I love you.”

“Love you.” Your reply is swift and just as eager, hand coming to rest at the puckered line of scarring at Eddie’s chest.

Somewhere at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, a twin crack, a Something that was never supposed to be but now just Is.

You feel extraordinarily grateful, awash with we made it, as you and Eddie swim out further, shores in the shape of a heart holding you both from all sides.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x shy!reader #shy!reader

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seeingivy · 10 months ago

Text

secrets

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

sukuna watches you get ready. or more appropriately, watches you try to hide your panic as you busy yourself with getting ready.

he found it interesting - the little rituals that you had. it was almost like a rehearsed routine the way you rotated in the morning, one he had committed to memory. he watches you secure your hair back, your fingers massaging different serums and moisturizers into your skin.

but there’s an increased fervor today, in the way you meticulously prod at your own skin - rubbing hard on the slight blemishes on your skin, covering up the darkness under your eyes, and brushing your hair three times to perfection.

it’s borderline obsessive. he hovers over your shoulder, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“don’t you think you’ve brushed your hair enough, doll? looks great.”

he watches as you run it through your hair again, muster a peachy smile for him. it doesn’t meet your eyes. sukuna starts to wonder when it was that he started getting so concerned about you, in the way that it almost never left the back of his mind.

“has to be even, sukuna. i brushed six times on the right so i have to do the same amount on the left.”

he pinches his lips together.

“seems closer to a hundred, princess. your hair is fine.” he murmurs.

sukuna watches as you give him a nod, brushing through your hair the last three times, before you swirl around in your chair and place your hands on his hips. if sukuna wasn’t so irked, he’d make a comment about the compromising position - the way you were looking up at him like you were on your knees.

you squish the bones in his fingers as he pulls you up, his demeanor increasingly reserved today. on any other day sukuna would have smothered you in fifty kisses by now - making some teasing comment about how he’d want to shower with you or make every attempt to kiss all the lip gloss off of your face.

you reach for sukuna’s tie, still loosely hanging around his neck as you eye the clock, and start knotting it together. you tighten it to his collar, pushing the buttons through their slits, as sukuna stares at you. it’s something you find him doing often, almost like he’s trying to discern your thoughts just from looking at your face.

“you okay, sukuna?” you hum.

“are you okay, y/n?”

“huh? why would you say that?”

“you said it first.” he counters.

“well, you haven’t kissed me yet today. it’s been an hour and-”

he cuts off the sentence by pressing his lips to yours, the coffee you made him still lingering on his lips. you smile into the kiss, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.

“didn’t realize i had to.” sukuna mumbles.

“are you stupid? that’s part of your boyfriend taxes.”

sukuna smiles, watching you tilt your head to the side and smile at him. he commits it to memory - the sweet look on your face.

“and what’s due, hm?” he asks.

“you’ve paid your fees.”

“you haven’t paid yours, pretty girl.”

you brush the fabric of his collared shirt on his shoulders, as you tuck the last of the folds in the place.

“you’re needy, you know that?”

“s’not what i meant. it’s part of your girlfriend taxes to tell me what’s bothering you.”

“just nervous to talk to yuuji, that’s all.”

sukuna would be lying if the pending approval wasn’t on his mind too. not only because he was positive that it would make you retreat from him, after he had been making every attempt to ease you into it over the past few weeks.

but the fact is that he’s always considered yuuji his savior. a silent gift sent to him, his first companion in life. it would be a sting to him if yuuji didn’t view him fit for someone special to him. that he’d think so little of him, or even worse, that yuuji could think that sukuna thought so little of you.

“you’ll come back here after?” he asks.

you nod.

“call if you need me.”

you and sukuna trek out of the apartment at the same time, both of your phones clutched in your hand as he locks up. his phone buzzes one and you flip the screen, ignoring the text from satoru and swiping away the notification to look at his lock screen properly.

it’s a picture of you and sukuna, one that you took as a joke on his phone. he’s barely in the picture - just the slightest tuft of his pink hair and one of his dimples. it’s of you - smiling brightly into the camera.

sukuna can parse that something is wrong when nobara’s voice is the one that comes through on yuuji’s phone. and when he parks outside the bar, his suspicions are confirmed when the four of you are already lingering out on the sidewalk in the cold, as opposed to the usual antics that he has to wrangle you out of.

it’s a strange sight. the first thing his eyes are drawn to are you, naturally, and he’s immediately irked by the sight of you sniffling, megumi wiping the tears from your eyes. his eyes gravitate to yuuji next, nobara yanking him down by the hair as she gives him an earful.

the smell warns him enough - that the group of you, except for megumi he presumes, have lost your inhibitions.

“yuuji. you had no right to say that to her.” nobara scolds.

“she said plenty to me too!” yuuji bites back.

sukuna makes his way over to the two of you on the pavement, ignoring the sting when your face droops even more at the sight of him. megumi’s hands are on your shoulders, rubbing circles into your back, as he quietly sits at your side.

“up. both of you” he demands.

megumi follows his instructions, holding up a hand for you, as you wipe away the wetness around your eyes and megumi opens the front door for you. you settle into the seat - embarrassment burning in your chest - as megumi crouches at the side of the door, poking his head into the car to talk.

“he doesn’t mean it. weirdly enough, this is his way of being overprotective of you.”

you scoff, before turning to megumi. sukuna lingers by the door, watching as yuuji can barely hold his own against nobara, and attempts to catch the end of your words.

“sure, megs. i’m fine.”

megumi places a hand on sukuna’s shoulder as he stands up, reaching for yuuji and nobara as sukuna switches and takes his spot. it’s a quick glance over his shoulder - yuuji entirely preoccupied - as he leans his lips close to your ear. he notices you nearly flinch at the closeness but makes no comment about it.

“need anything, pretty girl?” he whispers.

“i want you to take me home after you settle them in. i want to be alone.” you mutter.

sukuna squeezes your hand, a silent response, as megumi shuffles the two of them in the car and he releases your hand just as fast. nobara gives you a smile, albeit half hearted - having spent a better part of the last hour in your defense - as megumi takes to scolding yuuji in his ear.

sukuna gives you one last look before he shifts the gear and heads home.

sukuna’s able to wrangle the three of them faster than usual and when he returns you’re crying softly in his passenger seat, his stray hoodie strewn over your shoulders.

“home?” he asks.

sukuna takes your non-committal nod as a yes, ignores the sting for a second time when you refuse to hold his hand, and drives slowly on the quiet streets. there’s a light sheen on the roads, the street lights reflecting in the puddles and shining a red light on your face.

you can tell that sukuna’s making his best attempts to be quiet as he drops you home. he’s quick to attend to anything - not letting you open the door or take off your coat or even tuck your hair behind your ear of from your own hands.

and sukuna almost does it. he almost makes it through without interjecting. but when he watches you rub your skin a little too hard with the moisturizer, so hard that it starts turning pink, he reaches for your hands and has to stop you.

he can’t watch you rub your skin raw just because you’re frustrated.

“here. let me.” he whispers.

“but you don’t–”

“i know the order, pretty girl. i’ve watched you do it enough times.”

he watches your weary eyes as you place the next bottle in his hands, pouring the cold liquid onto his fingertips. he taps the counter with the back of his hand and you obediently jump up, the two of you face level as he takes residence in between your legs.

the mere act eases the tension for sukuna - the fact that you hadn’t dismissed him yet, that you were letting him massage the serums into your skin was an olive branch enough. whatever yuuji had said hadn’t scared you off yet - and he’ll take his win where he can get it.

“need to talk?” he asks.

you look up at him, at the focused look in his eyes, accompanied by the soft pressure of his fingertips. he squishes your cheek, before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and you instinctively pinch your eyes shut. it makes that angry, stinging feeling in your chest twist into that sinking feeling that makes you want to cower in the darkest corner of your closet.

“how many girls have you been with?” you ask.

“in what sense?”

“all of them.”

“i’ve dated two girls, not including you. one was in highschool, a girl named kisa. the other one was when i was in europe.”

“why’d you break up with them? or them with you?”

“no, it was me. both times. kisa, because i was leaving. the girl in europe because i got bored.”

he watches your eye twitch, as he continues.

“i’ve had sex with both of them. besides that, there’s six other girls that i’ve had sex with. talked to loads more, here and there, on and off.”

“what were they like?” you ask.

“meaning?”

“like…occupation wise. or-or personality. looks.”

sukuna furrows his eyebrows.

“can’t remember much to be honest? kisa and i dated in highschool, i think she said she wanted to be something stupid like an influencer. and the other, she was in vet school. they didn’t look similar. i don’t have a type if that’s what you’re trying to discern. and if i did have one, it would be you.”

you nod.

“okay.”

“i feel the need to clarify that it was never like this with anyone else.”

“well, why do you feel the need to clarify that?”

there’s something laced in your words - either hurt or animosity - but he can’t place which one it is.

“because you’re my girlfriend? i can tell that intimacy is important to you, that what i’ve done can raise questions and-”

“are you trying to infantilize me? i know you’re older and more experienced than me but that gives you no right. i’m not a little girl.”

animosity. it was definitely animosity.

sukuna reaches for your hands, pressing your knuckles against his lips as he mumbles.

“i know you’re a big girl now.”

you glare at him. his joke doesn’t land well.

“don’t taunt me, sukuna.”

“i know you’re not a little girl. and i know you’re smart enough to not equate maturity with intimacy. it’s a good thing that intimacy is important to you – that you want to take it slow. it’s important to me when it comes to you too.”

you sigh, scrunching your eyes shut as you lean forward and rest your forehead against his chest. you can feel your head pulsating - his words, yuuji’s words, your own mixing enough to give you a tension headache. he’s quick with it, his hands in your hair as he pulls you closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

“what did yuuji say?”

you swallow hard.

“i was trying to bring it up, nonchalantly. i…i said that you and i had been hanging out. and yuuji was like yeah, that’s fine and all just don’t go dating sukuna or something.”

you watch sukuna’s eye twitch. but his immediate thought is pleased – that you’re still standing here telling him.

“i asked why. and he brought up mazzy. said that i should be careful, not jump into things so fast since i wasn’t over it yet.”

mazzy. sukuna commits the name to memory, another piece he stows away to put together his puzzle.

“and-and i said that i had learned my lesson. i am over it. i-i’m smart enough to know my boundaries now, you of all people know that.” you whisper.

sukuna offers you a smile.

“that’s right.” he affirms.

“he asked me why i was interested in you. then i got kind of defensive and said i wasn’t, that i was just suggesting it. i asked him – why was he so opposed to the idea? is it so crazy to think that you would like me? and he said…”

you swallow hard.

“he said why would you? why would you like me when i’m the way that i am?”

“he said that?” he seethes.

“not the second part. but the way he said it. why would sukuna like you, y/n? i understood it all the same. i know you’re great and all, sukuna, but is it really that ridiculous to everyone that you would be interested in me? what’s so wrong with me that everyone feels the need to question it? he said that–”

sukuna waits for the end of your sentence but it doesn’t come – just another bout of your tears.

he tilts your face up, before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. it’s wet, your tears brushing against the bridge of his nose and his cheeks as he nearly breathes fully into the kiss. and every time you try to pull away, he’s following you just as fast, refusing to let go. each one stings in your core.

“do you ever think you’re settling for me?” you ask.

“you wouldn’t believe what i think.”

“tell.”

sukuna shakes his head, almost like he’s embarrassed. you muster a halfhearted smile, poking the softness of his pecs as he rolls his eyes.

“y/n.” he warns.

“just…so squishy. like a stress ball.” you whisper.

“i’ll pretend like you didn’t just objectify me for your sake.”

“personification and objectification are different. and since you’re humbling yourself to date me, i might as well enjoy it.” you deadpan.

sukuna tries to temper the anger that flares through him. that you think so little of yourself. that you think so big of him – in the same vein as his parents. his isolating thought that you viewed him differently shatters. it’s aggravating.

“i’m joking. but i just mean that – we’re really different. and yuuji –”

“i don’t give a fuck what he thinks. do you?”

you sigh.

“i want you. do you think i’m not prepared to deal with what that means? that i don’t notice the things you do?”

sukuna watches your eyes go wide.

“you tend to get a little obsessive, princess. and you feel insecure more often than not. you’re far more chatty, more quick to joke when you’re emailing me rather than standing in front of my face, just because you can’t see my reaction – or more appropriately, can’t overthink my reaction – if you don’t see it. you can’t bring yourself to fully accept the fact that i like you, that i’m very very fond of you, because you think too little of yourself. you don’t tell me much – but s’okay. i’m able to figure most of it out.”

sukuna’s ability to read you to filth is enough to make your blood boil.

“other peoples’ words mean too much to you. wish you’d give mine more importance when i say there’s nothing wrong with you. s’not a problem that you and i have things to work through. you don’t have to meet any previous standards i have – any girls i’ve talked to – because you already don’t compare to them. they’d be in your spot if they did.”

it’s enough to make your heart ache.

“i can parse that me being more experienced than you bothers you. i have no intention of holding it over your head, nor does it make me feel any less attracted to you. you’re all things - intelligent, brilliant, beautiful. i have every intention to basically worship you when i get the chance – and that would stand if you were experienced or not.”

sukuna watches you shiver, the gravel of his voice making the goosebumps prickle on your arms.

“how can i be settling when you’re far too good for me? when you have such a hold on me?”

“sukuna –”

his lips hover by your ear, warm breath tickling down your spine as he murmurs. sukuna’s combined defense of whispering sweet nothings and sending sparks all over your body was never something you can win against. he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttered shut.

“ i know my brother means the world to you – that what he thinks is important – but can you make space for me too? i don’t want to compete with him for your affections or your loyalty, especially when he has no right to make that call anyways. or make you feel uncomfortable in your own happiness – if that’s what this is.”

you cup sukuna’s face with your hand.

“that is what this is.” you murmur.

sukuna presses a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“you make me really happy. i hate that i need so much support sometimes but last time, i just –”

you swallow hard.

“i get in my head a lot. i’m trying not to but it’s hard sometimes. but i like you too much. i’m not just going to give you up like that. you don’t get off so easy.”

sukuna smiles.

“ah. there’s my beautiful princess with a disorder.”

you cross your arms across your chest.

“it’s a joke, dollface. we both know you’re not royalty.”

“asshole!”

sukuna snags the headband out of your hair, before following you out to your bed.

“what do you want to do about yuuji?”

“well, what do you want to do? he’s your brother.”

“and he’s your best friend. you care what he thinks far more than i do. nothing’s going to keep me from you.”

you sigh.

“we’ll keep it a secret. tell him again when – when it’s more solid. not that it isn’t but –”

he doesn’t question it.

“when it’s more solid.” he affirms.

next part linked here

an: a wild ronnie has appeared. be nice to me pls.

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venus-haze · 1 year ago

Text

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. This is kind of in the same universe as She’s Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best. I know generally men in the ‘40s, let alone Soldier Boy of all people, wouldn’t really consider going down on a woman, but it’s my fic and I get to decide he eats out. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Period typical misogyny, power imbalance. Explicit sexual content involving masturbation and oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

“Which city are we going to next?” you asked, finally comfortable in the swanky hotel room in Chicago you were roomed in with three other girls from the troupe. Soldier Boy’s Sparkling Sweethearts. People came from miles around to show their patriotism–and get a look-see at the acts. If it weren’t Soldier Boy, it was you and the other Sweethearts. Something for everyone, really. Even in places like–

“Wichita.”

A collective groan filled the space, littered with makeup and dresses that’d inevitably shoved into suitcases in a hurry the moment of checkout. There were more important things to worry about than being organized.

“Better than wherever the hell we were last week. Couldn’t get enough of us on Saturday, and then nearly ran us out with pitchforks after the preacher was through with them Sunday morning.”

“I’m going down to the bar while we’re still in a hotel that has one,” you said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Not if Soldier Boy’s there.” A giggle tore through the room. “Did you see him earlier? He looked like he could eat you alive.”

You weren’t even supposed to have been up there with Soldier Boy during his act, a routine that showed off his powers and preceded his usual rousing speech to get the American public to open their hearts and wallets to the war bonds drive. But Darla had broken her leg while ice skating on a day off in Milwaukee, and Soldier Boy had specifically asked for you to fill her spot.

Your role involved memorizing a few lines from a script and looking pretty while Soldier Boy understandably took the lead, but your “rehearsal” just hours before was little more than going through your lines once before Soldier Boy poured you a shot to “calm your nerves” and spent the following fifteen minutes fucking your mouth before sending you off to get ready for the show.

Walking up on that stage again after your usual routine with the Sparkling Sweethearts was nerve-wracking. Though you knew what to expect, you still felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest every time he lifted you above his head or tossed you up in the air and caught you, to the raucous applause and cheers of the Chicagoans and celebrities who’d packed the theater to see him.

“Betty Grable’s in town, so I think she’s the main course,” you said as you left, closing the door behind you and leaving your coworkers to tease you in private.

Among the various hobbies you’d taken up since becoming a Sparkling Sweetheart, people-watching in hotel bars was one of your favorites. He would almost always be there too, an otherworldly presence with an abundance of movers and shakers rotating in his orbit, unable to resist the pull of America’s golden son.

Some of the girls in the troupe didn’t care for him, found him too brash and handsy. You could think of at least one who’d been unceremoniously replaced after loudly complaining one too many times. No one really knew what the extent of his powers were, but after that incident, you suspected enhanced hearing might be among them. Or someone was just a snitch.

When you stepped into the bar, a quick scan of the room revealed Betty Grable to be nowhere in sight. You didn’t see Soldier Boy either, until a deep voice wrapped around you like velvet.

“There’s my girl.”

“Who, me?” you asked teasingly.

“‘Course you are, honey.”

“Because I heard Betty Grable’s in town—“

He scoffed. “That broad? Who needs her?”

Your chest filled with pride at his statement. She was the pin-up girl of choice for every GI in Europe and the Pacific. Well, almost all of them. His arm settled around your waist as he told the bartender to give you whatever you wanted. The overhead lights in the bar were nice and low, you felt warm beneath Soldier Boy’s gaze. Being the object of his attention always carried weight. He was the world’s first superhero, after all. A living legend. Plenty of other women he could be spending his time with besides you.

Pressing your lips to his cheek, you whispered a ‘thank you’ for the drink, taking in the way he licked his lips, his handsome face so close to yours, still under the slight cover of the shadows. Whoever decided a helmet that covered half of his face would be part of his costume needed serious help.

“Y’know, if you hadn’t come down here, I might’ve gone up to your room and dragged you out,” he said, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “It’s like you were shakin’ your ass just for me on that stage.”

“It’s called shimmying, and I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was thinking, how about you replace Darla for my act?”

“Permanently?”

“Sure, we’ve got great chemistry,” he said, squeezing your hip, “on and off stage.”

As the night progressed, your conversations with Soldier Boy were interrupted by the slew of people who recognized him, excitedly introducing themselves and asking for a few minutes of his time. He graciously accepted with a ‘You don’t mind, right honey?’ And you shook your head, watching him humor politicians, business moguls, and socialites.

You smiled when the latest one had made their departure, tilting your head the slightest bit. “Do you even remember what my name is?”

“Honey suits you better,” he said, his tongue darting out between his lips. “Bet you taste like it too.”

“You sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I guess so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, passing you his room key. “You go make yourself comfortable while I close out my tab.”

As if he’d even be paying for the drinks himself. It’d probably be billed to the Department of Defense, or that strange company that sponsored the tour. You didn’t pay much attention to who was signing your checks, just that they cashed out when you brought them to the bank.

You balked at his hotel room, far more space than a single man could possibly need. Then again, he rarely spent his nights alone.

Comfortable. Ridding yourself of your clothes, you climbed into the giant bed, pulling the covers just over your breasts. As you laid back on the plush pillows, you recalled earlier that day when he had swatted your ass as you walked off stage after your act with him was finished, playing it off as a joke to the crowd who cheered and whistled. The simple yet slightly painful gesture had gone straight through you, however, and you worried that there’d be a noticeable wet spot on your satin panties when you and the other Sparkling Sweethearts returned for one last routine to close out the show, your high kicks telling on you.

Biting your lip, you glanced at the door and slipped a hand between your legs. He had only said to make yourself comfortable, nothing specifically about waiting. Gently prodding two fingers against your pussy, you weren’t surprised to find that you were wet already. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pushed your fingers inside, thinking about how his hands felt on you earlier. Strong and steady, big hands that could break you so easily but didn’t.

“Couldn’t wait?” He stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed with his arms folded over his broad chest as he pinned you in place with his disapproving glare.

You gasped, pulling your hand from between your legs. “I was just–”

He clicked his tongue at you, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “My fault for keeping you waiting too long, doll.”

Soldier Boy joined you on the bed, pulling back the covers you’d pulled over your bare body. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with an overwhelming fireceness as he groped your breasts, squeezing down your stomach to your hips and finally your thighs. His lips followed that same path, kissing and biting along your skin that suddenly felt feverish beneath his touch. Still, your pussy ached for him, especially since he had walked in while you were pleasuring yourself, but he wasn’t paying any mind to it.

Until he dipped his head down, licking your wet cunt. In your shock, you pushed your thighs together, as if his intrusion were unwelcome.

His strong hands held your legs apart, gently squeezing the tender flesh. “I jerked off thinking about this earlier, but nothin' like the real thing, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the ornate ceiling. Gold leafing, a Renaissance-esque painting, surely Soldier Boy didn’t care much about that.

“Eyes on me, honey. You got that?”

Immediately, you looked at him, his blazing green stare burning through you until you nodded. He wasted no time in burying his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with such force that you realized you had no idea what getting eaten out by a superhero would actually entail.

He lapped at your pussy with an insatiable fervor that made your legs shake beneath his steady grip. Your moan caught in your throat when he plunged his tongue deeper into you, his nose brushing that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d already teased.

A whine tore from your throat when he pulled away for a moment, smugly admiring your glistening sex. His lips appeared coated in your juices, and you nearly came at that sight alone.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he growled appreciatively. “This all for me?”

Who else? As if any other man could make you feel pleasure so intensely, as if that were yet another superpower of his. For a moment you bemoaned a possible future of unsatisfying sex with some regular old Joe–not America’s hero, its fucking sex symbol. But all you could manage was a weak, “Yes.”

Satisfied with your response, he closed his plush lips over your clit, sucking on it like he was pulling from a cigarette, your arousal burning deep in his lungs. You grabbed at the sheets, digging your hands into them as you grind your pussy against his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, shooting open when he smacked your thigh. Eyes on me.

“Fuck—Soldier Boy,” you moaned. “‘m close.”

He growled against you, the vibrations from his throat edging you closer to orgasm. His inhuman stamina meant he hadn’t given you much of a break since he lowered his face between your thighs. He’d been content to tease you for a while, but he seemed more focused, intentional with the way he ate you out, his attention especially focused on your clit.

You could feel it, that tightness in your abdomen that was about to snap. Involuntarily, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were on that stage again, in his big arms, bright lights blaring as you stared dreamily at him. Then he threw you in the air, higher and higher until you came back down and–

“Soldier Boy, oh my god–don’t fucking stop,” you pleaded, riding out your orgasm on his face.

His hands held down your bucking hips, your ecstasy overpowered by his determination to bring you over the edge until you were an incoherent mess, muscles aching at the exertion of each orgasm despite him doing all of the work. Light-headed, seeing stars, you reached down, tugging at his hair. That was it. You were tapping out. Mercy.

He granted such, though he pressed sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, nipping at the tender skin. All you could give him was weak moans in return. If you expected to be able to go anywhere else the rest of the night, he’d made damn well sure you couldn’t so much as move from his bed. Maybe that was the idea.

Your breath caught in your throat when he lifted his head, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, though the evidence of your orgasms was still all over the rest of his face. He kissed you, the foreign taste of yourself filling your mouth, sending a deliciously obscene rush through you. His mouth broke from yours, just for a moment, as he whispered your name against your lips. You realized you didn’t actually know his.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy imagine #the boys soldier boy #the boys x reader #the boys amazon #the boys tv #gen v #gen v amazon

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