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gretavanflame · 4 months ago

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Kiss Me Good

Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

Cw: SMUT including: fingering, oral (f) reviving, the word daddy (said one time), a ridiculous amount of pet names, arrogant cocky jake, slight overstimulation, slight choking, kissing, nipple play, teasing, slight mentions of pain, slight hair pulling.

Summary: Your surprise for Jake, fresh back from tour, finally gets noticed, and in turn- heavily rewarded.

Word Count: 2k

It started out as a simple idea really. One that took root and sprouted in your brain until it just had to be done.

Your friend had mentioned something. A wax job she got that, “made my man go into a frenzy over my pussy.”

It was funny first, but then you began to wonder what it would look like for your man to, well… do that.

It’s not like he hasn’t before. In fact you’re his favorite meal, and he tells you that every time he indulges. But because of the tour, it’s been a while. He got back only yesterday, and had been too tired to touch you, and at this point- you’re craving him.

Long story short, you got the name and number of her esthetician and booked an appointment right away, and since then, you’ve just been waiting.

Now you lay on your side, silently watching the rise and fall of Jake’s chest through his state of sleep. It has always perplexed you how a man can look so beautiful while sleeping. And Jake often perplexes you.

You reach your finger out to trace along his nose and down to his lips. You run the finger over them, just feeling the soft skin that your lips miss. This however, wakes him, and his eyes blink open and turn to you.

You smile at your boyfriend like a puppy in love and sit up higher to watch him realize he’s not on a tour bus. A stupid grin stretches across his face and he sits up on his hands so that his face is right in front of yours.

“Good morning Jakey.”

“Good morning doll-face.”

You swallow, taking a moment to get used to the sweet sound of his morning voice. It's low and grumbly, and it makes you want to rip off your clothes right here, which would spoil the surprise entirely.

“So are you feeling well rested?”

He laughs, shaking his head, leaning in.

“Are you still all pouty that I denied you last night? Hmm? Did my pretty girl not get what she wanted?”

Now you do pout, and push his face away. He only laughs again.

“Com’ere, give me a kiss.”

You lean in, letting your eyes close as your lips connect, sparks flying through your body. His hand comes up to your cheek, just resting there as you taste his breath, hot on your tongue. The kiss is slow, every move intentional and full of love and longing as your tongues intertwine in a way that is less than ladylike, setting prickles all over your skin.

He breaks away, a wet pop filling the air.

“You missed me.”

“I did Jake. So much.”

“Did you miss all of me?”

You smirk, meeting his eye with a knowing look.

“Come. Have me.”

He gestures to his body, you internally chuckle at the double meaning behind his words. He pulls out his arms and you crash into them, grabbing and pulling at the material of his soft t-shirt as you attack his mouth.

He’s slightly pushed back at the force, laughing against your mouth before his tongue licks into it. His arms wrap around you, tight, possessive. You’re like two magnets, unable to be pulled away from each other.

You break away just to breathe, “You know what I really missed Jake?”

You lean back in to bite along his bottom lip, waiting for response. A soft whimper that he tries to hide, ricochets off his warm tongue and you drink it down, the ache between your thighs growing significantly.

“I missed your tongue. I want it all over me. Please Jake. I need it.”

“Oh you neeed it?” He draws out the word, teasing you, pouting his lips and contorting his face into one of feigned sadness.

“Shut up.” You challenge, words coming out as a whine before his hand comes to loosely wrap around your throat. The remaining air is pulled from your lungs, sounding like a pitiful moan. And there's no pressure in his hold, it merely reminds you who’s incharge.

His other hand grabs your waist, turning you on the bed so that you’re lying beneath him.

“You know what princess?” He asks, dipping down to nip little purple splotches into your neck. “I think I am feeling well rested.” His mouth harshley sucks the skin above your breast, leaving a glistening pink hue in its wake. “Thank you so much for your concern, baby.”

He’s playing a game now. Giving you exactly what you want, but not without a little fun for himself.

His hands come to your tank top, gripping the neckline and ripping until the fabric opens up, exposing your bare breasts to him. An animalistic groan escapes him and he immediately latches his mouth onto your nipple.

He sucks one long kiss into your skin and pops off with a breath, looking up at you through wild eyes. He smirks, lowering his face to your stomach, kissing and licking along it until he reaches the waistline of your boxers- or rather his.

“What are these, baby? Are these some other guy’s? Did you cheat on me while I was away?”

He smiles, amused, knowing that they’re only his.

“My princess got so horny she had to fuck some other guy? She wouldn’t do that, would she? I think she would wait until Daddy gets home. I think she would wait until she could have his mouth.”

You’re panting now, back arching as you try to lift back up into his touch. A single finger traces down your stomach, stopping short at the top of his boxers. You shudder under his touch as you’re reminded of the familiar calloused fingertips. The ones that are the product of spending hours tearing up ‘The Beloved.’ Treating her just as he treats you.

His fingertips hook into them, pulling them down at a tantalizing pace as he kisses just above it. His eyes open to stare at yours as his mouth lowers. When he realizes you aren’t wearing any underwear he smirks, his eyes still on you. Your heart is racing with anticipation and he’s better than you even remembered. Every word, every touch makes you feel like you’re falling deep deep into the abscess with him holding you steadily behind.

“No panties? You’re terrible.”

He looks down, finally, at the grand surprise. The thin ‘landing strip’ you had waxed into you sits neatly and his mouth parts, leaving him panting above you.

“Holy fuck sugar. This all for me?”

You nod slowly and he grants you a prideful smile. Your heart skips a beat and melts all at once while he takes a moment just to look at his favorite girl.

He drops his back down and his tongue speaks out to lick a slow stipe right next to the bit of hair. He moves his head to the other side, and you feel the cold air hit the moisture in contrast to how warm his tongue felt just moments ago. He repeats the action on the other side, landing with a kiss to the top of your mound.

You feel yourself practically leaking out of you, feeling his tongue so so close, but just not enough. You feel like begging, like letting go of all shame and screaming for his mouth on your cunt. But you know begging gets you nothing. He’s taught you better than that.

You bite your lip as his tongue kisses the inside of your thigh, just teasing you now, denying you of your deepest desires. He knows it too, by the smug look on his face as he moves to the other leg, licking the supple flesh.

Finally, finally, his tongue flattens, and runs from your entrance, all the way up to circle your clit. The sudden pleasure is white hot and travels up your whole body, making a moan drift off your tongue.

“That’s it bunny. You just lay there making all those pretty sounds. Make’s my fucking cock ache.”

Your pussy clenches at his words in their obscenity. And the fact that you have some effect on him turns you on beyond belief.

Then he breaks, finally diving into your pussy, licking and sucking with no mercy. Your back arches from the bed once more, chasing his tongue as it spoils your clit rotten. He rolls it into his mouth, lapping his tongue over and over again, the wet noises blaring into your ears.

You wrap your hand into his chocolate locks, pulling like they’re reigns, guiding his mouth down onto you. You moan his name as your legs wrap around his head, then releasing it through a shake. His lips continue, moving down to your entrance to suck up the arousal that drips out of you.

He takes the juices on his tongue, bringing them back up to your clit before drinking them down with a quivering moan. Your clit is throbbing now as his tongue gains in speed. Embarrassment is out the window now. Jake begins to absolutely devour you while you just lay there and take it.

You tug on his hair again, just to test the waters as he works you. He sighs again into your cunt, the vibrations settling you wild before he pulls away to say, “You taste so fucking good.”

He brings two fingers up now, teasing them over your entrance. A choked groan gasps out of you as he inches them in.

“Jake.”

He pauses, looking up at your face, amused by your flushed, out of breath state.

“I touched myself while you were gone. But my fingers- they weren't as big as yours- didn’t feel as good.”

“Aw that’s too bad, angel.”

He sinks an inch deeper and you cry out.

“You have my fingers… now.” He plunges both the digits deep into you with no warning. You cry out, your breath strangled and desperate. His fingers hit you so deep, stretching you out so good, just like how you remembered.

His name falls from your lips and he curls the fingers into you, hitting your g-spot with ease. His mouth reconnects too, tongue delivering small kitten licks to your clit. His hands pick up a slow rhythm.

The paired pleasure makes you tip your brows back, mouth opening in shock as the licks get sloppier, wetter. As his fingers start to thrust into you.

You bring both hands down into his hair, pulling him by it to get his face as close as possible. He groans into your pussy, licking a thick over your slit.

His thrusts get a little harder now, the painful dull ache melting into pleasure in a few moments. His mouth picks up speed, fully connected to you, kissing and licking any surface his hopeless tongue can find.

Your legs begin to shake now. Slowly, from deep within it like a faraway rumbling of a train. You start to slowly rock your hips into his face, his mouth moving with you.

He comes up for air, breathing in a struggled breath as he rasps, “That’s right. Fucking cum on my face. Be a good girl.”

With one final jab of his fingers into you, his mouth working alongside the rhyme, you burst.

Your eyes roll back as your hips lock in place, your whole body shaking. Your hands pull him to you, needing to feel him even closer, if that, possible. Your legs clamp around his head, pushing around his head and pull it down, cutting off his oxygen as you cum all over his face. You chant his name again and again, a sound he’ll remember and use as recollection for when he’s away. It flows off your tongue hurried and grating, syllables scraping for air.

In one quick second, his euphoric touch turns to pain, feeling white hot as you try to push his searching mouth away. You whine and hiss before he finally does, completely out of breath and fucked out.

It’s only then do you release how completely soaked he is, his face glistening with your cum. You lay back, exhausted, the twitching muscles in your legs slowly beginning to settle, your pussy convulsing and clenching around nothing. He tilts his head down to grant you one last lick, and laughs when you jolt and whimper.

“I missed you too Y/n. For the record.”

Taglist <3 - To join click here

@jazzyfigz @gold-mines-melting @musicislove3389 @valentine264 @jenniferkiszka @knoxious-dalton @torun-was-here @ageofmaglc @allof--mylove @fleetingjake @ff-liveyourlegend-ttiol @cheersdannyx2

#gretavanfleet #gvf #jake kiszka #jakekiszka #smut #jake kiszka fic #fluff #greta van fleet #jake gvf #jake kiszka x reader

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samdeancass · 10 months ago

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The New, Old Devil

Pairing: Castiel x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters: Lucifer, Y/N, Sam, Dean, Castiel

Description: Ever since Lucifer took over Cas's vessel, he can't help but wonder why Cas is so infatuated with Y/N, so he decides to take a look for himself.

The day you found out Castiel had said yes to Lucifer was the worst. It felt as though your heart had been ripped from your chest. You didn't know if you would see your Cas again or if Lucifer would ever let him go after this. You spent your days in your room, pitch black, with an empty place beside you where Cas should be. Sam and Dean were becoming increasingly worried about you; you hardly ever ate, and it wasn't enough when you did. You didn't really sleep and never came out of your room.

"I'm worried about her, Dean. This is the first time I've seen her like this. It's like she's a shell of who she used to be. Dean, we need to do something." Dean nods in response but with slumped shoulders. "I know we need to do something, but it's not as if he's just gonna waltz back in here, right?"

Coincidentally, the bunker sunk into a dark red hue, and the warning sirens sounded. Both the brothers stood and rushed from the kitchen towards your room. For the first time in a while, you stepped out into the hallway, completely bewildered by what was happening. "Guys, do we know what it is?" Just as Sam was about to answer, a low chuckle sounded from the end of the hallway. "It's not a what, angel; it's a who."

Your blood ran cold as you instantly knew who the voice belonged to, but a pang exploded in your chest at the pet nickname Cas calls you. Sam and Dean stood before you to shield you from Lucifer's eyes. "What are you doing here, Lucifer?" Dean growled as the devil began to stalk forward, keeping his eyes trained on you. "Well, I'm a little intrigued, actually. The little angel inside has not stopped rabbiting on about his love, and I wanted to come and see why, in fact, he loves you so much."

The brothers lunged forward at the devil, but he easily swooshed them away, sending them clanging into the surrounding walls. A sinister smile snuck onto his face as he was now toe to toe with you. Inside, you were screaming with fear but weren't about to let Lucifer know. He placed his hand on your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into it, recognizing Cas's warm, soft skin. "So beautiful and full of love." "Please let him go, Lucifer. I need him; I need my Castiel back." The fear inside you turned to sadness and anguish as you took in the form before you. He looked like Castiel and felt like Castiel, but he didn't sound like him. His whole demeanour had changed, and it was something that you weren't prepared for. Stray tears betrayed you and fell down your cheeks, the achiness of your heart becoming too much to handle.

The figure standing before you seemed to be having an internal battle with the two angels, one trying to keep control and the other trying to gain it. It began thrashing around, its eyes widening. Sam and Dean rose from where they were and ran towards you, wrapping you in their arms for protection. It suddenly stopped, and you warily looked over to see who had won. The eyes were squinted slightly with its head tilted and a small smile. "Hello, angel." You ran towards Cas and jumped on him, wrapping your arms and legs around him; he brought you closer into him with an arm around your waist and a hand on the back of your head.

"I've missed you so much, Cas. I've been so empty without you." Cas carefully placed you down and gently kissed your forehead. "I've missed you too, angel. But you know I can only stay briefly." Tears welled up again as your head slumped down. "I need you, Cas, here, with me and the boys." Cas glanced up and nodded at the brothers, acknowledging their presence. "Thank you both for taking such good care of her. I cannot repay you enough." They both nodded in response as he set his attention back on you. "I must do this, my love. I wanted to contribute to the fight; this was the only way I could think. I'll be back here soon enough. I love you so much, Y/N." He pressed a loving kiss to your lips before turning away and disappearing.

You turned to the brothers and ran into their arms, the only comforting solace you had left. You knew Cas would return to your arms soon, but it didn't stop your heart from aching for him.

Tags: @akshi8278

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel imagine #castiel fanfiction #castiel angst #castiel fluff #dean winchester #sam winchester #lucifer #lucifer spn #supernatural lucifer #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural angst #supernatural fluff

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year ago

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Chapter Seven: Tumble

summary: the one where everything changes.

warnings: oral, f receiving; unprotected p in v; 18+ (7k words)

eddie munson x pregnant!reader || strangers to friends to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, and then they were roommates, forced proximity.

masterlist | previous chapter, next chapter

——

“Say it again,” Eddie breathed out.

A little gasp. A beg. A pleading ask from his lips. Your back fell against his bed, fingers clutched in the buttons of his shirt, trying to work them out of their respective holes as his mouth worked along the flesh of your throat.

“I want you,” you told him, all senses of hesitation tossed out the window.

Heat bloomed low in your belly as he ripped the rest of the buttons on his shirt free, bare arms sliding from the holes as the shirt fluttered to the floor in a heap. Curious fingers inched up to touch his warm skin — to run over the lines of his tattoos, the curves of his arms, the softness of his abdomen.

Without a second thought, Eddie clutched at your hips and dragged you down to the edge of the bed, fingers gliding along the flesh of your thighs, toying with the fabric of your emerald green dress. With a teasing grin, you reached down and gripped one of his hands. Dragged it up the inside of your thigh, where he found you already bared for him, umber eyes darkening in the light provided by his bedside lamp.

“No underwear? This is all for me, sweetheart?” He asked, middle finger trailing through your slick, teasing at your sensitive center. At the first brush of his digit against your hole your back arched, a high and needy moan spilling from you. “Been dreaming about touching you like this again.”

Eddie lowered himself to his knees at the foot of the bed, hair tugged back into a messy ponytail as he stared down at you like he’d never seen anything so pretty — like he’d never wanted anything more.

A man starved, ready to feast.

He pressed a teasing kiss to the inside of your thigh, fingers pushing up the dress higher on your thighs, a hum spilling from him when you were fully bared.

“Can I kiss you here? Wanna make you feel good.”

You’re nodding, nearly weeping with anticipation, just as the flat of his tongue glided through your folds. A dangerous lick from center to clit, fingers clutched tight in bedsheets, forearm falling over your face to try and muffle your moans.

“No one is here, Buttercup. I want to hear you.”

Eddie’s voice vibrated against your clit. The heat of a finger teased at your center, sliding in up to the knuckle, a garbled cry pitching from your lungs when he added a second. That had him satisfied, one palm curling around your thigh to spread you further for him, the other working in and out of you in a tempo you were certain was meant to drive you to your swiftly approaching orgasm faster than ever before in your life.

“Yes, Eddie,” you cried out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he curled his fingers within you in a way that had you seeing stars. “Right there. Like that likethatlikethat —”

Eddie expertly sucked and flicked at your sensitive clit until you were panting, gripping at the curls along the back of his head, hips wriggling up into his eager face. Wanting more — needing more.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he hummed, mouth popping off of your clit, fingers still sliding in and out, in and out in that torturous rhythm that had you creeping closer and closer to release. “So pretty, sweetheart. So fucking pretty. I’ve been thinking about you like this for so long. Thought a lot about how my name sounds on those pretty lips when I’m making you feel like this. Please say my name. Please, Buttercup.”

“Eddie,” you whimpered, “Eddie, ohgod, I want you inside me.”

“I will. I promise.” His hand curled around your thigh slid across your lap, stilling your hips from where they writhed against the mattress. “I’ll die if I don’t get inside you soon. But I want you to come on my fingers first. Wanna watch you.”

“I — mmm — I’m close,” you said, thighs fighting to close around Eddie’s shoulders, his elbow sliding out a bit to keep your thigh spread wide enough for him as you started to shake.

You come hard with a scream of his name, body trembling beneath him as your orgasm rippled through your form, leaving you gasping against bed sheets, repeating his name over and over again like a prayer.

Satisfied grin on his face, Eddie crawled up the bed and dropped down onto his side near your head, your body rolling immediately to seek him out. Body draped over his leisurely, you kiss him, his lips still tasting of you, making that throb in your center spark to life again. Eddie smiled into it, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, wanting to be nearer to him. And then nearer still.

“Eddie, your pants are still on,” you noted, fingers trailing down the front of his chest, toying with the patch of hair descending down beyond the waistline.

“Are you gonna take me out, pretty girl?”

The words have your belly swooping, heart fluttering wildly behind your ribcage as you slide down a bit on the mattress and hastily undo the buckle of his belt. It tugged free with a hard pull, tossed immediately onto the floor alongside his discarded shirt.

Clambering to your feet, you pulled your own dress up and over your head, revealing the dark slip you’d worn beneath, lace detailing the outline of your breasts, falling just to the tops of your thighs. Eddie’s jaw dropped at the sight, his fingers making quick work of his pants, leaving him lying there in nothing more than a pair of black boxers.

Eddie lifted himself up to sit and grab onto your hand, fingers curling tight around yours. Drew you against his lap, your knees splayed on either side of his hips, one of his hands pressed over your lower back to keep you in place.

“Is this new?” he asked, nosing along the delicate strap high on your shoulder, warm kisses dotting your flesh. “I was obsessed with your body before, but holy shit, sweetheart.”

At your affirming smile, he pushed the strap down and laved a gentle path of his tongue along the top of your breast, grinning against your skin as your hips wiggled against him, a soft sigh falling unbidden from your lips.

“Lift up,” he said, nibbling along your jaw as you rose up onto your knees. “Do you want it like this?”

“Yes.”

The word fell from you in a rush, your hand dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers to cup him as he slipped them down off his thighs, his breath stuttering out a low whine as you ran your finger over the tip, gathering the precum there. Pumping him in hand once, twice, you ran his cock along your pussy and shuddered with him as you lowered yourself inch by inch onto him, gasping when he bottomed out and clutched at your thighs to hold you there.

For many nights you dreamed of this. Dreamed of roaming hands and sensual kisses. Of Eddie inside of you, so immensely full you couldn’t hardly breathe with it. The sounds he made, so similar to those he made now beneath you. But nothing prepared you for the immensity of this moment — of how incredible and right it felt.

“Oh god.” His hands clutched harder against your thighs, helping you shift your hips as you rocked over him, relishing in the feeling of him impossibly and deliciously thick against your inner walls. “You feel so good, baby. Take what you need. Just like that.”

“So f - full,” you moaned, head rolling back, hardened nipples brushing against his chest, sending a curling heat low within your belly. Eddie grinned at the way your movements stuttered on his lip, hips rolling up into yours, his teeth clamping on your shoulder. “Like that — yeahyeahyeah — please, Eddie.”

“So pretty like this.” A nimble finger slid across the expanse of your hip, glided low, circling your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

He circled again and again, applying that perfect amount of pressure that had you barely moving on his lap, head swimming. “Mmm — ahh, can’t move while you’re doing that. Feels too good.”

“Then don’t move,” he ground out, rolling you both over gently onto your back, curls spilling about his face, brushing yours.

You whined at the loss of him, eyes glancing down long enough to watch him grip himself in hand before sliding back in, robbing you of air at the change in positions.

“Oh shit.”

Fingers clutched at his broad back, gripped right as he dropped onto his elbows, careful to put all his weight on you, hips snapping against yours, his body driving you further up the mattress with every pump of his hips, inching closer to climax.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I’m not going to last much longer.” He leaned down and kissed you. Claimed your mouth with his, your own hips rising to meet his, fanning that flame between you two into an inferno. “Pussy’s perfect. So good. Made for me. Come on, sweetheart. Come with me.”

“Eddie!”

You cried his name out around shaky breaths, heart skipping as pleasure rippled through your body, cunt clenching down hard against him. His warmth filled you, sending you further into blissfulness.

He cursed above you, body falling beside yours with a loud groan. You rolled over weakly, head resting over his chest where you could hear his heart pounding almost as fast as your own.

“Hi,” you whispered, bursting into giddy giggles, body still trembling within the cradle of his arms.

“Hey, beautiful,” he echoed, inhaling deeply to catch his breath, your head rising and falling with the movement. “That was…”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, that’s, ah, putting it lightly.” He chuckled, looping his arms tighter around your form. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Your head lifted from his chest, brows arched high on your forehead. “What do you mean?”

“I am not done with you,” he mused, rolling you over a bit so his body hovered over your own. “I plan on doing this again.” He dropped a kiss on your breast. “And again.” To your shoulder. “And again.” Your forehead. “If that’s okay with you?” At your nodded reply, he leaned down and kissed you.

And then made good on his promises.

——

Over the next several days, Eddie made sure to worship every inch of your body. To make sure you knew just how much he adored you, showering you in endless kisses and affection. And you hadn’t minded one bit. Settled into your new normalcy, if one could call it that, easily.

You’d both work and carry about your usual days and when you got home there was an air of tension. A coil of desire that wound up tight throughout dinner, only to detonate as you later found one another in the hallway after you ate, bodies falling together like they were always made to.

Soon enough, it was endless whimpered cries against doorways. Writhing bodies amidst the blankets on Eddie’s bed. Hands slapping tiles in the bathroom, holding yourself upright as he slid home from behind. It was humming as you worked on the dishes in the sink, and Eddie’s heat settling at your back. Slithered fingers between legs and mewling as skirts you wore for work were flipped up and you were bent over the counter, or the couch, or the table.

On nights where you were left satiated and curled in his arms, you’d settle into conversation. His likes and dislikes. His future ideas for campaigns, your thoughts on the movies you’d curl up together and watch on the nights the weather was poor and he ended up rubbing your feet in his lap. Dreamed about the upcoming months. Talk about hopes for Elena.

“I’d like for you to come to our first tour date with her, if you could,” Eddie said one evening, fingers trailing up and down your spine, grinning at the shiver he elicited from you. “It’s in the city. We could get her some ridiculous headphones. I just…I help write my music, that’s my creation. But then —” He trailed his palm along the hill of your belly fondly. “I helped create her too. Would be cool to have some of the things I love most in the world together all at once.”

Neither of you broached the topic of tour often. The reality was you had so long before he inevitably left and you hardly needed to worry about then, and even so, this was the first time he mentioned you coming out to see him. Not that you ever doubted he would, as you’d seen him play at the Hideout, got to see his passion play out on the stage and finally make you understand why he’d pursued it for so long.

He was talented — incredibly so, and you often wondered if Elena might one day pick up the musical habit, or your writing one. Wondered what her own likes and dislikes would be, what her little personality would be like, if she’d be more like you or Eddie.

“She’ll be six months then,” you said, running your nose along his. “I think we could make it work.”

“I want you there too, you know?” he said, dropping a kiss against your forehead. “In case you were unsure. I want both my girls in the crowd.”

Neither of you spoke of what this all meant. The endless kissing. The affectionate touching. Falling into bed together. You simply allowed it to be — to breathe. Maybe it was poor planning on your part, or his, but you preferred it this way. Gave yourself the breadth to accept the growing feelings you felt. The fear that often accompanied them.

And maybe it was foolish. Maybe you’d live to regret it, but it worked for those blissful weeks. Those weeks where you laughed and loved and learned one another, March melting into April, as you swiftly approached twenty-seven weeks.

“Eddie?” you called into the home one evening, heart thundering away behind your ribcage. Your shoes were discarded on the rug below, jacket tossed onto the coat rack a moment later. “Eddie, where are you?!”

The place was quiet, Eddie off for the evening after he’d woken up with a bit of a migraine and didn’t think he’d be able to tinker around with cars all day. From where you stood you could hear the gentle hum of the television — one of Eddie’s shows coming through the speakers.

“What’s wrong?” He rushed down the hall, pulling you into his arms, checking you over from head to toe for any injury or signs of discomfort. “Is it the baby? Do we need to go to the doctor?”

Your head shook frantically, words falling in a rushed breath, “Nancy called me at the school. She — they loved the book. I should be hearing from them soon, she said.”

You still couldn’t believe it. Had hardly believed what the woman was saying when she called, too eager to wait for you to get home from work to tell you the news. But the woman had nearly shouted the news, so proud of your accomplishments that you’d yet to even accept were your present reality.

“I knew it!” Eddie exclaimed, swooping down to press his lips against yours, hand curling around the back of your head. “I knew they’d see how crazy talented you are. I’m so proud of you, Buttercup.”

Soon enough, you were celebrating over dinner at Enzo’s. Eddie’s treat. You clinked your mocktail against his own drink, cheersing to your news. To your successes — both of yours. Eddie, with his music really beginning to take off. You, with your writing.

And to your future as parents.

“To being there and standing by the other as our dreams come true,” Eddie stated, running a thumb over the back of your hand.

“To our dreams,” you echoed, sliding a hand over your midsection, “and our dream girl.”

Your little girl who, though unexpected, was a catalyst for your motivation behind it all. To be someone that Elena would look up to one day, someone she could be proud of, want to aspire to be.

The girl you envisioned some nights, with her bubbling laughter, Eddie’s hair, your smile, and both your hearts. The best parts of both of you combined into one little person, only a few months from meeting now.

He nodded. “Our dream girl.”

——

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi,” you laughed, rolling over to face the man.

“No, shhh,” he hushed, the palm sprawled over your belly spreading further. “I’m talking to Elena.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I leave the room?” you teased, watching as his eyes rolled at your suggestion.

“I read talking to her is good,” he said with a little frown. “I just want her to recognize me when she’s born, you know?”

“She will,” you promised, cupping his cheek in hand. “She already does. Moves a ton whenever she hears your voice. I think she likes it.”

“I just…with me going on tour when she’s so young, I don’t want her to forget it,” he said, thumb stroking along your skin beneath your satin night dress. “I — I hardly remember my mom’s voice. Would kill me if Elena ever doubted how much I care about her.”

A sigh expelled from your lungs at the heartache in his words. The anguish he still often felt after losing someone who had meant the world to him and always would. Couldn’t fathom what it must be like, having pictures of a face, but losing the recollection of their voice. The tone of it when rounded with the words ‘I love you’ that everyone deserved to hear at least once daily.

“I don’t think she could ever doubt how much you love her. I see it every day. She’ll know, Eddie. You’ll make sure she knows.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“And plus, I’m bringing Elena with me to your nearby shows,” you reminded him, smiling when she shifted against his palm. “See, she wants us to go. Can’t wait to see her dad in action.”

“Not with the music you play for her,” he teased, dropping his lips down lower against your skin, loudly whispering, “It’s okay, once your mom goes to sleep I’ll play real music for you.”

“Hey! Steve likes ABBA too,” you laughed, remembering how Eddie walked in on you earlier, cleaning dishes and singing along to one of their songs.

The man had the gall to snort, fingers combing roughly through his messy curls. “I do have to say that Steve is a highly questionable source for good music.”

“You like some of the songs I’ve played you,” you retorted, his lips tugging upward into a smile.

“Ever think I just like you and relationships sometimes require compromise?” He said it so softly, so quietly, sincere umber eyes on yours, that little dimple in his cheek making your stomach clench.

Relationship. A word neither of you discussed. Even so, was it too far a stretch of the imagination to accept that this was what that was? And yet, your heart still pounded at the word. Chest tightened with the weight of what that entailed. The vulnerability they required.

What it meant.

“Right,” you said, forcing a smile onto your lips.

Luckily not for long, because Eddie leaned back down and continued to talk to his daughter, telling her a ‘bedtime story’ that only resulted in your eyes growing tired as you tried to push aside the fear wrapping right around your neck.

——

“So now you’re not only living with baby daddy, but you’re sleeping with him too,” Micah squealed down the line, and from where you were standing, watching Eddie work on putting together the baby’s mobile at the kitchen table, you could only assume she was bouncing up and down in her apartment. “I am so so happy. God, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you sighed, wanting nothing more than to see one of the only parts of the city you now find yourself missing on any given day. “I really wish you could visit — maybe before the baby is born. Or after. She’s going to want to meet her favorite aunt, you know?”

“I’m going to try, babe,” she said, just as Jeremiah’s voice sounded in the background. “Hey, I’m so sorry. I have to go. Jere and I have a wedding to get to.”

“That’s okay! Eddie and I are headed to a birthing class recommended by one of our friends,” you told her, chuckling to yourself. “I can’t believe I even said that. Who would have thought? Me — of all people.”

“Oh gosh, my friend Stacy went to one of those recently. The instructor was dressed as a clown,” she said, giggling brightly. “Or…she might have said they were a clown? But seriously, babe? Of all the people I know, you’ll be the best mom. Always giving so much of yourself.”

Only it had gotten you hurt so many times in the past. There was an awareness it would be different with Elena. Elena, who presently relied on you for everything — and would continue to do so after her arrival. Someone who would love you unconditionally, someone who knew you more intimately than most, and would for years to come. The weight of the realization was startling, and yet you’d never been more excited to meet her.

“Thank you, Micah.” You leaned your back against the wall, watching as Eddie finally finished his current project. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Talk soon. Love you, babe.”

“Love you more.”

The phone clicked and you turned to face Eddie, his keys already in one hand, mobile in the other. You watched as he slipped from the room with a nod and into Elena’s room, before joining you once more in the kitchen, holding out a hand for you to take.

“Are you ready for this?” you asked, knowing Eddie had been a little nervous when Chrissy suggested that by nearly seven months you might want to consider going to a class. You knew it made things a little more real for him, knowing in just a few months he’d be welcoming his daughter into the world.

“Do these classes really help?”

Your hand remained in his as you walked out to the car, his hand reaching for the door handle to help you in, closing it behind you with a loud slam. He appeared in the driver’s seat a moment later, dark eyes flashing in the afternoon light.

“I mean, I feel like I’m going to be pretty useless anyway. Other than holding your hand, I feel kind of shitty knowing you’ll be the one in pain while I just kind of, I don’t know, cheer you on.”

“Honestly, I really only wanted to try it because Chrissy and Steve said it was very helpful. And centering? Not only for Chrissy at the time, but for them both as a couple during the actual birth. So I figured…”

“I mean, I’m willing to try anything in life at least once, so,” Eddie said, shrugging as you buckled yourself in.

You weren’t even sure you wanted Eddie in the room up until a few weeks ago after a heated conversation with Chrissy.

“Wait — you don’t want him in the delivery room? This is his first baby. Yours too. This is a beautiful, monumental moment.”

“It’s going to be a war zone down there. I would like for him to remember the finer times, like Halloween.”

“You are so dramatic, and so is he. Match made in heaven, really.”

“All I’m saying is, I would like for him to have fond memories.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think he’d also like to have fond memories of meeting his baby girl for the first time?”

But after consideration, and the time spent over the past weeks with him, you knew he deserved to be there. Needed to be there.

The building itself was no more than a small studio. As you entered, you noted the other couples situated on different mats along the floor, the two of you meandering in a little late. A bored worker at the front desk had you sign in and told you both to take a place on the floor, and immediately you sensed the chill in the air. The nervousness that welled up as Eddie and you dropped down onto the mat.

He looked…frustratingly handsome, and the added effect of him in too-tight black jeans, with his black tee shirt revealing tattooed arms, and those endlessly ringed fingers wasn’t exactly needed for a birthing class that you knew would be running two hours long.

“Why are you giving me that look?” Eddie asked, fingers still tangled with yours against his thigh.

“What look?”

“That look.” He leaned his head down to your ear, his curls tickling at the top of your cheekbone.

“If you must know, you look very nice. And it’s annoying me, because we have two hours before we can get back home and I can do something about it. Happy?”

You harrumphed, leaning against his side as your birthing instructor for the evening came out, wearing a rainbow of colors all over their frame, hair up in a bun and fixed into place with a sparkly pen.

“Welcome, welcome! So good seeing you all this evening. My name is Heidi, shall we begin?”

The class started with preliminary information. Things to understand about and during the process, what to expect, how long it might take, different procedures done in order to help assist birth and the like. It wasn’t until a few moments after her introductory session that she drew everyone’s attention to the television against the wall and pushed in the VHS tape.

“Oh no. Eddie, don’t look!” you gasped, reaching up to clap a hand over Eddie’s eyes when a woman appeared on the screen, screaming through what looked to be a painful contraction as a doctor counted down from ten. His fingers reached up to push your hand away, those eyes of his landing on yours, apologetic horror in his eyes. “I told you not to look. I didn’t want you to see the future.”

The movie, fortunately enough, ended soon thereafter, the room descending into silence as the instructor pushed the television away and settled down onto her own mat, her hands clasped together in her lap, a too-wide smile on her face for someone who just watched the miracle of life in all its fullness seconds ago.

“Well, now. Wasn’t that beautiful? The strength and tenacity of the women in our lives, so fully displayed through the blessed agony of childbirth.”

“Blessed…agony?” Eddie asked, chuckling from behind you, making you snort.

“Is there something funny about that?” Heidi asked, blue eyes flashing up to Eddie’s face. The other couples about the room shifted to look as he lifted a hand and rubbed it against the back of his neck. “Your lovely partner here — I am assuming she is your partner — will be enduring that same process in a few months. Will it be funny then?”

“I…uh…well…no?” Eddie stammered, hear burning red at the tops of his cheeks.

“I didn’t think so,” she said, tipping her head back and resuming, “Now, for this next portion of the class I would like for us to start on our hands and knees, with our partners behind us.”

“What the fuck did Chrissy sign us up for?” you whisper hissed up at Eddie, getting into proper positioning, earning a shrug. “Blessed agony of childbirth? Does she not realize my downstairs is about to be ripped wide open like the Red Sea?”

“Sweetheart, please,” he chuckled a little nervously, knees carrying him across the mat until his hips settled behind your backside, the heat of him making you bite your bottom lip, stifling a tiny moan. He gave an experimental roll against you at your reaction, the rest of the room still busying themselves with getting settled. Eddie’s smug grin when you looked over your shoulder made you grimace. “Are you seriously horny right now?”

“I will kill you,” you barked out, though there was no anger there, only pure want.

“In early labor, I like this position for alleviating back pain. And it’s here we are going to focus on belly breathing. Partners, you can assist by counting, as well as running your hand along their back, lower spine. Anywhere that will bring comfort to your partner as they breathe through their contractions.”

“Pretty sure my partner will be within an inch of punching me in the dick for knocking her up, but okay, Heidi,” Eddie whispered near your ear as Heidi began counting you through your first long inhale and exhale, your body rising and falling with the deep breath.

You broke off into a fit of giggles, earning a harsh glare from the woman. “You two seem to be having an awfully good time back there.”

You swallowed, paused in your current breath as Eddie’s hand playfully swatted your backside. You nearly elbowed him, cheeks hurting from your grin. “I’ve heard laughing is good during labor?” You shrugged in explanation.

The class continued in that position for a few minutes. Practicing the long deep inhales in, and the slow exhales out, Eddie’s palm gliding up and over your back, despite the fact you weren’t in any actual pain. Heidi had you all continue with that until satisfied, before announcing the next exercise, which happened to be bouncing on a blow up ball.

You missed the whole explanation for it, because as soon as you clambered on top and Eddie held your hands to steady you, he’d teased you, saying, “Bet this one is reminding you of last night when you looked so pretty bouncing on my c —”

“Hey, Eddie?” you started, stepping off of the ball and hoisting it into the air playfully.

Heidi gasped. “Munson team! That is not the proper use of the birthing ball!”

“You mean I don’t get to toss it at my obnoxious partner’s head?” you jokingly asked as you got back on, bouncing in front of him, and most definitely not thinking about how he’d eaten you out after dinner the night before, and then you’d tackled him on the couch, craving dessert.

Lastly, Heidi announced your next position, which she liked to call ‘birthing position.’

“Now, partners, you’re going to sit behind. While mothers will sit in front, and you’re going to bring your knees up to your chest. Think of it as your baby saying hello to the world for the first time.”

The words were a breathy whisper, all dramatic waving fingers, and wide eyed wonder. As if she hadn’t just said you’d be spread-eagled for all to see so your baby could give a big wave hello as they made their grand entrance to the world.

“I am most definitely not,” you said numbly, back thumping against Eddie’s chest. “Chrissy and Steve are so dead because of this. Pretty sure women have been giving birth for ages without bending themselves like a pretzel and spreading their thighs wide for all the class to see.”

“As your contractions quicken and intensify, you will begin transitioning from your belly breathing, to these, as we like to call them, hee-hee-hoo breaths.”

She began demonstrating for the class. A constant three turn breathing technique that she then had you all mimic, your head pressed snugly into Eddie’s chest as he held you within his arms, trying not to laugh at the annoyed furrow of your brows.

“I would like you to now visualize your cervix stretching and stretching and stretching as you push your baby through your birth canal.”

“Can she stop with all the stretching?” you grunted through your panted breath, Eddie’s sides shaking in his laughter. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad —”

“You two, again.” Heidi clapped her hands together, shaking her head. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave, on account of disrupting my class.”

“We are so very sorry, everyone.” Eddie helped you to your feet, bowing with a dramatic flourish of his arm. “We wish you all good luck and congrats.”

And you were gone, giggling together as you rushed out the front doors, falling into the car in a flurry of heated kisses and wandering hands. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, his hand curled around your cheek. “So, how prepared for birth do we feel after that?”

“I think we’ll be fine, as long as you keep me laughing like you did back there,” you said, lips brushing his once more.

He flashed you that dimpled smile, the dangerous one that had your heart softening more and more every day. “I can definitely do that.”

——

Seven months finally rolled around, body aching a little more than it previously had, sleep coming a little less easily. With the weather warming, you had to go shopping as well, finally having officially grown out of most of your clothes. Presently, you were seated near the headboard of Eddie’s bed, your back positioned against a mountain of pillows, Eddie down the hall in the bathroom as you read your book.

It happened to be a romance about a seamstress and her childhood best friend, who also happened to be a Viscount. Forbidden, by societal expectations of marriage — and yet she’d been so keenly aware of the affection growing between them, that they eventually found they couldn’t deny themselves their love any longer.

He was pushing her up onto his office desk when Eddie entered the room, eyes flickering up to your face, noting the way your thighs slid together a bit. He leaned down on the bed with one knee, lips sliding over yours in a gentle kiss as he laid back against the endless pillows, content on merely being by you. Returning to your page, you felt Eddie sidle up against your hip, his ringed palm running over the hoodie covering your midsection, and then trailing lower against your bare thigh.

You remain like that for a while, nothing but the sound of your pages turning to keep you both company, just as the Viscount pulled his best friend into a dressing room and hiked her skirts up over her thighs, mouths clashing heatedly and fingers sliding into her pussy with a growl that had your breath hitching in the back of your throat, as Eddie’s fingers started toying with the edge of your sleep shorts, dangerously close to the wet patch forming on the front of your panties.

Your eyes jerked upward to Eddie’s face as he settled himself between your thighs, pushing at the shorts covering your sex, thumb trailing over your clit until you whined. He looked downright starved, his rapid breath fanning along your skin.

You moved to place your book down, but Eddie shook his head, dark eyes narrowing in on your cunt as his tongue licked across his bottom lip.

“Keep reading, Buttercup,” he murmured slowly, nearly dropping your book as he peeled your underwear away and dragged his tongue along your center. You were already close, heart hammering as his tongue circled your clit just the way you liked. But he stopped when your paperback thumped against your chest, fingers moving to clutch at his dark curls. “Come on, baby. I don’t see your eyes moving over that page.”

His tongue moved back over your flesh as you opened your closed book, resuming where you’d left off as the Viscount turned his lover to face the wall and sunk inside, filthy words spoken between the two of them that had your toes curling, just as the man between your thighs pushed his fingers inside.

“So wet for me, sweetheart,” he cooed, kissing at the inside of your thigh, laying a loving nip into it.

Your eyes started to water as the page blurred, words becoming harder to read at the way Eddie sucked at your clit, fingers seeking out that secret part of you only he’d been able to find. Thighs trembled around his shoulders, fighting to close as your book fell again.

“Eddie,” you whined, nearly crying with want when he stopped again, head pulling away from your sex with a teasing smirk lining his glistening lips. “Eddie —”

At your needy little cry he tossed your book to the side, pushed his gray sweats down, pumped his cock twice and slipped inside, completely eradicating the words you’d read and putting to shame the dreamy Viscount.

——

For the first time in a long time, life seemed perfect.

In a sort of worrying, but-maybe-you’d-be-better-off-ignoring-it-kind-of-way. Or at least, that was what you’d rationalized for so long. Tucked away any of those daunting fears that plagued your dreams. Pretended that you knew exactly where all of these lines would lead to.

You’d spent the better portion of the day at Steve and Chrissy’s, enjoying the warmer May weather with what you assumed to be the first of many barbecues. Had found yourself overjoyed all evening, Eddie’s hands reaching out to touch you whenever he got a chance, drawing the attention of your friends.

Neither of you said anything in regards to the curious glances. All had assumed something was going on, despite the fact a name hadn’t really been placed on the budding relationship.

Even so, it had been an afternoon of laughter and sharing good food. Of the guys clinking their beer bottles together, sharing in an inside joke, arms around the other’s shoulders, heads bent low in conversation. You and your girl friends chatting about your upcoming shopping plans, Chrissy and Robin teasing at your upcoming baby shower (because they clearly couldn’t keep secrets). Recounting your week, talking about new things that may have occurred in the days spent apart, Steve and you getting excited for the school year to almost be over.

And as the sun set over Hawkins, and the two of you eventually headed back home, you realized how terrifyingly important Eddie had become to you these months living with him. The one person you ran to for everything. The one who had been a constant support to you, a confidant, a reassurance, the one you woke up to every morning and fell asleep next to every night. The father of your baby, the person who made your stomach flutter and heart race. The one who made you question if your fears were for naught after all.

Eddie led you into the home with a hand curled around your wrist, whirled you around and pressed you into the doorway, the lock snagging with a resounding schlick into place. And then he was on you, hands fisting in the material of your sundress, thigh pressing into your center, a low moan rumbling from his lips when he found you already bare and slick for him there.

“You walked around like this all afternoon?” he practically purred, leg shifting as you ground against it with a dirty whine, fingers coming up to clutch greedily at his biceps. “Wanted me to just flip your skirt up and have you like this all afternoon, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm,” you sighed, breaking off with a keen as those fingers teased at your sensitive flesh.

He walked you backwards down the hall, leading you to his bedroom, where you knew you’d spend the remainder of the evening, bodies curled together as tight as two people could possibly be.

Soon enough, you were easing him out of his tee shirt and jeans. Tossed them onto the floor haphazardly. He slipped your dress off your frame and kissed you soundly, praises of your beauty on his lips, of how lucky he was to have you. To know you, to be with you.

Soon enough, you were arching your back for him, whining low and desperate as he slipped in from behind slowly, toes curling at the feeling of him so impossibly deep, a hand pressed to your impossibly warm back, the other curled around your waist to rub along your clit, his voice ragged as he stated he wouldn’t last long.

“Let go,” you rasped, the sound of your slick and his hips slapping against the backs of yours hitting you like a freight train, orgasm shattering through you like a bolt of lightning, teeth clenched tight against your bottom lip as you came. “Want to feel you, Ed.”

“Oh fuckfuckfuck —” He groaned, chest bowing over your back, lips dancing along the line of your spine.

He lowered you down carefully to the mattress, a soft kiss at your forehead making you ache with his affection, those perfect fingers of his running along the lines of your face. He whispered for you to stay still as he shifted off the bed and slipped from the room and grabbed a rag, easing your legs apart gently when he returned, insistent on cleaning you up.

He was all tender. Little whispers as he ran along your too-sensitive flesh. Heated kisses as he tossed the towel into a hamper and dragged your body close again, nose running along the side of yours, fingers cupping the back of your head.

He held you like a secret. Like a beautiful gem he wanted to keep hidden from the world. Something so infinitely precious. You grew heavier in the comfort of his arms, body twined tight around his own, your head on his chest and his arms around your waist.

Tucked away from the world, you remained like that as tiredness creeped along the edges of your vision. As your dreams beckoned you further, with nothing but Eddie’s soft breathing to guide you there.

And then, as you nearly slipped out of consciousness completely, you heard it.

Words that changed everything. Words that dropped like lead into your stomach.

“I love you, Buttercup.”

——

please, please, please let me know what you think. needing some positive vibes out there, as my health has kind of gotten bad again. you all make it a lot better, and i’m so grateful for that. means the world to me. 🩷

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #dad!eddie munson x pregnant!reader

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sunflowersandsapphires · 4 months ago

Text

What Goes Up

Small Creatures, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings: swearing, Matt being a grump, Matt doubting himself, mentions of canon typical violence, one very brief mention of vomit, fluff

a/n: HI EVERYONE! I am so sorry for being so absent this month. I dislocated my knee, spent 2 months getting a doctor to agree to fix my dislocated knee, and also bought a house. What a time. ANYWAYS here are two of my loves for you all to enjoy. This chapter is mostly Matt.

w/c: 4.1k

A soft breeze waltzed over your skin, making a skipping sound as it hopped around you. It whirled toward him, carrying the subtle powdery scent of your skin, the aroma left behind from various soaps and lotions.

It mingled with the smell of freshly cooked pasta, tomatoes and salt, the taste of potatoes bursting across his tongue. A source of deadly comfort, like the magnetic pull of unconsciousness when one is bleeding out. Warm and tempting–with a jagged, perilous edge.

Thudding steadily, your pulse looped through his ears. Too quick for his liking, but solid and real nonetheless.

“...did you feel it?” Your heart thumped consistently, providing a ticking rhythm underneath your question.

“Yes.” He murmured, in awe of your ethereal presence. Something about you seemed intangible and hazy, as if you were made of mist.

“So, that means we're...” Your pulse grew louder, booming in his ears as your body flooded with adrenaline. Inhaling sharply, Matt grimaced as the acrid taste of cortisol slipped beneath the weight of carbs on his tongue.

Across from him, you began to fold in on yourself, breath coming in rapid pants. Panic flared in his own chest. A shrill whistle somersaulted in his ears, piercing the soft tissue of his ear drum. The mouthful of pasta he had yet to swallow dissipated into tiny, ashen granules. As he took a harsh breath, his throat constricted, his lungs fighting for air.

“We’re…” You repeated, your mellow voice distorted by the thundering in your rib cage. With each sprinting beat of your heart, you trembled, bones rattling together like chattering teeth.

Someone was choking. He couldn’t tell which of you it was–too distracted by the sound of crackling, gasping breaths.

Continuing to hunch over, you backed away from him, afraid. The muscles in your legs creaked as you tensed up, desperate to escape him. Your terror was palpable, sticking to him with invisible barbs, forcing distance between you.

Oh Matty, He flinched as a gnarled hand gripped his shoulder. His former mentor’s hoarse, mocking tone freezing him in place. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Love is a death sentence, nothin’ more.

Warmth spread over his fingers as a thick, crimson liquid seeped toward him. He scrambled away from the slick puddle, angling his head away from the metallic smell as it drew tears from his eyes. The blood wasn’t his. It wasn’t his.

With a jolt, Matt erupted out of bed, a gurgling echo repeating in his ears. His lungs ached as he fought to catch his breath. Clenching fistfuls of silk sheets, he rested his forehead atop his knees, exhales coasting over the goosebumps dotting his flesh. With a shudder, he ripped free of the tangled blankets, toppling out of bed.

Water. He needed water. Something to clear the charred taste of blood and flour from his throat.

Dragging himself into the kitchen, he fumbled for a glass with clammy hands, nearly dropping it in the process. Pull yourself together, kid.

His teeth ground together in frustration as Matt tossed back a mouthful of lukewarm tap water, ignoring the horridly familiar metallic taste. Carefully setting the cup on his counter, his pinky brushed against the edge of a scrap of paper before he recoiled guiltily.

Your business card. Rather, the card you’d given him “in case he needed to contact you.”

In a moment of overwhelming optimism, he’d scanned the sliver of cardstock with a screen reader, noting the number on his laptop. After a drink, or three, he’d mustered the nerve to call. It was possible the voices in his head were blowing your reaction out of proportion and you truly wanted him to reach out.

Or so he’d hoped, until reaching an automated “out of service” message instead of a politely nervous photographer. Twice.

Slamming a thumb down to end the call, he’d hurled the card across the room, where it had fluttered to a halt on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t been man enough to truly throw it away.

Of course it was a fake number. You didn’t want him. Who on earth would ever want him? You felt obligated to thank a stranger because he’d saved you from serious harm. Isn’t that exactly what you’d said?

“I just wanted to show my appreciation for the other night.”

Matt should’ve known better than to let his hopes run wild.

Murdock men weren’t destined for love. They had the Devil in them, just like his grandmother always said, and there was no way anyone out there would ever choose the Devil.

Turning his palms to the ceiling, Matt squeezed his eyelids shut, hoping the motion would clear the disgusting gritty feeling he’d been battling for hours after the dream. Losing sleep always dried his eyes out, every blink irritating them further. Add another night without rest, and he started suppressing migraines. He was in for a treat this week, no doubt.

The solution was less simple than it seemed. He wasn’t choosing to lay awake for hours on end thinking about you. He’d much rather lose consciousness than relive the horrific sound of your voice cracking, your anxious pulse when he’d grabbed your hand without thinking. You were terrified of him. Rightfully so, he supposed. You’d had the misfortune of meeting him as Daredevil.

If things were different, if you’d met him as Matt Murdock, maybe it would’ve worked out. Maybe he could’ve locked the suit away, pursued another path. But that wasn’t God’s plan.

With an aching arm, Matt stretched towards his nightstand as he blearily fumbled for the compact plastic clock residing on it. Grasping it with one hand, he pressed the button along its side, grimacing at the mechanical voice that screamed back at him.

“SIX OH TWO A.M.”

A more reasonable waking time than when he’d checked two hours ago. Digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he groaned as the muscles in his abdomen bulged against bruised skin. Dozens of broken blood vessels stretched with his torso as he sat up, protesting the whole way. He’d be lucky if he could walk without constant wincing. Foggy was going to kill him.

The short walk between his loft and the office cemented his sour mood. Navigating the city with a cane was frustrating on a good day–the infamous New York City apathy leading to people tripping over the thing, ramming into him from every direction, and screaming at him for using a mobility aid. Heaven forbid disabled people live in urban areas. Didn’t they know random Wall Street broker number 7 had places to be?

Gritting his teeth against every jostling movement and snippy comment, Matt nearly howled back when a massive dog tackled him against a shop window, barking angrily at him and slobbering all over his tie as the owner tried to pull the creature off his hips.

“He’s friendly, I promise!” She yelled over the deafening roar of the dog, dragging him away by the scruff of his neck.

Matt said nothing, stalking the final few blocks to their building, failing to ignore the ringing in his ears and lingering musk of the dog hair littering his shirt. Shoving at the exterior door with his shoulder, Matt narrowly avoided breaking his nose on the musty glass panel when the entrance refused to budge. Guess it was too early for maintenance’s opening shift.

Growling under his breath, he dug out his keys, unlocking the door hastily and stomping up the stairs.

Most days, stepping foot into the office filled him with a sense of pride. The ramshackle space was a representation of everything he’d accomplished, the payoff of years of hard work courtesy of both himself and Foggy. It wasn’t overly spacious. There was barely enough room for their daily onslaught of new clients–the excess body heat making the sputtering AC tremble with exertion. The suite was perpetually dusty and home to more than a few pests, but it was theirs. Most days, that was enough for Matt.

Today though, all Matt could focus on was the scent of mildew wafting up from the ancient carpet and the aggressive scrabbling of tiny claws in the building’s walls. Prying his tie from around his neck, he rolled his shoulders, collapsing into his second-hand office chair with a groan. Rifling through the files in his bag, he withdrew the flimsy folder containing their firm’s notes on an ongoing guardianship case.

This specific file wouldn’t lighten his mood in the slightest, but it had been nagging at him for days. The client had requested their assistance only about a week ago, looking for someone to help him revoke his court appointed guardian–his mother.

After an accident on the highway left him nearly entirely paralyzed, Mr. Sandoval had endured years of reconstructive surgeries and other invasive medical practices, unable to properly advocate for himself when his only known form of communication was ripped away from him. Contrary to the story his mother had pitched to the judge, he was capable of making his own decisions, he just required certain technological accommodations to speak his mind.

While under the guardianship of his mother, he was intentionally kept from any text-to-speech tools and subjected to emotional, as well as financial, abuse that his parent claimed was punishment for driving under the influence. Mr. Sandoval had been stripped of his autonomy and dignity because of a rushed court order and blatant ableism from the court officials. Matt and Foggy had readily agreed to represent him when he challenged the existing ruling.

But the case was proving to be more frustrating than they’d first imagined. None of the judges within the jurisdiction were willing to sympathize with someone who had committed what they deemed as an immoral act. The fact that he was not simply the cause but the only survivor of the crash always sealed his fate. Yet Matt was determined to keep trying.

Persistence was one of his few remaining virtues.

He was so engrossed in the paperwork, fingers flying over the lines of braille repeatedly as he grew more enraged, that he didn’t hear the office door open.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Came Foggy’s cheerful greeting.

Matt groaned in response, earning him a laugh. “I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. If you ended up in bed at all last night. Geez, Matt, you’re carrying a family of suitcases under those eyes.”

“Good to know.” Matt muttered, not moving from his hunched position. “I’ll get right on that.”

“You know, for a professional liar, you need to step up your fibbing game, Murdock.” His friend exhaled forcefully, planting two palms on Matt’s desk as he leaned forward. “You look like microwaved crap.”

Chuckling in surprise, Matt flapped a hand over his chest in feigned gratitude. “You really know how to boost a guy’s ego, bud. Really lifting my spirits here.”

“Stop deflecting.” Foggy hissed, his glare surely intense enough to drill two parallel holes in Matt’s skull. “How late were you out last night?”

And that was the other half of the issue. After failing to reach you and properly introduce himself, he’d been too busy spiraling to fill his best friend in on recent events. Now, so much time had passed that the omission seemed deliberate. If he asked Foggy for advice now, would their firm survive another argument about honesty? Matt doubted it.

He could still hear Foggy’s trust being torn to bits in his living room, the other man’s voice quivering with hurt and thinly veiled fury as he interrogated Matt.

“What the hell do I know about Matt Murdock?”

Letting Foggy assume he’d been losing sleep over crime in the city seemed less harmful somehow.

Shuddering against the crowning mass of guilt in his abdomen, he shrugged.

“Late.” His reply was clipped, anything beyond curt would give away the battle raging within him. “Didn’t mean to be, it just happened.”

At least that much was true.

“For fuck’s sake, Matt, you’re going to kill yourself gallivanting around in those stupid pajamas–”

“Not pajamas.” Matt interrupted, not bothering to hide his smirk when Foggy grumbled over him.

“Getting stabbed by whatever low lives are lurking in the shadows. And I’m, what, supposed to pretend you aren’t scaring the shit out of me?” Skin chafed along denim as Foggy’s hands landed on his hips.

Fiddling with a torn corner of the case file, he swallowed the lump crawling up his throat. “Foggy, I’m–”

“You’re not, Matt!” His partner exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air with exasperation and worry.

“Not what?” A second voice asked, the question light and curious, rather than filled with weeks of resentment and strife.

Both men whirled towards the open door in surprise, no doubt giving Karen an amusing spectacle, jaws dropping to the floor as they stared toward her.

“Uh–” Foggy blurted out, head swishing between the pair of them indecisively.

“Well..” Matt grimaced, threading his fingers into his hair as he desperately sought out a response. Unfortunately for his quick wit, exhaustion had coated his brain–the metaphorical wheels within screeching to a halt. Before he could even close his gaping mouth, Foggy had come to his rescue.

“Not letting me pay for coffee! Seeing as he totally foiled my plan to get here before both of you and hold my diligence over your head for the rest of the day.” Foggy sighed wistfully, no doubt dreaming of the high horse he wasn’t able to hop on.

Hands stilling over a line of text, Matt gave an exasperated huff. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Foggy smiled, grabbing Matt by the elbow and towing him out of the office. “Karen, hold down the fort, will ya?”

Karen scoffed, slightly miffed as the two men made their escape. Still being dragged by the fabric of his shirt, Matt dug his heels into the gritty carpet, yanking free of his friend’s grasp.

“She’s not gonna just let this go, Fog.” Hand fumbling for the bannister, he began his trek down the creaky stairs, Foggy hot on his heels.

“Well considering that someone has a certain illegal alter-ego she can’t know about, I’m not quite sure what I can do to remedy that.” Foggy griped, footsteps harsher than normal as the pair descended to the lobby.

Matt’s teeth clenched together as the stiffness in his jaw grew increasingly tight. “I’m sorry, Foggy. Truly, I–”

“Yah, yah, you’re sorry. I got it.” Foggy snapped, whisking past him to open the lobby door. With a sigh, he extended his arm for Matt to grasp. “Just…promise me you’ll rest tonight? You and I both know it’s been quieter this month, and I’m not kidding, dude. You’re like a walking Ambien ad.”

Accepting Foggy’s elbow, Matt hummed thoughtfully. “For you, buddy? I’ll try.”

Matt was trying. He was.

In the interest of keeping his promise to Foggy, he’d planned on executing a quick loop around the kitchen before heading back to his loft to crash. Somehow, after his third useless tussle with a criminal, he’d actually followed through. Heaving trembling breaths, he stood on the roof of his building, rivulets of blood trailing down his limbs and onto the concrete at his feet. He had no idea if the crimson liquid was his or someone else’s. Probably both.

Cool air coasted over the tip of his nose, making his nostrils flare with a sigh. The tiny reprieve from the sweltering heat made him sink to the ground, following the trail of air desperately. His knees collided with concrete, sending a tremor through his bones. Head swimming, he flattened his palms along the rough surface, clenching his jaw against the roiling nausea in his stomach.

The Kitchen hadn’t been too active tonight, his last wild goose chase ended with him landing a well-aimed punch into a drunk man’s uneasy stomach, causing the guy to spill his guts across the pavement and Matt’s shoes. He’d have to throw this pair out. No amount of detergent or vigorous scrubbing would remove the scent of partially digested alcohol from the tightly woven fabric. Letting his own bile escape his sealed mouth would certainly not help the issue.

Swallowing roughly, he inhaled a slow breath, the devil whirling amidst the chaos within him. Starving for a fight, for a chance to be set free. Every cell within him was wound too tight, the primal need to unleash something strangling him, exacerbating the pounding in his head and sloshing in his gut.

On days like these, he missed her. His other half. The only person to witness his rage and accept it wholly, not shying away or asking him to dampen it. In fact, she encouraged it. Taking him to Fogwell’s, begging him to throw a punch her way, to surprise her.

That night in the ring, he’d shown her his mark. After they’d sparred–and practically devoured each other–during the brief moment of peace, he’d revealed the one thing he managed to keep from his childhood. And, with a kiss, Elektra had told him they were soulmates.

She believed it, too. At least, that’s what her heart had told him–so Matt was willing to do anything to stay with her. Indulge her every whim. Fail his classes and abandon his future if he had to, anything for her.

But it wasn’t enough. She still left. They always did. Whatever demon the clergy had failed to exorcize when he was a child had matured, mutated. Dripping fangs and barbed claws whirling around within him. Insatiable. Pushing her away.

She’d abandoned him. Leaving him alone, like his mother had his father. It was almost poetic, the way he followed in his dad’s footsteps.

His mother. His father. Stick. Elektra. Foggy had returned for now, but Matt would inevitably lose him and Karen too. Everyone he’d ever loved, gone because he was too much to bear.

A monster, a martyr, a pariah.

Nobody feels sorry for you and nobody ever will. Stick’s nasally voice taunted him, dancing around his head when he desperately shook it. He was wrong. Foggy and Karen cared. They did.

You sure about that, kid?

With a deep growl, he drew back a fist, driving it into the pavement. Knuckles quivering upon impact, he curled his other hand, mirroring the motion. The noise of the city faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Hit after hit landed on the stagnant target, scraping away layers of skin and testing the strength of his bones. Without realizing it, his mouth opened, a barbaric roar tumbling from his vocal chords until they ached.

Relationships are a luxury men like you and me can't afford.

Stick was wrong. He had to be.

Hazy memories flowed over him, like a shallow current of water he was face down in, seeping into his mouth and lungs–ridding them of breath. A brief glimpse of his father’s smile, the feeling of a hand vigorously ruffling his hair. The press of plush, warm lips against his as a whiff of jasmine perfume made heat coil in his gut. The cool, clammy exterior of a beer bottle in his grip as Foggy and Karen bickered good-naturedly across the table.

You’ll be the death of ‘em, Matty. Every one of ‘em.

His cry dwindled to a rasp as the scent of copper slid over his tongue, his blood staining the cement as the skin across his knuckles split. Heaving breaths shook his torso, pained whines shuddering through him as he crawled towards the half-wall, sinking against the cool brick.

It was all too much. The blaring horns and the stifling heat and the musty scent of half-charred cigarettes. The pulsating weight in his sinuses and the sharp tang of lingering vomit spilled over his shoes. The frustrations of a difficult case and a failing justice system, only made worse by sleep deprivation and overstimulation. He wanted it to stop, all of it. Just one moment where the world wasn’t turning and time wasn’t passing and he was allowed to catch his fucking breath. To exist without feeling like a goddamn burden. To love and be loved without it feeling wrong and full of tension.

His shoulders bumped against the stiff surface he had propped himself on, trembling with the movement of his lungs. He couldn’t quite tell if he was laughing or crying. Did it matter anymore?

The stern voice of his former mentor struck him like a branding rod.

Never were strong enough, were you?

His meaning was left unsaid, though Matt heard it anyway. Not strong enough to keep his mind from unraveling. Not strong enough to be a soldier for his war. Not strong enough to keep him around–not strong enough to keep anyone around.

Fists clenching against the despair building in his chest, he tilted his head up towards the heavens, silently begging for guidance. His prayer was rewarded by a pelting droplet smacking his forehead. Pure, untainted water began to weep from the sky, slinking through the seams of his suit and crawling over his skin. The moisture soaked into the suit, forcing the material to cling to him forcefully.

A hand flew up towards his chest as it clenched painfully, his breaths became shallow and quick, as if his body had forgotten how to process oxygen. He couldn’t do this anymore.

Staggering for the door to his loft, he heaved the slab of metal open, cringing as it slammed closed behind him. The suit was ripped off, piece by never-fucking-ending piece hitting the floor of his place with an echoing slap. Finding them all again would be tedious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. As his thick-soled boots finally left the staircase, touching down on the floorboards below, his mind was buzzing as it tried to sort through the dozens of stimuli.

The static of a TV blaring through a busted speaker in an apartment down the hall.

The piercing scream of a baby being sleep trained a few blocks away, apparently not ready to self-soothe.

The patter of an anxious heartbeat darting past his window, the thrum mingling with the pounding rain. Familiar and absolutely haunting.

A pained cry escaped him, hands whipping over his ears as he tried to drown it out. He needed to focus on something else, anything else.

But it was too late. As if he’d been teleported back to that moment, he once again stood before his soulmate as she agonized over their bond. It didn’t matter that he was crumpled in a ball on the floor of his loft, he could still hear that same tuft of air careening toward him, carrying the scent of powdery soaps and saline. It mingled with the acidic smell of tomatoes draped over pasta, the taste of potatoes lingering on his tongue. Tantalizingly warm and comforting, but cursed all the same.

Your hesitant pulse looped through his ears, matching the one scurrying down the block. Too quick. Far too quick for his liking, but no longer solid or real. A figment of his imagination, taunting him with a life he’d never live.

“...did you feel it?”

This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t with you. Your heart wasn’t convulsing wildly, supplying a horrifying rhythm beneath your question.

“Yes.”

Only God could judge him for speaking the words aloud. He was too desperate to keep you near, to hold onto the last remaining sliver of your ethereal presence. You were fading from his grasp, falling through his outstretched fingers like grains of sand.

“So, that means we're...”

He braced himself for impact, for the booming stream of beats exiting your anxious heart. The same soundtrack that had been interrupting his sleep at night because he was practically sick from the crippling guilt and his own pathetic misfortune.

Instead of growing louder, saturating his brain until he could feel each contraction of your heart, your pulse began to fade–as if…

Gritting his teeth, Matt straightened his posture, trying to pinpoint the sound. It took a moment, his exhausted brain sorting through each stimuli like a slug sorting rocks, slowly and inaccurately. Eventually, he found it–a few blocks away now, accompanied by stifled sobs and shallow breaths as the person darted through an entryway.

This wasn’t a memory, this was real.

Unless Matt had lost the final ounce of sanity he’d managed to cling to all this time, it wasn’t some random woman barreling down the streets of Manhattan, just out of his reach. It was you. And every bone in his body was convinced that something was very, very wrong.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @yarrystyleeza @sarahskywalker-amidala @lotrefcp @silas-aeiou @harleycao

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cevans-is-classic · 7 months ago

Text

18+ Only. Mommy issues/kink, submissive Homelander, sexual themes, language, drug use.

My Master Post

Homelander

First part: Selfish Boy

Second Part: Listen to me

Part Three: My Good Boy

@chocolate-floof for non sexual homelander fics

It takes four days before he feels his hands itching to touch you.

Four days since he’s felt your touch, smelled your hair, heard your voice.

Four days of being surrounded by idiots or sycophants

Things are worse.

No matter what step he takes everything crumbles before his eyes and he can only bullshit his way for so long.

He needs you more than ever before — maybe he should keep you here?

Hide you in a place only he knows.

Somewhere no one else can touch you, where he has you ready day in and day out.

He’s dreamed of being here, wrapped in your arms, floating in that wonderful place where he doesn’t exist.

You were here — your voice being used to soothe others — while he was in a tailspin.

Sage betrayed him, A-Train dug out his tracker, and Ryan? He keeps that in the back of his mind, refusing to feel the heartache he carries.

Ryan is his son, and he loves him.

He should listen to him.

“Well?” He snaps his head to the left.

You leaned on your windowsill, arms crossed, the sun rings a circle of light in your hair. He can’t make his mouth work. You’re smiling at him, head cocked to the side with a fondness in your eyes.

He wants to hurt you

“What?”

You raise a brow. “Are you going to come in? Not to complain, but people will notice a superhero on my porch.”

Oh.

He straightens his back when you roll your eyes. The window closes with a suction noise — the screen sliding down. He watches until you disappear, then waits for the door to open.

It does.

He sees what you’re wearing and nearly begs to touch you.

“Come on, Johnny.”

Stepping over your threshold relaxes his shoulders and covers him in warmth and safety. Your house smells like warm flowers and lemon, faint, hanging in the air.

Your arms are around him before he takes in the candles around the room. He’s watching the group of them burn, thickening the smell. Your arms startle him when you wrap around his neck, your toes tipping to bring your face close to him. Your nose nudges his ear, humming tunelessly.

Homelander isn’t sure if he should touch you.

He wants to.

“It’s okay, Baby. I want you to hold me.” It tastes like chocolate on his tongue when he swallows it, the sweetness of it travels into his lungs.

He sighs and pulls you in, his hands landing on your hips. He bumps his forehead against you until you notch your head back and smile up at him.

“Why did you come to me, hmm? What can I do for my good boy?”

He isn’t a fan of music. The mumbled lyrics about dying or useless love-drunk teenagers being drilled into people’s minds. It played too loud, danced too much, and talked about it.

He doesn’t listen to music, but he listens to you.

Your voice rings in his ears.

He sees the light behind his eyes, pink, soft, trickling down to his chest where it heats his heart. The soft murmurs a symphony in his head, he keeps listening as he lifts you into your arms and carries you to the guest room.

Not your room.

He doesn’t deserve your room.

“Johnny,” he rests you on the bed, “Come here.”

Stepping back, Homelander takes all of you in. Your leg stretches, sliding your feet along the sheets. Your arms stretch over your head the blue cropped shirt rising to show the barest hint of your chest.

If he wanted to, he could reach in and rip your heart out. Hold it in his fists and squeeze as he watches you choke to death.

It’d be easy.

He’d be able to shove pieces of it into your mouth and down your throat while the light dies from your eyes.

Homelander crawls towards you, sliding between Your legs touching your stomach with his nose and into the curve of your chest.

“John.”

He whimpers.

“You came to me for a reason, Johnny. Mind sharing with the class?”

He shakes his head but feels the lie in his core.

He came to you to unwind, be free, and let someone else control him the way he deserves. His head hasn’t stopped spinning and the urge to wrap around himself until he’s a small little boy again aches in his chest.

The Homelander needs nothing.

He’s perfect.

You guide his head to rest on your chest, carding through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. He whimpers into you nuzzling his nose along your collar trying to find comfort, find his safe place.

“You need someone to care about you.” Your voices drizzle honey over his body, “My baby boy. You’re such a powerful hero saving people, smiling for cameras and controlling those around you. It gets tiring being what others expect of you, but even more so when you know nothing else, yes, baby?”

It hurts him to hear those words.

To hear someone telling him the truth.

“I need you.” His nose your chest seeking your nipple.

You smack his cheek, “That special, you selfish boy. You don’t deserve it.”

John whimpers again, whining, whistling from his nose.

He craves you.

“You know what you deserve?” He blinks up at you, feeling excitement stir in his chest. It drips arousal to his core, tingling his legs, and making his body shake.

“What do I deserve, Mommy?” He sounds desperate.

You hum gliding your fingers down his nose, tracing his lips to trail along his neck and push his Adam’s Apple in. John choked for a fraction of a second, fear mingling with the burning in his stomach.

He can’t choke to death.

They tried.

Sucking the air from his lungs until he choked, but it never stopped,d there was always more. They were endless about it, how deep he can swim, how high he can fly.

“What do you think, My Sweet Boy?.” You stopped pushing against his neck, moving your hand down his chest. He’s still wearing the suit. It gives him vertigo being in this place with you whispering in his ear making him into John not Homelander all by your hand trailing over his suit top.

He watches you walk your fingers over the muscles in his suit. Embarrassment flames in his chest knowing that all the fucking suits. He’s flat, stomach rock hard but he can’t get visible abs. Only a tight stomach that tapers into sharp hip bones showing off his lean build.

He hates himself.

“A kiss?” He’d beg for your lips on his.

“I don’t think so.” A warm blanket drags across his skin, prickling goosebumps to life. His nipples tingle with the softest brush over them to make his hips jerk, mind going fuzzy.

You aren’t touching beneath his suit.

“I think you deserve to want more, to crave more, but not have it.” His skin turns icy. The warmth of your voice disappears. Freeze burns his skin a blanket of frost replaces the safe, home, warm feeling.

“But-”

“What was that?” You stop touching him.

Losing your hands ghosting over him is excruciating.

You should touch him, kiss him, let him sink deep like he deserves because he’s the strongest superhero.

The best superhero.

He’s perfect and perfection deserves whatever perfection wants.

“I want you.”

“Do you?” Your nails are at his neck. John doesn’t feel the pain. He feels the dig into his skin, your words pouring ice into his veins. Every nerve is light up, burning, aching.

He feels too hot and too cold all at once.

Tears burn his eyes.

“Do you want me, or do you want to be in control? The more you hold back, the more you refuse to let me in the colder you’ll be. I can make you drop deeper than the ocean. You won’t know what’s good or what’s bad because selfish, naughty boys don’t deserve to feel good.”

“I deserve nothing.” He cries, “Nothing.” John sobs, deep heavy sobs that rattle his chest. He cries into your collar, begging out loud for your forgiveness.

John wants the warmth to come back. “Please.” He cries.

He wants the pain to stop, the reeling in his mind that takes him away from his floating place. All he wants is to fall into the silk wrap of your voice and let you hold him.

“That’s right, baby boy.”

He takes a breath.

The blanket returns.

“You deserve nothing but what I wish to give you. Everything else you take and take, but here in this room, in my arms, you only have what I want you to have.” Your fingers are back in his hair, stroking it back, pulling tight at the base.

You come into view with the harsh tug of his scalp. “You’re beautiful.”

His tears fall in fiery streaks down his cheeks. “I’m not - I don’t-”

You pop his cheek, “You deserve what I give you. If I say you’re beautiful, you do not argue with me, boy. Now say it.”

He can’t see you past the pool of tears. “I’m,” His voice trembles, “I’m beautiful.”

Another pop, “Louder.”

He sobs, “I’m beautiful.”

Another pop, harder, followed by a brush of your fingers, “Almost, baby, I want to believe you but I don’t.”

Shame boils his stomach the bile burning his throat.

He wants to make you happy. He wants to keep you happy and he can’t. When you’re not happy — he’s stuck in those ugly dark places inside himself.

“I’m beautiful.” It comes out clear, strong, the voice of a real man and not the Vought-made man he is, “I’m beautiful.”

“Yes, baby.” Silk over his skin, clouds rested beneath him, helping him float. “You are beautiful, my sweet boy. All of you.” The snap of his suit flap pricks the fog in his mind. He feels your hand slide in, pulling the other snaps. His suit becomes looser, falling from his frame, your nails dragging over his undershirt.

“All wrapped up in this patriotic suit, like a gift. I like gifts, fun ones too, gifts that I can play with. Do you like gifts, Johnny?” He waits for you to undo his suit pants. Instead, you grab his hands, untangling them from your shirt. He follows you as you press your lips to his knuckles.

His cock throbs, stomach tightening.

Your lips aren’t his to have.

He must earn every single one.

You kiss the top of his head with a long, searing kiss.

John wants you to kiss him everywhere, over his ribs, licking his nipples until he shivers.

He wants them all.

If he gets nothing but your kiss, he’ll break apart from pleasure.

“I want you to go change. I have your soft clothes in the closet. Be sure to brush your teeth and comb your hair.”

“What-”

“I want you to feel snug. I want to hold you until you fall asleep and I can’t do that in this, can I? You want me to take care of you, right?”

With heavy legs, he steps up from the bed. The sheets rustle, then your hands drape over his shoulders, pulling the suit top off. The eagles make a dull thud when they hit the ground and the skin of Homelander sheds. You come up his chest from his ribs, hands sliding beneath his shirt to lift and lift until he pulls it over his head.

You hum warm hands following the path of his spine. “Beautiful indeed.”

He shivers, groin tightening again, cock kicking in his pants.

Pleasure radiates from your words of appreciation. Your cooing sounds as your hands travel back up his ribs to his chest. You squeeze what little he has, praise him for being strong, and flick your thumbs over his nipples.

His body shakes, and trembles, he’s worried his knees will give out when you kiss his shoulder and it blooms pure pleasure inside him.

“Take your pants off.” He undoes the snaps, letting your hands follow his when he pushes them down.

“I should make you wear panties.” He moans, deep, dragging from his chest, and he wants it.

He wears the satin kind that wraps around his cock like a fucking hug.

You asked him once, kicked your legs when he dropped his pants and showed the silk blue panties. The black bow stretched from the curve of his cock and you’d cooed at him as he leaked.

“Please.”

You chuckle, “Go into the closet, baby, get your clothes, and come back out here.”

He forgot to kick off once to fly. He rose higher than before but couldn’t straighten himself out and free-fell to the ground. Leaving you behind in your bed, if only to change clothes, feels scarier than falling to his death.

(He thought so at fourteen, at least)

He goes as told first to the adjoining bathroom to find his toothbrush and scrub his mouth raw. Afterwards, with mint stinging his tongue he steps into the closet flicking on the light as he steps inside. Instinct that takes him to the dresser on the left old wood, and broken handles. The shirts are in the second drawer and he pulls a soft green one from the confines followed by a pair of shorts that stop mid-thigh.

You smile at him when he wears them, crooking your finger and beckoning him closer.

You laid out on the bed again, a joint in your fingers the smoke rising from your lips in concentric rings. He follows them with his eyes as he steps closer, hitching his knee onto the bed. You open your legs, guiding him to slide between them, and lay back on your chest.

The smoke smells that pungent weed smell he detests.

Drugs only worked on him in copious amounts and what’s the point of that when a simple word from you is the greatest high he’s ever experienced?

“Mommy-” You take another drag, blowing it out then sucking in another. He hears your heart slowing down, feels your body relax under him, and knows happy snuggles are his to have.

When the joint has burned to your fingers, you stubbed it on your nightstand, burning marks into the deep wood, “Come here, Sweet Boy.” Your leg drapes over his hip as the other settles to the side. One hand goes to his hair and the other rests on his back. “Rest. If you’re good, I’ll give you a surprise.”

He closes his eyes with a smile.

#the homelander #homelander #homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander x supe!reader #the boys amazon #the boys #antony starr

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stevie-petey · 5 months ago

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Maybe a little baby blurb of Steve's daydream/ dream life with bug. Basically what he was imagining their life would be like outside of Hawkins. I always picture Steve daydreaming about it before bed😭

as always im missing steve n bug and since chap 3 is taking a while heres some fluff <333

enjoy !

"you need to sleep," steves lips press against your forehead. the skin is overly warm, scrunched in concentration.

you try to shrug him off. without looking up from your notes, you wave a dismissive hand at him. "no time."

"did you just shrug off my doting kiss?" steve scoffs at you, offended. only you still don't look up from your notes. he worries about your neck, he knows your back will ache later tonight. weary and full of concern for you, as he always is, steve softens his voice. "angel, youve been at this for days."

"just a few more hours, then i'll go to bed."

"you said that three hours ago."

"and now im saying it again."

youve been cramming for an exam since wednesday. its currently friday and your body hasnt left your desk since early morning.

steve cups the back of your neck, settling his palm against its base. He massages the joint that sticks out, eases the tension between the muscles. youre exhausted, its obvious to anyone. "come lay down with me."

"steve-"

"please?" he brings the tips of his fingers to your chin. gently, he angles your head up; his eyes meet yours. in the brown and honey that coats his eyes lays love and adoration, a softness meant only for you to see. "i miss you."

your eyes swim with conflict. steve can see the part of you that always abides by responsibility. you hate disappointing people, you hate failing. the only reason youre in college is because of the incredible scholarship you received for your academics.

yet theres a part of you that melts at the idea of laying in steves arms. to rest against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. feel his hand tangle in your hair, his nails scratching your scalp. youd wilt into his body and wrap around his ribcage.

"i..." you bite your lip, slowly giving in. steve knows the weight of your bones must be heavy. he strokes your cheek, finger lingering on your lips. closing your eyes, you admit defeat. "carry me?"

the moment the words leave your mouth, steve sweeps you into his arms and cradles you against his chest. carefully he navigates your small apartment. the walls are narrow and theres hardly any room to breathe, but itd been all you could afford in new york and it was only yours and steves. no one elses.

it was your home together.

steve sets you down on the bed and crawls in beside you. he throws his arms around you, encasing you against the world. burying his face against your neck, he settles his weight against you. you breathe him in, push yourself further into his body, and for a moment everything is still.

"im not going to bed, you know." you mumble into his shoulder.

he laughs, the sound reverberating your bones. "just lay with me for a little while longer."

"always," your lips whisper against steves skin.

warmth seeps into his chest, coats his lungs with sickly sweet honey. he can taste it in his mouth, it mixes with the aroma of your perfume. his body buzzes with all the love he has for you, for all the gratitude within him to have escaped hawkins with you. to be so lucky as to know youre still his, hes still yours, and that youve made something for yourselves despite all the pain youve endured together.

then a piercing ring rips through steves eardrums. he sits up in bed, heart pounding with adrenaline. his hand slams down on his alarm clock on his bedtime table, silencing it.

he rubs his face, groans with exhaustion.

steve had been having such a good dream. he can still feel your weight on his chest. he already misses it.

he'll blame robin for it later. shes the reason hes getting up so goddamn early, anyways. shes the one who needs a ride to her stupid pep rally.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #ask #anon #m speaks #come home blurb #m's writing #set in season 4 !#OUR FIRST SEASON 4 BLURB !!!!#ilu steve #this is basically the life steve envisioned with bug :((((((

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sunoosets · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii you are so talented and I just wanted to ask you if you could write about dom jungwon with an s/o that loves doggy style and spanking 🤭🫣

Also I wanted to ask you if you have anons and when that could I please be the 😽 anon??

Have a great day and ty ❤️

aww thank u smmmm!! i only have one anon as of now so ofc u can be an anon:))<3

i decided to merge two asks as i felt like i could:

"DOM!JW PLEASE I'M BEGGING"

i mean.. well, i hope you cuties enjoy this one, it's long, messy, n i was gonna do a longer mirror scene but only made it a few sentences😓 oh well, love u all!!<3

It was a mistake, really, to even dare assume Jungwon was small. To tease him, taunt him. Assume, again, that he was submissive, whiny, and pathetic when it came to sex, and the feel of someone bouncing on his cock.

Jake’s laugh was hearty. Ripping through the tense air as you gently pushed aside Jungwon’s shoulder. A playful act, as you hoped. Yet his eyes had grown dark, and something lingered as he glared in your direction. Not so much an annoyed or frustrated stare, but an intense warning he had left you, paired with his small smirk.

“Nah, Y/n, he looks mad…” Jake held back a second laugh, cheeks puffing up as his breath hitched. His eyes creased as his need to burst grew. “Looks like he might just show you how wrong you are” Jake smiled, and then suppressed the action by settling his pearly teeth into the flesh of his lower lip. You scoffed. Flicking a sidewards glance at Jungwon’s form. “With his one-millimetre defeater?” You spoke, unable to even release those words without the presence of a teasing smile. Jake erupted. Slapping a palm to his knee, and letting slip a loud, melodious chuckle between his growing grin.

When you had set your vision on Jungwon once more, he had shifted. Face twisted toward you where you could clearly see his tongue press up against his inner cheek, and his eyes narrow. For a second, your stomach had flipped, and your heart had slipped it’s way down. Dropping suddenly. You swallowed, and he had seemed to notice the regret upon your features. His sweet, endearing smile flashed, and he grinned. “Would you like to find out the truth, hm?”

Jake had been laughing for at least twenty seconds now. Clearly impacted by crude, 12-year-old genitalia jokes. His blurry eyes had made their way toward an evidently puzzled Heeseung, who had just arrived with his newly plastered frown. “Hee, guess what Y/n just said!” He gasped. Collecting his breath as he twisted within his plush seat.

“Too scared my small cock will hurt you?” Jungwon tempted. Smirk crawling further along his dimple-decorated cheeks. He leant, so his heated breath could meet your jaw during his whispers. You let slip a breathy, almost nervous laugh. Perhaps a scoff. Shaking your head from either side.

“I doubt it would even tickle me.” Your head swivelled, and you smiled proudly. A regretful ache whitening your features when he had simply smirked in return. Lashes falling slowly, calmly. He wasn’t defensive. In the slightest. Your eyes wavered. Averting while he clicked his pink tongue against the roof of his mouth and whispered a sentence that had set a shiver to roll down your perked spine and perhaps even make your lower stomach flutter.

“Only one way to tell.”

His voice was low. Honeyed as it snaked through your ears and made you swallow the thick lump within your throat. He had this subtle sexy confidence, enough to have you on your knees, but where had this been hiding? For so long, he had appeared as a submissive type to you. All whimpers and whines as you suck on his pretty pink tip, but now, with his cocky grin, and the reactions to your teases. It might be you that ends up on all fours, crying his name at the top of your heavy lungs.

The thought was off. Never had you begun to think of cute, innocent Jungwon in such a way.

You couldn’t even comprehend before you were taken by the wrist. His soft, warm palm along your skin as he guides you to his room. You could smell his cologne. Intoxicating. Your head spun, and then thumped when his hands fell against your waist. He pulled you into his chest, trapping you between his ribs. “I wasn’t actually gonna fuck you.” He whispered. Low, and serene. A nonchalant twist of his lips as he holds you close. Peering down through hooded eyes as he wraps his scent around you. Almost pulling the breath from your tight throat.

Jungwon smiled, eyes heavy and dark as they easily traced the outline of your rubbing thighs. His fingers fell, brushing from your side toward your inner leg. The pad of his finger slid, and pressed teasingly between your clothed, and shamelessly soaked lips. Your pussy throbbed at the mere, bare minimum. His slanted smile twitched. “But seeing as your so wet, maybe I should?”

“Would you like that?” His grin was cocky, paired with his lowered voice. His warm breath tangled amidst your hair as his lips landed beside your jaw. Placed closely to the side of your ear. “Do you want to be fucked by my small cock?”

Regret couldn’t have surpassed this stage. It was at a point that the feeling deep within your bones. Dwelling within your squirming, tight stomach. Should be an entirely different word. Perhaps one that has yet to exist.

You swallowed, again. Eyes growing. You suppressed the urge to melt between his fingers. Hand yourself to him. Fall to your knees for him. You gave him a small smile. Your palms were shaky as you buried them between the fabric of his shirt and pulled him near. “Let’s see what you can do..” You whispered, façade slipping, but still stable.

You hadn’t fully given in to him yet. No matter how hard it had become. With his body, warm and soft. His skin sliding along yours, as his shirt was ditched. His golden, gleaming complexion. Smooth to the touch. Had you quietly begging for more. With each stroke your palm took across his abs. Every line you had traced of his skin. The lack of impurities, as his visage glowed.

He set multiple rushed kisses to your parted lips. Overbearing you with his wet, eager motions, before ultimately pushing himself against you and melting into a passionate make-out. His arms snaked, and yours had remained along his heaving chest. Your bodies had been entwined. Your thighs now either side of his waist as you attempt every possible writhe which could set you closer to his heat. Jungwon pulled from your whining lips. Smirk sly as he lifted his hips and rubbed his growing bulge against your clothed clit. You pulsed. Breath becoming fast between his arms, and above his cock. “Can you take it?” He asked, and you had instinctively lowered your head. Quiet, to which he had grinned harder. Dimples popping from between his cheeks. “Wanna get on your hands and knees for me?”

“Yeah.” You had replied. Faster, and more eagerly than you would have liked. Your cheeks had grown warm as he laughed beneath his breath. A gentle, comforting chuckle.

You had always found yourself imagining Jungwon fucking you from behind, as much as you wouldn’t like to admit. The thought of him pushing you down against the bed. Your arms and legs shaky as he ruts himself into you. Constant, rough rocks until you’re a mess in his hold.

Now his fingers were hot as they trailed down your spine. Ticklish, as your stomach flipped. His palm was soft as it pressed into your lower back. Settling there while his fingers had become splayed. Holding you down against his bedsheets. Your knees dug into the mattress, as well as your own palms. Lightly, your fingers wrapped around the blankets. Folding them into a ball you could hold, and grip, to stabilise your shaky limbs.

His cock was hard, clearly leaking as he rubbed his swollen tip against your clit. Jungwon hummed, holding back a whine as he slid his own hand along his shaft. Sighing when a drop of his pre-cum dribbled between your cheeks. With one hand, he held the left side of your ass. His palm moulding the flesh, while you whimpered, and rolled your hips backward, to meet his pink, drooling tip. “Why are you so excited?” He teased. His entire cock sliding between the mess he had made. “It’s barely two inches.” His taunt was light-hearted, as you could clearly hear his stretching smile. Especially the pride that had sunk across his curling lips when his cock had pushed into you. Finally sinking between your plush, clenching walls. His length stretched you wide, pulling both a gasp and a moan from your throat. Your jaw lowered. Ready to let slip the consistent string of whimpers as Jungwon began to move. Roll his hips against your ass. Skin against skin. His cock stroking the deepest parts of you.

He groaned. Head falling backward, as his hips picked up speed. His fast-paced bucks had you shaking. Elbows almost buckling. You were quivering with each rough rock he took into you. Cock squeezing between your tight walls. His hair fell against his vision. Unfortunate. As his dick was twitching at the mere sight of you on your knees for him. Shaky, and whiny. Your ass rolling back against the corrupted air between you and taking his cock so well. He could watch his dick sink into you and could see the way your body shook.

“Am I still small?” Jungwon breathed out. A shaky laugh. He bit his lip, palm massaging the skin of your cheek. “S-shut up.” You stuttered. Face flushed, and gleaming with a sheen of undeniable sweat. Jungwon’s fingers ran smoothly along your ass. The soft skin being handled and traced. Delicately, he lifted his palm and tapped your ass. Two small slaps, that had caused no harm. Your face, however, had lit up, and your tight hole had clenched. Wrapping harsher around his cock while your pussy had swallowed him whole. Jungwon groaned. Voice heavy and loud as you took him. “Ah, Y/n?” His smirk had twitched. “Do you like that?” He questioned, his palm resuming it’s massage. Set lightly on your ass.

You could only moan. Pushing back your hips and creating an arch within your back. His cock slid deeper. Now fully encased between your dripping walls. “Ah, shit…” Jungwon cursed. Softly, beneath his breath. Teeth, clearly biting down into a suppressed smirk.

He rubbed, and then the warmth had supposedly disappeared. His palm lifted, and fell back against your flesh with a sharp, exhilarating slap. You cried at his action. Skin surely red, as he had repeated himself. Breathy sighs evident from his parted lips, while he was set on fucking into you until his pulsing cock had come.

“More, more…” You begged. “Mm fuck.”

All shame now seamlessly evaporating when his cock was buried deep between your walls. Twitching against the tight convulses. Jungwon grunted when his hand met the rosy patch that had been decorated along your skin. His hips lifted, and his skin caressed yours. You were slipping. One final spank, and the feel of his tip slamming the deepest part of you was enough to have you squeeze and make a mess of his dick.

Jungwon’s moans had raised in pitch as he neared. His cock making crude, wet sounds as he pushed through the mixture of white, warm cum. His fingers curled, and gripped your waist, pulling you near as he let the thick stripes of his cum fill your insides. His skin was set against yours. His chest clearly heaving.

“Do you wanna go out there and tell Jake how big I really am?” Jungwon joked between breaths. His chuckle light-hearted as his shoulders fell, and his palms dropped from your skin. His cock slid from within you, letting Jungwon’s warm pleasure release down the sides of your sticky thighs. “I’d rather not..” You sighed, still shaky.

Jungwon fell silent, and then the soft touch of an arm caught you off guard. He had wrapped himself around you, hand flat against your raising stomach as he pulled you back against the comfort of his lap. Between his legs. His breath hit your ear, and a second shiver ran through your spine. It pressed along his back, and straightened when he had let his fingers fall toward your messy clit. “Look at the mirror, baby.” He whispered along your neck. You swallowed, eyes shifting toward the mirror against his bedroom wall. Golden framed with clean glass. Too clear. You couldn’t help but pulse against his heated, smooth hand. His slim fingers had situated themselves either side of your clit, spreading you before your own gaze. Letting the mess drool out from between your puffed-up lips. His cum had filled you to the brim, and now he was showing you the aftereffects. Sly smirk, again, curling upon his lips, as he pressed them to the shell of your ear. He then hummed. “I don’t think a small cock can do this, hm?”

#enhypen smut #enha x reader #enhypen hard hours #smut #hard thoughts #hard hours #jungwon hard hours #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #sunoosetsasks

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sorceresssundries · 7 days ago

Text

Revivify - Chapter 22

Happy Valentine's Day! Have some whump.

AO3 Link

Warnings - mention of blood and torture. Orin being a nutter.

You retch. Whether it’s the pain, the exhaustion, or the sheer horror of what you’ve allowed into your camp, you don’t know, but your body rebels. Violently. Black bile spills from your mouth onto the ground, its stench acrid and wrong, poison drawn from a festering wound.

Gale’s hands are on you.

And they aren’t as soft as usual…

And they aren’t as warm as they should be…

And the hands that have been holding you together, time and time again…are not the ones holding you now.

“Get off me” you hiss, raw, choked with bile and fury. You spit the last of the ichor from your mouth, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand before pushing him away.

"My love..." Gale begins

“Take his voice out of your mouth.” The words rip from you like a curse. Your chest heaves as your rage surges, molten and unrelenting, threatening to incinerate the fragile control you cling to. Enough. Enough of this mockery. Twisted versions of the man you love haunting your dreams, manipulating you with cruel imitations. And now, here, in your waking reality.

She thinks she’s clever—Orin the Cruel, the spawn of Bhaal, wearing his face like a mask. But she’s a fool if she believes she can impersonate your very heart and you will not recognise it beating out of rhythm.

Strangers she might be able to imitate—guards, beggars, children—but Gale? Never.

electricity crackles across your fingertips as the pain in your chest swells, an unbearable ache feeding your power. It comes unbidden, a tidal wave of rage and grief that rushes through you. You feel the darkness stir deep within, hungry and eager, and you welcome it. If it will let you rip her apart, limb by limb, scream by scream, so be it. Let it take you. Let it consume you.

The laugh from Gale’s stolen lips is cruel and sharp. It twists, breaking apart into Orin’s screeching cackle as his form dissolves, shimmering into the grotesque truth.

“You are no fun, little hero,” she hisses, eyes gleaming with the sick delight of a predator killing for sport. Her voice is a blunt knife dragged slowly. “He was so much more foolish than you. Eager to believe. Blind to my games. How exquisite it was, to toy with the so-called Chosen of an inconsequential god.”

“Where is he?”

“Oh, he lives.” She is mocking you, every word cruel. “I know the curse that eats at him, the rot creeping through his veins. He will not die. But he can bleed. And scream. And beg.”

Raw magic bursts from your hands in an uncontrollable torrent of searing light. It streaks past her, narrowly missing, but the dry grass beneath her feet catches fire. The flames lick at the air, ravenous, casting shadows that twist and distort her already inhuman features. Orin doesn’t flinch. She laughs, rasping and guttural.

“Where is Halsin?” you demand, your voice trembling with fury and desperation.

Orin’s eyes light up with manic glee, she lets out a shrill, high-pitched squeal, like a child who has caught a fly in a jar and plans to pluck its wings.

“Oh! Is that the one you’re so worried about?” she coos, her voice dripping with a venomous, almost sing-song cruelty. Her head tilts at an unnatural angle as she leans closer, her eyes gleaming with wild amusement. “How sweet! How precious! No wonder the wizard thinks you prefer the beast to him.”

“I warned you. I gave you mercy, a chance to prove yourself, and you failed. You couldn’t even kill Bane’s miserable lapdog. Weak little coward. And now your beloved is split open, screaming. Can’t you hear him? Feel him? His agony is exquisite, his despair intoxicating.”

Your nails bite into your palms, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles ache. The urge to lunge at her, to tear her apart with your bare hands, burns through you like a brand. You don’t need magic. You don’t want it. You’d rather sink your fingers into her flesh, rip tendons from bone, watch her crumble beneath you. But you can’t. If you kill her now, you will not get Gale back. You know it as surely as you know the sun will rise.

“He was so angry with you, so heartbroken,” Orin croons, “Another idol crumbling before his eyes. Another lover that failed him.”

Her grin splits wider, grotesque. The flames behind her dance and shimmer.

She whispers as if sharing a secret. “Do you know what his blood tastes like? I do. Bitter. Sharp. Spoiled. But oh, how I long to drink him dry, to crack his bones and suck the weave-pulp from his marrow. He is a feast, and I am starving.”

Your voice trembles with barely suppressed fury “I will bring you the stone.”

“Hurry, hurry, hurry, little destroyer. Daughter of ruin, killer of druids,” she croons, her voice sing-song and mocking. “I’m so hungry. So bored of waiting.”

“I will bring you the stone,” you repeat, the words venomous. “But if you hurt him further, I swear I will not just kill you. I will rip your temple apart stone by stone until the Murder Lord himself is buried beneath its rubble. Bhaal will be nothing. A god with no followers. A pathetic failure, like his Chosen.”

Orin’s grin twists into a snarl, her eyes flaring with a violent, manic light. “The Murder God demands your flesh” she howls, her voice breaking into a scream, raw and unhinged. “Your skin flayed! Your joints popped! Your blood anointing the stones of his altar, slick and red and pure! We shall slice and shred each other, and the survivor takes the stones.”

So, that’s how it must be. Gortash offered a false alliance, charm and politics and perfumed lies where betrayal is undoubtedly a hidden blade away. Orin offers a deathmatch. You know which you prefer.

The ground beneath her seems to pulse as she steps closer. “Bring the stones. Kill the tyrant. And then come, little hero, to my father’s temple. Face judgment. Bring what is owed, and I will free your lovesick pup.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But if you fail? His screams will be Bhaal’s eternal hymn, his eyes plucked from his skull, his sanity unraveled until nothing remains but pain and hatred for you.”

You try to keep the bile in that bubbles in your gut and your throat.

“Be quick.” she says “Your blood is needed.”

“Why?”

There is confusion, tangled and snarled amidst the fear and panic. Why you? Again, and again, and again, the question has gnawed at you. The nautiloid, the dream guardian, Withers, the whisper of Myrkul, and now the unyielding demand of Bhaal himself… why you?

If the curse that stains your blood is what he requires, then why isn’t Gale’s enough? The blight clings to him, too, just as dark, just as consuming. It stemmed from him, after all.

Why is the lord of murder so desperate for you to die at his altar?

“Why, why, why,” she coos mockingly, her head tilting. “Such a waste. Such a pity,” she spits “The secrets they kept from you. What you could have been… if only you hadn’t let your home burn. If only you hadn’t left your father charred and festering in the ashes of the forest.”

The words strike too deep, and the surge of power within you breaks free again. Another searing crack of magic erupts from your hands, striking a branch above her. It bursts into flames and crashes to the ground between you, but Orin doesn’t flinch. She only laughs, the sound jagged and piercing, like shattered glass grinding against stone.

“Finish with Gortash,” she commands, her voice sharp and merciless, “and then find me. Come crawling to the altar, stones in hand, and if I’m feeling merciful”—her grin widens, a grotesque parody of generosity—“perhaps I’ll tell you why. Before Bhaal claims you as the sacrifice you were always meant to be.”

Orin stills, her wicked smile lingering, before she shimmers into red dust and ash, dissipating into the air like a fading nightmare. All that remains is the stench of carrion and rot. It is suffocating, scraping along your tongue, slithering down your throat and mixing with the mouldering taste of crude and unrelenting grief.

She has Gale.

You lurch forward again, falling to your knees as your body brings up more bile. Tears burn in your eyes. A vice squeezes around your ribcage, making each beat of your split-open heart feel like it is bursting.

You are consumed by grief, guilt, and pain, your fingernails scraping desperately against the dirt to stop the world spinning. Then, a sharp gasp cuts through the suffocating silence. It pulls your gaze upward, forcing your heavy eyes to focus.

Your companions stand before you, horror on their blood-dappled faces.

“Tav.. your mark..” Shadowheart murmurs.

Wyll moves first. His gentle hand finds your shoulder as he kneels beside you. Wordlessly he lifts you, his arm sliding around you to offer support. He pulls you against him, his grip unwavering, and you lean into him. He carries you the short distance into the camp, where the aftermath of chaos sits impatient.

Tents have been torn to shreds, remnants of fabric fluttering in the cold breeze. The ground is streaked with blood, dark arcs of crimson tracing jagged lines across the dirt. The bodies litter the area… Orin’s minions, their forms sprawled out in grotesque repose. Shapeshifters and cultists, all bearing the mark of Bhaal, their faces contorted, eyes vacant in death. Blades, slick with scarlet, glint in the moonlight, scattered across the ground or clutched tightly in the hands of savages too consumed by bloodlust to let them go.

“Elminster came to camp,” Wyll says, his voice tight. “Gale was... angry. Upset. He didn’t want to speak with him. Tried to send him away.” Wyll glances at the others, as Lae'zel lets her boot crunch against a fallen cultist’s skull.

“Then he.. Elminster said he had found something to save you. To stop the curse spreading.” Wyll's eyes darken. “Gale left with him without hesitation. We didn’t think much of it at the time. But...” He pauses, rubbing his brow, the weight of their failure hanging heavy between them.

“They came soon after,” he continues, voice tight. “As people we knew. Doppelgangers wearing the disguises of friends or foes.”

You listen, horrified.

“While we were resting. Halsin caught wind of them first, turned into a bear to shield us. There was a fight, but not a hard one. They were only a distraction. Left a note.”

You freeze, the words sticking in your throat. “Where is Halsin?”

“Healing Astarion,” Wyll answers, his gaze flickering toward the shadows where the two of them had gone. “They’re both fine. Astarion went after Gale, but he was attacked by a shapeshifter... in the guise of Cazador.”

The realization hits like a hammer blow, the weight of Orin’s machinations coming into sharp focus. You clench your fists, the anger bubbling up again, but this time it’s colder, sharper—an icy fury that cuts through the haze of grief.

“She knows our weaknesses. She’s been watching us for some time.”

Wyll nods, his gaze narrowing in thought. “She’s been playing us like pawns, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Lae’zel grunts, her voice a harsh growl. “A coward’s game.”

Shadowheart kneels beside you, her hands trembling as they glow faintly with healing magic. The light flickers, uncertain, as though it too knows how futile the attempt is. Still, she tries, her lips moving in soft murmurs, weaving prayers that feel fragile against the weight of what’s inside you.

She hesitates as her hands hover over your face, her brow furrowed. The warmth of her magic settles on your skin, but there’s no cool relief, no familiar sting of healing wounds knitting together. Instead, it’s hollow. The blood pooling beneath your skin stills, but the shadowed corruption clinging to you remains untouched, unmoving.

“What’s the damage?” Your voice is rough, scraping against the silence.

Shadowheart looks away, her lips pressing into a thin line. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. Instead, she rises unsteadily, her armor shifting noisily in the stillness, and retrieves a small hand mirror from her shredded tent. The glass is cracked, splintering outward from a jagged point in the top corner.

You stare into the reflection at the stranger who inhabits it. The darkness spreads across your face like a disease, blotting out the person you once knew. It covers your left eye completely, leaving it sightless, a pool of inky black. Bruise-colored tendrils crawl up your temple, seeping into your scalp like slicks of oil.

Your breath hitches. Tentatively, you run a hand through your hair, feeling the brittle texture where the shadow has tainted it. Strands come away in your hand with no force at all.

They are all talking at once, voices merging. Buzzing. Words dart past, small, ungraspable, drowning beneath the churning rattle of your own breaths.

The world is split apart. You are split apart. You can’t hear them properly. Their words scatter like broken glass.

A shard cuts through.

"..Gortash..."

Another slice, "Agreement..."

One breath in. One breath out. The air burns on the way down.

Your teeth grind together. Your nails scrape the floor of your camp. Blood is mixed with the dirt. Gale’s blood.

In. Out.

The buzzing continues, voices overlapping in an unsynchronised chorus.

"Bhaal... Underground..."

A breath out dies and cannot find its way back in.

Somewhere below Baldur’s Gate, Gale Dekarios was once again the plaything of a God who does not deserve to lay hands on him.

The thought sears, and your hands curl into fists. Your nails bite into your palms as the anger simmers, bubbling up to meet the panic clawing at your throat.

A voice finally breaks through, sharp and clear.

"He's still alive, Tav," Wyll says, his steady calm an attempt at a lifeline "She can't kill him. She knows that."

The words snap something loose inside you.

"You think the worst thing Orin can do is kill him?"

The brutality of it batters them into silence.

Still trembling, still burning, you grit your teeth and force in another breath. One in. One out.

“We can split up,” Wyll continues, “Half of us find the temple, half of us deal with Gortash… as soon as we get his stone—”

“We’re not getting his stone.”

The finality in your voice silences the group once again. Shadowheart narrows her eyes.

“But... you told Orin—”

“I lied” Your hands clench at your sides as you push yourself to your feet. Every inch of you trembles, whether from anger, fear, or exhaustion, you no longer know.

“We can’t kill Gortash with those steel fucking watchers guarding him,” you continue, your voice a harsh growl. “And we can’t take those things out until we figure out how they work. It’ll take days. Weeks, even.”

You feel heat building in the centre of your once-soft palms.

“I want Orin dead in hours.”

Shadowheart steps forward, her voice softer but no less resolute. “If we rush in without a plan, we’ll be playing right into her hands. She will hurt Gale.”

“And what do you think she will do if we give her what she wants?” The heat in your palm is now a crackle of flame. “You think Orin, the spawn of Bhaal, the bloodthirsty, the deranged, the diehard zealot of the God of Murder, will… let him go? You think she will wait patiently while we traipse around the city? Keep him safe and fed? Every second we linger, Gale is left in the hands of a torturer.”

Finally, Lae’zel steps forward, her hand on the hilt of her blade.

“If this is your choice, then so be it,” she says, “We will paint the ground with Orin’s blood before the next sun rises.”

A small voice behind you extinguishes your fire.

“What happened?”

Karlach. Out of breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she gulps air. She must have sprinted the entire way to camp, left behind in Rivington while you had flown on the wind.

You can’t bring yourself to answer and so the others step in, their voices low and somber as they explain. As they speak, Karlach’s expression shifts—first confusion, then disbelief, then a fury so consuming it scorches the air between you.

Her flames flare to life, unrelenting, licking up her arms and shoulders. She burns so hot she is more fire than flesh now, her edges sparking. Some of the light shifts to pure, blinding white, a brilliance so bright it could be mistaken for the last light of a burning-out star.

You manage to find your voice, strained and broken. “I’m sorry, Karlach. We have to leave Gortash for now.”

You want to offer every mote of sympathy you have left, but there is not much left in you.So much of you has been swallowed and mangled by rage.

“Fuck that guy.” She hisses like steam “Orin took Gale. She dies first.”

And so she would.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #gale fanfic #baldur's gate 3

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 2 years ago

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Early Retirement

Summary: Izzy washes up on a beach after leaving the Revenge and rowing through a storm. Luckily for him, a kindhearted stranger took it upon themselves to take him in and nurse him back to health. Maybe even give him a new home.

Word Count: 6478

It’s cold. Too cold.

It seeped down into his bones and settled there until he couldn’t feel his limbs, he couldn’t feel anything other than that debilitating cold. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but darkness, the salt stinging them. His lungs burnt in their attempt to suck in air but received nothing but water.

Then everything just…disappeared.

The amount of time that passed was a mystery to Izzy but when he came back to consciousness, it was warm. It felt like his body had thawed out, limbs heavy but at least he could feel them now.

His heavy eyelids blinked open, the sunlight coming in through a window making him wince. Everything had a slight blur to it but he could make out that he was in a bedroom, one that he definitely didn’t recognise. He was tucked into a bed, pillows cradling his head and plush bedding cocooning his body, his injured foot elevated on a pile of cushions.

The last thing he could remember was…the sea. Fuck. He had left the Revenge after Stede’s return, at least being allowed the dignity to make that decision himself. A freak storm had rolled in when he was half way to reaching land in his rowboat. It ripped his little boat to shreds and the ocean had pulled him beneath the waves.

He had barely even fought it when it happened. Izzy had always known this would be how he went, at the mercy of the sea, better than the end of a sword. Men like him didn’t get peaceful deaths, he accepted that a long time ago.

Yet, here he was and it was too warm and soft to be Hell.

As his senses returned to him he focused on a smell that wafted up from somewhere else in the house, it was something savoury, something warm and comforting.

He wasn’t alone then. It made sense, of course, but it still put him on edge.

Izzy tried to pull himself up from the bed but it felt like his body was weighed down and his foot throbbed when he tried to move it. With a grunt, he fell back down onto the bed. He could barely move, he’d need a proper plan before he flung himself out of bed.

Before he could try to move again, the door to the bedroom he was cooped up in opened. “You’re awake,” you smiled warmly, “how are you feeling?”

The pale, ragged, looking man in your guest bed was glaring at you. You were sure he would be threatening if he didn’t look like he just crawled out of an ocean grave.

“Where am I?” he questioned accusingly.

“Somewhere safe,” you assured him, ignoring his hostility as you crossed the room.

He hesitated, watching you cautiously. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, he was in a strange place and somewhat incapacitated.

“What happened?”

You sighed. “You washed up on the beach a few days ago. Saw you on a morning walk, thought you were dead by the look of you. Nearly scared the life out of me when you breathed,” you told him honestly.

“Days?” Perhaps his surprise would have been a little more audible if his voice wasn’t so scratchy. His wide eyes conveyed it enough though.

“Your foot is injured but it was wrapped so I assume you know that. You had an infection, have been in and out of consciousness with a fever for the last four days. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it,” you informed him.

“So you just happened upon me, dragged me back to your home, and nursed me back to health?” He was suspicious of you and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“The doctor got some men to help haul you up from the beach and stopped you from dying on us, he left some medication, but then just left me to it.”

“Where are my things?” It was only then, as he shifted on the bed, that he realised he was only wearing his smalls under the blankets.

“For somebody who just avoided death, you are awfully quizzical,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything that survived your little swim is safely stored in another room. I’m generous enough to try to help a stranger but not naive enough to let them have blades on them. I’ll bring you your clothes now that you’re awake and a pair of linen pants, they’ll be easier to get on and more comfortable than those leathers you washed up in.”

“So you know I could be dangerous?” Izzy squinted at you. You know he was dangerous but taking the chance anyway only made him more suspicious. People didn’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts, especially for people who they thought were dangerous.

“No offence but when a man washes up on the shore, armed to the teeth and clad in black leathers, I don’t assume they’re just a travelling merchant,” you rolled your eyes.

“This happen a lot?” he asked sarcastically. At least he was well enough to give you some snark.

“Nope, you’re my first,” you shrugged, smirking slightly. “So, what do I call you?” you asked.

“None of your business,” Izzy growled, though it came out weak and scratchy.

“Well, you’re in my home but okay,” you rolled your eyes at him, as if he wasn’t a threat. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t much of a threat right now.

Izzy frowned, but his glare remained hard on you. “Who are you?”

“You tell me and I’ll tell you, for now you can just call me…your guardian angel,” you offered, making him scowl. “Anyway, you’re looking a lot brighter than when you washed up. You should be able to keep solid foods down now, so I made some healing stew special for you. Oh, and the bread just came out the oven this morning.”

Before Izzy could question you further, you had waltzed out of the room.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to return though, this time entering the room with a tray balanced on your hip. You walked up to his bedside, placing the tray down on the table beside his bed.

The tray held a bowl of stew, a couple slices of bread, a mug of herbal tea, and a glass of water.

Izzy just glared at the tray as you took a step back.

“Look, I’m not holding you hostage. If you want to leave, you can, but have some common sense and stay put for a while. Your foot was inflamed when you showed up, the doctor had to shave down the bone and redo the stitches. You need to rest it if you want it to heal properly,” you chastised him.

The man frowned, looking down at his foot. You saw the pain in his eyes and it made your voice soften. “Doctor said you’ll be able to move around in a couple of days if you use a crutch, then you’ll just have to use a cane. Once it’s healed though, he said it probably won’t affect your movement or balance at all.”

“You sure?” he dared to be hopeful.

“The doctor seems pretty sure. But you have to follow orders if you want it to heal properly. So you can’t go hobbling around looking for your ship just yet.”

He squinted at you, suspicions returning at full force. “What do you know about my ship?”

“Relax. I don’t know anything. I’m just not stupid, I figured you’re a pirate,” you shrugged.

Apparently, that only made him more suspicious of you. “And you still risked taking me in?” You had to have ulterior motives, it’s the only thing that made sense.

“You gonna kill me?”

“No. Not if you don’t give me a reason too.”

“Rob me.”

“No, unless I kill you.”

“...take me hostage and sell me?”

“No…”

Izzy sighed. You were right, he wasn’t a threat right now and even if he was, he had no intentions on hurting you unless you gave him a reason too.

“Then it looks like we’re safe,” you smiled, like you had just sorted some problem out. “Eat, I’ll be back soon to collect your dishes and change your bandages,” you ordered lightly before leaving the room again.

The next time you returned it was to take away his dirty dishes. He had emptied the bowl, having not realised how hungry he had been until he took that first bite. He would probably be able to eat more but knew better than to risk it, too much too soon could have him bringing it all back up.

You had brought some supplies with you to change the bandages on his foot. He had glared at you the whole time, as if expecting you to do something to purposely hurt him. You didn’t though. Instead, you handled his foot and ankle delicately, cleaned the wound as carefully as you could and rebandaged it. Working diligently, only speaking when you were apologising for something you couldn’t help or asking him if the bandages were too tight.

The rest of the day went much like that. He didn’t speak whenever you came into the room to bring him food or take away empty plates, and you didn’t try to engage him in conversation, just polite small talk before leaving again.

The next morning, Izzy woke up to you bringing him another tray of food. “Morning,” you greeted him, placing the tray down beside him. “Made you some breakfast, have to keep your strength up.”

Izzy tried to sit up, making himself wince. You moved quickly, helping him shift into a comfortable sitting position. His whole body still ached but the comfortable bed was helping, he couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if he had been recovering on his little cot back on the Revenge.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, sounding like you genuinely wanted to know, weren’t just being polite.

“Like my boat wrecked,” Izzy mumbled, letting you settle the tray over his lap.

“Well, that’s to be expected. You look better than you did yesterday already, that’s a good sign,” you encouraged. “I’ll be around, have some things to tend to, but just shout if you need something.” Izzy only nodded before you were out the door again.

The next few days went very much the same but with each passing day, Izzy could feel his strength coming back. He could sit up perfectly fine on his own, had even stood once, only to fall back down when his injured foot touched the floor. He could feel himself recovering, the room was comfortable and the food was good. He supposed he shouldn’t complain but…he was feeling cooped up, trapped, useless.

Izzy lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard movement outside his window. It was probably nothing of interest but even that was appealing to him right now.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing his weight against the bedside table as he stood on his uninjured foot. He kept the wounded foot from touching the floor as he hobbled towards the window.

It was morning, you had just taken his breakfast dishes from his room, and the weather outside was bright. He looked out over the garden.

From what he could make out, he was on the second floor of a cottage, no other residences in sight.

From his window, he could see your garden where you were tending to your chickens. Tossing feed out for them. He lent against the window frame to support his weight and just watched.

You wiped your hands on your apron once you were finished tending to your chickens, looking up to see your guest in the window of the guest bedroom.

Izzy felt his face heating up, a shame building in his chest as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But you just smiled brightly and waved at him, silently noting to yourself to chastise him for moving around without support.

Izzy scowled at you from his position, perched on the edge of his bed.

“Here you go,” you presented him with the wooden crutch the doctor had given you for him. “Think you can manage?” you kept your hands out, as if ready to catch him if he fell, as he pulled himself to his feet, letting the crutch take the weight off of his bad foot.

“I’ve used a crutch before,” he grumbled, determined to be able to be properly independent again.

“Just making sure,” you were still watching him closely, hands hovering around him as you moved out of his way.

Rolling his eyes at you, Izzy gave the crutch a test run, using it to walk across the room without grabbing at tables and walls. You just nodded to yourself, satisfied that he was adjusting well to it.

“Listen, now you move around more by yourself but don’t take the piss,” you scolded, surprising him a little. “You still need to rest, to stay off of your foot as much as possible. Okay?”

As much as he wanted to scoff and dismiss you, he could tell you were serious.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously, just accept some help, alright?” you found yourself rolling your eyes at him again, you had lost count of how many times you had done so since this man could hold a conversation again. Still, you found you did it with a little fondness.

Now that Izzy had started using his crutch, he could move around your cottage, moving up and down the stairs with your help. He insisted that he didn’t need your help but you wouldn’t let him near the narrow staircase unless you were with him.

At least that meant he could come downstairs and sit in the living room or the kitchen instead of being locked away in his room all alone, he could even go and sit outside and get some fresh air.

He was currently in the living room, you had left him in front of the fire with a selection of books to choose from, while you finished cleaning up in the kitchen. You had just put the last of the dishes away when you heard hissed cursing coming from the other room.

Tossing the rag down, you rushed into the living room to find Izzy standing, gripping the back of the couch with one hand and clutching his crutch with another. The pain was etched on his face.

“Alright, come on,” you spoke softly, with care, as you hurried to his side.

You took hold of his arm, listening to him complain as you encouraged him to lean some weight against you. Still, he let you guide him back to the couch and sit him down.

Once he was sitting and you had placed the crutch to the side, you knelt down in front of him and pulled his wounded foot into your lap.

He had knocked it against something when he was walking around and when you unwrapped the bandages you saw that it was a little red but looked perfectly fine otherwise. He hadn’t broken any of the stitches, he wasn’t bleeding, it didn’t look too irritated. Thankfully, he was still on the mend.

“You have to take it easy, be careful and don’t over do it,” you sighed. Something about this man told you that he wasn’t used to sitting idle for long.

“I’m fine. Just knocked it,” he insisted petulantly.

“Yeah, well…just be careful. Once the bandages come off for good and you can put proper weight on your foot again, you’ll be able to get around with just a cane.”

“And then I’ll have outstayed my welcome,” Izzy nodded like he was agreeing with something.

“What? No!” you frowned, sitting back on your heels. “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

Izzy blinked at you, face contorting in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I’m kind and you’ve been a decent guest so far,” you shrugged, like it was truly that simple and that true, standing and brushing off your knees. “Now, sit still for once and I’ll fetch you some tea,” you ordered and, well, Izzy could follow orders, couldn’t he.

You were just about to leave the room, just about to cross the threshold, when he spoke up.

“My name is Izzy.”

You paused in the doorway, taking a moment to make sure you had heard him correctly. You turned back to him with a smile, all soft and sweet in a way that warmed him from the inside out.

“Izzy,” you repeated, testing the word on your tongue. Izzy found that he liked the sound of it and you decided that you liked the feel of it. “I like it.”

Izzy only nodded when you gave him your own name, still smiling as you disappeared back into the kitchen to prepare that tea for the two of you.

That evening, the two of you enjoyed a soothing tea in front of the fire together.

“I think it makes you look distinguished,” you complimented as you monitored his movements, smiling at how far he had come since you found him half dead in the sand.

“That’s a generous way of saying old,” Izzy rolled his eyes, adjusting his hold on the handle of his new cane. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was simple and sleek, good enough for him in his opinion.

“Absolutely not,” you tutted. “Anyway, you wear the age well so it still wouldn’t be an insult,” you shrugged.

Izzy looked away from you meaningfully, hoping to play it off as casual. “If you say so.”

“You could get a real nice one with a silver handle or something. Oh! You can get one with a hidden knife in it!”

You could just picture holding a sleek but ornate cane, just simple enough to satisfy him. Looking all distinguished and formal until somebody says the wrong thing, looks at him the wrong away, and he unsheathes his hidden blade.

“Huh…that’s not a bad idea, actually,” Izzy hummed, looking at the cane more approvingly this time. Yeah, maybe he could make this work.

Evening tea had become a bit of a routine for the two of you now. Sitting in your cozy living room in front of the fire, blankets over your laps, a cup of tea in your hands, and maybe a book each depending on your mood. It was a pleasant, calming way to end the day.

Izzy kept glancing at you, watching as your eyes followed the lines in your book, lost in the fictional world. He wanted to speak, to get this off of his chest, to take the weight off of your shoulders but…but he found himself worried that saying what he needed to say would take all of this away from him. He liked this, even if it wasn’t a life made for him. He would miss it.

“I’m really able to leave now. I’d find a ship,” he finally managed to speak, to push the words out without faltering.

You paused, lowering your book to look at him. “And I’ve told you, you’re still welcome. I like living out of the way, like the quiet, y’know, but it’s been nice to have you here. You’re interesting and I enjoy your company. Izzy scoffed. “Really, I do,” you insisted.

“Well, you’re probably the only person who does,” he muttered, thumbing at the pages of the book he hadn’t been reading.

“That can’t be true.”

“Apparently, I’m difficult.”

“Okay…yeah, I can see that. But it’s kind of…endearing, you know?” you laughed a little.

Izzy pondered it for a moment, still not really believing it despite how sincere you sounded. “...if you say so.”

“I do,” you didn’t care how many times you needed to reassure him, he needed it and that was all you needed to know. “Anyway, don’t you go worrying about rushing out of here. You can stay as long as you need.”

“You wouldn’t want me here if you knew who I was,” Izzy insisted firmly.

“Well, tell me who you are, Izzy,” you placed your book down, completely forgotten about, so that he could see your full attention was on him. “Tell me, Izzy. It won’t change anything,” you promised.

Izzy sighed, placing his unopened book down as well, refusing to look at you as he spoke. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’ll never know unless you tell me,” you shrugged.

Izzy took a stabling breath but nodded, knowing you were right, that you would probably find out eventually anyway. It would be better if you heard it from him.

“My full name is Israel Hands and you were right about me being a pirate,” he started. For some, that would be enough information.

“...that name is familiar,” you hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember where you heard it. It didn’t sound like a common name and you were certain you didn’t know anyone with the name ‘Hands’, but you had definitely heard the name before somewhere.

“I’m the first mate of Blackbeard,” he added.

For a moment, you could only gape at him. It wasn’t everyday you found out you were housing one of the most infamous pirates of your time.

Izzy waited for the horror or disgust to set in. He knew the stories and tall tales people told, some true and others wildly fabricated. He knew that you had likely heard one or two stories yourself if you recognised his name.

You shook off the surprise but found yourself more confused about how he ended up here. “What is the first mate of Blackbeard doing washing up here with a missing toe?” you asked, not sounding disgusted or afraid of him.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, figuring you didn’t really want to hear it anyway.

“I have the time.”

Izzy was certain that you were just being polite, perhaps even afraid that if you weren’t he would hurt you in some way, but when he looked at you, you were nothing but genuine. Your eyes held the usual care and sincerity that they usually did when they gazed upon him. Your smile was still soft. Like nothing had changed, and maybe it hadn’t.

So, unable to find a reason not to, Izzy told you everything. You just made yourself so easy to talk to. He started from the very beginning because you wanted to know who he was, not just how he ended up here.

He told you of a young boy at the docks sneaking onto a ship, of a cabin boy aboard Captain Hornigold’s ship, of a newly made captain and first mate that still had sparks in their eyes. He told you about the creation and rise of Blackbeard, of the fuckeries, the victories, and the losses. He told you about Queen Anne’s Revenge and of all the years they served her well. He told you of men growing bored and restless, of a ship christened The Revenge. Of the landed gentry come pirates.

He told you a saga of hope and pain that ended in betrayal, desertion, mutilation, reunion, and finally in the enlightenment that had Izzy Hands climbing into a dinghy in the middle of the night. Only two days away from shore. Only one day before a storm that only his previous captain could have predicted.

Izzy told you everything in front of a crackling fire, the warm mug of tea growing cold in his hands. And you listened, like he was somebody worth listening to.

That night, you both fell asleep in the living room. The fire burning out but the blankets draped over you both keeping you warm. For the first time in a long time, neither of you fell asleep alone.

When you woke up the next morning to find the other side of the couch empty and the house silent, you worried. Your talk last night went very well, in your opinion. Izzy had opened up and you had listened, had reassured him when he was finished or doubted himself.

You threw off your blanket and jumped to your feet, heading out the front door. You walked around to the rocks that overlooked the beach, finding him sitting there, looking out at the sea.

You relaxed at the sight of him, reassured that he hadn't run away in the middle of the night. You joined him quietly, he didn’t look up but he seemed to welcome your company.

The two of you watched the sun rise over the horizon but you couldn’t help stealing looks at Izzy’s face, he looked so…content. There was a faint longing in his gaze, lost in his thoughts, but he looked happy, the early morning sun illuminating his face.

“Do you miss it?” you asked, staring out at the gentle water with him.

“Sometimes…” Izzy confessed on a soft exhale. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really. It’s strange being on land. The ground is always so still.”

“Yeah, it tends to be,” you joked a little, catching the way the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in the imitation of a smile.

A beat of silence passed. “I understand if you want me to leave now.” Unfortunately, he kept speaking before you could protest. “My foot is healed enough. The worst that can happen now is that I need the cane for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

This again…you sighed.

“Izzy, I don’t want you to leave.”

“Even when you know who I am?”

“Even then,” you nodded, smiling fondly. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not some violent barbarian that people tell stories about. I’ve known you long enough to know you wouldn’t hurt me and that I’m rather fond of you. My home is open to you for as long as you want it to be,” you promised.

“Kindness gets people killed,” Izzy chastised quietly.

“Lucky thing I have the best swordsman in the Caribbean to protect me then, huh?” you teased, knocking your shoulder against his.

“Yeah…real lucky…” Izzy mumbled out at the ocean.

“So you’re staying?” you asked, not hiding the hope in your voice. Izzy just nodded. “Good, I’m glad,” your smile grew.

“At least for the time being,” he shrugged.

“I’ll just have to make the most of it then, won’t I?” You tried not to roll your eyes at his attempt to play coy. Izzy shook his head at you but found himself smiling despite himself.

“Now come inside and get something to eat,” you patted his shoulder.

Izzy let you help him to his feet and hand him his cane without complaint. He even let you take him by the arm and guide him back into the cottage, though he pretended that he didn’t find the whole thing comforting.

You walked into Izzy’s room, which you had started calling it instead of ‘the guest room’, and found him shaving in front of the mirror.

“Aw, I was likely the scruffy look,” you pouted playfully.

“It’s a fucking nightmate,” Izzy muttered as he shaved his cheeks clean. Now he could stop scratching at the stubble. You just chuckled fondly at him.

“Want me to trim your hair when you’re done?” you offered. His stubble had grown in almost enough to not be considered stubble anymore and his hair had grown as well, you figured he’d want that trimmed back down if he was so particular about his facial hair.

“I can do it myself.”

“I have no doubt. I usually do my own as well, but a little helping hand would do no harm.”

Moving on to neatening around his goatee, Izzy sighed. “Fine…just…”

“I’ll do it exactly the way you want, don’t worry,” you promised him.

“Fine.”

You sat on the bed while Izzy finished shaving and trimming his goatee until it was perfectly neat. Izzy’s stubble had grown in while he was bed bound, so this was your first time seeing him properly groomed the way he liked. Turns out, you liked it too.

He was huffy about it but allowed you to pick up the shears and comb through his hair. You worked slowly, making sure to speak to him and not take it too short. As you spoke and worked, Izzy seemed to relax, trusting you.

You cut his hair back down to the length he preferred but he still hadn’t slicked it back with pomade like he usually did, hadn’t done so since he woke up in this very bedroom. Instead, it hung loose and soft over his ears. It made him look soft, less intense. He supposed it was more suitable for his current living conditions so he tried not to dwell on it too much.

“There you go. You look lovely,” you complimented, running your fingers through his hair and letting it fall, smiling proudly at your handiwork. Izzy scoffed. “Oh just accept it,” you tutted, “you’re all neat and tidy again, all nice and handsome.”

“Christ,” Izzy complained, glaring at your reflection. “I will maim you.”

“Ah, so there is some pirate left in you. Very nice to see,” you teased. “I’ll leave you to keep grooming yourself.”

You could hear him muttering curses to himself as you left the room, giggling to yourself.

Izzy sat at the kitchen island, cane propped up beside him, peeling apples while you worked on making a pastry. “You really need to make a pie?” Izzy questioned, but didn’t slow his work.

“We need to use up the apples somehow or they’re just going to go bad and that would be a waste,” you reminded him. “Anyway, you’ll like it. I make a great apple pie.”

“...you’ll have a high standard to beat,” he warned.

“You’ve made me curious, Izzy,” you looked over at him but he didn’t look like he wanted to talk any further about it, so you didn’t push. “You can tell me another day.”

You continued to make the pie, the fluidity of your actions telling Izzy that you had indeed done this many times. You would give him a task here and there, and he would carry it out diligently. You could imagine him as a first mate, just as diligent on the deck as he was as your sous chef.

Izzy watched you plate up two slices of freshly baked pie. “Here, have a slice while it’s still warm,” you placed a plate in front of him. “Cream?”

“Sure,” Izzy nodded and poured some over his slice before joining him, sitting beside him. Izzy took a spoonful of pie and brought it up to his mouth before pausing and scowling at you. “Stop fucking watching me like that.”

“I want to know if you like it,” you whined.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he huffed.

“No you wouldn’t. You’d mumble ‘yeah, it’s fine’ even if it was the best thing you had ever eaten.”

Izzy fought back his smile, knowing you were right. “I promise to tell you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Fine,” you sighed heavily, dramatically. “If you insist.” No, you weren’t pouting.

But you also didn’t watch him eat, and that was enough to satisfy him. “Okay, yeah…” Izzy sighed after swallowing his second bite. “This is good,” he praised.

“Thank you,” you grinned, bright and proud, before digging into your own slice.

Izzy just chuckled and shook his head at you, going back to enjoying his pie.

Izzy slows his chewing when a thought dawns on him. This was all so…domestic, the way you moved around each other, shared the space together. He didn’t think he’d ever be sitting in a kitchen of a cute cottage, eating a pie that was made for him by his…fuck, he needed to shake off that thought immediately.

His what? His carer? The person who took him in when he was on death’s door, who took pity on him.

“We could go for a walk later, maybe even down to town if you feel up to it. Give that cane a proper test run,” you suggested between bites.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“But I swear, if I see a single flinch or hesitation in your steps, we are turning around and coming right back home.” You didn’t come off as a threatening person, you were rarely stern with him, but he knew you were being serious about this.

Maybe he was focusing on the wrong part of your warning but…

Home.

You talked about it like it was both your home and his home, a home you shared. Like it could be his home. Could this be his home? Fuck.

“Sounds good,” Izzy nodded.

Izzy had allowed himself to grow too comfortable, he only realised that when the worries seeped back in. He had grown used to your home, your presence. He didn’t like change, never had, and a lot of things had changed lately but the two of you had developed a bit of a routine that helped calm his nerves. Now it felt like it was all changing again.

You had been acting strange, almost distant towards him. As much as you could do while sharing the same space. He would often catch you losing yourself in through but never voicing them, never letting him in on it when he asked. Something was wrong, he must have done something wrong, it was the only thing that made sense. Maybe you were building up the courage to kick him out and send him on his way, you had realised he was more trouble than he was worth.

“Izzy, can we talk about something?”

This was it, you were going to ask him to leave. He has outstayed his welcome, if he has ever truly been welcome in the first place.

“Sure.” His voice didn’t falter and he was proud of himself for that.

“You told me how you ended up here, about what happened and I was wondering…well, the crew, Blackbeard, aren’t expecting you to return, are they?”

That question threw him off. Oh, maybe you were worried about Blackbeard coming to your shores and causing trouble. “Probably not. They’re probably relieved about it as well,” Izzy answered, honest but a little bitter about it, even he could admit to that.

“And you aren’t going to try to go back?” you asked, though the question wasn’t judgmental in any way.

“Wouldn’t be welcome if I tried, I imagine. But I have contacts, I’d find another ship or something,” he didn’t want to lie to you but he also didn’t want you to keep allowing him to live in your home out of pity or guilt. He would manage, he would survive, he always did.

“…Blackbeard was talking about retiring, right?”

Izzy felt himself sigh before he heard it. “Sure. Guess he managed it too, in his own way I suppose. Didn’t think retirement was a fucking option. Still not sure it is,” he admitted.

You looked nervous again, aimlessly fixing a cushion on the couch you both sat on. “What if this could be your retirement?”

“What do you mean?” Izzy frowned.

You might have huffed and rolled your eyes at him for being dense but you could see his genuine confusion. “Somewhere peaceful and quiet for you to relax. Good weather. Somewhere comfortable by the sea. Sounds like a good retirement spot to me…”

“I…what are you saying?”

You had to fight the temptation to reach out for him. “I’m saying that maybe you deserve to have a retirement too. Some…some good days without constant worry and fear. Maybe you deserve it and have earnt it just as much as Blackbeard,” you gave into the need, reaching out and placing your hand over his, “and I’m asking if you could have that here, I’m asking if you would stay.”

“You want me to stay…for good?” His face was scrunched up like he was trying to figure out some complicated puzzle. Like he didn’t believe that you could just want him to stay here with you.

“I do,” you nodded like it was as simple as that, because it was. “I’ve lived out here for a long time. Never felt lonely despite the distance I am from town. I think I would be lonely if you left. Think I would miss you. No, I know I would.”

“I don’t need charity,” Izzy growled, pulling his hand away from yours.

It made you ache but you didn’t fight him, didn’t try to touch him again, giving him the space he needed. “I’m not doing you a favour. I just want you here, Izzy. If you want to go, I’ll support you and do whatever I can to help, of course, but I want you to stay.”

Izzy couldn’t argue with you, apparently. He didn’t snap or accuse you of lying, he paused and considered it. Why would you lie? What would you be getting out of this if you were lying?

“…why?”

There was so much you could say, so much you had yet to put into words. But one of the many things you had learnt about Izzy during your time together was that actions spoke louder than words, the care you had shown him had earnt his trust more than anything you had said.

You acted before you could talk yourself out of it.

You shifted closer to him on the couch, placing a hand against his shoulder when you lent in. The kiss you pressed to his lips was short and tender, just enough to express the way you felt.

When you pulled back, hand still on his shoulder, he was just looking at you. The lines on his face softened and lips slightly parted as he blinked at you.

“Will you stay with me, Izzy?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Izzy nodded, looking a little stunned but the answer felt right. “Yeah, yes, I will. I want to stay as well.”

You smiled adoringly, lifting your hand from his shoulder to stroke his cheek.

Izzy had woken up in your home thinking he had died out at sea but he knew there was no way that was the case because this couldn’t be his afterlife. He hadn’t done enough good to earn this, you were just giving him this out of the kindness of your heart.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, didn’t think he did deserve it, but he was here anyway. Maybe you were right, maybe this could be the next, maybe even the last, phase of his life. He would do whatever he could to earn it now, to earn you and this home.

#israel hands x reader #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #our flag means death izzy #ofmd x reader

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kindersurprisebacterium · 2 months ago

Text

Furlough (Soap/Reader)

CW: prisoner of war, canon-typical violence, description of medical procedures, near-death experiences, mild angst, established relationship, lots of crying, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, intimacy, mentions of pregnancy

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 5.2k

Read on AO3

My skull felt like it was rattling. As if a sine wave ripped through my ears, leaving behind a constant ringing. My limbs felt heavy. Thick ropes bound my wrists and ankles, dragging my body down into the depths of semi-consciousness. My only hold on orientation was the throbbing ache of my crooked nose. Dank, coagulated blood filled my senses. The taste of copper and dirt coated my molars.

My lungs burned, only growing hotter with every breath. My eyelids fluttered closed as I tried to clear the image of my ribcage, contorted and mangled, from my mind. Something ran down my cheeks, whether it was tears or blood, I couldn’t tell- nor did I care. I was too hot, too fidgety as I lay against the concrete.

Why was I here again? My mind flashed to the tattered embroidery on my worn clothes. Task force 141. Hastily scribbled mission plans flashed in my mind. Regret pooled in my rigid abdomen.

I longed for a mattress, somewhere to lay my battered bones. The thin dormitory mattresses would feel like heaven under my bruised skin. A glass of scotch. Water. Anything to wet my dried lips. Some of Gaz’s home cooking. One of Price’s exaggerated stories of conquest and combat.

Was this the end? A thankless death on the floor of a cellar? If I knew this is what would come of my efforts, I don’t know if I would’ve even bothered.

Any remaining warmth evaporated through my skin. My vision, blurred but still intact, began to slowly darken. Desolate surroundings now disappeared into nothing but a figment. My breath, fragmented and shallow, drew softer.

Perhaps my closest comrade in combat was McTavish. His voice echoed in my head, scolding me for being so careless. My lips curled into a smile as I imagined what sort of quick quips he’d come up with. My teeth chattered as I imagined him wrapping my battered limbs in dressings. Hands warm against my bare skin. Voice soft as he leaned in.

“We’re gonnae get you out of here-”

My brows furrowed, a growing sense of loneliness settling in my chest. I clung onto the fragmented memory of his voice. Gruff, with a thick accent. Clung onto the image of the crooked smile he flashed whenever he said something snide. And his laugh, deep and bellowing. He always threw his head back whenever he laughed, sometimes bumping his head into the drywall.

“Stay with me-”

His hands were calloused. I’d glance down at his hand, and the way it engulfed mine. It was a small action that could brighten up my mood. Of course, he’d only lace his fingers with mine under a table, behind his back, anywhere out of view. It’s strictly forbidden. He always repeated it with a forced pout, arms crossing over his chest. Strictly forbidden, he’d say before stealing a kiss from me when no one was looking. We never labeled things, but friends never act the way we did.

“I’m gonnae need a medic at exfil-”

I thought about the hoodie laid out on my dorm bed. It was too small, shrunk in the wash. I never told him I could see him searching up how to shrink cotton fabric. Never told him I could see the gleam in his eye whenever I wore it around the base. Never told him it stopped being about convenience when I’d wear it near constantly. I lied through my teeth when I told him my own hoodie was in the hamper.

“Shit- BP is 78/56. Spike the bag for me stat!”

I can’t remember when Johnny himself became a replacement for the hoodie. Warm arms draping over me like a hand stitched quilt. Heartbeat lulling me to sleep as my head lay upon his chest. He told me to ignore the hushed voices that seemed to follow us everywhere. Faint memories of the two of us in a tent flickered in my mind before being snuffed out. Deer, deeper the ropes pulled me.

“Get the AED, I doubt they’re gonna make it.”

A tingling sensation settled in my limbs. I could feel my being feathering into the cold air. My body melted, mixing with space itself. Static soaked into my skin, washing clean any remaining thoughts.

My body ached. Every inch of my skin, was now engulfed in misery, enveloping me like tar. I furrowed my brows, clenching my jaw tight as I tried to push through. My limbs slowly moved through the honey, breaking free just enough-

My eyelids opened, only to flutter close again as a blinding beam of white flooded my vision. I drew in a sharp breath. The oxygen flowed through my lungs, stinging like fresh menthol.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I became acutely aware of all the faces surrounding me. Furrowed brows, parted lips, adorned in pale blue surgical masks.

Glancing down, my eyes widened as I was met with the sight of my bare chest. Small, round stickers littered my chest. A mess of multicolored wires littered the bedside. My gaze raked down the rest of my body, down my tattered jeans, to the gloved hand on my ankle.

Bloodshot blue eyes locked onto me. As soon as I saw those sparking irises, my body moved on its own. I sat up, shifting onto my aching knees. The iv tubing tugged at my arm as I threw myself at the man. In that instant, the aching of my joints ceased, as if his touch was medicine.

His chest heaved, broken sobs rising from his throat as he pulled me into his embrace. He pressed his face against my neck, leaving behind damp puddles, stained with tears.

“Lay down, lay down.” He cooed, gently nudging me back. I grunted as I lowered myself back onto the stiff hospital bed. He reached out hesitantly, like a child to a plate of China. As if I’d break from a single stroke of a finger. His blue eyes flicked rapidly across my body. Across the bloodied dressings and fresh sutures.

Drawing in a breath, he reached forward. His calloused palm cradled my cheek. His touch was feather light. I leaned into his hand, letting my eyelids flutter closed. Clatter rose from behind me as the group of medics slowly dispersed. Hushed voices spoke softly, softly enough to be indecipherable over the ever present tinnitus.

With his other hand, he tugged a wool blanket over my bare body. It was warm, as if being freshly dried. His fingertips carded through my hair, gently cupping the back of my head. He leaned in enough for his heated breath to fan over my sticky skin.

“You ripped your leads off.” He chuckled.

With the passing time, my aches dulled into a gentle reminder of my mistakes. Blood coagulated, flaked, and rinsed away. Bruises, once purple and black, faded to yellow.

The first few nights, he wouldn’t leave my side. He slept with his knees tucked to his chest in the armchair beside my hospital bed. As I slowly regained my composure, pieced together my fragmented memories, I found myself reaching out to him. I shifted on the mattress, making space for him beside me.

It’s too soon, too late, too intrusive, he’d say. Sighing, I’d nod, watching him flip through the pages of a book. The way his tongue swiped over his thumb before every turn of the page. He’d gently hum to himself as he read, soft voice lulling me asleep. By the time I woke up, he was gone.

When I was allowed to sleep in my own dormitory, I thought things would’ve changed. Hoped they would. I opened the door to my room, holding my breath in case I found him inside. But I didn’t. I needed uninterrupted sleep, he’d explain. And to him, that meant sleeping alone.

The rest of the task force continued working like nothing happened. Running drills, going out on missions. If I didn't know better, I would’ve thought I was a ghost, haunting the halls of the base. The lingering whispers that followed me through the halls only intensified, speculation growing as his blatant affection vanished. Was it something I did? If even Johnny wouldn’t look at me…

“Nobody’s blaming you,” Price explained, folding his hands in his lap. A neatly stapled packet of paper sat atop his mahogany desk. I pursed my lips in a meager attempt to bite back the tears welling in my eyes. My throat felt raw, ready to explode with rage.

Four months of medical leave and the looming threat of medical discharge. My fingers toyed with the cool aluminum crutch in my grip. I didn’t deny that I wasn’t in a state to serve, I could barely take a piss without a nurse peeking in on me to make sure I didn’t end up on the floor. I grew incoherent with anger when I thought about being away from base, back in fucking Leeds.

Drawing in a breath through flared nostrils, I balled my hands into fists. I pushed down the fear that rose in my chest. This was about serving my force. Not about the growing sense of longing. Right?

“Heal up and we’ll have you back.” Price tapped his palm against the desk with a sense of finality, grunting as he rose to his feet. Without another word, he left. My head dropped, gaze falling to the sling draped from my shoulder. I didn’t move when I heard a soft rap against the door frame. I knew who it was.

“I think y’ could really use some rest. This is a good thing, yeah?”

His words stroked a nerve in my chest. Biting back my tongue, I nodded. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to burst out yelling.

“Why do you treat me like a fucking freak?!” I wanted to yell. Whether from pity or disgust, he wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Backing away from kisses, or only offering a brief, detached peck on the lips. I could feel his gaze burning through me, and yet he couldn’t even look me in the eye. For the first time in months I was sleeping alone. Once again I was pulling his hoodie over my battered frame, this time as a replacement for his touch. Sighing, I stood, fingers tending around the crutches.

My fingers brushed along the ridge of my nose. Narrowing my eyes, I studied my reflection. The swelling had gone down, leaving behind a crooked lump. I looked noticeably different, stained with wear like an old whiskey barrel. The static that settled in my limbs never really left. It stayed put, a constant nagging mosquito beneath my skin. Nerve damage, the doctor said, was one fickle bitch.

Even the apartment I was in didn’t feel like my own. Sure, I paid the rent. My name was on the lease. Yet it functioned more as some sort of sick shrine to the past. A monument to better years. Would my family even recognize me? I glanced at my younger, naïve self in a framed photo.

My phone hadn’t gone off once in the three weeks I’d been back home. To be fair, I hadn’t told anyone I was back in town. Even then, this utter void of communication was out of the norm for the task force. Usually there would be something. An incoherent meme, a drunken text, a chiding message from price.

Sighing, I picked up the remote off my nightstand. My thumb dug into the little plus sign. In an instant the soft melody swept across my apartment. Droning bass drowned out the constant ringing in my ears. I stepped forward, knees brushing against my couch.

A knock at my front door drew my attention. My brows knitted as my head turned toward the sound. I was nearly ten, the sun having long since set. The hardwood floors creaked beneath my feet as I stepped into the hallway. My fingertips brushed against the lock, sliding it out of place. Feeling my heart race, I glimpsed down at the doorknob before me. Swallowing down my anxieties, I turned the knob.

He was dressed in a thick wool sweater. An olive beanie sat atop his brow. Tiny snowflakes clung to his lashes, threatening to melt in the heat of the indoors. He didn’t move an inch, only giving me a smile. At his side was a small carryon. I narrowed my eyes at him. I don’t think I could’ve expected anything like this given his attitude toward me. If the carryon meant what I think it meant, he had a lot of nerve looking for a place to stay after the way he’d been acting.

“Your bruises have faded,” he rocked on his heels, eyes flicking to the living room behind me. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, kicking the door aside for him. He murmured a small gratitude before stepping inside. I pushed the door shut behind us, draping the two of us in darkness. His blue eyes fixated on me. As if about to speak, he parted his lips. Nothing but a short exhale escaped his mouth. Furrowing his brows, he pursed his lips.

Giving only a huff from my nose, I turned toward the fridge. If I had to put up with this, I could at least break into the case of beer in my fridge. My finger slid underneath the tab, pushing it open with a soft crack. I let my eyes flutter closed as I took a sip of the drink.

“You look good,” he finally spoke. I shot him a quick glance over my shoulder.

“How long are you off for?” I asked, not knowing why. Maybe to make conversation, maybe to know what I was getting into.

“A week,” he said with a grin. “I took time off so I could see you.”

I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face. I stepped forward, leaning against the counter. Maybe it was just a fluke, a momentary spell. With those eyes on me, that smile, he’s got to be back to his old self.

“I was about to watch a movie if you wanted to join,” I said, bringing the can to my lips.

I sank down onto the couch, pulling a blanket over my body. Johnny poured himself a glass of scotch. It was a Christmas gift he’d given me a year ago. A bottle of the top shelf stuff to make up for all the “lousy” beer I’d been drinking. I thumbed through Netflix, settling on a horror movie. Johnny always said he liked them. The cushions shifted as he sat down. Looking over at him, my smile soon faded as the loud thudding of the intro boomed over the speakers.

He sat at the other end of the couch, knees tucked to his chest. His shoulders stiffened as he brought the glass to his lips. My eyes screwed shut. He had to be fucking with me, it had to be a joke. Any minute he’d curl up by my side, slide under the blanket, hands over me like we’d done so many times-

Was something wrong with me? Was this…distorted visage of myself too overbearing? Was he being malicious? Was he playing the long game?

He laughed at an obscene joke made by one of the characters. He laughed. How could he be laughing, seeming so casual? There’s no way this wasn’t intentional. No way this wasn’t some sort of ploy to tug at my heartstrings. Sure, he could’ve done it at any point, but doing it at my lowest?

“No fuckin’ way-” he shook his head, grinning brightly. “Did you see tha-”

I could feel his gaze on me, and it only seemed to spur me on more. I clenched my jaw tightly, pursing my lips into a thin line.

“Everything good?” He asked, waving his hand in my peripheral. Without warning, my lips moved before I could think of what to say, how to phrase it so I don’t come off as an asshole-

“Is there something wrong with me?” I blurted out. A scream echoed over the speaker, accompanied by the low rumble of a chainsaw. His blue eyes widened, thick brows raising.

“I don’t-”

“You won’t touch me. You haven’t since that mission. You- Christ, you won’t even fucking sit next to me!” I gestured to his curled up form. He sputtered, lips parting in a vain attempt to speak. “You act like I’m some fucking monster- and- and I can’t tell if it’s some sick, twisted mind game, or because of my busted fucking nose- or-”

“Stop!” His glass clattered as he set it on the coffee table. I drew my attention back to him. Thick tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into his sweater. “You- you almost died. I wouldn’t even let go of your hand when they did CPR. I wouldn’t-” he paused, exhaling a shaky breath. “Every bit of you was broken. I stayed awake three nights straight, praying to god ye’d see me first when waking up.”

He reached a shaky hand out, only to let it drop to his side.

“I can’t explain it. Any time I touch you…” he paused, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “I can’t stop thinking I’m going to hurt you.”

I could feel the tension leaving my body. My shoulders dropped, and in an instant my lungs expanded. My lips curled up into a crooked smile.

“You’re fuckin’ stupid.” I laughed. “I’m sorry-” I clasped my hand over my mouth in a poor attempt to quell my laughter. “Please, just touch me. Hold me. You’re not going to break me, Johnny.”

I pulled the blanket off of my body, making room for him beside me. With a small sniff, he moved closer. His palm skimmed across my bare calf. In an instant, he softened. His fingers skated up my thigh, over my hip. Exhaling a shaky breath, he wrapped his arms around my waist. I cradled his face in my hands. With the pad of my thumb I stroked away the tears on his blotchy cheeks.

“I missed you.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. A soft noise rose from his chest as he trailed his lips over my jaw. His fingers flexed, gripping my sides tight. He hummed, pressing his face into the crook of my neck. He drew in a deep breath, undoubtedly taking in my shampoo, vanilla and cinnamon.

He grunted, pushing my knee aside so he could settle between my legs. His “favorite spot” as he put it. Like reciting a script, my fingers ran up the back of his neck, carding through his messy Mohawk. Everything felt instinctual, exactly as it once was.

He rested his cheek on my chest, gaze fixed forward on the TV. My longing was sated- somewhat. I felt my body sink into the couch below, any tension melting in his grasp. And yet one nagging thought swarmed around my brain like a buzzing mosquito. I wanted more.

I yearned to relive the memory of his hands on my body. Sought it out like a moth to a flame. Glancing down at the man on my chest, I bit down on my lip.

“Your hearts racin’. S’it really that scary?” He tilted his head to look up at me. When his gaze settled on me, my expression, his eyes widened. Like a trained dog, he could tell in an instant what this meant. A single gaze could communicate even across the room- and it had many times.

“Johnny…” I spoke softly.

“I really don’t think we should-” he shook his head. Turning down affection was out of character for sure, but turning down sex was almost more out of character.

“It’s been almost two months, come on.” I whined. Two months since the mission, two months since we’d had sex. Two months since we last basked in each other’s touch, blissfully disregarding any established code of conduct. Two months since I’d even felt his bare skin.

“I want to feel you,” I added, my grip on his hair tensing. Barely audible was the noise that fell from his tongue. His cerulean eyes darkened, turning his irises into deep navy pools.

“I’ll eat you out, and nothing more.” He offered, voice stern and unyielding. My lips curled into a smile, a smug sign of victory. Quickly, I pursed my lips in a weak attempt to hide my assurance.

The cushions shifted as he moved, not between my legs, but onto his feet. Brows furrowing, I glanced up at him.

“Our first time in two months isn’t gonnae be on a couch.”

He held his hand out for me. Staring at him through my lashes, I took his hand. His thick fingers laced with mine, tensing as he pulled me to stand. I leaned into his chest, pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I lingered on his lips, taking in every taste, every jagged bit of dried skin. Only then did I pull away.

I trailed behind him as he stepped into my bedroom. I slid my palm across the wall, feeling for the plastic switch plate. With a click, the room lit up. I looped my finger into the collar of his sweater, tugging him behind me as I stood before the bed. The springs squeaked as I lowered myself onto the bed, scooting back just enough for my feet to just barely dangle off the bed. I curled one finger towards myself, urging him to step forward.

“Just head, okay?” He stated again. I wonder if he too knew that was a boldfaced lie. John McTavish was not one to fuck his hand when he had me lying before him.

“What’s head without some foreplay, huh?” I smirked, watching as the man moved to lie between my legs. Every move of mine from this point was calculated, from the way I crossed my ankles behind his back to the way I toyed with his shirt hem as I kissed him. His tongue ran across my bottom lip. With a soft moan I parted my lips for him. He groaned, licking into my mouth.

I eased his shirt up over his abs, pushing higher and higher. Shifting his weight onto his knees, he pulled his sweater over his head, dropping it onto the floor. In an instant my hands were on his bare skin. His muscles tensed, shifting under his skin with every breath.

“Come on, your turn.” His blue eyes skimmed across the faded screen printing on my shirt. A pang of anxiety struck in my chest. Every patch of scar tissue, every burn, every lingering bruise came back into my mind. Swallowing down my thoughts, I pulled the shirt from my body.

I could feel his gaze raking across my scars, taking in the sight before him. Heat rushed to my cheeks as he looked back up at me. He leaned down, pressing his bare chest to mine. Beating heart against beating heart. His lips met mine, only this kiss was soaked in a softer feeling.

He trailed his honey sweet kisses down my neck. I whined as his teeth grazed my skin, sinking in just enough to tease me. His tongue darted past his lips, laving over broken blood vessels and faint teeth marks. Down my collarbone his lips traveled. My back arched off of the bed when his lips wrapped around my nipple. His brows furrowed as he sucked, and then parted his lips to make way for his tongue.

He kissed over my ribs, and down my stomach. I shuddered as he slipped his fingers underneath my shorts. He glanced up at me with a look laced with desperation, pupils drinking in every little reaction he pulled from me. I lifted my hips for him as he tugged my shorts down.

I parted my legs for him, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. His pupils dilated as he took in my bare frame.

“Missed you so much,” he mumbled softly as he slid his fingers up my core. “Such a pretty thing. So wet for me.”

Heat rushed to my face as I realized he wasn’t talking to me, but my cunt. His eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned in, dragging his tongue up my core. Instinctually, my hips jolted off of the bed. He groaned as I gripped his hair tight.

I tossed my head back against the pillows as I melted into his touch. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his facial hair against my skin had me coming undone. The tension, the pain, the self consciousness building over the past few weeks now lapped away by his tongue.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to my cunt, tongue sliding over my clit with fervor. Over his groans I could just barely hear the clinking of his belt. I watched as he took his cock in his hand, thick fingers wrapping around his shaft.

He shook his head, attempting to push even closer to my twitching cunt. My chest rose and fell as I drew in ragged breaths. Every exhale I took was punctuated by desperate noises.

My back arched painfully off of the bed, hips pushing further into his mouth. With a groan, he slid his palm up my body, reaching out to toy with my nipple. I felt myself falling deeper into sensation. A burning hot tension slowly built within my stomach, pulling tightly at my limbs.

He wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking harshly. Tears welled in my eyes, only spurred on by the way his tongue moved against me. I could feel a growing desperation, bubbling like a geyser threatening to blow.

I cried out his name, pulling tight on his curls. As if on their own, my hips began to rock against his face, begging for more stimulation. Anything to push me over the edge. Just a little more.

The crescendo hit its peak with another harsh suck. The red hot spring in my stomach snapped. I clenched around nothing, cunt fluttering against his lips. My limbs contorted, muscles going taut as every one of my nerve endings ignited. It felt electric, jolting up the back of my spine and settling in my hips, a heavy pressure.

He pressed a chaste kiss to my clit before pulling away, blue eyes fixated on my heaving chest. I drew in heavy breaths, lungs burning with every bit of air. He pressed honeyed kisses to my thighs, hand still stroking up and down his length.

“Johnny, please just fuck me.” I whined, twirling my finger around one of his loose curls. “I need to feel you.”

He bit down on his bottom lip, brows furrowing. His blue eyes flicked across my bare body, before settling back on my dripping cunt. The mattress squeaked as he shifted onto his knees. His warm fingers splayed over my knees as he tugged my legs over his hips.

“Look what you do to me,” he said, voice laced with lust. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and slowly began rutting his leaking head against my clit. His jaw went slack, a soft noise falling from his tongue. He pulled back, lining his cock up with my entrance. With a nudge of his hips, he slowly pushed inside of me.

“Fuck-” he sputtered, eyes fixated on my cunt as I swallowed him up. Every inch he gave me, I took, body craving his touch. “Takin’ me so well,” he groaned.

His hips stilled as he bottomed out. With a soft moan, I looped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him flush to my chest. His lips met mine in a tender kiss, swallowing up any noises that fell from my mouth.

He began to slowly roll his hips, groaning into my mouth. His cock dragged against my insides, sparking pleasure in my stomach. I missed this, missed being filled up by him. Missed all the little noises he’d make.

His pace was slow, and he took his time feeling every inch of me. He savored my cunt, slowly rocking both of our bodies against the mattress. His fingers dug into my hips, groping my flesh tightly.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he said, pulling away to look at me with those deep blue eyes.

“That’s okay, just wanna feel you.” I cradled his cheeks in my hand, facial hair tickling my palms. The look he gave me was one of intoxication. He’d been drinking me in all night, and it was finally beginning to show.

With every deep stroke, I could feel his cock head nuzzling against my cervix. He filled me up deliciously, gentle stretch burning in my loins. It felt natural, instinctual, the way he toyed with my body.

“Take what you need, Johnny.” I spoke with half-lidded eyes. My words stirred something in him. His pace began to quicken as he lost himself in pleasure. Soft clapping echoed through the room as his hips met mine.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, pressing sloppy kisses against my skin. He left behind a trail of saliva and bruises that were sure to stay with me for a week. I’d wear them proudly as a mark of companionship. A mark that I made it through.

The tension in my core returned. Like a red hot steel spring slowly contracting. Tensing, squeezing my organs tight. My head fell back against the pillows, fingers firmly holding his hair.

I took in shaky, shallow breaths, letting my eyelids flutter closed. His moans grew higher in pitch, more frequent, more unrestrained. My mouth fell open, a stream of incoherent babbles and praises falling off the tip of my tongue. His pace grew erratic, arrhythmic, and hastier as he reached his climax. Moaning against my skin, he thrusted into me, cock twitching as he came.

The searing hot coil snapped once more, igniting jolts of static in my sticky limbs. I held onto him tight, tight enough to feel his pounding heart against mine. Right where I wanted him. I seized around him, milking his orgasm and drawing a breathy whine from him. He pressed his lips to my neck, muffling his melodic moans.

His cock softened inside me, cum spilling down my thighs. With a soft huff he pulled out, laying at my side. I felt my lips curling into a smile as I reached out, tugging a thick blanket over our bodies. He held my face in his hands, blue eyes taking in my expression. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his.

“Well, your bloodwork and physical checks out.” Price said, thumbing through the packet of paperwork. Johnny stood behind me, resting his elbows on the back of my chair. I tapped my foot against the hardwood flooring, unable to quell the excitement bubbling in my gut.

This meant I could be taken off leave, and finally be able to move back onto base. While this sabbatical was relaxing- and boring- to say the least, thinking of being back on the field stirred something in me. Excitement was one word to describe it, ‘home’ would be another.

“Except one thing,” Price added, sliding a paper across the desk. My stomach dropped. Nausea swelled in my throat as I glanced at the paper. I was unable to make out any of the words. Positive. I knew what that meant. But what was- what was-

“You’re pregnant.”

Masterlist

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heathens-child-moved · 3 months ago

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Okay this is shocking…. It’s shit!!! Ack! Fuck! I kinda rushed and I’ve only ever written one fanfiction before…. Please I’m sorry it’s crap. I can’t post it whole so I’ll post it in chunks ❤️ @eddiestardust for you, my love

Start

Blixa pov

Cold air fills my lungs as I tumble out of the bar doors. Shutting in the flashing lights and the air which was thick with the rotting stench of piss, alcohol and sweat. My mind is racing, searching for something someone to grip onto. All alone in the cold night. I sit upon the edge of the pavement and hug my knees. Nothing to do but hold myself and seek comfort from the warmth of my legs. My head aches and screams at me. I need water, my mouths become dry. This is all too much. This is all too much. This is all too much. Alone on the side walk, drowning in self pity and remorse. Tar in my lungs and pollution in my mouth, I can barely breath. Shakes have begun to wrack through my body now, likely caused by the rushing wind and over use of meth.

“Heya! What are you doing sat on the sidewalk on your own,” came the deep, voice of an Australian.

“None of your business, you filthy cheap lowlife whore,” I spit, still staring at my bony legs that are clad in black leather.

“Filthy cheap lowlife whore, eh? I’ll be remembering that insult.” the man chucked.

My eyebrows shoot up immediately, “why so you can call your mother that in bed? I’ve heard she likes being degrading.”

The man only chuckles and sits beside me. I turn to glare at him, but instead I’m met with the most stunning warm eyes. His soft looking lips were quirked up into a small grin. His jet black hair was teased and tangled, leaving only a small section of straight uneasy hair hanging down, draped over his left eyebrow and partially over his eye. I was taken aback, the man was somewhat good looking.

He turns away from me and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees and plucking some weeds out of the dirty street curb, chucking them to his left. I’m drawn to his hands, they are big and formidable, his index and thumb are decorated with metal chunky rings which stand out upon his pale skin like stars in the sky. I think he looks very camp.

“What is your name,” I ask, barley caring or listening.

“My name is Nicholas Edward Cave,” the Australian announces, feigning a posh accent, “but you can call me Nick.”

“I think I will be calling you Nicholas. I don’t like the name Nick, makes me think of the devil” I mutter, smirking at the ground. I enjoy playing people like this, playing with people who are so stupid they are thrown off by my attitude. I think I’m funny.

“Nicholas it is then! You come from around here?” Nicholas questions, intent and keen.

“No. I was born on mars. It’s quite civil up there, less so down here but eh, I can’t complain.” I reply.

“Mars huh? Guess you’re quite the traveler.” he laughs humor on his tone.

“No I hate traveling, just like I hate talking to stupid idiots.”

“Well we’ll get on great then! I hate talking to idiots too.” the tall Australian laughs heartily.

“No. We won’t be getting on. I have places to be, people to meet.” I tell him, a bland lie but he doesn’t need to know that. I stand up, the Australian quickly following suit.

“Oh… okay then! Well, see you some other day, Blixa,” He grins.

I stop short. How does he know my name?

“How do you know my name, you little fuckface?” I growl, scowling at him.

“Ah, your mother told me when I went around to fuck her last night. She’s one real good shag, once you get past the yellow eyes and weird antennas, Y’know,” the Australian purred, before turning on his heel and sauntering off into the streets.

“You fucking schlampe,” I shrieked, “when I see you next I’ll fucking rip your head off and fucking eat you, you depp hure!”

The Australian simply wanders down the path, turns left and ducks down an ally, vanishing from my view.

I suppose the lanky Australian must be a fan… but the name Nick cave sure sounds familiar. I sigh before turning and creeping back into the bar.

Nicks pov.

I sit on a ratty little sofa, broken and torn in places. My boots slung inelegantly over the arm of the sofa. What a life. Listening to the drunks and addicts swarm around into the dingy little performance hall, I doubt any of them will remember this concert tomorrow. I check my watch quickly, ten minutes. That’s enough time I suppose. I scan the room quickly, no one’s around. Perfect. I undo my shoe laces, pulling them out of the twelve little eyelets with ease. Once they’re completely out and I’m left with only the shoelace, I quickly fold it in half, wrap it around my arm once and loop it through the slight hole, wrapping it round once more, I grip the anglet with my teeth and pull gently, it hurts slightly as it pulls my skin and pinches in places. Readjusting my arm slightly I reach down into my little messager bag, lots of odd little pieces: a couple rings knocking around, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I feel a slight jab on my index finger, ah perfect, i clasp the the object and pull it out of the bag, a little syringe in a plastic bag. I unwrap it carefully, still griping the laces with my teeth. I place the little needle on my arm pushing it inside, a sharp fleeting pain flashes in front of me, before dying down as I begin to inject the heroin into my arm. What a feeling. I chuck the now empty syringe back into my bag and I undo the laces from around my arm. Quickly lacing them back into the eyelets, tying them up again. I flop back onto the shabby sofa, letting my head loll backwards, my eyes slide shut. I begin to think of my new muse, Blixa Bargeld. Ah what pleasure that name brings me, like honey upon the tongue or water in the mouth of a famished man. I will never forget the night I first lay eyes on him. I was drunk and high, stumbling around the street when I’d eventual heard the loud thrum of bass and the noise of a hammer upon metal, so I swayed inside the bar to see what was making the racket. I weaved my way through the crowd ignoring the loud complaints from the stupid drunks around me. The figure who stalked the stage was thin and frail. His waist was small and insignificant with ribs that protruded outwards like razors, poking out almost as If they would burst from out of the skin that stretched around them. He strode around, pacing, one long leg in front of the other, his hazel eyes glowering furiously at anyone that moved. He stalked to the left then to the right, clutching his microphone as if it was his lifeline, letting out horrific little shrieks as he paced. He stalked around for awhile longer before eventually striding towards the center stage and towards where I stood. He lent down and put his face close to the audience, His cracked lips, opened wide to let out the most dreadful shrieking noise that I’d heard yet, almost as if he was either being drowned in fire or as if he was having the most wonderful orgasm, I couldn’t place my finger on quite which one it sounded more like. His beady eyes glared and scowled furiously, scanning each member, as he carefully strode sideways, never taking his eyes away from the drunks, he was carefully edging his way closer to me. Now facing me, only inches away, our noses almost touching, he stared. His eyes were wide and pupils blown. His skin was weathered and worn, stretched around his skull. It almost looked painful, too tight around his bones. He looked in pain. His eyes were almost pleading me to help him, help him away from himself. I reached out cautiously, extending my long fingers towards his gaunt cheeks. I felt scared, unsure of what thoughts were racing though his hazy mind. I touched his cheek with the pads of my fingers, he flinched away from me, I suppose from on instinct, but he then looked back at me intently, his eyes shimmering with danger and caution, before gently bringing his cheek back to my outstretched hand, nuzzling into my palm. Every part of my mind was screaming at me to draw back, to get out and leave, to not get involved, but my heart felt different.

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