#like i kept repeating the same shit but eh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rip-quizilla · 1 year ago

Text

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 3

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: For some reason, when Eddie's around you, he doesn't feel like a piece of shit- he's really starting to like that about you. Your feelings for Eddie are growing past 'friendship' feelings, but you sure as hell aren't telling Eddie that. Robin is perceptive as hell.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Inspired by When Harry Met Sally (1989), Slow Burn, Romantic Fluff, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Eddie Munson Lives, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no one dies, Reader-Insert, Eventual Smut

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

Part 1 | Part 2

Part 3

Spring, 1983

“How on earth are you failing shop?”

Your voice landed in the thick quiet of Eddie’s van halfway between a question and a laugh, and Eddie could feel a blush creeping up his neck as he tried to laugh it off.

“Eh, I failed a project way back where I was supposed to make this birdhouse or something and I never turned it in…”

He didn’t miss the concern in your voice when you replied, “And you never thought to just ask for an extension? Did you at least start it?”

Eddie’s silence spoke volumes.

“Eddie!” you shoved him lightly on the shoulder, and he winced. Not from pain, you’d barely shoved at all- he winced out of embarrassment.

You were smart. He didn’t need to look at your report card to know someone like you had never failed a class as simple as shop before. By all means, it should have been an easy A; Mr. McCarthy didn’t grade based on skill, his projects were easy to ace as long as you followed the rubric. The hard part was that Eddie was a serial procrastinator, especially when it came to projects. He’d kept telling himself that he would start the project later, start it tomorrow, start it this weekend, etc. Now here he was, a month after it was due, and a month before the school year ended- still no project, and no amount of minor assignments would help him to regain a passing grade in that class.

“It’s no big deal, they can’t make me repeat the year just because I failed an elective class. I’ll just take another elective credit next year instead of a study hall-”

“Eddie!”

The tone of your voice surprised him, firm and all-business, almost like a reprimand. He glanced at you sheepishly. “What?”

He wasn’t sure why he’d expected you to be angry with him. Perhaps Eddie had grown so used to getting lectured by those that mattered to him that the idea of you doing the same wasn’t that much of a stretch. But when Eddie saw your expression, it wasn’t one of anger, but confusion.

“Do you hear yourself?” You asked. Your voice was firm, leaving no room for any argument. “It’s like you’ve already given up and you still have a whole month before junior year ends.”

Eddie shook his head. “The project was due in March, there’s no way McCarthy would let me turn it in this late-”

“Have you asked?”

Another silence, equally telling as the last.

You turned your attention to the street ahead, arms crossed over your chest and a satisfied look on your face. “Well, you’re going to ask him Monday if he’d accept your birdhouse late.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Oh that’s what I’m gonna do, huh?”

You nodded, smiling smugly. “Mm-hm!”

“And then I’m going to build a birdhouse?”

“You are, and I’m going to help you.”

That, Eddie hadn’t expected. “You’re gonna… what?”

You smiled at him, pulling your backpack up into your lap and hugging it to your middle. Eddie remembered you doing that last week too; he wondered if that was something you did subconsciously, always needing something to hug against yourself to feel comfort in some way. “I’m going to help you. My dad has some tools and scrap wood in the shed out behind our house, so we can go there if you want. Either way, I am not letting you fail shop class unless you did every possible thing you could have to pass.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say. His friends were always happy to help him with homework, even let him copy off of them from time to time- but this? He felt a bit overwhelmed at your eagerness, borderline pushiness, to help him.

“You really don’t need to go through the trouble-”

You gave him a stern look that sent his eyes straight back to the road ahead. “Munson, if you try to get out of building a damn birdhouse I swear I’m changing the radio station to whatever popular girly crap is playing right now.”

Eddie shut his mouth, button eyes blown wide. “Understood, yes ma’am.”

He pretended that the thumping of his overzealous heart was just the heavy bass from the radio.

To Eddie’s surprise- and your satisfaction- Mr. McCarthy agreed to grant Eddie an extension. If he was able to present a finished birdhouse by the end of the school year, Eddie could receive credit for it with an automatic ten point deduction for being tardy. You thought ten points was generous of him, and while Eddie secretly agreed, he wasn’t about to criticize the hand that fed him.

So, per your request (which Eddie could tell was non-negotiable, so not much of a request, really) Eddie stayed with you after school while you tutored some freshman in preparation for their English Lit final and drove you back to your house when you were done. This time, however, he went inside with you to begin construction on the birdhouse that would (hopefully) save his grade.

Your dad had been more than happy to help Eddie with figuring out how big to cut each of the wood pieces, teaching him to measure twice, cut once, blah blah blah. All of that adorable fatherly stuff. It was very cute for you to watch- your dad, who had initially been less smiley, a bit more taciturn than usual because his daughter was bringing a boy by the house to work on a project and he’d been intent on snuffing out any ill-intentions towards you, instantly falling back into his everyday, effortlessly smiley exterior the moment Eddie told him that his woodworking hobby was “actually really cool”.

Something about Eddie seemed to do that to people- he melted away the person you projected, leaving behind the person you were at your core. You could see it so clearly on your dad’s face as the two of them sketched out lines on a piece of scrap wood. Eddie marked one piece with a little cartoonish-looking skull, and when your dad saw it he asked Eddie if he likes to draw- and then the conversation simply flowed from there easily. You couldn’t wipe the sappy smile from your face.

Your dad stayed to advise until he could tell that Eddie had a good grasp on how to use the tools at his disposal, and jokingly made sure Eddie knew you were the one in charge whenever the two of you were left to your own devices. Eddie had responded with a mockingly serious salute, which only made your dad smile wider.

“He likes you.” you’d said once you were sure your dad was out of earshot.

Eddie huffed out an embarrassed chuckle, eyes staying focused on his work while the corner of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic smile. “Yeah, well, he probably just hasn’t heard much about me then.”

You studied him, half amused and half pained that he was once again refusing to take a compliment of his character. Turning your attention to the tiny wooden dowel you intended to turn into a perch for the birdhouse, you continued. “Oh he’s heard about you. Just, everything he’s heard, he heard from me. So no, no bad things.”

That got Eddie’s attention. “Really?” he asked incredulously, looking at you with one eyebrow raised. “No bad things? Not a single one?”

“Nope, no bad things. He’s heard annoying things, though. Infuriating things. I told him to warn the HOA about you.”

“Oh, did you now?”

“Scouts’ honor, we have a certain standard to uphold around here, you know.”

Twin smiles played on your lips, evidence for the joy it brought both of you to be around each other. You both worked wordlessly, letting the sounds of sandpaper and sharp tools on wood fill the pleasantly warm air in the shed.

“What about you?”

His vague question earned a glance from your direction. “What about me?” you asked.

“Well, if I’m so infuriating and annoying, why do you care so much about whether or not I pass this class?” Eddie’s sentence trailed off into a breathy, nearly imperceptible tremor that told you he cared about your answer.

“You might be infuriating and annoying,” you said, matter-of-fact, “but you’re smart. Way too smart to fail shop because of something as stupid as a missing grade.”

Eddie was quick to brush off your compliment. “You know some might say that missing a due date is something only a stupid person would do,” he looked up at you with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “so I would argue that that alone makes me-”

“Eddie, stop.”

His lips clamped shut.

You placed the wooden pieces in your hands down on the floor before walking up to him and stopping about a foot from where he sat. Your eyebrows were drawn together menacingly, your arms were crossed over your chest, and your tone reminded Eddie of what it must be like to be in trouble with Mom.

“Look Munson,” you began sharply, “You are a very intelligent person. I am not saying that to flatter you because I couldn’t care less about giving you empty compliments or not. I’m just stating a fact: you are smart.”

His gaze was trained on the floor, unsure what to do with himself. Brown eyes flicked up to yours through his dark chocolate curls and back down again.

“And I don’t know who made you think you’re so much of a lost cause that you give up before asking for help, but I’ve never been one to watch smart people let themselves down and be okay with it.” You held out your hand palm facing upwards between your chests. “So hand me the wood glue so I can give the lucky birds who get to live in this fancy joint a little perch to stand on.”

He did what you asked, quiet and hiding behind the curtain of his mane. It wasn’t until you were back in your seat that he finally spoke up.

“You know-”

You looked up at him, a soft smile teasing the corner of your lips, and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself as you processed the fondness that shone in his eyes.

“-you’re a little scary when you’re angry.”

You snorted. “Good. Maybe I can scare you into fulfilling your potential.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what that potential was, exactly. His life was doomed from the start to complete its natural cycle within the same hundred square miles, so he figured his potential was to… work at the power plant with Wayne? Be a bartender at The Hideout? Drink himself to death when his life got too depressing to deal with anymore?

Okay, maybe that last one was a little too dark. But realistically, he knew that would probably cross his mind after enough time spent in this hell-hole of a town.

Now there was a smart girl telling him he was capable of more than that, and his first instinct was to wonder if Wayne had put you up to giving him a pep talk or something… but that was way too sneaky for Wayne, who had only heard about you in passing at this point, so there was no way he’d asked you... which meant that you, a smart girl, truly believed that he- Eddie Munson- was a smart guy.

Huh.

Well how about that.

True to his word, Mr. McCarthy accepted Eddie’s birdhouse when he brought it to class that Friday. He chuckled when he saw the little horned devil symbol painted in the corner on the back. He peered questioningly at Eddie when he caught sight of the pentagram that had been drawn on the floor of the inside, to which Eddie had replied, “In case they want to perform any ritualistic sacrifices in there.”

When he’d handed Eddie his graded rubric, there were minimal notes written in red, but when Eddie looked at the little blank labeled ‘total’, nothing else mattered.

90/100

Which meant that without the ten point deduction, Eddie would have made a 100%. His work- sans tardiness- was worth a 100%. Eddie was baffled, stunned- he couldn’t remember the last time his work had been deemed worthy of a ‘100’ circled in red pen at the top of his paper since elementary school.

“I got a 90%!”

He was practically giddy when he told you. Shop was his last class of the day, after which he had run straight to your locker to show you the rubric. You were excited for him, of course, but you hadn’t been surprised in the slightest.

“And that brings your average in the class up to…?” You asked with a knowing smile.

Eddie clutched the precious page to his chest, swooning as he threw his back against the locker beside yours. “72.” He sighed, content and over the moon. “You’re a miracle worker, you know that? You took this sad, pathetic, stupid little boy-” He splayed a dramatic hand over his heart. “-and you wanna know what you did?”

You smiled wryly, closing your locker door. “Uh huh?”

His face contorted in the most joyful way possible- a smile showing every tooth, crinkling the corners of his eyes, brow scrunching from the passion with which he gripped that flimsy piece of paper and shook it in your face.

“You got him a fucking A, you genius!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the two of you walked through the halls to the theater department for Hellfire. “You did all the work! You got yourself that A.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Eddie wagged his pointer finger back and forth. “No, that’s not what I said, I said it was a fucking A.”

You looked at him, confusion evident in your eyes. “Yes, that’s what I said, you got yourself that A! I barely did a thing.”

He was quiet, grinning ear to ear as he narrowed his eyes on you. “Oh… oh you sweet, sweet thing…”

Whoa now, that gave you butterflies.

You casually turned your eyes in the opposite direction of where Eddie walked by your side, hoping he couldn’t sense your reaction. “What?”

Eddie chuckled, positioning himself directly in your line of sight. “Don’t hide from me, come on-” You looked up begrudgingly, taking in his amused expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say fuck.”

“What? That’s ridiculous, I’ve said it.”

“Not in front of me!”

“Yeah, okay, I don’t say it often.” you shrugged, eyes darting literally anywhere but his face- again. “So what? There are so many other better words I could use-”

“But can you say it?”

At that, your eyes met his, and you made sure to sprinkle a little venom into that eye contact. “Of course I can say it, I’m just choosing not to.”

Eddie was undeterred. “Then choose to say it just this once, I want to know what the word ‘fuck’ sounds like in your sweet little innocent voice.” His puppy dog eyes glistened as he pouted.

You glared, smacking your hand against a door that threatened to close before you could pass through it, and angrily shoving it aside. “I am not innocent or little, thank you very much.”

“Awwww, come on, Ace, just one little f-bomb?”

“No.”

“Not even for me?”

“No!”

“Uuugghhhh,” Eddie sighed, throwing up his hands exasperatedly as the two of you approached the twin set of doors that led to the auditorium. “Fine.” He hopped ahead of you, opening one of the doors for you. “After you.”

You should have seen it coming, but you still yelped when Eddie jabbed his fingers into a tickle spot in the curve of your waist as you walked past him.

“FUCK! Eddie!” you practically squealed.

You shook your head in disbelief as he skipped down the narrow aisle of seats toward the stage, throwing a fist victoriously up in the air.

“Hahaaa, there it is!” He cackled.

You may have acted annoyed with him, but nothing could deny the brightness in your smile seeing him overtaken with so much joy. That joy translated so easily into his storytelling during D&D that when you had finished your work on the set for the play- which was only two weeks away now- you didn’t even pretend to be busy with anything else this time. You grabbed a wooden stool from backstage, tugged it close enough to the table to see the story playing out before you, and simply watched Eddie do one of the things in his life that truly made him come alive.

What you didn’t realize was that there was now another thing that seemed to bring out the best parts of him the same way that D&D did, the same way that music did, the same way that curling up and rereading The Hobbit did. And when Eddie heard the drag of your wooden stool across the black surface of the floor, glanced over his shoulder and saw your eager, shining eyes glowing brightly at him, drinking in every word that left his lips- that was when he realized it.

He realized that you were quickly becoming one of the things that made him love waking up in the morning.

Eddie had, admittedly, never been to a play before. He’d been in a play, but that was back in the fifth grade, and it was more of a Christmas pageant than an actual play. He had played one of the three wise men, and all he could remember from it was his teacher chewing him out for his improvised line- “Myrrh-y Christmas, Jesus”- when he’d placed his prop-gift into baby Jesus’ manger. That had been the prompt end of his acting career.

Now, as he tried his best to look nonchalant with his hands in his pockets, he couldn’t help but feel particularly out of place while his eyes frantically searched for a place to sit in the auditorium that would give him the perfect balance of empty seats and proximity to people he knew wouldn’t recognize him. The last thing he needed was another reason for his usual bullies to mess with him.

“Munson! Hey, Eddie! Over here!”

Eddie’s attention flicked over to a seat toward the back, occupied by none other than Robin Buckley, who was absolutely ruining his efforts to act cool. He rushed to where she sat while trying his best to wordlessly communicate SHUT. UP. with only his eyes. Oblivious to Eddie’s plea, Robin patted the empty seat beside her.

“I didn’t know you would be here!” her voice was loud- that was something he already knew- but it still rang uncomfortably in his ears.

“I’m right here, Buckley, no need to yell.” Eddie hissed, crouching in his seat as if he could make himself smaller just by trying. “Yeah, well I didn’t exactly have other plans, and I knew this was going on and…yeah.”

Robin watched Eddie stumble through his poor attempt at nonchalance, a knowing grin taking up residence on her mouth. When he clumsily arrived at the end of his sentence, she simply kept smiling at him, which unnerved him greatly. He averted his eyes, leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm over the rest an elbow atop its back. “What?” he scoffed, once again trying to appear indifferent- it didn’t work well, at which Robin snorted.

She shook her head, chuckling silently. “She’s going to be so happy you showed up.”

Well if that didn’t make his chest feel as though it was about to inflate and fly away, nothing did.

Regardless, Eddie still acted cool- or tried to, at least. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” but the red crawling up his neck and the sappy grin that he just couldn’t fend off gave him away. Robin groaned, pretending to be fed up even though she actually thought the way he reacted when you were simply mentioned was the cutest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Even though she knew he didn’t need reminding, she still said your name just to see if his blush would grow even deeper when he heard it. She was rewarded.

Eddie nodded in recognition, sticking to his bit. “Oh yeah, I forgot she was helping out with this thing. That’s uh… that’s cool-”

“Oh shove it, Munson, quit playing the indifferent cool guy.” she shoved a finger in his face. “You like her.”

He scoffed- again- and rolled his eyes a little too hard. “Lay off it, Buckley, we’re just friends.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it. “Really? That’s it?”

Eddie remained neutral in his tone, shrugging as if the whole situation were just that cut-and-dry. “Yup. That’s it.”

She looked at him for a long time- a long time, with a gaze so intense it made Eddie a bit uncomfortable. It felt like letting go of a breath he’d been holding when Eddie finally heard Robin’s “If you say so.”

Eddie nodded. “I do say so.”

Judging by Robin’s facial expression, she still didn’t buy it, but she seemed willing to drop the topic. “Okay then.”

“Okay.” Eddie mumbled, just in time for the lights on the stage to go down.

It only took about ten minutes of the play to go by for Eddie to start wondering if seeing you at the end of the production was going to be worth sitting here for an hour and a half. However, when the curtain had finally closed and he saw the look on your face upon seeing him standing there with Robin at the end of the arts hallway- that long hour and a half melted away.

You were dressed all in black just like a few other crew members that Eddie saw scuttling about, carrying certain props and costume pieces. Pulling away from a hug that you’d bestowed upon Robin immediately after seeing her, your eyes focused on him and he couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Eddie Munson, did you actually sit through an entire theater production of your own free will?” you asked through a toothy smile.

Hands in his pockets, Eddie shrugged and hid his smirk behind long stray curls. “Yeah, maybe.”

He was quiet. You were quiet. You were both just… smiling at each other. Like idiots. Robin shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re both idiots.” she mumbled, dumbfounded.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said ‘Let’s go get burgers!’ I’m starving.” Robin began walking with you down the hall toward the exit. “Coming, Munson?”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. He struggled to read your expression- were you expecting Buckley to invite him? Were you hoping he would say yes? Say no? Eddie stuttered, clearing his throat.

“I mean, if you want me to-”

You nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah! I mean, if you want to-”

“I don’t want to impose-”

“Don’t feel like you have to-”

“Oh my god!” Robin stomped over to Eddie, grabbing him by his upper arm and dragging you in the same spot with her upper hand. “You both want food! Let’s go get food!” Eddie had to suppress a chuckle upon hearing Robin’s muttered ‘God, you two are fucking children’ under her breath. Your gazes connected behind Robin’s head, both of your faces sporting a small, crinkled grin- shy and sharing.

Thank god for Robin.

Eddie was happy to throw Robin’s bike in the back of his van; happy to drive the two of you to the diner downtown in lieu of meeting you there. Happy- and relieved- to discover that even though he had only ever spent time with you alone or with his friends, he was able to fall into comfortable conversation with you and your friend the same way that you had nestled your way into his friends’ routine so easily. It had been ages since one of the Hellfire members had glanced your way during a session, nervous to throw themselves into the game while an outsider was in the room waiting to judge them. They learned- Eddie learned- pretty quickly that you would never judge them. Pretty soon, you weren’t an outsider- you were just a part of their Friday plans.

Eddie’s mind began to wonder, as he drove the two of you down the main road, now that the play was over, and you had no reason to keep showing up to Hellfire, what excuse would Eddie have to see you? Summer was fast approaching, so you wouldn’t be seeing each other at school each day either. Suddenly, Eddie wasn’t just wondering, he was worrying. Without an excuse to see you, would this burgeoning little friendship just…fall? Just stop?

“Hey, Eddie? You awake over there?” you snapped your fingers by Eddie’s ear, and he flinched away slightly as a nervous laugh bubbled up his throat.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, his voice light. “Just got lost in thought I guess.”

If the two of you were alone, you would have asked him what he was thinking about. However, Robin was here- it was a strange sort of limbo you felt you were in, your childhood best friend and your newly-discovered… friend. Crush. Maybe-crush? The way you felt about Eddie was becoming increasingly difficult for you to pinpoint. You knew you loved being around him. You knew that your heart had done a complete backflip when you’d seen him waiting with Robin after the play. Eddie Munson did not attend school functions. When you’d seen him at the winter formal years ago, you hadn’t even seen him inside- as far as you’d known, he hadn’t gone with a date… maybe he’d gone with friends? Or he was someone’s ride? Either way, the fact that he would go to a play simply because you were involved in it was certainly enough to give you heart palpitations.

When the three of you arrived at the diner, the energy was a little odd between the three of you. Robin watched as you and Eddie had gone from comfortably chatty to eerily quiet. It seemed that you both were caught up in your own spiraling thoughts, and the awkwardness that it was causing was going to make Robin scream if it didn’t stop soon.

“So Eddie,” Robin said as you all sat down in one of the plasticky blue booths in the diner, “what are your summer plans?”

It seemed to take a second for Eddie to register what Robin was asking; he tilted his head to the side, taking a second to consider. “Haven’t thought about it…honestly, I figured I might be busy with summer school or something if I wasn’t passing all my classes-”

“-Which, you are.” you interrupted, a soft, proud smile on your lips.

Eddie laughed, and Robin couldn’t help but notice that his biggest smiles always happened when he was looking at you.

“Yeah, thanks to you.” Eddie replied, quickly turning to the waitress as she walked up to your table, closing the window of time you had to deny the credit he was hell-bent on giving you. The three of you each ordered a burger and a milkshake before Robin took it upon herself to carry on the conversation.

“Think you’ll get a summer job?” she asked Eddie with a nefarious grin. “You could work at Scoops with us, you get a pretty sweet outfit out of the gig.”

Eddie barked out a laugh, “Hah! I’ll pass on the shorts, thanks.”

You cursed your brain for conjuring up the image of Eddie in shorts, then proceeded to burn that image in your brain.

“You bring up a good point, though,” he mused, “Wayne and I could use the money. I pick up odd jobs around the neighborhood, but most of the old farts around the park just throw me whatever they find between their couch cushions.”

The waitress set your shake in front of you, which you eagerly grabbed and took a sip. “I can keep an eye out for places that are hiring, if you want.” You smiled at Eddie, bright red straw lightly resting against your lips.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully, “Just don’t go asking at any places where I’ll have to wear some stupid outfit.”

“Hey!” you narrowed your eyes on him, a teasing glint in your gaze. “I happen to think I look cute in that stupid outfit.”

Eddie had no doubt that you did, but he wasn’t about to tell you that. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Smee.”

Robin snorted, shaking her head at the two of you. She was astounded at your combined talents for ignoring the undeniable chemistry that the two of you had whenever you shared each others’ spaces. She saw it all- the way he seemed so completely unaffected by everything except for you. The way that whenever he was around, you couldn’t peel your eyes away from him. The way that you both refused to admit that your friendship had an expiration date- you both wanted to be more than friends, and that much was clear as day to Robin. It was only a matter of time before one of you cracked. A ticking time bomb.

Robin resolved to confront you about it at some point. Not tonight; tonight, she was content to watch the two of you idiots tripping over yourselves while you pretended not to be absolutely besotted with each other- it was free entertainment. But she’d ask you about it soon.

For now, she settled for laughing at the way you pretended to be mad at Eddie as he spent the whole meal trying to sneak fries from your plate.

Part 4

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #rip-quizilla #when harry met sally

269 notes · View notes

the-haunted-office · 4 months ago

Text

Doomsday comes flying down the stairs into the basement, her arrival triggering the motion sensor lights. They click on and fill the dark hallways with faded yellow light, enough for her to see by, and unfortunately enough for her to be seen as well - not that it would matter much, the Retcon would still be able to sense her, even in darkness.

Still, she flees. She has to. She doesn't want to change. Can't change. She is who she is, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool. An asshole, really. Doomsday? Change? What a joke! Her whole life has been one cycle on repeat, one series of events that has really been one event in different shades, the same movie played by different actors, the same story narrated by different voices, it's all the same, nothing ever changes. Why should she change? None of it matters anyway.

(Cut here due to length!!)

She heads deep into the basement, further back into it, where the stink of mildew and urine is especially strong. Hardly anyone ever comes back here - except for most of the Office rats, and they're the cause of the heavy urine smell. This is where most of the old ABC Corp files and documents have been stored, and that is precisely why the rats like it here. Lots of paper for them to tear up and make their nests out of. Incidentally, there is also where Shadow Stanley likes to hang out the most, on account of this being where all the records are kept. Shadow loves all the data.

And that is just who she finds down here - rats, and Shadow Stanley.

Doom dives down into the room full of shredded up, piss-soaked old records, huffing and puffing from all the running. "Oh, hey, Stanley. How's it going? Mind if I hang out with you for a bit?" she says upon seeing the pair of yellow glowing spots that are his eyes sitting there within the darkness, blinking at her.

They yellow glowing eyes bob up and down, which Doom takes for a shrug - a typical "Stanley" response.

"Cool," Doom replies, and shifts around in the moist paper, as if trying to get more comfortable. She inhales another lungful of aromatic ammonia-filled air and lets it out, trying to relax amongst the chaos. "So, what's new? Find anything interesting down here lately? Any new, ah, you know, TPS Reports or whatever?"

Another up and down motion, which Doom understands to be another shrug.

"Eh, I imagine you've been through all this shit by now anyway, right."

There is no response this time, just more rustling as the eyes get to moving around in the mounds of paper again. Either that or it's the rats.

Suddenly there's noise, the sounds of things being ripped away and changed and Doom knows she's been found.

"Sorry, buddy, I'd love to stick around with you and marinate, but gotta go-" Doom blurts out as she gets up to leave.

But it's too late. Somehow the Retcon has snuck up on her, silently, up until the moment that it was upon her.

"FUCK! Oh come on," she complains, papers shuffling and rats screeching to get out of the way as she kicks everything out of her way in an attempt to evade the oncoming change. Shadow Stanley has vanished, she can't help but notice. "What do you want from me?!" she shouts at it. "Why are you doing this to me?! I'm perfect the way I am! Why do I have to change? Why am I always the one who has to change? It's not fair!"

The Retcon sits there, not advancing, not retreating, but just... sitting there... as if considering what she has to say.

Doom doesn't relax. She's as tense as ever as she tries to plead her case amongst the sea of shredded documents and waste. "It's always been like this for me, man, and it's bullshit! Pure, utter bullshit! People come into my life, fuck up my status quo, mess everything up, and then leave. They leave me with the mess, and then I have to change. I am the one who has to clean everything up and change around everything and- Why? Why? How is that fair? Tell me how that's fair and I'll let you change me."

The Retcon doesn't say anything. It continues to sit there. Motionless. Quiet. Waiting.

For what?

Doom goes on, getting angrier as she does. "Why am I always the one that's wrong? Huh? Why is that? Why am I always the one making the wrong choices? No matter what I do. No matter what I say. I'm always the one who's wrong. I can't do anything right. If I speak up, I'm wrong. If I stay silent, I'm wrong. If I defend myself, I'm wrong. If I don't do anything, I'm wrong. If I call someone out on their bullshit, I'm wrong. If I don't, I'm wrong. If I coddle someone, I'm wrong. If I don't, I'm wrong. If I want to fuck someone, I'm wrong. If I want to stay celibate, I'm wrong. People can go out there and commit literal murder and it's okay! It's fine! They're totally forgiven because they're cute. But me? If I so much as put one single fucking toe out of line, I'm a total bitch and deserve to die in a fire, because- why? I don't know! I'm always wrong! So why do I have to change! Tell me!"

The Retcon doesn't say anything. It just....... sits there.

Doomsday doesn't say anything either. She breaks. She flat out screams at the Retcon, full on screams until her voice breaks and her throat feels as though it has split out, and then she finds herself sitting on the piss-soaked floor, crying, because she can't take any of this anymore.

"Fine," she moans, feeling totally, utterly miserable. "F-Fine. Just... change me however you see fit. Whatever it takes to make it all stop."

The Retcon rolls forward, ready to take her, and Doom stays where she is, ready to be taken.

#the retcon #writing for days #to be continued!#i think the next part will be the last part #🌙 Doomsday

7 notes · View notes

thatfinewine · 1 year ago

Text

Silly little oneshot that turned in a direction I hadn't intended but went with anyway. Prompt from @potetosaradas was "Blips and Chitz", and the pairing Rick Prime/(young) Rick C-137. It isn't explicitly shippy, but hopefully it's still enjoyable. 🙏

Every so often Rick has to acknowledge that he can't handle all of who Prime is.

(Prime truly does not give a shit. Rick gives too much of a shit.)

“Eh, you win some you lose some,” Prime shrugged nonchalantly as he tossed the helmet game controller down onto the dashboard of the machine, where it landed precariously close to the edge.�� He got up from the cramped-but-plush seats and made a show of stretching his long legs, while Rick followed and stood up after him from the opposite chair.

“We wouldn’t ‘lose some’ if you’d quit making us lose!” Rick snapped as he (much more carefully) set his own helmet down and readjusted Prime’s closer to the center of the console without thinking.

Prime reached down and tore off the measly amount of tickets the machine spit out for them. “Hey; I was having fun shooting Space Fascists—”

“—Instead of protecting the civilians! Like the objective told us to do!”

“I mean, you made it sound like you had that part pretty handled—”

“—until you blew the whole left wing of the Feds’ ship off and it crashed down on top of us and killed everyone!”

“—which wouldn’t have happened if those pig bastards knew how to steer their own ship. They drive like male Obravadians! Man, it’s like they were aiming for you guys – actually, it was kinda funny.”

Prime had already started moving on towards his next objective, leaving Rick to catch up with him. Rick, mood visibly soured from the loss, didn’t find any of it even slightly amusing. When Prime caught the look, he rolled his eyes in a comically obvious way. “Anyone who has taste would find it funny, anyway,” he grumbled, purposefully loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the arcade.

“Sorry I don’t find watching innocents being crushed to death funny.”

The air around Prime shifted, the growing tension seemingly choking out the oxygen between them.

“Rick,” Prime said, emphasizing the name with the condescending sort of tone of a teacher who’s disappointed in a student. “You know you can’t let yourself get all tangled up in small stuff like that.”

Rick felt his face and chest grow hot with embarrassed anger. Prime spoke about other living beings as if they were hardly more than a footnote to him, but the loss of life never felt ‘small’ to Rick. That was a conscious being, snuffed right out of existence, losing the most precious thing ever gifted to any of them – life. A single life that could never be brought back once it was gone. But the two of them had argued about this so many times before, and this was supposed to be a fun, low-stakes day out playing video games…

“I know,” he answered quietly, sounding simultaneously defeated and bitter about it.

It was moments like these that were chilling reminders of what Prime was like to everyone else. He was generally good to Rick because he liked Rick. But Prime didn’t harbor any sort of meaningful fondness for anything else besides creation and discovery. Rick was an anomaly to him, something that had such a low chance of happening that it was basically a nonexistence; an impossibility. It made the heat inside of him run cold; as if a block of ice settled into Rick’s ribcage, where it slowly melted into his veins, as he stood in the face of their reality.

Prime found the universe fascinating as he watched life crop up and die as if it were nothing but cells under a microscope.

Rick thought it was wrong to see a disaster happening and do nothing to stop it when he very well had the power to.

Prime said that ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are societal constructs and aren’t even real. In the beginning he thought that Rick’s ‘planetary mindset’ was… cute. But as the same conversation kept circling back around… he was getting annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“You’re not stupid, Rick. I know you’re not stupid.”

Rick hated those words so much it made him feel sick.

“I know you’re not stupid. So why do you keep acting like it?”

The feeling of how finite the universe truly was became heavier around Rick, putting pressure on his heart to the point where it hurt to keep beating. How could two people stay by each other's sides and make a relationship work when their fundamental moral compasses couldn’t align?

“Why does it matter, then? I-I-I’m not asking you to— to do anything, I’ll do it all myself. If nothing matters, why does it pi-p-pi-piss you off so much that I want to save lives?”

“Is that really what you’re going to spend the rest of your life doing? You could be inventing literally anything! You could be doing anything! And you’re choosing to waste your own invaluable time simply postponing death for some thing that’s not even going to benefit you? They’re going to die, Rick. They’re all going to die. So you spend a week stopping a flood and helping rebuild a town – then what? You’re going to leave, feeling all proud of yourself for earning these hero points you invented as a reward and to feel like there’s a balance to the universe and it’s not all chaos – and after you leave, the dam breaks again, or a volcano erupts, or an asteroid slams into the planet, or a burst of solar radiation hits them and wipes out everything.”

“That’s—”

“—Or another space-faring alien shows up and decides they want the resources and have no use for the people and pick them all off! Maybe sell them as slaves for a quick buck! And this is happening to millions of planets - all with sapient life - right now, in this very universe, right this very second, and here you are helping none of them. So then what, are you choosing which life deserves to survive with your benevolent help?”

“No, I-I’ll—”

“—Are you going to clone yourself so you can be in billions of places at once, stopping every single disaster on every single planet? Are you going to lay awake at night beating yourself up over the ones you didn’t save, wasting even more of your time?”

“...”

“…Do you see how ridiculous you sound to me now? Come on, Rick. Look out for yourself - and if a stupid fucking species is going to wipe themselves out with nuclear war, let them. You’ve fooled yourself into believing that you care. …If you want to then just do it, but don’t act like it makes you a saint. You’re not. You’re Rick Sanchez.”

They usually don’t talk for days afterward.

“I’ll give you time to calm down and actually use that brain of yours. I know you’re not stupid, Rick.”

Rick didn’t even look over as he heard Prime let loose an exaggerated groan. “Oh my God,” he complained, drawing out the title into a word that took two whole seconds to say, “stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Rick snapped back, as he actively made an effort to stop pursing his lips and slumping his shoulders. It wasn’t pouting. It was… it was…

“We came here to have fun – it’s a fucking space arcade! You really can ruin anything, huh?”

The good times were so good, but the bad times were so bad.

“It’s a talent,” Rick muttered, trying not to sound like he was marking up a list in his head of the pros and cons of choosing this man as his partner.

Prime shot him a sidelong glance and gave his cosmic twin’s face a quick once-over. Rick often wondered what Prime’s mental list was. How long did Rick even have before the scales tipped out of his favor and he lost his appeal? What would happen to him then?

Existence was finite, after all.

Even for Gods.

#my writing #rick sanchez #young rick sanchez #rick prime #prickcest #precanon prickcest #fanfic #casual topic of death and moral dilemmas nbd #prime truly does not give a shit #rick gives too much of a shit #god I never post writing but I swear I sometimes do write #debatably #gotta get it out before s7 comes out and kicks me right in the teeth

28 notes · View notes

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

An Easy Conversation - A Malevolent fic

Parker isn't looking forward to this confrontation.

He knows they'll all come out hurt.

He tells himself if he learns enough, it'll be worth the cost.

He might be wrong.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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

He couldn’t see a way around it.

It wasn’t ideal. It carried risk. It could go real bad, and the fallout would land on Sunny’s head. But the longer this went on, the more horrifying information they got, the less Parker knew, and those quiet parts (the parts nobody was saying, as if anything could hold more shame or horror than what had been said) felt like traps waiting to spring.

Arthur’s explanations were never great when it was about personal things. The guy could give a court-worthy recitation about anything that didn’t touch his heart, but when it did… fuck. He fell apart and kept repeating the same damn sentences over and over, louder and louder, as if that somehow gave them more meaning.

John didn’t remember. So that was out.

Sunny had no idea, either, since he obviously hadn’t been there (and Parker worried, now that he’d seen more of John and Hastur, that Sunny maybe wasn’t telling him the worst parts with Larson, was leaving painful things out).

Faroe was too young. Parker had grilled kids in the past when necessary, but he hated doing it, and considered it not an option now.

That left Hastur. The King in Yellow. An actual fucking god, who could speak shit into existence and maybe skin Parker for fun while the Court toasted with fine champagne.

This was a dangerous course of action, but he couldn't see another way.

He’d already have gone after his suspect if he didn’t have to bring Sunny with—but there was no way to keep Sunny safe, to keep Sunny out of it, tucked in bed or sitting in a nice diner or, fuck, even on a nearby roof with a sniper rifle.

Sunny had to be face-to-face with whatever the hell Hastur was to him, and had to hear Parker’s questions, and field Hastur’s potential answers.

Sunny was gonna come out of this bruised, and Parker saw no way around that, either. He sighed heavily, rising from his push-ups and walking out onto his balcony, where he leaned, looking down at the lake.

Lake Hali was fun as hell to swim in. Probably because they were getting away with it. Thoughts of skinny-dipping with Sunny (impossible, but so lovely) briefly intruded, and Parker shifted, his body automatically responding.

He shook his head. Distracting himself now from the hard things? Great. That would solve his problems.

Penny for your thoughts? Sunny said, lightly teasing.

“Eh,” said Parker. “Got something to do today that I’m not looking forward to so much.” He kept his tone easy, careful, a little too smooth, because he knew Sunny would pick up on it.

Sounds like something someone with a partner shouldn’t do alone.

Parker smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.” He took a slow breath. “I’m thinking I need to talk to Hastur today. Ask him some questions. But that’s not the kinda thing a partner would do to his partner without discussing it first.”

It’s been almost the two weeks we negotiated. I… I’m going to be honest, Parker, I don’t know that I’m ready, but I don’t know that I will ever be ready. Sunny let out a deep, bone-weary sigh. Is it… Alright, that I’m scared, still?

“Absolutely. I’m scared, too. He’s… this isn’t just some guy who maybe could get a good punch in. He’s got powers, and he ain’t human, and doesn’t work like humans do. My biggest concern is you.” This felt like a last chance: “I try to encourage you not to… you know. Withdraw. And you’ve done so good with that. You’ve stuck it out, no matter how hard it’s been. But Sunny, this is the guy you came from, and the guy you want to become in time. So. If you need to do that… I’ll understand. If it gets messy.”

Sunny’s breath hitched, just once. That means… everything to me, Parker.

“I love you, sunshine,” Parker said softly. “I got a job to do. I care about Arthur, and this whole mess we’re in. But I love you. So. I gotta pursue this, but I don’t see a way through it that keeps you out of it. And maybe I’m just dumb, and there’s a way, but I don’t see it. I’m sorry, bud.”

I love you too. He let out a soft, disquiet rumble. I appreciate the thought you put into this, Parker, I really do. But I also… As much as I don’t want to, and I very much do not want to, I also need to know. We need to know what the fuck is going on with the King and Arthur and everything else if we’re going to keep playing any sort of role in this… whatever it is. And… He let out a soft laugh. Well, I can’t exactly punch out windows for you, but… maybe I can give you a sounding board, or keep the King calm, or… I don’t know.

Parker swallowed. “All right. Fuck, Sunny, you surprise me all the time. Thanks for having my back here.”

You’re my partner, Parker, he said. There’s nowhere else I want to be. And, after hearing about… He paused, letting out a soft groan. We need to know. I need to know. I’m… I’m missing too much, but I can at least… I know you’ll help me through it. Yeah?

“That’s not even a question.” Parker was relieved. He hadn’t been sure how Sunny would respond. This was the best possible result. “Right. Let’s nail down what we want from this bastard. Okay?”

Okay. Arthur’s side left off when John was returned to him, in Addison; that leaves us with nine years unaccounted for. His voice was deliberate, thoughtful. To my knowledge, he disappeared from Earth by most measures about three years after he escaped Addison; that’s probably about when he came to Carcosa. That gives us a rough date.

“So that was nine years… and Faroe’s about that age. Which means while Arthur was running from Larson, Hastur was already digging her up. Am I right?”

John had rejoined him, and then was returned to Arthur within the span of a few earth days. He was almost certainly furious. I imagine Faroe was reborn shortly after, yes.

“Somewhere in there, something bad happened.” Parker’s voice was rough. “Something he hasn’t recovered from. He’s missing something, Sunny. I’m not okay with it, but I want to know what happened.”

Something so serious they needed to invoke an Outer God to try and fix it, Sunny rumbled. We’ll find out, Parker. And we’ll get through it, both of us. I promise.

“Together.” He stroked his jaw. “Right. Court’s about to break. I think we can grab him. If you’re ready.”

Ready as I’ll ever be.

Parker chose to believe him. He went and picked some of their better clothes—nothing court-worthy or overly fancy, but nice enough for church, as folks in Boston used to say.

Parker went to Hastur’s throne room, keeping along the walls, avoiding the flow of beasties and ghoulies and whatever they were, all clanking with weapons and jewels and nonsense. He slipped between the doors, again following the walls, but keeping his eyes on Hastur by the throne.

The King hovered up there in all his glory, tentacles waving in the air as if he hung in deep water, his robe rippling in a non-existent breeze.

That guy had a zillion eyes. Parker knew the guy saw him. Well, important guys had to do things in a way that made them feel in charge, and Parker didn’t care. He settled behind a pillar, in the shadow, leaned against a wall, crossed his arms, and waited.

Hastur, being an important guy, took his time. At least he was thorough, emptying the room before coming their way.

The doors closed with a distinctly ominous clang.

“I see you wish for my attention,” said Hastur, voice rumbling through the floor, the wall, Parker’s bones.

Yeah, yeah, gods and their party tricks. “Got some questions for you, sir, if you got some time.”

Hastur had the gall to sound amused. “I believe I can spare a few minutes for my most honored guests.”

Sunny was quiet. Parker was glad that Sunny was quiet. “They’re picky questions. Might be a little upsetting. You still willing to have it out?”

Hastur laughed.

Parker had to admit it was a damn effective laugh; it was dark, throaty, deep and scary, a sadistic and ancient sound that vibrated all along the souls of mortals like plucking taut strings. It took real effort to stand through that, to fight back the instinctive surety that this sound presaged his death.

It wasn’t the first time Parker had looked down that barrel, and he stood his ground.

“I am willing,” said Hastur finally. “Provided, of course, that your ‘partner’ is in agreement.”

I share many of the same questions, Sunny said, subdued. Questions we need answered, if we are to play our part. Parker and I are in full agreement.

“Then your audience is granted,” said Hastur, gracious and amused.

“What the fuck did you do to my best friend?” said Parker.

Hastur went still.

Parker waited. With humans, silence was a great way to get them talking. With gods, he wasn’t sure, but there were a lot of similarities, so maybe…

Hastur sighed. “Be more specific.”

“You want specific? Sure. We can do specific. What happened to Arthur Lester and John Doe after they left Addison?”

“You’d have to ask them,” said Hastur mildly. “I wasn’t even in that world.” Those tentacles were moving slowly, gracefully, and Parker had decided that particular motion was the same thing as a liar staring too directly into one’s eyes.

“Then how were you involved with them before they were brought into your world?” said Parker.

“Are you so sure I was involved?”

Parker’s look could melt butter. “Yeah.”

Hastur laughed again. “Sunny, you have quite the partner here. You must be constantly entertained.”

Sunny was being very, very carefully neutral. Arthur disappeared about three years after he left Addison, Hastur. Magic could not find him—I would know, because Larson used every scrap of power he could to try. And, I am meant to understand, that appears to line up with when you debuted your new Court Composer. What do you think of that?

“I see,” said Hastur softly. “So what you are truly asking is how much of his current condition is due to my manipulation.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. This asshole was perceptive. It was a warning not to take lightly. ��Yeah. In part.”

“I broke him.”

Sunny made a small noise.

So Sunny knew what that meant, then. Parker didn’t know. Should he show his hand and ask for clarification? Or pretend he knew? Maybe this was a compromise: “How? What’d you do?”

Hastur was silent for just a moment too long.

“The fuckin’ truth,” said Parker, sharp.

“Are you going to start smashing my tableware if I don’t reply?” said Hastur with amusement designed to rankle.

Ooh, Hastur was a tough nut. He knew how to say things to make them dig in, like some kind of chigger.

On one level, Parker was enjoying this; he felt matched for wit, and couldn’t let his guard down for an instant. On another… fuck this guy and the horse he rode in on. It probably had tentacles, too. “The truth,” he repeated, refusing to be distracted.

And apparently, Hastur decided to stop playing. “When I tried to take over his body before, his passion and guilt over his daughter’s untimely death by drowning on his watch while he composed music for her was powerful enough to keep him anchored. I was unable to remove him from his body.”

Parker stared.That was… more detail than he’d known. That was a lot. What the fuck did Hastur mean by keeping him anchored? “Felt that strongly, did he?”

“He did.”

Hastur… Sunny said, his voice stunned and horrified and so, so soft.

Fuck it. “You mean literally remove him. Kill him?”

“Replace him. John was already inside him; once reminded of who he truly was, John reached through the portal to me, and I reached back. We would have joined in Arthur’s body and been free on Earth… if not for that memory.” Hastur’s many limbs approximated a shrug.

John could do that?

This was tilting out of control. Parker fought down the urge to pace, or shout, or just start smashing plates. Not that there were any in here, but he would not fail that easily. “Okay. So that memory kept him anchored.”

“Yes. His guilt. His shame. And he took my piece away from me, convinced him he could be ‘human,’ and fomented a proper little rebellion.” Oh, that tone; so dismissive, so old-anger cruel.

“Yeah,” Parker finally said. “John’s not gonna reach for you now.”

“No,” said Hastur. “Then, however, I decided the way to bring my piece home was to render Arthur’s mind a pile of broken glass. It’s very effective, you know, when you want a human to do something.”

Right. Hastur was looking for a reaction. Goading.

Keep it together, Parker thought, swallowed, and had the dangerous thought that he was glad he wasn’t the one being interrogated by Hastur. “What’d you do?”

Parker, Sunny said, voice trembling.

“Do you wish to tell him?” Hastur said.

You didn’t, Sunny whispered. Please. Please, Hastur, tell me you didn’t.

“Your host wished for the truth,” Hastur said, casually cruel.

Parker steeled his voice. “What did you do?”

“I sought and found his daughter’s soul in the Dark World,” Hastur said, like describing buying ingredients to bake bread. “I took her DNA from her grave. I remade her. Then I raised her. I raised her in love, because immature humans imprint upon such things. I did so with every intent of bringing her to him, happy and delighted, calling me father. She would force him to apologize for murdering her—not that she would know what it was for, but he would—and then, I would tear her to pieces, slowly, while he was helpless to do anything but listen to her cry out to her father and beg him to stop.”

Parker couldn’t breathe. His face felt numb.

“Obviously, that didn’t quite play out,” said Hastur, still so damn casually, and Parker knew his buttons were being pushed, knew this performance was manipulation, but it was too much, over his limit, beyond what he could bear.

Beyond what anyone could bear.

Parker’s throat worked. Nothing came out.

“I realized how special she was,” said Hastur. “So instead of killing her, I kept her. That, as it turns out, was just as effective. Arthur Lester broke. John refused initially to come home, but I would have overcome that in time. Unfortunately, that was when the Outer God—”

Parker twisted at the hip and slammed his fist into Hastur’s nearest tentacle as hard as he humanly could.

It made a rubbery thump, and did not move under the force of the punch at all.

There was one moment of stillness.

“I know that didn’t hurt you,” said Parker, low. “Gets the idea the fuck across, anyway.”

“Do you hate me now, little host?” said Hastur, smooth and honeyed and aggravatingly pleased.

“Yeah. Think I do.”

“That is a shame… given whom you carry.”

Fuck.

Oh, this guy was good. Really good. Came with the territory, probably, god of madness and all, but he’d done it: knocked Parker right the fuck off-balance, ending any chance he had of doing this objectively.

He knew he needed to keep pushing. He needed to find out what broken was, because it was obviously more than depressed, more than kicked while down. There was magic involved, and it had cut something out of Arthur, and he wanted to know how to get it back. Did Hastur have it? Could it be returned?

He needed to do that, but he also knew himself, and knew it was too late. Parker was so angry he couldn’t fucking think. “Proud of yourself?” he said quietly. “Using a kid? Breaking a man who never deserved it? Fucking up everybody’s lives?”

“Yes,” said Hastur mildly.

“You outmaneuvered a little mortal guy. Wow. You’re real special.”

“I am.”

“You didn’t win, though, did you?” said Parker, who knew it was stupid to say. “That Outer God’s got you by the balls, no matter how many you have. You didn’t win.”

“No,” said Hastur. “I did not.”

Oh, now there was humility? Now, Hastur was being vulnerable? Sure. Sure, he was. Parker’s voice rose. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” said Hastur the Unspeakable, light and smooth.

Parker… please… said Sunny.

And Parker knew (he really did) that Sunny was afraid Parker was going to get hurt, was going to somehow trigger Hastur into doing damage.

But Parker felt like it was the other way around. Defending Hastur. In any capacity, defending Hastur, because this was the guy Sunny wanted to be at the end of five years.

In that moment, Parker was done. For right now, at least, so very fucking done. “We’re continuing this later,” he managed, turned, and marched back out of the throne room.

Hastur let them go.

Parker?

Parker was silent. I’m sorry, Arthur, he thought, because he’d bailed, because this delayed everything, because he’d underestimated his opponent before going in and got himself a hell of a black eye.

Parker. Talk to me, please.

Parker could not. Not without saying something he knew he’d regret. He could not.

Parker… Sunny sounded like he was going to cry.

“Fresh air,” Parker ground out, and stomped right for the front gate.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent au #parker yang #sunny | yellow malevolent #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent

6 notes · View notes

koskela-knights · 1 year ago

Text

Again and Again

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52607677

Companion piece to Again and this time Ilmo experiences some déjà vu.

Drabble below as well

The night seemed to be endless. It just kept fucking going and going. And yet at the same time it felt like the world had frozen in time. After Jaakko’s body had hit the ground it was over. Ilmo could only watch in terror, like watching a train crash he couldn’t stop. As soon as the cell doors were opened, he had ran over to the adjacent cell and crashed down at his brother’s lifeless body. He bent over, cradled Jaakko and cried and cried and cried until his face was no longer wet with tears nor blood. On auto-pilot, he had covered his brother’s face. In his hands now, Jaakko’s beanie. The one he had gifted him many years ago. The one, Jaakko was inseparable from since then. Ilmo’s fingers fidgeted with the soft fabric, a nail got stuck in a thread of wool. He cursed God, he cursed the writer, he cursed himself. The world, now blackened forever. More sobs came out of the surviving Koskela brother. Ilmo held the beanie to his face, letting fresh tears flow into the material. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if maybe that would make everything alright. For a brief moment, he wondered if he could hear Jaakko call out for him or if he was already losing it.

A firm hand on his shoulder, jolts him awake. Ilmo blinks with his eyes and has to adjust to the sudden brightness of the scenery. “Earth to Ilmo. Hello, earth to Ilmo?!” A familiar voice is calling his name. Ilmo’s eyes widen when he sees Jaakko stand in front of him. In the flesh, alive. There’s a lump in Ilmo’s throat. He can’t speak. If he does, he might spill the painful truth to a seemingly blissfully unaware Jaakko. Jaakko. He bites his lower lip until he tastes iron. His older brother is giving him a puzzled, even frustrated look. “Ilmo? What’s gotten into you?” Before Jaakko can see the tears form in his eyes, Ilmo bridges the distance between them and hugs him. Tightly. Not letting go. Never letting go again.

“Ilmo?” Jaakko repeats in a softer tone.

The younger brother gets his fists full of the leather jacket that’s now totally fine. Not splattered in blood at al. Not worn by that monster. Was it all just a dream? “I’m just… glad you’re alive,” Ilmo manages to say under a shaky breath. He can feel Jaakko chuckle by the way his shoulders shake.

“Eh…Yes I am?” Jaakko slowly pushes Ilmo off of him and makes him look into his eyes. They’re full of life and innocence. Ilmo throws a look at the calendar that’s pinned to their fridge. It’s no longer September the 14th. In fact, it’s a day earlier. The unlucky number burns into the younger Koskela’s brain like a whiplash. The interrogation, the storming of the lodge, trying to capture and kill the writer and then… Oh god, no. No, no, no, no, no.Ilmo takes a few steps back. His head is spinning. He’s nauseous. He wants to throw up but his stomach is empty. He barely registered his brother sitting him down. “You’re not looking well. Maybe you should rest today.” As if they’re in two different dimensions, Ilmo glares at Jaakko. “I can go to Coffee World on my own.”

“No!” Ilmo exclaims, jumping back up. “No, I mean… I’ll go with you. I’m fine.” He’s lying. He’s clearly not fine. Jaakko had been brutally murdered just minutes ago or so it had felt. And now they’re back at the beginning of the day. Ilmo readjusts his cap, takes a deep breath and exhales. He nods, convincing himself: “I’ll go with you, brother. But can you please promise me something?”

“What?” Jaakko remains confused.

“Please, whatever might happen today, don’t shit talk anybody. Okay?”

“Okaay??” Jaakko hesitatingly replies.

Ilmo throws him a weak smile of fragile relief before heading out to Watery. If Ilmo’s suspicions are correct, then in a few hours they’ll be interrogated by the feds.

#my fic #my posts #alan wake 2 spoilers #alan wake #ilmo koskela #jaakko koskela

3 notes · View notes

jooheonspinky · 2 years ago

Text

Kpop Dream Log 13: with Wonho, Hyungwon, Jooheon, and Shownu

April 2, 2019, Tuesday

My mom was hosting Monsta X at her house. They were even staying there. I can’t really remember much, but I know at one point I was sitting next to Wonho (he had the blonde hair with the blue tips) on the bottom of a bunk bed. We were talking but having trouble understanding each other.

I’d ask a question and he’d mumur, ‘Eh...’ and then say something in Korean.

I’d look at him confused and ask, "What?"

Then he’d shake his head and ask, "뭐요?"

I’d say, "Ah, never mind."

He would then insist, "No. Tell. Tell."

I’d repeat myself slower and he’d do the same and we’d finally understand. We were a hot mess lol

Later I was sitting next to Hyungwon (he had dark grey hair) on the couch and we were talking. We didn’t seem to have any issues communicating. I just can’t really remember what we spoke about.

Somewhere along the dream, I had gone outside to the back yard where my mom had set up some food and drinks. There was music playing. I saw Jooheon there and was telling my mom he was my favorite member. Some rapper I didn't recognize was there and was scolding Jooheon for something he’d said or done. All I remember was him saying ‘You can’t be acting like that, meng. You gonna annoy the shit outta people.’ Jooheon was just nodding his head and looked mortified. He had on the vest top like in Alligator. I remember seeing his arms bare. His hair was orange.

I think I got second hand embarrassment because I left the back yard quickly and went back inside. I went into a room that was empty. It had a small tv mounted in the corner up on the wall. I cast an MX mix onto it and began to draw. I was drawing Shownu. When I was almost done, I hear someone clear their throat in the door way and it’s him. My face looked like 😳 and I tried to cover my paper.

Shownu walked in and told me, "No. it’s good."

I was sitting at a white foldable table, but it was long. He came and sat next to me, but we didn’t say anything else to each other. He just leaned back in the chair and zoned out, so I just kept drawing. Then my mom came into the room and turned down the music. He sat up straight, and they started talking. Then I woke up.

Dream Log Masterlist

#Monsta X dream #Lee Hoseok #Monsta X Hoseok #Wonho #Chae Hyungwon #Hyungwon #Lee Jooheon #Jooheon #Joohoney #son hyunwoo #Hyunwoo #Shownu

2 notes · View notes

clubsmarties · 21 days ago

Text

"High school didn't date. With both sisters partnered up, it didn't seem fun. I didn't even go to my own prom. When I tell you I was a homebody, I swear I'm not kidding. College, eh there was a girl who asked to go on a date but I didn't go. Trust didn't come easy to me. Which I guess looking back did seem like I was an asshole but I kept people at a distance. Worst nightmare was people getting to know me at the time. Quantico couldn't date there were rules and other stupid shit. I'm trying to remember a time," frankly trust issues prevented him from going for it most of the times. "Alright, I guess camp could count. I was six and this other girl was seven. Technically guess it counts as a first kiss. But I don't actually count it since right after she threw me in the pool at night. It was a peck so really not this big deal. Falling in love before you? No, can't say that I had. You came in like a whirlwind and had me on my knees." His smile told her everything she needed to know. "No, never had a parents talk either. I had one with my sisters husbands when they wanted to get engaged but not the other way around."

He hummed as he laughed in a response. "It was but this girl was boring with a capital boring. The dullest human I think ever. I was also young and dumb so really could just blame that." Who didn't do shit they weren't proud of in their youth. He turned just in time to wipe her eyes softly and brought his thumb down to her lips and laughed when she kissed his cheek.

The initial moment had him frowning and relaxing his eyebrows. A smile so striking took over his features as he heard her full name and mulled it over. "Elizabeth Sóley Bordeaux." he repeated softly. The last name slipping past his lips. "That is perfect." Now he wasn't going to lie. He could see her as his wife. If that was something she could also see. Sharing her life with his.

Watching her sitting up he smirked. "Oh, is that so? So no on well behaved wally on this trip then? Interesting. There is such a thing as a mile high club. First class bathrooms are a lot more spacious." The reason he knew that was now forever imprinted in his mind forever. He knew once he got her on the ghost adventures guy she'd have something to say which always made him chuckle. Though now he stayed quiet letting her go at it. Her reasoning made sense. "Maybe we should send one of those island elves over to this dudes house. Get him a dicky trickster. Seem to be the same."

He started to laugh and shook his head. "Scouts honor no inadequate feelings here. I mean you don't leave unsatisfied so must be doing something right." He bumped her shoulder and smiled. "Come on, besides we can totally make super inappropriate jokes. That's where the fun lies." Getting himself in a measuring contest with dicks made him laugh. He grabbed her hand and shot up from his seat. "We're first to get in." His eyes widened as he showed the attendant his phone and heard them beep the screen. Then were told to have a safe flight. He hummed and thanked them and rolled his bag down. Reaching the plane and the awaiting flight attendants smiles greeting them. He eyed the first seat which looked more like beds than actual seats. "Ladies choice," he let go of her hand and waited for her to take her seat.

"No.” She scoffed but with a smile. “ I get not recently but what about in high school? College? You're going to tell me you never dated and fallen in love before? Never had to do the meeting of parents or had to the what are your intensions with my child, talk?" While she had never had done these personally herself there were plenty she had to pretend through. It wasn't as if she was trying to fish some sort of sordid affair from him, it was just her trying to know more about the man he loved.

At his story though she looked at his hand. She had pretended a lot of things to get out of various situations but stabbing herself with a utensil never crossed her mind before. "That seems rather extreme." The next words that came from him though, had her hazel eyes gleam with tears, adoration. Love. There was never going to be enough words, gestures, anything in the world that could ever say how much she loved him. So for now, she settled on a small kiss, leaning over and placed it on his cheek.

"You got that all wrong," her tone serious as she settled her head on his shoulder. "I have no idea who Elizabeth Bordeaux is or could be. It sounds all wrong." Watching more people come and go. She had never thought about marriage, even considered it a part of her future one day, but here she was. Like a school girl thinking about her having the same last name as her crush. Though they might not marry, the reason for this trip was at the forefront of him. There was no one else she would ever do this with, consider doing this with. Releasing a small sigh she spoke again. "Elizabeth Sóley Bordeaux, now that one rolls off the tongue a bit better. If I do say so myself."

Sitting up, she shook her head, it was no surprise that she was excited and ready to read the new novel in her possession now. The distractions that Wally provided though, were very tempting and she did enjoy them. "That sounds highly unlikely." Raised eyebrow. "What if I wanted you on your worst behavior?" It was a tease, not like they could do much on the plane full of people anyway.

"Ghost adventures?!" Elizabeth despised that man. Having accidentally seen an episode when she was channel surfing once, she absolutely hated him. Could see past the facade the man put up about being able to channel the other side or other beings. "That fake wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a marmennill, selkie or a mermaid! Anyway," a slight roll of her eyes. "On the island elves are believed to go home from home offering gifts but if you accept them, it causes madness. So its best not to. So technically they are all dicky."

The thought of them going to the museum had her smiling like a fool. "The musuem gets some thing wagging. We can go as long as you don't feel...," she thought over the right word to say but could only giggle when she continued. "Inadequate after, we can consider it. Men don't tend to like to see how they size up to others. There's also lots of museums and we can always go back to see them all."

Hearing another overhead call for another flight boarding, she nudging his shoulder playfully. "Is that us?" She was slightly anxious, ready to embark on this adventure to find that 'right moment.'

#bordeaux |▪︎main ▪︎|#the way she said it 😭😭😭#ngl esb is a hella cool initial

66 notes · View notes

leagueofdccm-togo · 10 months ago

Note

❛ I won’t play these games. ❜ / rick to negan

some meme || @nghtmarish

💥⋆｡˚⁀➷A SHIT EATING GRIN STRETCHES ACROSS THE SAVIOR LEADERS FEATURE, EYES FILLED WITH AMUSEMENT. HIS FINGERS ITCHING TO GRAB HIS BAT AND JUST GO BONKERS ! Laughing loudly like some type of maniac let loose from the crazy house. Negan Pretends to wipe the fake tears from his eyes as he looks towards his fellow SAVIORS behind him. They took begin to laugh in delight at Rick's response towards their leader. Negan points over at Rick with a single thumb as to say 'get a load of this guy !' ❝ Oh-- oh God ! Wow ! WOW ! That felt good... I- I haven't laughed like that in a while, Rick ! Thanks for that man ! I didn't think you had a funny bone in yeh' ! Guess we all got hidden talents, eh ? Remind me when you're hostin' COMEDY NIGHT. ❞ NEGAN PLAYFULLY elbows Rick with a couple of nudges before throwing his arm over the other ex leader's shoulder, bringing him closer and giving him a tight squeeze towards Negan's side.

❝ Who said anythin' 'bout us playin' ? I'm DEAD serious Dick... I mean Rick... actually no. I meant Dick. Same shit, right ? Anyways...losing my train of thoughts here. As I was saying... Yeah no.... I ain't playin'. You want your people to live you best behave yourself. I already had to take out few of your people before as warnin'... wouldn't wanna take down more, now do we, RICK ? I don't like repeating myself, I hope you and I can come to an agreement... I really hope we can save your people and end this war between us, hm ? You and your group are mine..... 'ight ? End of story. No if's. No buts. No nothin'. Either you get with the program.... or you die. Simple, right ? ❞

His voice dripping with venom as the grin on his face falters, yet a hint of JOY not far from it. His grasp on Rick loosens and brings his attention towards his bat Lucille. She's looking mighty fine in his tight hold, knows she's begging to have a taste of these people. If Bats could talk he knew she'd be using PRETTY WORDS to convince Negan. And it would work. But... didn't come to spill blood unless Rick and his people kept pushing.... from the looks of it, they seem to FINALLY be getting shit in their heads. Giving her a grin before pushing Rick from him completely, creating distance between the two once more. Negan stretches his arms above his head. He throws Lucille over his shoulder, his other hand resting on his hip. ❝ So..... it's settled now, right ? You guys are gonna listen this time ? And I not.... imma come for your kid next time. ❞

#nghtmarish #💥◂Negan┊knock knock !┊inbox ic

1 note · View note

myfeetkeepdancing · 3 years ago

Text

NSFW 18+ NSFW 18+

Nathan Drake x Male Reader

“Finally peeled yourself from behind that desk…?” The familiar voice came as a flash in the night ignited the room. And there he was again. Nathan. Sitting on your sofa. That familiar smirk on his face.

“I knew this day would come.” Letting out a sigh when you notice the contours of the man seated on your comfy sofa. “Quite the entrance.”

“Yeah. I thought I leaned a little on the dramatic reveal.” He smiled fondly. “My other ideas were a lot worse.”

“In a way… I’m glad it’s you. Could’ve been much worse.” You chuckle. “How’d you get in anyway?”

“You don’t wanna know.” He rubbed his thighs slightly nervous. “But seeing that smile… makes me wonder if I should’ve done it much sooner.”

“That a look in the mirror, Nathan. You should see the look on your face.” You snort and eye him indiscriminately. “Must say, time has been kind to you.” His arms bulge in that shirt. Forearms treaded with thick veins. Brown hair combed and slicked backward. “Been busy I see…”

“You too.” He leaned forward, eyeing you the same way. “So… How is your… new… life?” Tilting his head slowly sideways. That knowing smirk on his face. “Gotten used to… doing laundry… making shopping lists?” Glancing around with a belittling expression. “Reading the newspaper every morning…”

“It’s growing on me. How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Flicking meaninglessly through the pages of the newspaper lying on the coffee table. Giving you the worst faked smile you ever saw on Nathan’s face. “Thanks for asking.”

“I see...” Crossing your arms and lean into the doorpost. Watching Nathan holding back something you can’t fully put your finger on. “Why do I feel there’s more to this?” Stepping into the room. It feels like stepping into a cage. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Nathan.”

“Either you’re in trouble…” That glint in Nathans’s eye twinkled as you sat yourself on the armrest of the couch. Opposite of Nathan. “Or… you’re here to crash on my couch for the night. No, wait… that’s all the same to you.”

“Alright, I have a feeling I… eh… got off on the wrong foot…” He says, rising to his feet, you feel slightly apprehensive at first. “Can we start over…?”

You remain unmoved, heart racing a little as he steps closer. Cautiously taking his steps. Nathan aware of your mistrust. “Pretend this didn’t happen?”

“I haven’t eaten.” You let out a sigh. “How about we grab a bite and work from there…?”

“Wait…” Nathan darted forward, his hand against your chest. The distance between the two of you closed within a heartbeat. “I… m-... There are a lot of things I didn’t say when we… went our ways. I... just haven’t been… honest.”

“Are you saying… your conscience got the better of you…?” The irritation boiling inside of you. “I know you kept a sweater, a shirt, and… my bottle of perfume. What else is there… that I don’t know?”

Nathan is smooth and swift. He steps in and takes you right on the lips. It takes you back. Just like it was back then. Your noses touch and skim awkwardly against each other as he overwhelms you. The moving force behind the kiss, he’s hesitant for a moment. That first wave of emotions washes through his movement. Awaiting your reaction. The taste is the same. The feeling is the same. Your heart skips a beat. Excitement taking over. Following him into the kiss. Kissing him back. Wanting to.

“You stole my heart when you left…” Nathan whispered through the kiss. “And I fucking… miss you.” Repeating it again as he rested his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” One hand cradling the back of your head. The kiss left you both breathless and… somehow relieved. The tension was so thick and so relentless. The unspoken glances shot back and forth. That in just a matter of minutes. While it��s been months since you separated and went your own way. You never forgot each other. Still on each other’s minds. “All of it.”

“You… s-should’ve started with that.” Trying to suppress the growing excitement within you. “Shit…”

The past was an interesting one, especially with Nathan. When you’re young, the thrill of exploration and adventure is ever-present. And the world was full of them. Stories and mysteries. Myths and treasures. The next one is more attractive than the other. Now those stories and adventures are tied up in relics dotted across your apartment. Of what a life once was. A thrilling one, but dangerous for the age.

Now settled and living the ‘normal’ life. A desk job. Stability. Quiet.

But without Nathan.

“If I’d known…” His hands lower to your hips, balancing you on the armrest of the couch. “I wouldn’t have been waiting in this room.”

“What happens now…?” Silencing his lips with a finger as you move to your feet. Seeing his lips curl into this devious smirk. “Do we… slip back into… old habits?”

“Fuck yeah...” With a freshly released pent-up frenzy of love and lust, you viciously move towards the bedroom. Discarding each other’s clothing along the way. Frames fall from the walls as you bang from side to side in the hallway. Fighting for dominance and bare skin. Kisses become violent, and touches intensify. Until you end up on the mattress of your bed.

Forcing Nathan on his back, you throw a leg over and seat yourself on top of him. Naked and more than ready. Balls and cock resting on his abs. Firm and hard. Warm to the touch.

Just like his cock. It’s looming behind you. The thought of it alone made you want it even more. That feeling intensified as Nathan perched himself upwards, one hand on your neck, and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s slow but so good. “No quick cuddle…” He insisted with a grin. “We have no dinner reservation to get to...” His hands feeling your body up. Eyes full of lust. “Or a plane to catch. It’s just us… you and me.”

“I can’t wait to feel you again…” You confess outright. Wetting your fingers with a spat of spit. Reaching behind you, you feel this familiar length, standing tall and eager to get in on the action.

The touch of your fingers on his twitching length makes Nathan moan through the kiss. It’s warm and firm. You feel the veins protruding underneath the tight skin. Sliding backward makes the ongoing kiss a challenge to uphold, and Nathan tries to follow. You lean in. Until you feel his rock-hard cock fill the crease and curvature of your asscheeks. Its slippery length rubs up against your skin, its frantic throbbing teasing your senses.

“Go slowly…” Nathan whispers as you let go of his lips. Watching and feeling you angle his tip to your entrance. Rising your ass to meet up his tip. “It’s… been a while.”

The resistance at first is prevalent. A simultaneous groan of the two of you sends shivers over your spine. That teasing sensation of his pink tip, stretching your hole. Wanting inside. Nathan reaches over and gropes your asscheeks. Digging his fingers deep in, and spreads them wide apart. Making it so that you manage to pop his tip in.

Your sphincter protests, fights back. Struggles for a moment or two. So does your mind. But the feeling of Nathan’s cock once again penetrating you is overwhelming. Your knees weaken, and feel yourself give in. “Fu-... uck... Nathan…” Words fall short, as does your breath. He always managed to rub you right inside you. That eagerness grew inside you. Wanting more.

“Keep b-breathing…” Nathan reminds you with a quick kiss. But memories of your last time with Nathan flood your mind. It’s been so long. The craving and urges have never been higher. And that euphoric feeling of his cock once again inside you made you lose control of your body. Forgetting to breathe is just one thing. The growing cramps in your leg muscles are another. Your legs sink deep in the sheets, muscles struggling to keep you upright.

“Breathe…” Nathan went again, this time putting his lips to yours. Taking your mind off all the things happening. A sigh loosens your muscles, and you sink further down onto his cock. The lingering tease now turned into a pleasurable fulfillment. You can’t stop moaning to the sensations overwhelming you.

“That’s it…” He groaned as you felt him fill you up. Hearing the pleasure in his voice as he complimented you. “All nice and tight for me…”

You have to fight to keep your composure. Savor that full moment of him penetrating you slowly. Your body fights back. Your hole and cheeks clench hard and quiver under the increasing pressure that pushes into you. Nathan’s firm grip on your asscheeks prevents that.

“Take it in…” Pulling your cheeks apart. “All of it…” You feel his length stretch and push in on your narrow insides. Every curve and vein pushing on your walls. Deeper and deeper. Your body gave in as it tried to resist. But you knew better. And you wanted more.

“N-Nate…” You stammer as his length slid into you up to the last inch. Once his hands had spread your asscheeks apart, you let out a moan of pleasure.

It sank deep and penetrated you fully. You have to gather your breath. Senses overloaded. Mind blank. You couldn’t cope.

“Fuck me…” You ask, plead and beg all through a series of groans. Trying to force your body into a grinding rhythm on his cock. But that sensation of his cock buried so deep into you made your body quiver. Every time you tried to roll your hips, his lengths rubbed places inside you, you needed him to. Wanted him to. Craved. You’re simply unable to move.

“I can’t…” You stammer through a chuckle and try to grab his shoulders. Hold yourself onto him.

“Let me…” Nathan whispered as he laid back, spread out to give a clear view, looking down at his exposed body. You couldn’t help but admire how perfect it was, arms thick and strong, a bulky chest that flexed as he helped you into motion. “I’ll make you feel good...”

His grip on your ass moved further down, slowly lifting you up. That girthy cock of his almost creating a vacuum inside you. It slid out an inch or two, but it was more than enough. Slowly sinking you down again.

Your dick slapped against his abs, pre-cum already flicking back and forth with the impact of his next push. Barely any control over your own body, you try to hold onto his shoulders.

When you thought you had adjusted, he increases his pace, completely and utterly pounding your insides. All you hear is the loud sound of skin-on-skin as he slammed deeper into your ass.

All you can feel is pleasure as your vision hazes. You needed very little stimulation.

All you can feel is your heart pounding, his cock inside you, and your cock throbbing with every push.

Your cock slapped onto his perfect body. You can feel your balls start to churn. He looks so gorgeous writhing beneath you, such a mixture of hot and adorable. You can hardly bear watching any longer it. Let alone keep it in.

Nathan stirring you on with his lusting gaze. Hitting you in all the right places. The sensation is feels utterly amazing. Cum just spills without a warning. Spraying it all over him. He watches you in amazement and fascination as the first rope of cum shoots out of you and onto his muscles.

“L-Like… old t-times.” Nathan smiled as he welcomed your lips, seeing your arms buckle from the pleasures. You feel yourself fall forward into him, his lips up close, strong arms wrap around your neck like a vice. “You haven’t changed, have you…” Nathan teased as he helped you ride out your wave of ecstasy. Swaying you in the motion, meeting you halfway with slow thrusts.

“Nothing changed.” You confessed with his hard cock still inside you. “I just… miss this.” Showing him a smile as you begin to gather yourself. His scent assaults your senses once again, just like many months ago, you take your time, slowly savoring every part of him, his smell, his sweat, the taste of his lips on yours.

“I thought you were going to confess-…” Nathan breathed out, combing his fingers through your hair a bit rough to get your attention. “-... that you m-missed me.” His voice is low, raspy. It’s turning you on even more. The air of pheromones is heavy, the smell seeping into your mind, both wanting it badly.

“Make me…”

His grip is so firm, yet it slides against your skin, teasing you. Nathan really does have a large, firm, toned body, even his legs are muscular. The bed shudders and creaks as you roll over. Looking at his face, he’s so focused. All it takes is looking into each other’s eyes for him to know that you want him to fill you up.

“I’m not gonna lie…” He lifted your legs, pulling you closer, ready for him to mount you. Nathan’s muscled body loomed over you. “I’m real close...” The cum dripped from his abs. From his well-built frame all the way down to this hard cock. Without hesitating, he nudges his tip into your tight, quivering hole, letting half of it pop inside. “But… I’ll try…”

You’re once again breathless. Feeling him fill you up. Nathan really is sexier now, even more so than a few months ago. No longer able to hold back, he pounds into you, your body braced. You can take him in further. You feel it, your entrance contracting with each thrust he makes. Accepting him in. Deeper and deeper.

He pins you down on the bed, hips bucking as he thrusts into you. Clasping your hands on his hips, you guide him, as he pushes down with every thrust, body already used to his length. You can feel him going in and out. And you can’t help but shiver in pleasure with every push.

Your eyes lock as his handsome face stares into yours; you can’t look away. Taking in the sight of this muscular man in front of you, body pulsing with each thrust.

“I’ll make you cum again before I do…” Rubbing his hand all over your cock. Despite being limb just seconds ago. It swells and hardens within his gentle and loving touch. It’s slick and ready to go for another round.

You can feel him move from a steady pace to this harder and faster pounding one. Your insides feel like they’re tearing apart. Lost in a haze of passion. You can feel his moves become desperate, pounding more and more, approaching your own release again. Forcefully thrusting his hips, battering your ass. Jerking your cock with increasing vigor. Your cock still sensitive from before wasn’t going to stop Nathan.

“Oh God… N-Nate” All you can feel is pleasure as he wanks you off, timing the strokes to his thrusts. His grip tightens. “Faster… H-Harder!” Wrapping your legs around his back.

Calling out to each other in pleasure like this. It awakened something in one another, stirring on his movements. In response to your words, the thrusts hasten in speed, flashes of white begin to color your vision as he pounds into you.

Each time he hits your prostate, you feel that jolt of pleasure all through your body. Hand stroking faster, forcing the release. His muscles flexing as he penetrates deeper and deeper. Your insides were starting to tighten up more. No longer able to hold back. Your vision glazes over as you surrender to his pounding.

“I’ll fuck… the cum out of ya…” He groans as his grip tightens. Your body adjusts to his movements, the pain subsiding as you savor every thrust he makes, each move going faster. Your entrance slick as he pounds more intensely with each thrust.

Your bodies come together, at this point neither of you care for the sounds you make. The climax inside you builds up as the cock inside you assaults your hole fiercely. His body heaving with every thrust, his strong features are on full display as you writhe under him.

You cum, shoving your face hard against the mattress and your ass against his crotch. Body in a quivering state of perpetual pleasure. Cum jets from your swollen cock. Nathan strokes hard, milking every last possible drop. Making you spill all over yourself. Glazing your own stomach in a coat of your own cum. The pulses sends Nathan after you.

Nathan cums with full force. And you accept it. Take it in. His cock hardens and unloads a stream of warm cum that fills your insides. You feel him. Contracting and unloading. His groans are as sexy as ever before. Gripping you. Holding you.

“Breathe…” You mutter and grab him by the neck, placing your lips on his. Stealing your breath in an instance as he regained his senses. Bodies burning up from the heat, sweat running down your faces, mixing into the kiss. Lips turning in a smile. Both panting, trying to recover your breaths, you peaked at his face, all zoned out after such an intense release.

“K-Keep it in…” You urge him as you clench your ass as tightly as you possibly can, trying to hold his load in. You felt him chuckle. His body shook as he reseated himself, and pressed his hips deep into you. Despite his efforts, cum was spurting out, bubbling around the rim of your ass. Slowly oozing downwards.

“I miss what we did. What we used to do. What we were.” Nathan whispered into your ear as he slowly lifted himself onto his arms. “Can we please go back…? At least… gimme a try. I’ll try to be a bett-...”

A finger to his lips stops Nathan from talking. His chocolate brown eyes, big and lovingly, stare at you with this glimmer of desire. “You don’t know what you’re missing until they’re gone.” Throwing your arms around his neck. “Now I know…”

Nathan’s softer side shined through as he smiled. Hugging you closely. Caressing your lips with a lover’s embrace. “I bet you got that out of the Da Vinci Code.” He teased you, slapping it from your nightstand. “You oughta know better. Now for real….” Stealing a quick kiss from your lips. “Will you… gimme a chance?”

“The past is the past. All this time, it started to grow on me… I can’t do without you.” With your legs twisted around his body like a vice, you clamp yourself onto him. Arms and legs tightly hugging him. “Time for a new adventure, Nathan. A new chapter.” And give a playful slap on his ass. Feeling him harden again. “Or another round is fine as well.”

“What were you mad about…?” He inquires with a persuasive session of peppered kisses along face your and down your neck. “I’d like to know… to improve.”

“Doesn’t matter, Nathan.” You stammer, unable to think straight. The shower of kisses and praise your body gets from Nathan is exhilarating. At the same time, you feel the sheets go damp underneath you. The cold sensation trickled down the crack of your ass and lower back. “The sheets…” Trying to plug your hole with him again. Reaching for a piece of discarded clothing lying on the bed. “The cum is-...”

You get stopped by Nathan. Pinning the arm in place at your wrist. “You either tell me…” Grabbing your other arm and pins it down on the other side of you. “Or you and I are going to stain the sheets… into oblivion.” Slowly pulling his cock in and out of you. The resistance is gone. It’s all slicked and ready. Each cycle of his hip rolling against yours caused the cum to seep out slowly. Trickling down. The inevitable.

“L-Looks like your body made the choice for you…” Nathan glanced down, buried his face into your neck, leaned and arched into you further, his muscled torso pressing into you, locking your stiffened cock in-between your bodies. Your length teased by the ripples of his abs. Gliding back and forth as he began moving. “You won’t be able to walk… w-when I’m done.” He growls into your ear. “You tell me…”

But you let the silence speak for itself.

#Nathan Drake x Male!Reader #Nathan Drake x Male Reader #Tom Holland x Male!Reader #Tom Holland x Male Reader #Tom Holland male reader #tom holland #male reader #male!reader #mlm smut #tom holland smut #smut #mlm #mlm love #nathan drake smut #male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

djarinsbeskar · 3 years ago

Text

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #boxer!din #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars smut #star wars fic #star wars fanfic

712 notes · View notes

rhiezus · 3 years ago

Note

“ you get this little dimple when you smile. sometimes i just want to kiss it. ” // EH O AMOR QUE MEXE COM MINHA CABEÇA noah x myah

for most of what he had seen depicted in real life and most fiction, love was supposed to bring out the best in people. of course, they were expectations in the midst of everything, there was an obsession and limits and the hell passion that goes into it when you least expect and that wasn't a realization he had only by watching movies, no. early in life for most of the things ever since birth noah was keen to discover and to leap his heart openly at everything and everyone all at once, something his family therapist qualified to his parents as one of the most precious deeds of his personality. back then, of course, noah wasn't really sure how to take all things compliments or all of the expectations that came along with it as he was growing older. he was the middle child, a role which he seemed to accept just fine in order to fulfill his role in the dynamic-oriented family he was born. it wasn't like everyday life was different because of it, it wasn't like anything changed at all, it was just growing altogether along with him — the perpetuating feeling of being who you are and being accepted for it. love was a funny thing after all because it made you see the real you and make a choice — live for it, whatever it is, or run to keep on looking for whatever else.

being so involved with everyone that you set your heart to find and to love has many ups and many downs, not only was there too much all at once to which it seemly all lost its sense, but it also craved an unforgiving search for what might cure it. he had been hurt once before, two, three, and even more than five times, but it never stopped him from keeping looking, keep living for all that matters. because not only that therapist was right, all of the others that followed seemed to say the same thing "you've got a good heart, noah, don't bury it away" — and he didn't, he couldn't even if he tried which as tiresome as it was intended since the begging of his whole existence. and what an existence that it was, being a child from a family of overachievers, what is hard you ask? could it be classified as such when you've got privileges to take answers for? no, not in the slightest is what he kept repeating over and over again until it actually sunk in and work went overdue to make himself what he, in the limits of what he could, wanted to become.

none of that shit mattered though when he met myah, or — when he looked at her, right this time. not with the passion and luxury of owning someone he had once before, not with the intensity of his teenage years or his curiosity to find what made her who she was and how could he be more of her rather than him. it was quiet and familiar like coming back home when he was a year away, like being held in the arms of his mother at twenty-four years old but feeling like a child again like he knew nothing even though he knew almost everything there was to know now and yet it was not enough. but myah made it seem like the little he could offer, the little he was, the little he knew... was worth of compensation and that compensation was the little she could offer, the little she was, the little she knew — which combined was not all that little after all. and it made sense so, not in the burning ways of before, in the desperate hands of someone who knew not where to put them but rather in a sense of belonging, of pieces falling into places where they never once were but felt they knew the path.

he smiled mischievously under her touch one more time, lazily opening his eyes to find hers already staring at his face with the same peculiar look she had when she was intendedly interested in something. noah pushed back a few rebel strands of her hair back which pulled back to she was placed, but he just wanted to caress her face in the same way she did him. "do it." it was directly as that, he was daring her at the same time he was thinking of stranding her along, kissing her neck, her chin, her cheek... he let his smile take the best of him, rubbing it against her face while their warm noses made contact-making both of them giggle immediately, a contagious type of feeling they only got when they were this close. noah closed his eyes and before she could kiss him, he held her hips with both of his hands and laied her down on the bed before him. they weren't completely awake yet, in fact, they had been in this hazelly state of being happy and in love for months now. he wasn't worried at all if it was too much for one person to feel or if it was rather unreal for both of them, in fact, for probably the first time ever he wasn't thinking anything else.

"you kiss it, whenever. it is yours anyway." he smiled just for her, this time for the last time before kissing her. it didn't matter who moved first, they met along and kept the same passionate moves for as long as it lasted. it was just like that in their relationship: the past, the future, the present... all intertwined with the sensation of belonging. for the first time, there weren't any movie references he could find, there weren't any metaphors of his family he could use, no new joke to be made... he was writing his own story, he was starting his own metaphors and finding his own laugh, with myah and because of her.

#noah.#noah x myah #BOM DIA CARALHO #starting with a BAnGGGG #i figured i did mom son now son again #why the hell not #also #a definição de gostoso #my god noah is so hot i-#everytime i write him i aM DreadInG becausE he is Soo cOoOOOL #forgive myself for not mentioning isabel's name tho #i figured moved on noah but also there is a lot of #.... you read it #its just-#a well deserved happiness #and i love it :(

98 notes · View notes

danddymaro · 3 years ago

Text

Replay | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

A/N: Please, this is NSFW if you don’t like it, don't read it.

Thoughts are in italics and quotations // ‘ Example,’

Flashback are all in just Italics // Example

- I hope it’s understandable. It drifts from present time to the past event and goes back and forth for a moment.

Abbacchio using his stand for, Well, dirty purposes. So, he might be a little perverse here // sorry

word count: 1474

Replay

His lustrous, golden eyes were fixed on the sight of the (h/c) haired young woman, entranced by the manner her fingers desperately rubbed over the sweet, little spot that was certain to set her off.

"A...ah…" she tried to speak, instead, drifting off into a sultry moan as her other fingers slid down to her needy hole, giving it the attention it'd yearned for before then.

“ Filthy..." he breathed, " You filthy whore… '' he said in a deep, low rumble, his eyes almost unblinking as he continued to take in the sight of the woman as she lay in display.

Far, deep within the recesses of his mind, he wondered who was more depraved out of the two.

Was it the desperate, perverse fool whose cock twitched and throbbed at the sight of a mere replay, becoming only relieved when fisted by a hand that was covered by a used pair of panties.

Or, was it the yearning whore squirming above the bedsheets, unable to keep still and so drunk in pleasure that she could barely speak.

" Who are you thinking of?" Leone half-whispered, asking her, yet receiving no response but yet another moan, this time hushed and so powerful, her voice failed her.

A small, fragile squeak was the only thing that could escape the back of her throat and it let him know how high she'd gone as a result of the self-indulging performance.

"You're having the time of your life, " he said with the same husky tone, watching as (f/n) did not spare a movement, everything she did serving for her own carnal pleasure.

"- You're loving it," he breathed, and it was then that her pace quickened, her hips rising up with desperation to meet imaginary thrusts that he knew she tried to vividly imagine simply by the way her (e/c) colored eyes hid behind tightly shut lids.

And, again, he wondered just who she thought about, the huffing man wanting to know just who brought her to that peak.

" Fuck me," she muttered softly, quivering as literal tears welled up in her (e/c) colored eyes as she murmured the words, wishing that she could somehow breathe the fantasy out into real life with each hot huff she mustered.

" Please...please…" she begged, breathlessly speaking, repeating the words over and over, sounding almost as repetitive as a scratched disk as she tried to envision just how he’d take her. Desperately, she tried to imagine his touch, attempting to fall into the fantasy of her desires so well that she could forget everything else in the world.

- Slowly, his entire body as it rocked to hers, every thrust slow and dragged, yet deep, and filled with the purpose of reaching the tender spots her fingers couldn't dive into.

"I want… please…" she dumbly rambled, a thick shine glossing her bottom lip as her tongue slid over the shaking plumpness.

" Leone…" (f/n) added sweetly, the two fingers that were tasked with making quick dives into her wetness, stopping as they were about to come out, instead, parting, stretching her little hole right before his intently trained, golden gems.

"Shit," he grunted, " Shit, " he repeated again before swallowing down hard.

The sudden bit of surprise he felt was then washed away by the heavy title wave of pleasure that drowned him, leaving him teetering on the edge of release.

With a strong thrust upwards, she threw her head back onto the pillow, turning her head to take a bite out of the fluffy cushioning in order to muffle a particularly desperate cry onto it, all while Leone hissed, almost unable to live through the sight without becoming fully undone.

It was then that his ears picked up on a distant knock, as well as a voice he knew was his own,

"(F/n) ?"Abbacchio asked her, speaking from the other side of the closed door as he waited just outside her room.

As he kept his eyes on the replay, Leone could see the recollection that soon set on her face as she heard him speak,

" L-l-leone?" She asked shyly, her breathy, little murmur barely sounding as she struggled to even say his name, and as he watched her, he felt a small twitch to his heart.

' … how can you look so sweet right now?' He wondered, his eyes watching her flustered face before it went back down to her glistening folds. ‘How can you look so damn cute when your making such a mess?’ he silently teased.

Momentarily, her fingers' movements became lax and ghosting, and her face became pensive. She seemed to be struck by the same pleasure, yet contemplative of her next move, clearly having a battle of morals.

' What's taking you so long?' he asked her, the man outside the door sounding annoyed but not enough to press on more.

Because, sometimes, he was too lenient on her, letting her get away with so much more than anyone else could. And he wished he could be just a bit more assertive with her.

But, he was terribly softhearted when it came to the pretty, little woman.

He found it difficult to lift his voice at her and at times, he couldn't even look at her directly without melting and becoming an easy sucker, willed and bent in whichever way she wanted.

"Eh…I...Um…Ah!" Her free hand flew to clamp over her mouth to muffle the last bit of her moan while the other moved faster, leaving her right at the peak. Relentless, her body drove her to push further, to finally give it it’s awaited release.

The very hand then dragged down, joining the other while it repeatedly dove into her wetness.

With the same enthusiasm, her fingers rubbed her little clit, almost reaching her high.

"J..Just hearing him…" she murmured. "He...He's right there," She added brokenly, lazily skimming her eyes over to the door, where outside, the long haired man waited for her.

"Hmm? You alright in there?" He then asked her, growing concerned over the muffled response.

"Yes! " she answered back in a quick panic, her voice high pitched and wavering even as she tried to keep her preoccupation a secret.

'I have to stop…' (f/n) thought with a small shred of shame that creped up on her. 'But....' She then added quickly, 'But, Leone… Leone this is too much!' She went on, having made him the subject of many fantasies before, but never feeling as fulfilled by a fantasy than at that moment.

" I can finish, " she murmured selfish determination. "I ...I can..." she continued with the same greedy excitement.

Panting, she then rolled over, her ass high in the air as she continued to please herself, a little, excited wiggle to her hips that swayed her exposed ass to the observing man.

“Yes...Yes...Yes...” she repeatedly chanted into the cushioning bellow.

“Fuck!” She cursed while her mouth pressed over the pillow, soon releasing a loud cry that was subdued by the support as her body raked by a powerful surge of electricity that visually shook her.

He cursed lowlily, unable to take more before he jerked his hips towards his jerking hand. It wasn’t long before the sweet remaining musk of her essence was masked by his thick spurts.

"I'm sorry Leone…" (f/n) said softly, " I just couldn’t help myself," She admitted, while slowly, her lower body slowly melted onto the mattress. " -And you'd just kill me if you knew," she giggled, the kittenish, little deviousness that shown during then making him smirk.

"...Or maybe fuck me into the mattress," She added while she stretched and mewled, and by then she pressed her thighs together tightly.

‘Oh?’ he mused.

"Ah, I wouldn't mind," she murmured, " I wouldn't mind if you did," she admitted while, slowly, her actions caught up to her, and it was then that the full weight of her shame finally struck her.

" Come on (f/n)! Hurry up we don't have all day!" Another younger, much livelier voice interrupted.

Narancia huffed, "Fugo's been waiting in the car for a few minutes already and he's starting to get snappy, so quit jerking it and get your ass out there now!" He demanded, causing (f/n) to grow learned before she truly snapped into reality.

"SHUT UP!" She screeched, immediately jumping up on her feet.

She then scrambled off of the bed, quickly reaching for her clothes before frantically putting them back on.

" Don't say that!" She added with dismay, ready to jolt out of the door when Abbacchio stopped his replay.

The shallow breaths he took morphed into airy chuckles, as he took a seat on the mattress, his back soon falling onto the sweet-scented covers that retained the woman's signature aroma just after his stand disappeared.

259 notes · View notes

laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I love your urban fantasy stories, and I was wondering if you might want to write something about the fae and working at an antiques shop?

“That can’t be what really happened…”

“You think I didn’t tell myself that at first?” he hissed into his phone. “I’ve seen them.” He glanced around the store suspiciously, almost a reflex by now, but it seemed empty. Fat lot of good that did him, this place was so big and so chock-full of antique furniture that as long as they were quiet, at least five browsing customers could walk around it unnoticed.

“You’ve seen them?” at least now his friend sounded suitably impressed.

“I absolutely bloody have. Some of them can fly. One of them flew off with a silver spoon.”

“Uh, shouldn’t you tell your boss about that?”

He leaned heavily onto the shiny counter and glared at nothing. “Yeah, good idea, how the hell am I supposed to do that? Morning, Alejandra, did you know your store’s plagued by fairies and they’re driving me insane?”

“Which fairies?”

He only just kept himself from throwing the phone across the room in fright. As it was he still heard a faint “Oh shit,” croak from the speaker before his friend quickly hung up. He hastily turned around. “Sorry, there were no customers to help so I took a phone call.”

His boss waved his apology away as unnecessary and gave him a penetrating look from across her glasses. “Which fairies,” she repeated and if she hadn’t kept talking he might still not have caught on that which is not at all the same question as what. “Surely not the brownies? No more mischief in them than any common duende.”

He stared at her. “I— what’s a brownie?”

“Ah, so it wasn’t them,” she said, satisfied. “They’re short, shy little things. Helpful, even if they do like taking all the sugar from the break room. So who’s been bothering you, then?”

“Um.” He felt, if anything, a little insulted. When you discover a fae infestation at your new place of work, it ought to be a dramatic revelation to everyone else. And since it clearly wasn’t, why wasn’t this brought up during his interview?? “Very small, pointy ears, wings sometimes?”

Alejandra narrowed her eyes. “Pixies. Well, I suppose it has been a while since I put out some bread. Have they taken anything?”

“A spoon,” he replied, faintly dumbfounded. “But I hear them rustling more often than I manage to see them.”

She nodded understandingly. “Well, never mind, they’re mostly harmless.” She made an effort to meet his eyes. “They haven’t bothered you personally, have then?”

“Eh, no.” He made a mental note to ask her later what exactly she meant by that.

“Good, then all’s well.” Alejandra reached out to one of the near shelves of books and pulled out a heavy volume of Shakespeare, plopping it down on the counter before sweeping cheerfully back out of the room. “If they continue to bother you at work, read a couple passages from Midsummer Night’s Dream. They find it horribly embarrassing. Last time I recited Puck’s ending speech in full I didn’t see them for three months.”

#fae #fairies #pixies #urban fantasy #urban fantasy professionals #laura drabbles #thank you for the request!#hope you like it ^^

345 notes · View notes

ptergwen · 4 years ago

Note

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team.

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut

866 notes · View notes