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vivwritescrappythings · 10 months ago

Text

late night visits

eddie munson x harrington!virgin!f!reader

Eddie catches you dropping Max off and invites you over, he teaches you how to smoke weed and smut ensues.

an: Second fanfic is smut? Not proofread because this is an adapted excerpt from a much longer fanfic that I've been writing for a long time.

tw: smut, marijuana use, dubcon? (they are both high so take that as you will), p in v sex, fingering, loss of virginity, afab reader, she/her pronouns.

word count: 6.8k

masterlist

MDNI!

You turned your car into the trailer park, Kate Bush blasting in the car as you took Max Mayfield home. Your older brother, Steve, had asked you to give her a ride after his band of high school freshmen had come over for a movie night, Max was singing along, closing her eyes as she drummed her hands on her thighs. You could feel yourself smiling as you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. She was vibrant, glowing under every streetlamp you passed.

The lights in her trailer were still on when you parked out front, grabbing the mixtape out of the stereo. Max was already out of the car and snatching her bag out of the backseat by the time you got out, leaning on the driver side door as you waited for her. You made it a rule to always watch anyone you dropped off go inside, especially after what happened with Will.

“Max?” Sue called, leaning out the front door. You couldn’t quite make out her face, but the tension in her tone was obvious.

“Hey Mrs. Mayfield!” you yelled back, waving. Her sigh of relief was loud enough to be heard down the street. She went back inside without saying anything else, leaving the front door open for Max to follow. The lights from the TV lit her up as she settled back into the couch, crossing her ankles as she grabbed her beer off the side table.

“Don’t forget this.” You tossed the mixtape to Max as she passed. She called back a thanks and a quick goodnight as she ran up to her front door, slamming it behind her. You huffed, letting your head roll back and rest on the roof of the car as you looked at the stars.

Life had felt off lately, your parents were still gone a majority of the time and you were a senior in high school. You’d been getting nightmares, strange dreams of your parents screaming at you that you were a disappointment in comparison to Steve and how they were ashamed you were their daughter. Their mouths would end up sewn shut, blood dripping down their chins. You hadn’t slept right in weeks.

“What are you doing aaaaall the way out here, prom queen?” The way Eddie Munson stretched his vowels was unmistakable. You looked over your shoulder at the trailer across the way, seeing him toss a bag in the trash can out front by the curb. If you didn’t recognize him instantly, the beat-up van out front was a dead give-away.

There was something about Eddie that ignited a flare of excitement in your spine, it was a thrill that he was even talking to you. You’d had classes together, seen him in the halls, but never really acknowledged one another more than a simple nod of greeting.

“Just dropping off a friend,” you called back, spinning the rest of the way around to get a better look at him. You pressed your stomach against the driver side window as you crossed your arms on the roof. The metal was warm as you rested your chin on your forearms. He was backlit by the floodlight, his frizzy hair glowing gold.

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “You feelin’ okay to drive?” he yelled, you felt yourself stiffen. There was a rumor flying around the high school that you were showing up drunk. It turns out that you were just exhausted beyond belief. You looked back at Max’s trailer to see if there was any movement inside. “Just with your new habits and all.”

You’d been going through a confrontational streak lately. You marched around the car and right up to him, your fists balled at your sides. Eddie was grinning like an idiot as he watched you approach, crossing his arms over his chest like it was a challenge. You’d never seen him look so casual before, wearing only a black tank top and tattered plaid pajama pants. Usually he was decked to the nines, trying to look like a member of Motley Crue on their day off.

“Will you shut up!” you seethed, watching his eyes sparkle as you came to a halt in front of him. He opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, raising his head to the sky like he was getting ready to shout. Oh my god he’s just fucking with you now. You pressed your hand across his mouth, whatever he was trying to say muffled by your palm. You couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across your face as you looked back over your shoulder at Max’s. “Seriously, Sue knows my mom! And I wasn’t even drinking!”

He made a noise to get your attention, your hand still smacked across the bottom part of his face as you felt him smile. Then you felt his warm, wet tongue lick a stripe across your palm. Your face twisted into a grimace as you pulled your hand away, wiping the spit on your sweater as a smile twitched the edges of your mouth.

“Alright, alright. Just didn’t expect to see you on this side of the tracks.” You cocked your head, what did he mean? He gasped dramatically, raising a hand to fan his face as he batted his lashes. “Oh Mr. Munson, I could never be caught dead in a trailer park. What would my loyal subjects at Hawkins High say?” His voice was high pitched and aloof, mocking you.

You laughed, a flush heating your cheeks as you were caught off guard. “Shut up! I don’t sound like that.” He dropped the act, smiling as he looked you up and down.

“What are you doing the rest of tonight?” he asked, scratching his cheek with his pointer finger. Your eyes narrowed slightly, was he trying to make a move? “Hey, not trying to steal your virtue or anything,” Eddie laughed, looking sheepishly down at his bare feet, “just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out or something.”

You appraised him for one more moment, nodding solidly. “Sure, but we are keeping it platonic with a capital P, Munson.” The smile that bloomed on his face could have lit up the whole block as he nodded enthusiastically. He crossed his fingers over his heart with a flourish as he turned to lead you inside the quaint trailer.

The aroma of cologne and weed hit you first as you walked up the porch, Eddie opening the door wider. You stepped inside carefully, looking around as you toed your shoes off in the corner. It was cozy inside, maybe a little cluttered and messy. The carpet in the living room was squishing under my socks. The black loveseat and mismatched recliner took up most of the space, minimal furniture along the walls otherwise. There was a small kitchen off to the side and some stools at a breakfast bar.

“Yeah, it’s no White House.” Eddie shut the door and locked it. Was he… self conscious? “It’s nice,” you said, looking over your shoulder at him. His eyebrows shot up in a ‘whatever you say’ vibe as he shrugged and walked inside. “Is this your place?”

He was shutting the door at the end of the hall, his bedroom? “No, my uncle lives here with me–works nights at the plant. Makes the big bucks.”

Eddie sat in the recliner with a groan, stretching his legs out under the coffee table. He gestured to the loveseat next to him with a ringed hand, a clear sign to join him. Of course he’d wear all his jewelry in his pajamas. You sat down, crossing your legs beneath you as you sank into the well-loved couch. “What are we watching?” you asked, resting your cheek on the rough fabric.

He held out a stack of movies: “I just got these from Family Video.” You pressed your lips together, taking them out of his hands.

You shuffled through, mostly horror titles. “Wow, no Grease?” You giggled at his expression before continuing through the selection. “What about Return of the Jedi?” You were way too skittish to watch horror movies anymore, you already couldn’t sleep as it was–you didn’t need anything to help with that.

You pushed the movie in his hands before he had time to protest, placing the rest on the coffee table. “Really, Return of the Jedi?” Eddie asked, getting up from his seat to put the movie in the VHS player.

You nodded matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who rented it,” you argued, watching the commercials begin to play on the TV. A blue light cast over the living room as he sat back down. The lamp next to you clicked as he switched it off with a twist of his fingers.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d have to call you a geek, prom queen.” His voice strained as he reached over the far side of the recliner for something. He produced a bong with a flourish, the glass glimmering in the low light. The slightly murky water sloshed around inside as he set it on the end table between you, pulling the bowl out. You tried not to stare, you’d only ever seen bongs in passing at parties.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he dumped the contents into an ashtray on the end table, scraping the inside of it clean with a pocket knife. He produced a metal cylinder out of what seemed like nowhere, pulling the top half of it off carefully. His movements were delicate and methodical, clearly he’d done this a thousand times.

“You want some?” he asked as he put the bowl back in it, holding the glass piece out to you by its neck. He held a zippo lighter in the other hand. You watched him spin the square of metal between his forefinger and thumb, thinking of an answer.

The truth was better than anything else. “Oh, uh, I’ve never smoked before,” you muttered, glancing down at your hands. Your nail polish was horrendously chipped, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the summer.

“Well if you want to try, on the house.” His voice was gentle as he held it out to you again. An offering. You shifted slightly to face him, your gaze bouncing between the bong and his soft brown eyes.

Hesitantly, you took it from his hand. Your fingers bumped his as you grabbed the neck of it, the glass cool to the touch. Your other hand had to support the base—it was heavier than you expected. “I uh, I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, a nervous grin pulling at your lips.

“Don’t worry it’s easy, I’ll help you,” he murmured, getting up to sit on the coffee table in front of you. His knees bracketed yours, the soft fabric of his pajama pants rubbing against your jeans. The minty smell of his shampoo was thick in your nose. “Alright, so, put your mouth on the top. You should feel the rim of the mouthpiece on the outside of your lips.” He watched you do it, your hand still holding the neck. You already felt self conscious.

“Okay good, now I’ll help you with the rest. Pretty girls should never light their own bowls—got it?” You fought the urge to protest, just rolling your eyes instead.

“So just do what I tell you.” You gave him a brief nod, barely lifting your head. He was grinning mischievously. You looked at him through your lashes as he flicked the lighter on, putting the flame to the bowl. “Okay suck in.” God, you must be as red as a tomato by now.

His other hand came up to hold the bottom of the bong, his calloused fingers overlapping yours. You resisted shying away from his touch. His hands were warm as he lifted it a little, letting you straighten your spine. You could hear the water bubbling as the bong filled with a thick white smoke. It was a few seconds before he plucked the smoldering bowl out, letting you suck the contents into your lungs.

You sat up abruptly, tears in your eyes as you fought to keep the smoke in. The bong was thrust back to him clumsily in your haste to get away from it. You managed to last a few seconds before you coughed it out, blowing smoke over his living room. “Jesus Christ,” you grunted between coughs. It felt like your chest was on fire. Eddie was chuckling, going to the kitchen. You could hear the sink running before a mason jar full of water was set on the coffee table.

“That was pretty good for your first time.” He repeated the same motions with himself, exhaling the smoke slowly as he settled back into the recliner. You couldn’t stop coughing, your throat feeling like you tried to swallow steel wool. “You’ll cough less the more you get used to it, everyone coughs their first time,” he said encouragingly, motioning for you to drink water.

You finally were able to breathe again, taking deep gulps of air. You wiped the last of the tears out of the corners of your eyes on the back of your hand. Thankfully you hadn’t bothered to put on makeup tonight.

“Now’s time for the fun to begin,” he whispered, grinning as he rubbed his hands together. You watched the tattoos on his arms flex as the muscle under them moved–slightly surprised by how many he had.

“When am I supposed to feel it?” you asked, the beginning credits of the movie starting. You watched the yellow text fly across the screen, your fingers nervously twisting a loose thread of your sweater.

“Oh, you’ll know when you feel it.” You nodded, tucking your feet back under your thighs as you leaned against the arm of the loveseat.

It must have been a mere ten minutes later when you realized your face was buzzing and your head was full of air. Your eyes moved slower than you thought they would, taking snapshots of the room before settling back on the screen. At some point you’d slid off the couch and onto the floor, contorting yourself in the small space between it and the coffee table.

“How you feelin’, prom queen?” Eddie was still in the recliner, leaning back but not fully stretched out yet. His pajama pants looked soft, you fought the urge to touch the fabric.

You laughed—like, really laughed rather than your practiced soft giggle—your head rolling back so you could look at him. He was grinning broadly, watching you with his arms stretched over the back of the chair. “M’feeling pretty good,” you said, trying to stifle your giggles. What was so funny?

Eddie giggled along with you, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, you’re definitely feeling it.” He looked goofy upside down. His hair was curling in all directions as he shook it back out, turning his attention to the movie. You lifted your head, feeling like you were fighting the full weight of earth’s gravity to look at the TV again.

It felt like you had blinders on, your peripheral vision swirling dizzily. You barely moved as Eddie got up from the recliner to disappear somewhere. Your breath was shallow, you could feel every fiber of the carpet rubbing against your socks. The sweater you wore was warm, practically making you melt into the shape of the furniture. Your limbs were heavy, everytime you moved it was like fighting molasses. Was this how being stoned always was?

The smell of food brought you back to the present as Eddie settled back down, a big plate in his hands. You watched him pick up a piece of food and put it in his mouth, immediately hissing as he burned his tongue. “Shit are those pizza rolls?” Your stomach rumbled, were you always this hungry?

He laughed, “If you want some, you gotta come sit up here with me, pretty girl.” You scrambled, feeling progressively more uncoordinated as you pulled yourself to a standing position. Your joints cracked as you stretched, feeling a little dizzy as the blood rushed to your head. You slumped into the couch, leaning far over the arm of it and the end table as you reached for one. “They’re hot,” he warned, sounding like a babysitter.

You rolled your eyes, biting the corner off it carefully and letting the steam billow out. “You’re a freak, no one eats pizza rolls like that,” Eddie said, but his smile gave him away. You watched the steam swirl in your breath, disappearing quickly.

You stuck yourr tongue out, eating the pizza roll in one mouthful after it cooled. You chewed thoroughly, swallowing with a gulp of water. “At least I didn’t burn my tongue.” Not to mention, it was the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted.

The pizza rolls were long gone and the movie had ended a while ago. The Twilight Zone played on the TV, but neither of you were paying attention. “So like, am I a stoner now?” you asked, laughing quietly. The question even sounded stupid when it tumbled out of your mouth.

“I’d say you are a hopeless drug-addict,” he joked. He had taken another hit only moments before, letting you have the remnants. It reinvigorated the goofy haze. Your head was buzzing again and you just let thoughts tumble out of your mouth.

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You wish, Munson.” You were smiling as you ran your hands through your hair, tossing it against the part. You were sure it was sticking up in a million places, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Eddie’s umber colored eyes darted to look at you, dragging up you in a way that set you on fire. You felt yourself squirm under his heavy gaze, your lips parting a bit. “Thanks for asking me to hang out,” you blurted. You cracked your knuckles as you shifted around, trying to find a new comfortable position.

The seam of your jeans kept pressing in all the right places, making you wiggle your hips in an attempt to get it to stop. You’d never felt this sensitive before, but now every sensation seemed to send a tingle up your spine and heat in your belly. A flush covered your cheeks, your gaze tracking back to the television.

“You okay? You seem awfully… squirmy there, prom queen,” Eddie murmured, his gaze still focused on you. His eyes were softened at the edges with concern, the whites of them bloodshot.

“Yeah, um, just trying to get comfortable,” you said, stilling into a position despite your heart pounding in your chest. A rumor had been flying around Hawkins High that Eddie was… well endowed. All of a sudden you were curious to see if it was true. “S’just getting to my head, I guess.”

One of his eyebrows lifted enough to disappear under his bangs. Eddie stood from the recliner, moving to sit next to you on the small couch. His arm looped behind you, bat tattoos printed into the pale skin as he stooped to make eye contact. “You alright? Don’t want you getting overwhelmed, prom queen. Some people get anxious when they’re stoned.”

You couldn’t help the overwhelming heat that consumed your whole face and neck. “I-I’m not anxious, I promise,” you mumbled, your tongue darting out to wet your lower lip on its own volition. Eddie was sitting close to you, his knee pressing into your thigh. You could smell mint, tobacco, and weed on him, the combination making your stomach flip.

“You sure? I really can’t let Harrington’s little sister have a heart attack on my couch,” he murmured, moving a little closer. You giggled half-heartedly, glancing at the television for a moment to give yourself a second to not think about the way Eddie is crowding you against the arm of the couch.

“M’sure,” you said, your voice soft and a bit airy. You didn’t look back at Eddie, your face still hot. You pressed your thighs together a bit, the friction helping relieve some of the pressure building between your legs.

Eddie’s calloused thumb hooked under your chin, directing your gaze back to him. He had a gentle smile on his face, leaning forward toward you. “What’s going on in your brain, pretty girl?” he asked, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. Your breath was shallow in your throat, your chest tightening as you looked at the metalhead in front of you.

“I dunno,” you said, his fingers pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger keeping your head in place. His eyes flickered between your lips and eye contact with you. It made your mind short-circuit, clumsily trying to work toward an answer for his question that wasn’t the honest answer. “Does, uh, weed ever make you feel… weird?” you asked, wanting to smack yourself as the words left your lips.

“Weird how?” Eddie asked, his fingers finally left your chin. His large hand curled around your shoulder, squeezing lightly. Every touch kept sidetracking you–you’d done some things with guys before. Kissing and making out and touching weren’t new to you, but you hadn’t really ever gone farther than that. You never wanted to–but you did now.

You didn’t stop to think about it, not even considering whether or not you should ask Eddie if he was okay with it before you leaned forward and twisted your head up to capture his lips in a kiss as you shut your eyes. You could feel him smile against your mouth, the hand curled around your shoulder continuing on its path to press between your shoulder blades. Eddie leaned forward, the small of your back hitting the armrest of the love seat.

It went from hesitant and tentative to needy, your lips slotting together and noses mashing against one another as you both got more into the kiss. Eddie’s other hand found the back of your neck, his fingers slotting into your hair as he tilted your head just the way he wanted it. His lips parted, his tongue slicking along your bottom lip before you let it lick into your mouth.

You only parted when your lungs were on fire, your mouths separating with a soft click and a gossamer string of saliva illuminated by the warm light of the lamp behind you. Your eyes fluttered open, already finding Eddie looking down at you as he smoothed a hand down your back and around your waist. Chests heaving and foreheads bumping together, you both smiled and giggled sheepishly,

“Weird like that,” you whispered, a tinge of a joke in your tone. Your body was twisted, both of your feet on the carpet as you twisted at the waist to face Eddie. His knees were pointed toward you, one leg bent beneath him as his other pressed into the floor to get leverage.

He smiled, his hand dipping to run his fingertips along the hem of your sweater. “Good weird, then,” Eddie mumbled, stamping his lips over yours with an urgency you didn’t expect. You twisted your body in a comfortable position, slotting your legs around his slim waist as you returned his fervent kisses.

His hand slipped beneath your sweater, ghosting along the soft skin on your belly. The sensation of Eddie’s fingers on your skin made your breath hitch. You could feel the clench in your lower abdomen, need burrowing deep within you as his hand continued to travel upward. He cupped over the fabric of your bra, his thumb pressing the swell of your breast just along the edge of it.

“Eddie,” you whimpered against his mouth, the press of his index finger through the thin padding of your bra to tease your stiffened nipple making you keen. He smirked, repeating the motion by circling the hardened nub with the pad of his index finger over the slippery polyester. Your breath stuttered in your throat, desperation clouding along the edges of your eyes as he tilts you even further over the arm of the couch.

“Feelin’ okay, princess?” he asked, rubbing turning into heavy petting as he pinched your nipple between his index and middle fingers. Your brows were pinched together, your back arching as you chased the sensation. You nodded, eyelids partially obscuring your gaze as you met Eddie’s.

His hand slipped beneath the underwire band of your bra, his knuckles pressing against the squishy cup of it as he finally felt your bare breast. Your eyelids fluttered as you softly moaned his name beneath him. Your sweater was bunched up on Eddie’s forearm, the backs of your thighs pressing against the top of his as he bent to lave his tongue over your throat.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you sighed, tilting your head to expose more of your throat to him. Each swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent a jolt of sensation to your clit. You could feel yourself get more turned on with every touch, your hands winding around his exposed biceps to keep him close.

He sat back on his heels, pulling your sweater over your head to expose your plain, black bra. A dopey smile came over his face as his gaze focused on your breasts like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. You took initiative, your arms twisting behind you to unlatch your bra at your spine and shed it onto the living room floor.

“When is your uncle supposed to get back?” you asked, that bit of information springing forward in your mind as something that could be important. Eddie was too distracted, his ringed hands finding your breasts and squeezing the soft flesh beneath the stretch of his fingers. “Eddie,” you said, your voice somewhere between scolding him and moaning.

“Not ‘till morning, princess. We’re okay,” he mumbled, his tone airy as he licked his lower lip. You gasped as he teased both of your nipples, your spine arching toward the sensation as he massaged your chest. Your hips jolted, the seam of your jeans pressing against your clit and practically punching the air from your lungs.

A smirk found its way to Eddie’s face, his brown eyes darkening as he left one of your breasts unattended to unbutton your jeans with swift fingers. He let out a soft groan when he saw your baby pink underwear as he tugged the zipper down, his fingers gently pulling at the little white bow along the waistband. He bit his lower lip, his brows pinching together as he looked at you beneath him.

“This okay, princess?” he finally asked, his voice deep and raspy as he spoke.

“Yeah, more than okay.” You desperately wanted him to continue, already so soaked that you could feel the gusset of your panties sticking.

Eddie dipped his fingers below the waistband of your panties, leaning forward so he didn’t have to twist his arm that much. It still looked like he was halfway dislocating his shoulder as he did it, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyelids fluttered over his soft, chocolate-brown irises as the pads of his fingers finally dipped into the wet heat of your soaked cunt.

“You always this wet?” he asked, his voice ragged as his forearm pressed against the arm of the couch to keep himself aloft. His fingers sought out your clit immediately, rubbing slow circles around it that made you see stars.

You blushed, embarrassment curling around your ribs. “No, not really,” you said, sheepish at how flustered Eddie had gotten you. He just smirked, watching your face as he experimented with pressures and speeds. Finally, he must have gotten a reaction he liked, one of your wines eliciting a wicked smile from him as he repeated the motion.

“C’mon, let’s get these off,” Eddie said, pulling away from you. You whined at the sudden lack of contact, your brows furrowing in frustration as he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and panties and started to pull both off of you. You lifted your hips and then curled your legs toward your stomach so he could discard your clothes carelessly.

You moaned loudly as his fingers messily traced up the seam of your cunt, finally able to touch you properly as your legs settled on either side of him. You could feel him smearing the sticky, clear wetness that has practically been pouring out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit with agonizingly soft pressure.

Eddie was good with his hands, unsurprising for someone who was well-practiced in guitar. You’d seen him play once in the guitar class you both had signed up for as an elective, watched the way his fingers expertly moved over the strings while you fumbled pathetically.

You weren’t really aware of Eddie slipping his heavy rings off, putting them on the coffee table with soft thumps. Even knowing how good he is with his hands, nothing prepared you for the way your mind turned upside down when he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you.

“Oh,” you exhaled, his thumb still steadily rubbing over the swollen bump of your clit. You were so wound up, arousal forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. Your back curved to desperately grind your hips against his hand, any embarrassment forgotten as your eyes practically roll back in your head. Eddie’s fingers pressed into the squishy spot on the front wall of your pussy, his gaze focused on the way his fingers plunged inside of you.

“Doing great, princess,” he hummed as you grabbed at him to ground yourself. Your fingers twisted into the strap of his black tank top, stretching the fabric in your pleasure-filled haze. It was impossible to keep still, your hips humping against the movement of his hand as you tossed your head back against the cushioned armrest of the couch.

“Eddie…” you panted, starting to feel that familiar bliss of a climax coming. He’d gotten you there embarrassingly fast, your legs trembling around him as your chest heaves with each breath. He smiled, shushing you gently as his free hand caressed your cheek on its way to clasp around the back of your neck. The squelching noises filling the living room were ungodly, almost drowning out the sounds of the television altogether.

Eddie let out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay, just let it happen,” he said, his tone soft despite the undeniable rasp in his voice. It was like permission was all you needed to make the coil in your stomach snap with the harshness of a rubber band stretched too tight. You let out a soft sob as your cunt pulsed around his fingers, sucking at them greedily. You’d never cum so hard before in your life, your ears ringing as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were vaguely aware of the way you were chanting Eddie’s name like a broken record, your nails digging into his arm with no mercy.

Eddie slowed his fingers down, still working you through your orgasm until you were limp against the couch. You came back to reality with a sob, the sound thick and wet as overwhelmed tears form at the edges of your eyes. You felt weak as his fingers finally slow to a stop, your focus narrowing to just Eddie.

“That was so pretty,” he murmured, pulling his fingers from inside you. They were shiny, strings of your cum shining in the low light as he spread them. Eddie sucked them into his mouth with a grin, his eyes rolling back before he curled himself back over you to pull you into a needy kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your own pussy distinct as Eddie smeared his wet fingers on your ribcage. His hard cock pressed against the back of your thigh, warm and pulsing through his pajama pants and boxers as he rutted it against your soft flesh.

“Wanna fuck you, princess,” Eddie said between kisses, almost sounding drunk with the way his voice dropped into a low rumble. He kissed the corner of your mouth before his lips fluttered up your soft jawline. He paused to suckle behind your ear, his plush lips making you whine pathetically again.

You realized you wanted to have sex with him. The way he said it made you clench around nothing, desperation rising in you again. “Eddie, I’m a virgin,” you mumbled, embarrassed and worried about his response.

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, seriousness and lust mixing in his expression as he looked down at you. His hips slowed, still pressing his erection against your thigh and slowly rocking. He bit his lip, one hand smoothing some hair off your face. “What do you want to do? Don’t want you to feel like you gotta do anything.”

The pressure lifted from your chest, the worry dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “I want to,” you said, lifting your head to kiss him quickly. For some reason you felt comfortable with Eddie, that panic that you have had before with previous guys nonexistent.

His eyes widened as though he didn’t expect that response, a grin stretching across his face and making his eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Okay,” he breathed, unable to keep the excitement out of his tone. He lifted himself off of you in a stiff motion, palming at the front of his pants as he looked down at you. “You just stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the hall to his room, shutting the door behind him to hide it from your view. When he came back he had a silver foil in his hand, the other one pulling off his tank top and dropping it to the floor.

“Seems like you’re hiding something in your room,” you said, a soft joke to ease the tension as Eddie settled himself between your legs again. He was ripping the condom wrapper open when he cracked a smile, his gaze flicking back up to yours.

“I didn’t know such a beautiful girl would be over or I would’ve cleaned my room,” he said in explanation. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, discarding the wrapper on the table.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, biting your lower lip as you nodded.

Eddie accepted your confirmation, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you looked at his cock, not sure if it was big or average sized–but there was no way it could be considered small. The tip was red and engorged as his dick curved up and slightly to the left from a thatch of curly brown hair. There were prominent veins on the underside of it, the ridges visible in the skin as he took himself in his fist to roll the condom on.

“Lay down,” he said as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit a few times, making you gasp. Even through the condom it was hot to the touch. Eddie’s eyes were dark as he looked at you, still rubbing his cock along your cunt. “If you want to stop, you just tell me, princess. Okay?”

You exhaled as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, making your pussy clench needily. “Uh huh, I’ll tell you, Eddie,” you agreed frantically.

The press of the crown of his cock into your dripping cunt coaxed a gasp out of you. It was a burning stretch despite how slow he was going, your hips wiggling to find a comfortable position. It didn’t hurt, but it was different, the sensation of fullness making you let out little huffs of air as he pushed into you. He kissed any part of you his mouth could reach, peppering his lips over your face and neck as he slotted himself inside you.

Eddie caged you to the couch, his hand stroking your hair and your neck and your waist. He just kept going and going, your back arching and your pussy fluttering around him as you adjusted to the new sensation. Your huffs turned into whines, your head spinning as you started to feel overwhelmed.

“Shh,” Eddie hummed into your ear, an attempt to soothe you. “Relax, you’re doing so good for me, princess. Deep breath.”

The breath you took in at his instruction was rough and ragged, rattling in your lungs. He snorted a soft chuckle in response.

He drove the rest of his cock into you in one smooth motion, punching all the air from your body with a soft yelp. Your hands found his shoulders, holding onto him has you hooked your legs around his waist. You felt full and vulnerable beneath him, your walls stretched tight around him as the two of you breathed together for a moment.

Eddie decided you were adjusted enough, pulling out and thrusting back in. Your hips lurched with nowhere to go, a quiet ah pulling itself from your throat.

He leaned forward to press his lips to yours as he slid rhythmically in and out of you, making you mewl pathetically against his mouth. Eddie was relentless, fucking you smoothly as he mashed his lips against yours. You could hardly think straight, clinging to him as he pressed you into the cushions of the couch.

The wet, squelching noises of your pussy were loud, your tight walls sucking at Eddie’s cock greedily each time he pulled back from you. His fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you as you took every inch of him inside of you. His teeth nipped softly at your jaw, making your head spin as you felt yourself slipping closer and closer to brainlessness.

“You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, you know that, princess?” Eddie groaned into your ear, his pace picking up. “She’s so fucking hot and tight around me, poor thing just needed my cock so bad.”

His voice makes you moan, the way he’s talking to you makes delight bubble in your chest. You got lost in the feeling of the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot on the inside of your pussy. Your brow was furrowed, lips pouting as it started to feel like you’d snap again.

Eddie lifted himself off of you, his gaze fixed on where his cock kept sinking into you over and over again. His hand smoothed over the hinge where your thigh met your hip, his thumb stretching out to swipe over your swollen clit. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you clenched around him like a vise, a punched-out groan rumbling from his chest as his free hand dug into your waist to keep leverage.

You were trembling beneath him, your skin started to feel like it was stretched too tight over your body. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, his pace grinding a second orgasm out of you like it was his job.

You were almost delirious from being stuffed full of his cock, your legs trembling around him as your back arched off the cushions of the couch. Eddie kept his pace, his own resolve starting to crumble as his thrusts got increasingly sloppy. His hands both found your waist, his thrusts becoming quick and shallow as his long, curly hair fell in his face. His eyes fluttered shut as soft grunts and whimpers pulled from his throat.

Watching Eddie cum made your heart twist, the way he stopped thrusting to grind into you as he crumpled down to press his chest to yours is almost tender. Your legs wrapped around his waist, everywhere that your skin was pressed together was sticky with sweat. Eddie spilled into the condom, part of you wishing he hadn’t worn it at all so you could get the full sensation. The sound he made was breathless and sultry, his mouth open and head tucking into the curve of your neck as he kept his hips tightly pressed to yours.

Your eyes slipped closed, your hands curling into the damp curls at the nape of his neck as you both caught your breath. You pressed kisses to the shell of Eddie’s ear, a bit delighted that the night had turned out this way. The muscles of your thighs were starting to burn from being bent in an unfamiliar angle, but you weren’t about to protest.

After a few moments Eddie pulled out of you with a hiss, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. There was a look of affection in his eyes as he regarded you with a goofy smile that matched your own. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked up at him.

“I think you should start coming over more often.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x virgin!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson x Harrington!reader #eddie munson x female reader

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namjooningera · 5 months ago

Note

Hii can I request any yandere JJK men with a reader whose on a hunger strike or refuses to be handfed by them? Ty ^.^

Yandere JJK react to y/n refusing them/not eating

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, (NEW) Sukuna (king ver of Sukuna)

AN: just reader being a lil bratty (real) also I just added Sukuna as a new character tehe. Tell me how it is 👀 however since he’s a yan I am making him softer towards y/n (but insaner towards other ppl yk?) also he’s a king in this one so

TW: starving, SLIGHT physical violence, threats, force feeding, tiniest bit of infantilization (gojo & Nanami)

Gojo:

No he won’t allow it.

He won’t allow you to act like a child and refuse to eat or drink. At this point he’s worried because you won’t do anything. Like a dead doll standing as still as possible to not be caught moving.

Nothing scares him. But you do.

So he took matters into his own hands and tied you up in a chair, hands to the armrests, legs to the feet of the chair, chest binded and rope littered all around the rest of your body tied to the helpless chair.

You screamed since you couldn’t kick, bit since you couldn’t hit, tried to refuse and refuse and he just didn’t know what to do. Seeing you hurt yourself, not eating as a protest to your involuntary stay, god it was torture to him. Like his own punishment.

At first he let it go. Tried to hand feed you your favorite snacks and placed a cup of cold water at your lips. And everytime you smacked it away from you. He watched your favorite snacks hit the floor and soil the carpet. The water spill and create a wet mess on the floor boards.

Why couldn’t you just be good and eat? Drink? Please stop refusing. At one point he almost started begging you. Hands at his chest, put together, eyes wide and sad, his mouth profusely spitting out begs and whines of how he just wanted you safe and healthy.

You didn’t listen.

You probably should’ve, or at least acknowledged his damn presence, because what he did next what’s unpredictable.

Tying you up in that chair and force feeding you. He made you your comfort food in hopes you’d actually want to eat it on your own. You didn’t. Which is fine. It just means he had to take extra precautions. His hand swirled the spoon of food around in the air, blowing raspberries as he said,

“Here comes the airplane!” As if you were some stupid child not wanting to eat your greens.

The spoon flew to your mouth but you moved your head to the side the only thing you could move, avoiding the spoon and it’s food.

His smile dropped just the tiniest bit but he continued his ministrations.

“Babe! Here comes the airplane Kay? Say ahh!” He announced once again in that awfully positive attitude, nudging the spoon at your lips, which you kept sewn shut.

“Come on babe, just open up~” but you didn’t, and he was getting impatient. “Babe?”

You didn’t look at him, didn’t dare open your mouth or even glance his way.

He snaps, grabbing your jaw and pinching your nose. You gasped, not being able to breathe, and without a second thought, that spoon of food was shoved into your mouth. He let go of your nose, and scooted his chair closer to yours.

“It’s good right? I added extra flavoring just for my girl. I know you like it that way.” He giggled, as if he didnt force the food down your damn throat.

“Here comes the choo choo train!” He whistled, and you realized that he enjoys babying you the way he does, even if it meant going against your will.

Geto:

This man does not play around either.

Coming home to you after a long day with what he calls “monkeys” just to see the untouched food still sitting on the table from when he made breakfast. He had brought take out- just to find out that you haven’t been eating in the first place.

He made that for you, took time out of his day to cook, make breakfast for you, the time where he’s normally busy. But alas, he cleans the dishes and runs up to your room and knocks on your door. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want him in he’ll come in anyway.

“I noticed you didn’t touch your plate. From this morning. It’s night now.”

Your stuffed into the sheets, messy covers over your body and head in your pillows. You don’t answer. You don’t think he deserves one.

“You haven’t eaten all week.”

He shuts the door behind him and storms towards you. It’s obvious that your silence is making him angry. Normally, you ignoring him doesn’t make him upset, he understands how you might feel…uneasy in this kind of situation. But hurting yourself? That’s not something he’ll allow or even tolerate.

He grabs the sheets and tugs them off of you, revealing your drained form. You groan and cover try to tug the sheets back to cover your body but he throws them to the floor and glared at you.

“You know why you’re so drained? It’s cause’ you won’t fucking eat.”

You don’t answer, you don’t want to answer. You just want the bed to swallow you whole, and the ground to open up so that you may fall into the abyss and disappear.

“I don’t want your fucking food.” You say, instead.

“Why not? Is it not to your liking?”

You grumble and glare up at him, finally lifting your face from the pillows.

“You’re not to my liking- Suguru I wanna go home-“ “enough!”

He cuts you off quickly, shutting you down almost immediately, which causes you to stuff your head back into the pillows.

He groans seeing this and slowly shuffled onto the bed with you. His mouth came down to your ear where he whispered

“If you don’t at least try to eat, I’ll make you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, you knew he wasn’t fibbing. You slowly got out of bed but he was quicker then you, pulling you out by your arm and sitting you up against the bed post.

He brought the takeout food and opened the bags of food on the bed, handing you a plate and utensil. You took it hesitantly and kept it on your lap. Not opening the food.

“Well?”

You shook your head. This was your way of protest, against him holding you captive, running a cult, being a damn curse user-

“You’re going to eat.” He demands, and you just shake your head and look to the side of you, away from him. You know he’ll force you- but you can’t help but refuse him anyway.

And without a second thought, he grabs the food then you, hoisting you into his lap without a single chance for you to fight back. One arm caging you in by your chest and arms, stopping any movement from you, the other bringing a spoon to your mouth.

“Eat, darling, or it’ll get worse from here.” A smile adoring his lips and licking the tips of your ear.

You finally take a bite of the food, his arm that basically were bruising your ribs to stop your movement finally unclenched around you and gave you a second to breathe.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now open up.”

Toji-

“Yer’ not eating your food.”

You’ve slumped down on the chair in front of him in the dining room, swirling around the water in your glass cup, the food in front of you untouched.

“I’m talking to you, doll.”

But you ignore him, watching the whirlpool or water in your cup, ignoring his very obvious angry presence.

“You haven’t eaten in days. You know what’s’ that gonna do to you? You’re gonna faint.”

You again ignore him and sigh, head resting on your hand that rested against the table.

“I’m talking to you.”

You don’t look up. You know it’s a lousy way to protest this invuluntary stay but you can’t think of anything else. He’s basically taken away any other form of protest you could ever possibly have, he’s controlling and fuck is he actually smart. His protectiveness on the kind of level where he made sure you could never fight back or hurt yourself in the process.

As your dazed, zoned out in your own thoughts, you don’t see him get out of his seat and grab you by your arm, forcing you up and off the seat and the floor.

“Didn’t yeah hear me?”

You wince at the fact your arm is being held above your head and you’re practically hanging from it.

“I heard you okay.. I’m not hungry.”

He huffs and puts you down. “Not hungry? It’s been days, doll. Days.”

You just shrug, rubbing your sore arm from being hanged up by it.

“If you don’t eat, I don’t mind feeding you like a baby bird. I’ll eat it up then force into your mouth with mine.”

“Y-you’re so crude, Toji..” You almost whine, disgusted by the thought.

“I’m not kidding.”

You sit back down at your seat, his eyes watching you pick up the fork and start to stab at your food.

“What did I say?”

“Okay okay.” You whine, finally sticking the fork in your mouth, making eye contact with him as you do, glaring at him.

“Tastes bad.” You whine.

“You little-“

Nanami-

Nanami is quite the patient man. You don’t want to get out of bed? Fine. You don’t want to shower? Fine. You don’t want to touch him? Fine. But you don’t want to eat or drink? That’s fucking pushing it.

When he first took you, he made sure you got all the proper nutrients you need, took care of your hygiene and made sure you were perfectly physically healthy.

He’s been putting down food at your nightstand for every meal, sometimes snacks in the middle of meals as well. He feeds you such a good amount that’s supposed to keep you full for every second of the day. Keep you satisfied. And pantries filled with your favorite snacks (the healthier versions, however), and a mini fridge with your favorite zero-sugar healthy drinks. With water, of course.

But you haven’t touched any.

He notices that every meal he puts down at your nightstand is untouched. You lay still in bed, so still he thinks you might be dead. Well you might be, with the absence of food eating at you.

And the pantry is untouched so is the mini fridge, and all the snacks he left for you in the middle of the days start to pile up.

At first he didn’t mind it. He got it, you might be nauseated or feel sick at the fact your away from home. That’s fine. He’ll give you time.

But then days go by.

And he just gets so worried about your health.

He encouraged you as much as he could but wouldn’t push it, he didn’t wanna scare you away. But at this point, it was just ridiculous. He watched from work, on his phone with the app that connected all his security cameras, watching as you hovered around the kitchen. He knew you were hungry. So why torture yourself?

At this point it was torturing him, not you. Well maybe that was the point to it. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like a terrible caregiver. He was supposed to take care of you and protect you as your lover- that’s the damn reason he took you in, in the first place. So why couldn’t you see that? Why couldn’t he help you?

But Nanami is a good man, with zero bad intentions. So he decides first he can try bribing you. He makes your favorite dishes, the smell wafting in your room and up your nose. He places it at your nightstand, with your favorite cold drink next to it. The perfect combo. He does this for a while. No matter how hard the food is to make, whatever bullshit combination he needed to construct, however simple or complicated, he made it.

And yet you didn’t eat it.

He tried buying you material things, giving you extra little privileges like time in the garden or extra TV time, but you don’t even use them. You don’t even care.

And he can tell that you would, if you had the strength to. But you don’t, you’re weak. Probably because you’ve gotten so weak. But your hoping, your begging, that maybe he’ll see your weak body and finally get you some help. Maybe he’ll realize this is hurting not helping you, and he’ll let you go. You know the Nanami you’ve always known is deep down beneath the insecurity of his yandere self. You just need to find it right?

He got home that night. Late. His mind buzzed with work, eyes tired and body sore from constantly staying in his office chair, clicking the keyboard and staring at a screen. He’s been looking into a job for jujutsu sorcerers- but he thinks that’ll take too much time away from you.

He dragged his body into the house, closing the door behind him and quietly yelling out, “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

He hoped you’d flock to the door and he’d feel your warmth- but obviously that was just a dream to him and you never did so. Staying hidden away in the your room or wherever you were.

He decided to prepare a late dinner for the both of you, hoping some time together could encourage you to eat.

He dragged his body to your room. He just needed you, needed your warmth, your kindness, your loving presence and any kind of physical and emotional attention you could give him.

But as he opens the door to your room, he sees the breakfast he left on your. NIght stand, still left untouched.

“Sweetheart. This has gone too long. I respect all your decisions, and that you might be upset with me, but I need you to eat.”

Your wrapped up in the sheets, ignoring him, face stuffed in your white pillows.

“Honey, dear. Please, look at me.”

You can hear the desperation in his voice, the almost begging in his timid voice that almost makes you choke.

You look up at him, soft dead eyes staring up at his concerned ones.

“I made your favorite meal again. I know you don’t want to eat, but can you at least come sit at the table with me?”

You know this is his soft way of trying to convince you. And you also know that he wants you to sit at the table so he can feel like you two are an actual couple not one from hell.

You get up, which makes him sigh of relief. Thinking that you’re giving him a chance. Obviously, that’s not your idea, but you’ll let him think so.

He gently takes your hand, leading you downstairs to the dining table. You see he decorated, putting candles on the table, brought out the fancy silverware and china, the wine glasses and table cloths that matched the fabric of the silk pillows on the cushioned chairs.

“Sit, my love.” He pulls your chair for you, with a gentle smile. You can see the relief in his eyes when you sit, and he pushes you in.

You’d be flustered by such a gentlemanly move if it wasn’t for the situation you were currently in.

He sits in front of you and pops open the white wine, the insanely expansive white wine, pouring some in both of your glasses, he raised his up to yours, in which you ignored, and he clinked his glass with yours.

“Ready to try? I simply perfected the recipe-“

You place a spoonful of food in your mouth, before spitting it out right at him, shocking him and making yourself laugh for the first time in so long.

You soiled his expensive blouse, the shock of your behavior making him spill his wine, his eyes wide and looking down at his ruined blouse, then to you, then to the spilled wine, then to you.

You just giggle, smirking in victory at his dazed response and how you won’t let yourself be pushed around by him.

But what you don’t expect, is for this extremely caring gentlemanly man to slam down the cloth from on his thighs down at the table, getting up as he unloosed his tie.

“I’m done.”

And your smile drops in a way that makes you realize you won. He’ll let you go, he’s finally done with you he’s gonna let you go-

“If you want to act like a child I will simply treat you like one, until you can behave like an adult.”

Your eyebrow raises at that. What? Wait what?

He throws his tie off his neck, grabbing your hands and tying them up. You try to fight him off you but he’s strong, he didn’t even try.

He leaves, and your relieved, a little scared that he left you tied but at least the mad man is gone. But then he comes back with a toddlers seat. A fucking child booster seat.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he meant. “N-no no way! I’m not sitting in that- I won’t even fit-“

“You know I bought this.. I bought this hoping our first child could use it..” he sighs. “But I guess you can be the test drive..”

“N-no! Your crazy! Your insane! I won’t even fit in it I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice.” He cuts you off. “I’m tired of watching my love kill themselves off just because you’re upset. You can be upset just don’t hurt yourself.”

He places the child’s booster seat next to you, at the table.

“You either eat, or fucking sit here and I’ll feed you. Well? Do you want a baby bottle too?”

Sukuna:

Catching the eye of someone so murderous and evil is just the most hell filled unfortunate thing that can happen to you.

And it did.

You found yourself being coddled and “loved” by a monster. He’s pure evil, and you’re his. There’s no denying it. You’re the chosen one.

As his maids touch up your hair, give you a manicure, clean your face of the tears and blood from biting your lips, you stare at them with desperation in your eyes.

Save me.

You think, but they won’t. They’re loyal.

Sure, Sukuna hasn’t done anything actually bad to you, but he’s locked you up, like a princess in a tower. You hope that your prince in shining armor will save you, that he’ll come running with his horse and sword, armor and shield in hand.

But he never does. And if he did, you’d never know because Sukuna probably killed him before he even got a chance to get a glimpse of your pearly eyes.

A maid brushes your hair. You think. He’s taken away all your forms of protest.

When you stopped taking care of yourself, that was fine, he ordered his maids to wash your hair and clean your body, do your skincare and paint your nails. Even go as far as to brush your damn teeth.

They’d use expensive amounts of creams and moisturizers, the kind even the bourgeoisie couldn’t afford. Perfumes from across the land and hair oils from different kingdoms.

All these things, just for you.

When you didn’t want to get out of bed, see the sun, he made sure you were made to get that vitamin D every morning, a small stroll before and after breakfast in the garden, with of course, the guards watching you.

He pampered you, without even being there. Made sure you were healthily entertained with your favorite books and games, all your devices you humans use to take up time. He even brought a festival worth of people to greet you when he took- when you came. Circuses, fire crackers, acrobats, all those to welcome you into his palace.

And you took it all with a grain of rice.

You didn’t want to be here, you didn’t mean to pique his interest. But you did. And now your stuck. You even heard the townspeople whisper of how the man who forced everyone on their knees to worship him is now worshiping you. A mere boring human.

So you decided to find your own way to protest, something he can’t force you to do or make other people do for you.

Eat.

You sat at the large dining table, him on the long other side, watching as he ate, watching him with no love or adoration in your eyes. While he would hold the stars for you. He’d bring them down for you if you asked.

“Well? Is it not to your liking?” You hear him slur from his side of the table.

“No.” You know this is dangerous. The cruel king, he could have your head.

“What’s not to your liking? I’ll have it changed.”

You shove the plate away from you. “It’s all bad, I don’t wanna eat.”

Maybe you should’ve used different words, different wording to your protest because Sukuna simply didn’t understand it was a form of protest.

“It’s that terrible? Very well. Servants, carry the chef who decided to cook my woman this rechid food and have him publicly executed.”

Your eyes widen with dismay and shock and you look at him. “What? Executed?”

“What? What did you expect, woman? Anyone who feeds my soon to be queen something not up to par, they shall be ridden with shame. With, or without their head.”

He says it with such a nonchalant attitude, as if he isn’t talking about death.

“I-I no. It’s not bad, actyally. Hah. I just meant.. I wasn’t hungry.” You try to solve this mess you accidentally dragged others into.

“Your dramatic show of disgust was simply because you aren’t… hungry?”

He looks at you almost confused, the big plates of foods surrounding him. He had a surplus of hunger, the kind of hunger only you can satisfy.

“I… I apologize.” You think about giving up on your plan, you don’t want to drag people into this, have them hurt because of you. “I just.. actually prefer your food.” You lie.

“My food?” He smirks. The maids and servants look around in fear, some even annoyance, expecting your head to fly off and blood to soil the floors after you basically asked to share food-his food, with you.

“Very well then. You may sit close and satisfy your belly with my food.”

He pats the seat close to him, different from the seat your sitting at now, far from Sukuna. Everyone stares at you with bewildered shock, that the cruel Sukuna is willingly sharing his meal with you, that he hasn’t offed you or anyone else in his vicinity for your request.

You waddle over to him, sitting next to him, and he watches you try a piece of meat, lamb, off one of his large family plates, as if asking for your approval, to see if you like it.

You hum, the food is actually prepared amazingly well, a lot better then the streets of the poor sides of town you had to buy your meat from.

He nods at you, and continues to finish his meal as well, practically clawing and savagely ripping apart the food at his hands, like some animal.

Everyone’s always been afraid of the way he eats, as if he’s ripping apart someone’s flesh and bones, but to you it’s kind of pathetic. Like a little puppy and its chew toy, slobbering over its bone. Instead of saying this however (which he’d have your head for), you go for taking a small folded table cloth napkin and wipe the blood from the flesh of his food off his cheek, cleaning off the smeared gore that he doesn’t seem to notice.

He looks down at you, huffing as a sign of appreciation at your small sign of affection, and you look back up at him with the same look.

You hate this cruel man, the man who’s killed hundreds and hurt people and hurt you. Who stole you.

But as you look up at him, the folded napkin in your hand still poking at his dirtied cheek, you can’t help but think that perhaps the cruel king and the prince in shining armor are the same person.

And that’s Sukuna for y’all 😈😈🔥 guys why did I accidentally make his fluffy what

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crafty-butch · 1 month ago

Text

Embalmed

A short story by me (tw: body horror, self-harm kinda)

Did you know embalming isn't actually that common, worldwide? I didn't. Sure, there are some famous exceptions–looking at you, pharaohs–but embalming random schlubs is mostly a US thing. Plenty of religions ban it outright. Islam, Judaism, several branches of Christianity…

Bear with me. I promise I have a point.

Anyway, I've got no opinion on what God wants us to do with our corpses. I've never been religious. I'm still not, weird as that sounds. But I'm with Islam, Judaism, and several branches of Christianity on this one. Just skip the embalming and bury the body before it starts to rot. It'll be easier for everyone, on the off chance someone decides to bring them back.

No, this isn't a joke. Look, I'm not saying it's likely, okay? I know the stats. Less than twenty confirmed resurrections in the last half-century. Maybe twice that many ambiguous cases. Actually ambiguous, that is. Just because someone is flaired “unconfirmed” on r/Resurrected doesn't mean there's a chance in Hell they're legit. So, yeah, I get it's unlikely. But let's jump back to embalming real quick.

You know how it works, right? At least vaguely? Blood goes out, formaldehyde goes in. Well, that's step one. Step two is sucking all the non-blood fluids out of your body cavity and swapping those for embalming fluid too. They also sew your mouth shut, stuff some cotton in you to stop any leaking–I could go on, but I won't. Like I said, I don't have any issue with embalming from a treatment-of-the-dead-body standpoint. I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad for embalming Great-Aunt Edith, here. I'm just saying, if the dead body becomes an alive body, you can see why there might be some issues.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say: “It's magic, dumbass.” And, yes, it is. That's why waking up with your mouth sewn shut and your body stuffed full of formaldehyde doesn't immediately kill you again. Doesn't make it fun, though.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't focus on the mouth thing. I'm sure it's happened to someone, but my sister cut the stitches out before she brought me back. She was thorough like that. I just feel like it's easier to picture, you know? Mouth won't open and hurts when you try. The rest of it's harder.

I don't blame my sister for not dealing with the formaldehyde. I know there wasn't much she could do about it. If she'd had more time, I'm sure she could've come up with something, but once you've dug up a body, you're kind of on a (ha) deadline. If someone sees you, you're done. So I get it. I've had a lot of time to think it over, and I'm still not sure what she could've done better. Other than just letting me stay dead.

I don't want to sound ungrateful, but…maybe I am? A little bit? I know that's an awful thing to say. It's not like I wanted to die. That's not what this is about. It's also not about how super amazingly great the afterlife is. Sorry to disappoint, but I have no idea. I don't remember anything between the hospital and waking up on the grass with a chest full of embalming fluid. Does that mean there's nothing after? Or did coming back just give me amnesia? No idea. I leave that one to the philosophers.

My sister probably would've had an opinion.

She was always…

Let me tell you about my sister.

She was great. I'm not saying this because of what happened. She really was incredible. Almost perfect. One of those people who's so smart and so kind and so beautiful and so goddamn humble but not so humble you can even accuse them of humblebragging, to the point where you can't help but hate them a little for making you look so fucking shitty in comparison and then you feel like the biggest bitch in the world and that just makes you hate them more.

Okay, maybe she wasn't quite as perfect as all that. After I came back, I learned some things. Turns out she was just as much of a fuckup as me, in her own way. She was just better at hiding it. But I never met that version of her. In my memories, she's still just Little Miss Impossibly Perfect. I wish she'd told me about any of it. Maybe…

No, that isn't fair. Why would she tell me anything that could get her in trouble? Maybe I would've hated her less, or maybe I would've just gone and told our parents. Even once we grew up. Would I really have been able to resist knocking her off that pedestal? I'd like to think I would, but come on. Look how I'm talking about her. And that's after she sold her soul for me.

If you're thinking right now that the world probably would've been better off with her instead of me, you're not the only one. Don't worry, I won't take it personally. Or maybe you're not thinking that at all. I've been told I project onto other people.

Maybe you're just confused about why I'm talking about her in the past tense. After all, it's not like selling your soul kills you, and you've probably never met someone unensouled. Or maybe you have, and you know exactly why I'm talking like this. Probably not, though. There are a lot more unensouled than there are people who were resurrected–people sell their souls for all sorts of reasons–but there are a lot more fakers too. Pro tip: if someone claiming they sold their soul gives any sign of caring about literally anything, including whether you believe them, they're lying to you.

So, yeah, she's still here. I know I keep saying it, but I'm not religious. I don't think my sister is burning in Hell while her empty husk sits up here, and if you ask me, that's just a real convenient excuse not to help the person who's still right there in front of you. Whatever a “soul” actually is, there's clearly someone here.

Sorry, I might be preaching to the choir here. And I don't want to sound like I think every religious person thinks that way. I just made the mistake of talking to my parents this weekend, and I'm still a little mad. Or a lot mad. Look, I know I'm getting off topic. Just, real quick, I want to explain.

She's still my sister. I'm not denying that. I keep saying she was this or she was that because she's not really any of those things anymore. She's not cruel, but she doesn't care enough to be kind. I'm sure she's still smart, but she doesn't actually want to use her smarts for anything. She barely eats if I don't pester her into it. I don't think she'd have an opinion on what my lack of memory says about the afterlife anymore. But, hey, maybe she would. Maybe I should ask.

Anyway. None of this is really my point. My point is, waking up next to your own open grave is freaky enough when you're not choking on formaldehyde. It took weeks before I was mostly bleeding blood again. (Yeah, I checked. Don't judge. You'd be curious too.) I coughed up embalming fluid for months. My insides still don't feel quite right. I could get them checked out, but I'll be honest with you. I don't want to know. I haven't been anywhere near a doctor since I got back.

I know, you don't think this will happen to you. No one you know is the right combination of smart enough to wade through all the bullshit to figure out how to revive you and stupid enough to go through with it. And you're probably right. But I thought that too.

#fiction #storycrafty-butch

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vinylfoxbooks · 5 months ago

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June 24 - Improve | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 983 TW: murder, body horror, weirdly affectionate talk about dead characters, minor character death. This one's rather dark

“Are you working on another painting, love?” James asks, coming up behind their boyfriend and wrapping their arms around his waist.

Regulus taps his paintbrush against his palette and sets it into his water cup, “Yes. She came to me in a dream.”

“She’s pretty.” James hums, leaning his chin on Regulus’ shoulder, “Gonna be hard to find.”

“You say that everytime.” Regulus rolls his eyes, turning to press a kiss to James’ temple, “But you do it wonderfully. Every single time.”

“It might take me a minute.”

“That’s alright. I need to finish this one before I can start the next. Wait until I get her eyes, they’re special.”

“Alright, I’ll check in later tonight.” James straightens out, presses a kiss to Regulus’ cheek, and walks out of his art room.

Later, they come in with a platter of snacks and Regulus’ water bottle refilled. Setting them both on the side table that Regulus has designated for the snacks and food that James brings him while he’s working, “How close are you to done with it?” They ask, picking up a croqueta and holding it out for Regulus to eat. The boy does so, humming at the treat.

“I just need to finish the shading.” Regulus hums, “But if you want to get a picture of it so you can start looking, be my guest.” James smiles and pulls out their phone, snapping a picture of the painting. It’s of a woman, long, curly reddish-brown hair, tan skin, and eyes a honey-filled hazel. She’s got a relaxed expression, thin lips, and her nose upturned.

“I’ll start looking tomorrow.” They hum, watching Regulus make small strokes of his paintbrush along the girl’s hair, “I’ll try to be quick about it.”

“Thank you, honey.” Regulus hums, taking another croqueta in his freehand while leaning his head back into James’ hand where it has started running through his hair.

It only takes a couple of days before James finds her. Aleah. She’s a vet tech in downtown London, not far from their apartment. That’s all that James needs to know about her though they do write down some extra information about the girl before they set out.

They make quick work of her. She’s too trusting. Falling asleep without her doors locked and without a weapon by her bed, even for a nap? Weak. She doesn’t even get a chance to scream and the fact that her eyes were closed when they struck makes their life so much easier. James is quick to put their gloves on and move the girl to the bathtub so we won’t bleed out everywhere while they’re doing their work.

While her body is starting to fully drain, they strip her sheets and throw them into the washing machine, spraying over the mattress to get rid of any possible staining. Once that’s started, they make their way back to the bathroom, pulling out their kit and getting to work.

Once again, with her eyes pre-closed, it makes the stitches easier to do after they’ve plucked her eyelids and popped her eyeballs out of their socket, severing the optic nerve with their knife. After her eyes are sewn shut, they move onto her nostrils, a bit annoying with the nose piercing that she turned out to have but they figure that Regulus might like that. After the nostrils, they move onto her mouth, making sure that the colour of her lips is hidden.

When her pretty face is shut closed, the polyester beautifully matching her skin tone, James pulls out their polaroid camera and snaps a couple photos of her, repositioning her hair occasionally and making sure that they’ve got a couple good reference photos from different angles.

After that, they start the water in the bathtub, re-sheet her bed, and leave only once they’ve turned off the water faucet.

“Reg? I’m home.” James calls once they enter their apartment.

Regulus greets them at the door, pressing a small kiss to their lips, “Hello, Jamie. Did you get the pictures?”

James nods and hands him the polaroids they took, “Here. Isn’t she pretty?”

“Stunning.” The younger gazes fondly down at the polaroids, “Even prettier than my painting. I can’t wait to paint her like this. You made her… beautiful.”

“I improved her beauty.” James smiles, “Now, let me clean up so I can make us dinner then you can start on the painting tonight. I have a feeling this will be your best one yet.”

“You say that every time.”

“And yet, I mean it.” They gently take Regulus’ cheek in their now-ungloved hand, “Every. Time. Now, let me clean up.”

By the time that James is showered and changed into different clothes, Regulus has already made several sketches and thumbnails using all of the pictures that James took of Aleah. They whip up some dinner for the both of them before Regulus rushes off into his art room and James goes to get some sleep.

Only days later, Regulus calls James into the room where he’s been basically isolating himself for days, “I finished it. She’s so pretty now.” He delights, guiding James towards his easel and gesturing to the finished painting.

James’ breath catches in their chest, “Oh, love. She’s…” They look over the painting. Where her eyes are no longer brown, instead the skin sinks into where the sockets are empty and the line where her mouth would be gone, skinned over. Her hair falls around her face in the same way that it did in the first painting but… “She’s beautiful, Reg. You did so good.”

“I love her.” Reg smiles, caressing the face of his painting, “Definitely an improvement.”

“She was pretty to begin with but this…” James pulls Regulus tight to their body, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s intense, and they both kiss with fervor. Right in front of their most recent creation.

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #jegulus #microfic

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dangerousduckcloud · 5 months ago

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Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

And if you hadn’t been so absorbed by your phone, you would’ve noticed the white van that pulled up behind you, only coming to your senses when you felt the chill of a cold, metal barrel against the back of your head, accompanied by the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.

Chapter 5 < > Chapter 7

TW: Crude comments (wishing to take advantage of) against women, groping.

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Your fool proof plan turned out to be not quite the master plan you thought it’d be. At trying to save the most battery on your phone, you never thought to consider opening your maps app to even learn where you were.

Every street looked the same, but none were similar, you’d taken lefts and rights searching for the nearest police station so many times you couldn’t even go back to the manor if you wanted to. You had no information, no money, nothing.

Turning off the engine of the bike, you took a second to look around you, most buildings were closed, the streetlights providing you light would only help you see to a certain extent.

Taking a risk, you pulled out your phone, looking as discreet as possible and not like a lost lamb. The loud chiming it made after starting startled you, covering the speaker with your fingers to muffle the sound.

At seeing you only had twelve percent of battery life left, you wasted no time searching for the app, and pressing it, seeing with desperation the loading screen, and the slow time response of the app, every street gradually appearing.

Once the app eventually opened, you zoomed out enough so that the city’s name appeared, only to discover… That you were home.

Blinking several times, you brought the phone closer to your face, as if that would make it change the letters, but they stayed the same. Your city’s name appeared in black, bold letters, the screen glitching every few seconds, and pretending the words didn’t change to ‘Gotham City’ every time it glitched.

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Eyes wide, you heavily turned your head to the right, a tall, bulky man wearing a burlap mask over his face behind you, pressing the gun further. “I didn’t say you could move.” He hissed.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You begged, voice shaking and tears welling in your eyes.

“Oh, I won’t.” The amusement on his voice was clear, sure that there was a smile behind the sewn-shut mouth on the mask. “But he will.”

You didn’t know who ‘he’ was, and you weren’t keen to find out. The man grabbed you by the arm, pressing his fingers with so much force you knew you would have bruises tomorrow.

If tomorrow ever came for you.

The man dragged you towards the van, your phone dropping to the ground and the screen shattering. He threw you in the back, where another man was waiting for you, tying your hands and legs with zip ties, and putting a disgusting, dirty rag over your mouth.

Tears were freely flowing over your cheeks, your sobs muted by the rag. You never should’ve left the manor. You didn’t know what they wanted to do to you, but at least you were ‘safe’. With this people, you were sure they didn’t want money, as they’d left behind your phone and the plainly, expensive looking bike. At this realization, dread filled you, your dinner wanting to come back.

“Shame.” The man who tied you up said once the van started moving. “Such a treat will go to waste.”

“You can still use ‘em.” The driver said. “S’long as you don’t care ‘bout the screaming.”

Your body went cold, a ballon on your chest inflating more every second, making breathing hard. These ‘people’, if they could be called that, were laughing as if they were sharing silly bantering and not joking of taking advantage of women.

“You’ve done it?”

“Nah, man. Scarecrow hates that shit.” The driver replied. “Tortured for days some bastard that did, made sure we all knew what would happen if we ever tried.”

Scarecrow?

“Asshole can’t get some, so that means we also can’t?” The man who pulled the gun on you asked. “Bullshit.”

“You can go work for Joker instead, for all I care. See how you like it. Man’s a complete nutjob, he should’ve gotten the chair a long time ago.”

The voices were drowned out by your anxiety spiking up to levels you didn’t even know were possible. Joker? Scarecrow? How was this even possible? You tried so hard to believe this was all some elaborate plan to… To…

To do what? What would these people gain at pretending they were comic book characters? Why would someone spend so much time and money into building all this play-pretend city?

Had you royally fucked up? Were you truly safe at Wayne manor and put yourself in danger for nothing?

The van came to a stop, a flickering light dimly illuminating your surroundings. The double doors opened and the man who tied you up hoisted you over his shoulders as if you weighed nothing, the way his hand slowly groped your butt did not go unnoticed, bile gathering on your throat.

“Love it when they don’ even try ta fight. Makes ev’rything easier.” With as much force as you could, you moved your legs forwards, your knees forcefully hitting him on the chest. “Fucking bitch!” The man dropped you, all air escaping your lungs once your back hit the pavement. “That’s what I get for tryin’ ta be nice.” He kneeled with one knee, taking a fistful of your hair and forcing your head up, a cry of pain leaving you, biting harder on the rag. “Can’t wait ta hear ya scream, bitch. I’ll enjoy e’ry second of it.”

He let go of your head, the impact clouding your eyes and making you dizzy. Instead of picking you up again, he grabbed your legs, hauling you over the pavement into an abandoned building, the pale moonlight turning into sickly yellow lights, your body screaming at every single pebble digging into your semi-exposed back.

“We got one, boss.”

“Good.” A cold, calculating voice replied, not paying attention to you, instead focused on the papers laid out on a table in front of him. “Leave them in the cage.”

The bastard tossed you into a rusted metal cage, with so much movement, the rag became loose, belatedly being able to take it out your mouth.

“Fuck you.” You said, which earned you a slap to the face, your cheek stinging and reddening.

Once he left, you turned your attention to the man —Scarecrow?— in the lab coat, still engrossed on the papers and chemicals in front of him. His face wasn’t visible, as he too had a burlap mask covering it, but his tall, lanky form wasn’t the body of someone who could fight.

“Please. I know nothing, I don’t have money.” You implored, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t tell the police, I swear.”

“Oh, sweet child.” He turned to look at you, the eyes behind the mask blue and cold as ice. “You have something far more valuable.” His long, slender arm passed through the space between the bars without an issue, bony fingers gripping your face. “You have fears. I can learn so much from them.” He let go of your face, turning back towards his vials and beakers. “You should be honored; you’ll be the first one to test my newest batch of Fear Toxin.”

You fucked up. Oh, you fucked up so badly.

You whole body was trembling, why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you believe them? Right now, you should be on your fifth deep dream, comfortable on the softest bed ever made, hoping to wake up to the smell of Alfred’s pancakes.

A soft thud stopped your crying, looking up, Scarecrow was still focused on the toxin, his back towards you, the dirty dental chair waiting for your impending suffering. However, to your right, a long metal plate had fallen from your pants’ pocket.

A device that had a button in the middle. The one Nightwing had given you the day he left you with Bruce. ‘we’ll immediately come and get you, wherever you are’, he said.

What else could you lose? Turning in your place, you moved until the gadget was behind you, leaning as much as you could until your fingers grazed the button. You shoulders hurt from straining, but if you didn’t do it now, there was not going to be a second chance.

You had to force yourself not to sigh when you were able to grab the tool and feel the button droop whenever you pressed it. Of course, even though you knew help was on its way —or so you hoped for— you couldn’t allow the Scarecrow to know about it, moving as soundlessly as you could until you were able to drop the signal emitter behind a bookcase next to you.

“Stop moving so much.” Scarecrow hissed; voice distorted by whatever he had inside the mask. No matter how far you went in the cage, you couldn’t blend in with the wall and the bars, nowhere to go when he opened the cage and dragged you out, cutting the zip ties around your hands, he threw you onto the modified dental chair, the leather restrains scuffing your wrists, only to tie your legs next.

You could only hope Dick and Tim had gotten the signal.

“Fine. If you’re so eager to start, let’s do it.” He paced around you, pulling an old recorder and speaking into it. “Subject R-42, young adult, early twenties. First candidate for the second strain variant of my original toxin.” Setting the recorder on the table, Scarecrow grabbed a syringe full of a dark orange liquid. “You’ll only feel a pinch, child.”

Grabbing your face and turning it slightly to the side to expose your neck, you couldn’t do much besides wait for the toxin to enter your system. Your neckm and soon your whole body burning, the liquid spreading through your system.

In an instant, the walls of the filthy and chaotic lab began covering itself with a black goo, moving shadows appearing in random places, a cold hand creeping over your shoulder until it reached your neck, the unnaturally long fingers closing in, you tried to scream, and scream, but your body produced no sound. No one could hear you; no one could come and help you.

The shadows all began moving towards you, leaving bloodied prints everywhere they touched, a faceless shadow with white orbs for eyes appeared without warning, a darker mouth moving unnaturally.

“Wake up.” The shadow said with a deep, raspy voice. “Snap out of it.”

“Please, stop. Please, don’t hurt me.” It hurt to talk, your voice a whisper.

The shadow kept talking, but you couldn’t understand a thing, however you could feel the restrains becoming loose, another hand sneaking under your back, lifting you up. The last thing you remember before passing out was the reflection of a red helmet in a broken mirror.

----

“And what was she doing alone in Crime Alley at fucking three in the morning, Dickhead?”

“I don’t know, Jay. She should’ve been sleeping upstairs.”

“’Upstairs?’ Did you inherit the old man’s adoption compulsion too?”

The voices were too loud, hammering against your skull with every syllable. Had you fallen asleep while waiting for Cass to go down to the cave? Had you slept in a very uncomfortable position or why did your head and neck hurt so much?

No, you went out, you remember getting on the bike, using your phone to search for the police station and—

Wakening with a start, you sit up on the bed, the sheet covering you falling on your lap, your breath quickening.

The gun. The men. The syringe.

It all came to you too fast, the hopelessness, the desperation, the pain.

“You’re okay.” A gentle voice said. “Breathe. In, out. Again.”

Your eyes adjusted to the light, your fingers recognizing the raspy material of the medbay sheets. You were in the Batcave once again. Two pairs of legs were standing in front of you, one wearing tight spandex and the other dark green, cargo jeans.

You’d recognize that outfit everywhere.

“Jane?” Dick asked, forcing you to raise your head, eyes wide. “You’re in the Batcave, you’re—”

“Stop.” Dick’s smile faded, his mouth agape, words dying on his mouth. “Who are you?”

“Jane, you’re not with Scarecrow anymore, it’s me. Nightwing.”

“No! Stop with the games! Who are you?” You screamed, getting up from the bed and removing the IV attached to your hand, the slight burn nothing compared to the pain from hours ago. “You’re not Nightwing! Stop pretending! Why are you doing this to me!?”

“Why would—? Why would I pretend, Jane?”

“Because you’re not real! He’s not real! You’re not Nightwing! You’re not Dick!”

“What? How does she…?” The other man —Red Hood— asked, but Dick raised a hand, asking for silence.

“What do you mean, Jane?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You cried, falling onto the floor, your knees reddening at the force with which you let yourself fall, as you didn’t have enough energy to keep yourself up. “What do you get from all this? I don’t—I don’t even know if this is real or… Am I… Going insane?”

To appear as non-threatening as possible, Dick crouched down to your level

“Look, Jane, you want answers, and I can give them to you, but to do that, I need you to calm down a bit and explain yourself, alright? Can you do that for me?” Your breath hadn’t slowed down, coming in quick and short exhales. “Let’s try something, can you tell me five things you can see?”

“Wh… What?”

“Humor me, yeah? Just five things.”

“I… Uh, the bed, the uhm, cabinets… Pillow, my shoes and uh… The minifridge.”

“That’s great, now four things you can touch.”

“The floor.” To emphasize that, your warm fingers touched the cold slab, a tingling feeling on your fingertips. “My clothes, the sheets, the bed frame.”

“You’re doing amazing.” Dick complimented you, his signature calm smile on his face. Red Hood had been silent this whole time, but even with the helmet, you knew he was looking at you closely, the thought bringing butterflies to your stomach. “Are you feeling better, or would you like to continue?”

“I… I think I’m alright.” Dick held out his hand, helping you stand up, your left hand unconsciously rubbing your wrist, the cut from the leather restrains still too raw.

“Now, would you like to explain what you meant about me not being real?”

Throwing away what little precaution you had left, it was finally time to confront them.

“Because you —I mean, Nightwing is just a comic book character.” You sat down on the bed, playing with a loose thread. “All of you, Batman, Robin… And everything about ‘universe traveling’? I mean, did you truly expect me to believe it?”

“Well, that’s… That’s the truth.”

“Please, Dick, or whatever your real name is, just… If you want to kill me, brainwash me into believing I’m Batgirl or whoever, just do it now, I’m so tired of not knowing what’s going to happen I just… I don’t care anymore.”

“Jane, we’re not—”

“Hold on.” That deep voice did something to your mind you would be ashamed to confess it right now, glad he was looking at Dick and not you. “She came from another universe, and you just expected her to believe you? Did you not show her proof? Explain to her anything? Please tell me that’s not what you did.”

“I— Well, I mean, she never asked anything…”

The groan that left Hood’s body felt as if the whole cave rumbled with him, trying to drag a hand over his face until he remembered he was wearing a helmet.

“You’re unbelievable. No wonder she tried to escape.”

“Am I… Am I truly in another universe?” Your voice was small, and you knew they both could easily lie, but something in you was drawn towards Red Hood, towards Jason, a feeling in the pit of your stomach that told you he wouldn’t lie. “But I… How is that even possible?”

“We still don’t know.” Jason replied, taking off his helmet, a domino mask under it, but you didn’t need for him to remove it to know he was as gorgeous as you’d ever imagined, a perfectly defined face, with a scar that traversed from his cheek to the chin, the iconic strand of white hair falling over his face. “But we’ll find out, you have my word.”

You kept looking between them, unsure of what to think anymore.

“Is there something we can show you for you to thrust us, Jane?” Jason asked after sensing your uncertainty.

“Superman.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s something you can’t fake, or Flash, Martian Manhunter. Anyone that’s… Metahuman.”

Both shared a glance, silently communicating for a second until Dick nodded. “Alright, of course, that’s something we can do. I’m sure any of them would be glad to help. Now, there’s another thing we need to clarify.”

“Yes?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Everyone does.” At seeing both tense, thinking their secret identities had been breached, you explained. “Where I’m from, you, well… You’re just comic book characters. I know Tim is Red Robin, Cass is Black Bat, Bruce is Batman and Jason is Red Hood. I hardly think there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t know Bruce Wayne is Batman, with him being one of the most popular figures of pop culture and what not.”

“You’re saying… That we don’t exist? We’re not real?”

“I’m sorry.” Both their faces fell, and you wondered if you should’ve kept your mouth shut, Dick took off his domino mask, his unfocused eyes pointed at it, but his mind someplace else. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not real here, just like I’m probably not real here. Hell, maybe you are real in my world, you’re just not vigilantes. They’re not a thing back home.”

“None?” Jason asked, to which you nodded. “Huh. Must be nice to live in such a world where we’re not needed.”

“Not… Exactly. It’s riddled with hate, wars, sexism, violence… I think our lives would be better if they existed. People don’t trust the government nor the police anymore, so I’m sure they’d welcome any vigilantes that would do what corrupts are too busy ignoring with the fat piles of money being handed to them.”

“If we’re not vigilantes, that means we probably never met… I can’t imagine a life without my little brother.” Dick joked, holding Jason from the neck and rubbing his knuckles on Jason’s hair.

“I totally can, Dickhead.” He complained, throwing away Dick’s arms and fixing his hair, he too took of his domino mask, vibrant green eyes focused on you.

Dick laughed for a moment, looking with fondness at his brother, but as soon as his eyes landed on you, he pursed his lips and sat down next to you. “Jane, I’m… Shit, I’m truly sorry I put you in such a stressful situation for almost a week, I should’ve made sure you were alright, but with Bruce missing…”

“It’s alright… I could’ve asked for some proof as well. Although I gotta ask, just who was the ‘Bruce’ I met?”

“Oh, yeah! That was Martian Manhunter, we need to keep Bruce’s cover as much as possible or else people will connect him and Batman missing at the same time, so he and Cass went to some event just to be seen.”

“Ah, I should’ve known…”

“So, you know everything about us?” Jason asked.

“I mean… Some things, I never read the comics.”

“Really?” Dick asked innocently. “You gave me the impression that you did, with how much you know about us.”

Your ears and cheeks turned red, never in a million years would you willingly tell them that you learned so much about their lives by reading fanfiction, specially knowing that a lot of them involved a certain someone present here and were… Well, not suitable for minor audiences.

“Yeah I can, uh, I can explain more later, right now I’m uh, tired. I’ll just… Go to my room.”

“Of course!” Dick exclaimed. “You were just subjected to fear toxin, you need as much rest as you can. We’ll wake you up for lunch.”

With a tight and strained smile at remembering the events of last night, you put on your shoes, walking to the stairs that led to Bruce’s study, Jason’s voice resonating around the cave.

“She got a bit weird at the end, don’t ya think?”

“She’s tired, Jay.”

The clock closed behind you, cutting off any response that Jason might’ve given him.

#jason todd #the red hood #redhood #red hood #x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #batman #dick grayson #robin #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne #nightwing #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x fem!reader #cass cain #cassandra cain

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lovinqmils · 2 years ago

Text

ꜰᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ┊ avatar x human!reader

Warnings: follows avatar twow plot (aka spoils the whole thing) , sfw (don't even try me w anything weird) , some ooc, use of y/n, female reader

can also be found on wattpad: @lovinqmils

THIS IS A STORY (NOT A ONESHOT) SO IT'LL HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍...

you manage to get lost on your way home, you unintentionally get yourself caught in a sketchy science experiment...yikes. you wake up in a foreign land (or shall I say planet) that filled with 8-10ft tall blue...creatures?

read along to find out how this interesting adventure unfolds !

according to google the oldest of the sully kids was 15, so the reader is 14-15yrs. please pretend the reader could get to pandora in a couple months, js for story purposes :))

TW: KIDNAPPING

PART 1: ❝ PANIC ❞ 1.7k words

"this doesn't look familiar..." you muttered, frantically wiping your phone screen dry from the pouring rain, trying to find out where in the world you were. but no matter how hard you swiped and tapped your phone was frozen still , completely ruined from the rain. still in denial , you continued trying to get your phone to cooperate with you , failing to notice the white van pulling up towards you.

after feeling a light splash of the cold rain splash onto your legs, you look up making direct eye contact with a blonde-haired man wearing a white lab coat with the letters 'RDA' sewn onto the left side.

"oh my ! sorry to bother you, but do you know the fastest way to get to xxx station?" you ask, a bit loudly as he still hasn't rolled down the window.

the back door of the van slides open, a fairly muscly man dressed in a black tank top and matching cargo pants steps outside. strolling over towards you, "what'd you need , darling?"

feeling slightly intimidated, you take a step back realising just how dangerous this situation is, "oh, uhm...don't worry about it..thank you for your help though"

"now now, where do you think you're off to?" the muscly man chuckles, roughly grabbing your arm. he leaned in so close you could smell all the smoke and alcohol he consumed.

"let go of me !" you attempt to pull yourself away , but unfortunately his grip only tightened.

panicking, you started to scream and kick anywhere you could , but he managed to wrap one of his arms around you and drag you into the van. you took a last glimpse of the dimly lit street, your phone laying on the wet concrete , broken. the doors to the van slammed shut and sped off to an unknown location. you felt a damp cloth being stuffed into your mouth and in no time everything went black.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༻

TW: operation?, syringes

your eyelids still too heavy to open , you felt restraints tied around your hands and legs forcing you to lie as stiff as a pencil. your senses seemed to be dulled but you managed to make out a conversation between 2 people who stood on either side of you

"boss..you got fired from the RDA years ago...do you even think she's gonna make it through the transportation?"

"quiet! just because we don't have all the fancy equipment does not mean this project is impossible! now pass me the scalpel."

'...scalpel? are they operating on me!?'

your body immediately tensed, your tried to force your eyes open but they wouldn't budge. so you resulted to jerking your body in any direction possible.

"SHE'S MOVING! HURRY AND PASS ME THE SYRINGE!"

you felt a tiny prick in your arm and once again, everything faded into complete darkness.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༻

your eyes shot open, you sat up looking around you. you were in a forest, filled to the brim with exotic colourful plants. the trees towered over you , the trunk was at least 50ft tall.

"where am i...?" you muttered. as beautiful as this place was it definitely was not home. you brushed your hair out of your face and stood up, you've got to find a way out of here. after some scavenging, you managed to create a makeshift spear, consisting of a sharp stone that was tied to a sturdy stick with a couple of hair ties.

"anyone!? hello..!! can somebody please help me!?" you started to walk mindlessly deeper into the forest shouting for what you hoped, would be help.

"is anyone there!? pleas-" you were cut off by an extremely tall blue creature landing in front of you, aiming a dagger that would definitely do more damage than your spear directly to your throat.

"w-wait..what are you..." you stumbled back unable to finish your sentence gripping onto your spear for dear life.

you heard the blue creature make some sort of screaming sound, alerting 6 other 8ft tall blue creatures to land on all sides of you. you were surrounded.

hyperventilating, you swung your makeshift spear around, trying to create an opening however they only moved closer. a slim blue fist collided with your left cheek, the force throwing you to the ground. the pain you felt was unbearable , and the stinging sensation in your cheek caused tears to roll down your face. you were picked up by the front of your shirt, and one of the creatures held its dagger against your neck. at this point you were frozen still, were you gonna die..?

unexpectedly, you heard a loud whistle which must've startled whoever whatever was holding you as it let go of your shirt, dropping you to the floor.

as soon as you made contact with the floor, you scrambled over to your 'spear' and held it protectively. the 7 blue creatures that had ambushed you earlier stood in a line listening to a taller blue creature. this 'taller one' looked more mature, and was probably the leader of whatever these things were.

when all 8 of the 8ft+ creatures turned in your direction, you started swinging your spear at the air screaming with every movement you made.

"don't! ugh..come! any! closer!!"

as the tallest one started to approach you, the adrenaline vanished along with any other courage you had. so you threw the spear and took off into a sprint.

it certainly wasn't easy running in a forest where you're the size of an ant so you only made it about 15 meters before you tripped.

you looked up to see all 8 of those creatures directly in front of you, the 7 you saw before looking especially angry.

"w-wait! I'm sorry, p-please...don't kill me!" hot, salty tears raced down your face, as you desperately tried to crawl away.

"stop." the tallest one was now crouched in front of you, "what's your name ,and who sent you?" he asked, his amber eyes staring into your soul.

"...you speak english?" you breathed out, feeling relieved that you weren't as alone as you thought

"answer the question" he repeated, the 7 other creatures reaching for their weapons

"okay..okay ! just don't kill me" you took a deep breath,

"m..my name is, y/n l/n and I wasn't sent by anybody...I was ki..kidnapped by some crazy people and ended up here.." you tried your hardest to speak clearly, but you couldn't help but hiccup every now and then.

"do you know where you are?"

"no..I don't even know... what in the world you are..!" your eyes welled up with tears as you finally grasped your reality. you were stranded, in a foreign land, with people who want to kill you.

"get up. if you won't tell me the truth, I'll force it out of you." the leader stood up, pulling your arm to force you onto your feet.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༺ ༻✧༻༻✧༻

awkwardly you sat on a lab table, surrounded by scientists that would not stop taking tests or examining you.

you sighed, "how many times do I have to tell you! my name is y/n l/n, I turn 15 this year and I have NO IDEA how I got here."

"I know this must be stressful, but if you're a human you shouldn't be able to breathe the air here," a female scientist, Florence, explained, rubbing her temples hoping to ease the stress.

you heard a knock at the door, immediately knowing who it was you slipped off the table and hid behind a wall, "DO. NOT. LET. HIM. IN!"

"y/n dear, you cannot keep avoiding Jake, you've been here for a good 3 days now!" Florence groaned, walking over to the door.

"you cannot tell me I'm on PANDORA, the planet that humankind tried to destroy, and expect me not to fear for my life!" you retorted. despite your fear, Florence still unlocked the door and let the visitors inside,

"y/n! come say hi, Jake and his sons have come to check on you!" Florence sweetly called, yet the only thing you heard from the message was that the two people who had previously threatened to kill you, were in the building. Florence chuckled as she heard your footsteps quickly scurry off into your bedroom followed by the loud slam and locking of the door.

"don't mind her, she is still a bit panicky due to the current circumstances." Florence sighed, moving out of the way to let Jake and Neteyam Sully (two familiar faces), followed by Jake's younger son; Lo'ak.

"I understand. have you learned anything about her?..why she's able to breathe without a mask?" Jake asked, putting on a recom breather as he walked further into the lab.

"we managed to get an x-ray of her lungs," Florence said, picking up a remote and turning on a projected image of your lungs. " it looks like a filter of some sort has been placed in the middle of her trachea. as of now we can only guess what it may do , as trying to look at it surgically would put her life in danger."

the room fell into an awkward silence, Florence rested her hand on her chin trying to think of a way to get you to socialise with the Na'vi. "ah!" she exclaimed, "Jake, I don't think we're gonna be getting y/n home any time soon, and your sons are around her age so why don't they teach her the language? it'll help her loosen up around you !"

Jake sighed, "I mean I don't see why not." he turned to his two sons, "I want the two of you here tomorrow 3 hours after dawn. remember to be patient, learning a new language isn't easy"

"yes sir." they both answered, now wishing they never came to the lab in the first place.

"right it's settled! I'll see you two tomorrow!"

* . • ☆ . ° .• °: . *₊ ° . ☆ .* . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. * . • ₊ °

A/N: thank you so much for reading! please comment and lmk who you want to be the main love interest! (as the reader is a child, the love interest will not be any adults.) <333

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #neteyam #lo'ak #tuk #tsireya #avatar 2 #sully family #avatar x y/n #atwow #x reader #fanfic #lovinqmils #pandora #na'vi #omatikaya #metkayina #human reader

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yxstxrdrxxm-a · 10 months ago

Text

SYNOPSIS: “I love you, but why do you avoid me so?”

TW/s: unrequited love, unhappy ending, Kazuha is a respectful man fr, reverse yandere dynamics (sorta), pre heikazu matchup, shit happens and it's an overall hurt/no comfort… Surprisingly. (Takes place in Kazuha's perspective + experimenting on yan reader so very ooc.)

NOTE FROM HR: Happy Valentine’s Day. Kazuha knew from this day that it wouldn't end well, and yet he kept his promise for your sake. Still, I have one question for you. Did you think what happened to you was well deserved?

Kazuha is a strange individual.

From the beginning, he made it awfully clear that you two are companions. He never thought of your bond with him as anything serious, or even had a deeper meaning to it. To him, what truly mattered was that you were with a friend.

This was made obvious. He didn't want to make things awkward, so he straight up said that the two of you are simply friends. That was your boundary, and you didn't mind that, so you two ended on that note.

Even when you both hung out, Kazuha remained the same way. He couldn't see your relationship with him soar past romance, and he was… surprisingly enough, content with the idea.

He loathed having to do the inevitable, though. Especially when he noticed the little signs of you acting odd.

Sometimes, the musician would catch you reading his music sheets. It amused him, so when he did, he went over and offered to teach you. You've always been a fan of music, so he knew you'd enjoy whatever he had planned on composing.

However, what he didn't expect was for you to actually compose something for him. You said that it was for his sake, considering he was with you even when things aren't going so well at his job.

It was also a sign of appreciation, you told him.

But he didn't believe you.

It isn't because he disliked the gift— he adored it. He truly did. However, he simply felt as though he didn't deserve it. Maybe it was insane for him to think of that, but he hated to see you wind up hurt because of it.

The sweetest adoration can always be the most bitter hatred. That is what he learned.

But you didn't stop when he told you it was not necessary. You insisted on it, so you pushed through with your plans, making it happen even if Kazuha knew that it was a horrible idea.

Watching you make it without a single fuss or complaint, he simply stayed by your side so you don't wind up becoming ill in your ventures of composing it. He frowned every time you denied it, only to see you take it without fuss when he wasn't present.

Such a difficult thing you are. You should take better care of yourself, he wanted to say. However, he kept his mouth shut and continued on with what he's doing.

Each day, you seem to slave away with composing the music to perfection. Kazuha tried to dissuade you, but you simply shrugged him off, like you didn't want him to stop you from your actions.

It worried him. It worried him so much as your friend, as he didn't want you to die doing such a thing. After all, had you've known he was more interested in you honing your skills for yourself, would you have told him otherwise?

And yet all he can do is watch until you've finished your life's work. You were excited as you told him, and he even tried to play what you made so you two can tell how it sounds. However, much like his feelings in the relationship, it sounded sour.

It was anything unlike the things he's heard, and even he knew it was a novice’s work. Stopping his playing, he examined the notes, trying to decipher what it said. Although, at the corner of his eyes, he could see that your hopes were dashed.

So he simply abandoned the criticism he has for your work and focused on consoling you. In his eyes, you've done your best, and yet the seeds of doubt were sewn in your head.

Did he truly like it? Or did you simply think he did out of obligation?

Each day that passed, your relationship with Kazuha became less friendly and became more of a one-sided budding romance. Kazuha has already put himself out there, but you can’t seem to notice it, like you were blinded to such signs. Or maybe you aren’t, but you simply chose to ignore them for the sake of having what’s yours.

Kazuha could hardly wrap his head around it. He didn’t want you to fall for him, he didn’t want you to suffer the pain of being rejected. Even if his job entailed such horrid truths for ‘rejecting’ someone, he did not want to bring harm to you.

You were his only friend outside the company. The light he considered to be the warmest, the one that kept his mind clear.

Alas, like other light sources, yours dwindled and began to lose its spark.

He tried to stop you multiple times. He didn’t want you hurt, but all you did was simply insist on it. You forced it on him, begging for him to even take a second glimpse into it. That you’d make him happy if he gave it a chance.

That was when he knew you were too far gone.

It was the night before Valentine’s, and yet Kazuha stood by your porch. At the back of his hand was a bouquet he had, and like a cliche romance troupe, he had prepared chocolates and even a music sheet he composed himself.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

…

No response.

He knocked again.

…

Nothing.

Then, he turned the door open and walked inside.

Metallic. It’s so pungent, it’s what made him stumble. His eyes widened as he struggled to simply keep his footing. He always forgot how hard it was for him to keep his ground, he thinks.

Looking down, he was met with an awful surprise.

Bloodied sheets were laid bare all across the floor, with a few of its piles drenched in blood. The one who became the source of its ‘mess’ laid on the piano, your head simply laying on the keys for God knows how long. The blood has stopped pouring, but there were still some on your body and the keys.

He grimaced.

He could hardly care for the flowers now.

You were killed by someone else.

Quietly, he walked to your corpse, his frown evident on his face. He hardly knew what became of your fate, but the music sheet in front of him had a single phrase as its title.

‘Goodnight, Sweet Prince’.

“... You always told me you’re never this sappy.”

Taking a seat, he gently moved the body aside and let the head lean back, this time so he could play the music that you composed. There were a few parts that led to it sounding distorted, but with Kazuha’s hands, it became bearable to listen to.

Still, Kazuha remained that frown on his face.

He lost the one that gave him the light, after all. Now, he’s back walking in the dark.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2024

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eccentricgrace · 2 months ago

Text

Howl, Talk, Scream || IronDad

summary: tony rescues him, he does, he always will. but he's never quick enough, and this time-- someone has sewn his kid's lips shut.

tags: peter parker whump, hurt/comfort, mentions of kidnapping, protective tony stark, peter is okay!!

wc: 1953

⚠️tw: needles, sutures/stitches, gross medical stuff

cross-posted to wattpad by the same name!

Tony doesn't think this part of the job ever gets easier.

He gets used to most of it, see; the racing heart, the ache in his bones that never seems to go away, the threats he sees in very dark corner of a room. A rush of adrenaline that fades to crushing lungs. You'd think that was the biggest hurdle. Tony thought that would be the biggest hurdle, too, back in 2007, back when the sound of his phone going off had him choking in gulps of air between bile, back when the dark of his room after a nightmare would have him stop breathing all together.

Miraculously, he did get used to it, and then he got used to it all over again, but this time it was worse. It was worse because then Pepper's right there holding his hand after every nightmare, and Rhodey's visiting almost every day to bully him into taking his stupid SSRIs, and Happy's dropping by with some five dollar cheeseburger every other week "just because", and suddenly— suddenly he realizes. For the first time in his life, he has something worse to lose than himself.

Nobody ever comes out of a life like this without getting used to it. There's no other way to survive.

And yet. And yet.

Moments like these.

The part of the job that never gets easier.

The aftermath, of course. Tony's never prepared for the aftermath of it. He's never had to be, before all of this. He's had to take a stabilizing breath before entering a room before, but never because he was afraid to see—

Well.

The kid got himself into some hot water again. These days, this has proven to be the number one cause of Tony's tachycardiac increase. It was horrible, the whole process of it, like it always was— realizing he never made it home, scrambling to find him, praying when they found him he wouldn't be...

But they did find him, because Tony wouldn't let himself fail with something so colossally as important as keeping Peter Parker safe and be able to live with himself afterwards, the only issue is that he just— he just wasn't fast enough.

On a paper passed in the quinjet, he wrote in shaky writing:

they didn't like how much i talked

Peter's in the med bay, and he's bruised to high heavens, a wild look in his eyes that sets all the nurses on high alert. He hasn't spoken in hours. This doesn't mean he hasn't tried.

He clearly has tried, actually. Torn skin and dried blood coating the entire bottom half of his face, all the way down his neck. Tony feels sick at the thought.

"We just need to remove the stitches," the doctor says calmly. Gloved hands hold scissors in one, tweezers in the other. She stands a safe distance away. "Okay? Nod yes if you can understand me."

Peter— Peter's shaking. His eyes don't leave the doctor's hands, and his whole body is strung as tight as a bow. His fists clench.

"Peter," Tony's voice cracks. He clears his throat, avoiding his eyes. Takes another deep breath, and then summons all his courage to look his kid in the eyes. He's already looking back, holding so much trust and terror in his panicked gaze.

Tony swallows thickly and shifts his chair closer. He'd been trying to give the doctors the space they need to fix this, to make it better where he couldn't, but he doesn't give a shit now. He can't, not when Peter's looking at him like that.

"We need to get those off your mouth," Tony says, wincing, because just the acknowledgement of the current situation feels so heavy. He feels like he's being crushed. "We need to know happened, if you're okay, we can't do that if you can't talk to us."

Peter looks like he wants to open his mouth. His lips twitch, but are firmly held in place by the shoddy sutures. He shudders, looks back at the doctor, then back at Tony.

The doctor takes a step forward, and immediately Peter's neck snaps back over to her. His breathing becomes frantic, his nostrils flaring to compensate for the lack of oxygen. A panicked series of muffled noises comes tumbling from his lips, and blood drips down his chin as the slight movement tears further at the stitched skin.

"Hey, woah," Tony stands up, putting himself between Peter and the doctor. She has already taken several steps back, her arms raised in the air, her expression soaked in guilt. "Okay, easy. Let's take it easy."

He turns to Peter, bending his knees to look at him better. Reflexively, a hand reaches for Peter's knee, and he pats it in comfort. "You're okay, right? I won't let anyone hurt you, I've got you now. I'm not letting you out of my sight. You can trust me, can't you? Breathe, kiddo."

Peter nods quickly, forcing himself to slow the breaths his nose was rushing to take. He blinks furiously, and tears trail down and wash lines of blood away. It's horrific. Tony wants to sit very quietly and cry for a very long time. He wants different blood to be on his hands.

"Mr. Stark," the doctor says meekly. "Might I suggest you remove the stitches instead? It should be fairly simple to remove, it doesn't look like they even did it properly..."

"Yes. Thank God for that," Tony grits out dangerously. He exhales shakily and looks back at his kid. "What do you say, kid? Can you nod, if that's alright with you?"

Peter looks at him for a long moment, his teary eyes glassy in the white lights of the medical bay. He slowly, cautiously, nods.

"Okay," Tony says. He takes a moment to solidify himself, his arms, his legs, all the parts that have been more or less liquid since he's carried Peter in here, since he's stopped carding a hand through his sweaty, blood-matter hair.

He locks away the wildness in his chest, the paternal beast that cringes and cries at the thought of touching Peter's wounds with his own hands, being the reason he winces, being the source of his pain if even for a moment.

Peter's trusting him. He keeps that running through him like saline on an IV drip. Peter's trusting him. He's in pain, he's trusting you to fix it, so fix it.

Tony pulls gloves on, takes the tools from the doctor. He approaches Peter carefully, and keeps his face neutral. He hopes it's more comforting than the look of a doctor who keeps glancing at clenched fists with sweat on her brow.

Peter's still shaking. Marvelously, he blinks a few times, and then closes his eyes tightly, and Tony feels his entire heart clench in his chest. It seems like such a simple thing. So, so, simple. But Tony's been on the other side of the room, watching needles or what have you with that kind of terror, and the last thing he could think of doing would be to sacrifice his most valuable sensory input.

Tony doesn't know how, doesn't know what he did to deserve this kind of innocent all-forward trust, but he looks at Peter, trembling in his fear, his eyes clenched shut and his chin jutted out, and Tony swears by everything holy that he'll protect it with his life.

"Do you want me to talk to you while I work?" Tony says quietly, sitting down in front of him.

Peter takes a second, and then nods.

"Okay." Tony steels his gaze, taking in the work. Fishing line, maybe, or something just as crude, sewn in one uneven, messy, tight line of stitches across his kid's bloodied lips. His stomach turns. "I'm gonna start on the left, your left, and I'm going to use tweezers, okay? You feel metal, that's just tweezers. Nothing sharp."

Peter nods once, just to show he understands, and goes still. Tony takes it as permission. He moves carefully, picking at the loosest bit of the stitch he can find, which ironically is a knot tied at the edge of his mouth. He pokes at it with the tweezers and Peter flinches.

"Just tweezers," Tony reminds him, keeping his voice level. It's a miracle he isn't shaking like a leaf. "Little cold, nothing scary."

He pulls it up a little, and grimaces at the sight of it, the whole grisly thing. "Alright, Peter, you're going to hear the scissors, but they're not anywhere near you. I just want you to hear the sound."

Tony waits for another nod, and then lifts the scissors up. He snips them once, twice, a few more times, until Peter's flinches become less as jolting.

"Are you okay?" Tony checks in. Peter nods.

"Okay, I'm going to snip the thread," Tony says. "It'll be just like last time. You won't feel anything. You're just gonna hear the scissors, remember? Do you want me to count down?"

Peter hesitates, and then shakes his head.

"Alright." Tony pulls back again at the stitch. He holds his breath, and then snips it with the scissors. With the knot gone, tension goes immediately lack, and Peter's shoulders drop.

"We're almost done," Tony cheers weakly. His eyes are misty, and it's so, so hard to keep the cracks out of his voice. He's trying. He's trying, for Peter. "Good boy. We're almost done. Few more snips. It'll be way easier now."

He tugs at the middle of the line, it easily becoming loose. Peter shivers, his face curling in displeasure.

"Yeah, I bet that doesn't feel good," Tony tries lightly. "Okay, you're gonna hear the scissors again."

He pulls up the line with the tweezers, and another snip. With that, he's able to pull half of the thread out of his goddamn mouth. Halfway there. Halfway. Blood trickles from the open wounds.

"Okay, other side now," Tony continues. There's a waver in his tone this time, sneaking out before he can calm it. "You okay still?"

Peter doesn't move. He keeps his jaw clenched and just breathes, and Tony remains still until he's ready. After a minute, Peter nods again.

Tony pulls at the other knot, and snips it, and then quickly pulls the thread completely out, and drops both the tweezers and the scissors to the side with a shaky breath of relief.

He blinks and he has an armful of teenager, Peter's arms wrapped around his waist so tightly Tony struggles to breathe in. Tony welcomes the feeling, just grateful that Peter is feeling strong enough to do so in the first place.

All the while, Tony's smoothing out his hair, he's petting at his back, squeezing his shoulders, saying, "I've got you. Jesus. Never again. You're okay. You're okay. We're okay."

Tears drip down his cheek, fine, he wasn't strong enough to keep them at bay. None of it matters anymore. The only thing that matters is the kid, and he's right here, and Tony's right here, and it's all going to be fine.

"I knew you'd save me," is the first thing Peter says, all blubbery and snot-covered all over Tony's nice shirt, and he really shouldn't be speaking yet at all. Blood is trickling from his mouth. His voice is very clearly hoarse.

"Of course," Tony repeats, over and over and over. "Always. Every time. Any time. God, kid."

Because yes, he'll save Peter for as long as he can still breathe. Longer, if he's able. He's done it countless times already.

It's always the hardest part of a job that matters the most, even if it never gets easier.

#irondad and spiderson #irondad fanfiction #tumblr fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #fanfiction #peter parker #needles #tw stitches #hurt/comfort #tw blood #whump writing #whump #peter parker whump #tony stark #irondad

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