#no verse tags until i figure him out

[theaterrush]

✫➺imagine picturing some fresh tangerines. couldn't be me.

[notelasts]

art in the dc universe. hm.

[jeremangled]

jeremy is a girl brother

[zepskies]

Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about his “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.  

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Only one guy on here has two eyes, and even then, they're fake eyes. It's big-tits-McGee, Mr. logic man extraordinaire, Geneva Suggestion Believer himself: Shockwave! Yep, all 12 of him, a reasonable amount of alternates to have, unlike some people... Shockwave Height Chart, everyone, fuckin wee.

Edit: I didn't like the old scaling I had so I changed it. The old chart is at the end of this post.

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character.

Here are links to my Bumblebee Chart, my Optimus Chart, my Megatron Chart, and my Soundwave Chart. Please go gawk at how many Optimus designs there are, sweet fuck, there are so many. For future reference, all these charts will be filed under my "Transformers Height Charts" tag and my "aka the adventures of a..." tag.

Explanations and Sources below the cut.

Unicron Trilogy Energon - ~14 feet 3 inches (No actual source, and Energon doesn't have any listed heights anywhere. For the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles. This is the design used in Energon (S2) though he only shows up in Energon. I was able to compare him to Optimus, and using Cybertron's listed heights, I got this number. I am in physical pain, it does not get better from here. Hilarious side note, his Japanese name is Laserwave, which contains the missing "wave" of Shockwave in this iteration's name.)

Earth Spark - ~15 feet (No actual source for ES, but using a barn door to get Bumblebee's height, then Optimus's, then Megatron's height, I was able to make a guess at Shockwave's. Shockwave comes up to about Megatron's chin; I lost the screenshot I used. It's so convoluted, I know, but it's all I have, also, tiny universe, everyone is so small)

TFA Longarm/V1 - 15 feet 2 inches (Animated has no actual numbers, but the lovely @phoenix-inanis has provided a frankly astounding resource with their own calculations for the heights of all the TFA characters. Go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Gen 1 - ~18 feet (TFWiki, uuuuh I've got nothing to add)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~18 feet (I have no source for this, other than assuming that because this design is identical to Gen 1, they are the same height. That's it, really)

Knight/Capel-Verse - ~18 feet (No source, and he never stands next to anyone I can measure him against, but because the TFOne director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon, I am assuming the height I figured out for TFOne applies to this universe as well. Until proven otherwise. Capel directed the ROTB movie if you're wondering why his name is there)

One - ~18 feet (No source, I got this number by comparing him to Optimus. Now, I am aware of the TFO heights listed on the wiki, but I reject those numbers on principal. A: Those numbers are sourced from the Walmart Promotional AR Experience that came out before the movie. B: There are three decimal points, and that number does not convert into a whole number in meters (which is originally what I thought was weird about it). C: The director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon, so I have elected to use the few given heights we have from KCV and worked from there. My Optimus post has slightly more context if you want it)

Cyberverse - 20 feet (This comes from a screenshot of this video which has the Cyberverse height chart everyone uses, though the quality of the screenshot is iffy.)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC/TFP - 26 feet 2 inches (This number comes from Fandom and I completely believe it, even if they don't list their source, because the entirety of this universe is freakishly tall. Go look at my other charts, all the ALC designs are monstrous compared to the others)

TFA V2 - 29 feet 11 inches (Once again, phoenix-inanis did a fuck ton of work, go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Bayverse - ~30 feet (Ok, so I don't have a source for this one. There used to be one, BV Shockwave used to be listed as 40 feet tall bc of an article done to promote the movie, but that is no longer listed for reasons not known to me, and making some comparisons to Optimus, I have found them to be kinda close in height. It's very hard to actually validate any of this. Shockwave never stands normally next to anything I can use as a ruler at any point in the movie. He's always at a dramatic angle or partially covered by something in the shot. It's so violently frustrating. I am confident he is around this height though, I just can't figure out how much taller than Optimus he is)

And that's it. I didn't have to leave any designs out, all of them are included here (hopefully). It was so nice to work with a character where I wasn't drowning in 20+ designs across every goddamn universe.

Edit: Here are the different layers separated.

vvv Old scale vvv

[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No... no, I don't." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away. "But you were kind enough to take me in. Why did you do that?"

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the history of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the King of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

You know something has changed when you start to have premonitions of a tall, regal Elvish man with blonde hair calling himself Annatar. You watch Celebrimbor look on in complete and utter fascination of the glory that stands within his Forge. They're talking about more rings. Rings for Dwarves and Men.

Rings just like the three Elvish ones you had helped name. You'd been privy to their creation and had overseen the preparations yourself with Halbrand. This Annatar... That is not Halbrand, and he is certainly not someone you'd trust.

Not after Galadriel's warning.

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror. Annatar calls himself Celebrimbor's partner and again urges the need for creation of more rings. It's suspicious. Part of you wonders why he is so insistent upon more rings when just the rings for the Elves has proven to be more then enough.

It saved them from having to leave Middle Earth.

After Annatar's brief disappearance, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me."

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me." Feeling emboldened, you bend your head to lay a gentle kiss at the space between his shoulder blades. Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I haven learning how to love from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion with you."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you've loved him for a while. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough.

"Don't say it. Not yet." His breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against yours. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[bringsin]

what a fuckin' joke.

angel's just as, if not more, bitter with the circumstances. once upon a time, he'd been stupid enough to think valentino loved him. that he was special, cared for because the moth's gaze kept returning to him instead of vox. but as the decades went by, any rose color tinting in his gaze faded, realizing that he was a favored toy, something to fuck and use to make the other overlord jealous.

and now he was being traded. like fuckin' cattle. if angel had any positivity left to feel towards val, it vanished right then and there. dragged back to the studio by a chain, only to have it passed over to vox the moment he could be used.

it was no secret how vox felt about angel. the disdain followed him whenever he was near val, the misplaced jealousy and anger placed on his shoulders to bear instead of the one doing the cheating. so when he proposed angel spend the night with him, the spider might have had a look more surprised than val had. a blue chain is no different than a pink one, so he followed silently, a neutral mask weaved up to place over his face to make sure he doesn't give away how he really feels about the situation. a pet used to make val angry? is that what he was now? he's dreading going to the studio tomorrow.

but at least he wouldn't be burdened with val tonight.

angel's not shocked at the statement, and he has no interest in being vox's new toy, so the arrangement works perfectly fine in his opinion, even if it doesn't matter how he feels. "fine by me," he snarks in return, flopping down on the couch and looking at the remote with no actual interest in turning on the television. with only one bed, angel's not excited for the night to fully approach.

"you got any food in here?"

Plotted starter for @bringsin !

The relationship that Vox and Valentino boasted was a rocky one, that much was certain. It was like a ticking time bomb— all was well for a while, and then one of them did something, and they broke up. And then they got back together. And broke up again. And got back together again.

This time, one thing had led to another, and Vox had packed his things and stormed out the instant he had repaired his screen. It was always serious when one of them actually left... and, this time, in specific?

Vox hadn't been planning on coming back.

He had come back, though. He always did. Valentino had reached out first, this time, and the two of them had got to talking. Val had pleaded that he would "give him anything", and Vox had thoughtlessly listed off Angel Dust. Val's number one star. The money maker.

The moth's most prized possession.

To Vox's utter shock, Val had actually agreed. Vox had said it as a test, a trial to see just how far Valentino would go to prove that he loved him— Vox didn't actually WANT Angel! He hated Angel! The spider was a homewrecker, always coming back to the Penthouse with Val when Val was supposed to be spending time with Vox.

... And now he was his? Forever? Or at least until Vox's pride wore out and he decided to mention to Val that this was just an experiment and he wasn't serious?

The future could be left to Future Vox to figure out. In the present, the situation was as follows: Val and Vox were back together. Valentino was extremely huffy about losing Angel to Vox, and he was being childish about it. Velvette found the whole thing slightly amusing. Vox had no idea what he wanted to do with Angel, but, given that he was still annoyed with Val, he'd decided that 'petty payback' was a good place to start.

Why not bring Angel back to the Penthouse to make Val jealous, just like Val had been doing for years? Then the moth would finally know how it felt to be jilted on date night-- something that Vox knew all too well not to feel good.

The Media Overlord currently found himself standing in his room, Angel Dust at his side, after the expected "how dare you!" conversation with Valentino had transpired in their main space.

Vox shut his door and paced past Angel, cyan teeth pressing together in a grimace.

"Now that we're alone, let's get one thing straight: I'm not gonna sleep with you," he said, matter-of-factly. "I don't care what you do, as long as it doesn't concern me."

Vox pointed a sharp-tipped finger at the blue and red sofa that existed a few feet away from the bed, and waved it at it.

"Entertain yourself. The remote is there, just watch TV or something. But keep it low. I'm gonna try to get some work done." He turned away, but then snapped back around a second later. "And don't do anything gross. It's my room."

[prettyboykatsuki]

VIOLET | RAZOR. (GENSHIN)

✾ tags ; afab + gn!reader, aged-up characters, virginity loss/first times, established relationship, mutual virginity loss, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), creampies (reader is using a contraceptive), reader is mentioned to be an orphan / run away , 18+

✾ wc ; 6.1k (went to edit and went 700 words over the wc. pain)

✾ a/n ; i'm losing my mind btw. razor my only triple crowned character my most greatly beloved my angel my sweet. also i added the aged up tag mostly bc its the genshin fandom but. if u dont like that dont read. ez peazy.

also trust and believe the voice im picturing in this is his jpn dub. this is important

✾ synopsis ; you resolve yourself after many long years of abstinence, you're going to ask razor about sex the minute he comes home.

Razor is human. 

On a technical level, this information isn’t news to you. He looks human. His physical makeup is human. He needs to eat and sleep like humans do. Focusing on the technicals alone, Razor is very, very human.

It doesn’t change that he was raised by wolves, though. And you don’t want it too. You think it’d be a shame if he started to assimilate too much into human society just because he felt like he had too. You know how he feels about it. And that Boreas is the closest he’s ever had to a father figure, thus making his claim about Razor's humanity a rather devastating blow. He feels inhuman all while knowing he is. You think once upon a time, he really did wish to be a wolf. 

You’ve known Razor since you were a teenager. You’d ended up in Wolvendom after your exploration of Teyvat led you to its outskirts. You’d bonded over your similarities. Two orphans with no real place where they fit in completely and complete odd-ball personalities - Razor was an easy friend for you to make. Even when you eventually decided to settle into Mondstat - you’d made a point to visit Razor regularly and spend time with him in the forest. 

You made an odd pair of course, but you didn’t mind. If no one else understood you in the world - you know Razor always would. He’d listen patiently about all of your adventures and sit quietly as you decided to pester him by braiding his hair or teaching him new words. Loyal, obedient, sweet.

You never formally had the boyfriend conversation in the time you’d spent together. One day, however, Razor took you to meet Boreas out of the blue as well as the leader of his pack. You figured maybe it was something he did with his close friends. It only occurred to you that maybe this was a more serious meeting when Razor promptly gestured towards you and introduced you as his mate. 

Razor, predictably, was very confused about your minor freak out. You tried not to let it show during your little chit-chat, but afterwards you’d shaken him by the shoulders and interrogated him about his word choice. This of course didn’t register in his mind at all. According to Razor, you’d been his mate since long ago. He’d been courting you since the moment you met in the way wolves are known too. You’re an adventurer, well-versed in certain animal behaviors for the sake of survival, including wolves. 

And looking back on your interactions he was right,  Razor had been courting you from the start. The news made you flush, and you went back into Razors camp and thoroughly educated him on human courting rituals.

(“Why matter?” Razor asks, head laid in your lap while he looks up at you from inside the tent “Not important.” 

“Why would it not be important?” 

He turns towards you, head facing your stomach as one arm lazily wraps around your waist. He yawns sleepily, seemingly not worried about a thing. 

“You are mate. Mate last until death.” He explains, casually - like he’d always believed he’d spend every minute of his life with you. Like that was the only natural outcome for you both and that he’d never consider anything else. You want to explain, it’s different for humans. Humans don’t usually mate that way, you should say. But the words die out in your mouth as he clings closer to you “Sorry for..not asking.. properly. What are we…as humans?” 

You look down at where he lays, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“Lovers or life partners. They’re closest to the word mate, in definition.” 

“Lovers easier,” He grumbles, eyebrows tightening at the complex words in your sentence “You want to be lovers with Razor?” 

You laugh. Light and bubbly and warm as you lean forward and try to mask the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Yes. We’re lovers from now on. And mates. And lupical, right?” 

Razor sighs contentedly into your midriff.

“And lupical.”)

According to Razor, you had been mates from the minute you met. According to your human timeline, you have been dating since you were both around 17. It’s been a long time since then and nothing in your relationship has changed.

You’re an adult now and you work with the city of Mondstat studying wildlife populations. You live in the city in a cottage, and Razor lives with you - though he spends most of his day outside. He does the domestic labor while you whittle away at papers and projects. Because of your job, you still spend a fair bit of time together in the wild. He has plenty of insight about the wildlife in Wolvendom and is keen enough on changes to give significant contribution to your study. His work as your partner is unofficial, but everyone acknowledges that you come together in a set. Where you go, Razor follows.

You’re happy with your life. With your relationship to your wolf-boy boyfriend, with the career you’ve carved out of scratch and the life you’ve built. You left your orphanage young and spent a long time on the run. You’re incredibly thankful for all of what you have and you could never think of what more to ask for. 

This is especially true for you and Razor. You’ve never had any real major obstacles in your relationship. Part of this comes from the wolven habit of mating for life. Concepts like pride are foreign to Razor. He says sorry even when he doesn’t completely understand and he has no concept of betraying your loyalty. Most things you can teach, he learns very quickly. But there are also some things no one ever teaches you to navigate. Some boundaries you can’t be sure you’re allowed to cross. 

You’re a blossoming, healthy person in their twenties and so is Razor. He’s scarred and athletic in the outdoorsy way and he’s a little more rugged now that you’ve both grown. He’s hit a growth spurt and he’s taller than you and every time you see his arm flex carrying in an entire boar to butcher in your yard - you start getting so hot under the collar you feel like you’re going to explode. 

The problem is: you want to have sex and you want to have it badly. You want it so bad it’s starting to make you feel like you’re a deviant. Like you’re some kind of harlot masquerading as an archon-fearing civilian.

But it’s so hard to bring up and you don’t know how you’re ever going too. 

You’re very good at asking for what you want usually. It comes with the territory. And thanks to your boyfriend's cluelessness about human social convention, asking for things isn’t embarrassing. Concepts like shame are learned through a lifetime of socialization that he lacks and while you could sit and try to teach him - you don’t think he would care either way. He listens if you tell him he shouldn’t do something, but that’s because you’re his mate and his lupical. 

What other people think is none of his concern. He cares about his Lupical. So if Lisa or Bennet or Klee tell him something, he might take it into consideration. But they, like you, love the parts of Razor that make him how he is and his complete innocence in some ways is part of that. 

You know you could very well ask Razor for sex. You’ve spent a lot of time together and you’ve learned many things about him. It’s not like there’s nothing there at all. Like his every other trait, Razor normally relies on instinct to guide him. You’ve learned through kisses and dry-humping that he can get hard at least. You’ll probably never know the details of his arousal, and the only you’ll ever find out is by having sex with him. 

You don’t know what else he knows. What Lisa has told him of the birds and the bees. 

You have tried to ask Lisa inadvertently, but she enjoys making fun of you too much to give you any straightforward answers. And in her own maternal way, she thinks it’d be better for your relationship if you go ahead and ask yourself. 

She’s right about that, but it’s also not very easy. You know Razor would never judge you. He doesn’t even have the capacity to do so. But while Razor knows nothing of shame, you certainly do. 

It’s your problem to get over. You know that. You rationalize that your fantasies are healthy and normal for someone your age. But there is something terribly humiliating about trying to express the extent of your desire apart from just having it. Is it fair to teach Razor about desire? Does he know of it already and the both of you just suffer in silence? 

Razor is a man. A grown man, and tougher than most men you know. He’s seen more than almost anyone else as part of living in the woods. You know he’s not some innocent fairy. But you can’t get over the feeling like you’re corrupting his sweet preciousness somehow. 

(This has its own charm, but that’s not relevant. Or maybe it is. Maybe there’s guilt for that too but it’s not something you can unpack) 

You’re reaching your upper limit on patience. Your hand can only do the job so long (though the import of sex toys from Fontaine do help) nothing can truly replace what you want. And what you want is Razor.

So, you’ve made your choice. When Razor comes home from…what he’s doing today - you’re going to ask him to have sex.

__

You’ve finished all of your work, did as many chores as you can, and now you’re waiting in your bedroom trying to read a book.

You haven’t even read past the first page, actually. But you’re trying. It’s hard to do anything meaningful when your brain keeps pivoting back to what's going to happen when your boyfriend returns home. 

You’re nervous and fidgeting, rubbing your socked feet together and running over the laundry list of talking points you’ve concocted trying to make this happen. You shaved but not bare because you know he definitely wouldn’t like it, but you’re clean. You aren’t sure if he’s going to like that either and he’s expressed that he likes when you smell natural. But it soothed your anxiety to shower so he’ll have to leave with it. 

You have no idea how this could go. You don’t even know how to prepare for the worst, because you don’t know what the worst is. But you reassure yourself with the fact Razor loves you and leave it at that.

You hear the door open and take a deep breath. 

There’s heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. Razor cracks the door open politely, peeking his head into your shared room. He makes a face, the softest little smile you’ve ever seen - before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He’s quick to undress himself - jacket and scarf abandoned along with his boots. Leaving him in green pants and a bandage around his chest and arsm. 

“Hi,” He says simply, coming down over to where you’re laid. He chooses to sit on the floor, folding his arms on the bed as he looks at you patiently “Missed you,” 

“Hey there,” Your heart is pounding just looking at him. He’s unreasonably handsome. Had he grown up in normal conditions, you think he would’ve been a very popular loner type. “How was your family?” 

“Good,” He says shortly, eyes warm and light “New pup. First time seeing since I was little. Very small and cute.” 

“I’m glad. Bet it’s nice not to be the youngest anymore.” 

“Come next time,” He says genuinely “They miss you.” 

Your heart is so full you think it might burst. It temporarily soothes your anxiety.

“Of course I will.” 

Razors eyes examine you for a minute. Your heart is still racing. Of course he notices it. He knows much more about you than you’ll ever know about yourself. His brow creases in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You look at him apologetically, immediately warmed by how worried he is. You give him a small smile. 

“I’m okay. Just a little nervous. Wanted to ask you about something.” 

“Okay. I listen. No need to..be nervous.” 

Right. He’s right about that. You sit up and Razor remains where he is. He’s seated comfortably on the floor, on his knees - between your thighs. He’s a sight for sore eyes, terribly rugged and scarred with nothing but honesty settled in his gaze. Carmine and beautiful. You fold your hands in your lap and before you can worry too much, Razor grabs one in his hand. 

He kisses your knuckles so gently, leaning his face into your palm. 

“It’s okay.” 

You figure it’s best to be straight to the point. 

“Uhm. Razor. Do you…know what sex is?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, it’s—wait what? Did you just say yes?” 

He nods again. “Miss Lisa taught me.” 

That witch. You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“And uhm, what did she tell you about it?” You ask tentatively. 

“Like mating but for humans. Best to do with mate. Good to be careful or else pups will come too soon.” 

You stare at him, jaw slack. 

“Right. And what else?” 

He racks his brain right in front of you. 

“Uhm. Can be for…feel good. Should go slow. Lots of things different from wolf.” 

“...Do you know how it happens? The specifics?” 

Razor goes a soft pink. Razor blushes. 

“Yes.” 

You have no idea what to feel. Not the faintest clue in the world. This is the first time in your entire relationship either of you have been in an awkward situation. You’re partially relieved it’s not completely foreign, partially feeling hot between the legs because you’re not corrupting anything. You make a face of uncertainty. 

“Oh. Uhm. Do you—have you ever.. I mean—have you ever wanted to have sex with me then? I-is that something you’d…want to do?” 

Razor almost looks perplexed by this question. He nods, then follows up. 

“Yes. A lot.” 

You nearly choke on your spit. 

“A lot?” 

“Yes. But.. Miss Lisa said to wait. Until mate asks.” 

You’re going to have a serious discussion with that damned woman later. You take a shaky breath, looking at him carefully. This is going to break you in a way you don’t know if you’ll recover from. But you’re fine, you’ve made it this far. And you don’t want to back down when you haven’t gotten to the finish line. The final blow. 

You’re not completely sure where you go from here honestly. Your brain was fully expecting to go on a long rant about sexual intercourse. Now that that’s out of the window, you’re at a loss. You decide, internally, that going straight forward is the best thing you could do for now. 

“Then… would you want to have sex with me?” 

His eyes widen then he pauses, looking worried. 

“Well…yes. But, worried. Not sure…how.” 

“Well, uhm. Normally it starts with kissing and t-touching and things like that. You can just do what feels right. Uhm.. and I’ll tell you… what I like. A-and what feels good.” You offer, trying not to show just how nervous you are even suggesting “But uhm… I also… think about it. A lot. With you.” 

His eyes light up, and you can practically see the change in him. You’ve never let yourself get close enough to look but when you see him now that you know, it’s obvious. He’s looked at you like this before. 

Like he wants you. 

“Razor,” You say, bracing yourself for impact “Come up here.” 

He’s quick to his feet. You lay back down and Razor lays himself ontop of you, hovering gently. He smells like forest, the rich warm scent of dirt and sunlight mixed with sweat that you’ve grown fond of. Looking down at you, he presses his forehead against yours with his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Mate,” His breath is warm like he’s been chewing mint leaves and sweet flowers. He does it sometimes before coming home “Love you,” 

“I love you too, Razor. You don’t,” You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of your proximity “Don’t hold back okay? You won’t break me.” 

“Want to..” He thinks slowly, brain clearly struggling to come up with the right word “Cherish. Want to cherish mate. Cherish you.” 

You give him a breathy laugh as he leans in close to you. 

“Did Miss Lisa teach you that?”

“Yes,” He replies, pressing his cheek to yours and rubbing himself against you innocently “Cherish you a lot.” 

“I cherish you a lot too,” You offer and he smiles. You feel your heart thump as you look up at him less innocently “Let’s kiss first, okay” 

He doesn’t reply. This much is familiar. Though this was something you had to teach him at first, you would go as far as saying Razor kisses better than you. He’s better than you in these ways most of the time. He knows how to read your body language down to the most irrelevant details, attuned to your physicality in a way that could only be inhuman. The first time he noticed a change in your cycle after starting some herbal contraceptives, you were turned on as much as you were afraid. 

His mouth is hot and overwhelming, plush as he kisses you passionately. He’s quick to open your mouth up with his tongue. Razor likes to taste. It’s natural for him to slip his tongue past your lips and lick at yours. You think if anyone else did it you’d be turned off. But with him hovering you over you, desperate as he pulls and nips at your lower lip - it’s stimulating.  It makes you wet before you can think about it too hard. Your hands curl themselves around his neck, tangling at the thick roots of his gray hair. 

He moans when you tug, and your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets. You do it again, a little harder and the same broken sound leaves his lips in the middle of kiss. You swallow the noise before pulling away, looking at his face. His face is perfectly rosy, lips swollen from where you’ve been kissing them.

“Did you,” You look at him erratically, eyes going over every part of his face “Did that feel good?” 

He nods, dumbfounded. 

“Felt good but,” He shakes his head in disbelief “Don’t know why.” 

You giggle, delighted with the outcome. 

“No it’s good, that’s normal.” You say trying not to babble “It’s like your body’s weak point.”

“Not weak.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I have some too. Like my neck.”

You can see the gears turning in his head.  He tucks his chin against your shoulder and before you can speak to ask him about it, he’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck. He doesn’t stop at a kiss, though. He proceeds to lick the small patch of tender flesh, before sinking his teeth into it.

You moan. You moan sharp, almost like a gasp of pain. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but when he sees you he stops. He blinks, then gives you a look you’ve never seen. 

His voice is almost chipped - richer and more hoarse as his fingers go over what can only be bite marks.

“Feels good?” He says, then adds more urgently “Where else?”

You’ve made him discover something. You’re sure of that. He looks awfully determined about it, too. 

You sigh shakily, grabbing his hands. Even though you’re trembling mercilessly, you want this. You want him. You let his hand squeeze around the swell of your tits - your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your shirt. With your eyes locked on his, you brush your nipples.

“H-here,” You admit watching his eyes go dark. Animalistic. “Uhm. W-with your mouth, you c-can suck on them.” 

He’s quiet. 

“Like pup?” 

You laugh. 

“A little bit like that, I guess. But it’s different.” 

He makes a small, approving noise with his mouth, once again thinking hard about something before he continues down his path. He leaves open kisses all over your skin, hands reaching to undress you. You help him, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere. His eyes are shut closed, in bliss as he licks and bites down your neck with no real grace. His tongue is wet and rough all over you. 

You can tell you’re being primed for something animal. Like being tenderized, worked apart in a way that makes you melt into something soft. Something that can be broken without teeth, that can be swallowed in one go. It’s not a romantic kiss as much as it’s a hungry graze, a gnawing lust. He’s not being so reserved anymore, and that means sinking his teeth as far into you as he can go, not enough to break the skin. Razor would never break you. But he might ruin you, might melt you down from your very center until he can tear you apart. 

You thought it’d hurt, and it does - but in a good way. There’s some sick sense of relief in how achy your whole body is. You’re burning up because Razor wants you like he’s starving. An emptiness claws at you, makes the back of your gums ache. Makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand nearly straight as you sink deeper in. You want to be full of him and you want him to get so full off of you. 

Razor doesn’t stop his tirade even when he gets down to your chest. Instead his mouth closes around your tit, hard incisors sinking into the supple skin but only slightly gentler than before. His canines feel sharper than yours. They must be. 

“O-oh,” You can feel your voice shake as you hold onto the back of his head. He touches the other one with his free hand, squeezing and massaging the skin. He rubs your nipples experimentally in the same way you did a moment ago. “Razor, hngh,” 

A noise is pulled from the back of his throat, a growl - so hard and heavy that it reverberates into your skin. You can feel it spread through your whole body, your core tightening up. Your skin is prickly. A solar flare shooting through your spine. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aroused. You can hardly breathe around the weight of it sitting in your chest.

“Your scent..change.” Razor says through a breath, a thick layer of saliva where his mouth once was “Hot. So hot.” 

You nearly whimper. 

“ It’s because I’m wet…Aroused.” 

“Wet?”

“It means I want to be touched. I want you to touch me down there.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Want me..to mate with you.” He sits up onto his knees, staring at you. Your legs are around his waist loosely. He presses a hand to your clothed sex. You jolt at the contact. “Want me to fill you, here?” 

He puts his hand on your hip, on your stomach - before tucking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“Want to see. What’s wet, I want to see.” 

You lift your legs slightly, pulling your shorts off as you're bent at the knee. It’s embarrassing being bare naked in front of Razor, though you’ve seen him in the same state plenty. He’s quick to grab your knee and force your legs apart wide. He’s got that same focused stare, tongue poked out as he brushes the coarse hairs on your mound with his knuckle. You squirm under the feeling. 

“Pretty,” He says first, then follows with “It’s…very warm. Hot but doesn’t hurt” 

Razor explores with his hands. He runs his finger along your slit, before using his thumbs to spread you apart. He nudges your clit. At first you wonder if it's an accident, but when he does it again - rubs a pointed circle on the aching bundle of nerves you realize he’s being intentional. 

“Here, right?” Razor says slowly and gauges your reaction “Feels good for you…here. Helps.” 

You want to ask who taught him such a thing but you already know the answer. You nod helpless, feeling the way his thumb goes back and forth. He tries it in different ways, watches whatever way makes your breath hitch the most. 

“Here makes you… jump. Like bunny rabbit. Like prey”

The word prey almost takes you out. You can’t make your words out very eloquently anymore. “It’s uhm sensitive.” 

He knows the word. You’ve taught him it. He looks at your bare cunt all awestruck, gloved hand resting on your sex as he continues to toy with your clit. You squirm and shake, even trying to pull away. Razor manages to grab you, keeps you pinned with your legs spread, using his own body to keep you like that. 

“Razor,” You moan, grabbing at his wrist “Razor.” 

“Mm. It’s soft. So soft.” 

“I want to see yours.” 

It takes him a second to register your words, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest when he does. He takes off his gloves right before. You’ve felt it, briefly, the weight and heft of his cock through clothes but you’ve never actually seen it. You gasp as he pulls it out, tucking his pants down under his balls. He’s hairy - thick dark gray hairs nested at the base. His cock has a pretty curve up, tip ruddy and bright. It’s drooling, dribbling pre-cum and heavy. He wraps his free hand around the base and strokes it instinctively. It’s a good length, but it’s thick. Thicker than you could’ve ever conjured up in your own mind.

You reach for it between your bodies, your hands trembling as you touch it. Razor lets out another throaty growl. Your hand doesn’t fit around it completely. The back of your throat tightens up.

“You’re—it’s big. I can’t—not at once. I h-have to open myself up a little bit.” 

Razor tilts his head to one side and you shake yours in reply. 

“I need to uhm,” You gesture vaguely “Make it more..wet and stretch myself out. So you fit i-inside.” 

“Want to help. Teach me.” 

“...Teach you?” 

“Easier if I..learn now. When we do it again later. Teach me..how to touch you.” 

The words sound sweet coming out of his mouth, honeyed and loving. An obedient and eager pupil, Razor has always been that hasn’t he? And he always listens the best he can, tries his hardest. You suppose that this instance is no different. You suck in a breath and spread your legs a little more. 

“Watch,” 

Razor watches. He watches as you dip your fingers into your mouth and coat them with saliva. Watches as you snake a hand in between your legs and dip your middle finger down low into your cunt - with a trembling sigh at the sudden intrusion. He watches intimately as you pump them in and out, rhythmic and noisy. The sound of your own wet heat rings in your ears as you spread yourself in earnest. 

Half-way through, Razor puts a hand on your thigh. He pushes your own hand away, and waits for you to open your eyes. He stares at you, long and hard. 

“I want to eat you. Want to lick,” His hand cups your bare pussy “Here. Make you wet. Open you by myself. Want to eat.” 

You’re speechless. Profoundly turned on by the sentiment, so much so you can’t make out your own voice. 

“Uhm,” You close your hands into a fist, tucking your chin. “You can do whatever you like, Razor.” 

He assesses the statement and you watch him take it in. He ends up on his stomach, lying between your thighs. You’re fascinated by his assurance in himself. He takes the right position between your legs. You spread out to give him easier access and he gives you a silent look of thanks. His breath is warm as it fans your cunt. 

Before you get a chance to breathe, Razor sticks his tongue and licks. It’s animalistic with no real finesse at all. He makes up for it with enthusiasm and some conclusions he’s drawn with your assistance. He sucks on your clit nearly feverish, takes it into his mouth like he did your tits minutes prior. It’s drooly and sticky and nasty in a way that makes you ashamed. You’re more ashamed because you like it, you love it really. Spit is running down, dripping down to your ass. It’s a loud slurp - a shameless, nasty hunger in how he licks up your arousal with his mouth and drenches your pussy with spit. 

His groans reverberate into you. He likes what he’s doing. The sound and touch and taste - Razor overwhelms you with all of it. There’s a tangible intensity wrapping up around you, keeping you trapped in the wolf's den. 

You don’t teach him to use his fingers. He seems to have figured it out. The pad of his middle finger draws the spit pooling along your seam before pushing itself into your tight hole. You gasp at how invasive it is at first. Razors fingers are thick and scarred and you can feel the ridges of your raised skin from healed injured when he fucks you open with them. 

It feels good. Being wanted. Being consumed voraciously and openly without any care for shame. Razor is the embodiment of raw desire and all of it- every ounce of it is being used to devour you. The descendant of wolves, the son of the forest - laid between your thighs and eating like something delicious left at an abandoned altar. 

Even clumsy, you’re turned on beyond reason. Arousal leaves you shakily pawing at him to slow down. Your voice is reduced to nothing but small whines and mewls - pleas to slow down that fall on deaf ears. 

“Razor,” Your voice is clipped “Razor, please - it’s enough. Just.” 

When he snaps out of his haze, his chin is soaked with arousal and spit. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking at you. 

“Tastes good. You taste nice.” He praises, heaving and out of breath. 

Your stomach flares up with new found lust, hands covering your face. 

“Archons, just. Come here.” 

Razor climbs up on top of you again. You cup his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on him. 

“You’re so unfair. But I can’t get angry because you’re not even doing it on purpose.”

“Sorry,” 

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth. Trembling with need. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I want you inside. Want you to fill me in here, so bad, Razor.” 

His eyes widen. Your desperation must reach him this time, because he nods. innocently. You’re thankful beyond words you’re on contraceptives. At this point, you think trying to use a condom would break you down.

“You just have to put it inside. But please go slowly, okay?” 

“Go slowly…won’t hurt you.” 

Razor sits up on his knees again, drawing your waist down towards him. Before he pushes into you, he lays his cock against your sex - pushing it between messy folds. His expression morphs, his jaw tensing as the head of his cock swells and throbs against your aching clit. It slides and slips so messily, pussy clinging to his hard length. You guide his cock towards your entrance while he leans forward over you. His palms are rough as they grab your hips, hands settling up under your knees. 

You can feel his cock as he rolls his hips slowly. Your nails dig into his back, indenting the skin as you cry out. It’s thick, intrusive as he pushes into your tight little hole. Even after opening you up, there’s an ache inside as the head stretches your pussy open. The raw drag of skin on skin as Razor pushes inside of you. You can feel him with every movement, your legs wrapped around his waist tight.

Razor has always had a limited vocabulary. He likes to speak in short sentences since it’s what he does best. His speech now is a lot more developed, but he still finds it troublesome. 

It stuns you when Razor's grip tightens and he swears under his breath - a single word, long and drawn out as his cock pushes into you deeply. 

“Fuck,” 

“R-razor?” 

“Feels good…feels so good. Want…move. Please.” 

“You can move, just let me hold onto you okay?” 

Razor tucks his head against your neck before he fucks you. In one smooth motion, he pulls himself out completely before shoving himself back in. It’s as gentle as he can go, but you can practically feel him shaking above you. How his whole being urged him to fuck you llike an animal. The desperation rolls off of him in waves, his own hands gripping tighter as he slowly finds a rhythm to fuck you in. Clumsy thrust that turns into careful calculated ones as you urge him to go deeper. 

“Deep,” Razor pants against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His voice is a low growl as his hips snap up to meet the back of your thighs with each thrust. Your bed creaks each time he moves, the frame knocking against the wood “I’m deep inside you,” 

“Razor,” You sneak a hand between your bodies, clumsily toying with your clit - pleasure ruining your every thought “Harder. Give it to me harder.” 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Razor gives up on trying to hold himself back. He fucks you with nearly reckless abandon, an impressive amount of strength and weight behind each thrust. His dick pushes in and out of you hard and fast in the most unromantic way. You can feel it all the way up to your throat. It makes the back of legs and and your lower half feel tingly. Your head is blank, nothing but spotted white in your vision. You blink them open to look at Razors face. 

He’s biting at his lower lip hard, focusing all of himself on his thrusts. He’s enduring it well. Your insides clench, a fluttery sensation starting to build up between your legs. You can feel it in your belly, the knot starting to untie. 

Razor is starting to feel it too him. 

“Inside so, ngh - hot.  S-something coming, going to—” 

“A little more. Gonna cum soon, Razor. Feels so good, you make me feel so good.” 

Your mindless praise makes him whimper. A soft noise that echoes through you. You repeat it over and over, in a high voice like you’d praise a puppy. Razor takes it in beautifully, trying so hard not to succumb to his own desires. He restrains despite how hard and how fast and how deep he’s fucking you. You know it’s not easy. 

“I’m gonna c-cum, Razor,” You say, at the very edge “Cum with me. It’s okay, you can let it out.” 

You cum hard. Harder than you think you ever have in your life, then you’ve ever been able to manage by yourself. The sensation hits all at once, like falling through the sky, you can feel the clouds pushed away by the weight of you coming down through. Your insides tighten and tense one last time before everything releases at once, and waves of the aftershock leave your pussy fluttering. You’re washed with pure euphoria, crying out Razor’s name as you cum. 

Razor is quick to follow you. Your own orgasm seems to drive him over the edge, and he cums deep inside. He muffles his cry by biting into your shoulder, groaning as hot seed spills into your cunt with a harsh stutter of hips. He fucks into your pussy, soft and messy before bottoming out and nearly collapsing on top of you. 

It takes you a long minute to catch your breath well enough to speak. 

You rub Razors back soothingly before you do. He lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks at you. 

“Wow,” He says, eyes wide and blown out. You can’t help but break out into a fight of laughter “Love you…”

“I love you too, Razor.”

“Wanna do it again,” Razor says, looking at you seriously “Can I?” 

You feel a pulse of warmth through your whole body before nodding. 

“Uhm. Yes. Just give me a break first, okay?” 

[jo-harrington]

Best Spring Break Ever (Eddie Munson)

Summary: Spring Break 1986, the way it should have gone.

Word Count: 3.2k

Characters: Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin (Jeff, Gareth, Dave - Unnamed Freak), Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, Wayne Munson

Themes/Warnings: No Upside-Down AU, Road Trip, Lighthearted, Boys Will Be Boys in the purest way possible, Nerd, Pop Culture References, one or two sneaky little references to Store Manager Verse (I had to)

Note: So a LONG TIME AGO I dropped a fun head canon that got lost to the cutthroat nature of the tags. It's not necessarily coming back to life per se but and now that I've promised @br0ck-eddie and @somnambulic-thing that I would do more Gen fics, I'm sort of giving it some more juice.

Gonna also use this for @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire and their Flip Flopped Summer Writing event. (I cheated on the length, sue me.)

Enjoy!

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

---

When one thought of words to describe Edward J. Munson, there were plenty to choose from.

Daring, dashing, brilliant, handsome--

"Douchebag," Gareth muttered under his breath.

"Can it, asshole," Eddie snapped from the driver's seat of the van, angling the rearview mirror so he could pin the younger boy with a scathing look. "Or I'll leave you behind."

"He's got a point though," Dave offered. The rearview mirror shifted again, revealing dark brown eyes that narrowed angrily.

"Sorry," Dave sunk in his seat.

--adventurous, non-conformist, a music legend...

But carpool mom had never been a contender.

Until now.

For Eddie, Spring Breaks were never exciting.

A lot of families in Hawkins took the days off school to go out of town. Vacation to someplace interesting or warm, trips up to the beach, or to a distant grandparent's house for a visit.

Eddie always stayed home. He enjoyed the silence of the town and the freedom to go anywhere and do anything he'd like. Wayne picked up some overtime while some of his coworkers were away, so there were a handful of extra hours for Eddie to play his music as loudly as he wanted, and some extra cash to splurge on a few nights of takeout.

This year was different though.

This year, Eddie had the misfortune of being friend, older brother figure, and role model to Dustin Henderson and his band of merry nerds.

The four of whom decided to enter into the All-State Science Fair in May with a project so ambitious and convoluted, they were either going to crash and burn, or get some kind of scholarship long before they needed to think of college.

And of course, when the time came to gather supplies for such an...extensive endeavor, the lowly freshman came to their good pal Eddie to help them procure some interesting items.

That was the thing with Eddie, though. He was sort of known for being the guy that could find things. Yeah, weed and other drugs from Reefer Rick, sure. But the phrases "I know a guy" and "I can try and cash in a favor" and "you owe me one" often passed through his lips, followed by a glint in his eye and a quirk of his lips.

For weeks he got the little idiots various items for their project, but when things on the list began to seem impossible to find--Rick had practically thrown him out when he had asked where to get liquid nitrogen--things started to get a little tricky.

Eddie, not one to let his friends down, complained about the whole ordeal to a friend he had unexpectedly made working at StarCourt over the past Summer--the Claire's store manager--and she had an interesting suggestion.

"Why don't you just go to the Science Surplus store in Chicago?" Eddie looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "What? Don't let the Cool Mall Girl facade fool you. I'd been known to dabble in science fairs and stuff when I was still in school."

"Nerd," he snorted before he waved for her to continue.

She told him about lab coats and machine parts and mystery boxes.

"It might be fun for you and your friends to drive up there and see it."

Thus, the Great Spring Break Roadtrip of '86 was born.

---

Well, more accurately, it was the Great Secret Spring Break Roadtrip of '86.

Because what parent--specifically Claudia Henderson--was going to let their kid spend a few days with no parental supervision? Where the only adult, technically, was Eddie.

She liked him, of course. Shit, most of the kids' parents liked him. But trust him to drive their kids hundreds of miles in a van that looked like it probably wasn't gonna make it 10 miles up the road?

That was another story.

But he was a schmoozer, a sweet-talker, a charmer, and in the end he got them all to agree to a few days up at the Dunes hiking and swimming and grilling hot dogs over an open fire.

If only the parents had been his harshest critics.

"When was the last time you had your brakes checked?"

"And your oil changed?"

"I heard some squeaking when you drove us home from Hellfire. I think there's something going on with your suspension."

"When did you become my pit crew?" Eddie snapped as he leaned against the front of the van and smoked the last cigarette he would have until they stopped for gas along the way.

Dustin, Mike, Will, and Lucas all froze in place. The older members of Hellfire Club leaned their heads out of the van to watch the interaction like the relentless busybodies that they were. Eddie flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before approaching the kids with his hands on his hips.

"We just wanna make sure it's safe," Mike was the first to speak up.

"It's safe," Eddie insisted. "I checked everything myself; Wayne wouldn't let me cross state lines if I hadn't."

Mike considered it for a second, then jumped into the van.

Dustin hummed doubtfully and kicked at one of the rear tires.

"Do you have a spare tire?" he questioned. "Just in case?"

Eddie nodded and even offered how to show everyone how to change a tire if the need ever rose.

"Gotta earn your keep somehow."

He mashed his hand on the top of Dustin's head as he passed.

Lucas and Will were last; they had their backs to him, heads leant together as they whispered conspiratorially. Eddie wondered for a moment if they even wanted to go--it was ok if they were scared--until they pivoted on their heels and began a barrage of questions about handling and off-roading and how prepared he was for any emergencies.

He was about to snap at them, tell them to shut up, when he saw a rolled up copy of Car and Driver in Lucas' hand and his brief annoyance faded.

He took a deep breath and stared up into the clear blue sky, begging whatever gods or devils there were to give him the patience to survive this trip.

"Listen," he huffed, "you either trust me and we go, or you don't and we stay. Even if I didn't have a stocked first aid kit--which, I don't, by the way...best you're gonna get are some crumpled band-aids in my glove box--it's not like we have all the time in the world to put one together.

"I promise. Everything will be fine. You trust me right?"

Lucas and Will turned away from him and whispered furiously once more. Before they stood up straight, looked him dead in the eye, and asked something that made Eddie let out a bark of laughter,

"What about Second Breakfast?"

---

They stopped for gas an hour in.

What should have been a ten minute stop turned into an hour. Bathroom breaks all around and then debates over which snacks to get.

"Don't waste all your money," Eddie fussed over them, pulling bags of candies and chips from their hands and stuffing them back onto shelves. "You're not gonna eat it all for one thing. And I'm not gonna clean puke out of my van if you try and end up making yourselves sick."

Suddenly the four freshman were all talking over each other with "mom never lets me have funyuns" and "what if we get the smaller bag?" Jeff, Gareth, and Dave all snickered and watched from afar as Eddie taught them The Art of Gas Station Snacks.

By hour two, the radio stations became unfamiliar, Eddie's mix tapes got boring, and slug bug was impossible. That's when everyone began fighting over the road map to play navigator, even though Eddie insisted that it was Jeff's job, since he called shotgun. But no one cared, especially not when--

"Hey I know our cover is camping at the beach," Mike piped up from the back. "But we're actually going to pass the Dunes. Can we go?"

Some of the others started to agree, mentioning how their moms packed their swim trunks.

"Hey!" Eddie snapped at them and then reached back to jam a finger into the map. "We passed the exit already. Better luck next time."

"But how about on the way back?" Dave suggested. "It's getting too crowded in here. A little fresh air would be nice."

And Eddie would have fought them, the thing was...he kind of agreed with Dave.

The members of Corroded Coffin were used to just the four of them and their band equipment. Now there were seven of them, on top of all their backpacks and sleeping bags, Eddie's guitar, and a cooler full of snacks and drinks. There was too much noise, too much arguing. One absolutely rancid fart had been tooted without admittance, which led to everyone just ripping one without a care in the world.

On the other hand, did he really want to have to clean sand out of the van once this trip was over?

"Alright," he finally shouted over the others, causing them to quiet down. "If everyone behaves the rest of the way, we'll see about making a stop at the Dunes on the way back."

---

Their accommodations that first night were less than ideal.

Rick had mentioned something once about forest preserves and camp sites once when he'd driven up to Chicago to meet up with some fishing buddies. So Eddie figured renting a campsite would be fun, not to mention cheaper than a motel. They'd sleep under the stars, just like he'd promised all of their parents, grill some hot dogs and roast marshmallows for s'mores.

It would be great.

But building a campfire was harder than it looked--especially when you had six sets of eyes on you--the ground was hard to sleep on, and then at some point in the night, a storm rolled in and they all had to pile into the van to stay dry.

Chalk it up to Murphy's Law.

"Should have sprung for a cabin instead," Jeff joked as they all struggled to fit in the back of the van after they all sought shelter inside.

Come morning, they were all tired and sore and grumpy, and Eddie drove through McDonalds for steaming hot hash browns and egg mcmuffins to shut them all up.

Then they finally reached their true destination.

The American Science and Surplus Center was an unassuming building in a busy suburb north of the city. Busier than Hawkins, at least. Eddie had to drive around the block several times before he realized the entrance was in the back of the building, gravel parking lot and all.

As soon as they set foot inside, it was a sensory overload, but it felt like home.

Colorful signs everywhere, aisles filled with bins of bottles and beakers and corks and machine parts. There was a man who looked like he stepped out of Doctor Who by the cash register, and about a dozen lab skeletons situated around the perimeter of the store dressed to look like famous scientists.

All of the boys scattered once they picked their jaws up off the floor and they, quite literally, spent hours scouring the store finding one amazing thing after another.

Dave and Jeff went to the back corner where there was a display of army surplus. Garerth found an entire aisle dedicated to models and kits. Eddie walked around picking up things at random. Things that just seemed interesting and weird, his imagination putting different bits and bobs together to create mini figures for mechanical foes for the next--and maybe last--campaign he created as the DM for Hellfire.

It was a bittersweet moment for him.

And the kids? Well, they were either the worst customers in the world or the best. They were running around, throwing things into baskets, trying to figure out how much of this or that they needed for their project.

This was a once in a lifetime trip so they were determined to get everything they needed now.

Of course, that ended up causing a problem. Because there was only one of a certain item on their shopping list and Dustin wasn't the only person to grab it.

Eddie heard the commotion before he saw it.

"I need this."

"So do I."

"I touched it first."

"Well I saw it first. Finders keepers."

The other freshman were quick to jump into the verbal tousle, disrupting everyone in the store, and Eddie was quick to abandon his own shopping to go and see what was wrong.

Only to find the dweebiest tug of war on the planet: His four little sheepies versus three equally dorky-looking boys. It was a flurry of gangly limbs, sweaty hands, mom-provided haircuts, and pressed khakis as they argued over the one thing all of the kids seemed to need for their respective projects.

Eddie figured it was better to intervene before someone got a nosebleed from stress.

"Hey guys, cut it out, what are we arguing for?"

"Who's this?" the apparent leader of the other kids snapped. "The barber shop is down the street if you need a haircut Bon Jovi."

"Alright Revenge of the Nerds, calm down," Eddie snapped. "Just trying to make sure this doesn't end in a bloodbath. What's going on here?"

"We need that air pump," Dustin nodded down to the box he was holding onto for dear life.

"Well so do we. And we saw it first."

The kids started talking over each other again until Eddie whistled sharply.

"How about," he suggested and dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a shiny quarter, "we flip a coin?"

"No way!"

"No chance!"

"This air pump is ours," the rival nerd scoffed.

"What if we just beat you up and took it?" came a voice the next aisle over. Eddie glanced over his shoulder and shot daggers at his nosy friends.

"Not helping Jeff!" he hissed and turned back to the kids. "It's either a coin toss or nothing."

Eventually, both groups agreed, and Dustin was even gracious enough to let the other kids call it. Eddie flicked the coin into the air, the nerd called heads, and then time seemed to slow.

Eddie's thoughts raced through all of the possibilities. He really couldn't give a shit about these other nerds but...damn they deserved a fair shot at it. And his friends...he didn't want them to come all this way just for disappointment.

There was a clink as the coin hit the ground and bounced.

Then another clink.

Then a clatter as it landed.

Tails.

---

Another hour passed victoriously in the science surplus store and everyone's mood went up exponentially.

Eddie spent a little extra cash to get a soldering iron that he found in a clearance bin. Dustin and Lucas got to explain their whole project to the wannabe timelord, who was excited at the prospect of flash freezing ice cream. Not to mention Dave, who flirted with the evening manager as she came in for her shift; he even got her number, the lucky schmuck.

The sun was setting by the time they made it back outside, chattering happily about their finds, but they stopped in their tracks as they found the rival nerd standing near the van with a tall, polished boy in a letterman jacket beside him.

"This them?" the jock asked the younger boy.

"Yeah," he glared at them all and then pointed at Mike. "And that's the one who flipped me off."

Eddie could feel Mike tensing beside him--obviously regretting what he had done in the throes of victory--and he took a step forward, hands held in front of him to show he meant no harm.

"Hey guys listen," he started. "What are we doing here? What's fair is fair. We flipped a coin."

"My brother said it was rigged," the jock accused.

Eddie snorted, "how could I possibly rig a coin toss? Here I'll even show you the quarter."

The jock, curious, took a step forward, despite his brother whining for him to "just beat them up already."

Eddie shoved a hand in the pocket of his jacket and rooted around for a moment, before swiping his sneakered foot across the ground, sending gravel and sand and whatever else made up the parking lot into the two boys' faces.

"Go, go, get in the van," he hollered to his friends, who immediately crossed the lot and piled into the vehicle.

Once the doors were locked and the key was in the ignition, they all hollered in triumph, Gareth even yelling for Dave to "hit 'em with the pressed ham" as they pulled out of the parking lot.

And Eddie wondered if it was cowardly for them to have done what they did. For him to have done that.

He didn't want to be known as the guy who ran from trouble.

But hearing his friends' laughter, knowing their safety was ensured, he figured that sometimes running away was ok.

---

Dinner was reminiscent of something out of a heroic legend.

The IHOP off Route 64 had become a mead hall with drinks sloshing over the edges of cups and laughter and cheers in abundance as they regaled each other with more fantastical versions of the non-existent battle they'd just survived.

As though Eddie had been Beowulf and his foe the dastardly Grendel.

"He had to be 7 feet tall," Lucas awed. "And like...400 pounds."

"I'm never worrying about Jason Carver beating me up again if we survived that guy," Mike agreed.

"You're gonna have to fail again this year so you can stick around and protect us Ed. At least until I graduate," Gareth told Eddie, who protested that he didn't even do anything.

Then everyone erupted into a good-hearted merriment again.

Eddie felt a little bad for the waitress who would clean up after them, but he couldn't do anything to stop his friends joy and excitement.

Instead, he left a very generous tip once they left.

Their second night of camping was much more successful than the first. There were no attempts at a fire and no s'mores to be had, but Eddie broke out his guitar and strummed some familiar songs that had everyone asleep in no time.

Almost everyone.

He stayed up for a little longer though, smoking and staring up at the sky through the canopy of the trees. There was something special being out here, and he wondered if all of the heroes in his favorite stories felt like that, seeing all of their companions safe and asleep under their watch and the watch of the stars above.

There was a rustle of a sleeping bag and Dustin looked over at Eddie with bleary eyes.

"Why're you still up?" he asked. "Gotta take a dump or something?"

Eddie snorted and crushed the butt of his cigarette underfoot.

"Just thinking," he waved a hand dismissively. "Get back to sleep. Gotta drive back in the morning, and we need to hit the road early if you guys still wanna go to the beach."

He was about to take his own advice and settle into his sleeping bag when Dustin called his name again.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I dunno," there was another rustle as Dustin shrugged. "For driving us out here, for getting all of the stuff we've been asking you to get, for protecting us...for being our friend."

"Don't mention it Henderson," Eddie smiled warmly. "What else was I gonna do? Let you guys lose the science fair."

"It's more than that."

"I'm sure that Harrington would've helped you if I hadn't."

"Steve's a cool guy but seriously," Dustin insisted. "He wouldn't have done all of this for us."

Eddie didn't know how to answer that, so he just hummed and closed his eyes.

The last thing he heard before he fell asleep, to dreams of guitar solos and bats and epic adventures...

"Best Spring Break Ever."

[just-jordie-things]

[part ten] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 4.2k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part ten] : “Cursed Tool”

It was fair to say that (y/n) had severely abandoned her training.  She still practiced here and there, but it was few and far between, and it certainly wasn’t on her list of priorities.  She hadn’t really noticed this.

Her friends, the over-involved spies they were, were completely aware.

Satoru bothered her endlessly about practicing with her cursed technique more, once she seemed to be in a better headspace, anyways.  He’d trail after her once classes were done, pester her to go out for a training session, he even playfully suggested a game of teleport tag.  (y/n) had been blowing him off for weeks.

Shoko brought it up a few times, casually, unlike the white haired man who’d never known the meaning of the word.  (y/n) brushed her off too, but she’d never seemed too bothered to be asked about it.  Shoko was easier to distract with a cigarette and a coffee.

Even Suguru, who (y/n) noticed seemed to be around less and less, still found the time to scold her for not keeping up with her training.  Just like the others, she let the comments slide.

(y/n) figured for some time now that she’d find the time to practice once things with Megumi settled down.  She had too much work to do to properly focus on his cursed energy, and help him grow into it, that the prospect of developing her own was out of the question.  Once Megumi understood his growing power and was able to protect himself with it, then she could help herself.

Foolishly, she hadn’t thought about the consequences of this choice, and (y/n) didn’t realize just how quickly her time was running out.  That was until Yaga asked her to stay behind in class one Thursday afternoon.

Shoko gave her a wave with the promise of meeting up to study later.  ‘Study’ of course meaning a smoke break where they could catch up and talk about anything but classes.  

Satoru followed her out without a word, but his eyes hung on (y/n) for a moment too long.  She furrowed her brows at him, as though to ask him ‘what?’.

He turns away and follows Shoko into the hall.

(y/n) approaches her teacher’s desk, a kind smile as she asks him what he needed her for.

“Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?” Yaga folds his hand over his desk, and (y/n) nods curtly.  “Fact is, it’s been a while since you’ve taken an assignment, and I’ve been trying to select the right one to hand of to you, and now I’ve found one that I think would be perfect for your re-entry into the field”

For a second, (y/n’s) frozen, and she swears that her heart has stopped beating in her chest.  Her face is expressionless, and her hands are still, curled around the edge of Yaga’s desk.  Once his words really settle into her mind, her grip tightens on the stained wood.

“Sensei, with all due respect I don’t think I’m-”

“You’re perfectly ready,” Yaga tells her before she could finish.  “These last few weeks have been hard on you.  You’ve gone through more than anyone your age should.  But it’s time,” He pauses, carefully choosing his next words, “I know you’ve been working on maintaining your routine, and it’s time to allow your work as a sorcerer to settle back to your roots”

(y/n’s) relaxed, expressionless face was starting to feel itchy.  And hot.  Her eye twitched as she stared down at her teacher, who seemed to be dead serious, even though her first instinct was to laugh in his face.

“I really don’t think it’s the right time,” She spoke slowly, so as to keep her voice as even as she could.  “I still need time to process Yu- and- and I just have so much going on that I-”

“(y/n),” Yaga cut her off again.  “While I appreciate you being honest with me, this is already final,”

(y/n) watches closely as he leans back, opening a drawer, and producing a folder.  He tossed it onto the desk in front of her, nodding his head for her to take it.

(y/n) stared back at him, unmoving.

“It would be a quick assignment.  Just the weekend.  And you’d get to see Brazil” He adds that last part with a flashy smile, like she was supposed to be excited about travel.  

“I don’t need to see Brazil,” Her tone drops.  “I don’t want to see Brazil”

“Flight takes off Saturday morning,” Yaga states bluntly.  “You’ll get picked up at six”

(y/n’s) eyes narrow to a glare.

“I’m not going”

“You’re going.  It’s a Grade Two.  You should be able to tidy that up in, what, a couple hours?” He raised his palm, pretending to think it through.  “I let the elders know you’d need longer, since it’s your first time back on the field.  The rest of the time I’ve allotted is for you to relax once it’s done”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“(y/n)-”

“No, really, is that what you’re looking for? Now that I’m supposedly done grieving over the death of my friend, I should just get back to normal life? Huh? I should be grateful that I get to have a little vacation time in Brazil?”

Her voice was rising with every word until she barely even realized she was leaning over the desk and yelling right in her teacher’s face.  However Yaga barely looked fazed.  He simply pushed the folder closer to (y/n), staring at her with a hard expression in his eyes.

“I don’t need you to be grateful.  But if you still want to pursue a life in this field, then you need to be wise,” He tells her, his eyes never once moving from hers.  “You haven’t taken a proper assignment in months, (y/n).  I understand there are devastating circumstances, I understand what you’re going through.  But I can’t stick my neck out for you forever, (y/n)”

Hesitantly, (y/n) stepped back, her knuckles sore from how tightly she’d been gripping the desk.  Her hands relaxed at her sides.  Carefully, her eyes moved from the unopened folder, to her teacher.

It dawns on her now that she hadn’t taken a proper assignment in almost eight months now.  Maybe even longer if she took a second to think about it.

Had Yaga been covering for her this whole time? Her heart sinks at the thought.  All this time she’d blown it off, assuming that Satoru and Suguru were being handed any and every assignment that came up.

Now she realizes she’s been in the wrong this whole time.  She’d been avoiding her training, and she hadn’t thought much at all about taking on missions, not when Megumi and Tsumiki still needed her like they do.

But now, looking at it with a fresh set of eyes, she wasn’t sure she could get out of this one.

(y/n) sighs, reaching for the folder with reluctance.

“Saturday at six?” She mutters.

Yaga grins.

“That’s the spirit” He tells her.

Without another word, he stands from his desk and leaves the classroom.  (y/n) glares down at the paper folder in her hands, before following him out.  

She’s stopped before she can take off towards her dorm.

“An assignment, huh?”

“Satoru, you creep up on me so much, I’m almost used to it”

The white haired sorcerer beams, crossing his arms as he slid in front of her path before she could walk away.  Despite her annoyance, (y/n) stays put in front of him.

“I’ll have to find something else to keep you interested in me, huh?” He chuckles.

(y/n) only blinks in response.

“So, Brazil,” Satoru changes the subject.  “Sounds like a fun time”

“Do you always eavesdrop on conversations that don’t involve you?” (y/n) muses.

“Well how else will I get involved?” He replies easily.  “You didn’t sound all too excited.  What was that about?” He tilted his head to the side, but somehow, he was still peeking out over the top of his sunglasses.

“I don’t love picking up and leaving suddenly.  Sue me,” (y/n) rolls her eyes.  

It wasn’t a total lie, she did like more than a day’s notice for long-distance missions like this one.  But the other factors in her distaste were a bit more pressing.  

“Did you really listen in on the most boring conversation because of that?” She asks him, trying to brush past the subject.  “What, are you jealous that they gave it to me and not you?”

Maybe deflecting could work, she decides.

(y/n) shoves the folder into his chest, and he doesn’t stumble at the harsh action, but she finds it curious that his infinity was down, and she was actually able to smack it against him.

“Well here,” She spits out, “You go if you want it so-”

“I don’t care about some lame-ass Second Grade Curse,” Satoru scoffs, throwing the folder back into her hands instantly.  “So which is it? Do you want to retire? Walk out like Nanamin?  Like you haven’t spent the last ten years of your life working towards assignments like this?”

(y/n) visibly bristles at the mention of their former underclassman.  Satoru notices, and it fuels his own annoyance enough that he asks the question that was really on his mind.

“Or are you just so wrapped up in something else that you’re trying to get out of it?”

(y/n’s) brows are drawn low as she glares up at him now.  The playful, meaningless attitude she’d given him before long gone, now replaced with the real thing.

“Kento didn’t just walk out,” She told him, her hands gripping the folder a little tighter than she needed to.  “His partner, his friend, died, and he did what he had to in order to keep his head”

“(y/n), I didn’t mean it like-”

“And I’m not walking out,” She cut him off.  “Just cause I don’t want to take on some stupid mission-!”

“Then what is it!?”

Satoru is yelling before he can calm himself down long enough not to, but (y/n) was raising her voice too and he knew if he couldn’t get her to listen he’d have to keep her attention somehow.

“What is it that you’re letting hold you back, huh?” He lowers his volume, but the bitterness in his voice is still present.  “What could be so much more fucking important than some in-n-out mission that the old you could get done before day’s end, huh? What the hell is it, (y/n)?”

The frown on her lips is twitching, begging to turn into a scowl.  What little patience is left inside of (y/n) is fighting for it’s life not to be cruel to the man in front of her.  

But she could only keep her composure for so long.

“It’s none of your business, Gojo” She mutters.

The use of his surname was the final straw.  Satoru was done with this game of tiptoeing and joking around.  He was over the secrets and blatant lies.  And most of all, he was over (y/n) pretending like she didn’t matter to him, like he shouldn’t even care about it at all.

“None of my business, huh?” He repeats with a scoff.

For a second, he looked away, shaking his head as he worked to ignore the way his throat felt hot.  Just as quickly as he had, he was recollecting himself and hardening his expression to hide any sort of vulnerability.

“Sometimes it feels like you make it my business, (y/l/n),” He spits her last name out with the same poison he’d been hit with from her.  “When you can’t take control of your own fucking cursed technique without my help,” He reminds her viciously.  “Or you can’t even sleep at night unless I’m there, what about that, huh?”

Her hands are curled around her folder so tight, her knuckles are white, and she’s crinkling the papers of her assignment.  She doesn’t care that her reports will look unprofessional now, because it’s the only thing keeping her from smacking Gojo Satoru across his smug, asshole face.  If she were a cartoon character, smoke would be coming out of her ears.

“Then don’t,” Her voice was low, but it betrayed her with a slight crack of emotion.  “I don’t need the Gojo Satoru protecting me like everyone else, I’m fine on my own.  And I’ll handle my shit, on my own”

Gojo’s snarling expression falters, and he blinks as he leans back from her a bit, trying to backtrack in his mind to the moment when he’d pushed her too hard.

From the first second, probably, he thinks to himself.  I fucked up instantly.

He sighs, and relaxes his tense muscles before he tries for an apology.

“Look, (y/n)-”

“No, just-”

(y/n) cuts him off, but quickly shakes her head, not knowing the right thing to say to keep him from pressing once and for all.  She swallows thickly to clear her burning throat, trying to come to terms with what she was about to say.  When her eyes land on his sunglasses again, she hopes they don’t betray her with their wetness.

“Just leave me alone, Satoru,” She tells him, and now his forename sounds evil coming from her, too.  “Just fuck off wherever you go when you’re not bothering me.  Anyone else will bend over backwards on a whim for whatever the fuck you need, so go bother them.  Anyone else.  Because I don’t need you,”

It’s harsh.  It’s beyond harsh, it’s cruel.  Probably one of the cruelest things she’s ever said to anyone, but she knows this is exactly what he needs to hear if she’s going to push him away and keep him away.

He’s still standing there, not a single muscle on his body moving.  She can’t see his eyes from behind his shades, but she assumes they must be blank as he stares at her.  She wishes he would just teleport away.

Her chest feels hollow.  And her throat feels tight.

“I don’t need you to help me with my technique, I don’t need you to help me sleep, and I don’t need you to nitpick every little thing I do every second of the day,”

She’s losing breath, but she knows if she allows herself to collect the oxygen she needs, her chest will heave to steal it, and she’ll lose her false composure.  Realizing this, she delivers her final blow.  

“I.  Don’t.  Need.  You”

(y/n) blinks strategically to make sure not a single drop of the wetness in her eyes could fall.

Her fingers begin to tremble.

Satoru’s silence lasts for a few seconds longer, as does his eerie stillness, but finally, his expression cracks, and he scoffs quietly.

“Fine,” His voice is quiet, but there’s a finality to it that lets her know she was successful in her heartbreaking scheme.  “If that’s what you want, then fine,” He continues, before leaning over to meet her at eye level.

He doesn’t need his Six Eyes to know that she’s on the verge of tears, that whether she meant what she said or not, it was hurting her just as much as she was trying to hurt him.  Nonetheless, this was her choice, and if that’s what she wanted, he’d give it to her.  

Satoru had known for some time that he would do anything she asked of him.  If she couldn’t sleep at night without him, then he’d lay in her bed with her, wide awake from dusk till dawn.  If she needed a training partner, a friend to talk to, a book, lunch, money, his soul- Satoru would find a way.  Of course, he knew what this implied- this desire of his to provide any little thing she wished- he knew that it meant his heart was no longer his to claim.

Knowing this, knowing he’d do anything she asked and now she was asking him to go away, hurt more than any nasty words she could throw at him.  Seeing the gloss of tears in her eyes as he told her he’d follow this command made him feel like his body had been split in two.  Every instinct told him to tell her no, tell her I’m staying, whether you need my help or not.

Or what’s worse to admit, I’m staying, because I’m the one who needs you.

There’s a child, deep inside of his subconscious, who’s crying.  He’s wailing loud enough for Satoru to hear.  He’s deeply lonely, and desperate to be loved, and he’s begging for him not to let his next words come out of his mouth.

Satoru doesn’t listen.

“But I’m done with this stupid game of yours, (y/n),” He tells her, and the low voice he speaks in sounds angrier than any holler, yell, or scream ever could.  “So don’t come fucking crying to me about it later”

When she blinks, he can see a tear catch on her eyelash.  His heart wilts like a sunflower under the clouds.

“Trust me.  I won’t” She tells him with certainty.

A brief moment later and Satoru’s standing straight, and walking away from her.  He has nowhere to be, and he’s not walking in any specific direction to go somewhere besides that wherever he’s headed, it’s away from her.

(y/n) stays put in the corridor for a few minutes longer, frozen, clutching her wrinkled folder of an assignment to her chest and staring at an insignificant spot on the floor for a period of time she couldn’t really keep track of.

She’s not sure how long it was since Gojo had left, but when she’s finally sure he’s far enough away, she breaks. ___

“I have something for you,”

Megumi’s eyes light up with a gleam that only a child receiving a gift could display.

“It’s not that exciting,” (y/n) tells him sheepishly, before reaching into the pocket of her jacket.  “But it is important, and I need you to promise me that you’re going to hold onto it”

His brows are furrowed with uncertainty, but Megumi nods adamantly.

“Okay.  Promise”

(y/n) produces the small token, a thin rope with a small stone on it.  Megumi’s confusion only deepens at the odd gift.

“A necklace with a rock?” He asks as she carefully drops it in his hands.  He studies it closely, as if there was some secret to why this was a special present that he now promised he would keep.

When he doesn’t find anything unique, he gives her a blank stare.  (y/n) chuckles quietly.  

“It is” She agrees with his blunt observation, and picks it back up from his hands, and holds it open so that she could slide it over his head.  The little stone sits on his chest, and Megumi picks it up again to inspect once more.

“Why is this important?” He asks, narrowing his eyes in case there was a tiny detail he was missing.

“Because I laced it with cursed energy,” (y/n) explains.  “My cursed energy,”

The young boy stares up at her, still lost.

“You know how I told you that students studying to become Jujutsu Sorcerers have to go on missions to take care of curses?” She reminds him.  He nods.  “Well… I’ve been asked to go on one of those missions”

“Oh,” Megumi mumbles, his gaze falling to the floor.  “Do they take a long time?”

“Not a long time, no,” (y/n) shakes her head.  “But I won’t be here this weekend.  I leave on Saturday”

“Oh” Megumi says again, quieter.

“But,” (y/n) continues, craning her neck so that she could meet his gaze, “I will be here as soon as I’m finished, alright?”

He nods in a short, small motion.

“I’ve left your sister with a little extra spending money, so you guys can order pizza, or go to the bookstore, or rent a movie- whatever you want to do,” She tells him.  “I hope you can understand”

“I understand,” Megumi says.  “Curses are bad, you have to kill them”

“Exorcize,” (y/n) corrects with a small laugh at his choice of words.  “But you’re right, I do have to.  It’s my duty,” She says.  “And someday it can be yours too, if you want”

Megumi nods, his stare falling to his hands, studying them.  His bedroom is quiet for a bit as he thinks to himself, and (y/n) gives him the space to process everything she’d just told him.  It’s not long before he speaks again.

“So what’s so important about this necklace?”

“You remember my cursed technique?” (y/n) asks.

“... Hexing Eye?” Megumi answers, a bit unsure, but she beams back at him.

“That’s right,” She praises.  “Well, the downside of it is that it’s effects only last a day.  So if I were to hex you,” She raises her fingers to her forehead as if to use her technique.  “It would wear off by this time tomorrow”

“But you hexed the necklace?” Megumi asked, trying to fill in the blanks.

(y/n’s) smiling again, proud that he was able to catch onto jujutsu semantics so quickly, especially with only her minimal efforts as a teacher.

“Sure did,” She says.  “Think of it more as… preserved… in the necklace, if that’s easier,” Megumi nods in understanding.  “So when the stone is broken, the hex is released,” (y/n) makes a flashy gesture with her hands, mimicking an explosion.  “And that will pretty much summon me.  I’ll know to come to you, right away”

“Why can’t we just call you?” Megumi asks, that know-it-all tone in his voice that a parent would find annoying, but (y/n) found endearing.

“Of course you can call me,” She chuckles.  “But this,” She pointed to the stone that sat against his chest.  “This is for emergencies… dangerous emergencies, okay?”

She didn’t want to scare him, but she needed him to know just how important this cursed tool was, and exactly the situation he needed to use it in.

“Okay” Megumi repeats back to her, his azure eyes focused, and sure of what she meant.

“So… so if you find yourself… in a scary situation, or if either one of you are hurt…” (y/n) trails off, her eyes flickering between his to make sure she wasn’t being too grave.  “All you have to do is break that little rock,” She pushes the stone against his body again.  “And I’ll be there.  Do you understand?” He nods back at her.  “I’ll be there in a second.  So if you promise to use it if you ever find yourself in an emergency, I promise to be there right away.  Deal?”

Megumi gives her a small smile as he nods again, holding the stone protectively in his hand.

“Deal,” He agrees.  “I won’t take it off”

(y/n) smiles back at him, feeling much more at ease about her weekend trip to Brazil now that she had a Plan B for the Fushiguro kids.  

They won’t even need it, she tells herself.  But now I know they’ll be safe no matter what.

“Alright kid, it’s very late, and little kids need a good night’s rest” She says, lifting the covers for him to climb under.

“I’m not a little kid” Megumi grumbles, already back to his usual pouty demeanor.

(y/n) chuckles as he slides under the blankets and lets her tuck him in anyways.  Yeah, right, she thinks, but doesn’t say anything besides her usual goodnights and goodbyes.

Her walk home was bittersweet.  She’d accomplished everything she’d needed to today, all at a great cost.  Imbuing that necklace with her cursed energy had taken a toll on her strength, tiring her out for the rest of her day, enough that she was dragging her feet along the sidewalk.

Pushing away Satoru once and for all had taken a similar toll, as well.  But it presented itself differently.  It weighed on her shoulders, and clawed itself into her chest and settled there in a hollow, energy-draining feeling.  

She recognized it as guilt, but there was something else there that had been nagging at her mind since their fight earlier that day.  Something that made her feel like crying- even though she had already vented out all her tears before visiting the Fushiguro house.

She pondered on the sour, painful feeling on her late walk, even though giving it any attention made her chest hurt, and her eyes brim with tears.

Oh, it dawned on her once she’d finally reached her empty dorm.  She collapsed into bed without having changed into more appropriate clothes to sleep in.

The sheets reeked of warm sugar and pine.

Tonight was the first night since Haibara Yu had died that (y/n) would spend alone in her bed.

It was heartbreak. ___

a/n: i just love writing things that make me cry and i hope it makes u cry too >:’)

taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru @kamikokii​ @nerdiel-has-no-braincells​ @googlesheetshoe​ @vzleria​

xoxo ~ jordie </3

[buddierecs]

porn without plot buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

epiphanies, soft words, and hushed moans at the brink of dawn by brewrosemilk word count: 19k important tags: love confessions, first time, porn with feelings, frottage, barebacking, riding, come eating

the mouth is the thing that craves by underhung_aura "eddie loves buck and really loves buck's cock" word count: 11k important tags: cock slut!eddie diaz, blow jobs, cock warming, come eating, come sharing, face fucking, idiots in love

sweet, sticky, thick and pretty by goldenbcnes "the arm/competency kink fic" word count: 3.9k important tags: competency kink, arm kink, size kink, praise kink, dom!eddie diaz, sub!evan buckley, anal sex

in my head 'verse by: yourcatfishfriend "buck is confidently bisexual. eddie isn't sure. buck helps him figure it out" (incompleted series) word count: 43k important tags: friends with benefits to lovers, kink exploration, anal sex, come play, service top, rimming, oral sex, dom/sub, sex toys

today i live for a single drop of you by underhung_aura "five times buck dreams about sucking eddie's cock and the one time he actually gets to do it" word count: 38k important tags: 5+1 things, cock slut!evan buckley, feelings realisation, wet dreams, pining, blow jobs, praise kink

middle of the night (series) by: tawaifeddiediaz "buck and eddie take advantage of an empty house" word count: 15k important tags: shameless smut, couch sex, riding, sex toys, rimming, switching, exhibitionism, anal sex

sometimes you just don't know the answer until someone's on their knees by: badgerling "something's got to give between buck and eddie, but buck has no real plan for how that's going to happen. so eddie has to take matters into his own hands." word count: 5.5k important tags: getting together, love confessions, anal sex, blow jobs, dirty talk

your laugh (echoes down the hallway) by princessfbi "the long awaited jeep sex fic" word count: 5.5k important tags jeep (car) sex, semi-public sex, rough sex, blow jobs, praise kink, secret relationship.

take a deep breath for me by: kiwibuckley "eddie's interesting way to use a collar and a cock ring" word count: 8.1k important tags: kink exploration, cockslut! evan buckley, sex toys, collars, deep throating, oral fixation, cock warming, light dom/sub

[nanamimizz]

tags: 18+ minors dni, a/b/o verse, fem reader, omega reader, alpha john, licking, marking, themes of jealousy and possessiveness. for @prettyboykatsuki with their explicit permission.

synopsis: jealousy comes knocking on our door no matter what or when or why.

He doesn’t smell like you, it’s the first thing you realize when John Marston walks back into camp after taking Old Boy to the horse hitches with the rest of them. It makes your body twitch and stall for just a moment - you spill some water on the table that Mr.Pearson reprimands you for and you can only half apologize. You watch with sharp eyes how he moves, how he walks and how John easily slots himself next to the other men at the table with his hands on his gun belt even when he is passed a bottle of whiskey.

The camp is large and has a variety of scents and smells, one gets used to them and you can identify them as easily as picking out the white clouds from the blue sky. Pine for Charles, lavender for Mary-Beth and firewood for John Martson who is currently being covered by the scent of roses and cherries that you know no one at camp smells like and it makes something inside of you insane at this outsider’s scent. It’s enough to make you excuse yourself, marching over to the scarred man and tugging him behind you, away from the men who watch with amused expressions on their faces as John almost trips with the force you pull him into your shared tent.

The thick wooden beam that supports the middle of the tent is your witness stand as you push the taller, broader alpha to the wood and hold him there by the shoulders, nails digging through the sleeves of his coat. There’s an alarmed undercut to his firewood and brandy scent, agitation and nerves biting against your own as you bare your teeth at him.

“What is it with you, woman?” He asks you, dark brows furrowed and his scowl on his scared face would make anyone cower but you with your stubborn fearlessness that you push him further against the wood as the sweetness of your foreign scent turns sour in your agitation.

“Why do you smell like that - like some, fucking tramp?!” You hiss, voice low but venomous and John has no doubt that if you had a tail it would be flickering behind you with your jowls peeled back like some sort of feral hellcat. John frowns, brows pinched as he tries to free his arms from your grip.

“What you mean? I smell fine.” He throws back, bringing the lapel of his jacket to sniff half heartedly - picking up on nothing out of the usual. You puff, muttering some words under your breath. The only ones he catches are calling him the village fool as you crowd him, pressing yourself flush to him and John is happy that you closed the tent behind you so no one at camp can see how the fullness of your figure perfectly melts into his. There’s a flush to his cheeks that was not there before and you can’t notice it on how you feel sick on the scent of roses. On the tips of your toes, you press your face onto his neck and rub against the scent glands there. Pressing and rubbing until your cheeks shine with the scent of firewood and musk and brandy as you huff into his skin. Your tongue sneaks out to lap at the oils and John jumps beneath your silken touch as you moan softly against his flushed form. The salt of him melds onto your mouth as his scent clouds your mind and the sour-mango scent fogging the enclosed space of the tent blooms in golden nectar and clove.

It’s enough to make him moan, enough to make something heady flush in his mind as your teeth once bared nip and suck until the alabaster skin of his throat turns into purple petals of the jarul flower you would catch along the coasts. You pull away only to be tugged back and John’s voice is reduced to raspy little sounds in your ear as you lick, bite and suck at the other side of his neck until you can see the indents of your teeth as red as a sunset. If you could, you would have stayed there for hours, scenting and marking your John until he reeked of mangos and clove and henna leaves and so many things from the other side of the world.

“You’re mine, don’t ever - don’t ever come back smelling like you ain’t.” You mutter in between nips of your sharpened teeth.

So he’d never smell of anything other than you ever again.

But his name is called by Hosea, who’s voice is like a spear of sobriety through the veil of omega-posession and alpha-want that makes you pull away. John is a vision and you are too, red faced and panting; face slick with drool and oils from his scent glands. Dark eyes look at you with a wanting so deep you are tempted to disobey Hosea’s call until it rings out again clear as day. It makes John swallow, ducking his head and running a scared, calloused hand through his head as he nods to you.

“I’ll see you later, um…okay. I’ll see you tonight. Here.” He mutters, ducking away and out the tent flap cursing when he hears some of the men holler at the marks on his neck and the heavy scent of omega on his clothes. You find yourself unbothered as you step out and return to Mr.Pearson who finds himself unable to look you in the eyes.

[kynimdraws]

Is it gay to camp with ur bf and ur ex?

To see the story drabbles the prev part is here (all entries tagged under "#Hunter and the Mask Verse Story") Yone design ref for this verse can be seen in detail here

Let's find out under the cut lmao

Over a week had passed since they started their long trek through the desert to reach Nazumah. There had been some encounters with stray Bacci and dune hounds, which were taken care of relatively quickly. It was also fascinating for Yone to see K'sante in action: in the dense forests of Ionia he was far more careful about his swings with the ntofos. But in the vast dunes of Shurima, he seemed more in his element. The power and grace of his moves just seemed to belong here. Of course Yone's soul-sword techniques were sufficient to dispatch foes as well.

During one of the nights (K'sante figured that it would take another day or two to reach the outskirts around Nazumah), they suddenly find a relatively large party pass by. K'sante and Yone tense, since it was initially unknown whether this traveling group was friend or foe until…

"Tope!" K'sante calls after recognizing his former lover.

The two embrace and laugh, and the tension disappears immediately from everyone. The two parties set up camp.

"Traveling by night too? So not a hunt, I presume? Where are you headed?"

"No hunt. And I was about to go to Nazumah to warn the council there about…suspicious activity at the Sun Disc."

Tope informs that through Taliyah, there has been some unrest between Xerath's Magus cult and Azir's newly built Empire following. While the independent Shurima nations were aware of this building conflict due to the increased activity of soldiers, cultists, and Baccai…there never have been full on war.

"While I would just let those two fight until both no longer walk this earth, their violence might bleed into innocent tribes and nations that want nothing to do with them. And there are tales of Azir's descendant that may be able to sway the crazy emperor, and I wanted to recruit able-bodied people for the cause."

K'sante nods. His mother, who was one of the Nazumah councilwomen that ran the city-state, would surely agree with Tope's plan. But instead of assuming it was much better for them to get an audience with the netire council.

"Then I will help, and I will be guessing Nazumah will also support. With me and you, and others at our side…we will be unstoppable!"

Then the two men chatter about trivial things, mostly catch up with one another. Throughout this Yone quietly listens in, somehow finding himself sitting between them. He would have been content just being an observer, but Tope was not the type to let that pass.

"So, who is your travel companion K'sante? He isn't Shuriman that is for sure."

"Ah, about that…"

Tope holds up his hand, a signal for stop K'sante from talking.

"I know you are a great storyteller, but I want the stranger to answer."

Yone chuckles at that, and concedes. With SOME interjections from K'sante, Yone retells how the two had met and now are traveling back. Tope in the meanwhile that brought out some palm wine that was shared between the three.

"I see," Tope finally remarks after the storytime ends. "I am glad you found good company with K'sante. By the way did you know…"

Before K'sante would stop him, Tope started talking about some of his adventures with the man. Yone is very amused by much of them, especially whenever K'sante would awkwardly say how much of a reckless idiot he used to be in those earlier times.

As they finally settle to rest for the day, K'sante claims he needed to sleep early and steps out from the campfire. Seeing that Yone was not quite ready to join K'sante, Tope comes closer to talk to the man in private.

"So…how do you like him?"

Yone starts.

"What do you mean?"

"A man does not merely follow another man to his homeland just for saving him. You could have just stayed back in Ionia. To remain as good friends. But it seems there is something more than that."

Tope smiled warmly. Yone meanwhile felt a bit awkward, especially given how Tope was…K'sante's former lover. He just looks away and stays silent.

"For the record, I was not making fun of you," Tope starts up the conversation again. "I think you are good for him. He is not perfect, but I can see that he cares and is a better man especially towards you."

He laughs a little.

"If anything, it is quite funny seeing him tiptoe around you like you are a frightened dune gazelle, because he is usually much more direct about his feelings. I was surprised he introduced you as just a 'friend' after hearing all you went through."

"Oh?" Yone finally responds.

"K'sante is like a desert storm sometimes, he will just charge and say his piece. But with you…he is being gentle. As if he wants you to say something first. I think even if you reject him, he'll respect your decision."

Tope chuckles again, pouring the last of the palm wine for both.

"A toast, to whatever path you take in your life. Regardless of how you go with K'sante, knowing what you know now."

Yone nods and toasts to Tope's health in return. Finally the two eventually turn in for sleep.

[crxshed-skxlls]

Heya!

If they are still open, may I request some nsfw headcanons with colorful! L.j? Do you think he’d act differently from his faded self when he’s intimate with the reader? And can it me f reader as well, please 🙏 💕

Love your writing, man! Stay safe out there!

Very interesting concept, Anon. Your wish is my command 🙏

— ❝ 10 Colorful!Laughing Jack x Fem!Reader

NSFW tags: First times, oral sex (f recieving), pnv sex, protected sex, praise, teratophilia, biting/marks, and experimentalism elements, sub/dom elements

At first, Jack would be clueless to your hints. Every time you would sit on his lap or subtly move closer to his face, he wouldn't exactly get the hint. Only until you tell him does he finally starts to click everything together.

Since it would be his first time with anything of the sorts, he would be hesitant and nervous. Though, he wouldn't mind trying a new thing and experimenting with you.

Unlike his traumatized self, Colorful!LJ would lean more into soft dom/verse territory. He would always praise you, giving you gentle kisses as he stretches your cunt out with his dick. He would always get flustered when you took control however, becoming a whimpering mess with your praise and hypnotic attitude.

Colorful!Jack would totally use protection. Unlike the rough, unprotected sex that his darker version resides.. He's more gentle and giving when it comes to his first time actually having sex with you.

Jack would love to taste you. The way his tongue swirls around your swollen clit hungrily made you light headed for more. He would definitely give the best oral with that colorful tongue of his.

Jack would love to call you small pet names. Such as "Baby", "Toy", "Sweets", "Good girl", and "Dear" are the more common ones that he uses. His soft words always made your heart flutter as he pounded inside of you, blabbering soft praises to you.

Being a practical monster, Jack has an upper hand during sex. With his giant stature and cartoonish flexibility, he can provide a more interesting experience with sex than you could think. Though, he always makes sure to be careful with his plaything.

Jack doesn't like curse words or degradation during sex, although there are rare occurrences where he does end up breaking down.. And it's definately hot hearing him quiver a curse word or groan out a degrading comment.

Colorful!Jack would totally give the best aftercare in your life. The way his hands coil around your heavy figure as he mumbles precious petnames and praises as he attempts to clean you up a little bit. He especially loves when you two take bubble baths, playing childishly in the bubbles while he cleans you up.

Jack has a playful, teasing style to him that is quite charming in bed. The way he sparked needy whines from you as his tongue slowly slithers down your body sent you twinges of pleasure. The clown is also not opposed to cracking jokes or laughter in more awkward situations.

[romana-after-dark]

Finish the Job

Yandere!Jake Lockley x GN!reader

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Summary: After months living in a room with only Jake, Steven and Marc as company, you can't say you aren't content most of the time. Sometimes, however you make a little trouble and Jake reminds you that he is the only one who can keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Yandere!Jake. Reader is kidnapped. Implied/referenced rape (reader 'never said no' according to jake, but rather just gave in after an unclosed amount of time bc they were lonely/manipulated. The circumstances of this are v vague but remember, if you feel like you have to, its not consent.) Jake Lockley typical violence. Referenced past abuse.

A/N: I began writing this fem reader, as most of my fics are since I am fem, but I realized there was no reason this couldn't be gender neutral. So, that's what it is. If I missed changing anything that makes it seem like reader is fem presenting, lmk and I'll edit it but I looked through this several times.

*************************

You couldn’t say the bed was uncomfortable. You couldn’t say the room was bland or boring. You couldn’t say you had nothing to do. It was a great room, actually. If you were being honest, you loved it here…

The problem was you couldn’t leave. When the man had taken you, it took a while to figure out what was going on with him; it was Steven that explained it, the DID. Honestly, maybe the mental disorder should have scared you more, but you were well versed in different disorders so it wasn’t something that phased you, rather than just made it a challenge to navigate your situation. You were given book after book after book to read, to entertain you when outside of Marc Steven and Jake’s company; it didn't matter how many you went through, you just had them. If you were feeling brave, you made requests but honestly after the boredom of the first month while you were still fighting it, you took what you could get. You were even given a laptop, although it couldn’t possibly connect to the internet, but you were writing. They didn’t even make you show them what you wrote, but Steven would often sit on the bed while you read to him your poems or short stories. You were saving your novel for when it’s finished.

Some days were better than others. 

Some days you and Steven talked for hours.

Some days you and Marc marathonned Star Wars.

Some days Jake held you so warm and so tightly you forgot they kidnapped you.

Today was not one of those days.

You were angry, you were upset, you missed your friends and you missed the outside, you wanted fresh air and you didn’t want to spread your legs for a man that took you away from everything you knew and wanted. 

“Why are you giving me so much fucking attitude today?!” Jake shouts at you, pacing the floor of your room so aggressively he had your throw rug all twisted up.

You were sat up on your bed, shouting back. “You KIDNAPPED ME, you HURT ME you RAPE ME-”

“CALLATE!” He screamed, storming towards you so fast you flinch and scramble back to the wall. “You know I don’t like when you call it that!”

A sardonic laugh. “What? Rape?”

“I never forced you! I never held you down! I never got you too drunk or high to resist-”

“YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE, WHAT OTHER OPTION DID I HAVE!”

His face is suddenly right up to yours, so close your nose brushed his briefly as he speaks in a dark, quiet voice. “I never heard you say no, mi vida”

He was right. You hadn’t. But they had worn you down, twisted your mind so much that eventually you just began… giving in.

He continued talking, his voice rumbling with the low octive “I only hurt you in the beginning, carino. Just until you began to listen. You needed it, didn’t you? Someone to take you away from everything, take care of you, feed you. Baby, we adore you, and it hurts us when you fight like this.”

Your eyes wheeled up with tears at his words. It’s true, you had become so dependent on them… you weren’t sure you could even shower alone anymore. You’d be lucky if you remembered how to toast bread. Sickeningly, a part of you liked it. You liked he cared for, pampered, adored, and fuck, worshiped. You had time to write, time to listen to music and podcasts. If you need to look up something for a book or research something from a podcast that interested you, you just asked, and the boys would monitor you. You didn’t really need anything except some goddamn freedom. What was that they said in The Handmaid’s Tale? There’s freedom too, and freedom from… They offered you freedom from, and made that clear.

“The world is dangerous, precioso. You know that as well as I do… perhaps better.” With a cocked eyebrow, Jake referenced your past trauma’s, forcing the tears to spill over. “You are too precious, too perfect to be put at risk again. Your family didn’t protect you, but I will.”

Still, you are ever-defiant, shaking your head. “N-no… you aren’t protecting me. You’re hurting me…” but even then, you couldn’t manage much conviction. You hadn’t so much as burned your tongue since Steven, Marc, and Jake took you, and he was right… the rest was just discipline. 

Jake frowned, but simple stood up. He went over to your desk, taking out a Glee notepad he’d found on ebay for you and a pen, tossing them in your direction.

“Write them down, all the names.”

You look at him confused. “W-what names?”

He stalked forward, once again close to you.

“Give me the full name of anyone who has ever hurt you or touched you without your consent.” His gaze was focused, intense. You knew he was on a mission when he looked at you like that.

“I don’t… I don’t know all their full names…”

“If you have workplace addresses, any identifying information that’s helpful. I promise you, I’ll take whatever you give me and I will find them. Every single person who has ever caused you pain.”

“What are you going to do?” You didn’t really need to ask, but you did anyway.

“You and I both know. Now write.”

The list was long, longer than any one person’s list should be. A few, you only remembered their first name so you wrote down what you knew… Jake had his ways. Still, you had some cheek in you, and when Jake looked at the paper, he frowned.

“What the fuck is this.” He smacked the paper with his hand. After the list of people who had violated or harmed you before you came here, were three names Jake recognized right away.

Jake Lockley

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

“You told me to write the names of anyone who hurt me or touched me without-” SMACK! Your head flung to the side from the backhand, and when your turned back to face him, his hand gripped your throat.

“You think this is funny, carino?” His face pressed against yours. “How do you think Marc would feel if he saw his name on that list?”

Your lip quivered at that… you didn’t want Marc to see. Marc was special to you, and Jake knew it; he often exploited your relationship with his alter for his own benefit.

“I’m sorry” You cried, apologetic.

His grip on you loosened, and he looked back at you with sympathetic eyes. Letting go, he tore the bottom three names off the paper and tucked the offenders into his pocket. “I know you are, amor. Now, you sit here pretty, and don’t worry about a damn thing for the rest of your life, si?”

It took about a month. He never left you for more than one day at a time, but he always made sure you had food and were provided for, even giving you access to the bathroom. You didn’t dare even look for an exit; they wouldn’t have left anything vulnerable, and you were on camera, you knew. It would just cause trouble.

It was after one of those such nights where you were alone that he came back to you, still somehow looking put together after being out all night. You knew he hadn’t slept. You awake to his footsteps, heavy boots on your polished hard wood floor. As you stir, a piece of paper is placed on your pillow.

Sitting up you rub your eyes. “Jake, what’s- ” But you are stopped in the middle of your sentence. Every single name is crossed out on the list you had given him. “Does… does what mean they are dead?”

He steps forward, slipping to stand between your knees and bedding over, placing his hands on your thighs. His face was intensely close to yours, dark eyes piercing yours. You lean forward, accepting him in, existing in his precise. Jake did this for you. You were safe here, none of these people could hurt you… but because they had, whether months ago or decades, it didn’t matter. They were dead because they had crossed you, because they had dared to touch what Jake Lockley laid claim to. Jake, Marc and Steven… they were where you belonged.

 “Jake Lockley finishes the job.”

**************

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @the-fox-den @fandxmslxt69

[ceruleanangel]

The Diamond of Zaun- Chapter One

Pairings: Vi x Reader could be more later...

Tags: f!reader, performer!reader

Content Warnings: Alcohol, creepy old men, angst

a/n: heyy... how y'all doing? .... ik i haven't posted in a few years while, but I decided to finally share the absolute lore of my maladaptive daydreams. This first part is pretty introduction heavy, but the following parts will be more content heavy plus there might be chances for audience participation.

Chapter Two

“Do you think I could ever be popular enough to perform on topside?” you spoke, winding the dial on the old radio, slightly hitting the side of the box, allowing the voice of a woman to flow through the static. The pink-haired girl chuckled and shook her head, trying and failing to wind a white bandage around her knuckles post-fight.

 “Ugh, I’m serious! What do you think, Vi?” you move to sit next to her, thigh pressing against hers as you take her hand in your own and rewind the bandage to properly care for the wound. Vi looks away, thinking, as you finish tying up her bandage, a pout grows on your face as the pinkette doesn’t respond. You’re looking towards the radio before you feel two hands take hold of your face, turning your face to look into her blue eyes, 

“I think you’ll be so popular that everyone will be all over you… but I’ll fight ‘em off!

“...I’ll protect you.”

You smile against her hands, “You promise!?”

“I promise.” 

Current Time

The neon pink of the billboard reflects the wet in your eyes. The figure in the center of the sign stands posed on a stage, with bright glittering eyes, lush lips, blowing a kiss to any passersby who might look up at her image. Her hair and clothes flow about her, as she beckons with one hand, convincing anyone who sees her to join her, to join the party. The neon words on the sign flicker on and off against your face in bright shades of green and pink, until you feel a harsh shove against your shoulder. Crowds of people push past to get to their nooks and crannies of the Underground. You wipe at your eyes and dive back into the crowd, heading to your own dark corner of the city, glancing at the sign one last time,

Come join the Diamond of Zaun at The Last Drop!

Your body moves with the music, weaving in between the tables as the mic in your hand propels your voice all about the bar. Normally the patrons of The Last Drop go about their business, passively listening to whatever entertainment is provided, but not now. Not today. Today, with you on stage, the bar is bustling, tables filled, eyes on you. No one dares interrupt or draw attention from the Diamond of Zaun. 

Your sweet siren voice entrances admirers, while your body moves in tune with the rhythm, your sequined two-piece outfit catching the lights of the club, ensuring all eyes stay on you. You breathe out the last verse of your song, returning to the stage. And now for the time of the night that many have leaked forward to since you stepped on the stage. In between the songs of your set, the patron who spends the most during the duration of the previous song gets your exclusive, undivided attention during your cooldown between songs. 

You step off the stage and grit your teeth, forming it into a smile. You beg and plead to the gods that your ‘guest’ won’t be like the one from your previous performance, a man old enough to be your great-great-grandfather from Topside. Who paid just enough money to have your guards conveniently look away when he breathed his rum in your face and slid his wrinkly hands down your thigh. You followed your guards through the crowd to a table near the back, sitting with some middle-aged man who spent all his current and future wealth to have a few minutes with you. You laugh at all his jokes and flash your winning smile in his direction, asking him to buy you a drink, recommending the most expensive one on the menu, draining every last penny from his wallet. Though, once the well runs dry you blow him a signature kiss goodbye and make your way back up to the stage for the last song in your set. 

You start to move your body, ending the night with a jazzier, slower song. You’re almost done when you glimpse a flash of pink hair from the crowd. Your breath hitches as your eyes flick back to a familiar short, pink haircut, thinking that you imagined her face, and it will be some other rose-haired guest.

But no, It's her. It's Vi.

Her face can be seen as clear as day, the lights reflect off of your dress and into the crowd like a disco ball, placing a perfect spotlight on her face. She looks up at you from the back of the club, a look of confusion, sadness, and disbelief dawning on her face. “What is she doing here?” “I thought she was dead!” “Who’s that blue-haired girl with her?” Hundreds of thoughts and questions fly through your head but a nudge on your leg from your guard brings you back to the present: on stage, in front of a crowd of people who are watching your every move. 

You quickly snap yourself out of it and flash your smile about the crowd, winking at a few to wipe the memory of your mask slip from their minds. You continue the set, adding a bit more flare to your performance to recover from the slip-up, once enough time has passed, you glance back at the spot where Vi once was, to find an absence in her stead. You try to subtly look around, desperate to catch one more glimpse of the girl, finding nothing but disappointment. Despite being frazzled, you finish up the song and bid goodbye to your adorers. 

You make your way to the back of house and walk down the hallway, slightly leaning on the wall as you take off your high heels. You rub at your temples and rationalize what you saw tonight. 

I know she’s gone, there's no possible way for her to be here, so I must have imagined her… but why did I see her so vividly?

Head in your palm, you lean over and push open the door to your dressing room, head spinning. But what really makes your whole world spin completely off its axis, is when you open the door to Vi, reclining in the middle of your couch, toying with one of your sparkly mics.

“Hey, Diamond of Zaun, been a while, hasn’t it?

Chapter Two