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w4ndal0ver · 2 months ago

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Little Slut (Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you've been bratty and Wanda is ready to show you what that earns you.

content warnings: smut, restraints, vibrator use, spitting, spanking, rough handling, overstimulation, praise, degradation, fingering, cunnilingus

word count: 3k+

note: i'm new to this, please leave me asks if you want to see any fantasies brought to life, got majors writers block so the more the better. (I'll leave who I write for in my pinned post.)

Little Slut

[MINORS DON'T INTERACT]

“You wanna be a brat? I’ll show you what fucking brats get.” Wanda growls at you, pulling the skin of your neck between her teeth, sharply biting down the length of your throat. You call out in a harmony of pleasure and pain before being cut off by her hand clasping your mouth. “Bedroom, now.”

You smirk as Wanda leads you roughly by the hips, forcing you to go up the stairs first. You were trembling with anticipation, not knowing whether you’d taken it too far this time. You could feel your arousal beginning to dampen your underwear, yet you reminded yourself to stay patient, knowing you weren’t going to get what you wanted any time soon.

“So you wanna be a brat then, hm?” Wanda asks, the green hues of her eyes darkening as she watches you perch on the edge of the bed, leg crossed over the other.

“I haven’t done anything.” You lie casually, you tried to stop the smile that was creeping towards the sides of your lips. You knew you’d failed as she exhales, shaking her head and sucking her tongue against her teeth in annoyance. A guilty gulp filled the room as you cross your arms protectively over your body, immediately regretting your decision as the redhead saunters towards you.

“I’ll be the judge of that princess.” She kneels on the bed, the mattress indenting as she taps your thighs and moves between them, pulling at the hem of your jumper and lifting it over your head. You could feel her eyes burning into you before she saw what was underneath. You were flushed, not sure where to look as she gazed at your laced up body, the most attractive lingerie she’d ever seen clinging to your figure. There was nothing opaque about it, the see-through fabric allowing her to drool over your body that you’d dressed up just for her. “Just as I thought.” Wanda smiles, leaning down and placing a wet kiss against your clothed nipple, feeling it harden beneath her mouth. You gasp and she let out a dominating laugh against your chest.

Before you could get used to her burning stare, her hands were roaming your breasts, dragging her fingers upwards from the hem before taking it between her fists and ripping the bralette straight down the middle. You blinked in surprise at your torn set, your mouth hung ajar as she looked directly into your hurt face with a fake pout.

“That was new!” You whine, looking down at the torn material before looking back up at Wanda who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Her head cocked to the side, licking her bottom lip at the sight of your breasts revealed themselves behind the torn material, your nipples showing as the bralette lay torn across your chest. “I’ll buy you a new you, but not until I’ve punished you for acting like a dumbed out brat all day.”

You nod, your thighs clenching as you knew you had to take it. She tilts your chin up to look at her, your breath hitched as she gets up and opens the drawer next to your bed. She pulls out her scarlet silk ties, nodding her head at you, signalling for you to stand up to which you comply immediately. The redhead pushes your body closer to hers, kissing you softly before asking for your wrists, planting a kiss above them before tying them together with the silk cloth.

“I’m going to tie you to this chair so you can watch as I get myself off” She stated, making sure you understood what your punishment was going to be. Her voice was stern but soft, speaking to you in a completely different tone than she usually does. You may wind her up but you also make her melt, and she always softens her tone to make you more comfortable. You do as she says, sitting down in the chair placed in the corner of the room, just to the side of the bed. Once you were sat, Wanda ran her hands along your thighs, allowing you time to open them before she wrapped the silk around them, forcing them to lie on top of the arms of the chair, carefully tying them down. She admired her work, looking at your body so open and vulnerable to her, the ripped lingerie laying torn against your tied figure.

“You’re soaking already honey, does being punished like this turn you on?” Wanda asked, already knowing the answer despite your nodding as she watched your arousal glisten through the see-through underwear, tracing the back of her finger up your clothed slit and her eyes light up at you squirming underneath her touch, trying to clench your thighs shut but unable to against her restraints. “You’re not allowed to cum princess, if you get close, tell me and I’ll stop it for you.” She instructed and you nodded immediately as you felt her fingers dip under your lingerie, placing a vibrator between your clit and the underwear, the one you knew that she controlled with her phone. You moaned at the feeling, even with it turned off, it was placing enough pressure on your worked up cunt that you felt your arousal building around it.

She never turns her back from you, edging herself towards the bed, not undressing herself but slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse, allowing her black bra to be visible to you. Wanda makes herself comfortable, lying back against the pillows, allowing her hands to slowly begin to roam her chest, purposefully dragging out her movements. You were sat waiting, your body on fire as you sat in the stagnance, feeling the stillness of the vibrator against your slicked arousal.

As you watch the redhead tease herself, dragging her fingers over her nipples, your eyes stuck on the way they hardened under her touch. You could see the hairs on her arms stand at the feeling. Then you feel the low thrum of the vibrations hit your clit, your body jerking against it. She grins at you as your body burns, squirming desperately against the restraints in a desperate attempt to squeeze your thighs together to get more pressure.

The eye contact was intimidating especially as Wanda slips her hand beneath the waistband of her trousers, her head tilting backwards as she gently strokes the length of her slit in front of you. Her other hand on her phone, increasing the vibrations and watching as you throw your head back, the first deep moan escaping your lips.

Wanda is quick to join you, exaggerating her whines and moans to tease you. Her hand was moving quicker and you couldn’t see what she was doing, but the pace in which her wrist was thrusting into herself was getting you closer and closer to the edge. The vibrations were getting stronger and the scene that was playing out in front of you was just doubling your arousal. Wanda kept changing the strength of the vibrations, a smile never leaving her lips when her eyes were on you. You could feel yourself getting close, you laboured breaths and your hips jerking involuntarily a good enough sign for Wanda too.

“Wanda, Close.” You let out and the vibrations stop immediately.

“Acting like such a good girl for such a desperate whore.” Wanda panted through her own messy breaths. Before you could catch your breath the vibrations started again and you could’ve cursed there and then.

Wanda was acting now and you knew it, the moans that were leaving her mouth were practically pornographic, her body squirming against her own hand. You were struggling against your restraints now, hearing her reaction with the vibrations pulsating through your sensitive cunt, edged once already.

“Wanda, close again.” You manage to let out and Wanda’s eyes open immediately to look at the whining and jerking mess you’d become. Her eyes were glistening at how your arousal was practically dripping out of your underwear. Even with the vibrations halted, your hips continued to push towards nothing, desperate to chase a release.

The redhead was continuing to ignore your presence, doubling your frustration as the vibrations started up again, this time lower than the first. You whine in annoyance, jutting your body upwards against the ties. You could tell Wanda was close, she’d stopped the fake moans and writhing around and now her back was beginning to arch as her wrist now undertaking circular motions. While your eyes were fixed on her clothed body, Wanda increased the vibrations up to the highest settings and the high pitched moan that you released, the redhead knew that you weren’t going to be able to stop yourself from going over the edge.

“Don’t cum princess, you don’t want to do that.” Wanda warned, pulling her hand from her trousers before her own climax.

“Wanda I can’t, stop it, turn it-” Before you finished your words the edge was too close now and you were thrown over before you had any chance to stop it. Your body gave into the pleasure and your legs started shaking over the arms of the chair, letting out a strangled cry before your body dropped back against the back of the chair.

“Oh darling, you've made a huge mistake.” Her voice wasn’t filled with anger, but instead you could hear the possibilities of your extended punishment running through her head. She untied you, removing everything from you. She roughly grasps your chin, pulling you back into reality, her dark eyes and haunting grin made you squirm beneath her grip.

“I’m sorry baby, it was just too much.” You admit shamefully, trying to resolve any last bit of sympathy that Wanda might have held towards you.

“It’s too late for that, you know how it makes me feel when you disobey me.” With that, she grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you off the chair and you hit the ground hard, a squeak leaving your mouth as you find yourself forced down onto your knees in front of the redhead.

Without removing her hand twisting in your hair, she pulls your head back eliciting a sharp gasp as you look up at Wanda. She uses her thumb to trace against your bottom lip, prying them apart, a long string of spit leaving her mouth and into yours. You swallow, opening your lips again in a plea for more. Instead she just laughs at your willful submissiveness, spitting directly onto your face before shoving the back of your head forwards as her saliva dripped from your cheeks.

While your body was trembling at Wanda’s rough handling of you, you couldn’t help but feel how sticky your inner thighs had become, a layer of arousal lacing your skin.

“What have you done to deserve this?” Wanda asks, making sure you understood why you

were in this position.

“I-”

Wanda leans in and pinches your nipple hard between her fingers, causing a gut wrenching gasp in response.

“I teased you.” You manage to let out over the pain of Wanda digging her nails into the side of your nipple, applying as much pressure as she could.

“You didn’t just tease me princess.” Wanda insists, her hand stroking around your neck, scratching down the length of your throat with her maroon painted nails. “Bending over in front of me all day, whispering all those dirty things you wanted me to do to you, and then disobeying my one order.” The last words burned into your brain and you could feel your cheeks flushing bright red at the comments, this did nothing but spur Wanda on. “I think you need this brattiness fucked out of you, don’t you?”

You nod in response, trying desperately not to moan and whine at the redhead's words.

“You wanna be fucked like my little slut?” She growled, you nodded, and she wasn’t taking your silent responses anymore. She chokes you, her hand gripping tightly around your neck as you feel all the oxygen rush to your head making you dizzy. “Answer me.”

“Yes Wanda, fuck me please.” This was all you could come up with in the heat of the moment and when she laughed at your response you knew you weren’t getting away with this so easily.

“Tell me what you are then.” Her patronising tone and strong grip around your throat made you squirm, but your knees firmly against the coldness of the floor all you could do was writhe around under her touch.

“Your little slut.” You whisper, your voice being taken away with how nervous you’d become in her presence. Your pleasure being completely in her hands was something that made you so vulnerable but so desperate for her.

She kisses you with such force you could barely think straight, her hand still remaining around your throat, her teeth biting down on your lip, everything about this was rough and dirty. She continues to mark your neck as you moan in desperation, every bite leaving a souvenir of you misbehaving. You felt your core ache and Wanda could sense your arousal through the tremble of your lips.

“I want you over my lap.” She demands and you groan in arousal at the thought of being bent over her lap. Before you could react to the words, she’d sat herself on the edge of the bed, her hand in your hair pulling you onto all fours, your stomach falling flush against her closed thighs.

The room fell silent as the anticipation took over, her hand reaching between your thighs, gathering your wetness for a momentary second before she pushed two fingers into you, thrusting immediately at a relentless pace, not allowing you to get used to the stretch you needed to fit around her. You were moaning unashamedly against the bed, gasping in pain as her flat handed palm hit your ass with a sting. She kept this up until you were a trembling mess over her lap. Each spank was met with her fingers curling harshly against your g-spot, her own groans making you dizzy as she worked hard to roughly thrust her fingers in and out of your cunt.

“Wanda, I- I’m so close, please don’t stop, please.” You beg, feeling yourself getting closer and once you felt her arm snake around your body to find your throbbing clit, she barely drew three circles against it and you were crying out against the bed every time you felt her fingers slam against your sweet spot.

“You can cum, but I’m not stopping.” Wanda exclaims, her eyes lighting up at your thighs shaking and your nails gripping hard into her legs as you feel your inevitable orgasm building. “But only because of those pathetic little noises you’re making.”

With one more spank you feel your core collapse with blinding pleasure and your orgasm burns through your body, your hips jolting uncontrollably as she fucks you through it.

You were so sensitive, but Wanda was still thrusting her fingers into you, adding a third finger as your muffled moans spurred her to continue fucking you, her pace getting quicker as your thighs continued to shake. She was not in the mood to let you have any say in how she was taking you, the addition of her third finger stretching you out more than before. Her endless circles against your clit were getting stronger as you desperately winced through the overstimulation.

“Give me another, you can do it.” Wanda demands, and if you weren’t on the brink before you certainly were now. “Now Princess, Obey me.” With your last orgasm still fluttering through you, her harsh thrusts and small circles sent you into a state of pleasurable shock, this orgasm lasting twice as long as the last and your hips starting pushing back against Wanda’s fingers. “Oh darling,” She sighed, removing her fingers, your body rigid over her lap. She tugs on your hair again, forcing you up onto your knees, your legs barely able to hold your own weight up. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” She said, gesturing towards her hand dripping in your arousal. You watch as she takes a finger and places it against her tongue. Her eyes dark with lust as her eyes trailed down your body.

“Lie down, legs spread, I need to clean you up.” She continues to order, pointing to her face as she lies back on the bed. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thinking you’d reached the end of the night. The throbbing sensitivity between your legs signalling that you couldn’t take any more. “What's wrong? You wanted to be fucked like my little slut so you’re going to do as you’re told and come and straddle my face.”

Within seconds you found your knees spread, planted on the mattress, one on either side of her face. Her hands were holding your waist tightly, her strength keeping you stuck in place, disallowing your hips from grinding against her tongue. You were moaning into the mattress as her tongue lightly explored your folds, gently swirling it around your oversensitive clit. Each time you felt the push of her tongue you were met with a pleasurable shock that was sent right through your body. Her hands were gripping the back of your thighs before her fingers crawled towards your well fucked pussy, deciding she wasn’t done with you.

With the immediate push of three fingers into your entrance you moaned loudly, you felt your hips being lifted, allowing her to speak against your pussy. “That’s its baby, moan for me, make those pretty noises now you can. This is the only way I want to hear my name on your lips.” You gasp as her tongue instantly reconnects with your clit, swirling those same excruciating circles that were drawing your next orgasm closer. You couldn’t control the sinful noises that were escaping your open mouth. You were being railed over Wanda’s face and her thrusts were still getting stronger.

“Fuck Wands I’m so close.” You pant, moans interrupting your words, with her movements speeding up a fraction, you took this as permission, but you couldn’t stop it either way. The orgasm that came made your knees buckle, your body unable to hold itself over Wanda’s mouth, your thighs squeezing her head into place against your clit. Her tongue flicked back and forth over your nub as you rode out your orgasm, her hands no longer keeping your hips in place as you grind against her mouth. Her name, as predicted, was tumbling out of your mouth as the overwhelming waves of your prolonged orgasm continued to ripple through you. You could feel her moans vibrating through your body as you rode it out, this one was mind-blowing and your brain felt frozen in this moment for way longer than the last, which you didn’t believe was possible.

Wanda was still smiling when you finally gained the strength to remove yourself from her face, you were aided by her grip that was helping you move your body down to match how she was laying. You were snuggled in her arms now and this felt strangely right as your head was hidden in the crease of her neck.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson now.” She grinned, her fingers running through your sweat drenched hair.

“If anything, I’ll be teasing you more.” This gained you a swift slap to your ass and you wince immediately, your skin still sensitive from when she had you bent over her lap. This gave you the confidence you needed, you were desperate to touch her and you had been since she kissed you in the doorway. You reached your hand down the waistband of her trousers that she was still wearing, and Wanda looked at you with surprise.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She protested with her tone of voice but the way her hips rose to meet your hand was anything but resistance. It was your turn to smirk now as it seemed that Wanda seemingly didn’t know that you’d want so desperately to return the favour.

“I want to show you that your little slut can do more than making pathetic noises.”

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water-to-drink · 2 months ago

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It’s A Nice Day For A Wedding

(Pairing): yan!Ayato x gn!Reader

(Summary): On the supposed happiness day of your life a person from your past comes with a surprise

(Warnings): Yandere tendencies, your fiancé is a guy, foul language, mentions of gaslighting, murder, victim blaming ,emotional manipulation. (If I miss something lmk)

(Word Count): 3k

(Inspiration): The wedding scene from Kill Bill

(A/n): Things have been a little too soft on my account, let’s fix that

¡┈• •✦ ♥︎ ✦• •┈¡ ♥︎ ¡┈• •✦ ♥︎ ✦• •┈¡

Big weddings are often glorified as a goal most people should strive towards, but as long as you’re getting married to the love of your life it shouldn’t matter

You don’t care that you’re having a small wedding in a small church at the outskirts of Mondstadt with a total of 6 people attending, most of them are friends and your fiancé’s brother. You wearing the most cost effective attire with slightly itchy fabric. None of your friends nor family attending. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re free and with your beloved

“Normally it would be your side and your husband’s side, but since you don’t have anyone coming we’ll have 3 of your friends friends here on your side. The wife of the pastor told you

“You never told me why your family isn’t coming.” Your fiancé asked with the same smile that stole your heart

“Oh, they’re… dead.” The smile instantly dropped from your fiancé’s face when once he fully comprehend the words that left your mouth. “But, it’s okay now. ‘Cause you and our awesome friends are all the family I’ll ever need.” You reassured as you held your fiancé’s hand

Everything is perfect, too perfect…

The smiles of your friends and soon to be husband should be filling you up with joy, which it is, but there’s also another feeling flooding your heart. Fear

Fear that you will ripped away from the family you made here in this foreign land in a matter of seconds

“Hey, are you okay?” One your friends asked you, taking you out of your spiral

“I just need some air.” You said as you got up and made your way towards the door

Though the air is chillier, you don’t mind it. It’s a constant reminder that you’re far away from your past. The vibrant green trees also drive home that fact. The nation of freedom. It was something you would scoff at, all it sounded to you was just hogwash propagated by a lazy god who couldn’t be bothered to look after his own people. Yet look at you, proudly standing in the land about to to get married

You worried yourself so much you’re starting to get a bit dizzy, sitting down often helps with those. You turned towards the church entrance because you remember there was bench right next to it, but freezing in fear seeing what was on it

A random cup on the bench. To be specific, a plastic cup filled with what you think is milk tea and little black balls towards the bottom. To top it all off there was a note taped onto the lid with a “congratulations on your big day.” and a smiley face drawn after the felicitation. The same smiley face you would drawn for someone, the one person you wanted to never see

“You look just as captivating as I remember.”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That very voice has been burned into your mind, the very man who made your life a living hell for years. Kamisato Ayato

The man who grew infatuated with an average joe type of a person. Someone who doesn’t stand out from the crowd, he shouldn’t know you by name yet he did. He had no reason to visit you despite his busy schedule, all it started because of a fucking note!

It was meant to be a kind gesture, writing notes for customers at the tea shop you used to work at. Just something to brighten up someone’s day and you have gotten compliments on them. Until one day your tea shop gotten their usual request from the Kamisato clan head. It being a busy day, you took on the role of making his order and once you were done you put your signature note

You excepted the note to be tossed in the trash once it reached his office and forgotten about, but to your surprise and later on dismay he didn’t immediately disregard the note. The next time he had someone fetch his boba, he specified for in his words. “The person who put that note, Master Kamisato loved it.” Being naïve you told the errand runner it was you who made it as you gave the boba over to him

After that interaction, it started off small, he would request for you to make his boba and would specify to put your notes on his drinks. It then lead to you delivering the tea in person despite the fact Ayato already had people to fetch these things for him

You were even allowed entrance into his office where he worked and you just sat there keeping him company. The two of you would talk for hours, diving into each of your likes and dislikes and eventually divulging personal stuff. Looking back on it, you gave away more stuff than he ever did. You should’ve seen all the red flags!

You should’ve noticed how his praise would always oozed obsession and how his “protective nature” was a thinly veiled attempt at hiding his possessive tendencies

You should’ve noticed how the sick bastard used your vulnerabilities to his advantage!

You told him you work long hours just to support your family, the next week you lost your job for some undisclosed reason forcing you to take up his offer to be his personal tea maker. You told him your fears of being alone, your friends are suddenly busy with matters out of their control. The only human contact you had was those in the estate

You especially loved talking to Thoma and Ayaka, they made living in the estate a lot more bearable. Especially when the other servants at the estate refusing to acknowledge your existence making you turn to the commissioner for any human contact

You only realized the demented monster hidden beneath his exterior when he caught you talking to someone other than him

It was only meant to be a simple outing, you were running low on some the tea ingredients and Thoma was busy running errands. Ayato was also occupied with a business meeting that you don’t know where it’s being held

A nice looking man around your age was giving you suggestions for what tea you should buy. The man was friendly and a bit of a jokester, you found yourself laughing at the little jokes he made. It was the first time you had laugh in a good while, you didn’t notice the smile on the man’s face fell until you felt a hand wrap around your shoulder

“I truly am sorry, but we’re needed somewhere.”

You couldn’t get a word in before you were ushered away from the vendor. The person who rushed you away leaned down so whatever said could be heard only by you

“What we’re you doing outside of the estate?” He demanded to know

His voice laced with venom, drastically different from his usual calm and relaxed voice

You looked at who this person was, refusing to believe that your friend (technically employer who cut you off from your real friends) would be this person. But lo and behold it was Ayato, staring down at you with the coldest gaze you ever seen in his eyes. His stare sent chills throughout your body you opened your mouth but no words came out seeing his once elegant smile now replaced by a cold glare. His freezing gaze lowered towards your hands to see them holding a small tea packet you didn’t get the chance to purchase

“You were out here to buy tea, weren’t you?” You quickly nodded, hoping it would quell his anger. Thankfully it seemed to worked as a smile graced his features, “Is that so? he chuckled while wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry I scared you back there, my dear. You have to understand I worry about you, many people hold ill will towards me and will do anything to hurt me and that includes you. I’m the only person you can trust from now on. You understand me?”

“Y-yes! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You apologized as you returned his embrace

After that you would spend months in the estate next to him, it was… okay.

You were so mentally exhausted that you didn’t notice the lingering touches and words that were romantic in a way, until one day

At night you wanted to surprise the young Lord with some tea since you knew he was up still working well into the night, you overheard a conversation between him what you assumed was an older man. You could only see the outline of their silhouettes through the shoji

“My Lord, keep rejecting the marriage proposals sent here, you have to marry someone.” The older man pleaded

“I don’t see the rush in getting married, our clan is in a position where a political marriage isn’t necessary.” Ayato said calmly

“I know what this is, you have someone who caught your eye. Who is it?”

There was a long pause before Ayato answered the question that made your heart drop

“(Y/n).”

You thought you were fine with it, you deluded yourself to believing you could spend the rest of your life as his personal tea maker, but having him as a husband?

You were close to losing it, you couldn’t turn to your friends because they cut all contact with you and what were going to say?! The head of Kamisato was batshit crazy?! They wouldn’t believe you, some might have the audacity to tell you that you’re being selfish. The Yashiro commissioner doing all of this just for you and you’re being ungrateful, so many people would kill to be in your position!

Knowing your friends were unreliable you turned to the only people you have left, your family

It didn’t matter what your relationship with them was like, you needed to get out this house now!

When you told your fiancé your family was dead was a half truth. Your family was alive and kicking, but they died in your eyes years ago. Willingly turning a blind eye to your pleas for help after you told them everything. That wasn’t even the worst part, some of your family members went to the estate and told them where you were!

The only reason you knew was because you overheard some of them talking about, thinking you were asleep. You refused to go back, you knew that if you went back you would never see the light of day again! Call it half-ass, but it was better than nothing. You planned on packing some of your things (what was not in the estate) and sneaking on a random boat. You didn’t care where it was going, you needed to be out of Inazuma as far away from Ayato’s reach

Thanks to the fucker’s sneaky nature, you knew he would try to get you back at night it would be unlikely for someone to see you struggling against him or whatever goon he sent to get you. Right after you finished dinner you told them you were going to bed, once in your old room you took your small bag you snuck out. Never turning back and never wanting to see Ayato’s face again

But life is funny sometimes

“What are you doing here?” You questioned trying to stand your ground and not let any of your fear spill out

“Can’t I congratulate my dearest on the day of their wedding?”

“When I was still living in Inazuma you never let anyone come near me, so sorry if I find that hard to believe.”

“During the time of your absence, I’ve done some reflection and came to conclusion that I’ve been too harsh on you. I think this wedding is the best for you.” You didn’t believe it, you refused to believe that a few odd years made him change this much- “I know you find it hard to believe, but I stand by with what I said. I am a man of my word.”

You want to yell, you want to scream that you don’t believe a word he’s saying, but you can’t find a hint of malice in his elegant face. Not an ounce of coldness in his eyes, his entire body is relaxed a stark contrast to your tense frame

“I meant what I said when I you looked captivating.” He said as he took a step towards you. “Though, I would have you in something more extravagant and have a much bigger ceremony, only the best for you.”

“I’m fine with how my wedding is turning out.”

“Is that so…?” You saw something flashed in the young commissioner’s eyes but it quickly revert back to their normal composure after seeing your shoulders get more tense

“Ayato, whatever you’re planing on doing, please spare my-”

“Hey there you are!” The voice of your fiancé called out, cutting you off. He wrapped his around your waist and pressed a kiss against your temple, completely oblivious to the cold gaze the light blue haired man gave him. “Who is this?”

“Oh this is an old friend of mine.” You sputtered out

“Kamisato Ayato, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said while offering his hand to shake which your fiancé accepted

“That name sounds Inazuman, (y/n) never told me they’ve been there.”

“Well our (y/n) is full of surprises.”

“What can I say, it’s all thanks to you.” You said

“How come (y/n) never told me about you?” Your fiancé asked

“We lost contact years ago, but once I heard they were getting married I had to show. As a sign of good faith.”

“We need to start the vows, some of us don’t got all day!” The Pastor called out

“I’ll be right there in a second.” You told your fiancé before he walked over to the pastor.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to you, you can walk down the aisle with peace of mind.” Ayato said

“You’re not mad that I ran off to Mondstadt?” You questioned more for yourself than him

“Oh, dear…” He reached up and cupped your face with both hands. Despite your lingering fear you leaned into his touch. His lax demeanor and soft eyes made it impossible for you to push him away, he even had his signature gloves off. A gesture he would only reserve for you. “I could never stay mad at you.”

Relief washed over you so much that you couldn’t help a smile from appearing on your face. So overwhelmed with joy you didn’t stop yourself from embracing the man you hated and feared moments ago. You thought it was pathetic for you to give in so easily, especially knowing the things that he did, but maybe he did changed

You ended the embrace and ran to your fiancé, ready to finally start referring to him as your husband

“We gather here today…” The pastor began his speak

Your new family watched in anticipation, too oblivious to play attention to the lone man standing in the doorway. No one noticing the small hand gesture he made to alert his the members of the Shuumatsuban

You none the wiser as you excitedly wait

“████, do you take (y/n) to be your lawfully wedded spouse?” The pastor asked

“I… I d-” A blood curdling scream rips out of your fiancé’s mouth as he instantly clutched at his side

Your eyes followed to where his hands were only to be met with a river of crimson flowing past your fiancé’s fingers. Fear gripped you as the horrifying realization dawned on, the only thing you could do was scream. “AYATO!! NOO!!!!”

Frozen in fear you watched helplessly as the faces of your once happy fiancé and friends now covered in blood and all stilled with terrified expressions, all dead with the exception of your fiancé

“(Y-y/n)…” Your fiancé mutters out as he weakly reaches out for you but was stopped when Ayato stomped on his hand

“Don’t you dare get your filthy hands on them.” He spat out

Once the sword went into his back you saw the light instantly leave your fiancé’s eyes

Your legs gave out and you fell into a puddle of blood, staining your once white clothes in a revolting shade of crimson

You wanted to pretend this was just a dream induced by stress and you’ll wake up to your fiancé laying next to you, giving you the smile you fell in love with. To know that he wasn’t killed because of you, but no matter how long stared into the aphotic void of your fiancé’s eyes the delusion became harder and harder to keep.

“I kept true to my promise on letting you walk down the aisle, but never said I would let you get married.”

“Why?! Why did you do this?!?!”

“You brought this upon yourself, my dear.” He said as he knelt down so he was at eye level. “If you had stayed by my side none of this would have happened. Now you’re the reason your friends won’t see their family or a mother won’t see her son again, you still this ‘family’ of yours,” He took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the tears streaming down your face, a harsh juxtaposition to the bloody massacre he just unleashed. “don’t worry you will soon be reunited with your real family in Inazuma.”

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Note

waayy to classic but having to share a bed while they were 'just friends' ? Yk where they actually like each other but too shy ore prideful? MAYBE WITH MEGUMI cu he's my our pretty boy ANY ANY OTHER CHARACTER YOU WANT

THANK YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOUR WRITING

Okay, that escalated quickly. This might be a classic, but I simply love the idea! I added a little twist to each character so it isn’t always the same. I’m thinking about writing this for every character, so let me know if you’d want to read that. Hope you enjoy <3

JJK men sharing a bed with (y/n)

Pairing: Megumi x reader; Nanami x reader; Yuta x reader

Word Count: 3k

Notes: Part ll (Gojo sharing a bed with (y/n) at a love hotel

Part lll (Toji, Geto, Haibara, Choso)

Megumi Fushiguro

You hated big parties. To be honest, you hated every kind of party, although it’s comforting that Megumi is here too. A glimpse into his grumpy but forbidden stunning face is enough to perceive the fact that he dislikes it here as much as you do.

“I don’t know why I’m even here. How did she manage to pull us with her?”, Megumi grumbles, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Well, I guess Nobara can be quite persuasive”, you remark while watching Yuji play twister with a screwed up face.

You sign. The music blasts so loud that it threatens to rip your eardrum apart, your head began to ache the minute you stepped into this big house. Who lives here anyway? It doesn’t matter. If you don’t come out of here within the next few minutes, you’re going to throw up on the expensive looking carpet in front of you.

“Hey (y/n), are you alright? You look quite pale”, Megumi comments while eyeing you intensely.

Fuck. Your heart hammers against your ribcage. He is so close to you that you can take in the sight of his gorgeous face in great detail, only one look at his lips is enough to change the color of your face into deep red.

“To be honest, I don’t feel so good. This is just too much for me I guess”, you whimper, eyes glued to the ground in a despairing attempt to stop yourself from staring at him so ruthlessly.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? Come with me.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you with him, through the endless crowd of people, the blasting music and stinging scent of alcohol. Is he…really holding your hand? He’s touching you. Megumi Fushiguro is really touching you. You feel like flying and drowning at the same time, tired while being wide awake. Of course he touched you from time to time, after all he is your training partner mostly. But tender contact like this is very rare. You know this is actually your fault, given the fact how shy you act around him. But something about Megumi Fushiguro just makes your heart skip a beat and turns your senses upside down. Maybe you will tell him some day. Maybe…

“Nobara, is there a place where (y/n) and I can rest? She doesn’t feel well”, Megumi literally barks at her.

“Um, I think there’s a guestroom down the hall on the right. It’s a little quieter there I guess.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns on his heels, your hand still intertwined with his own, and dashes down the hallway.

“Finally”, he mutters and opens the door to a small but cute guestroom.

You close the door behind you and take a deep breath. Finally no loud music, drunk people and scent of alcohol that stings in the air. Megumi flops onto the bed, gaze set upon you.

“What are you waiting for? I thought you don’t feel well, lay down.”

Your eyes widen. There is only one bed in this room and he’s lying on top of it. Could you possibly…lay beside him? It would be big enough to fit you both, but with very little space. This means you are forced to touch each other, even if only your skin brushes against his. Your head turns pink all over again, eyes pressed closed to get the image of him holding you in his arms until you slowly drift off to sleep out of your dirty mind.

“B-but there’s only o-one bed”, you stutter.

“So what? It’s big enough to fit us both. Come here.”

He pats the soft mattress beside him invitingly. Can you really do this? It seems like there’s no other possibility anyways, so…

You let your worn-out body fall next to him, arms slightly brushing against his. It feels so good to finally breathe and to rest your head a little. You curse yourself for coming her in the first place even though you know well enough that you absolutely hate big and loud parties.

The reason for you being here lays right beside you, though.

“Are you feeling better? Maybe I can get you a glass of water or-“

“No”, you interrupt him.

“I’m absolutely fine, thank you.”

“You look a little red, almost as if you have fever. Are you really feeling alright, (y/n)?”

He places his hand on your forehead and you swear you can see the sparks that evaporate from your skin the second he touches you. You wish you could tell him how you feel, that you want to stay with him like this forever, but you are too shy to even admit your feelings to yourself. Megumi is a friend, a colleague. Nothing else, right?

“Let’s just rest a little, okay? Maybe you’ll feel better after a good nap.”

“Do you really think we can just…sleep here?”, you question.

“Sure, why not? It’s a guestroom with a bed in it”, Megumi replies dryly and shrugs.

“Only one bed though”, you blurt out.

Megumi shifts his weight beside you and now faces you completely.

“Is this a problem for you? I can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No I’m not! You’re not the problem here! It’s just…”

You can’t find the words. In fact, you feel like your whole head is empty.

“Let’s just nap, shall we? We can talk about this tomorrow when you’re feeling better”, Megumi suggests.

You simply nod and turn to the order side, heart still racing inside of your chest. Maybe a little sleep wouldn’t hurt after all…

______________________________________________________________

“Quiet Itadori, (y/n) and Megumi are in there.”

“ALONE!?”, Yuji cries out.

Nobara rolls her eyes and hits him roughly.

“How dumb are you actually? Shut the fuck up, idiot. We need to be quiet.”

Slowly, she opens the door to the dark room. There you both lay, bodies intertwined with each, your steady breath being the only sound that fills the rooms.

“They’re cuddling!”, Yuji screams and turns on the lights before Nobara is able to stop him.

“What the hell?”, Megumi’s sleep drunken voice mutters.

You open your eyes and blink against the harsh light that invades the whole room. What time is it? Why do you feel so warm and cozy? Did you still get home somehow? Oh, that delicious smell that tingles your nose. It reminds you of…

MEGUMI.

Megumi’s hands are wrapped around your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back. Your eyes widen, suddenly your body feels on fire. And even worse, Nobara and Yuji stand in the doorframe and stare at you with their mouths wide open.

“Did I miss something?”, Yuji cries out.

“We just shared a bed. You’re embarrassing me in front of (y/n)”, Megumi mumbles, his hands still resting still against your body.

“Hey, you owe us an explanation! You never told us there’s something between you both!”, Nobara speaks up, her finger pointing directly into Megumi’s face.

“So sorry about that”, he whispers into your ear, his warm breath against your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“N-no p-problem.”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, still completely in shock by the fact that you are held by Megumi Fushiguro. In presence of his friends. In. A. Bed.

Nanami Kento

You toss and turn in your sleep. How many nightmares did you have this week? You lost count. Over and over you repeat Haibara’s death in your head and the way you just stood there and didn’t do anything about it. That was over 10 years ago, but the death stare in his eyes still haunts you to this day late at night.

Your whole body is covered in ice cold sweat, whimpers escape your mouth as you desperately try to shake away the scorching pain that repeats the second time around.

“Why are you just standing there, do something (y/n)!”, Nanami’s voice screams at you.

It isn’t true. Nanami never raised his voice at you like that.

“You are absolutely useless. Do you really call yourself a jujutsu sorcerer? You should have died in his place.”

“N-no”, you mutter, shaking your head over and over again.

Nanami is a light sleeper anyway, but the sound of your whimpers and silent screams wake him up immediately. He sits up in bed, feet carrying him automatically to your doorstep. It isn’t a secret to him anymore that you are plagued by nightmares since the incident with Haibara. It always feels like a knife in his throat to see you this broken after so many years.

“(y/n)”, he softly whispers.

There you lay, completely covered in sweat, body shaking uncontrollably while you sob in your sleep. He kneels down next to your trembling frame, gently caressing your face with his thumb. God, why do you have to suffer like this? It isn’t fair that you have to feel so miserable because of some fucking curses. You don’t deserve the pain that dreadful day caused you.

“It’s just a dream, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here”, he speaks into the unforgiving darkness of night.

“Nanami, I-…so s-sorry…All my fault…”, you mumble, tears streaming down your disturbed face in a river.

His heart clenches. What are you dreaming about? Nanami’s grip tightens around your shoulders, softly shaking you in a frantic attempt to wake you up.

“Hey, none of this is real. I’m here, (y/n).”

Your eyes snap open and dart around with no aim. Your rushed and sharp breathes ring through your ears, heart hammering against your ribcage.

“There you are”, a familiar voice next to you comments.

“Nanami”, you breathe out.

It was just a dream. All of the things he said, the things you saw over and over again weren’t real.

“Fuck, I’m sorry”, you mutter and bury your face in your hands.

Was he here the whole time? Your cheeks feel puffy and soaked and tears, embarrassment consumes you entirely. How much you hate it when he sees you like this, vulnerable and weak. It’s not the first time that Nanami puzzles you back together after a nightmare.

“Don’t be, come here.”

His strong arms embrace you in an instant and slowly but surely push your nightmares away.

“What was it this time?”

“It’s like my brain wants me to think that you hate me I guess”, you mutter into his arms while holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

This situation is so common that you lost count on how many times he visited you already over the last few years. The second you open your eyes, you stare into his brown orbs that make your world whole again. Since the day Haibara lost his life. Since the day your nights turned into nightmares.

“But I’m right here and I’m telling you that I don’t hate you at all.”

You let out a silent laugh. Oh, how much you hoped this would come to an end. You aren’t even able to remember the last night with proper sleep.

“Would you mind staying here for a while?”, you shyly request, avoiding eye contact.

“Scoot over.”

Your back rests against the cold wall while he wraps one arm around your shoulder and places your head on his chest. The way his heart beats steady against your ear seems to calm you down immediately, almost therapeutic.

“I hope you don’t mind having so little room. I’m slightly taller than you I’m afraid”, he murmurs, gently stroking your back.

“I’m the one who should ask you that. After all, I woke you up and now force you to stay with me”, you reply with a nervous grin.

“Wouldn’t be a problem to put in some ear plugs or leave you alone. Come on, (y/n). I’m here because I want to be and not because you force me to. You are my friend, I hate to see you like this and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel at least a little better.

You bury your head in his soft t-shirt and hold onto him a little tighter. How do you deserve that this great man is lying next to you in your very own bed night after night? You really don’t know. All you hope is that it doesn’t stop though. Maybe, just maybe he will someday stay here with you forever…

Yuta Okkotsu

“Are you alright (y/n)?”, Yuta’s worried voice shouts over the blizzard that mercilessly haunts both of you this late at night.

You feel like dying. Hands and feet? No more feeling. Your nose? Running like a river while being numb at the same time. Your limbs feel like they’ll fall off any given minute while you want nothing more than a warm bed, a cup of tea and to watch some Netflix. How the hell did you end up in this living hell? Oh right, that stupid mission. Well, at least Yuta is with you. Otherwise you would have gave up already.

“Actually no. Everything just hurts”, you choke out.

Yuta takes you in his arm, hand covering your face from the unforgiving whipping of the wind.

“I know this is rough, but we have to hold on for a little longer. Gojo-sensei told me that the cabin is only a few minutes away”, Yuta assures you.

“He also told us to bring bathing suits with us…”, you grumble.

Do you have any other choice than to rely on Gojo’s word and Yuta’s sense of direction? Absolutely not. Your feet carry you on their own trough the snowy street, eyes glued to the ground underneath while you can’t shake the comfortable feeling of Yuta holding you in his arm away. God, let this hell end. Otherwise you’re really not sure if you’ll stay conscious within the next hour.

“There it is!”, Yuta announces.

Your eyes dart up. The last house of the street, rather a small cottage to be exact.

“That doesn’t look inhabited at all. Are you sure this is the right house?”

“We’ll have to find out! And to be honest, do we have another choice? I don’t want to spend another minute outside if I’m being honest”, Yuta replies while scratching the back of his head.

Fair enough. You follow him to the doorstep and watch him turn the key in the lock. At this point it wouldn’t be a surprise if the door doesn’t open, but it does. You enter the dark cabin.

“It’s still fucking cold”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Let’s see if there are some blankets or even better a heater.”

You can’t help but stare at the boy next to you. A few months ago he was so shy and unsure about himself. But now it seems like his confidence never wavers as well as his cool head. At the moment he’s definitely the more collected one.

You do as he told you, searched the tiny cabin for a heater only to find a small bed and one single blanket.

“It’s not much but it’s more than nothing. Go ahead, you can have the bed and blanket.”

“That’s completely out of question, Yuta. Your lips are totally blue and your whole body shivers. I’m not taking that blanket alone”, you reply, shaking your head violently.

But what is the solution, then?

“You can have it.”

After all, Yuta is the one who guided you here. You’ll get through this night somehow.

“I have an idea, but it might sound dumb…”, he begins, voice showing no sight of his new grown poise.

“Just say it”, you demand while eyeing him.

Why does his face suddenly turn even redder and why is he fumbling with his hands this nervously?

“You know, we…we could share the blanket and bed…But only if you want to and are comfortable with it!”, he blurts out.

Huh. Your heart skips a beat when the consequences of his suggestion hit you.

“So like, cuddle?”, you question with your eyes bored into him.

“Please forget I ever said that.”

“I mean, you’re kinda right. In this cold it’s better to warm each other up…”, you stutter.

Thick silence hangs in the air between you two and makes you want to go back into the blizzard. Fuck, the fact that you caught feelings for him doesn’t make this easier at all. Normally you are outspoken, self-assured and centered…What the hell happened to you? Why are you just standing there like an idiot, staring at him with your eyes wide open?

Yuta is the first who dares to move. With a swift motion, he takes off his shoes, positions himself in bed and puts the blanket on top of him.

“Then come here. Maybe we’re even able to get some sleep!”

You hesitate. This is the first time you get so close to him apart from training sessions. Yuta never touched you, let alone shared a blanket and a whole bed with you. But your body screams in icy agony and begs you to take his offer desperately. Jump over your shadow, just close your eyes and lay down beside him.

The warmth of his body seems to swallow you whole the second your body brushes against his. God, you never realized how good he actually smells. Has it always been like this? And that look in his eyes seems so…different.

“You know, I’m glad to be stuck with you, (y/n)”, he confesses, his hand sliding down your arm and leaving a trace of prickling fireworks under your skin.

Fuck it. You bury yourself against his warm and large frame, face resting on his neck while his arms immediately take your invitation. While it’s still cold, the adrenalin that rushes through your veins and the heat that radiates from his body are more than enough to keep you warm in this adventurous night.

“Me too, Yuta”, you confess shyly.

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buckets-and-trees · 2 years ago

Text

Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language; mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit); use of pet names + no y/n; kidnapping

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

Restore my health with your lovely reblogs, commentary, comments...

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#god the bounty hunter #god the bounty hunter x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #god the bounty hunter fanfiction #aspen wrote something #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #dark smut #lloyd hansen smut #god the bounty hunter smut #female reader

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 001: I Wouldn't Remember Me, Either

Summary: A new patient arrives at the lab unable to recall his past. With a parallel universe seeping into the real world, you've been assigned to pull his memories to the surface, but what you remember threatens everything.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction

WC: 3k

Divider credit to @saradika

He awakens with a jolt, heart pounding in his chest. The room is bathed in a fluorescent haze that pinches his retinas and has him squinting as he adjusts to the light after days spent asleep.

“Wh-Where…” His throat is raw, and he coughs up blood, spattering his chin and the top of the hospital gown he’s tied into. He tries to wipe it off, but metal digs into his wrists as he realizes he’s cuffed down. He gives another yank, one handcuff clanging against the gurney’s rail. Pain rips through his torso at his sudden movement, so fierce and intense that his vision blurs. He swallows the bile inching up his esophagus and lays back down in defeat.

A group of men in head-to-toe white surround his bedside within thirty seconds of him waking up, clipboards and charts clutched tightly in their hands. They jot down his vitals that pulse on the nearby monitor, and murmur amongst themselves. One of them must have just come in from a smoke break; the scent of tobacco wafts past 086’s nose and elicits a craving for a pull from a cigarette.

He shakes it off and musters up all of the energy he can to try and make his voice heard. “What’s going on?”

Only one of the men acknowledges his words, turning to him with a blank, stoic expression. “Patient 086,” he addresses him, the heels of his Oxfords clicking against the hard tile, “we are…pleased to have you here with us.” He lets out a singular heh, a pathetic excuse for what passes as laughter.

086’s stomach twists at this; he takes a deep breath that heightens the ache radiating behind his torn flesh.

“Why am I…handcuffed?” he grunts out, teeth digging into his lower lip in a grimace.

The man ignores his question yet again. “You will answer a series of questions before we can determine where to place you.” He glances down at his checklist, pen perched atop the paper, ready to write. “Question one: what is your name?”

A grin appears on 086’s lips, cracking where the thin skin is chapped. “My name? It’s…” He trails off, smile faltering as quickly as it came. “It’s…” No. I have to know it; it’s my goddamn name. He wracks his brain, a throb pulsing against his temples as he struggles to remember the most basic detail about himself.

“Date of birth?”

Days, months, years fly through his head. Maybe April; that seems right. Or is it August? He mouths the word, rolling it over his tongue to see if it brings back a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sway him in either direction. “I don’t know.”

He can only offer the same response to the questions about his hometown, his parents, his school. Each missed answer draws an amused expression from the man in white, his eyebrows nearly reaching his salt-and-pepper hair when the patient before him fails to recall his own life history.

086 watches as the man nods at one of his colleagues, a short man with a crew cut, who promptly pulls a small key from his pocket. In one swift motion, he unlocks the cuffs, still standing guard in case 086 tries to lash out and attack.

And though 086 feels the urge to fight, to demand answers he should already know, all he can do is bring his left hand to his right wrist. He massages where the handcuff has indented his pale skin, taking note of the three digits etched just below his palm.

086

“Is this…did I…” On the same arm is a small collection of bats; recognition burns in his brain, but he can’t bring forward the memory of why the tattoos are there.

“You already had a host of markings before coming into our care,” Salt-and-Pepper remarks brusquely, “but the numeric identifier is our way of keeping track of patient whereabouts and achievements.”

Confusion furrows 086’s brows and creases his forehead. “My…achievements?”

“Your achievements,” Salt-and-Pepper confirms, his mouth pressed into a straight line. “Once you are healed enough to participate in lessons, we can begin determining what assets you bring to our project.”

“Project?” he repeats dumbly, disorientation morphing into ire at the lack of answers. His fists clench instinctively; the older man’s eyeline flickers towards the slight movement, but he doesn’t order him to be re-cuffed.

The already frigid air chills even more as the man offers a horrible smile. “You have an awful lot of questions, don’t you?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with another unnerving laugh. “An inquisitive one. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to provide those answers.” He nods at the colleague holding the keys, who promptly slides the handcuff around the patient’s wrist once again, his brief moment of freedom slipping away as quickly as it came.

“After I help with the project…then I can go home?” The patient looks at the men before him, scanning their faces for some inkling of a response. “When can I go home?” he asks more forcefully, body aches be damned.

Salt-and-Pepper crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And where is home, 086?” His voice is soft, but his eyes are steely with malice. “Tell you what: give us your address and we’ll take you there right now.” He waits a beat, smirking with the knowledge that his patient won’t be able to remember. “That’s what I thought.”

He pivots on his heel and walks out the door. The group of men follow him without another word, their footsteps disappearing down the hall.

086 lays back down and breathes a terse exhale of frustration. Tears sting at his eyes as the realization of his state of utter helplessness sinks in. He wants to call out for someone, anyone, to save him, but he can’t think of a single person.

This is Hell, he thinks. Numbness overtakes his body as he begins accepting his defeat. I’ve done something to royally piss off God, and now I’m in Hell.

Fingers from his unchained hand reflexively fly to his scalp, a nervous habit that penetrates the fuzziness coating his sense of self. He’s met with no resistance, no tangles, no snags; his hair had been buzzed down while he was unconscious.

A neuron fires: this isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but something is very wrong. It’s the final straw that sends him hurtling over the edge.

“Goddammit! Let me go! LET ME GO!” He thrashes against the restraints, ignoring the pain ripping through him. A stitch on his abdomen pops with a ping, fresh blood seeping through the thin hospital gown.

Three of the white-clad men rush into the room. One holds down his free hand while another pins his head to the stiff cotton masquerading as a pillow. 086 leans over and bites the nearest man’s wrist until he can taste metal on his tongue, spitting red. The bleeding man holds strong, almost unfazed; it’s clearly not his first time having teeth sunk into his skin.

The third man is Salt-and-Pepper. He stands to 086’s left and plunges a needle into his neck without a moment of hesitation. The syringe’s serum leaves him warm and tingly, eyelids weighed down. “Good night,” the man whispers in sing-song, his malicious chuckle warped as the patient floats into a sedated slumber.

The last thing 086 registers before sleep pulls him back into its embrace is the voice of the man with the now-empty syringe.

“He’ll learn.” A pause. “C’mon, Snell. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Snell. The man who I bit is called Snell.

And then he’s out.

270 days. You’ve been here for 270 days, each one identical to the last. Wake up, attend hours upon hours of training, sleep, repeat. Every morning brings the sinking realization that escape is impossible and freedom is a far-off dream; your new destiny is that of a lab rat. Even the hands of the wall clock have stopped ticking by, their batteries petering out some months ago at exactly 2:17.

If only you’d ignored the phone when it rang that evening. If only you’d run the other way. If only you hadn’t quite literally bumped into Dr. Snell as you’d bolted through the woods, desperate to avoid the evil looming over your ill-fated town. If only–

“055.”

Your head snaps up from your worn copy of Of Mice and Men when Dr. Moseley calls out your identifier—you refuse to consider it your name—from the doorway. He offers a half-smile that has you shriveling inward. Ever since Dr. Brenner’s untimely passing days earlier, Dr. Moseley has been increasing your training, trying to make you the secret weapon that would allow him to step into the late scientist’s shoes.

“Yes, Dr. Moseley.” You force a chipper tone, swallowing your fear and dog-earing your page. You’ve read this book so many times that you could rewrite it from memory, but it serves as your only source of entertainment. It’s rumored that the scientists have access to a small television set, but none of the patients have ever seen it.

He crooks a finger, gnarled with arthritis, to beckon you over. You stand up from your cot while his eyes bore into you, smoothing the nonexistent creases in your hospital gown. The tile floor is frigid against your feet; you have no socks to serve as barriers against it. Every square inch of this place is always cold.

The doctor fixes his posture and peers downward, an assertion of dominance that does not go unnoticed. “Your…expertise is needed.” His nose twitches slightly. “Come.”

You and he both know that he doesn’t even have to tell you to follow him; obedience has been ingrained in you well before you’d been brought to the lab. Before it was the doctors, it was your friends. Before your friends, it was your parents.

A semblance of a smile flutters across his face as you comply with his order. “We have a new patient,” he explains, keeping his volume to a minimum as the two of you make your way down a dimly-lit corridor. “Like you, he was raised on the outside, but there are two major differences between you and him. Number one, he’s not a good listener.” Dr. Moseley chuckles, clammy thumb and forefinger gently perched underneath your chin in a display of affection that leaves you wanting to retch. “I had to sedate him earlier today after an…outburst. And, number two, he cannot recall a thing about his past. Not even his name. That’s where you come in, my dear.”

Another unnecessary statement; besides subservience, your only real use is memory pulling. It’s what you’ve been training for since arriving here last summer.

“We need to know why he was in The Nether, what he did, and anything he may have altered,” he continues. “It’s also highly unlikely that he was alone, and we need to know who else was with him. We can’t have people with this knowledge going unmonitored.” He pauses and makes unwanted, harsh eye contact. “You will find out this information for us so we can ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Of course,” you murmur, nodding your head and casting aside the doubt you harbor over the truthfulness of his words.

Dr. Moseley pushes open the door to the new patient’s room, where Drs. Snell and Cavendish are already awaiting your entrance. You note the beige bandage wrapped around Dr. Snell’s forearm but refrain from asking questions.

“This is 086,” Dr. Moseley reports, gesturing to the gurney where the young man lay sleeping on his side, arm crossed over his face in a makeshift shield. Bits of dried blood still stick to his exposed cheek despite the attempts to clean him up. His chest rises and falls rhythmically; if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. But there is no peace here. There never has been.

“Is there anything we do know about him?” The more information you have, the easier it will be to access his memories.

Dr. Cavendish clears his throat. “I was part of the team that rescued him from The Nether,” he ventures hesitantly. “I can allow you into the memory so you will know what to look for.”

You nod, but Dr. Moseley puts out a hand to stop you before you can even begin. “If she does that, will she have the stamina to access 086?” His voice is clipped, not wanting to waste more precious time.

“It’ll just be a moment,” you reassure him. Memory retrieval is much easier when the person brings it to the forefront of their brain; the challenge occurs when memories are tucked away as though being stored for safekeeping.

When Dr. Moseley says nothing, you take a step towards Dr. Cavendish. “Tell me to stop if it hurts at all,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Your eyes meet his steeled blue ones as you pull the ribbon that unravels his thoughts.

The night isn’t pitch-black, but is submerged in a bluish gray that permeates the atmosphere. Thick, tentacle-esque vines snake along the ground, and you—Dr. Cavendish, rather, since you’ve wormed into his perspective and don his skin—carefully avoids stepping on them with Hazmat suited feet.

“I’ve got one!” An urgent voice calls from a distance. “But if he isn’t dead yet, he will be soon.”

Dr. Cavendish spins to face where his colleague stands, striding over to the crumpled body lamely laying in the dirt, surrounded by a flock of dead creatures. The victim is covered in blood; it’s smeared across his face and oozing from punctures along his abdomen. It mats his frizzy hair, tints the ground maroon, and fills the air with the smell of iron.

“I’ll get his legs, you get under his arms.” Dr. Cavendish commands, already bending at the knees and bracing his back to lift the young man. “On the count of three. One, two—”

“That’s enough.”

Two words from Dr. Moseley drag you back to reality. You swipe at the blood that’s gathered under your right nostril and sniff, steadying yourself on the gurney rail. In front of you, Dr. Cavendish massages the bridge of his nose to quell the inevitable headache that follows memory accession.

Your journey was brief, but you’ve gathered sufficient information to delve into 086’s history.

“Okay,” you breathe, grabbing 086’s cuffed hand. This is a much different set-up than you’re accustomed to. For one, there’s no way to make eye contact, not while 086 is asleep. Everything prior to this has just been practice with scientists with the goal of eventually infiltrating the minds of Russian nemeses.

A tattoo peeks out from the patient’s drooping collar, an insect’s spindly legs emerging from a soft tuft of chest hair and fresh scars. There’s a familiarity to the faded ink, but Dr. Moseley does not afford you the luxury of uncovering it.

“055.” His voice is stern. “Please begin.”

Your open eyes find 086’s closed ones as you try to ignore your nagging conscience. This is a person; someone who, as far as anyone knows, has only committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything within you screams no, that this is a violation, but another brusque throat-clearing catapults you into compliance.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood. You grasp onto the image from Cavendish and let yourself into 086’s mind.

You wade through darkness for a bit, hyper focused on finding a resembling memory. Your temples throb as you concentrate on your search. Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

Nothing.

Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you will the wave of remembrance to crash over you. You’re pouring out every ounce of energy you possess, a draining battery, as you stand alone in utter darkness.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

You latch onto something and pull yourself into it. The visual is hazy, likely because of 086’s own inability to recall it naturally, but you can hear it all.

Unidentifiable screeching objects–possibly the bat-esque monsters you’d seen in Dr. Cavendish’s memory–shriek and thwack against metal in rapid succession just as a scream roars over the clatter. It’s not one of terror, but of vengeance, and you feel your physical self tense up with a rage you didn’t know you held.

“Come on!” bellows 086, the challenge rising up from his diaphragm and rattling his whole body.

The next sounds happen almost simultaneously: fabric tearing, fangs hungrily sinking into flesh, and an unmistakable cry of pain.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand to listen to this man wail in torment as he’s ripped apart, teetering on the brink of death. The cry becomes strangled as though his throat is being compressed, and it allows you to hear a far-away shout, a boy’s voice thick with anguish.

“EDDIE!”

At this one word, you stumble out of the memory and nearly fall to the tile floor. Your breathing becomes shallow as the present infiltrates your psyche, too distraught to keep your nosebleed from snaking down your lips. You’ll be reprimanded for not remaining in the memory longer to identify the mystery boy, but you can’t bring yourself to find it again.

Dr. Moseley catches you by the crook of your elbow, keeping you upright long enough for you to get a better look at 086. His hair is shaved down to the scalp, patchy in places where his curls were particularly knotted and hard to remove. He’s added a few more tattoos to his collection since you’d last seen him almost one year ago, including a swarm of bats trailing up his arm. His fingers are naked without his signature rings; the base of his knuckles are tinged green from the costume jewelry. But it’s him; it’s definitely him.

Patient 086 is Eddie Munson, and for good reason, he absolutely despises you.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #086

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acerathia · 6 months ago

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Fics For Gaza

hello!! I finally got some time to participate in the initiative made by @ficsforgaza ! Down below are some WIP's which I have planned in some capacity to write during the summer/until the end of the year. I will also be accepting some requests for a limited amount of time, and for this one, please shoot me a message first beforehand.

How it works: The rate is set at 1$ per 100 words. The donation should go directly to a verified fundraiser and just send me the confirmation (personal information should be removed/censored) as proof with the link to the fundraiser and the fic sponsored as an ask. The wordcount (donated and writing status) will be updated regularly under the WIP's. As for the requests, send me an ask/dm first to discuss the content of it! For both I will try to be consistent and on time, but as there will be times where day to day life will get the best of me, but I will update accordingly also. Of course, consider looking at the list of other writers working on this initiative!!

current WIP's:

~your sweet return: gojo satoru synopsis: You love the forest, it was the place where you escape from everything haunting you. So, what could even happen if you discover a fairy circle, one oh so daunting, and you begin to hold a conversation with your invisible companion?

estimated wordcount: 8k written: 0.7k donated: 0.5k/3k progress: 0.5k/0.5k

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~eclipse: xiao synopsis: The souls filled with karma find relief under the touch of your skin. Yet, you've never tried to cleanse anyone, not since you've gained your freedom. Until the one you're indebted to asks you to help a certain Adeptus. And who are you to refuse?

estimated wordcount: 3k written: 0.5k donated: 0/1.5k progress: 0/0

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~Surviving the Tyrant: todoroki touya synopsis: Waking up in your favourite novel would be such a fantastic experience. That's what you thought until you actually woke up in one and found yourself engaged to the tyrannical prince Todoroki Touya. Your death was to be by his hands, and you are going to do anything to avoid such a fate.

estimated wordcount: 10k written: 0 donated: 0/4k progress: 0/0

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~The Lament of Erebus: Midoriya-centric synopsis: They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people. OR Midoriya Izuku is quirkless, despite his protests, despite the feeling churning in his insides. It seems like fate has a cruel way to show its affection, as this lead to a social death sentence. And he has lived like that all his life. That is until society began to shift, creatures of the night swallowing people residing in the dark. The question is, what is the connection between them and Izuku?

estimated wordcount: ? written: 6.2k donated: 0/2k progress: 0/0

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~Back against the Wall: Meta-Analysis for ORV using the reader-insert synopsis: What kind of effect might you (you and you and you) have on the way the plot unfolds? Can your voice (overlapping, echoing, not truly yours, but it is) be heard in the scheme of grander things?

estimated wordcount: ? written: 4.3k donated: 0/2k progess: 0/0

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requests:

Once again, before anything, contact me to make sure that I'm able to write the possible request. The rate is the same, and I'm going to tell you how long the request might be based on my own estimations. Please be aware that these requests are limited, both time-wise and quantity-wise, and that I might refuse any request based on my own abilities and comfort.

what fandoms: MHA, HSR, Genshin, Naruto, Touchstarved, Obscura, JJK, Love and Deepspace, ORV, AoT, and some others, feel free to ask! I am also okay with certain continuations of some of my work to be requested

#fics for gaza

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bitchlessdino · 1 year ago

Note

MY BELOVED!! happy 3k you beautiful human!! ilysm <3333333

now, who would i be if i didn’t request multiple members and made it v biased? 😃 so i would like to request a woozi x seokmin x dino x reader fic in which they are all friends and maybe one or two of them live with mc and stumble across their dream-diary (woops) and see explicit dreams about them that they now want to make reality 🤭 make it as dirty and with as much degrading as you like giggles. i am normal!! i swear. LOVE U

Pairing: woozi x seokmin x dino x afab!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.6k

tags: heavy degradation, mentions of unprotected sex and creampies, choking, oral (rec.), hair pulling, foreplay heavy

author note: ILY MITCHIEEEE and thank you <3333. a little taste of what we're getting into this staycation. I'm also trying to get back into the format of writing less is more so I sincerely do hope whose reading enjoys. and remember asks are open!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @tommolex @emmmui @toruro

You’re a vivid dreamer. Your dreams are so vivid you wake up the next day recalling them as if they were actual events in your life. They can get so overwhelming, mornings are defiled with built-up sweat and other bodily fluids that soaks through your sheets. Unfortunately, many of these dreams just happened to be some of the “not safe for work” variety, getting you into the habit of leaving a towel under you before ending your day.

To make matters worse, you would replay these images in your brain until exhaustion–not without some restraint–making you feel guilty for the familiar faces that involuntarily got involved. Eventually, you realize you had to deal with these dreams one way or another.

Over the past few months of these types of dreams, you’ve kept a dream journal. It detailed some of the most intimate and out-of-pocket occurrences within your subconscious and for a while, it has helped take control of the situation. The wet dreams never stopped, but there is a bit of that reassurance that you’re able to process these images in a healthy manner. But none of these notes were ever meant to get out. Not a single one.

“I’m home with dinner! If I hear you’ve already eaten without me, Seokmin, I’m fighting you. You know I don’t like eating alone–what are the three of you doing?”

You watch your roommate and neighbors next door, Jihoon and Chan, scramble to hide whatever they had earlier within the depths of the couch cushions. You narrow your eyes at their suspiciously guilty faces before setting the pizza box on the kitchen counter and cautiously approaching them.

“Are you hiding something from me?”

None of them look like they would talk, probably in fear of your wrath, that was until one understood better than the others that there was no point in hiding the imminent truth. “I told them it was invasive!”

“Lee Jung Chan, you snitch!”

You glare at Jihoon for the animosity in his outburst towards Chan and in turn, it made the man go shrink in shame. “We didn’t know what it was at first,” he admits in a timid voice, “Seokmin thought it was a diary of you shit-talking us.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, bro!”

Now your eyes are shooting through your roommate, the one with access to your room at all times to borrow something with only the condition of him giving you a heads up. It just had to be the one day he decided to not ask that you forgot to properly store the journal away when you were leaving the apartment in a hurry for work.

He shrinks just the same as Jihoon before pulling the bounded book out, open to a page dated a humiliating night: the first night you dreamt of Seokmin fucking over the fire escape. You rip the book from his hands, fuming both in anger and mortification and clutches it to your chest. You are prepared to be mad, prepared to scream at them, foam at the mouth, but nothing would come out.

Instead, you feel like curling up in a ball and hiding away from the world, only ever leaving your room to eat or use the restroom. You don’t know what to do. You just feel naked.

All three men can tell underneath your silent frustration is shame, and they could feel more at fault. Seokmin is first to approach you, which makes you quickly retreat a step seeing how closer he got, but soon enough calm down by the caress of his hand over your hair, hearing him quietly apologizing again.

What none of them didn’t expect was for you to apologize, standing still in abhor of yourself for having such thoughts and even having all three make an appearance more than occasion. You admit your actions make you sick to your stomach. That you know in no way any of that can become a reality for you, that these dreams were simply disgusting, and you loathe yourself for having them.

They all grow silent, the air charged with the harshness of your words. It shocks them, rolling over to a state of bemusement and utter astonishment at how little you thought of yourself.

Seokmin peers closer at you, fingers threading over your hair. His gaze may be soft but pierces through you like sun rays on dry concrete. “Do you really think that?”

You can’t help but confirm, ready to defend yourself once more until Seokmin's hands are on your hips and his forehead kisses yours. There is a look in his eyes you can’t explain and you can’t help but feel weak at the knees, almost buckling from their sheer tension. His name comes out so softly from his lips, Seokmin can’t help but smile.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation…you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“E-excuse me?” You attempt back up from the bank but are pulled by the waist, meeting his hips incredulously.

“I said, you don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about.”

You’re able to pry yourself from him only to be met with the bodies of the other men you only realize now cornered you, becoming a makeshift pair of walls behind you. They share the same gaze Seokmin, all exhibiting this subtle darkness that turns your stomach inside out. It steals your breath. It speeds up your heart rate. A wave of vulnerability overtakes you and you are now surrounded by men who all knew already have a physical effect on you.

“How can we make that clear for you,” Jihoon speaks up, gliding a hand over your shoulder.

“Maybe the way to do it is to make those dreams a reality,” Chan joins, lips dangerously close to your neck.

You aren’t sure how things escalated the way they did. All you know is that split second you were entangled in a situation beyond the comprehension of involuntary self-manufactured imagery. Jihoon has you by the throat, platting with your breath take in as he kisses your lips feverishly. Chan kneads the fullness of your breasts, biting in your neck with conviction and desire while the sweat of his toned chest rubs against your naked backside. And finally, Seokmin has taken your legs between his face, nose pressing against your clit harsher the deeper he delves inside you with his tongue, understanding what your downfall tastes like.

Your mouth is stretched open in gasps, whines, and whimpers, and Jihoon manages to swallow every one. You inhale the stench of pure animal instinct and merely melt against the body behind you, not minding how his tight pinches and descriptive narration cease your lungs from expanding (as if Jihoon wasn’t already doing that enough).

“Is Seokmin eating your dirty little pussy well?” Chan’s low tenor sends shivers down your spine, making you squeeze your abdomen tight in response.

“Your journal was so interesting we couldn’t help ourselves. Sorry again. But not that sorry.”

Chan has always had a mouth on him but hearing him speak while everything was happening was pure sin. That’s what made the situation differ slightly from the dreams. The dreams were pure sex and no dialogue. You would think that made it dirtier, but it was missing what real-life Chan’s voice is currently giving: the whole picture.

“We’re only sorry a dirty little slut like you didn’t get the treatment you deserved until now.”

You can feel Jihoon’s smile against your lips as you let out a loud moan, causing him to dig his fingers a little harder against your neck, cutting harsher into your breathing. Chan chuckles, lips now trailing over your shoulders. “You like that, don’t you? Being called a little slut?”

You nod frantically, his pinches only getting tighter until his palms are whipped across your flesh. “You like that too, slut? I bet you’d like anything we do to you. Are we making you feel as good as you dreamt?”

Jihoon finally pulls away from you to let you answer, forcing you to face the younger man and squeeze the response out of you. “Well? You’re not gonna keep him waiting, are you, whore?”

His hand releases your neck and relaxes against it, now favoring your hair, in which he’s already wrapped around his knuckles.

“N-no, sir.”

“Then tell Chan what he wants to hear.”

You swallow your nerves down, turning into a puddle under the dark watchful of the eyes of the man in question and utter a soft “yes” and crumble in front of them to see and hear. Ripples of arousal go through you, clenching around Seokmin’s tongue when he finds your sweet spot. You clutch your chest as if a line of pearls are dangling off your collarbone, releasing your ivory nectar lining his mouth and taste buds. He moans into your heat, caressing your thighs. “Our needy mess tastes so good…”

You look back at him longingly, tempted by the glossy sheen of his lips, and Seokmin is quick to realize it. He connects your lips, pulling you from Chan to fall on top of him instead. “Such a fucking mess,” he mumbles, “need you cumming all over my cock…”

Chan’s hand slips through your hair as Jihoon’s nails grated over your ass’s flesh, you clench around nothing when they join you. Although they’d made cum once today, you severely doubt that it’d be the last. “I’m sure they’d love to be filled up with all our cocks. Isn’t that right?” Chan questions.

When you let out another weak “yes,” they join your weak display of need, pressing against parts of your body that only ache to be filled, ache to be ruined, ache to be stretched and pulled until your body is fatigued beyond comprehension.

“I hope you can handle it,” Jihoon comments in feigned concern, “handle us reusing you and take turns fucking our cum back into you, that is.”

Part of my 3K Follower StayCation!!!

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shiggysimp69 · 1 year ago

Text

Craving You

Omg I'm writing, again! And it's 3k words this time, which is crazy. Turns out writing without planning is a blessing and a curse because I forgot the plot I thought of at 5am and had to remake it up but it also saves me from over thinking so I write faster. Yay, yay, yay!

Tw: Dubcon, Smut (Tomura has tentacles), Sleep paralysis, Reader has mild body image issues, Mentions binge eating, Mentions reader's bad dad

Plus size/chubby reader is being harassed by monster Tomura.

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A long sigh escaped your lips as you clicked "submit" on your newest assignment. You had been up for hours trying to get it done; your eye bags becoming more and more noticeable everyday. It wasn't like you cared. Your body had always been labeled as undesirable. People would rather look at women with soft, glowing skin with absolutely no imperfections. It did hurt sometimes though, because even girls who had noticeable imperfections still ended up with great partners. You secretly wished that was you.

You looked over at the clock by your bed, 2:22am. It was way past your bedtime. You sighed again before getting up from your desk. Your body creaked reminding you that you could use some exercise. But of course that thought was quickly dismissed, maybe if you had more time. Or rather, more energy.

You sunk into your cheap mattress as your thoughts wandered. What were you gonna eat tomorrow? Would you be able to get enough sleep to work and go to school? You weren't so sure. Without noticing, you dozed off. Drifting into a long slumber.

Moonlight beamed in through your window, hitting your face. It was so bright you thought it was the sun. You opened your eyes and realized, you were no longer in your room. Everything was different, even the placement of your window. It was never by your bed for this very reason. You didn't want the sun in your face. Panic stirred deep inside of you. You tried to sit up but you couldn't move. You tried to speak but nothing came out. You were stuck. Sweat gathered on your face and your mouth ran dry. You were scared and in a panic yet, everything around you was calm. As if it was just a normal night, except for the fact that you were possibly kidnapped in your sleep. That was unsettling. It was like the universe deemed this as "okay," as "just another day" and yet here you were. Clearly not having "just another day."

The moonlight had lit up the room but then suddenly, it went dark. You looked over and there was something blocking the window. No, someone was blocking the window. Your heart started to beat out of your chest. Someone was there and you couldn't move. Your breath hitched in your throat as they leaned into your face. Pearly white hair glowed in the moonlight capturing your gaze. It was long and snaked over their shoulders and face. They just stood there, watching you. What did they want? Did they bring you here? Were they going to hurt you? You had so many questions swarming around in your head like a jar of bees, just waiting to be let out. To be set free. But they never were.

The stranger standing over you started heaving. Their voice sounded strained and raspy. You didn't know what they were getting so worked up about until you felt something slimy touch your foot. It slowly wiggled along the bottom before sliding up your leg. Your heart started pounding as it made its way into your shorts and then, your panties. You could feel it rub along your folds, grazing your clit each time. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to ignore the feeling between your legs.

"So pretty…"

You didn't wanna acknowledge them.

"I wonder how you'll react if I go in."

You wanted this to all go away.

"Hey, why won't you look at me?"

You wanted to die.

"Look at me."

You woke up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, eyes watering. You couldn't get yourself to calm down. You ripped the covers off and rushed out of bed. No slimy tentacles. You turned around. No window. You laughed, you couldn't help it. The relief was too strong for your body. It was a dream. A fucking dream. You put your head in your hands as your body slowly relaxed. You were so tired you felt like you would collapse. A sudden ringing in your ears brought you back to reality. It was your alarm. You sighed, then went to turn it off. You wondered if a nightmare would count as an excused absence as you headed to the bathroom. Probably not.

The vending machine clunked as your drink was pushed to the bottom. You pulled it out and opened it with a pop. You were taking a break between classes to clear your head. The only thing you could think about all day was the dream you had last night. At the time, you wanted to die. You were absolutely certain that death would be better than what you were experiencing. Had you ever felt like that before? Even in your darkest moment; did you feel as though death was the only way out? You couldn't tell. Soft buzzing interrupted your thoughts. You took a sip of your drink before pulling your phone out of your pocket.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon dear. How are you feeling?"

It was your grandma. You liked to hear from her every now and again. However, she wasn't content with that, opting to call you everyday. You didn't mind most of the time but she had a habit of calling when you were busy. Which was annoying.

"Hey ma. I'm okay, just getting something to drink."

"I hope it's not one of those sugary drinks. Your father has been complaining about your weight more and more recently."

You rolled your eyes.

"Personally, I think he's overreacting. He should know it's hard not to eat a lot when it tastes so good." She whispered with a chuckle. A smile crossed your face. Your father had always complained about your weight. It was like he cared about nothing else in life. You could be bleeding out and he'd say it's because you're overweight. That if you were healthier, this wouldn't be a problem. Your grandma was the exact opposite though. She cared but not nearly as much. And she was the one you confided in when you started to binge eat.

"I'm glad at least someone gets it."

"Oh, will you come and visit me during your spring break? I'll save a little extra money and bake your favorite cake. Don't worry, I won't tell your father."

You could imagine her placing a boney finger over her mouth. Your grandma was the definition of sweet. She was one of those grandparents that'd spoil their grandchildren. Feed them, bathe them, hell she'd give up her own home for you. She never argued or made a fuss. It worried you sometimes. You hoped that in her old age she wasn't secretly being mistreated and not saying anything. That's why you promised you'd never put her in a retirement home. The possibility of it weighing on your mind like a bus.

"Okay ma. I'll try."

"Thank goodness. I'm glad I have such a kind grandchild. My own son can barely take me to my appointments."

She clicked her teeth.

"Okay dear. I won't keep you. Study hard and don't come back until you graduate!"

"So, miss the cake?"

She laughed.

"Of course, stop by for the cake!"

You both started laughing then. You didn't know what you'd do without her. Her optimism was exactly what you needed on days like this.

"I'll talk to you later, ma."

"Alright. Love you."

"Love you."

The call ended with a click and you were alone again. You placed your phone back in your pocket then looked up at the sky, thinking.

"He's worried about my weight, huh… Well, maybe I wouldn't be so big if that wasn't the only thing he worried about."

You took a sip of your drink then turned on your heels. Maybe you'd get something to eat too. Soft ringing could be heard from your phone again. You sighed, your grandma did this sometimes. Call for one thing, then call back for another. You pulled your phone out and answered.

"Hello?"

There was nothing.

"Hellooo? Ma, I know it's you."

Still nothing. You pulled the phone away from your ear and checked the screen. "Ma." She was definitely the one who called.

"Ma, this isn't funny-"

"Beautiful…"

Your hand clenched around your phone. It was the same raspy voice from your dream.

"Can almost feel you from here."

They chuckled.

"Can you feel me?"

Something wet touched your ear and you threw your phone. You could hear them laughing on the other side. You felt sick to your stomach. The sound of static covered their laughter as you started to hear your grandma's voice.

"Dearie, are you there!?"

"M-Ma?"

The laughing stopped and so did the static. Your breath was caught in your throat as you reached down to pick up your now cracked phone.

"H… Hello?"

"Thank goodness! I thought something had happened to you."

Technically something did happen to you. But how could you tell her that the same person from your dream somehow contacted you using her phone number? You'd sound crazy.

"No. No, I'm fine. What's the matter?"

"Are you sure? You do know you can talk to me?"

You gulped.

"Yeah. I know." You replied, your voice shaking.

"I'm fine. Really."

Your grandma paused for a minute.

"Okay. Whenever you feel like talking about it, I'm here."

"Mhm."

A weak smile grazed your lips. You were acting as if she was there. Smiling so that she'd think everything was fine. Or was it so you'd think that?

Turns out, you were right. Your grandma needed help with something small and that was all she called for. When you hung up for the second time, you stared at your phone. You should've been thinking about all the new cracks on your screen. How you were gonna get them fixed. Or if you needed a new one entirely. But the only thing you could think about was, how did they touch you? How in the world did they reach through your phone and touch you? Is that even humanly possible? Or did you just imagine it all? No. You clearly felt it. You not only felt it but heard it. You had heard that same exact gravelly voice from before. You weren't crazy. But you sure as hell felt like it.

You emailed your professor explaining that you wouldn't be showing up today because of an illness. You told your boss the same thing. They both let it slide. "You were thankful" would've been an understatement. It's true that you weren't physically sick but you were definitely mentally sick. You just wanted to go home and forget all about today. But you knew it wouldn't be that easy.

As you made your way to your apartment, you spotted a familiar face. It was Ash. The last person you wanted to see right now. He was your coworker and you shamelessly and very obviously had a crush on him. But after that defiling dream you had, it was hard to look at him. Mainly because you wanted him to touch you like that, not some weird tentacle.

"A-Ash?"

He turned to face you then smiled. It made your heart flutter.

"For someone who's sick you seem to be gettin' around just fine."

Your breath hitched as you remembered the reason why you called off in the first place. He quickly noticed your discomfort.

"Hey, I was only joking. What happened? Lady cramps or somethin'?"

He walked up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. He did that often. Ash was always so predictable; you loved that about him.

"I… I can't tell you." You replied, looking down at your feet. His face hardened.

"You can't tell me or you don't wanna tell me?"

"I can't."

Ash's grip tightened on your shoulder.

"It was your dad wasn't it? I'll kill him if he did anything-"

"No! It wasn't him."

You knew telling him might not have been the best idea. Ash had major anger issues. And he probably wouldn't take this lightly. You looked back up at him and forced a smile.

"Just forget I said anything. I don't want to bother you."

He didn't like that at all. His brows furrowing in frustration. You wanted to tell him but you were worried. If you told him, would he believe you? Would he think you're crazy? Would this ruin your chances of dating him? But maybe you could get some actual peace of mind from telling him. Maybe, he could even help. You didn't know what to choose.

"Let's go inside."

You looked at him, confused.

"Maybe if you're relaxed you'll tell me." Ash said, grabbing your hand and leading you to your door. You didn't protest, unlocking it and walking inside. It would be better to have this conversation indoors anyway. If you were even gonna have it, that is.

Ash took a seat on your couch and you went to change into something more comfortable. When you sat down next to him, things got awkward. You didn't wanna talk about what happened anymore and just wanted to relax but Ash clearly wasn't having it.

"So. Do you want something to drink?"

"Do you wanna tell me what's going on?"

You bit your lip.

"I want you to be there for me. I just had a rough day and I don't wanna talk about it. I just- I want you to be my friend right now. Not my bodyguard."

He was quiet for some time. You couldn't tell what he was thinking but after a while he seemed to calm down.

"Alight'."

"Thank you, Ash."

You two sat in silence for a minute before he spoke.

"You looked nice today."

Your face flushed. You forgot that Ash never really sees you outside of your work clothes.

"Th-Thank you."

The awkward tension returned immediately afterward. The only difference being the wetness forming between your legs.

"You look nice too…" You said, fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

"What's gotcha so nervous?"

The hair on your neck stood up at that question. How could you answer that?

"Nothing! It's just been a while since I've had friends over."

"Mhm."

He wasn't buying it. Suddenly, he leaned in closer to you.

"Or, is there something you're not tellin' me?"

You let out a shaky breath. You couldn't handle how close he was to you. The smell of cinders filled your senses. It was ironic that he smelled like ashes to match his name. You wondered if he did that on purpose. Ash looked down at your plush thighs. You were clearly rubbing your legs together. He chuckled. You didn't notice at first but it felt like you were being watched. Not by Ash but by something else. The feeling was so strong it stopped you in your tracks.

"What's wrong?"

"H-Huh? It's nothing."

Ash didn't question it, instead closing his eyes expectantly. You leaned in but the feeling didn't go away. It only got worse. It was like daggers were being pushed into your skin. You couldn't take it anymore and pulled away.

"I'm sorry."

Ash didn't seem disappointed, he didn't seem to react at all actually. You looked down and fumbled with your shirt again.

"It's alight'."

It was silent again. But this time it was like the tension had reached out and grabbed you by the throat.

"Umm. Maybe we could do something different?"

He didn't respond. You looked up and he was gone.

"A-Ash?"

You didn't hear him get up. Where did he go?

"Naughty girl…"

Your blood ran cold. It was them, that same voice. Something wet touched your toes and you yelped then pulled away. They didn't stop though, the tentacles wrapping around your ankles and snaking up your legs.

"What the hell!?"

You could hear them click their tongue in disapproval. Your back was pressed against the couch and they draped their arms over your shoulders. You tensed up under their touch.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt him." They whispered in your ear.

"Yet."

You felt tears form in the corners of your eyes. Two more tentacles wrapped around your wrists pinning them together. The ones around your legs did the same.

"I'm just curious as to what you think you're doing just giving your body to other people?"

Another tentacle wiggled into your shorts and rubbed your clothed pussy.

"Look at you. All worked up over him."

They paused.

"How disgusting."

The tentacle ripped your panties to shreds and started rubbing up and down along your folds. You tried to pull away but you just kept hitting the back of your couch.

"P-Please! Please don't!"

They moved from behind you to stand in front of your face. Your brain couldn't comprehend what they were. It was a man. But something was off about him that you couldn't explain. Maybe it was his long locks of matted white hair or his thin yet muscular appearance? No, it was definitely the uncanny feeling his face gave you. With the whites of his eyes completely black and scars and wrinkles all over. Crimson eyes pierced your soul as he stared down at you.

"Please don't what? Don't touch what's mine? I don't think you quite understand what's going on here."

He grabbed you by your chin and leaned into your face. You could feel his breath fan across your features.

"How should I put this? I own you. So I don't like when people touch what I own. And you wanna know what I also don't like?"

You whimpered in response, pulling away.

"I don't like when you reject me. When you would rather let that little boy who doesn't even care about you have his way with you."

Your mind was reeling. What was he talking about? How could this man you didn't even know like you? Not only like you but assume that Ash, your best friend, didn't care about you. What did he know? What even was he?

"I-I don't understand."

Tears streamed down your face as thousands of thoughts and questions overwhelmed you. Suddenly, something rough pressed against your lips and you realized he kissed you. It was tender at first but he quickly dominated you and stuck his tongue down your throat. You almost choked on it. It was thick and too long for an average tongue. He started fucking you with it. The feeling was unimaginable and you, enjoyed it? It was embarrassing to admit and awful to think about but halfway through, you started rubbing your legs together. And he seemed to notice because he sped up. Thoroughly fucking you out. When he pulled away you felt empty and cold. Without much thought, you whined at his absence and he smiled in response.

"Do you understand now?"

He licked a long stroke up the side of your face.

"I'm the only one who can please you."

The tentacle working your pussy seemed to have gotten bored and started rubbing circles around your clit instead. Soft moans escaped your lips with each movement.

"B-But how do you even like someone like me!?"

The man paused for a bit. He seemed surprised by your question, which made sense because you also didn't know where that came from. But all of a sudden emotions were just spilling out of you.

"My own father th-thinks I'm hideous. Ash was one of my only friends. I-I loved him because he didn't care about what I looked like. And now he's gone."

More tears fell from your eyes as you admitted this out loud.

"You were in my dreams, my phone, a-and for what? All that for a fat girl that nobody even thinks of dating!"

Your stomach churned as the feeling of pleasure and misery mixed together like you had consumed something rotten.

You could feel his eyes on you, judging you. Of course he was, just like your father.

"What's wrong with you being fat?"

Your eyes widened at his question.

"Wha-"

You were cut off by his sudden touch. He grabbed your waist and squished your love handles, playing with them.

"You're so soft and squishy."

His hands slid up to your chest as he groped there too.

"I mean, look at me. I'm the exact opposite of you. Isn't that exciting?"

He pinched you and you whimpered.

"I'm rough and slim and you're buttery and thick. My hands just sink into you."

He let out a sigh.

"It's exhilarating."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Nobody had ever told you that before. Your grandma was always okay with your weight but you didn't realize until now that being okay with you is different than liking you. Was Ash also just "okay" with you? Something welded up inside of you at that realization. You wanted to be praised more. You wanted to be loved more than anything. Loved by him.

"Besides, you're more than just your looks, right?"

You smiled. Your grandma used to tell you that but most of the time people just wanna hear they're pretty every once in a while. But from him, it felt nice. Your arousal had been lost in a sea of different feelings and emotions, now seemingly canceling each other out. Everything felt calmer now.

"Umm, what's your name?"

He pressed his face against your chest.

"Tomura."

"Tomura. That's a pretty name."

He froze for a bit. Even his tentacles loosened around you. He spoke but his words were muffled and low.

"What?" You asked and he lifted his head.

"Doesn't matter."

The tentacle that now rested against your pussy started moving again.

"Was that your way of coming around? Because I'm not done with you yet."

His long tongue snaked out from between his lips. It was a deep indigo color that mirrored the tentacles. He was so enticing.

"Will you… Be nice to me?"

Tomura smiled. There was something sinister underneath but it still captivated you.

"The nicest."

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Writing requests are open!

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lucien0501 · 1 month ago

Text

Memories (Wolfstar oneshot)

Summary:

Remus Lupin reflecting on memories from his past through the lenses of viewing Sirius Black as a traitor. Plus a few fun present day moments too! Harry Potter Marauders fandom. Overall a sad fic, but has some fluffy wolfstar/marauders moments and a little angst;)

Note: I do not support the views of the author (I am a trans person so....no🤬) but I love these very gay characters so much that I had to write about them!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol use disorder, mentions of smoking, mentions of parental abuse, main character betrayal, main character death.

Let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 3k

REMUS POV:

Early 7th year:

It was almost one in the morning and Sirius and I were alone in the common room, staring at the dying embers of the fire. James and Peter were still in detention and I knew Sirius was glad for the chance to hurt with a smaller audience. He'd told me multiple times to go to bed but I couldn't. I knew what it was like to feel alone and I knew how much easier it felt to push people away, than let them in. But I loved Sirius and I wasn't going anywhere, even if I hadn't worked up the courage to say those three little words yet.

Sirius glared down at the parchment in his hand, and although his face was dry, I knew there were tears in his soul. The burning rage roared in my blood again, demanding that I protect, that I hurt anyone who hurt Sirius. My Sirius. I didn't know what the letter said exactly, but by the tightness in his jaw I knew it was worse than usual. He'd brushed it off all day, but he couldn't hide the heaviness, not from me.

Sirius balled up the letter with sudden ferocity and chucked it into the fire, sending up a firework of sparks. He crawled into my lap, pressing his face into my chest. "I hate them." The words were choked, and however much my heart ached, I couldn't help but be glad that he was getting it out, talking to me. It had taken him years to even admit that things weren't great at home, and only started letting us support him a few months ago.

I gently stroked his hair as he whispered, "I wish she could just realize I'll never be like her and leave me the bloody hell alone."

The bitterness and hate in his words had my anger building all over again. I wanted to release the beast inside me on Walburga and let it tear and rip and kill until there was nothing left. But then all of that faded away as Sirius looked up at me and whispered, "I love you, Moony."

I blinked, startled. It was rare for Sirius to talk about his emotions this willingly, but this was real. His usual false arrogance was gone, and true vulnerability shone in his eyes. I had feared for so long that I didn't deserve to say those words, let alone hear them, but as he traced my jawline, I felt the fear melt away.

He deserved to know how I truly felt. "I love you too, Pads." I whispered, my heart soaring. "Forever."

He pressed a tender kiss to my lips and agreed, "Forever."

But it wasn't forever. Not even close.

Late 7th year:

I took another bite of the chocolate, feeling stupid. I went on a dangerous rampage once a month, and was a threat to society, I didn't deserve to be pampered after.

But the weariness in my bones was so complete that I couldn't bring myself to protest.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, unable to look at my friends.

"What the hell for?" James asked, affronted.

"For..." I gestured at myself, at the new scar running along my bicep. "This. For being so hard."

"None of us are exactly easy, Moons." James said quietly. "We all have hard times and we all support each other. That's how this works. You lot have had to put up with me being an arrogant git for the last 7 years.”

“You're still an arrogant git, Prongs.” Sirius deadpanned. “Nothing's changed.”

James smacked him, and I laughed. The sound was hoarse but it felt good, felt like a little piece of normal. Of family and home.

Sirius gripped my hand tightly. "No matter what, Remus. For every full moon, we'll be here."

But he wasn't. None of them were.

Two years after graduation:

'I'm going to quit drinking." Sirius said as he walked into my flat. I raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean I have to quit smoking?"

He laughed. "No. It would probably be better if we're not irritable at the same time."

I took a sip of my tea and smiled. "Probably. What prompted this?"

He flopped down in the chair across from mine. "I realized I use it to cope and I don't want it to turn into alcohol use disorder, I don't want that to be another thing that we have to overcome. Or if we decide to get married and have kids, I want to be a good father, one who knows how to manage his emotions. And I want to be ok for you, for us to be happy. No matter where life takes us."

I would miss drunk Sirius when he was happy. The little smile he only got when he was drinking, the way he looked so carefree, dancing and singing at the top of his lungs. But I wouldn't miss when he did use alcohol to cope. I wouldn't miss coming over only to find him with a half finished bottle of whiskey, head in his hands. He always sounded so broken, like nothing I could ever do would be enough to help him heal. "It makes me happy that you're thinking about our future" -- even if it was a future I didn't deserve-- I admitted. "But I want you to quit for yourself, Pads. To know that you're worthy of taking care of yourself."

He looked down at the table, running a hand through his hair and tugging slightly. The motion had me clenching my fists under the table to keep from reaching out and doing a little tugging myself. "Alright." He said finally, meeting my eyes. My breath caught at how beautiful he was, his eyes a smoky gray that I would never stop falling into. "I'll heal for myself, and for you. I'm committing to us, to our future, Remus."

Spoiler alert, he wasn't.

The day Harry is born:

Sirius had talked my ear off in the waiting room, so excited for all the adventures we would have once Harry grew a little bit older. Now, though, holding the newborn, he looked peaceful. A light had bloomed in his eyes the moment he saw his godson and I smiled to myself as I watched him place a gentle kiss on little Harry's fluffy head.

"Congratulations." I said to a tired Lily and James, managing to tear my eyes away from Sirius.

James tucked an arm around Lily, both of them smiling happily at their son. A funny feeling grew in my chest, imagining Sirius and I with a child of our own one day. We hadn't talked about the possibility much, other than agreeing that we both liked the idea, but I knew the day would come.

Sirius offered Harry to me. "Do you want a turn?"

"Oh." Somehow it hasn't occurred to me that I might get to hold the newborn. I looked down at my scarred hands, wondering if I should really be trusted with such a little baby. But then Harry opened his eyes and gave me a tiny little smile, waving his scrunched fist in the air and I caved. "Alright."

He fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and as I smiled down at him, already fast asleep again, I felt a warmth bloom in my chest. This felt like the beginning of something special. Like maybe all of the hardship and heartbreak we'd all been through was over and we could start fresh for baby Harry.

I didn't know then, of course. I wonder if it was better to have those memories, to have felt that love and hope and have it crushed.

Or maybe, if it would have been better to never feel any of it at all.

Present day (three months before Sirius breaks out of Azkaban):

It had been 12 years. 12 fucking years since I lost everything, everyone. Twelve years since the night I'd just sat on my bed, alone, staring at the wall. 12 years since I'd heard his heartbeat, touched his skin. 12 years since I'd let Dumbledore take Harry, knowing that a werewolf was a shit person to raise a child. 12 years since I lost them all, because of him. Sirius goddamn Black. I couldn't go anywhere for six months without hearing about him, what a mad bloke he must have been, what a bloody sod for siding with You-Know-Who. I'd sorted through his flat after, there had been no one else to do it. I'd scoured everywhere for any trace, any evidence, any reason why. But there was nothing. Only the blood on the street I'd seen when I'd arrived too late to see him. Only the notice that the evidence was so strong that there was no need for a trial. Just a life sentence in Azkaban. His flat was gone now, I'd sold everything of his except what was currently weighing down my pocket. It had always felt heavier than it should be, the ring. It was simple, just a gold band with a diamond in the center. But on the inside, the engraving....I couldn't bear to look at it, and yet I couldn't stop myself. I pulled it out of the box and turned it over. 'S+R'

I gritted my teeth, clenching my fist so tight around the ring that I knew it would leave an imprint. 'So many full moons, so many lonely nights and empty chairs.' I wanted to scream. 'What about your promises?'

But I didn't. My soul was already so full of unheard tears and words, what were a few more?

I opened my fist, staring bitterly at the fateful ring. I took a deep, shaky breath. It was time. I pulled my arm back, and chucked the ring into the Thames. It sank quickly beneath the dark frigid waters and I found myself rooted to the spot, staring at where it had fallen just moments ago. As I stood there, I wasn't sure who I hated more. Sirius, for his actions, or myself for still loving him

SIRIUS POV:

A week after the end of Prisoner of Azkaban

I stood outside the door of Grimauld place, my heart hammering. It wasn't just the return to my childhood home, so full of memories as sharp as knives. No, my heart raced for who would be standing on the other side of the big wooden door with its peeling green paint. I smoothed back my hair, glad I'd been able to clean up before arriving. Not that my cleaner appearance today could erase how he'd seen me a week ago. His words still rang in my ears. "I never stopped loving you."

The words had been hurried, whispered in my ear as we'd embraced, and the fear I'd misheard them was all too heavy in my chest. He'd had 13 years to move on, to realize how much better off he was without me. Merlin's bollocks, what if I was standing here deliberating but he wasn't even here? I'd given him Instructions but what if they hadn't been clear enough? What if he'd decided not to come?

I almost missed the arrogant, cocky person I'd been in my youth as I pushed open the already unlocked door, and stepped over the threshold.

And there he was. Remus John Lupin. Moony. Mine. My hands shook as I closed the door behind me, as we stood there, just drinking each other in.

Finally, I had to break the silence. "Glad you made it alright, then."

What a stupid thing to say. 13 years of debating my first words when we were alone and this was what came out of my mouth?!

He just stared at me and I took a step towards him. "Remus."

He visibly swallowed. "Sirius."

Just my name, but it held so much emotion, so many unsaid words. His voice was hoarser than I remembered but I liked it. It was kind of sexy. He looked older than I remembered too, flecks of grey peppered in the light brown of his hair. But I supposed my curls were hardly as dark as they used to be, either. Suddenly I felt a bust of longing for the past. When had we stopped being schoolchildren at Hogwarts? When had we lost so much time?

I took another step towards him, so many words vying to be first out of my mouth. "I never stopped loving you either." I said quietly. "Not a single day went by that I didn't think of you, didn't wish that I could--"

But my sentence went forever unfinished because he had launched himself at me and then he was in my arms, holding me tighter than he ever had before. I tangled one hand in his hair, the other gripping the back of his shirt. He still wore the same oversized jumpers, still smelled the same; like bergamot and lime and a little hint of wood smoke.

This was real. This was real. This was real.

"I'm sorry." The words came out choked from the lump in my throat. "I should have told you that I wasn't the secret keeper for the Potter's house. Lily and James thought it would be better to not even mention it out loud but I should have told you anyway." Their names still hurt, even after all this time. "There are so many things I should have done differently."

Remus gripped me tighter. "Its alright. I shouldn't have believed you'd betrayed us, but I just....nothing made sense and there was so much blood on the street."

Fuck, he'd lost everything that night. Then again, so had I. "I know." I whispered. "I know."

I pulled back a little, gently wiping the tears from his face and then kissing him. He gasped softly against my lips before kissing me back, and I'd dreamed of this over and over but nothing could come close to the reality. To this.

The kiss was slow and soft and tender, a kiss to make up for everything we'd lost. I wanted to lose myself in this feeling, this peace and coming home, but I couldn't. I had a promise to keep. A promise to myself.

I stepped back and took his hands in mine. The touch was so familiar, so perfect as I dropped to a knee in front of him. "When I was in Azkaban," I started, "I had a lot of time to think. And one of the things I regretted most was not letting you know how much I love you. Not telling you how much you mean to me. You're my person, Moony. All of the times that we held each other, talked late in to the night, that you told me your random philosophical thoughts. All of the times we had together good, and bad, are the memories that mean the most to me. I love you, Remus. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

He dropped to his knees before me with a soft thud. His eyes shone as he took my face in his hands. "Yes. Yes you stupid git, of course I'll marry you."

Then he tackled me back onto the floor and we were both laughing and crying and tangled together. "I had a ring in my flat." I murmured as I pressed kisses to his jaw, his throat. "S'pose its still there."

Remus froze and pulled back. "I....er...I threw it in the Thames."

I sputtered, laughing. "You what?"

He flushed. "I carried it around for 12 years and then decided it was time to get over you. So I threw it in the Thames."

I chuckled, tugging him close again. "You wanted to get over me, huh? How'd that work out?"

He buried his face in my neck. "Terribly. I love you, Sirius."

"I love you too." I whispered.

But of course, like all things forged before the coming war, it didn't last.

17 notes · View notes

aloneinthehellfire · 11 months ago

Note

for the rh readers version, I was wondering if you could write in a Christmas chapter? I know technically we did get one at the end of rh1 but I’d love to see it at the end of rh2, something where they aren’t necessarily thinking about danger and reader spends time with her sister, that sort of thing

no worries if not, i just absolutely love this story and all the characters are so special to me now you’ve written such a beautiful thing. Anyways, merry Christmas if you celebrate it!

thank you for asking me to write this, these characters deserved sweetness in their life <3

and im fully aware of me being super late with this but I took some time off to relax for the holidays :)

RAINING HELLFIRE [READER’S VERSION]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: small mention of a scar, uh… steve? is steve a warning?

Set in the Christmas after RH2: Chapter 13: Happy Endings…

Find all Raining Hellfire works here <3

Summary: After all the horror from Halloween, the close calls and the nightmares, Y/n deserved a day with her friends that didn’t involve chasing after theories or running from monsters.

[A/N:I hope everyone had a happy new year! I know for a fact this time of year can be emotional, some of us unable to share it with people we love or having to share it with complicated familial relationships, no one is alone. I hope this little lost chapter will bring some joy to everyone. Spoilers: it’s adorable. Extra spoilers: it’s terrible writing.]

RH2: A SILENT NIGHT WOULDN’T FEEL RIGHT

A soft melody of the radio downstairs carried its way to you, singing faint Christmas tunes in your ear.

It was Christmas Eve night and you were sitting in your room, ripping off some tape to secure the last gift. Technically you had finished wrapping your presents days ago, but Jack had spotted something at the radio shack he thought Steve might like. It was sweet of him to think of your best friend.

You and Jack had spent the day driving around Hawkins, deciding upon a tradition of viewing the Christmas lights. It was the first year you had done it, and Jack was adamant that it wouldn’t be the last.

With a sigh, you lean back against your bed and survey your work, checking the paper hadn’t ripped in your haste to be finished before the plans you had made arrived. But your eyes caught something else.

A small box was currently sitting atop your bookshelf in the corner, almost haunting the shelf it resides. It was too far to read the label, but it wasn’t as if you had forgotten who it was for.

This whole year had thrown a bunch of twists and turns you hadn’t anticipated, one of those being the breakup that shattered two hearts. And, as a result, you now had a premature gift all wrapped up neatly with no one to give it to. Because it wasn’t meant for anyone else.

Maybe one day, you think as you imagine that little guitar pick necklace.

The ring of the doorbell shattered your bittersweet haze and you checked the clock, immediately suppressing a grin. Finally.

You jump up and quickly grab the sweater you had folded onto the desk, your feet soon finding the staircase as you practically flew down it. Jack had only just set down his coffee as you bounded past him, his eyes following you with a curious and inquisitive gaze.

Rather than acknowledge it, you quickly sweep away Jack's abandoned shoes from the foyer and pull open the door, a smile already painting your features.

“You’re late.” You grin, earning yourself a laugh.

“Fine, okay, you win.” Steve chuckles as he shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes, “But it’s not my fault, Dustin-“

“Nuh-uh.” You interrupt with a grin. “We had a deal, loser. No excuses.”

His shoulders drop in a mocking defeat as you present the sweater in your hand.

“Jokes on you.” Steve juts his chin, displaying the outfit against his chest, “I rock Christmas sweaters.”

“Good to see you didn’t leave your ego at Dustin’s.” You snort as he pulls the fabric over his head, his hair springing back into shape once the clothes settle on his body.

“Eh?” He spreads his arms and you tighten your lips.

You had both been Christmas shopping together a few days ago, reminiscing the horror of fashions past, stumbling by chance upon the ugliest Christmas sweater you had ever seen. It was as if someone had sloppily thrown on some tinsel and glitter and called it a day. You had jokingly commented that it would suit him, to which he refused to try it on. So you made a bet based upon your extensive knowledge of his tardiness. And, as expected, you won.

“Who threw up on you?” Jack comments from behind you and you can’t hold your laugh in anymore.

“You don’t like?” Steve asks, and you see he has straightened himself a little more, something he always did when Jack was around. It was cute that he cared what he thought.

“Wait, you haven’t seen the best part.” You giggle, clumsily searching along the lining of the fabric until you hear a ‘click’. If looks could kill, you would drop to the floor without a heartbeat from the way Steve’s glare was twinkling above his now lit-up sweater.

Jack stops and inspects it like it was his duty, slowly nodding.

“That reminds me, we need to chuck out those leftovers from your stew.” He says, looking at you and your mouth gapes open.

“Ha, yes! Burn.” Steve points at you, happy to not be the only butt of the joke.

You let out an offended gasp, “My cooking is not that bad.”

“Kid.” Jack says with fake sympathy. “The only thing you can muster up is waffles and we all know it. Even you couldn’t stomach that stew last night.”

“… I also make cakes.” You say, pursing your lips.

“Fine, fine.” He laughs, raising his hands. “Look, don’t make any mess tonight, okay? I already have to work a last minute shift, I don’t wanna be walking into a bomb site when I get back.”

“Yes, we are known for throwing wild parties.” You nod and Steve smirks, switching off his glittery sweater.

“I’ll see you both later.” Jack dismisses with a laugh, grabbing his coat and keys as he disappears out the door.

“So when is this wild party happening?” Steve asks as he grabs the tupperware container and follows you into the kitchen.

“In like 10 minutes so we need to hurry.” You stress as you rifle through the fridge, pulling out various items.

“10?!” His eyes widened, “Why the hell are we doing everything in 10 minutes?”

You send a look of disbelief, cradling different pre-made treats.

“Ah.” He thins his lips, nodding slowly in acknowledgment.

“Ah.” You mock, dropping everything on the counter, “Lucky for you, Jack is right. I’m shit at cooking so I basically raided Bradley’s for food yesterday.”

“Smart.” He nods, surveying the food, “Hold up. No popcorn?”

“The last time I made popcorn around you, it disappeared in a minute flat. Four times.”

“Hey, gotta be some kind of record.”

“I’d check but I don’t care enough.”

“Rude.”

The doorbell echoes through to the kitchen and you groan.

“Why did I agree to this?” You cringe when the doorbell rings again.

“Because you love us.” Steve smiles at you weirdly and you resist the urge to kick him. Which, incidentally, is what he assumed you would do as he takes a massive step back. “And because you suggested it like a month ago, please don’t kill me.”

You open your mouth to speak when the bell is rung so many times in a row that you finally give up on the conversation and yell out.

“Okay, okay! I’m here, Jesus Christ.” You sigh, swinging open the door to find two boys. Will smiles up at you while Mike stares guiltily with one finger still on the doorbell.

“Hi.” Will waves a small wrapped box at you and Mike starts to smile. You tilt your head at him.

“Did you ring enough times?” You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, come in, we’re almost done.”

You start to look away and the same echo of a doorbell floods your house, prompting you to spin around. Mike immediately removes his hand and puts them both behind his back.

“Now I’m done.” He grins as he rushes past you, only just avoiding your attack to grab him. Will is laughing as he gives you a quick hug and trails after his friend.

“Everything alright?” Steve leans against the doorframe with a smirk and you shut the front door with the kick of your foot.

“Just peachy.” You shake your head in amusement.

***

By the time the last guest had arrived, everything was truly starting to feel like Christmas again.

Steve had managed to string up some lights in the living room as per Max's request. She's always loved the twinkle of them ever since she was little, cross legged on the rug, wide blue eyes staring up. She wasn't as engrossed with them now, but you knew she needed that little piece of home with her in this new place.

The Party sat around the TV, arguing over which movie to watch. You knew they'd never decide, especially not when gifts were about to be presented to them.

El was the last kid to arrive. You had quickly welcomed her into the house before Hopper could change his mind. He needed to learn to let her live her own life for a little bit. Maybe live his own, too.

“They seem to be having fun, right?” Steve asks as he gently moves past you, one hand on your back to alert you he was there.

“We fed them and gave them the remote, I don’t see them complaining any time soon.” You laugh as the kids cheer over something on the TV. “Why do I feel like we’re suddenly parenting?”

“Hm, I don’t know.” Steve mumbled with his mouth full, dusting off his hands from the cookie he just devoured. “Is this what parents do?”

You reach for the last glass you had snuck away to the kitchen to get after El asked for some water, pondering the thought.

“I actually don’t know, either.” You shrug.

“I got it.” Steve declares when you turn to walk out with the water, gently taking it from your hand and you roll your eyes, picking up the dish towel.

As he leaves, you take a quick glance at the pile of Christmas cards slowly stacking up on the counter. Anytime one was posted, you or Jack would add it to the pile to wait for a time you could open them together, especially seeing as most were addressed to the both of you. It didn’t stop you from studying the different types of handwriting, however. It certainly didn’t stop you from realising that no scripture belonged to the woman you once called a mother.

Not that you expected one. After all, you had both gotten that closure, realised you had both since moved on to different families, better ones. It still stung a little. It wasn’t like the last few years where she had been miles away, personally convincing yourself the lie that it had gotten lost in the mail.

“I think I bought us, like, 20 minutes away from them.” Steve huffs as he pushes open the kitchen door, slowly shutting it behind him. “All you need to know is that I have been saving a gift for this very moment.”

“What-“ You start to ask when there is a sudden blare of music down the hall, followed by an unusually loud Lucas saying the word ‘testing’ and belting out a surprising high note.

“A karaoke machine?” You raise your eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Hey, just be glad we’re not sitting there while half of them fight over superheroes and the other half bully us about our terrible love lives.”

“Cheers to that.” You raise an imaginary glass and he laughs. “Well, I guess I can finally give you your present now.”

“That was either a threat or a promise.” He smirks and you bat his head with the towel. “Okay, sorry.”

You turn away and grab the red package on the end of the counter, holding it out to him. “Here, before I change my mind.”

He gives it a quick shake, waggling his eyebrows. “Well now I’m intrigued. No noise, feels soft…”

“Just open it you weirdo.” You laugh and it’s all he needs to tear into the paper, his lips thinning as he tries to contain a smile.

“Seriously?” He sends you a look, holding in his hands a yellow sweater. His yellow sweater. “When did you even take this, I-”

“Unfold it.” You prompt with a smile and he furrows his brows. “I needed something to cushion it for when you decided to start shaking it around like a lunatic.”

Steve carefully peels back the sweater arms, one hand underneath holding it steady. His breath hitches when he finally uncovers what he had been looking for.

“Okay, so I know it’s not much, but you constantly kept saying how you didn’t want anything, which was just a lie because who doesn’t want a Christmas present, so I thought maybe something thoughtful would be more your speed… Steve?”

You look up at him as he drops the sweater on the counter and holds the picture frame in his hands, slowly nodding.

“This is amazing.” He smiles, setting the photo down and pulling you into a hug as you laugh. “Seriously. Best gift ever.”

“Now you’re just feeding my ego.” You smile as he kisses the top of your head.

Steve looks back at the photo frame again, shaking his head. “When did you even take any of these?”

“I have my ways.” You say mysteriously.

The frame in question held a collection of Polaroids and photos, some recent and others dating back to Freshman year. It was torture trying to scrapbook them together into some kind of coherent mess, making sure every face could be seen. Deciding on the photos was a little harder, especially considering his history with Nancy. But she’s there in a group photo from last Christmas, standing at the door frame in the back with a smile.

Your personal favourite was a photo of you and Steve sat at Skull Rock. Somehow he had managed to pull you to the very top and you had brought along the Polaroid camera you found in a box of your aunt’s things and turned it to snap a photo of you both. So very young. So very happy.

“I don’t know how I can compete with that but I guess it’s my turn.” Steve says and you frown as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls forward a surprisingly neatly wrapped gift. It was small enough to fit in his hand but as he passed it over, you could feel it was solid.

With a curious smile, you find the corners of the paper and slide your finger beneath it, quickly unsticking the thin layer and your heart skips a little when you see it.

“You got me a tape?” You ask, pulling out the cassette tape to flip it over and see which one.

“Uh, yeah, kind of.” Steve looks a little shy, stuffing his hands in his pockets and opting to look out the kitchen window.

It wasn’t an ordinary tape. You had expected something like Madonna to be staring back at you, possibly a new band he had thought sounded like something you’d like. It was better than any of that, however.

“A mixtape?” You smile up at him, noticing the way his neck was getting a little pinker.

“Hm, yeah.” He nods slowly, not meeting your eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. You’re always, I don’t know, shuffling through tapes like constantly whenever you get bored of one and I figured it would cut down your time a little to have a tape with different stuff on it.”

“Steve.” You gently say and he lets out a breath, finally facing you again. You smile wider. “Thank you. This is honestly amazing. You’re amazing.”

“ Don't praise me too much. Turns out, not so hard to make one of those as you might think.” He grins as you wrap your arms around him for another hug. “But you’re welcome.”

“Hellooooooo? We wanna watch a movie!”

You both simultaneously groan, small smiles etching the edges of your mouths even so.

“Peace can’t last forever.” You sigh, placing the tape beside Steve’s photo frame. “Should probably make some popcorn.”

“You sure you even have any?” Steve asks as you walk to a cupboard.

“Yeah, I stocked up on them yesterday when…” Your eyes stare at an empty shelf, making you squint. “How the hell-”

“Well, guess we should be getting back.” Steve hurriedly announces. You turn to him in shock and he raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, you take secret photos and I’m really really great at secret snacking.”

“But… you need a microwave.” You frown, looking at it like it had deceived you.

“Come on.” He laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “If we leave them any longer they’re gonna start rioting.”

“I’ve been beside you the entire day- I would have heard the microwave.” You mutter as he drags you back into the living room.

“What’re we watching?” Steve slumps down onto the sofa, arm resting against the back. His face falls. “No. No, not this again.”

“You will love it if it’s the last thing you do.” Dustin warns just as the Star Wars theme song starts blaring from the TV.

You catch your sister's eye as her head motions for you both to step aside, pulling you into the hallway.

“What’s up?” You ask and she shrugs slightly.

“I just… I just wanted to thank you.” Max smiles, glancing back at where the others were laughing over Steve’s poor attempt at reading the intro on the screen.

“For what?” You frown curiously and she gives another shrug. Max hadn’t always been the best at expressing her feelings, something you’re afraid she caught from you.

“I know you did this for me.” She says knowingly and your features soften. “I mean, I did ask so it’s not, like, a total surprise. I’m just glad we can have a Christmas again, you know?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You shrug, and you start to grin when joy lights her face. “And these guys aren’t either. I think you’re officially one of the nerds now.”

“How dare you.” Max giggles, crossing her arms as she starts to frown. “I don’t know about that, though. They seem pretty close with El. And she doesn’t look like she likes me very much.”

You turn to where her eyes drift just in time to see El’s directed glare quickly drop when Mike calls her name.

“She… she takes a little while to warm up to people.” You try to explain, “I guarantee she’ll love you in no time. Seriously. Especially considering she’s gonna be hanging out with Mike, she’s gonna need some serious girl talk. And, well… if you don’t find a way to have some girl solidarity, who knows what Lucas will make you do. He’s your boyfriend now, he might… make you join their campaigns.”

As you whisper out that last part with a fake warning, Max scrunches her face but laughs all the same. “Whatever.”

“I’m serious.” You chuckle, looking back at the others and momentarily locking eyes with Steve before he lets out a cough and turns his gaze back to the screen.

“Uh-huh.” Max wiggles her eyebrows and you frown. “Looks like we’ve all got our boy problems.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” You ask her as she walks away, placing your hands on your hips.

The amount of times your sister has implied something more than friendship was happening between you and Steve had reached its highest peak since the Snow Ball, regardless of how many times you reminded her that it was simply just friendship.

Shaking your head, you take a quick peek out of the window and smile as you see the delicate descent of snowflakes hit the ground. It was strange how similar your world felt to the Upside Down, not just with the town buildings but rather in its natural state. Small particles like a winter's night, the clouds that formed and flurried, strikes of lightning. It was a habitat in itself, you realise. You just hoped you wouldn’t visit it again any time soon. The scar on your leg was enough to remind you that whatever beauty you could find can be shattered at a moment's notice.

“Y/n.” Will calls out and you turn your head back. He smiles at you as his hand waves you over. “We’re starting.”

Brushing away any thoughts of the Upside Down, you take your seat beside Steve on the couch and focus your mind on what mattered more. You shouldn’t let yourself be consumed with what’s happening to you, not the voices or the shadows that keep you awake.

Right now, you are meant to live in the moment. And that moment was the joyous laughter of the kids sat upon the rug, Steve’s warm smile whenever you laughed with them, those silly twinkling lights that felt like more than just decoration.

The Upside Down would just have to wait until after the holidays.

if you would like to request a new unseen / pov scene for the Raining Hellfire universe, please feel free to put it into my ask box and I’ll get to it when I am available <3

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things reader insert #raining hellfire

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ghostoffuturespast · 2 years ago

Note

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Thanks for sending this and thanks for waiting! It's been a hella busy week.

I already talked about my long fic and some of my VP, but lemme talk about some of my other writing... specifically my CP2077 horror one-shots.

They were so much fun to write! I had an absolute blast with them and I'm still really proud of both. It was all OCs and spinoffs of things that were scattered around the game. And I've got some more ideas marinating... I might try to write more originally spooky stuff in the future too. It's such a mood. Also, short stories are the perfect medium for horror in my eyes because they're not long enough to give away the things that make horror so scary, so foreboding.

Anyway, snippets below the cut:

Tongues

“Wanna bet?”

“You’re not worth the eddies.”

“Bet neither of you would last five minutes on the other side of that fence.” He nodded behind Greta, to the empty warehouse covered in graffiti.

She put her hands on her hips. “We’d last longer than you would.”

“Nah.”

“Okay, fine.” She shrugged. “We both go in, hang out for five minutes, and then you buy Henry another headset. A nice one.”

Henry balked, he wanted to go home and be left alone now.

Considering it, Cody’s lip curled. “Five minutes in the warehouse and you bring some preem proof back. And if not, you owe us five hundred eddies. Each.” His cronies snickered behind him.

[I don't know if anyone who read this caught on to the fact that this was a riff on the fairy tale Hansel & Gretal. But I took that and the Lillith cyberpsycho quest from the game and mashed the two together.]

Hex

Allen silently cursed the Sory, Out of Order signs, bad spelling and all as he trudged towards the stairs. Five flights to the print division. Couldn’t say he wasn’t getting his exercise for the day. Having made it to his desk, Allen snubbed out his spent cigarette in the already full ash tray. He peeled his coat off, sat down, fished out another cigarette, and rummaged in his desk drawer for the emergency flask.

“Hayashi!”

Allen mumbled on the filter. “Shit.”

Singh barreled over, her heels clacking against the floor. He could practically see her dark hair fraying at the ends. “Where the hell is your last article for the month? It was supposed to be on my desk two days ago! We’re late getting to the printers and now I have a giant hole to fill in a screamsheet, thanks to you.”

Allen swiveled in his chair nonchalant and shrugged. “DataTerm still hasn’t gotten back to me with that phone call they promised. What do you want me to do? You’d rip my head off more if I gave you only half an article.”

[This one didn't get much traction and only a handful of people have read it, but I loved doing the setup for this one and the inspiration for it was one of the TV news broadcasts. I thought it was clever. And it was a test on how many times I could fit the word "sorry" into a story without overdoing it or giving it away. If you were paying real close attention it probably wouldn't surprise you.]

Can read here and here. They're 3k and under, which is short for me lol.

#cyberpunk 2077 #you've got mail #ask away #writing #horror writing #fan fiction #thank you so much for sending this! i appreciate it! <3

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carmenized-onions · 6 months ago

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Ad Interim. | No Service

logline; The days and doubts and desires; the air, underneath the shoe.

[!!!] series history, this is the ninth; the amount of links are getting nauseating just go to the landing LMAO.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I listen to this playlist too much in my day to day now, fr.

portion; 3k+

possible allergies; you're almost ten chapters in, you know very well by now that these two are rife with anxiety and insecurity.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd mb)

fun fact: i finished this one 19 hours after the last chapter, whoops, but let it sit in my drafts to give some breathing room and do some rework

It is t-minus three days, until the worst Friday of your life.

But today’s Tuesday, and though you feel a touch uneasy, you figure it’s probably just the breakfast from yesterday at La Mattina settling in your stomach— Or, at least, hope it is.

You’re at home, sitting on your couch, pensive, haggard, leaned over. Elbows to knees, prayer hands to face, staring at your phone on the coffee table in front of you.

Just send it. Just send the text. Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’ve re-written it in your notes app like five fucking times— He does not care this much, he doesn’t even have basic reading comprehension— Okay, that’s mean— But it’s just not that deep. Just fucking! Send it!

Actually no, no, upon sixth review, the paragraph you had written out was way too intense, way too presumptive. Backspace, backspace, backspace—Just say hi. Let’s just start with Hi.

‘Yooooooooo’

Are you fucking possessed? Good Lord. How is he already typing he never used to reply this fast, what the fuck—

‘Are u fucking haunted?’

‘Fuck is yooooooo’

‘Yooo to you too, cousin’

Faster texter now, but Richie is still the same guy, at the end of the day.

‘this is a loaded fucking question’

‘but do you think you’ll be free any time this week?’

‘not unless ur dead or dying’

‘are you dead or dying?’

‘not that I’ve heard’

‘but I was thinking maybe we could like, get food or smth’

‘chat one on one. Been a minute, yknow’

That was too much. You didn’t need to do all that. Now he’s gonna go well who’s fault is that? And it’s yours. You know it’s yours. And then you’re gonna have that fucking conversation— Which is what this whole meet up thing was supposed to be about in the first place—

‘heard’

‘can’t get time off but fak needs to have his training wheels ripped’

‘could have dinner at the bear this week? Like 2 hours. Then I can watch him and keep him from shitting the bed’

‘and still get to do a fucking one on one, you corporate speak ass’

‘I didn’t know how else to fucking say it alright!!!!!!’

‘Dinner @ bear sounds good to me’

‘but probably ask carm/syd first if it’s cool’

‘yea yea I’ll fuckin check in with daddy don’t worry’

‘that sucked for me. That sucked to read. Go to jail.’

‘already have.’

‘I’ll let u know a time when I know. See u chip’

You heart it. The classic signal that it’s the end of a conversation. Holy shit. You did it. You actually texted someone that you miss that you miss them— Not directly, but you know Rich knows. And specifically, to book a dinner, to talk about what happened, to apologize for it. That’s pretty fucking huge. Which means—

It’s time to eat a whole freezer cake and lay in your pyjamas all day and interact with not a single soul on this entire planet. You’re absolutely at your social limit, for the day. Maybe you’ll talk it through with Mikey, actually. To the air, more accurately, but, y’know, same thing.

You’re gonna get dinner with Richie. You’re gonna get dinner, with Richie, this Friday. And it’s not gonna be awkward or weird, at all.

It is t-minus two days, until the worst Friday of Carmen’s life, so far, at least. There’s always next year.

But today’s Wednesday, and though he feels a little nerve-wracked, he’s pretty sure it’s just because the kitchen was so fucking dysfunctional this morning, and now that their prep’s off, the tempo of the whole fucking day is off, and they're behind on two tables. And fucking seriously this time, can someone get him a fucking marker that fucking works.

Okay, maybe it’s a little more, than nerve wracked.

Sydney is ever the intuitive, and always correct, at the station next to him— Because yes, they’re still down a hire since the meth guy, so now Carmen is on line.

She can tell, that somethings wrong with him, something’s always wrong with him. “Take your ten, Chef.”

Carmen shakes his head, obviously, there’s still prep to catch up on. And if he doesn't do it, it's not gonna get done, and even if it does get done, it's not gonna get done right. He’s pressing the dead sharpie down on the tape, like if he just brute forces it, it’ll start to work. “M’good, Chef.”

“Carmen.” She turns to him fully, stopping her work. And so, he does too. “Take your fucking ten.” She deadpans, she’s not taking no for an answer. She rubs her fist over her heart.

Carmen takes a beat, before nodding, doing the same. “Heard, Chef.”

He needs to look over expense reports that he can’t quite comprehend, anyways.

He really needs his sister. He steps into his office. Despite the fact that they re-constructed just about everything in the restaurant, this musty office remains the same. Untouched. After caving down walls, they had to cut the budget somewhere. He’s glad though, that it's untouched. It might be crowded, poorly organized, have an off smell (probably because of the birth in here, just a few weeks back), but it’s exactly as his brother left it, and that helps him feel… Connected, somehow.

What the hell is Var vs Budget? He’s googling every other word, here. He’s more than grateful, that before going home on mat leave, Sug set up a good enough automated Excel sheet that he could just plug in numbers and it did all the calculating for him. Doesn’t mean he knows what any of the numbers mean, but, they’re there.

He knows that red equals bad. Natalie told him that very specifically. Which did seem like she was calling him fucking stupid, but he let it go. There’s a lot of red. That’s a lot of bad. Well, not a lot, but like, a third of this is red. That’s probably more than it should be. How many months do they have again? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He is never gonna get to pay himself, he’s never gonna be able to pay Syd, he's never gonna get her a star, she’s gonna live with her dad for the rest of her life, you are never gonna get to work here, you’re gonna work as a bottle girl for the rest of your life, he’s never gonna get his shit together so he’s never gonna get to call you his, he’s gonna have to hand the deed to Cicero and then fucking everyone is gonna to lose their jobs and he’s still gonna be him. He’s still gonna be him. Carmy Berzatto, the chef that lost everything, little brother to everyone's hero who blew his brains out. Starless in Chicago, unable to feel anything more than sorry for himself. Carmen’s gonna die as Carmen, and nothing more. At the end of the day.

Take a deep breath, Bear. Relax.

He’s catastrophizing. You told him that. He forgot to look into it. He googles that, instead of another business term he doesn’t understand.

‘Fixates on the worst possible outcome and treats it as likely, even when it is not.’

Well, it does seem pretty fucking likely that he’s doomed to fail and fall into a Sisyphean nightmare of opening restaurants and falling on his fucking face, dragging everyone he loves down with him with his stupid failed pipe dreams. He's no better than his brother.

He tries his best to think of whatever level-headed bullshit you'd give to him, right now, tries to taste the hot chocolate, the lavender and cardamom coffee. He smells your shampoo, in his hair, that helps.

Maybe, maybe it’s just been a bad week. Maybe there will be a lot of bad weeks, maybe there won’t be. Maybe things will be fine, maybe they won’t. You and Syd will still succeed, even if he fails. Everyone will, even if he fails. He has a very capable crew. And while he cannot escape the thought that failure is around the corner, at the very least, he is comforted by the idea that at least he will be the only one sinking with the ship he commands.

The thought of drowning alone is still impossible to rid of. Though.

But you’ve sent a text. And isn’t that a wonderful distraction?

Your connection results in response to his, from this morning, of course. You actually got it today. He swells with what feels like pride, and despite the fact that no one's looking at him, he has to hide his smile with his hand, embarrassed by how happy he is, when he sees the photo you’ve sent, just now. A selfie, sitting next to an oven, Other Tony’s oven. You’re holding a fried wire in your hand.

The text below it is a wonderful salve, ‘If you ever fuck up your ovens, I’ve got like, 10 thermocouples in my personal stock now :))’

So good to him, too good to him. Too good to anyone. ‘Heard.’

Carmen so, so fucking desperately wants to ask you to come to The Bear, right now. You’re only two blocks away, at La Mattina. You’d come, if he asked. He knows that. But he also knows that even if you calm him down, in the long run, it’ll set his day even further off tempo, he’ll be distracted the rest of his shift, and that’s the last thing he needs. He can handle this himself.

‘:)’ For levity. Or something. He’s trying. You give it a heart, so that means he’s done something good, he’s pretty sure.

There’s a knock at his door. Richie does not wait for an answer before coming in. His knocks are more like warnings, really. Carmen’s quick to tuck his phone away, he knows it’d be perfect cannon fodder to be teased into oblivion.

“Aye, cous—”

Carmen does not let the man get a word in inch wise, “Who’s on expo?”

Richie grimaces, this fucking song and dance, again. “Syd.”

“Who’s on her station, then?”

“T.”

“And hers?”

“She’s doin’ fuckin’ both Carmy— And—” Richie pulls a sharpie out of his breast pocket, throwing it at him. Carmen catches it. “Fuckin’ works. Alright?”

Marker works, and the system works. He catches the double meaning, too. Carmen nods, “Heard.”

“Christ.” Richie looks to high heaven, looks to his best friend, really, to give him strength. “Can I take my fuckin’ turn now?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ‘head.” Carmen turns to his desk, looking over the excel sheet, again. He can’t imagine Richie needing all of his undivided attention, right now, he’s not you.

Speaking of you, he can’t find your repair expenses anywhere on here. He needs to text Sug, about that. No, she’s got a fucking baby, he’ll at least look for a physical copy, first.

“I need to take two hours, on Friday.”

“Huh?” Carm’s head snaps up. Okay, maybe he does need to give his full attention to Richie, right now. “Eva got a fuckin’ recital, or somethin’?”

“No, no, uh— Chip wants to get dinner.” Rich scratches his nose with his thumb. “Thought since Fak's been training to host f'like, the whole fuckin’ month, could do dinner 'ere, let him do a run on us. Two birds, one bullet, y’know.”

“It’s stone.”

“I’m not fuckin’ high, cousin—” “No, it’s— Alright.” Carmen closes his eyes, hand over his face, deciding this is not the fight he wants to choose. “Tony’s getting dinner with you?”

“If I’m allowed, your fuckin’ Majesty.”

If it were up to Carmen? He wouldn’t be. But you specifically asked. Why, he has no idea. Carmen crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just start at like, a not peak time. Like 4:30? Then when rush starts after 5 Fak’ll have a lil' momentum.”

“Heard. I’ll tell ‘em.” Richie nods, turning to make his way out.

Carm’s leg bounces, a tick that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get rid of. “… Ey Rich?”

He stops, turning back to Carmy, “Yeah, cousin?”

Carmen taps the end of the sharpie on the table, not looking at Richie, “What’s uh— Why d’you call Tony ‘Chip’?”

Ever so slightly, Richie’s brows furrow. “Did'j'ya ask her?”

Carm shakes his head, “S’why I’m asking you.”

Richie takes a beat, head rocking to the side, “Y'should ask her, she’ll tell you.”

Carmy squints, at that, “Is it fuckin’ dark or somethin’, cousin?”

What’s so secretive about Chip? He figured it would be some stupid inside joke with chocolate chips, like Sug with the salt mix up. Richie swallows, frowning just a bit. He clearly does not know how to answer this question, which just makes Carmen even more curious.

“S’ not dark, kinda, it’s just, y’know. Personal.” Since when the fuck did Richie have respect for personal? Probably since he sent him to stage. Goddammit.

“Did you not coin it?”

“Mikey did.”

Oh.

Huh.

Mikey got to do that first, too, eh?

“But, y’know, ask her, she likes you well enough to tell you, I think.” Richie shrugs, palms out. “Kinda tells stories like that better than me, anyways.” That's high praise— Not in the sense that Richie's a great storyteller, but that he's willing to admit it, for you.

“Oh, she doesn’t bury the fuckin’ lead?”

“Oh, fuck you.” But it’s true, so Richie’s amused. There’s something nice, about being known. Even if it’s to tease.

There’s a lull of silence. Quite frankly, Carmen’s hoping that Richie’s general disdain of silence will force him to confess your nickname backstory, just to fill the void. It doesn’t. Instead, it just gears him up, in the worst way, able to read the look on Carmen’s face.

“You really wanna fuckin know, huh?” Richie tilts down his head, teasing. Carmen groans. Oh dear god, why him. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ like her, don’t’chu, cousin? You fuckin’ dog.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”

“Aye, Chip’s a real catch, I gettit— Works hard, plays nice, cleans up good— Y’have my blessing.”

“Didn’t ask for it.”

“Aye,” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen like he could smite him. “Don’t gimme no talk back, she was my boy first, a’right? One bad word from me, n’ your lil’ fantasy—” He gestures an explosion with his hand, making a ‘pop’ sound with his lips.

“Gone, cousin.”

Carmen leans back in his seat, playing with the sharpie in his hand. He’s essentially Kubrick staring down Richie, but the guy is unaffected. “Friday, 4:30, two hours. If Fak fucks up, you’re on deck.”

“Heard.”

“Jeff, can I please get an all day, baby?” Baby is Tina’s new HR approved version of ‘for the love of fucking god’ She’s definitely at her limit, meaning Syd’s definitely at her limit on expo. Richie starts to step out, walking backwards.

“You comin’ cousin?”

Carm scratches his nose, straightening up back to his desk. He wishes he could go back to the kitchen, where he knows he’s good, instead of in here, with some goddamn spreadsheets that he cannot comprehend beyond bad. “Uh, one sec, I just need to finish this fuckin’—” He shakes his hand in the air, “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Richie nods, tapping the doorway on his way out. “Heard… g’luck.”

Carmen does not look at the spreadsheets. No. He thinks. He doesn't think about business.

That wasn’t true, was it? A phone call from Richie wouldn’t be the end of him, end of you, would it? Carmen is on the losing playing field here, practically everyone here has more history with you than he does. If he had a… lapse in behaviour, and it got back to you, would that ruin him? God, even his work family ruins things for him. Or could. Which means they will. Catastrophizing.

Whatever. What the fuck ever. He needs to find your invoice. After some flipping through last month’s file, he finds a sticky note from Sug between loose pages.

‘reminder: ask carmy 4 tony invoice’

He squints. You said Nat took care of it. Maybe it’s an old sticky note, he’ll text her about it, it’ll be a solid forty hours before he’ll get a response, anyways. Mom stuff. He really needs to go visit his niece again, soon. Maybe this weekend. Take Richie’s car. But then he'll probably will be forced to take Richie, too. Maybe he should just ask you, instead. Let Nat thank you for the heating pad she’s been loving, properly. Have dinner, all together, in an actual family home, instead of just each other's apartments. That'd be nice.

Yeah. Yeah. He’ll ask you on Friday, when you come for dinner. He grabs a pad of paper, biting the cap off his sharpie. He’ll make you something off menu, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, anyways, he’ll have time to play, on Friday.

He’s gonna do right by you, this Friday.

Tomorrow, you’ll be getting dinner with Richie, and it’ll be the worst Friday of your life.

But right now, it’s Thursday night, and you’ve finally finished Carmen’s piece for The Bear. You know you told him if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it up, but admittedly, if he doesn’t like it, you will be crushed.

One big white canvas.

Nine perfect squares, perfectly equidistant from each other at all angles.

Each square a snippet, a photo transfer. The squares themselves are messy, sun damaged, bleach stained, light flared. All twinged blue and yellowish. But so perfectly cut and curated.

Each image, something new. Starting at the top left, it’s The Original Beef. Then, the inside. Then the booths.

Then the second row, the sandwiches, held in hands.

The center photo. You've taken almost all of these photos on a disposable from yesteryear, but this is the one you like the most.

Mikey. The only transfer completely unbleached, unaltered, unruined. He’s holding two cut outs. One, Food & Wine and the other, a small section in the off off off pages of the New York Times.

Both specifically the one’s that mentioned Carmen, winning Best Chef and the James Beard.

Mikey was so proud. So so proud, silently, just with you— Couldn't look soft. Carmen does not know this photo exists. No one does. You hope this piece will act as the catalyst for you to be able to talk about the elephant in the room you’ve yet to open for him.

Right next to Mikey, is a balloon on a pipe— A photo you grabbed from Sydney and printed. You can only imagine the stress you could’ve eased, during their fire safety test. C’est la vie. Fak got to prove himself.

And on the last row, the new, ritzy, booths. The Seven Fishes dish— Also a photo you stole from Sydney. And finally, The Bear’s sign. Taken at night, lit up in all its neon glory.

Though the images are disconnected, starting from Mikey in the center— Clean, the flaring and staining grows more intense at the pictures in the corner. Just bordering on illegible. It all feels interconnected, woven.

It’s Carmen. Or, at least, you think it is. That’s what you were trying to achieve. You took inspiration from the way his brain works, the way he cooks messy but produces orderly, the way he’s grown something out of what was barely more than nothing. The way love and grief is at the center of everything. He’s awfully inspiring.

You’re excited, to show this to him tomorrow, on Friday. Hopefully all goes well, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, you’ll probably have a little time to talk, on Friday. You won’t be able to get into everything, no, you’ve promised most of your bandwidth to Richie, but you’ll make a good start, on Friday.

You’re gonna do right, by Carmen, on Friday.

Tomorrow.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

i've still got 2k of beats to cover for the next chapter, and have 7.9k already written out, for it. This is going to be fun. lmao. I'm genuinely very very excited for you to see it, when it comes out. Cannot believe I thought like 4 chapters ago that'd this next chapter would be the one to be released next. I almost briefed over all of these past few chapters to be nothing more than snippets in a chapter, I would never forgive myself if i went through with that plan, fr.

Anyways, no time for the future, this is NOW!! I hope I described Tony's paintin' good. I think it'd be nice. MBMBAM reference in the intro, are you fucking HAUNTED? ARE YOU FUCKING POSESSED? Love griffy, had to. Carmen CANNOT stop having anxiety attacks, someone get him on prozac frfr.

Tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my hat, I'm gonna need some words to chew on while I write, anyways. Hitting a wall choreographing this back half of chapter ten my GOD. Also oh yeah, silly aesthetic thing. I dunno if anyone noticed or cared, but i do a different ombre banner when it's carmen's perspec-- Did it last chapter too, aint that cute?

Also, I must finally give in, I was lazy to do taglists, but have folded, so here u are mfs. If you'd like to be added, you gotta leave me an essay somewhere. It's the RULES! Well, leave an essay and also ask to be added to the taglist that is but IT'S THE RULES!!

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101

fully added people that never asked to be on here, you're just like, top fans, so i thought it would be nice, but if you WANT TO BE TAKEN OFF LET ME KNOW I'LL DO IT IMMEDIATELY ALSO IF I'M FORGETTING ANYONE WHO ASKED PLEASE DO REMIND ME

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear #fanfic series

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joltai-showa · 1 month ago

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the single funniest thing about that absolutely copypasted (and probably chatgpt generated) shit is that the guy chose to inform me that "the depths of my characters and the intricacies of the worldbuilding have significant potential for visual storytelling" and of all the works that I have posted it was about *drum roll* "My Dear".

Are you even trying?

Anyway, that was mostly just hilarious for me. Not only because of the fic that they tried to get their scam under, but also trying to get money from me in year 2024 is certainly a decision to make.

If you wanna do something inspired by my fics, sure, go ahead, give me a heads-up in the comment or something and drop the link later, but don't try commissioning me or, god forbid, try to rip the money off me for some "adaptation", because you're simply not ready for the bullshittery it is that sending the money from/to the western (and pretty much global) financial system to/from where I live.

Remember this funny guy from Breaking Bad? Jimmy's got nothing on the machinations I've had to resort to when the time rolled around to get fees to the university where I was doing my second bachelor's. Did Jimmy have to fly to the bordering country to his relatives unannounced because the institution refused to prolong the deadline on payments when the third-party system they used to get said payments randomly announced that they no longer accept payments from your country and outright banned you from trying to open the page if you have the corresponding IP address? Did Jimmy have to get the tickets in the middle of the night and immediatelly take off to the airport with nothing but a backpack with 3k dollars in cash and a Burger King Ceasar Roll? Did Jimmy have to get a fat stack of documents confirming every possible thing about his person every time he had to pay his uni because the uni for some fucking reason first has the money sent to the States of all places and only then receives it where the uni is actually located? Did Jimmy have to confirm to the authorities on several occassions that he is not trying to fund any terroristic entities across the globe?

(Jimmy does probably have a few friends who have been caught trying to smuggle more money than they should have possesed on their person, so there's that).

My stories will probably make any IRS agent go gray lmao.

Anyway, you get the idea. Wanna do business with me? Prepare for Stardust Crusaders style compilation, because you're certainly in for an adventure

Otherwise enjoy my fics without any worries, I don't expect any money to come from this hobby lol.

P.S. one of these days I'll write a money smuggling mission involving Akatsuki gang for BSSM AU and you'll need to guess what parts are based on real life experiences lmao

(T)Obidei week day 4 is out!

Hooray I managed to make it in time.

#jolt showa's personal

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little-diable · 2 years ago

Text

Dear (y/n) - Tommy Shelby (smut)

I am sure this has been done before, nevertheless I had to put this idea into words. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy keeps writing letters to the reader, the woman whose heart he has broken. Now - as he fights in the war and is sure that he'll die - he keeps writing confessions to her. Letters he won't send to her, at least that was always the plan.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions war, a bit of angst and a fight, friends/enemies to lovers

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (3k words)

header by @hidingsikki

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Dear (y/n),

It pains me to write your name more than I’d like to admit. Parting from you has left its scars, knowing that I may never return home, and will never get to admire your face again, haunts me more than the nightmares keeping me awake.

The war is ruthless, I see soldiers falling all around me, and yet I’m still alive, yet I still find myself breathing beneath the ground as I crawl closer and closer to the enemy's camp.

I miss you more than I will ever be able to express with the mere words my hand can write. No day goes by where I don’t curse myself for not giving in and not sharing my feelings for you.

May your soul rest gently,

In love, Tommy

“Will you ever send them away?” James’ voice ripped him out of his thoughts, eyes drawn away from the letter he had been writing. Wordlessly Tommy folded the paper and placed it beneath his pillow, right on top of the other letters he had written in the past weeks. “Oh come on, Tom. Don’t tell me you don’t share those with whoever your heart is aching for. I can see your pain, we all do.”

Tommy didn’t dare look at the other soldiers surrounding him, not used to being the centre of their discussions. For a moment he didn’t pay any attention to the sound of grenades going off, for a moment he managed to drown out the screams breaking through the evening air like a bullet piercing through a soldier’s body. For a moment he found himself engulfed by nothing but silence.

A silence that reminded him of (y/n). The one woman he had loved since he had been a mere boy, young and foolish, a big dreamer who had been imagining a life with the girl he had grown up with. Dreams his scared self has destroyed with a few simple words that have managed to push (y/n) away from him.

He could still see the tears that had dripped down her cheeks, the anger that had dripped from her voice, the confusion he had brought upon her. And for what? It had been nothing but a selfish try to save himself from the eventual heartbreak he’d push her through, very well knowing that at one point he’d grow up and serve in a war, no matter what type of war.

A war that had rolled upon Europe without a warning, creeping into the countries that have promised one another to defend their friends, brothers, and sisters. A war that has ripped families apart. A war that will forever scar those unfortunate enough to survive.

“There he goes again, with that damned pained look. Like an abused puppy.” James rose from his seat on the ground, he laughed with the other soldiers that kept staring at Tommy. But the man paid no mind to their teasing, all he did was think of (y/n) and the letters he’d read through late at night.

Letters he’d never share with her, not even in his wildest dreams, where he isn’t fighting a war hundreds of miles away from home.

Dear (y/n),

They keep talking of victory, but can there be victory, when the number of fallen soldiers keeps rising? Can there be victory, when the nightmares keep growing darker and the air we need to breathe keeps getting thinner?

I find myself longing for an end, no matter how this end may look like, but I’m tired of this darkness.

I hope Small Heath is still safe for you.

In ever growing love, Tommy

He couldn’t see the moon, not even a single star was twinkling in the French sky. Tommy couldn’t sleep, and whenever he found himself running from the memories of the past months, he reached for his pen and a piece of paper, scribbling down yet another letter he was planning on burning should he ever make it back home.

Sometimes he allowed his thoughts to wander, trying to imagine the letters (y/n)’d write back to him, the words she’d burn into the paper he’d cling to as soon as it found him. Mere dreams, ideas, and thoughts that were one with the cold December breeze, biting itself though his uniform, nibbling on his limbs.

Was she safe, warm and protected? Was somebody holding her close at night, when she couldn’t fall asleep? The mere thought of somebody touching (y/n) who wasn’t him, left Tommy’s blood boiling, forcing red, burning anger through his body. Anger that lingered in his system day in, night out, a steady companion – the only stable constant in his life.

Tommy was too focused on the dark sky above to notice James’ wandering hand, how the soldier reached for the stack of letters, carefully hiding them in his jacket. If there was one chance to make Tom happy, James would chase it – for the sake of his friend.

Friend, brother, whatever you may call the ones you’ll die on a field with.

“Letters?” Polly was sitting vis-a-vis (y/n), she was sipping her tea, eyes curiously flickering to the stack (y/n) had placed on the table. The ribbon was still in place, band tightly wrapped around the folded papers like a Christmas gift.

“At least twenty. I wonder why he is sending them all at once, shouldn’t they come on their own?” She hasn’t opened the letters yet, the second they’ve found their way to (y/n) she has reached out to Polly, hoping to find answers to the questions burning on her tongue. But Polly seemed to be at loss, not understanding the motives of her nephew.

For months (y/n) had prayed that Tommy was still alive and breathing, the man that had once broken her heart though she still loved dearly. He always had been the one she had wanted to end up with, the one she had pictured the rest of her life with. Up until Tommy had decided to erase those dreams from her colourful mind with a few harsh words.

Tommy Shelby had broken her heart, and now she found herself holding onto letters he had written to her.

“Open them, read them all at once, and then we can find a way to reach out to Tommy.” Polly squeezed (y/n)’s shoulder, and with one last glance thrown her way, she left the confused woman alone.

The sound of (y/n) deeply inhaling echoed through her empty house, it felt as if hundreds of eyes were staring at her, watching her every move. Her hands trembled, fingers struggling to undo the tight knot that held the letters together. One tear after another started running down her cheeks, even though she hadn’t read a single vowel written by Tommy yet, she couldn’t help but feel as if this was his way of saying goodbye.

“Dear (y/n),

I find myself staring at the sky, counting the few stars that seem to follow me around. Do you remember how we used to lay in the streets at night, hoping that our parents won’t find us? Life had been simple, life had been good back then.

I miss you with all my might.

In endless love, Tommy”

(Y/n) kept reading the words out loud, trying to imagine Tommy sitting next to her, reading them to her with his hand combing through her hair. An awfully melancholic feeling simmered inside of her, threatening to burst through her body like a bullet grazing her skin.

Why had he never spoken those words out loud? Why had he never shared his true feelings with her?

One letter after another found its way to the bench she was sitting on, carefully placed down so she could keep them together in their right order. The minutes kept fading by, minutes she could have used to go on with her day. But ever since parting ways with Tommy, not knowing if he’ll ever return, she hadn’t lived one normal day. The thoughts of him followed her around, no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing.

“Dear (y/n),

I can’t find the words to describe how I feel, how I long for you and your company. I curse myself for not taking that picture of you, I fear that I might forget how beautiful you truly are. May this be the price I have to pay for not sharing my love with you.

Forever yours, Tommy”

“(Y/n)!” Polly’s voice reverberated through the morning, ripping the young woman from her sleep. She woke with a gasp, eyes finding Polly’s wide ones. It took her a moment to reply, not understanding why the woman kept screaming at her, forcing her out of her bed.

“They are back; Tommy’s here.” For a second (y/n)’s world stopped spinning, thoughts struggling to keep up with the words Polly had just spoken. She barely noticed how the woman helped her into her dress, hair lazily pulled back, not wanting to waste any time.

No words were shared as Polly pulled (y/n) along, both were relieved though yet scared of speaking to him. Has he changed at all?

The stories of those finding their way back home after fighting in this war were cruel, the men had changed, no longer full of love for their closest family, though full of exhaustion, hatred and confusion. Wars would always change a person living through the darkest times, and yet, (y/n) silently prayed that Tommy hadn’t changed. That he will wrap his arms around her with a smile tugging on his lips.

Polly pulled her through the crowd of her family members, finding Tommy’s frame. An emotionless face stared at the two approaching women, he didn’t speak a word, not as (y/n) murmured his name, not as Polly pulled him in for a hug. He kept quiet, acting like an outsider, acting as if he didn’t know a single soul he found himself surrounded by.

“I missed you, Tommy.” (Y/n) spoke with tears welling up in her eyes, relieved tears she’d cry for days on end. He was home, alive and breathing. But she soon found herself distracted from said feeling; Tommy didn’t reply, all he did was nod his head and turn away from her.

And once again her heart started to crack, one by one the pieces were falling apart. All because of Tommy Shelby’s cold demeanour.

(Y/n) didn’t pay Polly’s words a thought, her eyes followed his frame around and suddenly she felt a wave of anger hitting her. A wave that guided her out of the house, down the street she had come from, straight to her own home. Tears kept dripping from her chin as she closed her door and pressed her back against the cold wood.

Had he played a trick on her? Had he toyed with her fragile soul? Had his letters meant nothing but empty promises?

Lost like a sailor without a compass, (y/n) was stuck in a fog of darkness. She struggled to breathe, and could barely press out the air lingering in her lungs. Her body moved without her mind’s command, she searched for the stack of letters she had carefully placed down in her office.

Her hands didn’t stop shaking, even as she walked back out of her house, set on giving the letters back to him. Once again (y/n) pressed herself past the Shelby family member’s, they didn’t pay the crying woman any attention, too focused on drinking and smoking the day away.

It took her a moment to find him with her glassy eyes. Tommy was standing outside, smoking a cigarette with his eyes closed. A heavy breath was sucked into her lungs as (y/n) made her way to him. He didn’t turn towards her; perhaps he knew that it was her, too used to the sound of her steps; too used to the way his body was reacting to her closeness.

“I,” a shaky breath bled from her lips. “I wanted to give you this. I don’t want to hold onto those, not if they were all but the truth.”

Tommy finally looked at her, for a fraction of a second he kept his gaze focused on her tears before he looked at her hands. It felt as if she had punched the air out of his lungs, freezing for a moment or two. For weeks he had wondered about the letters that had been taken from him, not knowing who had ripped them from his pillow.

“Don’t look at me like that, Tom.” Her voice was harsh, cutting through the rising tension. And before he could stop her, (y/n) threw them at him, no longer tied together but loose. “I should hate you, I should curse you; and yet I still find myself loving you. All those sweet promises, and for what? So you can break my heart again?”

“I didn’t send them, (y/n).” Tommy’s voice was mundane, not filled with emotions like hers, though colder than the winter he had spent those past months in the trenches and beneath the ground.

“What? Of course you have, they were written by you.” A sarcastic laugh clawed through her, she took a step closer, not wanting to give him a chance to step away. “Don’t treat me like an oblivious child. You are a pathetic liar, Tommy Shelby. Nothing but a scared man.”

“I wrote them, but I never wanted to send them to you!” Tommy’s voice grew louder, dripping with anger. “One of the soldiers must have taken them from me. You weren’t meant to ever read them.” The sound of her palm connecting with his cheek echoed through the air, his head fell to the side, eyes momentarily falling shut as he started to realise how much pain he had unleashed upon her.

Without another word slipping from his thin lips, Tommy snapped into motion, hand clamped down on her wrist. She didn’t protest, allowing him to pull her into the house and to his bedroom.

“I have told you this once, and I’ll tell you again. I can’t be with you, I can’t be the reason for your pain and suffering. I can’t be the reason you’ll get hurt. I can’t protect you, if you’re close to me.” As if the past moments hadn’t happened, (y/n)‘s body searched his. She cupped his cheek and ran her thumb along the scars covering his features. Neither Tommy nor (y/n) spoke up, relishing in the heat that tumped through their veins.

“You selfless man. I am old enough to decide over my fate, Tommy. And I can’t live without you.” She kissed him without another warning, lips perfectly moulding against his, one with his heart and soul. His hand found the back of her head, trying to pull her even closer, not wanting to break their moment apart. Slowly like an old painting losing its structure and colour, his demeanour began to change, he was actively searching her touch, desperate for more.

This is what Tommy had dreamt about all those weeks ago, trying to imagine her body, the way she’d kiss him. Mere thoughts that have kept him alive, tugging him through the endless seeming nights.

Tommy pushed her back, body collapsing with the mattress he hadn’t been laying on for months on end. Her gasps urged him on, allowing his hands to toy with her dress, wanting to push it over her head, to expose the skin he wanted to explore with his wandering hands. No words left her as she nodded her head, allowing Tommy to keep on touching her.

“I need you, all of you. Don’t waste any more time, please, Tommy.” Her dress found its way to the ground, soon followed by his shirt and trousers. Tommy's body was littered in bruises, scars and marks that may never fade, marks she’d kiss and love if he’ll let her. (Y/n) pulled him in for another kiss as his hand found her naked core, she was dripping for him, desperate to feel all of him.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Tommy’s raspy voice left her shuddering in his grasp, no words left her, too focused on the feeling of his cock disappearing inside of her, stretching her walls around his girth. Their moments were rushed, though filled with love and admiration, giving into the feelings they’ve been fostering for years on end.

Tommy fucked her slow, set on pleasing her, wanting to guide her to her high with his arms slung around her waist and his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Her moans were drowned out by the hand she pressed against her mouth, awfully aware of the family members downstairs.

“Let them hear how good I’m fucking you.” Tommy rasped out, he struggled to hold back, struggled to focus on anything but the clenching of her walls, begging him to push her over the edge. (Y/n) called out his name, she threw her head back, curled her toes and squeezed her eyes shut. This is what heaven must feel like, she was sure of it.

With one last kiss pressed against her pulsepoint, Tommy gave her the final push. She came on his cock, wordlessly begging him to fuck her through her high. And he did, Tommy kept thrusting into her tightness, chasing his own orgasm with his teeth buried in his lower lip. It didn’t take long for him to follow, he imprinted himself on her stomach with a groan clawing through him.

No words were shared as he fell against the mattress, side pressed against hers. Both were panting, desperate for fresh air they could fill their lungs with. Tommy reached for her hand, he pressed his lips against her skin, and without speaking another vowel, (y/n) felt his heart beating in sync with hers.

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

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