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jo-harrington · 5 months ago

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Best Spring Break Ever (Eddie Munson)

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

Word Count: 3.2k

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

---

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

Daring, dashing, brilliant, handsome--

"Douchebag," Gareth muttered under his breath.

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

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

"Sorry," Dave sunk in his seat.

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

But carpool mom had never been a contender.

Until now.

For Eddie, Spring Breaks were never exciting.

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

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

This year was different though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

That was another story.

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

If only the parents had been his harshest critics.

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

"And your oil changed?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gotta earn your keep somehow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about Second Breakfast?"

---

They stopped for gas an hour in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Their accommodations that first night were less than ideal.

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

It would be great.

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

Chalk it up to Murphy's Law.

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

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

Then they finally reached their true destination.

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

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

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

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

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

It was a bittersweet moment for him.

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

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

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

Eddie heard the commotion before he saw it.

"I need this."

"So do I."

"I touched it first."

"Well I saw it first. Finders keepers."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No way!"

"No chance!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then another clink.

Then a clatter as it landed.

Tails.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Dinner was reminiscent of something out of a heroic legend.

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

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

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

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

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

Then everyone erupted into a good-hearted merriment again.

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

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

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

Almost everyone.

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

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

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

Eddie snorted and crushed the butt of his cigarette underfoot.

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

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

"Thank you."

"For what?"

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

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

"It's more than that."

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

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

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

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

"Best Spring Break Ever."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #flip flopped #summer writing event

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that-salty-ghost · 2 months ago

Text

As Above, So Below | Chapter 28: First Aid | Viktor [Arcane] // Male Reader | Rating: M Throughout

Word Count: ~2.1k Summary: You patch Viktor up real cute like Tags: swearing, sexual tension, flirting, little bit o'fluff, mage-y stuff Last Chpt: Scary Stories

Check my pinned post for more details/previous chapters/etc.

The way Viktor’s eyes light up competes against the blue energy illuminating the dim room itself.

Your abilities were nothing like what you had seen your mother accomplish. If you were being honest, she made your skills look like parlor tricks—in your self-critical mind at least.

But to Viktor you could see his curiosity shift into captivation. Awestruck with admiration of what should be impossible…

But not with you.

Not right now, at least.

You see a man of science wide-eyed with wonder at something he’s never seen before. Which is something you have never seen before.

You’d never seen the way in which heavy brows lift light as a feather while Viktor’s mind tries to make sense of what he’s witnessing. Or how wide his smile can grow before a small huff of disbelief escapes him. Let alone how striking the blue-white glow from your fingertips highlights just how sharp his features are. You can’t put into words how striking he looks when you’re providing the source of light accentuating his attributes.

It’s a moment that you know will never happen quite like this again. A moment where you can only marvel at one another, completely enthralled.

And utterly speechless.

But you’re on borrowed time with what you could do. As much as you wanted this moment to last, you knew that your abilities wouldn’t. That was enough for you to hold your hand out to him, silently asking if he’s ready to begin.

And despite the rather unusual light display emanating from your fingers, the other man doesn’t even hesitate to place his hand back in between yours.

Being somewhat out of practice you decide to start small, lightly adding the charged balm to his wrist to get him used to the feeling. You notice him tense a little but nothing more, so you direct a small amount of energy to the site of his injury until you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“Doing alright?” You pause to glance back up at him. His mouth parts slightly before giving a quick nod.

“Yes,” it sounds more like a whisper before his breath staggering into a chuckle. “Just ehh…tingles more than the one I usually use.”

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you about that.” You smile, apologetically rolling your thumb side to side over his wrist. “Means it’s working.”

Another small nod in understanding gives you the go-ahead to continue. Gingerly you outline the tendons in his wrist, moving slowly to soothe the swelling in his joints. Taut muscles begin to loosen under your touch as he acclimates to the buzzing sensation that pulses through him until what he says finally hits you.

“That old salve still tingles?” You’re surprised by that. Your mother had tricks that you never got the chance to learn, sure. But still, that’s a long time for healing magic to remain that potent…even for someone like her.

He nods, eyes never leaving your hands as they work. “Well, not quite as raw as…” he motions down at said hands for reference. “—this, but yes. Should it not?”

“Mm…I mean it’s not a bad thing.” You hum, brows pinching together perplexed. “Just strange that it’s lasted this long. I knew she could draw out medicinal effects for longer…slow the decomposition process. But not like that, that sounds…amplified somehow.” You shake your head with an inhale, knowing there was no longer a way to understand how she managed to pull that off. It wasn’t like you could ask her now, could you?

That thought puts a pit in your stomach. You push it away for now.

“I believe her assistant had something to do with that during one of his visits.”

Blasé words pivot the pit, halt your thoughts and still your movements momentarily. A puzzled blink is all you can manage before looking up again. “…Her what?”

“Assistant…?” Curious eyes meet yours while you mentally parse through who she would’ve even trusted for that kind of task. Not to mention how you never met him. Viktor sees your confusion and tries to describe the man’s features to the best of his ability.

“Ehh…let’s see… goggles, salt and pepper hair…defined…arms?” He asks, seeing if anything rang a bell for you yet.

But nothing does. You had no idea who he was talking about...although one attribute did draw your attention.

“Defined…arms.” You repeat back, unsuccessfully preventing a grin to grace your expression as he unsuccessfully prevents the visible embarrassment to grace his own.

“Well…yes.” He scoffs before he tries to explain himself in excessive detail. “I never really saw his face. Each visit he always wore some kind of covering. I had a cough for a bit and just assumed it was to prevent infection at first, but he wore it even after I was better.”

There’s a pause in his explanation and he notices your eyebrow lifting slowly, challenging his tangent as he tries to save face. “So apart from the lack of sleeves…it was…” He shakes his head at you while you fail to hold back your amusement. “You would’ve noticed too.”

“Would I?” You smile at him warmly before going back to what you were doing. “Sounds like you’re fond of him.”

“Intrigued, would be more accurate.” He admits before splaying his fingers out as you get back to work. “Despite his penchant for being…distant. Reclusive even.”

Your grin broadens as you map out the tendons lining his carpals, teasing him just a tad as you go. “Is this your way of telling me that you have a soft spot for stoic daddies?”

“Hush.” You can hear the smile in his voice before he continues. “I will say however, I was inspired by his dedication. It was honorable.”

“How do you mean?”

His tone settles from amused to subdued as he reminisces. “When I was a boy, I remember overhearing him talking to my parents about still ‘grieving over loss’. Over the span of many years from what I could tell. It…sounded like he missed someone very much, regardless of the amount of time that passed.”

“That must’ve been a really dark place for him.”

“Doubtlessly.” He pauses before adding to that answer. “But despite that. And despite the fact that he couldn’t bring anyone back—he still believed he could help me. He still wanted to help me. He said he wanted to—and these are his words—“ Viktor’s voice drops lower, gruffer as he light-heartedly quotes the mystery mage. “—‘use this godsdamned gift for betterment. Just once.’”

Yeah. Relatable.

“Man after my own heart.”

“And mine. Although…” Viktor slips back into contemplation for a second before stating his experience. “He did seem to have tunnel vision about the person he lost. I…could’ve sworn I even heard him muttering something about the possibility of seeing one another again…” He checks in with you, inquisitive eyes pulling your gaze for a moment and asking for confirmation on if that was a practice you knew of.

“What you mean like…necromancy?”

“I know how it sounds…” his tone falters but you reassure him quickly.

“As we both know, my mentorship in the arcane got cut a little short.” You give a weak smile before tending to him again. “So just because it’s not something I’ve heard of, doesn’t mean it can’t exist. Actually….” You cock your head as you consider that possibility. “That would be something I could’ve seen my mother keep from me. And my father for that matter…I’m sure he would’ve loved an undead army for himself.”

In the corner of your eye you catch Viktor’s thin smile, seemingly appreciative for not thinking his question too odd. “When I asked my parents about it, they just said it was impossible. But there was a time when they would’ve said that about—” He looks around the room and takes in the scene.

Slowly, subconsciously, the energy radiating from your fingers became less static and more fluid—rolling like small waves through you and filling the room with an almost still glow. His brows arch with a touch of his own disbelief that still lingered before finishing his thought.

“—all of this, too...” He speaks softly and something in him shifts. Whatever it was, he dismisses the thought with a subtle shake of his head. “All this to say, in truth, I’m not sure betterment was something he was really all that interested in.”

“You think helping you was somehow him helping himself?”

“When you put it that way…I’m not sure.” He tips his head side to side as he weighs out the arguments in his mind. “Altruism is a tricky concept.”

“Psychological egoism does throw a wrench in the works.”

“Hah. That it does.” He seems to appreciate the conversation’s small dip into philosophy before finishing his thought. “For years it’s made me wonder if maybe he owed your mother a favor? Or if my parents advocated for me?”

“Did you get to chance to ask them?”

“Your mother was kind—she said time had just been unkind to him so he was a little rough around the edges, nothing more. My parents only told me not to worry about it.” Frustration finds its way into the man across from you as you feel his fingers twitch in yours. You reflexively loosen your grip for him as you listen.

“But how could I possibly do that? How could I not want to understand why out of everyone, anyone…he chose a complete stranger.” There’s a small pause while you admire how caught up he gets in his memories…until he isn’t anymore. “Especially when he seemed so adamant on keeping his distance from me.”

Catching the sting in his tone, you try to lighten the mood, setting your thousands of questions aside to soothe the creases forming in between his brows.

“What a dick.”

He huffs a breathy laugh, adding a “maybe” to neither confirm nor deny your accusation. You’re learning he doesn’t like not knowing why something happens, which is a tough problem to help him solve given you were likely freezing your ass off in the Freljord when all this took place.

“My father used to tell me a phrase…something about not punching a gifted horse in the face.” You grimace trying to grasp the actual verbiage, but Viktor is quick to recall the butchered reference.

“I think it’s ‘never look a gift horse in the mouth.’”

“Whatever, he would tell me that whenever he wanted to shut me up.” The other man smirks as you dismiss the proper phrasing to focus on your point—your eyes meeting his and your voice softening as you do so. “But that usually meant I was asking the right questions.”

Viktor’s expression softens as well, understanding your analogy better than you probably could’ve worded it. There’s a pause as he sits with that, a small curl at the corner of his lips and then you feel him squeeze your hand.

It’s a small thing. A quiet ‘thank you’.

But it’s enough to make you mentally curse yourself for letting your heartbeat spike.

The liquid blue light hums and flares for a few seconds, whipping around the room erratically to match the intensity of your quickening pulse. A normal person would blush, maybe shyly look away or something cute like that.

Oh, but not you.

No, you’re wearing your reactions on the inside out, every fiber of your being on display for Viktor to bear witness to. He flashes a glance around the room then down at your fingertips that are buzzing stronger than ever on his skin and you swear under your breath while you subdue the energy.

You don’t need to look up to know the wry grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. You can hear it in his tone.

“All that for me?”

You clear your throat and busy yourself again…even though the resistance in his tendons has died down and your work here is pretty much done.

“Held in a sneeze.”

You lie through your teeth.

“Ah.”

…and he knows it.

“Allergic to snow?”

“Very.”

“I suppose it does need a particle of dust to form. That must be difficult for you.”

Unable to tell if he’s messing with you or genuinely trying to make sense of your pseudo sinus issues, you look up one more time. His grin is crooked and his eyes are bright, impish even before he gives you a quick wink. It confuses you for a moment until you feel it.

He squeezes your hand again, lets his thumb slowly roll down your fingers just for good measure.

It’s a small thing. A quiet acknowledgement that he knows better.

But it’s enough to make you mentally curse yourself for letting your heartbeat spike…again.

Amidst the second round of humming and flares of liquid blue light whipping around the room to match the intensity of your quickening fucking pulse, Viktor’s gaze lifts back to the chaos collecting around the two of you, his grin growing more and more smug by the second before he murmurs softly.

“Mm. Bless you.”

----------

A/N: Thank you again for reading and I hope y'all are doing well out there!

-Ghost

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane x male reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x male reader #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor x you #viktor #as above so below fic #that salty ghost fic

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silverzoomies · 1 year ago

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Great Pumpkin

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, drunk sex, halloween party, porn with feelings, use of the speech quirk "yer"

word count: 7,878

a/n: meant to finish this one before halloween. whoops !! at least november is the spook before christmas !! or halloween 2, electric boogaloo !!

some notes about this one: i wanna apologize for the needless plot. i know it's unnecessary, but i got a little carried away. if anything feels awkward, out of place, or weird? that's my bad. sorry. i was havin' too much fun writing the less smutty stuff. some other notes - think of this as an au, i guess. where erik is hiding out at xavier's for...reasons? idfk. sitcom logic. everyone's living together !! but there's tension !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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All Hallows Eve.

Prior to the X-Family’s spooktacular bash, Hank whipped up a little something special. Using his Einstein brain - or wizard sorcery. Peter couldn’t be too sure - the beastly scientist conjured a powerful inebriant. He heard Peter joke one too many times about his inability to get drunk. Since the speedster’s body filtered through substances at break-neck speed. Leaving not a second’s worth of intoxication time.

No exaggeration there. Peter once tried chugging his mom’s entire stash of liquor, along with a bottle of Purple Toad wine. Some really fruity stuff. Such a mass of booze only left a burn in his throat, along with an onslaught of nausea. All of which lasted 0.2 seconds.

Hank wanted to do Peter a favor for all his hard work lately. And now, he could finally participate in what he missed out on. After all these years. As long as he didn’t use the substance for any nefarious purposes. Per Hank’s request. Whatever that meant. Not like Peter planned on playing pranks at this year’s party. C’mon…really? He’s a teacher, for Geddy’s sake! He's gotta set a good example.

Spoiler alert: he had planned on it. Keyword being had.

Until the inebriation actually kicked in. For the first time in his unconventional life, a warm buzz pooled through Peter’s bloodstream. One of the major side effects? Debuffs to superspeed. Which proved an otherworldly experience. If not a little uncomfortable. Still worth it, for a one-night-only lesson in drunkenness.

Peering lazily into his red solo cup, Peter blinked. His eyes followed swirls of neon cyan. Luminous in its irradiated glow. He couldn’t comprehend the science behind Hank’s glowstick booze. But he knew it filtered through his body at a much slower rate than other substances. The drink felt syrupy on his tongue, and tasted like - coincidentally enough - candy corn. Its effects proved weaker than Peter expected.

Given his cells operated so incomprehensibly fast, Peter didn’t find this too surprising. So, what? He’d never get frat party wasted. Oh well. Peter came to accept that fact about himself forever ago. Still, fluorescent booze made him mellow enough to slow down a lot. Peter could totally vibe with mellow. No complaints there. Mellow’s copacetic. He definitely owed Beastie for his magic potion of slow-mo. Peter oscillated between a nice, tipsy balance. Muddled enough to let loose and enjoy himself. But conscious enough to avoid making any ultra stupid decisions.

Or, he thought so, anyway.

Hobbling around the mansion, Peter pushed through crowds of partygoers. All dressed in their spookiest, sexiest, or most low-effort costumes. Twinkles of orange and violet lights kept the mansion somewhat lit. With spoOoOoOoOoky decorations scattered amongst the school. A perfectly campy atmosphere for Halloween. Oh. And those decorations? All Peter’s doing. Of course, it’s no surprise the professor deemed him prime event decorator. He took mere microseconds to spice up an entire plot of land. Throwing forth all his effort, Peter dressed the building in balls-to-the-walls, haunting decor.

Fake spiders with prickly fur lay strewn about in random places. Ghosts made of old, torn sheets swayed in the breeze. Skeletons hanged by the dozens. Streamers of orange and faded black dangled from the ceilings and doorways. String lights lined the mansion’s trim. Outside on the grounds, Peter even garnished the grass with inflatable Snoopys.

During his decorative escapades, he cracked jokes to the kids. Peter asked, “You guys think the Great Pumpkin’ll show up?”

They squealed with laughter, stomping their little feet. Candy buckets in hand, the kids yelled, “Mr. Maximoff, the Great Pumpkin’s not real!!”

In the midst of rearranging another Snoopy, he gasped, “WHAT?! He is too real!! Better not let him hear you say that!”

A haunted trail veered off into the woods surrounding the mansion. It led to an old barn, stocked full of hay and populated with jack-o-lanterns. All carved by the mutant kiddos themselves. Another set of glittering lights decorated the barn, creating an autumn glow. A pair of giant speakers - Peter paid for them, mind you - roared Halloween tunes over the entire property.

Cool stuff. Talk about a hell of a set-up. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of himself. Such a slew of decorations might put even Scrooge Mcduck himself in holiday spirits.

Wait. No. What? Scrooge Mcduck? Wasn’t he more of a Christmas thing? Fuck. Peter might be more mixed up than he thought. He gazed absentmindedly into his red solo cup again. Blinking slowly, he wondered…what the hell did Hank put in this disco concoction anyway?

Whatever. By the end of the night, Peter hoped the kids got a kick out of his hard work. Not that he broke a sweat putting it all together or anything. But he wanted to live up to his awesome teacher reputation. The highest of honors, really. No way he’d let anyone else trump him on that front.

Then again… Peter nibbled his lip, grinning to himself like a huge doofus. He took another long swig of his drink. Candy corn sweetness tickled his taste buds.

Okay. So, he might’ve had someone else in mind while he decorated. Somebody he desperately wanted to impress. A lot. Or, just a little bit, actually. Like, on a microscopic level. Maybe.

That somebody? You. Except, not really. No way.

Pffffttt…he definitely didn’t do it for you. C’mon! Why would he? Think of the kids! Those precious, lil demon spawn! They practically worshiped him. They’re what it’s all about, right? Riiiight.

Peter’s holiday decorations tempted any passing trick-or-treaters to drop by. And the professor prepared quite the spectacle of treats for them too. King sized, candy bars and all. Hank and Raven - showing off their mutant glory without an ounce of shame - passed the candy out to children.

Human children.

Magneto - still unaware he had a son sprinting around the mansion on any given day - dubbed the gesture hopeless naivety. Or something along those lines. Inviting humans to join in on a night of mutant fun? Totally bogus. Which…yeah. From Erik’s perspective? Fair enough.

“You think they’ll learn to accept you through meaningless, holiday gestures?” Erik griped, arms crossed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven merely rolled her eyes. She made a comment about the inherent innocence of children. Erik didn’t appear to care. He groused some more after that. But Peter didn’t hear much of it. Nor did he imagine he even wanted to. At least, not tonight. Maybe once Peter sobered up a bit, he wouldn’t mind lending an ear. If his father ever felt the need to open up about his woeful turmoil.

But Erik disappeared upstairs. Out of sight. Still in hiding, all alone. Poor dude.

Unlike his misguided papa, Peter didn’t mind human inclusion so much. One: because he considered himself a pretty open minded guy. Easy to say, since he didn’t harbor anything remotely comparable to his father’s trauma.

And two, on a less serious note: Human girls. They gravitated towards Peter like moths to a flame.

Throughout the mansion, the theme to Killer Klowns from Outer Space rang. Conversations buzzed around Peter like radio static. Candy corn booze made it impossible for him to comprehend them. Some partygoers played wallflower. Idling by snack tables, feasting on as much junk food as their stomachs could handle. It took every ounce of restraint Peter had, not to raid those tables himself.

Peter’s Terminator costume wasn’t much of a costume at all, really. It left most of the ladies confused. He didn’t recognize half the costumed cuties who pulled him in for dances. But they sure as hell recognized him. When another pretty girl pressed herself against him - tits bouncing, and bare thighs rubbing his pants - she’d ask the dreaded words, “What’re youuuu supposed to be?” Twirling her hair and giving Peter fluttery bedroom eyes.

Peter gave the same responses every time. Covered head to toe in black clothing, wearing a pair of sunglasses; he raised a prop shotgun from his back, responding with his best Arnold impression.

“I’ll be back.” Right on the money, Peter thought in his buzzed haze. Totally accurate. One to one.

If the girlies didn’t get the reference? So be it. Peter ultimately felt like a massive dork. But he got some sexually charged groovin’ out of it. A bit of groping here or there. He didn’t mind taking the L, if it meant grabbing some ass in the process.

But as the party clamored on, Peter knew he wanted only one thing.

To find you. Just to hang out, catch up, and have an innocent time. No other reason. Seriously. Honest. Why else would he wanna find you? To mess around a little bit? Nahhh. Why would he wanna fool around with you? And risk a long term friendship? He couldn't have that.

Not when you carried enough patience to put up with his day-to-day bullshit. Always listening to his senseless ramblings. Even if he spoke too fast for you to keep up.

During his lunch breaks on school days, Peter usually spent time with you. The two of you talked in the kitchen, or chillaxed in the lounge. Those chats? The highlight of his day. As corny as it seemed. He just couldn’t resist you and your kindly wiles. The wiles of his colleague. His…very pretty colleague. His…very pretty… platonic colleague.

Someone please end his misery now.

Peter wandered aimlessly. He danced his heart out and chatted up some more cute gals. Soon enough, he found you. Leaned over a set of snack tables, you picked through sugary sweet treats. Peter noticed the way you swayed in place. A little heavy footed like him, eh? He snickered to himself, sneaking up behind you.

Lacking any filter or restraint, Peter blatantly gawked at your ass. A fitted, white gown draped your body. Flowing in an angelic fashion, it harmonized with your every curve. Even tipsy, Peter recognized your costume the microsecond he saw it. Princess Leia. Star Wars. Episode IV. Very sexy. Beyond sexy, even.

A flirtatious whistle caught you by surprise. You whirled around with a doe eyed look on your face. A kind of gaze that made his brain turn to mush. As if the alcohol hadn’t already. You licked the frosting off a funky colored cupcake, as Peter’s gaze flitted down your body. His eyes followed the smooth creases of your gown. A tasteful peek of your thigh kept his attention locked. Until the perky tease of your nipples captivated him instead.

Awesome. Amazing. 11/10. Best night ever.

“Ohmygosh!” You laughed, reaching out to touch Peter’s chest for whatever reason. Not that he minded one bit, “Peeeter, I’m sooooo sorry! I’m a little tipsy right now! It’s really unprofessional!”

Scarlet bloomed in his cheeks, burning hot enough to make him dizzier. Peter ogled you like the last Twinkie on the planet. A dollop of frosting caught the plush of your lip. You swirled it away with your tongue. Drawing in a hitched breath, Peter blinked.

Focus. He needed to focus on anything else. Not the parts of you he wanted to be on, inside of, and all other configurations of carnality.

“And?? You wanna hear somethin’ cray-crayyy?” Peter asked, lamely slurring his words. He raised his red solo cup, waving it in a clumsy motion, “So am I, princess! I’m totally hammered. And I looooove it!” He threw his head back, belting a loud, “WHOOOOO!!” Feeling more like a free spirit than he had in years.

Moving closer, you couldn't control your laughs. You shushed Peter, keeping your hand on his chest. Patting you on the shoulder, Peter chuckled. He feigned offense, but his sizeable hand lingered on you. A thumb grazed the soft cloth of your dress. For a beat, he wondered what you looked like under it.

“Whyyyy?? Why should I keep it down, huh?? It’s a party, baby! Everybody’s yellin’!” He shrugged. Peter smirked, throwing his head back again. He shouted another, “WHOOOOO!!”

A crowd of partygoers kept their eyes on the two of you. Their gazes lingering for a little longer than necessary. You snickered again. So tipsy, you could hardly get a word in through your giggling.

“You really are drunk, oh my gosh. You’re crazy, Peter! I can’t even-” Dropping your head into his chest, you erupted in woozy huffs of laughter. Great. He loved the closeness, “Peter, sorry, I’m sooooooo-”

“Mind-blowingly hot?” Peter lazily blinked, “Because yer-...you-ohhhh, man. You look really hot. Like-” He made a meaningless gesture with his hands, shaking his head, “Like, WOW! Have you seen yourself? Someone tell ‘Ro to make it rain. ‘Cuz yer on fiiiiiiire!” He joked. Cheesy and lame, but too smashed to even care.

You scoffed, cheeks set ablaze, “Oh, please! Give me a break! Mister Terminator casanova over here. Are you trying to butter me up like you did all those other ladies?” Playfully, you pushed off his chest. Peter mourned the loss of your touch, “I saw you! Getting all handsy out there!” You said, your tone lighthearted. Still accusatory.

Somehow, you recognized his costume. That caught him a little off guard. Peter’s heart did some kinda funny, fluttery thing. Jumpy, warm, and beating beating beating in his chest. But…nah. Couldn’t be because of you. Could it? Maybe the booze did it. Yeah. Irradiated Beast hooch must’ve give him palpitations. He’d tell Hank about this side effect later.

Peter arched a silver brow, “Oh, yeah? Mmmhm. Sounds like yer just jealous. ‘Cuz the ladies find my inner Schwarzenegger, action hero totally irresistible.” Bullshit. Most of them thought he dressed as Neo from the Matrix. Wrong action movie. Peter kept talking out his ass, “I bet it drives you up a wall to see ‘em all over me like that.”

“Oh, you think? Suuure. Like Leia would ever have the hots for some dollar store Terminator.” You teased affectionately, “Likely story, Quickie.” Fuck. Quickie. He loved when you called him that. You deceived your own protests, pressing your body against Peter's.

Your nails dug into his shirt as you palmed his chest. So…you wanted to play this little game now, huh? Alright. Fine. Peter bickered back and forth with you for an indiscernible amount of time. Standing in a corner by the snack tables, away from the noisy, party bustle. Unbalanced and wobbly, Peter leaned in. Keeping you both pressed together in a way too intimate for wandering eyes.

He almost spilled his neon concoction on your dress. Exchanging giggles again, Peter lingered even closer. His lips on the cusp of reaching out for yours. But in a clouded moment of self awareness, he stopped himself short.

“D-Do you…uhhhh-” He swallowed dryly. His nerves buzzed all through his body, “Y’wanna…get outta here? Maybe go do somethin’ reallllyyyy dumb? Like-uh…maybe make a mistake you’ll regret in the morning?” Peter suggested, wiggling his brows.

You gave him another lidded look, igniting a blistering fire deep in his bones. With your body still pressed to his - bodacious and oh-so-tempting - you brought a hand up. A beat of silence passed, as you moved his sunglasses up over his hair. Silver strands fell loose. You gazed into his puppy dog eyes directly.

“And what makes you think I’d regret it?” You asked, your voice smooth and somewhat slurred. Oh...were you being real with him right now?

Your fingers traced flirty circles over his chest. Scorching flames in Peter’s heart burned warmth through his veins. Heat gathered in his groin. Peter’s eyes widened to a planetary degree. Clutching his solo cup a little too tight, he brushed your ass with his other hand. By accident. He only intended to pull you closer. You held his intoxicated gaze.

Peter let his lips ghost yours again, without any direct connection.

“See, that’s-uhhh…hah…that’s just the booze talkin’.” He whispered with a soft chuckle. Steadily, he pulled himself from you, “Wanna know what it’s tellin’ me?” Peter gave you another lazy grin, nibbling his lip, “Youuuuuu and meee…” He sluggishly said. He dragged you along with him. Stumbling backwards, “...should-uh…gooooo have some…adult fun, yeah? A little romp in the hay?”

Did you know he meant that verbatim? Probably not.

Moments later, Peter clumsily navigated through the party. He made a beeline for the entrance hall, holding your hand the entire way. Floundering with every step, he traversed the crowded halls. Through each doorway the two of you passed, fluttering streamers dangled above. Soft tissue brushed across your face, tickling your nose.

The streamers proved more unkind to Peter. Staggering through the last doorway, he became tangled in them. Peter tried to shake the tissue off, twisting around and flailing his arms. He cursed aloud, making a spectacle of his embarrassing predicament. Caught in a web of orange and black, he looked like a Halloween decoration all his own. The streamers wrapped around his body and arms, even covering his head.

“MOTHER FU-” He cursed, jerking the tissue down with a rough tug. Peter tripped forward in the process. But he caught himself just in time. Compensating for his humiliation, he laughed, “I’m okay! I’m okay! Allllll good, guys. I’m good. Totally good! Meant to do that, actually.” Peter cleared his throat. He averted his glassy gaze from any partygoers nearby.

One of them being Hank, who stood alongside Raven. The two shared a few drinks and quietly chatted. The big, beast of man wore torn, red flannel. His blue fur peeked out from the undone buttons, appearing frayed. His costume? A smurf werewolf. A smurfwolf. Or something. Peter couldn't tell. And Raven? She hadn’t dressed up at all. Labeling Halloween: The one time of year she chose not to disguise herself. Why? Because, in her words, "It's funnier that way."

Raven stifled a laugh at Peter’s expense. But Hank didn’t hold himself back. He roared a rumbling chuckle, “I see the serum’s treating you well, Peter!” Hank teased, cradling a drink in his fluffy paw, “Why, it certainly looks that way. You seem to be having-uhm…fun? Yes! Fun. I'm delighted to see it!"

Peter idled in the middle of the doorway, swaying a little on his feet. Forgoing the streamers, he left them tangled around his limbs. Fuck it. His costume could use some added flair.

“I’m havin’ a-uhhhhh…a total blast, Beast my mannn!” Peter slurred. He passed Hank on his way out the mansion’s entrance. And roughly patted the scientist on the shoulder, “Thanks again, buddy ol’ pal! I owe you one!”

You giggled, beaming an elated smile as Peter dragged you out the door. Once you flew ungracefully by, Hank and Raven both did double takes. They gave you cautious looks, as if to say - uh, do you think this is a good idea? A little too sloshed, you failed to register their concern. Following Peter out the door with an inelegant skip in your step, you waved the pair goodbye.

“Well, now…that’s certainly going to be awkward for him tomorrow morning.” Hank joked, looking down at his drink. He swirled the beverage, the cup appearing itty bitty in his clutch. Showing off a crowd of snaggle teeth, he yawned.

Raven shook her head, scoffing, “Oh, it’ll bite him in the ass later. That’s for sure.” She added, sipping her own drink, “You proud of yourself?” Raven quipped, arching an orange brow. Hank held up a single claw, playful in his self defense.

“Not my fault! I gave him that serum because I thought he could have fun with it! And he is! Didn’t you see him? What he does under its influence is completely out of my jurisdiction!” Hank shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ll have you know, I did try to warn him!”

In hindsight, Peter should have heeded Hank’s warnings. What he did under the effects of disco liquor proved supremely stupid. The nanosecond your feet hit the grass outside, he lost any restraint he had left. Peter kissed you full on. Ushering your sweet lips into an alcohol induced session of heavy smooching. Tongues interweaving, lackadaisical and reckless, the two of you shared careless kisses. Under decorative spider webs and amongst inflatable Snoopys.

But no Great Pumpkin in sight.

You slung your arms over Peter’s broad shoulders, letting him devour you. His sizable hands slid over your hips. He pulled you closer as he stumbled like a complete klutz. Thick fingers curled into the cloth of your dress. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Peter didn’t dare consider any consequences. With no filter to hold him back, one of his palms felt for your breast. He copped a handful, before you stopped him in his tracks. You tore your lips from his candy corn kisses.

“Heyyyy! Hey, hey, hey! Not here! What are you even doing??” You laughed, giving his nose an affectionate nuzzle, “Someone might see us, doofus!”

Peter hummed, pulling you against him in a more firm grip. He stole frantic kisses, heated and mouthy. Squeezing your hips, his nails scratched across your gown to your ass. Kneading your plush cheeks with little shame.

“So what? Let ‘em enjoy the show!” Peter snickered, diving in for yet another kiss, “I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to touch you like this. Now that I finally got you…”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t seem to take him seriously. In an attempt to pull yourself away again, you stumbled backwards in the grass. Even with his reaction time outta wack, Peter managed to catch you before you fell. In one awkward motion, he scooped you up bridal style and carried you into the woods. The streamers coiled around his limbs came loose, at long last. Flitting away behind him in the wind.

He held you in his strong arms, following the mansion’s haunted, Halloween trail. The hayride already closed down for the night, leaving the trail - and the barn - open for some private necking.

Finding his way to the barn, Peter wobbled, slowing his stride. In his arms, you took a moment to admire the decorations he put so much effort into. Orange, twinkling lights lined the barn’s entryway. Vibrant in late night darkness. Magical, and kinda romantic. Through the trees in the distance, the garnished mansion appeared visible. A Halloweeny spectacle, engulfed in simulated fog.

Party music echoed from afar, faint, but clear enough he could hear. Peter perked up, overhearing a classic, Hallow’s eve tune.

“‘CUZ THIS IS THRILLLAHHHH!” Peter shouted off key, moving backwards into the barn. His steps were careless, “THRILLAH NIIIIGHT!” He sang, falling into a bed of cool hay. Strands of straw bounced in the air. You came down with him, and he kept singing, “AND NO ONE’S GONNA SAVE YA-” He cut himself off, leaning in to feast on your lips. Peter cradled you in his arms, humming Thriller amidst awkward kisses.

You laid bridal style over his legs, dipping your head back. Inviting Peter to devour your neck like a thirsty vampire. Without all the grace of Bela Lugosi. More like a hammered Nosferatu. If either of you had second thoughts, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. He left that baggage behind. In the morning, sober Peter could unpack it all. Right now, he wanted his hands on your body, under your dress.

“Ohhhh~! Oh my-” You moaned, tacking on an erotic squeal of his name. Giggling in a kittenish tone. The sound made him wanna bite you harder, “W-Wait-...Peter, maybe we shouldn’t-oooooh~! Maybe we shouldn’t be-”

His sloppy kisses cut your hesitance short. Peter nodded his head in a lazy, loose motion. Bringing more dizziness upon himself.

“Mmmm? What? No-...” He hummed, “Baby, we should. We definitely should. Don’t even worry-” Peter paused for an abrupt beat. Holding you tight, he adjusted in the hay. Uncomfortable, Peter knitted his brows, “Wait-...this hay’s so-...why’s this hay so fuckin’ itchy, man?”

At the chime of your silly snorts and giggles, Peter’s words became lost on him. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t think clearly enough to recall them. Instead, he drew his attention back to you. Peter’s lips found your neck once more. Your floral scent replenished his lungs, a lifesource he desperately needed. Hot kisses peppered down your chest. In his clouded stupor, Peter buried his face between your breasts.

He loved the flustered squeal you made in response. Enough that he couldn’t help but do it again.

“Ohhhhh…hot damn, baby.” Peter groaned into your chest, motorboating your knockers. A graceless gesture. Lifting his face, his hair appeared a disheveled mess, “Yer so awesome, y’know that? Liiiike…yer really great. I know I’m pretty drunk right now, but-uhhhh…” He slurred, sneaking thick fingers under your dress, “I do mean it. No joke. I think yer really cool. Cool and-uhm…and-uh…hahaaa….I really like you.”

You erupted in more buzzed giggles, parting your lips to protest his drunken confession. But Peter silenced you with shushes, “Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhh, don’t-” He hiccuped. Your laughs were so contagious, he couldn’t help but giggle as well, “Shhhh! Don’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” You chuckled, gently holding his cheeks. You pulled him down for more smooches, lips meeting in a slower embrace, “I like you too, Peter…but shhhhhh…keep it a secret.”

His fingertips danced along your inner thigh, clumsy and unsteady. Peter’s hand disappeared between your legs and under your gown. Hot digits grazed your panties. A flimsy, soaked piece of fabric awaited those digits. Breathing a low huff, Peter whispered, “Fuck.” into your neck. The steamy word tickled your skin, giving you chills.

Blindly, he wormed his fingers into your panties. Peter dipped his digits into your honeyed heat. Thick, syrupy cushions sealed around him. He focused on parting your tight walls. A little too uncoordinated to pleasure you in a more ideal way. Rough, repetitive motions curled at an awkward angle. Digging so deep, Peter could hear the squishy call of your insides - leaking wet, all for him.

Your body tensed, knees spreading on instinct. Cool air caressed your thighs. Peering down into your lidded, baby doll eyes, he held your gaze. As your cunt pulsed around his digits, soft and constricting, he knitted his brows. Humming another groan, Peter dove down for your neck. He sucked mouthy, wet hickies into your skin. Leaving gifts for sober you to discover later tomorrow.

Speaking of sober.

Sober Peter never had trouble keeping up with anybody. Moreover, everyone else found it impossible to keep up with him. But in his buzzed daze, he could barely follow your lead. One blink, and his fingers buried themselves to the knuckle in your cunt. The next blink, you took initiative. Throwing him for a loop, you changed positions. You pushed Peter further back into the hay, straddling his lap.

As you fumbled for his jeans and pulled them open, more giggling ensued. Heated tension hung over the two of you like those glimmering, barn lights. You felt around, guiding your hand to a hot thickness in his pants. It rested in a curly bed of silver hairs, limp and untouched. Your giggles ceased, and your expression shifted.

“Peter, you’re not even-” You started, squeezing the softness of him in your hand. You gave him a few loose tugs, your voice teeming with hesitance, “Are you…are you sure you want-”

“Yeaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Yanno, it’s just-...I never thought I’d be the one gettin’ whiskey dick. Haha.” Peter joked, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. Buzzed and uncoordinated, Peter harbored little patience for foreplay. His fingers sought for your weeping heat again. He pushed them through your soft, supple pussy lips, “Sucks a lot. I was really hopin’ I’d get to-uhmmm…ahahaaaa…” He bit his tongue, laughing, “Really wanted to show you a good fuckin’ time. But this shit feels like rocket science right now, sorry…”

Eventually, through sheer determination, you worked up enough sorcery to liven him up. Waking his cock from its soft slumber. Peter fumbled, clumsily guiding his dick to your flowery mound. It took some serious concentration on his part to do so. His tongue poked between his lips, brows furrowed tight. He leered between your sweltering bodies. Humid air clung to his skin, contrasting the sharp coolness of an October’s night. The smell of booze permeated in your sweat, mingling with the scent of your perfume.

You sank over his cock, taking the now raging length of him fluidly. He bottomed out in a single intake of breath. Peter moaned, rolling his hips upward. Your fluttery walls stretched, cozy and soft around his dick. He dropped his head back into the hay, howling a goofy shout. It echoed through the trees, catching autumn wind.

"OHHHHHHH~! THAT'S IT! WHOOOOOO~!" He yelled. Peter chewed his lip hard, meeting your bounces with sluggish thrusts, "That's it. That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. Hoh-fuck..."

His rhythm was a little off beat, but he blamed the booze. Clenching the fabric of your dress in his fingers, he bunched it up tight. As if to hold you by horse’s reins, arduously guiding you on your ride.

Far in the back of his mind. Like, so far, Peter may as well have been on another planet. He had his first conflicting thought. Screwing you for the first time like this - hammered and careless - struck him as kind of…wrong. Really, he should have waited it out, and done this sober. But Peter couldn’t deny himself either.

"Peter, ohhh~! Feels really good~!" Your squeals of erotic, but sluggish pleasure sounded too much like music. Now cemented as one of his all time favorite songs, "Sooo good, I-aaahhh~!"

The bubbly feeling brought upon by Beast liquor made his body burn with ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside you, loving the tight embrace of your walls. Pleasure burned to an incomprehensible level of intensity.

Even your dress felt unreasonably soft on his skin. Peter moaned again, drilling your cunt in unsteady surges of carnal bliss. He breathed thickly, the air between the two of you now sweltering. Choking on air, he kept his slow pace. His cock dug tunnels through your walls at a slacking speed. Completely unnatural for him. But overflowing with intoxication, he thrived in it.

“N-Not gonna-” Peter laughed. His voice a rough, breathless mess of incoherency. Sticky heat flushed his cheeks, and his tone wavered, “‘M not-...god…not gonna last. Fuck. Oh my fucking-” He swallowed another groan, suffocating on it. Peter’s hips rolled, their movement leisurely, “Sooooo tight. Feels like yer tryna-...like yer gonna-...aaaahaaaaafuck.”

Playing with your pearly clit, you squealed. The swollen nub burned, tingling as you circled it. With difficulty focusing, Peter brought his head up. He watched your little fingers while you pleasured yourself. His lidded, dark eyes stared, so spacy, so clouded. A growl caught in the back of his throat. You toyed with yourself a little longer, spreading glossy slickness under your fingers.

Your whines stayed at a respectable volume. Quiet enough, no one outside the barn could hear. But Peter refused to keep his enthusiastic voice down. He dug his big hands into your hips, fingernails clenching your dress. Scratching rough lines into the white cloth.

"Fuck, you gonna-...you gonna keep touchin' yourself like that? Gonna cum for me?" His words slurred. Peter used his immeasurable strength to hold you in place. Stuffing his cock through your pussy’s luscious, spongy grip. He fucked you in lethargic, but needy ruts, "P-Please-ohmygod-...please cum for me, baby. Lemme hear it, please?"

"Noooo~! Pe-ahhhh~! Peter, I cannnn't! Someone might-...Peter I can't-" You whimpered. Swirling your clit, you pushed yourself even further towards climax. A delightful, oncoming wave of scorching pleasure surged in your body. Sizzling through your veins, "OH, FUCK, QUICKIE~!" A sharp squeal bounced from your throat, as Peter surprised you.

"FUCK!! Yeah? You sound so fuckin'-Ah-...Yer so fuckin' good for me. Don't hold back, baby. Wanna-ohhhh~! Wanna hear you scream. Don't you fuckin' hold back-" Moving suddenly fast, he slammed his cock in deeper. His cherry red dick shattered your poor cervix. Burying himself to the brim, he slapped your mound hard with sharp pounds of his pelvis, "Mmmmmmfucking-...gonna fuckin'....aaaahhaha..."

Peter’s body tensed. His heels scuffed along the ground, crushing hay under his boots as he braced his feet. More loose strands tickled his skin where his shirt bunched up. Making him itchy again. But his intoxicated rutting never dwindled. He whined again, his voice cracking. Ruthless, quickening grinds of his cock knocked you hard. Sending you straight into a dimension of overwhelming, euphoric pleasure.

As tremors hummed across your sweaty skin, bliss ruptured deep in your core. At that moment, Peter forgot to consider any further risks. He burst with a hot, white pop of gluey heat. Rocking your sore cunt in sloppy, shallow thrusts. Peter soaked his dick in your sweet, inebriated love. The scent of booze and sex simmered in his nostrils. Lifting his hips, he met you in one or two more reckless, offbeat bounces.

Barely conscious of reality, Peter panted. Lying with you in a clumsy heap, he shared lazy kisses and steamy breaths with you. Had he been anymore sober, Peter would’ve rushed you off to the nearest bathroom. In dire need of a minute’s recovery, he laid there. Splayed out, Peter’s limbs rested loose and flimsy. The seconds passed, and he sobered up quickly. Post-orgasmic haziness began to clear.

You snuggled up next to him, grazing his cheek with your nose. The scent of alcohol lingered on your breath. Remind Peter that, unlike him, you were probably still a little drunk.

“You okay?” You asked out of the blue, tickling his neck with a giggle, “What are you thinking about? You’re not second guessing yourself already, are you?” Your fingers toyed with the zipper of his jacket. Which he gave you to wear in the cold, shortly after fucking you senseless.

In the distance, the faint roar of the party continued on. Rustling from inside the mansion and seemingly endless. Peter stayed silent, before snickering. He turned his head to the side, returning your nuzzles with a kiss. His lips met your hair. The smell of your conditioner made his heart skip a beat for some reason.

“Nothin’. It’s not-” He shrugged, turning his head again. Peter stared up at the glittering string lights hanging in the barn. His coffee bean eyes jumped from twinkle to twinkle, “It’s not super important. Kinda weird to be thinkin’ about it after-uh…” His voice trailed off again. Peter cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, “Seriously, no big deal.”

You rolled onto your back, watching the lights sway in a cool breeze, “You sure?” You laughed, humming an, “Uh ohhh!” Before you continued, “Did somebody sober up and realize he made a dumb mistake? Hehe…” You teased, though he could hear the sliver of hesitance in your tone. A beat of silence passed, and you hugged his jacket closer.

“Regret wh-...huh? Nahhh, baby. You kiddin’? That was awesome.” He snickered awkwardly. Peter brought his hands to his face. He sighed, “I-uh…I was just thinkin’ about how…I could be spendin’ this holiday with my dad. I mean, shit…maybe he wouldn’t wanna spend it with me, but-”

He assumed you might take offense to this. Wouldn't it come off as a little inconsiderate? To think about his dad right now. After such an intimate moment between the two of you. But being the understanding person you were, you rolled over to face him. Drawing gentle lines into his shirt, you snuggled up close to him again.

“Is that where you wanna be right now? With your dad?” You asked, your tone gentle.

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A pounding headache swarmed him from nowhere. The repercussions of Beast hooch. Hopefully, such ailments would pass just as quickly as he sobered up.

“I-...yeah? I guess? But…it’s not like I can just-...like, I can’t go see him. Since he still doesn’t know about me, y’know? It’d be weird if I just showed up on Halloween. Like, hey, man, wanna hang out? Goddammit.” Peter shook his head, sitting up fully in the hay. Straw-like strands stuck to his clothes. He brushed them away.

“Well…hey, I got an idea, yeah?” You tried to follow his lead, sitting upward. Swaying a little as you did, Peter could tell you were still on the edge of tipsy. You giggled, “Let’s go inside. And I’ll…try to get everyone together for a movie. Maybe a horror? And you can run off! Go find him. Use the movie as an excuse. Offer him the opportunity to come down and watch. Sound good?”

It didn’t. Erik wasn’t the type to indulge in such activities. Still, Peter smiled fondly at your consideration. Nodding, he stood to his feet in a flash. You blinked, finding yourself lying bridal style in his arms again. With a hand to his chin, you tilted his head down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks…” He hummed, his half lidded eyes gazing down into yours, “I really did have…such an awesome time with you. I haven't done that kinda thing with anybody in a while. But lemme-uh…” Peter bashfully chuckled, “Lemme get you to a bathroom so you can clean up, 'kay? ”

After the surprisingly deep chat he shared with you, Peter rushed you off to a mansion bathroom. Leaning against a wall, he waited outside the door. As the party settled and people filed out into the streets, he became more nervous. The two of you spent the rest of the night together, by the other’s side. Treating each other as normally as you would any other day. Soon, you sobered up enough to gather the X-family for a late night movie.

Peter took your advice, despite expecting the worst. Zipping upstairs and all through the mansion, he searched for his estranged father. To Peter’s surprise, Erik caught him off guard with a yes. But before he made his way downstairs, Peter took a moment to chat with him. He asked Erik how he was doing, and what he’d been up to. Ever since he chose the mansion for a temporary hideout (an arrangement most everybody felt uncomfortable with).

Erik - for good reason - wasn’t the most emotionally open. He kept their conversation short, before dismissing Peter. They both caught up with everyone else in the living room. The X-family sat together with snacks and drinks, joined for a movie. Erik chose a spot next to Peter on one of the sofas. Something he hadn’t anticipated at all. Since he didn’t get much out of the guy too often, he felt he could settle for his company, at least.

Sitting at Peter's other side, you eventually passed out. You rested your head on his lap, and he raked his fingers through your hair. By the time the movie ended, everyone veered off for bed. At last, calling Hallow’s eve quits. But Erik remained. He spoke to Peter a little while longer. Chatting about nothing at all, and everything at once.

Come next morning, Peter stood tiredly in the mansion kitchen. It was an unreasonably cold Monday in November. Freezing weather seemed to hit Westchester out of nowhere. He held a mug full of coffee, milky white and loaded with enough sugar to send anyone else to the hospital. Scratching his head over a mess of silver hair, Peter yawned. Even though he had more important things to worry about, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. For several reasons.

The impromptu bonding time he spent with his father lingered in his mind. Even if said father didn’t know what their interactions meant to Peter. It happened all thanks to your tipsy encouragement. Peter knew, even sober, you would’ve pushed him to do the same. Because you cared about him that much. Always inspiring him to step out of his comfort zone.

Aside from the estranged dad stuff, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more…steamy moments the two of you shared. Intimate interactions he still hadn’t sat down and discussed with you. Peter didn't have a clue what that little fling meant to you. Or if it meant anything at all. Distracting himself, he focused his attention elsewhere. Like the Halloween decorations littered about the mansion. He planned to take them down today after classes.

You came padding downstairs and into the kitchen not even five minutes later.

“Gooooood morning!” You cheerily said, blinking your sleepy eyes. Groaning, you brought a hand to your head. Your fingers touched your temple, “You know what’s surprising? I actually don’t have that bad of a hangover!”

Peter’s heart did flips, and he felt his stomach tangle in knots. Humming into his coffee, he threw you a casual nod of his head. Play it cool, “Mmmm. That’s good, though, right?”

You headed straight for the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach the highest one. You flailed around for the near-empty tub of coffee grounds. He left it up there without any consideration for short, mansion inhabitants like you. Totally absent-minded. Peter almost felt thankful he did. As you reached, the itty bitty, sleep shorts you wore rose by a touch. The cheeks of your ass caught his eye. Your bottom appeared etched in faint scratches, painted with red splotches. Damn…what the hell did he do to you last night?

Sipping his coffee with a groggy look on his face, Peter grinned.

Man alive, he wanted to screw you sober. Doing it drunk really wasn’t enough. Quickly, he dismissed that thought. Filing it away in his scatterbrained memory for later.

“Did you talk to Erik last night?” You asked, pulling Peter from his not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. You stretched a little further up, really reaching for that tin tub of Folgers.

Peter blinked, “Sorry, what?”

“Erik. I asked if you talked to him last night? Because I kinda remember you two having a chat. But then again, I was pretty out of it!” Your shorts hugged the shape of your cunt as you stood on your toes. An ache stirred in his groin, but he shook it off. Holy shit. What were you trying to accomplish here?

Peter’s heart skipped twenty beats. Sifting through the disorganized cabinets in his brain, he retrieved his previous thought. Ah, yeah. Screwing you sober? Not a want, but a need at this point. Focus, Quickie. He needed to focus. Especially if you planned on talking about something as important as his father.

“Uhhhh…” He ran a hand through his messy locks, taking a moment to process his racing thoughts, “Yeah, we talked. Not a lot, though. I meant to say thanks for that, by the way. Since I didn’t get to last night…” Peter brought his mug to his lips, averting his gaze, “Really. Thanks a lot. Don’t think we woulda had that time together, if you hadn’t pushed me to ask him 'n stuff.”

Still struggling to reach for that tin, you sighed. Your heels hit the floor, as you lowered your arm and turned to meet Peter’s eyes. Your sweet voice brought him an unexpected feeling of comfort.

“Hey, anytime, Peter! I know it’s been really hard for you. Seeing him around here lately. And you don’t need me to tell you the obvious. But-” You timidly gazed down at your toes, shrugging. Peter knew exactly what you were about to say, before you parted your lips to say it.

Something along the lines of: Maybe it’s finally time you told him the truth. Or whatever.

It was too early for this kinda deep, introspective talk. Peter didn’t give you the chance to continue. Setting aside his mug on a countertop, he appeared by your side in a fwip. The breeze from his abrupt movement tickled your cheeks. He reached into the cabinet for the tub of coffee grounds. Handing it off to you with a tired, hooded expression. He sluggishly grinned.

“We got class in, like, twenty minutes.” Peter interrupted, and you took the bait. Whether you knew of his intent to dissuade the previous conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh! Yeah! Shit!” You slapped a hand over your forehead. Peter gazed down at you, admiring your early morning features, “I’m so screwed!” Not yet you’re not, “I totally forgot to put together a lesson plan! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do today!” Well…you could always do him. Again.

Jeez. Dude. No. The hell’s wrong with him?? Be reasonable, guy! At least take your buddy out to dinner first. Which...yeah. Might be time to think about asking you on a real date.

“Yeahhh. I kinda forgot too. Had a bunch of other stuff on my mind, yanno?” Peter said, completely lethargic. He shrugged, “I’m so bad at my job, man.” He kept his eyes on you, as you threw together your own pot of coffee.

“Actually, that’s bullshit. And I think you know it too. You’re amazing at it. That’s why all the kids love you so much.” You replied. Smiling like you meant every word. Because you did. Man, why'd you have to be so freakin' sweet?

Early morning sunlight beamed through the windows. It bathed your hair and face in sparkling gold. Peter wanted to kick himself for swooning. He opted to change subjects.

“I gotta take these decorations down eventually.” He said, gesturing to the streamers hanging from the kitchen ceiling. For an instant, he remembered tangling himself in them last night, “I keep puttin’ it off. But it’s gotta happen sooner ‘er later.” Taking initiative, he reached up to tear some of them down. Balling them up in his hands.

“I could help you! If you need an extra hand!” You offered, innocently sipping your coffee. Peter took in the curl of your lips as you smiled. He cleared his throat, chuckling.

“Y’know you don’t have to, babe. It’ll literally only take me a second. I just gotta stop sittin’ on my ass.” Peter said. He tossed the balled streamers with a failed, Michael Jordan-style execution. They landed in a nearby trashcan, “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to put Christmas decorations up too. Might get started on 'em as soon as these ‘re down.” He smirked, “I’m thinkin’ I get everyone some seriously ugly sweaters. Even Mags, if he's still around by then. Oh, and I'll need more Snoopys. The crotch goblins love Snoopy.” Peter paused for a beat, his dark eyes drifting down your body. A subconscious instinct, “And-uhhhh…gonna need lots of tinsel…uh…”

Peter reached for his coffee mug. What was he talking about again?

“Oh? That all sounds nice!” You tilted your head to the side, flirtatiously grinning at Peter. As if you could tell how distracted he was by your body. Heat set aflame in his cheeks, as he glanced up into your eyes. Noticing the way they seemed to twinkle, “Think you’ll decorate the barn again too?” You asked, a flirtatious tease pouring through your tone.

He choked on his coffee mid-sip.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #txt #happy belated halloween !!! oooooo !!

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dfortrafalgar · 7 months ago

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings

(also it's far too late in the game for me to be asking this but can someone help me figure out why everyone's blogs outside of the first five people in the tag list dont show up. ive been on tumblr since like 2014 and still cannot figure this stuff out im sobbing)

Chapter 28

[Prev] [Next]

Your maternity leave had started early, not helped by how active one of your babies was at the crack of dawn. Every morning when you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rolled over to hoist yourself out of bed, you felt a kick against your abdomen. When you stood up, you felt that familiar fluttering sensation. One morning, you slept in only a few minutes longer than you normally did, and were punished with a small shove against your bladder that had you involuntarily unloading your urine into your pajama bottoms.

That one made you cry, Law keeping his chuckles to himself as he helped you clean up in the bathroom.

“Stop berating them through my stomach,” you sobbed. “I just pissed my pants.”

Your husband had answered you with a soft kiss to your swollen skin as he bent down to pick up your soiled clothing and bring them to your washing machine. “It happens, darling. It wasn’t your fault.”

Needless to say, it had been an emotional third trimester thus far.

On a Friday evening, you were sitting reclined against the arm of your couch, a book resting on your belly as you munched on some apple slices when Law came bursting through the door. He was frantic to kick off his shoes and shrug off his lab coat, hanging it on the hooks in the entryway before scrambling into the living room and plopping himself down next to you. He was holding a notebook in his hand.

“Hello to you, too,” you stated sarcastically, placing a paper bookmark in your novel to mark your spot and adjusting yourself on the couch to sit with your legs crossed under you.

“I was busy on my break today,” Law stated matter-of-factly, flipping through the wrinkled notebook with a fervor. When he found the page he was looking for, he folded the journal in half and held out the exposed page to face you.

A bunch of squares and barely legible writing covered the lined paper. You squinted. “I have no idea what I’m looking at, babe.”

Law rarely had moments where he got so excited that he couldn’t speak, but this was clearly one of those moments. He would forget that other people didn’t have over 20 years of medical training going back to the age of five. “Sorry, sorry.” He turned the notebook back toward him, using his finger to point out what he had scribbled down. “These are genetic predictions. It’s estimated that about 50% of fraternal twins will be opposite genders, so a boy and a girl. Which means about 25% will be both boys, and about 25% will be both girls.” He moved his finger from one scribble to another. “I have black hair, which I’m assuming to be the dominant gene among the two of us. However, I’m also a carrier for brown hair, because my mother and sister both were brunettes. Accounting for your hair color, I’m estimating that it’s a 75% chance that both of our babies will have black hair. At least one of our babies will have my eye color, but I believe your eyes are the dominant trait. I remember you saying at one point that someone in your family had curly hair, right? I’m estimating a 25% chance that at least one of our kids will have curly hair. If both of our babies are boys, the chances are 75% that they’ll be colorblind, and 25% that only one of them will be colorblind. If both are girls, it’s a 75% chance that both of them will be carriers for the colorblind gene, 25% that only one of them will be. But again, this is all approximations. So then I started thinking about more technical stuff. I have B+ blood, but I couldn’t remember what your blood type was, so we have to go off of the Rh factor, which is dominant with positive Rh, which means that at least one of our babies will have Rh positive blood, likely both. Male pattern baldness is also a dominant trait in most families, but I’m 26 and still have a full head of hair, so hopefully if we have a boy, he won’t have to worry about hair loss. Funnily enough, I learned today that having six fingers on one or both hands can actually be a dominant allele in some genetic lines, but neither of our family members have had any form of polydactyly that I can recall. Just an interesting thought. Anyway–”

Your shoulders were shaking with your laughter. “Law, slow down! Breathe!” Your hands reached forward to grab his shoulders to settle his excited rambling, his face slowly losing color as he was speaking more than he was absorbing oxygen.

You watched as your husband took a long gulp of hair in before blowing it out slowly. “Sorry. I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re adorable,” you replied, stroking your hand along his cheek. “How long did it take you to write all that down?”

Law glanced one more time at his notebook before closing it and discarding it on the coffee table. “About 15 minutes.”

You snorted. “I hope intelligence is a dominant trait so that both of our kids will be as smart as you.”

“You’re smart too,” he argued back, his voice light and content.

“Not ‘scribble down multiple punnett squares in 15 minutes’ smart,” you countered. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

He shook his head, stretching his arms behind his back. “Nope, I came straight home. I was too excited to show you that.”

You grinned, struggling to lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He assisted you by leaning forward on his own legs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked suddenly, diverting the topic. One of his hands came to rest on the crest of your belly, petting the taught skin through your shirt.

“Tired,” you replied. “It’s hard to stand up. Robin said both babies are probably around 2 or 3 pounds by now, but honestly it feels like I’m carrying lead weights when I stand. I feel like a turtle.”

“Any more movement?” he asked, scooting over the cushions to be closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him. You gladly followed his gesture, dropping your head into his neck.

“One of them moves in the morning still, the other likes to kick when I go to bed. The only reason I’ve been able to tell is because I feel them on different sides,” you groaned. “I don’t know what it looks like with them folded up in there, but they haven’t made it easy on me.”

Law hummed in response, his free hand stroking your belly. The feeling of his palm against your bump felt more soothing than the finest lotion. “I’m just glad that they’re both okay… not like I’m thrilled that you’re in pain, obviously, but…”

“No, trust me, I am too,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “I’ve made it this long now, and both of them are still alive. And pretty soon…”

Your husband knew exactly what you were going to say when your voice trailed off. It was a subject the two of you had been tip-toeing around for quite some time.

The birth.

“That’s the one thing that’s still scaring me,” you admitted. “I’m already high risk, and anything could go wrong. I might have to be ripped open while awake to get them out. I might die, even.”

Law felt his chest clench. “Don’t say that, you won’t die.”

“But we don’t know that,” you sighed, your voice growing more nervous by the second.

“No, you won’t die,” he replied firmly.

You felt mildly guilty for broaching the subject. You knew how difficult it was for him to even think about the slim chance of losing his family again, not when he had come so far and achieved so much with you. You leaned your head upward to kiss the soft skin of his neck, his sideburns tickling your forehead. You felt his arm around your shoulder pull you even closer to him, his breaths shallow.

“I’m sorry…” you muttered.

“Don’t be,” he responded quickly. “I mean it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His hand dropped from your belly to grasp your own, tilting his head down to meet your own as his lips gently pressed against yours. Your eyes slipped closed, leaning into his tender kiss and wrapping your free arm around his torso. The size of your belly made it hard to be flush against him, but you made do. After all, you would have to get used to cuddling with two babies soon enough.

You pulled away from his lips. “Hey, so how’s the studying been? For that surgery?”

Law groaned, not at you, but at the mere thought of the looming procedure that had been bearing on his mind for the past eight weeks. “I feel like I’m back in med school, that’s for sure. I feel ready for it, but at the same time I can never be too prepared. It’s going to be… a lot.”

Dual heart-lung transplants were very, very rare, and used for the most severe of cases. The procedure had never been performed at Law’s hospital before. Single heart transplants had been done, and a few lung transplants, but never at the same time. Law’s cardiac ward was specifically chosen for the operation because of the young doctor’s expertise in the field. The patient’s life was quite literally in Law’s hands.

A small smirk flashed on his face. “I started wearing gloves in that patient’s room with his family. I don’t want them to see the tattoos on my fingers.”

“Do you not wear gloves for any other patients?” you asked with a small giggle.

“No, I do, when performing treatments. When I’m on rounds, I just stick my hands in my pockets,” he explained. He had one dimple on his cheek that showed up when he smiled. You couldn’t help but peck a quick kiss to it. His stomach suddenly grumbled, startling the two of you.

“You stay right here, I’ll make us some dinner,” he said, making a move to stand up.

“Pancakes,” you demanded with your own mischievous smirk.

“We had pancakes a week ago,” he replied with a smile.

“And?”

Law leaned down for one last kiss on the crown of your head. “Alright. Pancakes it is.”

—

Your pregnancy journal had gone from an anxious possession that you worried would jynx your good luck to a vice that you crawled back to whenever you were bored. The pages were filled with the ink from your pen as you used the prompts to delve into some of the thoughts you kept to yourself, your feelings about your body, your babies, your relationships, the hopes and dreams and the worries and troubles you tried not to stress about. You kept track of the gifts you had received, the words of advice from your doctor, and the unprovoked comments from elderly ladies at the supermarket who liked to comment about how cute of a couple you were when you shopped for food with your husband.

The grouchy, black-haired surgeon with bags under his eyes and a resting bitch face, and you, his slightly shorter, glowing wife with a very large pregnant belly and a polite, shining smile on her face. You were truly a match made in heaven, one might say.

Law had been busier and busier in the weeks getting closer to your due date. As the weather got colder, the holidays came and went, and the new year began, he was diving more and more into his studies preparing for what was easily the largest, most intense, and most serious surgery of his professional career. Some might assume that you would get tired of the neglect, growing frustrated that he wasn’t around to spend time with you in your third trimester, but in reality, you couldn’t be more proud.

The sight of him hunched over your kitchen table surrounded by old textbooks and papers was an image straight out of your college days, where you’d let yourself into his single dorm room close to midnight and find him on his floor in the dim lighting surrounded on all sides by professional journals, research papers, and textbooks from every esteemed surgeon in his field. You’d sit down next to him and diligently push french fries against his lips as his eyes stayed glued to his studies, rewarding you during his sparse downtime with awkward kisses that tasted like salt and firm yet shaky hands that were obsessed with traveling up and down your body.

The only difference now was that Law was that professional in his field, that he was in an apartment, and that you both had rings on your fingers. The french fries stayed the same, but he at least had a piece of mind to feed himself while you watched from the couch and giggled. Every once in a while, he would lean back against his seat and pop his spine with a satisfied groan, toss you a fond look across the room, and go back to reading. Sometimes, you would stand behind him and rub his stiff shoulders, encouraging him to stand up and stretch his legs just as he would do to you to ensure you remained strong during the final weeks of your pregnancy.

The only thing weighing on your mind was the panging worry that he would be in the middle of this massive procedure when you went into labor. You were both informed by your doctor that most twins would be delivered either naturally or induced at around 36 weeks, almost a month before single babies were usually born, and with your due date at 38 weeks being in the middle of May, you had a nagging feeling in your head that he would miss it.

You both tried to hold onto hope that your babies would be delivered any other day that month. He would be gone for only a day, a full 24 hours, in total the day of the surgery. What were the odds that your babies would be born on that specific day? Slim, to say the least.

At around 32 weeks, it was getting hard for you to stand up. Your movements were slow and labored, and you were spending most of your days in your apartment either on your couch or in your bed, standing up when instructed by Law, or Shachi and Penguin when he was at work, to walk laps around your home. The fear of blood clots forming in your legs and traveling to your lungs, as described by your lovely husband in far too much detail, was enough to make you more determined to keep the blood pumping in your body.

“Alright, ready?” Law stated, standing behind you in the kitchen as you slowly made your way through a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Ready,” you stated back, your eyes focused on washing the silverware in your hands.

His inked hands traveled around your torso and under your belly, lifting up against the bottom of your bump. The sudden relief of having the weight lifted off of your back made an almost erotic moan leave your lips, your grip on the silverware releasing slightly as the tension in your entire body flooded from your veins like a broken dam.

“Feel good?” he asked from behind you with a smirk, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I saw a lot of posts that said that it feels good, but I didn’t think it would feel this good. I wish you could do that constantly.”

Sparse kisses were placed to the back of your head as his hands slowly released their pressure against the bottom of your bump, leaving your back aching once more as your body was forced to bear the brunt of the weight in your abdomen. You stifled a whimper as you were forced to hold what felt like 50 extra pounds on your own again, but Law’s lingering presence behind you with his hands resting idly on your belly soothed your aches subconsciously.

“Busy spring, huh?” he asked, filling the room where the only other sound was the sloshing from your dish washing.

You hummed in response, rinsing your hands and turning off the tap, drying your hands on a towel that lay on the counter beside you. “You could say that.” You turned around to lean against the counter, Law’s hands remaining on your body as you rotated. He leaned forward to capture your lips in his, you rewarding him with a smile.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be more physical with you…” you sighed.

Law pulled away. “Why are you sorry for that?”

You shrugged. “You seem like you’ve been a lot more handsy with me lately, and I can’t reciprocate. And I’m probably not going to be able to reciprocate for a while after I give birth.”

Your husband chuckled, planting chaste kisses across your cheeks. “I’m not ‘being handsy with you’ because I want anything. I’m ‘being handsy’ because I want you to be happy and comfortable. I’m not expecting anything in return. And by the way,” he pulled away to stare into your worried eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about your post-birth body being somehow inferior to how you were before pregnancy, I know it.”

You averted your gaze, your lips pinching together.

“And I know you don’t like the stretch marks on your belly,” he added.

“Where are you going with this?” you asked, your voice quiet.

“Because I’m going to remind you every day how beautiful you are. Always. Even the changes that come with having a child. You’re always going to be beautiful to me. I’ll never be repulsed by your stretch marks or wrinkled skin or cellulite like you think I’m going to be. The person standing in front of me is a beautiful woman who has given me a life worth living, and I’m going to cherish her and support her through everything.”

Your eyes darted toward his neck, where his glass necklace still sat between his collarbones. He religiously wore it every single day, only taking it off to shower, sleep, and perform surgeries. Likewise, you never removed your glass ring. Hot tears began to form in your eyes, but your lips curled into a smile. Your expression fought for dominance over being happy or sad, and what resulted was a shaky grin, furrowed eyebrows, and watery eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked, letting a few lose tears escape the corners of your eyes.

Your husband kissed the damp streaks that your tears left behind on your cheeks. “You fed me french fries on the floor of my dorm room in college. I think that’s when I knew you were going to be my wife one day.”

A bubbly laugh left your throat as your hands gripped his shoulders for stability. “I think I knew when you found me out behind my dorm building that night.”

Law leaned in to kiss you one more time, but a sudden gasp left your lips as your entire body tensed up. A stinging cramping sensation rippled across your abdomen, lingering in your muscles. It lasted about 30 seconds, where your shaking hands clenched the cotton of Law’s shirt, his eyes wide and frenzied as his hands supported your upright posture, before the pain finally dissipated into a mild buzz, then nothing at all.

You stared into Law’s eyes. “Can you help me sit down?”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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blissfulip · 9 months ago

Text

Dopamine

On AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, idiots in love (?) dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation, angry sex, unprotected sex,

Cw: slight spice if you squint, mentions of blood

Words: 2.27k

[A/N: Sorry for taking a century to finish this, I was humbled byt the AO3 writer curse for like a month, thank you for reading! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass

Chapter 9 (final): can't think of a title

It’s because everything has its own tailored little space, everything is where it’s supposed to be, and I can find every object with a swift look from anywhere within the small cubicle. But to the unknowing eye, the unfamiliar person, this is a faraway place where thoughts can’t sleep and where one needs to swim through a river of trinkets to get to a firm surface. Should I bother to completely clean up or not was a discussion from the past, Viktor will be at the threshold of my domain in less than an hour.

How calm the air was in comparison to the dark storm clouds in my brain. If I clean too much, would it make it seem like I care excessively? But what harm can it do If it does, if I open up to the vulnerable display of cherish and treasure? It shouldn’t do any harm; it won’t. Unless this date and everything before and beyond are nothing but a cruel joke, I have been unfair to him; he would be justified to do so, yet, no, that’s not the type of person Viktor is; vindictiveness is not a proclivity he possesses. Is it? How would I know, really?

Two knocks on the door startled you, sharp yet timid enough to turn your anxious anticipation into longing. Before opening the door, you looked around at the barely cleared-up space going from the door to the bed, to the table, and to the small kitchen, forming a desire path that allowed transit but left the rest of the space surrounded by piles of carefully placed (and clean) but visibly amassed books, clothes, lab equipment, and small knickknacks and ornaments. This should be good enough, you thought.

It was fun to fantasize about the worst, most terrible outcome. You always thought it was better to not hold any expectations; that way, everything good that happened to you would always seem like a pleasant surprise, but Viktor’s slight grin and warm eyes made you feel silly for thinking he would stand you up. He held up the hand that was holding a shopping bag to show you he was prepared and excited to cook you a meal.

“Hey” was the only thing you were able to muster, and you smiled widely as you stood to the side to let him in. He immediately went to the kitchen and started to put away the stuff in the bag inside your fridge.

“Are you looking forward to getting back to work?”

“I was enjoying the unprompted vacation, to be completely honest.” You said with a good-humored chuckle.

“I can’t say I loved getting thwacked in the face, but what followed was surely worth the bloody nose.” You smiled to yourself at the memory of the brassy taste in your tongue.

“How does it feel? Has any of the pain subsided?”

“Barely a faint ache now,” he said, turning and walking to join you sitting on the edge of the bed. “Mostly a happy memory.”

“I suppose it’s good that you won’t need to cross paths with that cretin now that we’ll be confined to our own labs again.”

“I’m not anticipating the interrogation Jayce is going to put me through either,” he said, throwing his body onto the mattress with a loud sigh.

“You can always lie.”

“I suppose so.” He said with a lazy laugh, “Hungry?”

You nodded and extended your hand to help him up.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you decided to step to the side and let Viktor do most of the cooking. The enticing scent of spices immediately enveloped you, and you watched him, already in full culinary swing, wielding a knife with the finesse of a seasoned chef.

"Do you intend to watch me do all the heavy lifting?” he exclaimed, flashing a mischievous grin.

“You’ve worked beside me for long enough to know that if I get involved, I’m going to want to do things my way.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Are you really? Because I can point out at least three things you’ve done wrong so far.” You say gesturing with your head in the direction of the onions he was chopping (incorrectly, in your humble opinion). “Is the secret ingredient a dash of blood?”

“You say that like you mind the taste.” He teased, earning a playful eye roll from you in return.

As the sunlight shone through the kitchen window, casting a mosaic of patterns on the checkered floor, Viktor hopped between tasks on the limited counter space, going from roughly chopping up potatoes to mixing up a fragrant concoction to marinate the meat in. The rhythmic clinking of utensils and the occasional sizzle of ingredients meeting the hot pan creating a symphony of anticipation. You reveled in the skill and delicateness of his hands and the comforting cadence of his quiet hums. As the finishing touches were added to the pan, Viktor stepped back to take a final look before closing the oven door.

“Thirty minutes should do it,” he said, walking over to sit at the small table.

“Whatever shall we do with so much time?” You said playfully.

“Eh, we could tidy up the room a bit.”

He was met with a grudge-bearing look. “I did; everything has a purpose, and it has been placed in its current place after careful consideration.” He looked around with an ironic guise and then picked up a small pile of puzzle pieces.

“Even this?”

“I’ll need them when I find the box with the rest of the puzzle.” You said confidently.

You found yourself on the defensive as he continued to pick up things and you offered feeble excuses for the chaos every time he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. The room seemed to echo with your silent protest as Viktor's eyes lingered on a precariously stacked tower of books.

"And what about this?" He pointed accusingly. "Are you trying to build a skyscraper?"

“Your room would look the same if there was a human inhabiting it.”

“I…eh, have slept there every single day for nearly a month.”

“And that was thanks to my monumental mishandling, as you so graciously claimed after we almost blew up, so you’re very welcome.” You said, giving him a teasing grin.

“And I stand by that, but I am very grateful for it now.”

The bickering came to a halt when Viktor’s hand reached for yours and pulled you close to him. A subtle curve on his lips betrayed a desire for something other than argument, and you wondered how he always managed to go from antagonistic to the object of your deepest desires with such ease. You, too, couldn't resist the magnetic pull of the charged atmosphere, feeling the currents shift from discord to an electric anticipation that hung between you like a delicate thread.

“Can you just flirt with me like a normal person? I don’t know; tell me I’m pretty, perhaps.” You said, lightly holding his jaw with one hand.

“Where is the fun in stating the obvious?” He straightened up to give you a peck on the nose. “But if you must know, I believe in the subjective realm of aesthetics that the coalescence of your beautifully crafted features has an unparalleled allure.” He said in a theatrical voice.

“Yeah, nevermind” You broke down into a full-chested laugh that brought tears to your eyes. You both laughed for a long minute before your giggles subsided into a comfortable silence where you just looked at each other and Viktor gently caressed the skin of your waist.

“Pretty merely skims the surface; I trust you know that.”

“You could stand to mention it more,” you said, already halfway through the distance that separated you. Your lips met in a fervent, teasing kiss that spoke a language words could not, and the tension dissolved into a delicate tango of tongues and whispered promises, momentarily eclipsing the cluttered canvas of the room.

You didn’t feel the rush or urgency that plagued your choices the last couple of times you had done this. It felt deliberate and unworried, and you noticed the real taste of his lips, not concealed by conflicting tastes and circumstances this time around.

Just as the moment reached its zenith, an insistent, faint beeping sound startled the both of you, and reality crashed back into focus as the timer on the oven pierced through the haze. Breaking away reluctantly, you shared a rueful laugh and exchanged a quick, lingering kiss before dashing towards the kitchen. Viktor followed close behind to help you set up and smiled at the playful pout on your lips.

“Don’t be sad, zaychik ; it’s better this way.” He said, bringing the missing cutlery to the table and sitting opposite you.

“What do you mean?” You said already stuffing your mouth with some chicken.

“I wouldn’t want to rush it; I fully intend to, eh, take my time with you next time.”

Under your initial disbelief, a thrilling warmth unfurled, coloring your cheeks with an exhilarating blush. And in that moment, as the echoes of his words lingered, you marveled at the boldness that had momentarily shattered the boundaries of polite conversation, leaving behind a residue of exhilaration and the promise of an uncharted, alluring territory.

As you both sat across from each other at the table, the aroma of Viktor’s homemade meal wafted through the air, and the flickering of the last lights on the dusking sky cast a warm glow on the scene, creating a canvas for the intimate moment you were sharing. You caught a glimpse of an affectionate smile on Viktor's face, his eyes reflecting a quiet contentment that echoed your own.

You had a lighthearted conversation throughout, talking about Jayce and Moira and your expectations for resuming your tasks at the labs, but as the remnants of the meal disappeared from the table, you exchanged teasing glances, the air heavy with a flirtatious tension that built with every shared laugh and lingering touch.

“We should have made desert,” you said playfully.

“If you taste as sweet as I remember, I’m sure I can make do with that.” Suddenly, the once cozy room became a haven of intimacy, beckoning you both as you walked the short steps needed to get to the bed.

However, as soon as you found yourself in Viktor’s arms, your noses touching each other in delicate butterfly kisses, the conversation mellowed into a gentle hum, and as your eyes met, a silent agreement passed between you. The fatigue of the day, coupled with the satisfying indulgence in the hearty meal Viktor had made, weighed down on both of you. The soft caress of his fingers along your spine slowly gave way to the soothing rhythm of shared breaths, and the initial spark of desire transformed into a tranquil embrace as you drifted into sleep in each other's arms, an unexpected twist sealing the night with sweet and tender serenity.

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

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, you both stirred from the embrace of sleep, realizing that the night had woven its own kind of magic. The initial confusion melted into shared laughter as you exchanged sleepy glances when you rolled over from the position you had woken up in to face Viktor, discovering that the allure of rest had triumphed over whatever intentions you had when you got to bed. Despite everything, a warmth lingered in the air.

“Is this what you meant when you said you wanted to ´take your time´?” you joked.

“Very funny.”

“Well, getting you to sleep for a couple of hours is always a win in my books.”

“That is quite an unfair assumption,” he said as he stretched. “Do you think one of your uniform shirts would fit me? I am dreading having to go all the way to my dorm to change.”

“Probably a little loose, and it’ll smell of my perfume.”

“Neither sound like a problem.” He said, placing a small kiss on your forehead and walking over to the closet. He turned around briefly with a slightly disapproving look when he saw the piles of tangled clothes, but quickly found one of the shirts. You sat on the edge of the bed with both arms resting behind you as you observed him attentively. He propped his cane on the closet door for a short second to take off the gray t-shirt he had slept in, and he smiled at you when he noticed you staring.

“What?”

You hummed and shrugged casually. “Can I not appreciate the view?”

“There’s nothing to look at.” He chuckled as he put both arms in the maroon sleeves. You frowned.

“There’s plenty to look at, and I frankly do not care if you disagree.” You said playfully as you walked over and started buttoning the shirt so he could hold onto his cane again. “In fact, I’m very much looking forward to seeing the rest of you after work.”

“Can we go to my dorm? I feel claustrophobic here.” He said with a teasing smirk, clearly cut to annoy you.

The hasty donning of work attire and the quick fix of disheveled hair continued after a quick scoff on your part, punctuated by lingering glances and soft touches. As you stood together in the doorway, you made it a point to plant a kiss on the corner of Viktor’s mouth, leaving an intentionally placed imprint of cherry lipstick that you were sure Jayce would not fail to irritate him about. A small punishment for being incorrigible, or perhaps a clear claim to him for any curious eyes.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #arcane fanfic

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