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emphistic · 1 month ago

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𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 ❦

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. vampire!Sukuna, historical (medieval) time period, fem!Reader, implied mentions of r-pe (not by Sukuna), drinking blood, inappropriate use of an extra mouth on Sukuna's hand, cunnilingus, eventual smut [MDNI], dacryphilia, overstimulation, rimming, piv

𝐖𝐂. 10.8k (God help)

𝐀𝐍. happy spooky season, people!! ngl, i've been planning this since like september, but i'm as slow as a snail when it comes to writing. available on ao3

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Since your birth, you had been looked down upon with hatred, pity, and in rare circumstances, jealousy. You were born with something called . . . cursed energy? You weren’t sure. It was always a topic spoken and gossiped about between the Village Elders, but, no one ever truly explained it to you. Your mother had died during childbirth—which just gave the villagers more to hate about you—and she had cursed energy, too. So, even the idea of learning about your curse was . . . impossible.

The years of your childhood were stripped away and taken from you. Labor, labor, labor. On the weekdays you worked in the fields, harvesting crops, planting seeds. And on the weekends, or, whenever you were ordered to by your father, you tended to the sheep, shearing their wool for clothes—which you would also have to make by yourself—and feeding them.

You weren’t allowed near the cows or any livestock—as a matter of fact—that were used for anys means of consumption. People murmured in front and behind your back, saying, your hands would poison the food, and cause a catastrophic infection which had the possibility of spreading into other nearby villages and could lead to disease, or worse, death.

It was horrible. Your whole bloodline despised you, and since your mother had left you immediately after your birth, you were left in the care of your father, who wasn’t any better than those damned Village Elders. You weren’t neglected, per se, but you were exploited; so the line in between was definitely a little foggy.

So strange was the fact that being cursed simply wasn’t enough to hoard away all of the nasty men in the village. You were a misfortune to even be seen with in public, and, for some reason, laying with you was suddenly different? You had inherited your mother’s curse, eyes, and beauty. Unfortunate were you. Your father was cruel; maddened by grief and greed. He had promised to more men than he could count that he would sell you off when you came to age.

Sometimes he would price you high, sometimes he would price you low. It depended on who his customer was, and how he felt that day. Of course, greed doesn’t always equal stupidity. Your father may have been a bad man before and after your mother’s death, but he knew that he was never going to actually go through with the process of selling you off to some good-for-nothing son of a bitch.

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Not some pig to be auctioned and bought off the streets. Not a slave to be chained to a wall. The Village Elders had been finessing your true purpose in the village since you were conceived. You had cursed energy; there was a monster who lived on the hill; and the years had gone slowly by with the ordeal of famine.

When you turned eighteen years of age, you were to be perfumed with all kinds of fussy smells, dressed in the best garments the village had to offer, and your face was to be decorated with makeup made by grinded flower petals. Why? Because you were a sacrifice, that’s why.

They had stripped you of your dignity just moments before they strapped you to a horse which they rode to the beginning of the high, gloomy mountain which overlooked the village. They dropped you off there, and left you distressed, panting, feeling dirty and ashamed of what you had just lost prior hours before. You were not a woman, not even a human anymore; you were a sacrifice. A fucking sacrifice for the people of what was once your village, your home, your birthplace.

You were fucked, you were utterly and completely fucked. Kicked out of your village, you were scared, cold, and stranded in a forest you had never even known existed. They never let you leave the fences of the village anyways, and now that you finally took in your surroundings, you could see the trees surrounding the empty patch of pulled grass that you sat on. Without food or drink, you sat on the muddy ground for idle hours; you thought yourself close to death, and even considered digging yourself a grave, when, by mercy of some god, you had heard footsteps approaching, the sound of twigs snapping under feet.

Your first thought was that your possible savior had come. But then you remembered why you were here in the first place, and simultaneously noticed the way the birds had gone quiet, and the way not even a single cricket sounded. As a child, you had heard tales of a monster who lived at the top of a dark hill. He had teeth and fangs longer than an ordinary human’s, eyes redder than the Blood Moon, and claws that rivaled even those of a tiger. This . . . monster, this vampire, had a name. The village, surrounding villages, visiting clans from the North, they all called him the King of Curses. Lord Ryomen Sukuna.

At the sudden recollection, you frantically crawled backwards, moving on your elbows and kicking at stray rocks with your feet. The figure was still in the shadows, enveloped by fog and darkness, but you could see it. Tall, strong build, unmoving. And, by God, you swore you could see those damned, twisted looking red eyes that seemed to stare back—not at a helpless human being, but at you. You. You weren’t born yesterday, you knew vampires drank blood from humans, and didn’t come out when the sun was up, but shit, it was well past dark, the moon was encased in clouds and you couldn’t remember—not matter how hard you tried—if vampires ate humans, as well.

As you racked your brain for any strategy of possible survival, your back suddenly hit the stump of a tree behind you, and your movements ceased. You bit your lip, tasting a slight metallic taste on your tongue consequently, and your blood ran cold. This was it. You had nowhere to run, and you sure as hell weren’t going to climb a tree. You were cold, weak, your hips hurt from the assault you suffered and the blood from between your thighs soaked the fabric of your dress.

. . .Blood!? Damn you for forgetting. This really was the end. Lost, stranded, alone with a vampire who could probably smell your fear and smell the blood on you. Was this really the end for you? It couldn’t be, right? You shuddered, just thinking about it, and mindlessly ground the balls of your feet into the dirt, leaving a mark in the desolate place. If someone came looking for you, if someone ever came looking for you, they’d notice where you had tried to escape, and where you faced your fate.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as footsteps approaching you sounded in the forest. Leaves crunching under what you assumed were heavy, waxed leather boots. There seemed to be a different, strangely soothing air about this monster. Originally, your fight-or-flight response had kicked in, but when you realized there was no escape, you halted in your movements; but now that this vampire was so close to you, you felt a little drowsy, or droopy, even. Your unmoving limbs felt like liquid, and you almost even wondered why you were scared in the first place.

Brining you out of your train of thought, you heard the figure come to a stop, just a few feet before you, and he stooped down low—almost as if in a squatting position—to examine which poor thing had stumbled into his domain whilst he was present.

“You’re dressed far too nicely to be related to that village, and your face is too painted to be a commoner,” he spoke at a leisurely pace, and his voice was more smooth, and cold, than you would assume for a beast. “A princess? No, no. The clans don’t visit until the winter, and they definitely lack any women who don’t look like descendants of pigs. Tell me, girl, who—”

“I—I’m,” you stammered, eyes snapping wide open at the mention of yourself. You feared for your life, and if his lordship wanted an introduction, an introduction he would get. “I’m just a—”

“A sacrifice, that’s what you are. I know. Before you interrupted me, I was going to ask who sent you here. Of course, you don’t need to answer that question. I already know, after all.

“Over there,” he pointed behind you, in the direction of the village, “those puny humans sent you? Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul. Ha! They get more ridiculous every year. Sending me beautiful brides as if I’ll ever help them. I am a beast, not a god. I must say, however, it is amusing how they mock me.”

Formidding, the vampire looked; like a prince, the vampire spoke.

Your eyes curiously looked up and down the monster before you. He wore clothes far nicer than any gentleman’s; his coat and dress shirt were both dark as night, his boots gleamed in the moonlight, his face more handsome than any man you had ever seen—despite not being a man himself, and his eyes. . . Oh, God. There were four of them, and they were all equally red as blood, beautiful as rubies, and sharp as daggers. Entranced you were, though you could feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest in fear. Your body quivered, and despite donning the garments of what a village chief’s daughter would wear, you felt far inferior.

Suddenly, his eyes drifted down to where the blood between your legs had soaked through your robes, and his stare turned cold, eyes narrowing.

“You are . . . injured. Are you aware of that? Or have humans become stupider than they already are? Somehow regressed, perhaps, and lost their sense of feeling pain?”

You shivered under his hard gaze, giving no answer.

“What a foolish creature you are. Have you suddenly become mute?”

“No. No, sir. Err,” you bit your lip, wondering how on earth you should respond while to someone who could end your life right then and there. “I was—The blood is from. . .” Your voice drifted off, and you fell silent.

“Hush, girl. I need not hear about how you lost a duel, or clumsily shot yourself with a bow and arrow. I see enough of that every day I indulge in little wars with your people,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “You humans are all weak, trying to challenge someone like me? — Pfft, it is a victory after I snap my fingers, I dare say. But, I must admit, your spirits are strong; that much is true.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “Thank . . . you?”

“Huh, you seem to be surprised by everything,” Sukuna noted, standing back up to his full height. “Was that the first compliment you ever received? I feel sorry for you. Ah, never mind that. Tell me, human, do you wish for death?”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

“It is simple. Would you prefer the gods smite you where you sit on this . . . mud, or would you rather my cook, Uraume, make you into a feast?”

“Is choosing neither an option?”

The beast laughed, “You are smarter than you look. Ha! You creatures surprise me again and again. Amuse me, girl, tell me about yourself.”

You were at a loss for words. Just what in the world were you doing? Entertaining a vampire in the middle of a desolate forest at night? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, you thought.

“I can juggle?”

Dismissing your statement, the vampire waved his hand around in the air. “I didn’t mean that. Tell me how you can make yourself useful to me—besides being a jester, that is—and perhaps I’ll spare your life. It would be quite a shame if I had to kill you; for, you definitely make a funny human.”

“I can . . . herd sheep. You, sir, must eat mutton; am I correct? Oh! and I can produce clothes out of wool—for the winter, sir. I can assure you it will soon be growing cold.”

“Hmm, that will do. Uraume will teach you everything you’ll need to know. Come along, girl. I will lead you to your new home, where you will take refuge until you seek revenge on your people—when that time arrives, expect my assistance, for it will be a bloodbath. What else?” The vampire seemed to look as if in a train of thought, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Ah, yes. My name is Ryomen Sukuna, but. . . While you live in my estate, you are to acknowledge my lordship, and address me as your lord. For rightfully so, I am.”

You hesitated, but bit your tongue and nodded in the end. This was your only chance at survival. All you had to do to make it out of this forest alive and in one piece was to serve under a vampire in his abode. You thought it should be easy enough; I mean, you had been a servant your whole life; surely this wouldn’t be too different.

“Uhm, sir,” you called out, just as the vampire had begun to turn his back on you and walk towards his home, “pardon me, but, I am unable to . . . walk. My legs and thighs ache.”

The lord had turned around at the sound of his name, and looked at you with a mockingly pitiful expression. “Humans are so weak nowadays. Back when I was younger, I had fought humans who actually stood a chance. Of course, those humans are now dead, but, I must say I am surprised to see how low you creatures have stooped over the years.”

As he spoke, the beast had picked you up with ease, hooked one arm under your knees, and wrapped the other around your back. You squeaked out of surprise; the motion had happened so fast that you felt like a mere sack of potatoes. As if on instinct—and from fear of falling, though you knew the beast was strong—you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your body closer to his chest.

“Is my strength surprising to you? I can’t say I’m offended, however; the men in your village must not be very burly. Ha! so it really is true, after all; none of you insolent beings hold even a candle to me on the battlefield.”

Now that you two were so close, you could probably infer that your heartbeat was audible and noticeable to the vampire who held you. You just hoped he wouldn’t realize that your body was pumping twice as much blood as usual, and suddenly get the urge to eat you.

As you walked, you could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves and twigs snapping under the vampire’s heavy boots. You looked around a bit, noticing the trees and bushes swaying in the wind of the night, the occasional burping of frogs, squeaks of mice scurrying around, flies flapping their wings. The whole environment was much more serene than you had imagined it would be, and you noted that it only returned that way after it became obvious that Lord Sukuna was not in the mood for killing. Perhaps even the critters here fear the beast, you thought.

The sky had turned a dark shade of indigo; it was a full moon, and the clouds were few in number. This season of the year had fewer bright stars than any of the others, but you could’ve sworn you were able to make out the constellation displaying Princess Cassiopeia strapped to a chair.

Earlier, you had been sweating out of fear, distress, maybe even both, but now, as the breeze swept against your body, and the wind blew your hair out of its previously fixed updo, a shiver ran up your spine, and you tightened your arms around his lordship’s neck.

You noticed something in the distance, and decided it was better to raise the question now, than later, where you would probably be a bother. “I’ve heard—” You paused, realizing it was probably better to rephrase your sentence. “Are there monsters . . . that live here, my lord?”

Sukuna’s lower set of eyes fixed upon your figure. “What, don’t tell me you are scared, woman. Dying whilst living on my estate is simply out of the question. You’re not under the protection of that scummy village you called home; you’re under my protection, now.”

“I. . . I can see glowing eyes peering back at me from beyond the bushes and the shadows,” you pressed. “There are monsters here, aren’t there—?”

“Only goblins and other small nuisances. I can assure you, I am the only beast in this forest that you should rightfully fear.”

That last comment wasn’t as assuring as Sukuna had made it seemed; in fact, for the half hour that you both spent walking back to the estate, you remained silent, questioning whether what you were doing was really the best choice. But, after every paradox you came across, it always ended with the same conclusion—that you had absolutely no choice. You were neither equipped for nor capable of fighting a vampire—whose strength and speed outmatched that of an average human’s.

And so you sat, in Sukuna’s arms, as he carried you through the almost endless forest, across leagues of mud and tall grass, all the way . . . to his estate—where you arrived tired and eyes drooping, after your long day.

Sukuna had stopped in his tracks upon entering the manor; he stood near the front door, as a servant—which you assumed was the Uraume Sukuna had previously mentioned—attended to him immediately after his return. You felt so drowsy, so sleepy, that you could barely make out the words spoken.

“My lord, you have returned from your hunt,” the white-haired servant bowed, “and I presume you have also returned with a consort. Shall I draw a bath for her ladyship, as well?”

You had fallen asleep halfway through your bath. Uraume—whom you had briefly learned was Lord Sukuna’s most trusted subordinate—had drawn you a warm bath, washed away the leftover blood on your body, and dressed you in garments fit for a queen. Never in your life had you been pampered so gingerly, that, you had managed to drift off to Dreamland throughout the course of it. You were then carried to a guest bedroom, where you fell in the arms of Morpheus.

Throughout the night, your dreams were unnecessarily long, dragged out, and so realistic that you woke up several times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting, and frantic. You saw it. You saw them all. The villagers, the Elders, your father. They probably thought you were dead by this hour, but they were naught but greedy fools. They dragged you to the forest to give your life away as a sacrifice. But you weren’t dead, no; you had been taken in by a generous stranger—the beast whom you were to be sacrificed to.

Had you not been woken up by Uraume in the morning, you would have probably slept until noon the next day.

“I apologize for waking you so abruptly, my lady; you must be tired from yesterday. But his lordship has requested that I show you around the estate—for it is inimitable in size, and a lord’s consort getting lost on his own grounds is indubitably unacceptable.”

You blinked. “O-Oh! That’s . . . alright; I think it shall be a nice activity to explore this grand manor. But—pardon my intrusion on asking—why do you refer to me as a consort?”

Uraume gave a small smile. “Is it not proper to simply address my lord’s wife by her title?”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you rambled on in embarrassment. “I think you are mistaken; I am not Lord Sukuna’s wife, or anything of that sort. I am simply his. . . I am here to make myself useful to him. For, he saved my life, and I am inevitably indebted to him. I owe him my life, and there’s not a chance I’ll be able to go back to my village soon. Being a servant here is not an idea I am opposed to, might I add.”

“Forgive me,” Uraume bowed, an expression of surprise on their face. “I was under the impression that you were both married, given the fact he walked in with you in his arms—a generous act that I’ve never witnessed before.”

“. . .Lord Sukuna has not a wife, I assume, then?” You tilted your head to the side.

“As far as I know, no. There aren’t many women here, either. Most servants, chefs, gardeners, are men. — Merely by coincidence, en passant.”

“Ah,” you hummed, “I see.”

Uraume gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes in their arms. “I have prepared a change of attire for you, and once you have dressed, I shall ready you further, before we take a tour around the abode.”

True to their word, Uraume had prepared you for a long day ahead, and again, you were dressed so luxuriously that even you began to wonder if you were merely a servant to his lordship. In addition, Uraume had related to you your lack of title. You were more than a servant, but less than a wife. In the end, Uraume had concluded that you were to still be referred to as a lady—despite having no relations to royalty—because Lord Sukuna seemed to have no problem with you being addressed that way last night.

“This way, my lady.” Uraume led you out of your bedroom, and down a hallway. “This is the left wing of the manor, where the guest bedrooms, servant bedrooms, and servant corridors are.”

As Uraume droned on and on about your current location, you couldn’t help but notice the beautiful architecture of the estate.

The walls were high, as so were the windows—which let sunlight seep through the overall dark palace. The doors had been constructed by magnificent carpenters, and were gilded and decorated with precise carvings. Likewise, they were also tall, and reached high above your head; despite the servants and other residents of the estate (except for his lordship) being of average height.

When you entered the right wing of the manor, you instantly noticed the increase of fussy, overornate, and unsurprisingly expensive furniture. Paintings of battle scenes, scenery, properties, and portraits of people you didn’t recognize, nearly covered the walls from head to toe. In empty spaces stood statues and sculptures of heavily embellished gods, warriors, horses, and other creatures.

Occasionally, you and Uraume would enter and explore the libraries which appeared in intervals throughout each hallway you walked. Enormous bookshelves lined the walls, and were filled with books about magic, potions, curses, taming beasts, and other subjects you were not entirely familiar with. There were ladders to reach the top of bookshelves, and there were spiraling stairs to the upper floor of the library—designed as a kind of reading space.

Tucked in corners of some rooms were grand pianos, which seemed to play music even when no one was sitting on the benches and tapping at the keys. Then again, this was the abode of a notorious vampire; ghosts playing the piano are far from the most unconventional thing to be found here, if you really thought about it.

“My lady,” Uraume began, turning to face you once you both had exited one of the libraries, “would you like to talk a walk in the gardens? This time of year, most nature does not grow—as it is Fall. But all of the plants, trees, flowers, and shrubbery located in this estate do. They are grown by magic of the trusted gardeners—who also reside in the left wing.”

The bushes and plants in the garden were all exactly how you had imagined them. Lacking a variety of color, the most you were able to spot in the gardens was black, grey, white, and occasionally, red. The color scheme fit Lord Sukuna to a T, and you wondered if that was the doing of the gardeners, or of the lord’s orders. As you walked between rows of flowers and shrubbery—conversing with Uraume—you noticed a seemingly endless amount of servants jogging to and fro around the whole estate. A few of them noticed you—an unfamiliar woman on the property of his lordship—and gave you neutral expressions, in fear of your unknown rank.

You bit your lip, wondering if they, too, were also spared by Lord Sukuna, and taken in as servants.

“Forgive my rudeness for asking; but how does his lordship afford all of these . . . luxuries? I can not even estimate how much this would all cost.” You asked.

“Ah, right,” began Uraume. “Through his victories, of course. He wins gold, treasure, weapons—which he occasionally trades for even more profit, slaves and servants, et cetera. His wealth is not from his birth; Lord Sukuna has obtained everything he now owns by his own hands. I have incredibly deep reverence for all his feats.”

You nodded, humming in agreement.

When your tour was finished, Uraume had explained to you what your role was to be whilst you stayed at the manor of his lordship. You were of higher rank than ordinary servants, allowed more free rein of the estate, and you ate at the same table as Uraume and Lord Sukuna.

Throughout your years at the estate, you served as a sort of maid, seldom a chef, and occasionally a gardener. His lordship called for you whenever he pleased, and you would obey whatever his command was.

Of course, before all of this happened, you had to undergo much training. Uraume was a sort of teacher to you; they taught you how to prepare the meat and vegetables in his lordship’s meals before cooking, explained how the abode was supposed to be cleaned and organized, and gave lessons on which plants needed to be tended to, and how. You both had a mentor and mentee dynamic that, over the years, gradually progressed into a friendship, or something of the like.

You understood Uraume more than others—seeing as you two were both closer to Lord Sukuna than the other subordinates—and you respected them as much as you did his lordship. Uraume had taken a liking to you, because of how good of a listener you were whenever they explained a new task to you. Sometimes, whilst waiting for the food to be finished, Uraume would tell you stories from long ago—about Lord Sukuna’s youth—and you would listen, with great attentiveness.

You were unfamiliar with most of the staff on the property, and you were more close with Uraume than the other maids you occasionally encountered. It came with no surprise, however, that most of the other servants looked at you with a negative eye. Lord Sukuna happened to treat you with more kindness than he would the average staff member, and that consequently led to sparks of jealousy throughout the servants corridors. You weren’t bothered, though; you had been looked down upon since birth.

Sometimes, his lordship requested you bathe him—which, at first, you thought was incredibly scandalous for an unmarried woman to touch another man in that way, but Lord Sukuna had corrected you, explaining your job as merely washing his hair and preparing the warm or cold bath water. For, Sukuna had found that he rather enjoyed the feeling of your nimble fingers carding through his hair, and, that very task was what you were doing now. Or, well, what you were on your way to do.

Whilst carrying a bucket of hot water, you had been stopped by a passing servant. He was a man, of average height, messy hair with loose bangs hanging over his forehead, and carried a broom in his callused, experienced hands. He was sweating—from a long day of work, you assumed—and was nervous in approaching you at first. But once he spoke, the words just seemed to pour out like water; smooth, gradual, and natural.

“Pardon me, miss, I have not seen you on these grounds before today. Might I have your name?” He reached out a hand expectantly, and looked at you with deep interest.

You placed your wooden bucket sloshing with water on the floor, and gave your name. Consequently, you slipped your hand onto his, and the male servant raised your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your palm in simple greeting, or so you thought. . .

Previously, you had expected the man to let you be on your way after that, but no. He had stuck you there in conversation for about five more minutes, asking how you knew his lordship, your origin, how you came to work at the estate, and overall, made small talk that you really weren’t that interested in.

You had tried to excuse yourself several times, saying, “His lordship is awaiting my presence.”

But the man merely waved you off each time.

“Lord Sukuna would certainly understand my need for taking a break in order to converse with a beautiful lady like you. You may have noticed over the years that the maids here are. . . I am not entirely sure how to put this—They are lacking in good features. It’s unfortunate, really, to be a product of such terrible breeding, but I must say, you are divine. A goddess incarnate, if I’d ever seen one.”

Heat had risen to your neck at the compliment, and you—humbly—were in the middle of accepting it, when, you had felt a shadow towering over you that definitely wasn’t there before.

About to turn around, your movements were halted by the sound of a deep voice, belonging to someone that clearly seemed irritated.

“What on earth is taking so long? Last I checked, bringing water to the bathing quarters does not take nearly half an hour.”

Lord Sukuna! you gasped.

You turned to face his lordship, and then turned back around to face the male servant, but to your confusion, he had already gone.

Turning back to Sukuna, you immediately took a deep bow, and recited multiple sincere apologies. “Please, forgive me, my lord. I was simply engaging in conversation with—”

“—With some nobody,” he finished your sentence for you with a scowl. “Yes, I see, now. You have abandoned your duties, and, instead, taken up a pastime in listening to a man ramble nonsense.”

His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, and scanned your face for any hint of fear, but he found none—which left him dumbfounded. You weren’t afraid, no, you were merely guilty of insubordination. Sukuna mentally took a note of that, evidently interested in you even more at his new reading.

“I was distracted, sir. But I understand my wrongdoing and take full accountability for getting caught up in conversation while on my way to your private quarters.”

For a second, you thought you had heard a snort from his lordship, but you soon dismissed that idea after realizing the absurdity of it.

“Acquitted.”

At this, you raised your head, did a once-over on his lordship’s features—curious as to how sincere he was in pardoning you—and retrieved your bucket. “You . . . appear paler than usual, my lord. Are you feeling unwell, by any chance?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, waving you off. “Nonsense.”

Due to Sukuna’s reassuring comment, your observation was soon discarded, but whilst you were washing his lordship’s hair, your concerns had been revived by a prominent sound echoing throughout the bathing quarters. Several coughs, that came in intervals, before concluding.

“My lord,” you began, “am I mistaken in having heard you cough?”

“Of course.”

You let out a soft laugh, believing not even a word of that. “I will be sure to bring incense into your chambers tonight.”

His lordship waved around his hand mindlessly. “Do as you want; however, trust that I am expecting more woolen coats.”

So he was holding that above your head, you noted.

Over the next few days, his lordship’s condition had seemed to worsen. He appeared sickly whenever you passed him in hallways, pushed away meals he often enjoyed, and coughed more often than not. At first, you thought it was a mere cold—seeing as the weather was progressing into winter times. In contrast, Lord Sukuna had started to pale, and his temperature had risen; but, despite the seemingly obvious symptoms, his illness was far from a fever.

It was pointless looking for possible medications; his lordship absolutely despised welcoming the apothecary onto his estate. And so you took matters into your own hands. You had attempted to change the bathing water. Sometimes cold, sometimes scalding. It was all in the name of seeing what would increase his lordship’s health, but all was in vain. Uraume had informed you that Lord Sukuna rarely felt cold or hot; the seasons were all the same for him. So the temperature and the climate are not the catalysts for this illness, you thought.

It just . . . didn’t make sense. His lordship was never affected by weather, and rarely got sick from reasons similar to a human. . . What on earth could this illness be?

“Uraume,” you began, whilst scrubbing bloodied garments on the washboard, “what do you suppose it is?”

“What is it that I am supposing, my lady?”

“His lordship’s illness. I am racking my brain for possible explanations, and I have found none. He is a vampire, a beast; a human such as I am simply not capable of understanding what his condition could be.”

Uraume shook their head, pausing in the middle of their work. “It is not a simple illness, you are correct. But I am not in the place to tell exactly what it is.”

You bit your lip. “How do you mean?”

“Ask his lordship.”

And so you did.

It was a fine evening; the night was young, the air was crisp, and smelled of the incense you spoke of bringing to his lordship’s chambers. You had requested to pay him a visit, and apparently, you were only able to do so late in the night, after most servants had gone to their respective corridors, and the invisible pianists had ceased their playing.

“You asked to see me.” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest, standing face-to-face with you in the middle of his fussily furnished bedroom. “Speak.”

“My lord, what is it that you are sick with, exactly? You have yet to tell me; and there is no way I can be of assistance if you continue to leave me in the dark about your condition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Not once have I ordered you to be of assistance regarding my—” Cough. “—state. You waste your time worrying about me, woman.”

“Pardon my insubordination. But if simply caring for my lord is so inutile,” you pressed, putting a hand on your chest as you spoke, “then I shall spend the rest of my years wasting my time.”

Sukuna laughed, leaning down to your level. “You are just so stubborn, aren’t you? Very well. I shall tell you; it is . . . pretty simple, I dare say. It is a mystery how you are so interested in the fact that I am a vampire that has fallen ill—in need of . . . blood. Is my dear strong-willed lady satisfied now?”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“My lord, if you are only in need of blood . . . shall I get a sheep for you to slaughter?” you proposed.

“No. It is not that simple. Blood is what I crave, but cursed energy is what I need.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of that. Cursed energy. Maybe this was your chance to make yourself useful. You still weren’t entirely sure of what cursed energy was, but you knew it was something that you had, yourself. What a coincidence, you thought.

“So then, how do you usually get this . . . cursed energy?”

“I kill sorcerers.”

You did recall hearing some . . . stories from the drunkards who sat in front of taverns they were kicked out of. Due to their “clear” state of mind, you never paid much attention to them, nor did you care, to be frank. But, you could’ve sworn you heard a tale about a sorcerer with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the sea, who attempted to take down the formidable King of Curses. You never stuck around the drunkards long enough to hear his fate, and how the story ended, but it was probably best that way.

“So, why don’t you just do that?”

“I have vowed not to lay a single hand on a sorcerer since you came along.”

“And, why’s that?”

“Because they are your kin, woman.”

You knew not what that meant. Kin? You were not a sorcerer; you were human. A sacrifice turned servant. Cooking, gardening, cleaning. Those were your strong suits. But sorcery? Surely his lordship must be joking.

“. . .Pardon?”

Sukuna looked like he was uninterested in indulging your little interview any longer, and hurried to kick you out of his chambers. “This conversation is over. You are dismissed.”

“But, my word! you are still ill, how are you to go on without—?”

“Worry not, human; I am ancient, and I am strong. Surely I can make do for at least a few days more.”

A few days more had passed, and your concern had only seemed to grow. Until, one windy day, you had come up with an idea in the middle of collecting berries. Storming into his lordship’s office was not a common venture for you, but today’s occasion seemed appropriate enough.

“My lord, would you spare some time?”

Sukuna looked up from a pile of letters he had been previously staring at, and gave you an unamused look, almost as if he wasn’t vexed by your interruption. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought of an idea.”

“Elaborate.”

“It is a long story, one I am not very keen on reminiscing about,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your straw-woven basket, “but I was . . . born with cursed energy. And if my memory serves me right, that is just the very thing you need.”

“Are you insinuating I drink your blood?”

“Forgive me; I wouldn’t know if that’s how you wanted to go about this. Are you to perform a ritual on me? A blood oath, perhaps? Excuse my imprudence, my lord, for I am simply not knowledgeable enough in those areas as I would wish to be.” You gave a slight bow.

“Ha! You must be more ill than me to even suggest something like that. I am the great Lord Ryomen. Sukuna the Sinister. King of Curses, girl. Just who do you take me for? I am not Satan.”

“Forgive my insubordination towards your lordship, but,” you casted your eyes downward, hiding a small smile, “some might disagree with that. . .”

“Is that any way to speak to your lord?”

“Pardon me,” you smiled, “I was only joking.”

Sukuna hummed, agreeing. “Of course.”

That was the last conversation you had for the night before you returned to your bedroom.

You had spent the next morning cleaning around the estate, dusting, and replacing water in vases. Whilst in the middle of dusting a mantle, you felt a shadow grow behind you, and, already familiar with the formidable presence, you turned around to come face-to-face with none other than his lordship. Beads of sweat were accumulating on his forehead, his hair was a mess, and his eyes seemed distant and frantic in darting around the room.

You had never seen his lordship in such an incomposed state, and immediately set down your ostrich feather duster on the table beside you.

“How are you holding up?”

“Terribly. This is . . . unbearable. I. . . I must. . .” His lordship’s eyes narrowed, and seemed to fog up as he got closer and closer to you. He seemed to be in a state of delirium—completely unable to control himself—as he backed you up against the wall, planting two hands beside your head.

“What—What are you doing?”

His lordship’s breath fanned against your skin, as he leaned his face down near your neck, just a breath away from his lips making contact with your clavicle. You squirmed to make an exit from the predicament you found yourself in, but your figure was trapped between the wall and his lordship, unable to leave.

“. . .Holding back.”

“‘Holding back’?” you repeated. “My lord, pray tell—”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “This would be much easier if I had a less keen sense of smell.”

“Are you—Do you need the blood now?” You blinked, nervously fidgeting with the ties of your corset.

“. . .Another time,” he sighed, abruptly moving back and away from your shaking figure. “My level of restraint is stronger than I had imagined, but it has grown weaker since you turned up.”

With that, he had simply turned his back on you, and walked down another hallway, leaving you flustered, bewildered, and burning hot. You brought a shaking hand up to feel your cheek, and you were warm to the touch. What on earth just happened? you wondered, clutching at your chest in dismay.

Another week had slowly gone by, and his lordship’s condition had yet to subside. Other servants had started to also notice his signs of fatigue and illness, and multiple attempts to help were made, but all were fruitless in the end. Lord Sukuna had made it evident that he wanted no help, and it soon became crystal clear that he was avoiding you lest your nagging.

Disappointment often made its way onto your face whilst you worked; for, you just couldn’t seem to get the thought of his lordship out of your head. He needed help; you could help; but he wouldn’t let you. Why was that? you pondered.

After spending most of your free time in the gardens of the property, you had discovered the secret abundance of cats and kittens that often snuck onto the grounds and played in the grass and shrubbery. Once, you had asked his lordship about it, and whether he would allow that to go on for any longer, but he waved you off. This led to you believing he wanted the animals there—not like you were complaining.

They were cute and cuddly, and came in a variety of breeds, patterns, colors, and sizes. Some were small—just able to fit in your palm. Whilst some were larger—capable of rolling around in your lap. You often sat down and played with them until their eyes grew droopy, and you scurried off to the kitchens in order to fetch them bowls of milk and plates of food.

It was a full moon, on a cold night in the tenth month of the year. Just like always, you had sat down on a wooden bench in the garden’s gazebo, and were playing with the little kittens in your lap and rubbing their little full bellies after mealtime.

“Bless me,” you began, whispering to the little critters, “I might just have to steal one of you for myself. You are just too adorable for your own good, huh?”

You booped a kitten on the nose, and it meowed in response—arching its back. But only seconds later, all of the animals on your lap had perked their ears up, and hurriedly scampered away at the sound of leaves and twigs snapping under approaching footsteps.

“Talking about me?” a familiar, raspy voice joked.

Your head raised, and your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his lordship. “O-Oh! My lord, I—I was not expecting to see you tonight.”

“Neither was I. But I am—” Cough. “—perhaps more ill than before.”

Sukuna had taken a seat beside you on the bench; you both were so close that your shoulders were touching, and you instantly grew tense as Sukuna drew even closer—resting an arm on your hip.

“What, do you need me to tie you down, woman?” Sukuna leaned closer to your face, an unamused expression on his features; his eyes more red than usual. Was it a trick of the moon? “Is that what it will take for you to stop squirming like a worm all the time?”

“It’s just—I am ticklish, sir.”

“I can assure you, you won’t be laughing any time soon.”

“What do you—nngh.”

You were not at all prepared for Sukuna to bite down on your neck with such unimaginable force, and an embarrassingly loud whimper left your lips.

As you felt his fangs—all sharp and long—sink down beneath and break your skin, you gripped and clawed at the wooden bench. Sukuna sucked at your neck, warm blood trickling down your neck, and it felt so . . . scandalous, so erotic, and so dreadfully painful. In the middle of the garden, in the middle of the night; under the gaze of the moon, and light of the stars; you two were alone, and yet, you felt so surrounded.

With another hand on your hip, Sukuna held your head in his hand; and your head lolled around in his grasps. You felt as if in a trance, and your hands scratched at the wood beneath you, gripped onto his lordship’s bicep, all in a feverish attempt to run away from the assault, but you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. You knew what you were getting into the moment you offered yourself up, but God, did it hurt like a bitch as Sukuna sucked at the wound, drawing out as much blood as possible.

Mindlessly, a sigh left your lips, and your eyes squeezed shut in a selcouth sense of bliss.

It took you a moment’s time before it fully set in that his lordship was drinking your blood. Hell, he was drinking your blood and it hurt, but it felt so . . . good.

Was this but a dream?

The hairs on the nape of your neck rose; your skin felt tingly and warm to the touch. It was like a fire had been lit inside of you, and his lordship biting and sucking at your neck was just adding fuel to the flame. You had never experienced something like this before; it was so, so intimate. Should you even be doing this?

Your back arched, and you felt like a lifeless doll in his lordship’s grasps as he frequently let out small, sensuous sighs and groans at tasting heaven after having restrained himself for so long.

It was only minutes later that the beast finally released his fangs from your neck, and gingerly set you down on the bench—seeing as you had seemingly fallen too weak to even hold yourself up.

Through teary eyes, you could make out the sight of Sukuna before you—traces of your blood around his mouth, eyes dark with an insatiable lust for blood, and his jaw clenched.

“Feeling regretful?” he joked, swiping at the leftover blood on his lips with his thumb, and licking the liquid clean off. “Don’t worry, I certainly am not.”

It was afternoon the next day when you awoke in the comfort of your bedroom after having passed out the night before. Your head pounded, clothes were wrinkled, and . . . oh, God. You had totally forgotten about everything. Almost as instantly as it clicked in your head, your hand quickly shot up to feel the skin around your neck. But, to your surprise, there was no sign of bruising or any bloody wounds. The only marks left behind that told you what happened the night prior wasn’t a dream were two small holes, from indentations of fangs.

Your mind ran at 150MPH, and your heartbeat quickened. Were you now going to turn into a vampire? Were you, too, also destined to spend the rest of your life immortal? What on earth was this going to mean for you?

Though you were still dazed, you made quick work of putting on the change of clothes left by the foot of your bed by—you assumed it was—Uraume. And, just because you were possibly going to turn into a bloodthirsty vampire didn’t mean you had the day off, so you brushed your hair, splashed ice water from a basin onto your face, and set off to start the day, or, more like, the afternoon.

Like always, you sweeped the hallways, dusted off statues and sculptures, set out bowls of milk for the stray animals outside, and conversed with Uraume every so often.

You were in the middle of heading to the kitchen, when you passed by Lord Sukuna in the hallways en route. He looked well, different from how he was when he was ill—more alive, lack of fatigue in his eyes. But, besides looking more healthy, his eyes looked darker than before, his frown was more prominent than ever, and his features just . . . seemed so sharp. Now, you knew his lordship was an attractive beast, but, today? You found yourself thinking scandalous thoughts.

“My lord,” you murmured, bowing at the waist, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

His voice was velvety as he spoke; every word he said made you feel a strange throbbing sensation between your legs, and you found yourself frequently squeezing your thighs together. There seemed to be an unfamiliar sense of warmth at your core, and you could practically feel the heat rising to your neck. Flustered, you brought a hand to touch your cheek, and you instantly noticed how much you were burning up.

“Okay, then. I—I’ll be going . . . now. Good day,” you said, hurrying away before Sukuna could hear the thumping of your heartbeat increase in volume.

“You creatures are so strange,” Sukuna clicked his tongue, before walking away, as well.

As if it were fate, that was not the last of his lordship you saw that day. You had run into Sukuna at least five more times, which, despite living in the same estate, was not a normal occurrence, since his lordship frequently kept to himself, locked in his office or chambers.

Most of the times you ran into him, you made small talk, before scurrying away after feeling extremely nervous. It wasn’t like you at all; if anything, you and Uraume were the only ones capable of holding a conversation with the lord of the manor. But today just . . . it was off, you were off, your body felt off—you had no explanation for it.

Every time you saw Lord Sukuna, your heart thumped at extreme velocities, and your face flushed, heat rising through your body. It was hard to form proper sentences, and after adjourning your conversations, you found yourself continuing your work clumsily and with incredibly less expertise than before. Uraume noticed it, too. They frequently had to correct you on the way you swept the floors, and had to snap their fingers more often than not in front of your face a few times to bring you back to reality. God, what on earth was the matter with you?

You had used the rest of your evening to try to calm down, but honestly, your attempts were completely fruitless. It was late—a little bit after supper, when you were called on by a right-hand man to pay a visit to his lordship’s chambers. Of course, you couldn’t deny those orders, although you were a little hesitant on obeying.

As you walked through the corridors, and down the abundance of stairs, you counted every breath you took, and tried to slow down the rapid beating of your heart. Your hands gripped the fabric of your skirt with a white-knuckled grip, and you fidgeted with the lace on the edges. It helped that no one was outside of their respective quarters, so that you wouldn’t have to worry about coming across someone who could possibly stress you out even more than you already were.

You had no idea what his lordship could possibly want at so late a time in the evening, and your mind ran through every possibility. Were you getting kicked out? Or, fired? Were you being sent back to your village? No, no, that couldn’t be, you thought. His lordship was a formidable opponent to have, but he certainly wasn’t cruel to those innocent to his wrath. . . Right?

Once you arrived at his lordship’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the grand, ebony-finished doors before you, you were just about to raise your hand to give three consecutive knocks, when a commanding voice—beyond the door—called out to you, seemingly having noticed the presence of your being even before you made any announcement.

“Don’t tarry like a fool. I’m sure my lady knows better than to act like that. Come forth.”

The doors opened, with magic? ghosts? invisible entities? You knew not, but you refrained from any further questioning. The doors shut closed immediately after you stepped foot into the large bedroom, and you moved closer inside—fearful of being hit by the doors. And there, before you—in all his glory, dressed in robes darker than the night—was his lordship, lounging on a luxurious sofa, sipping an ornately designed silver goblet full of red liquid that you hoped was just wine.

“Good evening, my lord,” you said, leaning into a deep bow. “Is something of the matter?”

Sukuna stood up, set his goblet aside, and stalked towards you until the both of you stood toe-to-toe, and your faces were merely centimeters apart. “You want something,” he stated, completely sure of himself. “Spit it out.”

“. . .If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who called me here. If that is so, then, what—what on earth are you talking about, my lord?”

“Don’t be silly; you’ve been walking around all day as tense as a rock, and fidgety as a newborn about to burst into tears. Being shy will get you absolutely nowhere, for, I can smell your arousal dripping off of you.”

“P-Pardon?” Just as you were about to ask what he exactly meant by that, his lordship shoved his hand up your skirt so quickly that you didn’t even see the extra mouth—with its tongue sticking out—form on his hand. “Oh—Ohh.”

Having never been this close with another man before, you covered your mouth in embarrassment to contain the moans and whimpers that slipped out. Your knees soon grew weak, and your weight became unsteady on your own two legs. Clearly desperate for any sense of leverage, your figure fell onto his lordship’s, and you greedily gripped at his biceps for stability as you felt the tongue on his hand prod at your folds before diving right into your growing wetness.

Sukuna acceptedly held you in his arms, with a jeering smile on his face. “Not so bad, huh? All this time you could’ve just told me how much of a whore you were for your lord, but no, you had to go around the estate practically dripping for your master instead.”

“Nnghh, my lord! You. . . Hahh,” your voice trailed off as you gave in to the unfamiliar, strange pleasure you were receiving. This was all so . . . new, to you. The hand-mouth between your legs dipped into depths you didn’t know existed, sucked at areas deep within you, and had you seeing stars as the tongue curled and moved at an alarming speed.

Wasn’t this what a husband and wife did? you wondered. Though, you weren’t exactly complaining, per se. Everything felt so . . . good; from his lordship’s whispering of sweet nothings and degradations in your ear, the cool touch of his other hand tracing circles and other various shapes on the revealed part of your shoulders, all the way to the throbbing between your legs finally being relieved.

A coil formed in your stomach, and you felt a warm, hazy feeling inside. Your face twisted into an expression of extreme pleasure, and you couldn’t suppress the embarrassingly pornographic-sounding moans—which you worried other servants could hear through the walls—that slipped past your kiss-bitten lips.

“My lady tastes even sweeter than her own blood,” Sukuna laughed. “And here I was, thinking such a thing was impossible.”

You couldn’t respond; then again, how could you? Your face was pressed into his lordship’s bare chest, and your hands gripped his robe-covered shoulders—certainly leaving crescent-shaped marks in your way. The pleasure you were receiving was so different than anything you had ever felt before; it seemed otherworldly, almost, and your mouth remained slightly ajar in the feeling of ecstasy.

Subconsciously, you pressed your legs together, trapping the hand-mouth between your thighs—which, mind you, never stopped in its movements even once. It brought you over the edge, and back up again, repeatedly.

The knot in your stomach tightened to impossible lengths, and you squeezed your eyes shut in bliss as you felt yourself release onto his lordship’s hand—right before the hand-mouth licked up everything you had to offer, and more. You were dripping down Sukuna’s hand an incredulous amount, and it made heat rise to your cheeks at realizing how much you were enjoying this.

You were still riding out your high, when, out of the blue, Sukuna leaned down to your neck, and placed a kiss so gingerly onto your shoulder—in the precise spot of where he bit you the night before—that you even wondered if this was the same man you called the King of Curses. It seemed his lordship had taken a liking to interrupting you, since, before you could even get another word out, Sukuna had bitten your shoulder once more, and sucked on the blood dripping down your clavicle as you whimpered and mewled obscenely.

Was this man never satisfied?

The first time his lordship drank your blood, it felt like you were in a trance, but this time, it felt unbelievably good, and your eyes rolled back inside your head in the feeling of euphoria. Moments later, Sukuna pulled back with a shit-eating grin on his face, and blood dripping down his chin.

The both of you stumbled back towards the sofa in tandem, and you found yourself straddling Sukuna’s legs with your hands planted on his shoulders as he laid back against the cushions of the sofa, a smug look on his face.

With inhuman speed, you felt his lordship grip onto your hips as he raised them up before slamming you back down, entering you in one move. Due to it being your first time, your previous release was just enough to act as a lubricant—seeing as his lordship’s size was far from small. You covered your mouth—stifling a scream, as your walls molded to accommodate the immense girth and length of his lordship.

It was all like nothing you had felt before, and you felt so utterly and impossibly full. Losing balance, you fell onto Sukuna, causing the two of you to be flush against one another, your already pushed up tits—courtesy of your corset—pressed against his lordship’s bare chest, and you writhed at the friction.

Noticing your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape, Sukuna let out a cold laugh. “What, don’t tell me vampire cock is going to be your first. What an honor that would be, my fair lady.”

Your only response was a bunch of garbled words and gibberish that didn’t make sense. The tears that ran down your face went unnoticed by you—who was too busy trying to not pass out due to overwhelming bliss.

“Crying? How adorable.”

Although his lordship was not moving at all, you still felt immense pleasure in the mere feeling of his cock buried deep inside your cunt to the hilt. Despite yourself, you subconsciously rolled your hips, and grinded against Sukuna’s crotch, hoping, praying, begging for more movement, or anything, at least. Everything felt too good to end as nothing at all.

As you sensuously rolled your hips, Sukuna grunted, hands flying to grip the fat of your ass. It hurt like a bitch, if you had to be honest. Really hurt. Claws-dug-in-your-skin level of hurt, to be more precise. You let out a whimper as you felt teeth from his hand-mouth bite into the plush skin of your ass cheek, and you just knew it would leave a bruise and prominent mark the next morning. Oh, what an absolute hell it would be to have to sit the next day.

This was so. . . You couldn’t even say the word ‘scandalous’ because this was practically far beyond that. Not once did you ever imagine you would be giving your first to the man you worked for, much less, a vampire.

Just as you were about to be pushed past your limits merely by being stuffed full by cock, you felt the tongue of his lordship’s hand-mouth slither towards your ass, and dance around your back entrance before finally dipping in.

Immediately, a gasp left your lips at the dirty, dirty act, and you mewled—gripping the fronts of Sukuna’s robes—as the average human-sized tongue entered equally as deep as the dick in your cunt. It felt so large, so wet, and so . . . fuck. This was absolutely insane. You were completely full in both holes; the thin fabric of your skirt was soaked; and tears rolled down your cheeks as you gasped for air; but what took you to your final breaking point was the feeling of a rough, abrupt thrust upwards that you swore you could feel in your womb.

“S’kuna—S’kuna—Sukunnghh! Too much—too much; oh, my—mmph! My lord, I . . . ahh.”

You saw stars as you came—his lordship following soon after, filling you up to the brink with his seed—and a plethora of stuttering and repeated moans of his lordship’s name exited your mouth like a prayer.

“Yeahh, just like that. You got it, sweetheart. You got it,” groaned Sukuna, as he used two fingers to stuff the cum that oozed out right back into your cunt.

He was utterly obsessed with the idea of being the first man—no, beast—to corrupt you, to fuck you, to rightfully touch you, to show you all you had been missing out on due to that godforsaken village. You were ethereal in his eyes, the only angel that would ever be by his side, the first and last woman to be called his lady; and his lordship could not be any happier. Each day since your arrival, you had loosened his level of restraint and made him rethink being immortal, but God was he satisfied that all his waiting and preying had worked out.

He had gotten the girl, sunk his teeth in, and successfully held on.

#i clearly hate myself #why the hell did i write 21 pages of this #. . .im testing out a new writing style btw #hopefully its readable 😖#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #sukuna x y/n #em writes ˎˊ˗

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honey-flustered · 8 months ago

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Along For The Ride (Part 1 of 2)

MDNI +18 Only!!

Farmer!Older!Beefy!Eddie Munson/ Mean!Bougie!Fem!Reader

Summary: A drunken joyride leads you in the midst of Eddie Munson, who’s seeking repayment for the damages made to his property by you. Fed up with your constant misbehavior, your father makes a deal with Eddie in which you will do some manual labor around his farm in exchange. You’re not too pleased with this arrangement and your differences in personalities lead to a clashing of heads…and tongues?? (8.5k words)

A/N: I have not written in ages. It is really tough being a writer with the pressures I place on myself to be perfect, to gain more likes and followers, to write things as quickly as possible. I’m learning to fall in love with writing again. It’s a slow process but someday I’ll be able to share all the great things I’ve been working on for the past year. Anyway, here is my start to starting my journey again and thank you all for supporting me.

Older!Eddie photo edit by: @/eddiemunsons-missingnipple

CW: fluff and lots of angst, enemies to friends to lovers trope, SLOW BURN, age gap (Eddie 40s, Reader 20s), mean!affluent!reader, bad girl reader, light smut/eventual heavy smut, bratty!reader, ugly duckling turned swan trope, reader character development, mean friends, minor canon events from tv series (chrissy death, eddie accused of chrissy and other victims deaths), limited knowledge of farm life and work, drunk driving, consumption of marijuana and alcohol, committing of property crimes, return of reader’s ex, mentions of insecurities, descriptive and graphic language, lots of sexual tension, kissing, dry humping, eddie cums in his pants

You bellow out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Getting Back Together” along with your three friends, not a care in the world for who would be unfortunate enough to hear you in the chilly 3 am evening. The girls pass around a bottle of tequila when your best friend, Tana, —seated in the passenger seat— attempts to pour a shot into your mouth.

“Babe, no. I drank enough at the club. The guy that asked for my number was practically throwing them at me. I had to kill a plant by pouring my drinks onto the poor thing. Men ruin everything.” You pout.

“Amen to that, sis,” Tana says, snapping her fingers. “Had a guy tell me that he thinks I’m the one for him. Turns out, he’s married with a baby on the way.”

You all playfully point your index fingers to your tongues, faking gags before leading into a giggling fit.

“I had a guy ghost me because he didn’t like me sharing my selfies on social media. Said that ‘they should only be exclusive to him’.” Your friend, Essie, shares.

“I feel like we need to get back at men for the shit they put us through,” Brooke chimes in. “I’m in the mood to make a man fall to his knees, whimpering for mercy.”

“You kinky little minx!” You laugh. “Are you trying to make men pay or are you trying to get laid?”

“Can it be both?” Brooke says, biting her acrylic-donned thumb.

“I say…” Tana calls attention to herself, raising a hand. “We choose a random house on this street to wreak our vengeance. One of the homes has to belong to a man.”

“I’m in!” Essie beams.

“Me too.” Brooke says, high fiving Tana for her devious plan.

“I don’t know, guys,” You say, reluctant to rain on their parade. “We’re pretty drunk but I don’t think we’re drunk enough to want vandalism charges. Let’s just go to one of those rage rooms and let out all this pent up energy. We could scream out female rage lines from our fave movies and break shit.”

“That’s…okay but it’s not as epic as Tana’s idea,” Essie says, leaning forward to be in better earshot range. “Come on, y/n. It’s only for tonight. You know, we’re just having some harmless girl time fun. It’s not like we’ll be breaking and entering. We’re just gonna do some silly stuff then leave. Pleeaaase. I just broke up with my boyfriend. I need this.”

You take a quick glance at the girls who all send big, puppy eyes your way. You sigh then laugh. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

They cheer at your response, knowing that they’ve won. You raise a hand to cease their cheers and they quickly go dead silent. “Since, I’m the most sober one here. We’re doing this my way,” While staring at the road ahead, a smirk slowly spreads across your face. “I get to choose the place.”

——————

The four of you sneak onto the open field, tiptoeing through the tall grass. Based on the smell wafting in the air, you are certain there are barn animals nearby.

With a nasal tone in her voice from holding her nose, Tana says, “Ugh, how could anyone work around this icky smell?”

“Shhh,” You order, putting a finger to your lips. “If we need to be quiet if this is going to be a successful in and out mission. Do you remember the plan?”

“How could I forget? It’s the most basic prank ever.” Tana whisper-yells, holding up the two rolls of toilet paper in her hands.

“It’s still a huge pain to the homeowner,” You defend confidently before letting out a wicked giggle. “He will be so inconvenienced when he wakes up in the morning.”

Tana shakes her head lovingly at you before peering to her right and left. “Umm, y/n, where’s Essie and Brooke?”

Your eyes widen as you unintelligibly peer to your right and left as well despite knowing the space is empty. “Oh shit,” You facepalm. “How could we have let them out of our sight? Who knows what those morons are doing?”

“Hew we awe,” Essie carries a ‘baby talk’ inflection as she materializes from the dark bluish night with a medium-sized pig cradled in her arms. “Evwyone meet Wilbur.”

“I’m sorry but where the hell did you get that pig?!” You say, no longer able to keep your voice to a whisper.

“The barn, obviously.” Brooke replies.

“What happened to not breaking and entering?! I take my eyes off you two for a second and you’ve already broken a handful of crimes.” You scold.

“But we’re saving him, y/n. You don’t want this pig to become bacon, do you?” Essie says, holding up the pig near your face only for it to wiggle out of her grasp and take off running.

“We’ve gotta catch that stupid fucking pig!” You yell and the girls obey. The group comically chases the animal around, slipping and sliding through mud and crops. In the chaos, the pig makes contact with the toilet paper you’ve long abandoned, tossing it around with the help of the forceful winds to guide it all over the field.

You spot the pig approaching the door of a small blue cottage. You dive forward, fully immersed in the thick mud that soiled your white tank top and denim skirt and you cared little for this fact with your concerns focused on obtaining the pig in your arms. He squeals and whines against you as you plead for its compliance.

Suddenly the porch lights turn on, shining down on you like a spotlight. The door swings open and not long after you’re forced to look into the eyes of your prosecutor from the ground.

A rugged, older man with unruly, curls of brown hair cascading down his shoulders and the deepest brown eyes that are as large as buttons. The same eyes that were now staring down angrily at you.

“What the fuck?” He says through gritted teeth. It’s not until he sees the full extent of your wrath that he decides to emphasize his previous statement with a fury of a thousand suns. “What. The. Fuck!”

You swallow hard, releasing the pig as you collect yourself off the floor. The man feels no need to check whether his pet had entered the home safely, wanting his eyes to focus on you in case you tried running.

“I-I could explain. W-we were just—”

“We?” He abruptly interrupts, upholding the gruffness in his tone.

You were afraid that he’d say that. After all, those bitches were a little too quiet for your liking. After looking behind you to confirm their abandonment, you slowly face your prosecutor once again.

Swallowing the hard lump in your throat you begin, you try scrambling for an answer. This is already a very terrifying situation. This man looked terrifying himself. He’s robust in build, littered with tattoos, and had piercings. You don’t see men like him everyday or at all on your side of town. Men usually groomed themselves like ken dolls where you come from. But when you have come across men that look like him, the experience has always been a negative one—-only this time you were the one at fault.

“I’m sorry.” You shrug with an awkward smile then tack on a “Please don’t call the cops.”

He sighs deeply. “I’m not going to call the cops…”

“Oh, thank god.” You sigh in relief, a hand to your beating chest.

“You’re going to call your parents,” He finishes. “And you are going to tell them that we’re going to come up with a solution for this or I will be calling the police.”

“Oh, fuuuck.” You groan.

————-

“I’m so very sorry, sir. Truly,” Your father says after profusely apologizing for the 7th time since his arrival. “She’s been acting out a lot ever since she’d gone away to university. My wife and I don’t know this girl but she is not the y/n we raised.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, texting away at your friends who wanted to know the details of your capture. Meanwhile, you’re too busy cursing them out to care about how badly you’ll be punished for this.

“I’m just glad things didn’t get any worse or when someone could’ve seriously ended up getting hurt.” The farmer says, staring pointedly at you.

“Now I was thinking…though I could very well pay for the trouble and we could be out of your hair, I’m a man that likes to go above and beyond when it comes to taking responsibility. My daughter’s exceedingly aware of this fact about myself,” Your father scoots his seat up closer to the table, fingers together as if proposing a business plan. “It appears that you might need some temporary assistance in tending to your farm work. If you’re looking for an extra set of hands to help with some manual labor for the next two weeks, my daughter is happy to oblige.”

“Excuse me!” You say, attention fully invested in the conversation. “Tell me you're joking.”

“Nope. You are grounded. Meaning that though you are visiting for spring break, you are currently under my roof, my rules. I am still your parent after all. To clarify, there will be no going out with your friends. You are to come straight to

Mr. Munson’s farm every day after your time at your mother’s shop. You’ll help the gentleman around with whatever he asks of you.” Your father explains.

“And what if I don’t?” You ask, defiant.

“Then you’ll be cut off and you’ll have to earn money on your own.”

“Y-you m-mean a j-job?” You ask, horrified.

“Exactly.” Your father confirms.

You stare wide-eyed at farmer Munson who has a prominent smirk on his face. “I like the sound of that, sir. You’re a good man.”

You shriek in anger. “You’re the worst!”

You furiously stomp out of the home, hating your life and men once again.

————

Your father had no doubts that you’d be going to work on the farm once he’d threaten to take away your (his) money. When you arrive at the address, you’re immediately reminded how you're not on your side of town anymore. It’s officially Hickville.

Reluctantly knocking on the door, you hope that Eddie won’t answer the door, praying that he’s changed his mind and took the money instead. Unfortunately, he answers the door with a huge smile in contrast to your deadpan demeanor.

“Oh, come on, lighten up, sugar. I made some of my famous iced tea ahead. One taste and it’ll all seem worth it.”

“It’s not fair!” You rant, pushing passed him. “Why am I being the only one punished? This was all Brooke’s idea. And Essie was the one who stole the goddamn pig.”

“His name is Wilbur,” Eddie corrects. “And who are we talking about exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You sigh. “Bad things always happen to good people.”

“I’ll say.” Eddie says, staring you down.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You really think you’re the victim in all of this?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we check out the lovely view of the TP’d trees blowing in the wind?” He asks sarcastically, gesturing to his window.

“It’s just a little toilet paper. Never had a little prank done on you.”

“Wow,” He feigns a smile, shaking his head at you. “Your audacity to diminish all the negative things you’ve done to me into the spirit of good fun is astounding.”

“My therapist did always say I have a knack for looking at things on the bright side.” You retort.

“Is that so?” He asks mockingly. “Well then, you’re gonna love this special job I have for you.”

—————

Which leads you to the situation you’re in now. You’re staring into the eyes of a cow whose large brown eyes kind of reminded you of farmer Munson except they actually held kindness in them and not pure disdain.

“There’s no way I’m milking this thing. I have no idea how to do that,” You say, prompting Eddie to raise a suggestive eyebrow at you. “You know what I mean, pervert.”

Suddenly, an idea clicked in your head. Maybe you could use this ‘pervert’ thing to your advantage. He’s obviously single or he wouldn’t be this much of a crab. You can easily seduce him and get out of doing anything!

“Mr. Munson,” You say with a purr in your voice as you press yourself up against him. “I’m actually really good at milking other things after all. You’ve got me pegged at that. Maybe…I can show you just how skillful my mouth and hands can be for you.”

He laughs. He fucking chuckles in your face. How fucking dare he?! “That was rich. Seriously, that performance was just…moving. You can try to sway me with sex all ya want, hun. Trust me there are women and men who’ve tried,” He slightly narrows the gap between your faces, staring you down. “I don’t buckle under that kinda pressure, sugar. It’ll take a lot more than salacious words to make my dick jump. Now why don’t we go back to the task at hand, shall we?”

You’re fuming. This asshole really thinks he can get away with making you out to be a fool. Well, two could play that game. You’re going to make his existence for the next two weeks feel like a total nightmare.

He seats you on a small stool beside the cow before instructing you on how to milk her. You halfheartedly reach for an udder, shrieking at the feel of it between your fingers.

“This is so gross!” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to disassociate and imagine that I’m in a niche boutique in Manhattan.”

“Ah, spending daddy’s money even in your dreams. How thoughtful.” He mutters.

“You have no right to judge me just because you think I’m privileged.” You snap.

“I don’t ‘think’ you’re privileged. You are privileged. See the difference?”

You tug on an udder, purposefully targeting him as the milk drenches him. His face puckers his face before staring daggers at you.

“Oops.” You say in a sickeningly sweet tone.

——————

You begrudgingly enter your house key into the doorknob, body aching from the day's work. The moment you enter, your father’s happy-go-lucky spirit engulfs you and it takes everything in you not to explode.

“Hey, honey, how was your first day?”

“Question, father,” You begin, calling him the formal term instead of “papa” or “dad”. “Do you love me?”

“Now what kind of silly question is that?” He reverts back with his own question, befuddled.

“I’m just curious because I don’t think a father who truly loves their daughter would ever put her through the kind of hell I just went through today.” You respond.

“You milked a cow,” Your teenager brother, Aspen, enters the dining room before beginning a dramatic act. “Someone save the poor girl! She’s gaining new life experiences! You are such primadonna.”

“Shut up, ya little twerp.” You say, pulling his hoodie over his face.

“Your brother’s right, dear,” Your father says. “You are being really dramatic. I don’t get it. You never used to be this way. You loved reading books and conducting personal science experiments and geeking out over your favorite movies—”

“That just isn’t me anymore, dad. The sooner you accept that, the better it is for us all.” You grumble.

He decides to drop the topic in favor of keeping the peace for the dinner your mom prepared for the family to enjoy as a unit. But your mind couldn’t help but to wander back to those times where you were seen as a nerd and bullied for being different and having different interests. University was a different story though. There, you were able to reinvent yourself into the hot bad bitch you know today.

But why is it that your father’s words resonated so much with you? Had it been because it wasn’t the makeover or the new friends and partners you’d make along the way…it was the fact that he knew that you, yourself, couldn’t believe your own act. He knows that you're lying to yourself about liking the person you’ve become. No way could ever admit such a thing to him. And it’s not like you’d feel this way forever. Once you’re done with this hell labor with Eddie “The Devil” Munson, you can go back to your popular life.

————

The routine continued including your constant pushback. It went: shadowing your mother for the day with her bridal clients, heading over to the Munson farm soon after, non stop bickering between the two of you for 2 hours, then heading back home to soak your aching body and curse out the world.

Today is no different with the task of you grooming the stupid pig that got you into this mess in the first place.

“Wilbur. His name’s—”

“I know!” You shout at him, gathering the metal pail and wooden brush from the table. You grumpily made your way to the backyard of the home in search of the shed supposedly carrying the soap to clean the pig. When you notice Wilbur rushes out of a trailer home stationed in the backyard. “Hey, get back here!”

The pig is long gone and you don't care to chase after it once your interest is piqued by the mystery home in the backyard. Searching around to make sure there were no signs of Mr. Munson, you enter the place cautiously.

It’s as if the trailer had been stuck in the 1980s. Everything is vintage and old looking but also well kept. You see photos of the younger Eddie Munson scattered around the walls of the home and—-though you hate to admit it—he was just as handsome as he is now. In some of the photos including one pinned to the fridge by a magnet, you can see an older man. Maybe his father.

Your eye catches an old poetry assignment also pinned to the fridge with a large ‘C+’ above it. A little note at the top explaining his grade being contributed to some misspellings and some inappropriate language despite the good work.

You raise the paper to your eyes and read:

If I Were A Hobbit

If I were a hobbit, I’d be so free

I’d frolic in the grass and smoke some trees

With furry feet and a merry heart

From adventure’s call, I’d never depart

With Bilbo’s tales, I’d while away time.

In the beautiful land of Middle Earth’s rhyme

I’d wander the fields beneath the sun

I’d travel it world cause it’s all in good fun

If I were a hobbit, maybe I wouldn’t get laid

But, hey, it’s goddamn worth the price I paid

You giggle, amused at how fun Mr. Munson had been long ago. You wonder what could’ve happened. Immersed in the poem, you were unaware of his arrival until he whispered haughtily into your ear.

“We’re continuing the trend of breaking and entering, I see.”

You jolt away, facing him. “I-I’m sorry. But you said that I had to look for a shed. Should be more specific.”

“This looks like a shed to you, sugar?”

“Trailer…shed…it’s no different.”

He chuckles dryly. “You are a piece of work.”

“Look who’s talking? You know, you seemed a lot more fun when you were a teenager.” You comment, holding up the poem.

“Give me that,” He yanks from your hands, placing it back on the fridge. “Ain’t anyone ever tell you it’s wrong to go snooping around people’s things. Wait, who am I kidding? I met your father. Even if he were to have taught you these things, you’d probably go against him.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You hiss.

“Right back atcha, sweetheart.” He retorts.

“Then, I hope you don’t mind if I continue to do so.” You say, pushing past him to go into the hallway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, hot on your trail.

You enter a bedroom and it’s another blast from the past. The typical kind of teenage boy bedroom. It’s no shock to you that he's a metalhead. You begin to rummage through his collection.

“You little brat,” He huffs. “I’m too old to be dealing with this shit!”

“Live a little,” You say, popping in a blues cassette into the radio. “Dance with me.”

He stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed as you begin to dance in circles around him. Your boot kicks up a newspaper article crumpled up on the ground and you go to retrieve it, ignoring Eddie’s protests.

It is an article about 15 years ago that expresses Eddie Munson’s exoneration in the death of Chrissy Cunningham and him receiving only a $50,000 settlement. It also goes into detail that his only known immediate family and caretaker, Wanye Munson, had died just a month before his release.

“Oh my god, Mr. Munson. I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” You trail off, knowing what to say or even where to begin.

“It’s all in the past now,” He sighs. “Besides, I’m fine now. I still have my friends. They are like family. They’ve got their own lives but when they can they check on me. That’s more than enough.”

Without thinking, your arms curl around his body and for the first time you get to feel his body against yours and it’s addicting. He tenses for a moment, unsure whether this is okay but eventually he melts into your embrace.

His beefy arms cradle you, a large hand resting atop your head. Your heartbeats fall in sync with one another’s and you allow yourself the brief moment to nuzzle into his chest, the chest hairs peeking above his tank top tickles the tip of your nose.

You dare to look him in the eyes, seeing them already looking down at you. They were wet with unshed tears, pleading with you for something. It’s the first time you’ve seen that look on his face and like a magnet you're drawn to it. You’re suddenly moving on your own accord, tiptoeing to brush your nose against his. He lowers his face to your level. Your lips are only a mere centimeters from his full ones when the sound of his phone ringing takes you both out of the moment.

He’s quick to pull away as if freed from an intense spell. Excusing himself, he leaves the room and heads outside. You’re left standing in the room alone, the soft, rhythmic melody of blues playing in the background.

Willing yourself to cool down, you decide to go on with your original task and find Wilbur while hoping it’ll shake off the electric feeling he left on your skin.

————————-

Bathing the pig proved to be quite the distraction because this little shit is making you use all your brain power to keep it still. Having stripped into just your bikini and rainboots, you held the pig for dear life as you washed and scrubbed at him and practically yourself.

You notice Eddie from the corner of your eye, stifling laughter as he leaned against a nearby tree.

“By the way, I’ve already washed off all the barn animals, tended to my crops, and was able to make myself a sandwich in the meantime. You, however, you’re still working on Wilbur. Or should I say, he’s working you.”

“Hardee har har,” You say, unamused. “Will you just help me with this pig?”

“Alright, alright,” He says, heading over to you. The pig immediately jumps from his grasp and into your arms. “It’s all in the technique.”

“Easy for you to say. He already knows you.” You grumble.

“Now what you’re gonna want to do is come up behind him. He's a big fella so in order to hold him down you’ll need to straddle him like this and place your hands down firmly on his back. That way he’ll know to stay put,” Eddie says getting into position, his boots digging in the dirt for some leverage. “He’ll tussle with ya a little but it’s only because he’s not used to being handled by other humans. He’s still a little frantic with me even after all these years. I saved him from the slaughterhouse so it comes with the territory.”

“You mean you weren’t going to turn him into bacon?”

“No, sugar, Wilbur’s family. Now get up on here with me. Don’t put too much of your weight on him. Only just enough to hold him down.” He instructs.

You follow suit, straddling the pig and placing your hands over Eddie’s before looking back over your shoulder at him. “Like this?”

“Just like that, sugar. You’re a natural. See? Now I’m just gonna go ahead and get up and you’ll take the—”

“What? No, don’t leave me! He’ll just shake me off again.” You protest.

Sure enough, the pig began to shake the both of you off its back, side to side until you both fell back into the soil. You fall right into Eddie’s lap and he instinctively grips your hips hard, causing you to let out a yelp and scramble out of his grasp.

You sat on your knees, looking at him with wide eyes and he returned with the same expression. The blush on his face intensifies and you follow the way his hands rush to pull the cowboy hat from his head to hold against his lap.

He quickly looks away from you, clearing his throat.

“You’ve got—erm, your bikini bra…” You’ve never seen him so flustered. So speechless. You eish you could relish in it but when you realize exactly what he’s insinuating, you feel your cheeks begin to heat up as you wish the world will swallow you whole.

Your tit is hanging out for the world to see. A fucking nipple slip! Why did God cease at nothing to make you the butt of every joke?

You briskly adjust your bra, shaking in your boots. The itching desire to run heavy on your mind.

“I-I s-should go,” Your shaky legs somehow allow you to stand as you peer down at him. “Have a good evening, Mr. Munson.”

You stiffly power walk your way to the small cottage home to gather your discarded clothes on the porch. Eddie’s large hand rests on your shoulder.

“Wait! I can’t send you off like this. You’ll track mud in your car.”

“It’s not like I haven’t done that before.” You scoff.

“Why don’t you shower here and I’ll offer you some fresh clothes? I’ll be making my stir fry in case you're hungry.”

“You being nice to me all of a sudden, Mr. Munson?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t help but think there’s some kind of hidden agenda.”

He smiles a genuine 100-watt smile. “No, sugar. I’m just extending some needed hospitality is all.”

—————

You pull on the long sleeved t-shirt Eddie offered you, studying its logo. A horned demon, swords, dice and so on.

“It’s my old high school club t-shirt.” He says, coming to sit beside you on the couch.

“You were in a Dungeons and Dragons club?”

“You know D’N’D?”

“Know it?! I loved that game.” You say, excitedly.

“I didn’t think kids in your generation still played that game.” He laughs.

“Oh, yeah,” You nod. “I was a dungeon master. My campaigns were fire. Anyone who’d joined my games would always go around telling their friends to come see me in action.”

“No way! I was a dungeon master, too! I took it a little too seriously at times but it was like my second passion,” He looks you up and down. “I would have never thought someone like you would be into that kinda stuff.”

“I’ll ignore your sly comment to clarify that I wasn’t always like this back in high school.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“Well, you heard my dad. I used to be a goody two-shoes. A nerd. And I even dressed the part, too. The old me would’ve totally geeked at your Hobbit poem. I’m different now though.”

“What’s so wrong about being a nerd?” He inquires, scooting closer to you.

“I used to get bullied everyday. Boys would ignore me. Even the geeks would only ever see me as a friend. When I got to university, that all changed. Everyone wanted me.”

“I think if I’d known you then, we’d probably be good friends.”

“Yeah right. I seemed like the bad boy type who falls for the cheerleader. You wouldn’t have looked twice in my direction.”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, staring you intensely in the eyes. “I would see you.”

He repeats for emphasis. “I see you.”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat, choking back tears. You’ve never felt so vulnerable. It’s strange to be so open with a man who 5 days ago you would have choked with your bare hands.

“Besides,” He says, breaking the silence. “I think it’s you who would have ignored me. I’m not the bad boy you think I am. Sure, I was a bit of a troublemaker here and there. But I was a huge geek, too. Hadn’t even lost my virginity until age 36. A year after my release. No girl wanted to fuck me back in high school. I was ‘the freak’. To some people today, I still am one regardless if I’m innocent.”

“I would’ve believed you’re innocent. I’d have been by your side, too. Us, geeks, have to stick together, yeah?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

There’s that magnetic pull again. The attraction that makes you want to be as close to him as possible. You resist not wanting to make that move again but he takes the initiative, leaning in further only this time you're interrupted once again with the sound of your phone ringing. You throw a silent fit in your head. Eddie’s just as frustrated, expelling a long duration of air from his nose.

“Hello.” You say, answering the phone.

“Hey, baby,” A familiar voice says on the line. “It’s been months. I still think about our time in Venice and this spring fever is only making it harder to ignore.”

Now the memories come flooding in. It’s an ex-fling you met while studying abroad in Italy during your freshman year of university. The man who’d taken your virginity and showed you the ropes to popularity. The moment you left Italy you expected him to call you back but he immediately ghosted you. From then on, you became the maneater you are today.

“What do you want?”

You, of course. I hear you are back in your hometown. Luckily for you, I am doing some research here and I was wondering—-“

“Luckily for me? Are you on drugs, Stefan? I don’t care if you want me. You could forget my number and then you’ll forget me. Have a goodnight.” You quickly hang up the call, ignoring his pleas.

“Is everything alright?” Eddie asks, noticing the way you’re hyperventilating.

“I am now,” You sigh. “That was my ex. He was also my first. He treated me like shit made me feel stupid and like I needed him as if he created me. And back then, I felt like I did need him. Then he ghosted me. It felt good to give him a piece of my mind although I wish I could have said more.”

“I think you said enough. I’m certain you hit him where it hurts.” He laughs.

“I should probably go.” You say, standing up from the couch to grab your coat.

“What happened to staying for dinner?” He asks.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Munson”

“Eddie. You can call me Eddie.”

“Eddie,” You say, testing his name on your tongue. You’re not exactly sure if you’re ready to be this informal with him despite your almost kisses and the boob slip incident. “I’m sorry but his call has left me shaken. I think I need to be in the company of my girls.”

“You mean, the girls who got you into trouble and left you behind? The ones your parents warned you to stay away from?”

“Come on, dude, I need this. It’s not like you can give me great advice about guys.”

“I could. Considering I am one.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re close enough for that kind of session.”

“We just had this whole heart to heart. I thought we were seeing some improvement in our friendship.” Eddie says.

“We’re friends?”

“Us, geeks, stick together?”

“That’s just an oath. Doesn’t exactly confirm a friendship between us.”

He exhales deeply, trying to contain his anger. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I tell your father about your little hangout.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Your eyes narrow at him.

“That would suggest that I’d be getting anything of value out of this which I wouldn’t be. Therefore, no this isn’t blackmail but it is definitely a threat. I don’t care if we’re friends. I don’t care to be your friend, sugar. But as the more responsible adult between us, I think it’s within our best interest that you don’t hang out with the people who cause you to commit crimes. So, I think I’ll be taking you home, hmm?”

“And what about my car?”

“I’ll take good care of it for tonight. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for your next job.” He smiles smugly.

If looks could kill, he’d be 7 feet under and you’d already be in hell.

————

Eddie pulls up to the front of your house. The whole ride there had been silent. You angrily gather your things, hurriedly trying to exit his van.

“Have a goodnight, sugar!” He shouts as you slam the door in his face.

Once you’re inside, you do the routine process of angrily ranting out your annoyance with farmer Munson while stomping angrily up the stairs. Your family used to this by now simply goes about business as usual.

You dial up Tana and after a couple rings she answers. “Hey, bitch! I was just about to text you the news. Did you hear who’s in town?”

“Yeah, Stefan, I know. How’d you know?”

“He's been calling me nonstop asking for you. Says he wants to talk to you.”

“I already did. Told him to fuck off,” You say. “And I thought I’d feel a lot better about it but I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to stomp on his weirdly-shaped small dick.”

“Oh, yeeahh. I remember the dick pic he sent you. It is weird, isn’t it? Like an undeveloped banana. Anywho…you wanna get high at my place and watch America’s Next Top Model reruns. I’ve got Jell-O shots.” She singssongs the last statement.

“I can’t remember. I’m on lockdown,” You sigh. “If I get into any more trouble or I might as well hand over a contract of my soul to the devil.”

“Bitch, you are a grown woman. These are the best years of our lives where we’re supposed to live it to the fullest. Sneak out! I’m coming over to pick you up.”

“Tana, n—” But she’s already hung up the call. Sometimes, you really hate this girl. With no choice, you’re forced to make a plan.

Firstly, you create a human-shaped pile in your bed, disguising it with your comforter. Next, you’ll be climbing out of your window and quietly land on your lawn. Finally, you enter your friend’s car and you’ll be homefree.

Although, the climb is a lot more daunting than you anticipated. It seemed like a lot of a higher jump from where you are standing. Tana’s car pulls in and she rushes out to jump up and wave, whisper-yelling to encourage you to do it.

“Tana, this is fucking crazy. You always make me do crazy shit.” You yell down at her.

“But it’s all for the sake of fun experiences.” She retorts. “Come on and jump. Be the bad bitch, you are. Think for a second. WWBD: What would Beyonce do?”

“She'd probably fire you as a friend.” You growl.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, I’m ready to jump. Just be ready to catch me.”

“What?” Before Tana could register what you meant, you jumped, hurtling into her arms and straight to the ground.

“Huh, that wasn’t so bad.” You smile.

“Yeah, because I’m the one breaking your fall.” Tana groans.

“Payback’s a bitch, love.”

—————

“So, is the farmer plowing your garden?” Tana asks, while applying mascara to your eyelashes.

“Tana!”

“What? That’s got to be the only reason you’re officially over Stefan.�� She says.

“I was already over Stefan. Eddie’s just my headache.”

“You’re on first name bases with him. Oh, you are definitely fucking him.”

“I’m not!” You insist.

“And did you say Eddie? That’s the infamous Eddie Munson. How could I have not seen the connection? He’s so hot. Is that okay to say about a murderer?”

“He’s not a murderer.” You quickly defend him causing Tana to raise her hands in surrender.

“Yikes, I’m sorry I didn't mean to offend your friend.”

“He’s not my…well, he is. But…he’s not a murderer. He never killed her. I did some digging on the internet and this town used to be really strange back then. Not how it is now. I don’t know but the circumstances in all the deaths that happened back in ‘86 are all too weird. No human could do the things that I’ve seen done to those corpses.”

“Bummer. Guess we’ll never know who did it. I hear people who know of this case still harass him to this day. It’s no wonder he practically lives off the grid.” Tana sighs. A knock at her front door leads her away and you’re alone to ponder your thoughts.

An overwhelming need to comfort Eddie hits you as you thought back to the moment he’d asked you to stay for dinner. You assumed it was all a ploy to get into your pants but now you realize that he’d genuinely enjoyed the little company he’d gotten.

You hear Tana’s footsteps and a set of another coming up the stairs and before you could get a chance to tell her that you’ll be leaving, she enters the room with your ex.

“What the hell is this?” You sneer.

“I just thought maybe you should hear him out.” Tana says with an anxious smile.

“I’m out of here.” You say, grabbing your jacket from her bed.

“Where are you going? Your car’s not here.” Tana rushes down the stairs after you.

“I’ll walk!” You hiss over your shoulder, pulling the door open where you’re unfortunately met with the presence of your father, brother, and the devil himself.

“Mr. Munson? Dad? What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Your father says.

Stefan steps out from behind you, handing you a piece of paper. “I can see that it is a bad time, mi cara. Please, call me when you can. It’s a new number since you’ve blocked my old one.”

With that, he acknowledges the men before him with a nod and leaves. It’s not lost on you that Eddie stares him down with a dirty look on his face before his eyes land back on you.

“If I could just explain...” You begin.

“No, y/n, I’m sick of your excuses. You sneak off at night to god knows where. You reek of pot and booze. Is this the type of example you want to set for your younger brother? He’ll be graduating next year. Should anticipate that his time in university will consist of lollygagging around instead of focusing on his career?”

You look over to your brother who, instead of carrying a smirk, he had a look of genuine concern for you.

“I was just having fun.”

“Is that all you can think about? When did fun require drugs and alcohol and committing crimes?! Fun for you used to be attending cosplaying conventions, not vandalizing properties and drunk driving.”

“Well, I’m not that anymore so you could fucking stop clinging to the past.” You yell.

Your father is taken aback and you could faintly see the waterline rising in his eyes. “Get in the car. Now!”

You shoot Eddie an angry look. “Us, geeks, stick together? Forget anything I ever said about believing in you.”

Your heart twinges at the shattered look on his face at your statement. No longer wanting to see the extent of your blow, you brush past him and follow your father’s command.

“As for you, young lady,” your father points to Tana. “I will be in touch with your parents regarding your misconduct.”

Tana’s mouth drops in complete shock at this revelation and for a moment you actually are proud of your dad.

————-

You plop yourself onto your bed, crying your eyes out. Not even really crying for yourself but for Eddie. How could you have been so cruel to him? All for the reason that he cares enough about you to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble. There’s no way he’d ever forgive you for the way you spoke to him.

A knock on your door calls to your attention. You reluctantly answer, knowing you’ll be getting yet another punishment. You’re surprised to find your brother, Aspen, at the door.

“What do you want, twerp?” You say.

“You should really apologize to dad. You made him cry. I’ve never seen him like that.” He says.

“I know. It’s just that I hate when people remind me that I was…a loser. I didn’t mean to be so awful to him, though.”

“You were never a loser. In fact, I used to think you were pretty cool. I wanted to be comfortable in my weirdness as you were. I’m happy that you’re finding yourself and all. But you don’t have to change who you are to appease anyone. Not even dad. It’s your life, sis. If you like drinking and partying, that’s okay. If you like reading nerdy books and cosplaying, that’s okay, too. As long as it’s something you want to do and not something you do to make people like you. So stop acting like you’re some psycho fembot that wants to spend the rest of her life in and out of jail.”

“Wow, Aspen, I’m impressed. I did not know you could speak incoherent sentences.” You tease, pulling him into a hug.

“Fuck off.” He laughs, struggling to free from your tight embrace.

————

The next day, after some time to think of your apologies. You began with your father. He admitted to you that he was scared of the thought of you growing up and not needing him and let’s just say that the two of you ended up bawling in each other’s arms and confessing your love and appreciation for one another by the end of it. Your busy event planner mother stumbled into the scene both heartwarmed and confused.

The next one is going to be a tough one for you. But you felt prepared with a handy long written note in your hand in case you needed to find the right words.

However, the moment you arrived on his farm and were met with the look of indifference on his face, you began to break down sobbing. Hard. The thought letter long abandoned to the ground.

His demeanor immediately softens, placing a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

“I-I’m s-so sorry….you…friend…mean…,” You gasp an unintelligible apology through your tears. “Bitchy…geeks…believe you…stupid pig Wilbur…never would have met a great man like youuuu.”

He gives you a small smile, pulling you into his embrace. “I know, I know.”

“Understand?” You ask.

“Yes, sugar. I understand what you said. Crystal clear.”

“Accept?”

“Yes, I accept your apology.” Eddie laughs.

“You don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you. Even when you’re being an annoying brat. ” He says.

“Good,” You sniffle, pulling away from him to wipe your tears and compose yourself. “I’m happy we’re friends again.”

“Friends? Who said anything about friends?” He quips before patting your shoulder. “Yeah, we’re friends again.”

“Now you could get to work and then later you can make me that stir fry that I've been dying to try.” You beam, skipping into his home.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” He challenges.

For the day, the two of you would groom the horses together. Of course, you were still quite jumpy and the bougie princess he knows you to be but it was nothing he didn’t find amusing about it anyway.

“You should seriously take a look at my note though. I really thought out all the things I had to say for you. My weeping apology was only the tip of the iceberg.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anything in that note will top that moment but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Read it when you’re alone though. I don’t want to see your face when you read it.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll be all smug about.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“And you say you hardly know me,” He chuckles then switches to a serious, gruff tone. “So…Stefan…he’s a looker. Thinking about going back on your word to end things with him.”

You laugh. “I’m playing it by ear. He says he’s changed but that’s every jerks’ favorite line.”

“Just let him know that if he ever hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.” He threatens.

You step into Eddie’s space, his face flushes at the close proximity. Your hand raises up to cradle his heated cheek. “You couldn’t hurt a fly, Edward Allan Munson.”

Lost in your eyes, he fails to notice you tug the joint nuzzled behind his ears. Until you raise it up to his face with a knowing smile. “You smoke weed?”

“Baby, I used to be a dealer. In fact, I still grow my own supply.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah. Maybe I was the freak but those jocks and cheerleaders were begging for a piece of my supply.”

“You wouldn’t mind if we smoke this one together.” You suggest.

“After your father chewed you out for it last night?”

“He knows I do it. And I learned this morning, after our heart-to-heart, that he was once a pothead, too. And now that I know that you are also a pothead, not only does this confirm my personal theory that most people smoke weed but also this makes our friendship so much more interesting.”

“You’re starting to throw that whole ‘friendship’ word around a lot more enthusiastically now.”

“My friend’s a dealer. I’m going to take full advantage of that.” You loop your arm around his guiding him to an empty stable so you can both fall against the hay.

He picks the hay from his hair, laughing. “I don’t even have a lighter and the fumes are not safe for the animals.”

“Babe,” You say almost insulted. “I always carry a lighter. You never know when you’ll find yourself in an impromptu smoke session or possibly get lost in the middle of the woods. Besides, we released the animals into the field for their little recess. We’re the only animals left here. Just you and me.”

“Alright, fine I guess we’re doing this. Don’t tell your dad about this, though. This will just be a one time thing.”

“Mhm, yeah sure, bud,” You say nonchalantly, busying yourself with lighting the joint. You hand over the joint to him and he protests, wanting you to take the first hit. You oblige. “It’s your joint. Don’t you know the rules? The one who bringeth, smoke..eth.”

“You wanted it badly so I let you take it first.”

“I didn’t want it ‘badly’. I’m not a fucking addict,” You laugh, bellowing out a puff of smoke. “I just thought it’d be a nice bonding moment. Wanna see how you get when you’re high.”

“It’s nothing special. I’m the same as I am now.” He shrugs.

“You mean, ‘a stick in the mud’?”

He bumps you with his shoulder causing you to lay back against the hay.

“You jerk, I just pick all that out of my hair.”

“Serves you right. Now hand me the joint. You’re hogging it,” He tries to reach for it but you raise it above your head. “You’re such a tease.

He attempts to reach for it again, falling on top of you. His full weight on your body is so damn delicious it takes everything in you not to moan. It doesn’t help that the weed has heightened your senses making you feel EVERYTHING. The way his hot breath feels tickling your neck along with the way his curls on his head gently caress your skin as he reaches for the joint. He seems oblivious to the state he leaves you in even after he’s gotten it until he lets out a puff of smoke in the air then looks back down at you once again. It’s evident he can see the darkened lust in your eyes because of the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He suddenly feels so thirsty and it isn’t because of the weed.

Afraid a moment like this will be interrupted once again, you lunge forward attacking his lips. He’s caught fully by surprise, a strangled moan swallowed up in your frenzied fit of passion. You’re the one controlling the kiss, forcing him to roll on his back so you can grind down on the sizable erection in his jeans. The friction from the fabric of your lace underwear and the rough denim of his jeans are an undefeated combination against your puffy clit, sending flood after flood of your wetness to pool between your legs.

The kisses are sloppy. Your hands are everywhere; in his hair, yanking his shirt for dear life. His hands cup your face before entwining in your hair then they’re around your neck, unable to keep them still because he’d like to feel every part of you just as you wish to do to him. Every so often growls would escape your lips as you grind harder and harder against him.

“Fuck, Eddie, you feel so fucking good.” You whisper desperately into his ear.

“So do you, sugar. Ain’t even inside you yet and I’m already about to blow.” He groans, sweaty forehead pressed against your own.

“Can I fuck you, Mr. Munson?” You plead.

And the whine Eddie lets out confirms that it won’t be happening anytime soon. You look between your bodies, seeing the dark, wet patch on his jeans then back up at him.

He’s obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a while.”

“That’s okay. Um, this was…this was really spontaneous.” You don’t immediately get off, wanting more and hoping he’d give you more so that he can make you cum, too.

Instead he grabs you by waist, lifting you off him in a hurry. “I’m sorry. I need to—-this was a mistake.”

And once again, he leaves you to your thoughts. All you could do is stare as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance, while you began to feel smaller and smaller on the inside.

865 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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01zfan · 2 months ago

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contact | o. sh

ex!shotaro x ex!reader | 11k words

i unfortunately went crazy with the backstory on this but i love economics major shotaro so i had to write about him. also the ex that comes to help you without hesitation is SOOOO him. this was fun to write i hope you guys have fun reading heh. how this ended up being 11k words is beyond me.

contains: college setting, mommy issues mentioned in passing, a funeral (purely just for the setting), reader is tipsy (they talk about it), unprotected sex (shotaro pulls out)

Anyone who passed by the library could feel the collective anguish of the students trapped inside. By no means were they preparing last minute for their assignments and tests that were coming up, in fact they were ahead of their peers. The students that were smart and disciplined enough to spend their Saturday nights locked away in study rooms still suffered the same, they just did it before everyone else.

That’s what Shotaro was doing currently with his study group. They were currently seven deep, occupying the biggest table the main room of the library had to offer. Even if no food or drink was allowed in the study space, this late into the night there was an unspoken rule that you could have a snack and an energy drink on the condition you cleaned up after yourself. Shotaro’s group took full advantage of this rule—plastic wrappers from the vending machine snacks were spread across the table. Crumbs from chips and cookies were on top of keyboards and condensation from iced coffees and chilled energy drinks made the pages of their notebooks wet. Despite the mess all of them were locked into their screens or their journals, going over assignments and final projects like their lives depended on it.

“Hyung, whats the four types of labor in economics?” Anton, the only non-declared economics major in the group looked across the table to Eunseok.

Despite being a labor economics major Eunseok still sarcastically looked up to the sky like he didn’t know the answer. Shotaro took a break from typing his economic theory paper to lightly push into Eunseok’s side. He had the habit of picking on Anton, but that seemed to come with the territory of being the youngest. Anton always took it in stride, purposefully grumbling out loud to illicit a reaction from his hyungs. When Eunseok was done teasing Anton he went back to his notebook, writing something from a lecture he was watching on his laptop.

“There’s skilled, unskilled, semi-skilled, and—” Eunseok looked expectantly to Anton.

Anton’s question broke the stretching silence of the group. Hearing two humans interact with eachother in God knows how long caught everyones attention. Sohee lifted his headphones from his ear waiting for the answer. Everyone waited for anton to answer with bated breath, like it was a game of jeopardy.

What is traditional labor? Anton asks with a smile that tells everyone he already knows he’s wrong.

There’s a collective groan at the table. Eunseok puts his head in his hands at the wrong answer and Sungchan just laughed in his face. The late night was making everything a little more funny, and Anton’s terrible attempt at knowing about economics made the serious atmosphere of the study group crumble.

“You are shit at economics.” Wonbin delivered his insult with sincerity, complete with a slow shake of his head.

“What the hell is traditional labor anyways?” Sungchan asked, looking around the table for an answer.

Anton even laughed about his terrible attempt to know about labor economics. He smiled to himself and shook his head before letting it hang.

Shotaro felt for the youngest, he really did. He was still a freshman with so much time to decide on his focus in economics—or to switch his major all together. Shotaro almost reminded Eunseok how bad he was at economics before someone’s phone started vibrating against the table.

Aftershocks of Anton’s wrong answer fizzled as they tried to figure out who was the culprit. People who were sitting at other tables had already lifted their heads from their assignments due to Sungchan’s loud laugh, but they were laser focused on the table that was defying the strict no sound policy.

Shotaro reactivated the sleeping screen on his laptop to get back to work. He was in the middle of rereading the details of an incentive program for a fake company to evaluate the opportunity cost. The contacts he wore felt uncomfortable on his eyes as he focused back. Shotaro leaned back in his uncomfortable creaking chair and let his friends scramble to find the buzzing phone, but when he readjusted his headphones back on his ears he heard the automated voice of his phone saying an unknown number was calling him. Shotaro quickly grabbed his phone that was beside his notebook to decline the call.

For a moment he thought that he forgot to activate the study mode option on his phone. But he remembered his impenetrable do not disturb was null and void if someone cared to call him more than once. Just as Shotaro saw the notification for a separate missed call and a voicemail his phone started ringing again.

Receiving a call this late into the night was odd. Receiving it from a phone number he didn’t recognize was even more odd. Shotaro examined the area code, wracking his mind for another number in his contact list that started with the same digits. He noticed that there wasn’t a spam likely hanging near the number either.

When everyone realized who the culprit was, they started looking one by one. Sungchan looked first, peering from the side of his laptop to stare at Shotaro staring at his phone. Wonbin who sat next to Sungchan was second, and then Eunseok who sat on the other side of Shotaro looked next. Within seconds everyone at the table was looking at Shotaro’s phone. The only thing that pulled Shotaro away from his still vibrating phone was Wonbin calling out to him.

“Hyung, are you gonna answer it?” Wonbin asked.

“Who is it?” Sohee asked.

Everyone shifted in their seats at Sohee’s straightforward question. The thing everyone in the nosy friend group wanted to ask but were too scared to. Sohee couldn’t be bothered, moreso annoyed with the fact that the phone was still vibrating.

“It’s a number I don’t have saved.” Shotaro said as the screen on his laptop timed out again.

Shotaro heard his friends at the table shift in their seats. He could feel all of them trying to inconspicuously exchange looks, trying to remain neutral. Anton went back to looking at his assignment after making a face that was entirely too obvious.

After Shotaro’s phone was finally done ringing and he looked at his friends he noticed all of their sullen faces. He ran his fingers over the trackpad and focused on the potential return of giving hypothetical loyal customers a discount on goods.

“It’s not her you guys.” Shotaro assured. I have her number memorized, and that’s not it.

Instantly Shotaro felt the rest of his friends avert eye contact to focus back on their assignments. Silence fell over all of them, one that was so awkward Shotaro had to clear his throat.

Shotaro couldn’t really blame his friends walking on eggshells. The relationship lasted a majority of college, starting from freshmen orientation and ending exactly twenty-two days ago; ironically around the same time this study group was created. Shotaro and you were likened to the parents as the friend group, and his friends were definitely handling it like a divorce.

Shotaro appreciated the concern, but at the same time he didn’t understand why they were so squeamish and almost scared to bring it up. Yes Shotaro announced the breakup suddenly, just by saying casually yeah we broke up when they asked where you were. Yes Shotaro locked into his academics a little too hard, and yes he has been picking up extra shifts at his job. But that was in no way related to his recent breakup. You two ended things amicably. You even met in a neutral setting with your friends needlessly close by while you gave eachother your belongings back.

Shotaro still thought about the stone table in the park in front of one another when you slid a cardboard box of his belongings over to his side.

“Let me know if I missed anything, but I think I got it all.” You said quietly.

After nodding, Shotaro did the same. Your box had more things in it, he remembers looking at the ring you gifted him still on his index finger as he pushed his cardboard box across the top of the table to you.

“Thanks. I think I got everything too.” He said.

You two texted eachother that gifts were okay to keep, but Shotaro noticed your eyes settled on the ring a little too long. His eyes went to your necklace that no longer had the gold S charm attached to it. He knew better than to expect you to wear something that essentially told everyone you were his, but he wondered if you still had the tiny dolls he gifted you dangling from your backpack or if that would also be in the box of things that were technically his but basically yours. The hoodie that smelled like you now was neatly folded on top and covered everything else. Like the worst mystery box of all time, Shotaro would eventually have to go home and find out what was his now. But he swallowed that forming stone in his throat that had been there for the past week and smiled to you.

“I’ll still be here. If you ever need me.” He said.

The two of you were sitting at that table while life went on in the park for what felt like centuries. You were handling the situations like adults—so overwhelmingly respectful and understanding that your friends thought you two were freaks—so why did it hurt so bad? Why were you both gripping your belongings like you didn’t want to take them back?

“If you need anything, call me.” He said.

He let his promise linger in the air as you smiled and nodded. You looked up to Shotaro one last time before walking off to your friend that was sitting at the park bench. He still felt your hand that clasped over his for a split second as he watched you and your friend leave together. After you were out of his line of sight Shotaro felt Sungchan finally approach him. His friends hand that clasped over his shoulder reminded him that the world was in fact still spinning, and he still had a class to attend.

The work from that class was what he should’ve been focused on now. The awkward silence of the study group finally shifted back to what it was before as everyone locked back into their work. Shotaro was the only one who wasn’t focused—his chin wasn’t in his hands from thinking about the graphs in front of him but from wondering who that was calling him. His mind racked through the list of people he had recently given his phone number to. That group project in Statistics was through email, and he never gave that girl at the bar his number. His eyes cut to his phone beside his laptop, face down again as he thought about the voicemail notification.

He felt an itching in the back of his mind, the urge to rub at his eyes only made him feel more restless. He heard the sound of the clocks ticking further into the night. Before he knew it, Shotaro was pushing his chair out from the table and grabbing his phone. He grabbed the attention of other people in the library and his study group again as he pushed his chair back into the table.

“Gonna go get more snacks.” Shotaro preemptively spoke seeing the looks of confusion and Sohee’s lips part. “Text me if you guys want anything.” He whispered.

Shotaro walked away from the table, and when his back was facing his friends he took his phone out. He cleared past his lockscreen, settling onto his call log. He switched to the ten second voicemail when he was past the quiet zone of the library, and when he was in a space alone he pressed play and brought his phone to his ear.

For a split second, Shotaro thought it would just be white noise on the other end of the line. Another spam bot that surpassed the spam likely warning and was talking to the void of his mailbox waiting for a human reply.

But then he heard a shaky inhale of breath and his eyes widened.

“Taro?”

You were the one trapped in his voicemail box. Shotaro almost said your name back in the same confused tone before his mind registered it was a recording, but as soon as you were there, you were gone. As if you had realized it was a voicemail, you ended the call only to hopelessly call again. Shotaro held his phone to his ear still in shock before hearing the sounds around you abruptly cut off. He pulled his phone from his face and went back to the call logs, not hesitating to press on the unsaved number.

Shotaro walked around in the empty space in front of the large wooden double doors leading to the library as the line rang. He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to the worst. As the line continued to ring he replayed the hopelessness in your voice as you called out his name and what he thought was a sniffle beforehand. His stomach was in knots as he closed his eyes, trying to will you to answer the phone.

“Taro?”

Shotaro froze in place. His fingers went to the volume button on the side of his phone. They pressed up, up, up while he stood there in shock.

“Taro? Are you there?”

The bibimbap from the dining hall churned in his stomach as your weak voice filtered through the phone. You were so loud but so quiet at the same time. The background noise of the call almost overtook your voice. He heard what he assumed to be yelling until the receiver of the phone focused back on you.

“I’m sorry to call but I’m at a wake and I drank too much,” You paused and Shotaro could hear you sniffle again. He perked up from his hunched position, eyes getting even wider. “and now I can’t stop crying and I’m so embarrassed and I just want to go home but my phone died and I—.”

“Where are you?” Shotaro asked quickly.

For a moment, the sound of yelling and music on the other end of the line made him think you were at a party. But you sighed deep into the receiver, ending the white noise with a tiny embarrassed laugh.

“I’m at my Mom’s?” You said it with lift at the end, like you couldn’t believe you were in this situation either.

Just like that, everything clicked. Shotaro suddenly understood the gist of your situation, just like he did with any situation involving your Mother. His hand reached for the keys in his pocket, trying hard to remember the exact address of your Mom’s house. If he looked back to your texts he should’ve deleted a long time ago he was sure he might be able to find it. He knew you were twenty minutes by train and speedwalking, but ironically thirty minutes by car with the traffic if he was lucky. Shotaro already started thinking about his route to get to you as he peaked inside of the library through the small windows.

“Is this her phone?” Shotaro asked, still looking through the window.

Shotaro looked at his stuff sitting at the table while his friends worked on whatever they were doing. He could leave without going back inside, he had his phone, wallet, and keys already on his person.

“No. It’s my cousin’s.” Shotaro imagined you adjusting your body to bring the phone closer to your face. “I just took it and walked outside.” You said.

“Just stay there, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes, okay?” Shotaro said.

He put his hand on the large wooden door of the library to go back inside, already coming up with an excuse as to why he has to leave early.

Shotaro goes to the table and begins packing his things as calmly and quickly as possible.

Sungchan notices what he��s doing first, taking his headphones off and leaning towards Shotaro.

“You’re leaving?” He asks.

“One of the people i tutor needs help with an assignment.” Shotaro says.

Shotaro spoke in a normal volume, but put things in his bag at a normal pace to seem as casual as possible. Despite his calm demeanor the image of you crying riddled his thoughts. The more he thinks about you, the more rushed he becomes. He starts putting his things inside his bag haphazardly, not caring about his normal order of operations. He still tries hard to seem even keeled to his friends, waiting patiently for one of them to ask the question.

“This late?” Anton asks the question first, eyebrows raised as he checks the time on his phone.

The rest of the table follows Anton’s lead, checking the times on their devices before looking to Shotaro. With all the eyes on him he tries his best to remain neutral, shrugging his shoulders as he puts on his backpack.

“Last minute assignment.” Shotaro adjusts the straps of his backpack and checks his phone again to seem nonchalant. “If you guys are still here I’ll come by.” He says quickly.

If the members of the study group were skeptical, they do not show it. They only nod their heads, Anton and Sohee even talk about heading home soon. Shotaro is quick to bid his friends a farewell, pushing past the large wooden doors of the library to head straight towards the train station.

When Shotaro stood from his seat on the train and waited in front of the doors he checked his messages again. His i’m losing reception, just stay there was still left unread. When the doors finally opened he pushed past them before people could flood into the train car. Shotaro nearly ran out of the station, feet clearing two steps at a time as he made his way back to the street. When Shotaro finally exited the station he searched the walking directions on his phone.

When Shotaro made it to the street he had to reorient his phone a million times, and for the first time in forever he uncharacteristically lost his patience seeing the compass on the navigation app twist and turn. Eventually he was forced to look up to the street signs, pausing for a moment as the flow of car traffic continued around him. When Shotaro remembered walking this path with you he started heading in the general direction, hoping that his phone would eventually catch up.

Each time the traffic lights and cars would stop him from crossing the road, he would go back to his messages. You still hadn’t responded, his delivered message sitting at the bottom of your conversation made him more anxious than it should have. When he was finally able to walk he nearly ran down the path his phone told him to take.

Finally Shotaro turned down a residential street to the road your Mother lived on. The quiet residential area was so different from the busy streets he wanted to illegally cross minutes ago. Now he was looking down the lined rows of cars on the side of the street, looking for anything that was familiar. He sent you another message, one telling you he was close and would be there soon. He looked to the houses, trying to find the number you had sent him before.

He finally recognized your Mother’s car first, all the times she let only Shotaro drive it when you two would go on dates. He only had to keep walking a few steps before he was in front of the house, directly in front of the walkway that would lead him to the door. Shotaro looked for a moment at the house that had all its lights on and music bleeding out of the doors and spilling onto the streets. He swore he could hear your Mother laughing inside and other people having a good time. Shotaro wondered where in that big house were you locked away crying.

He put his heel on the curb, getting ready to call you and tell you he was coming.

“Taro?” A voice sniffled behind him.

Instantly Shotaro turned around. His phone that illuminated his face was forgotten when he saw you sitting on the curb opposite of him. Your body was tucked neatly between the gap of two parallel parked cars. You were almost underneath the streetlamp, but in the dark of night and in his haste Shotaro would’ve never seen you if you didn’t say something.

His feet moved first to close the distance, almost like he was floating towards you. The heel of his dress show scraped the paved road and he was sure he got dust and dirt stuck to his pants as he crouched down to you. Your wide eyes followed him, head tilted upwards as he came in front of you before coming down.

Shotaro was eye level with you in an instant, filled with worry as you looked down at the ground. He didn’t hesitate to situate himself in front of you and put a hand on your shoulder, even when you froze and parted your lips.

“What happened?” He asked.

Your gaze was immediately fixed downwards, fresh tears leaving tiny drops on the pavement. You shook your head trying to remember how you got here.

“I was fine in the beginning.” You started.

Shotaro came even closer when you your cries racked through your body. He pulled you in by your shoulder, then wrapped his other hand around your body when you grabbed his arm. He had you in an embrace, it was shaky as you two leaned side to side but he still held on tight. He almost lost his balance from leaning forward and your clammy hands grasping at whatever you could to soothe yourself. Your sobs echoed in the space between your bodies, your forehead pressed into Shotaro’s collarbone as your tears continued to fall. He didn’t speak as he let you cry, but his hand ran up and down your back let you know it was okay. At one point you sat up from the curb to burrow further into Shotaro’s chest, and your hand held his shoulder like it was your anchor.

He didn’t know how long you two were there for in embrace underneath the streetlamp before you pulled away. Your eyelashes were clumped together as you sat back down on the curb, your body still shaky and hot to the touch. Even when the flush in your face decreased and your cries turned into sniffles Shotaro did not pull his hand away from your shoulders. He only squeezed them gently, silently letting you know you didn’t have to be embarrassed to look at him.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Shotaro asked.

He knew the answer, but still nodded sympathetically when you instantly shook your head. His eyes went to the phone that belonged to your cousin still sat beside you. Shotaro watched your eyes flick from your tear stains on the ground to the phone.

“I have to give my cousin her phone back.” You said, voice still weak.

Shotaro watched you stand up on your shaky heels and wipe the tears away from your eyes. He could see how daunting the prospect of going inside was, the worrying written all over your face. He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing the phone gently out of your hands before smiling up at you. You held onto the device, letting it tug slightly between the two of you.

“I got it, don’t worry.” He said.

You hesitated for a moment before letting the phone go. Shotaro crossed the street in a hurry before heading up to the porch of the house. Shotaro felt sympathy for you as he approached the house, the sound of festivities even made him feel nervous. The sound of laughter boomed and music was even more prominent now, it sounded as though someone was right on the other side of the door. Shotaro looked back to you quickly, seeing your defeated stance next to the curb as he put the phone down. He pulled the sticky notes from his backpack and wrote on it quickly, placing it on the rocking chair next to the door.

You didn’t bother asking what the note said when Shotaro came back to you. You assumed it was along the lines of how you weren’t feeling well and he was going to take you home as you got into the backseat of the cab Shotaro called. He helped you into the car after opening the door for you but made sure to keep his distance once you both got inside. He made a point to sit on the side opposite of you but still held your bag, the black strap clutched in his hand as his backpack sat in his lap.

You watched the lights of your Mom’s house disappear when the driver turned down the road. In the dead silence of the car the situation you were in started sinking in and that rock formed in your throat again at the sight of your ex-boyfriend. You tried picking at the end of your black dress to distract your mind, you tried counting the dancing lights down the road as the car headed back towards campus. Nothing could take your mind off Shotaro right beside you and his hand that tapped on his mid-thigh. You wanted to reach across and hold him, you wanted him to scoot across the chasm between your bodies and let you lean your head on his shoulder. You kept your thoughts to yourself, trying hard to focus on anything else besides the fact that Shotaro was your knight in shining armor. He still had his backpack on, so clearly coming from that study group that seemed to be taking up all his time these days. You wish you had something to distract yourself that same way he did instead of ignoring your emotions until they boiled over at funerals.

When the cab drove off and you were left in front of Shotaro’s apartment you couldn’t define the feeling in your chest. The feeling pulled you towards Shotaro’s apartment, you imagined his hand on the small of your back guiding you up the stairs. The feeling made you push open his front door and walk into the space like you owned it, the feeling brought you to his room as you dug through his drawers looking for clothes you could wear. Shotaro didn’t object, in fact you could’ve sworn you saw a smile as he watched you take off your heels and make a beeline for his bedroom.

Shotaro set his bag down first in his kitchen before following the path you made to his bedroom. He was shocked that when he opened the door he saw your bare back as you shimmied out the your dress. He let out a gasp the same time he turned around, your bag still clutched in his hand.

He stared straight ahead, not daring to turn around even when he heard the sound of you losing your balance and giggling when you regained it. Even if he had seen it all the idea of watching you get undressed didn’t feel right. He knew he lost the privilege of seeing you like that a long time ago, so now he was forced to stare straight ahead at the wall where a picture of you two used to hang. When he heard you stumble again his eyes traveled to the cardboard box in the corner of his room. He kept his space tidy except for that corner, where dark energy hung over like a storm cloud. On days where Shotaro was especially busy that was his designated spot to put dirty clothes and other things he didn’t want to deal with. He was grateful he had the right mind to clean yesterday, but it left a full view of his things that he still believed were yours on full display. He hoped that you wouldn’t notice the cardboard box, he could already hear your sound of surprise if you discovered it. Shotaro would not be able to come up with an excuse as to why he never unpacked the box; he could lie to his friends but he absolutely couldn’t lie to you.

Shotaro heard your occasional grunts when your dress wouldn’t cooperate and your sudden rushed movements when you’d lose your balance. He distracted some more by looking down to our bag in his hand. He saw your legs in his peripheral, but his gaze was caught on the S charm that still hung off of your purse. He had the bag in his hands for God knows how long, but never noticed the swinging silver charm that he bought you all that time ago. It still caught the light the same way as it dangled in his hand.

“Does your family know we broke up?” Shotaro asked, still looking down at the charm.

“You were the only part they liked about me.” Shotaro heard the sound of his bed creak behind him. “So no.” You huffed.

Shotaro still didn’t turn around as he shook his head. He could admit that he hit it off with parents well. He had a killer smile and a personality they could trust, and it didn’t hurt that he was a STEM major at the top of his class. Your parents were doting on him while they looked to you with a scowl on their face. Why haven’t you shown Shotaro where the bathroom is? Why haven’t you served him a plate yet? Why aren’t you saying anything? The night progressed to the point that had to tell your Mother and Father in his soft meet-the-parents voice that he was able to get his own food and didn’t need to be served by you.

From that point and on, Shotaro became a pawn in the constant bickering between you and your Mother. He never knew which side to choose, always going the route of the meditator, but he could only talk himself out of so many tense situations. Eventually he would make a temporary enemy out of you and by the end of the night when you two would head home he would be punished with the silent treatment as you tried to gather yourself.

So maybe it was the truth that your Mom came between the two of you, and maybe being in that house without Shotaro made you realize you couldn’t handle it on your own. Maybe the realization that you couldn’t do anything or hide behind your boyfriends smile made you drink, and the drinks made you so vulnerable that you stole your cousins’ phone and stumbled outside to sit on the curb to call your him.

But what did he know? You were the psychology major not him. He only knew that you moved the S charm that used to hang on your necklace to your bag and your parents still believed you two were together. Shotaro also knew that if he had known you were going back to that house alone he would’ve gladly been your fake boyfriend for the night without a second thought—which could mean nothing.

“I’m done changing.” You said quietly behind him.

Shotaro turned around and was forced to face the sight of you head on. You swam in his t-shirt, the end of it making it down to your mid-thigh. He’s had this exact same view before, of you sitting down looking up at him at this time of night. He didn’t even reach out a hand to assuringly tap your shoulder or pat your head. He only walked past you to his dresser, ignoring the way you followed him as he grabbed his clothes off the top.

“I’m going to change.” Shotaro pointed to the door like you had forgotten.

Before he could circle around his bed to go to the bathroom he heard the bedsprings creak quickly.

“Wait.”

Shotaro turned to you quickly, trying to be hospitable and oblivious to your hand and how it reached out to him. You looked like a memory, his black sheets made it seem like you were stranded in the middle of the ocean. You still had your hand reaching towards him like he was your life life. You crawled to the edge of the bed closest to him and Shotaro stayed planted, trying not to look at the way his shirt fit on you. He watched you reach behind to his contacts case before holding it out towards him.

“You forgot to take out your contacts.” You stuttered.

Shotaro did have the terrible habit of leaving his contact in at night. In fact, it was so terrible caused you to develop the habit of reminding him to take them out. You usually had a smile when you reminded him, you took your job very seriously. But there was no smile on your face as Shotaro’s feet moved him closer to the bed and closer to you, You almost seemed worried as you looked up to him. You silently put out your hands to hold his change of clothes as he took the contacts out. As soon as he reached for his glasses you were already handing them to him, moving quickly but so hesitant at the same time.

He remembers you would always cringe and look away at the sight of Shotaro messing with his eyes, but you stayed alert and focused on him. You didn’t look away even he pinched his fingers together and started touching the surface of his eye. Shotaro watched you come closer until your feet went over the edge of the bed.

“You must be tired.” He said.

Shotaro put his contacts in the solution that you held out politely. He wanted to reach out and hold you like he did outside your Mother’s house. He found it was hard to touch your ex if they weren’t in visible emotional distress, but it tugged at him all the same. He settled for putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle shake, trying to seem as friendly as possible despite the air becoming volatile.

“It’s not even late.” You respond.

Shotaro only laughs when he hears the bite in your voice. Your phone that finally turned back on says it’s barely past 8PM. He can hear the notifications start to come in, missed calls from your Mother and a text message that says how nice it was to see Shotaro, even if it was through the ring camera on the front door.

“You’re usually nicer when you’re drunk.” Shotaro jokes.

Shotaro takes the solution from your hands and puts it on his bedside table. He starts massaging your shoulder and instantly the crease in your forehead softens. You’re still alert, eyes focused on him and his hands that start slowly working down your arm. He feels the muscles in your arm loosen each time his fingers dig a little deeper. Already you seem more relaxed, there’s a different tension that fills the air.

“I’m not drunk.” You deadpan, but your voice gets softer when you can see Shotaro’s hand on your bicep. “And my friends say I actually get pretty mean when I’m drunk.”

Shotaro is completely silent when he curls his hand around your wrist briefly before moving to your hand.

“I don’t think so. Your eyes become really wide like you’re trying to see everything.” Shotaro takes extra time massaging the back of your hand with his thumb so he can feel your soft palm against the rest of his fingers. “You end every sentence with please and apologize for everything.” He smiles wistfully to himself as he moves his hand to the first knuckle of your index finger. He watches the tip of your finger twitch as a reflex.

“You compliment everything that comes into your line of sight too.” Shotaro is pulled away from your hand when you laugh lightly with him. he looks to you in an instant, and ironically you’re the one that starts looking at your own hand. “You’re always nice, but something about alcohol in your system makes you incredibly—”

“Vulnerable?”

You turn your head and look up at him. Something pulls Shotaro towards you, not just your hand that pinches the fabric of his basketball shorts.

“I was going to say sweet.” Shotaro laughs and brings his hand back to your shoulder. He watches you lean your head to the side until your cheeks rest on top of his knuckles. Shotaro lifts his fingers and rubs his fingers against your cheeks lightly. “Are you feeling vulnerable? Is that why you called me?” He asks.

Shotaro knows you’re lying when you shake your head. He sees that you’re already pretending the first part of the night never happened, that you just found yourself in his bed with his clothes hanging off your body.

“I called you because you know me best.” Shotaro watches you pause to swallow thickly. “And you’re the only person I wanted to call.” You say while scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

You had the phone numbers of your friends etched into your mind from years of contact. You could’ve called any of them, but you had Shotaro on the other end of the line in seconds. When he didn’t pick up the first time you had the chance to ring one of your friends instead. But for some reason you rang him again. And again. You would’ve spent the whole night calling him, until the sun came up and your cousin’s phone died. You knew he would come. Even if you broke his heart and he broke yours. You knew Shotaro would drop everything to come to your aid because that’s just who he was.

“Shotaro.” You whispered, so pitifully.

Shotaro realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten himself into a situation he won’t be able to get out of. He avoids your eye contact suddenly, instead focusing on your thin gold necklace that disappears underneath the collar of his shirt. His efforts were thwarted when he felt your hand clasp around his forearm. Everything in him that screamed not to look at you turned to a whisper when he caught your eye.

He hesitated for a moment, and when he didn’t move away in time you traveled your hand down his arm until you reached his palm. Everything else in the world fell out as Shotaro caressed your cheek and your hand moved to clasp over his.

“Please.” You continued. “You’re the only one I wanted to call.”

He watched your hand cover the ring you gifted him as your grip tightened around his fingers.

Even if you didn’t explicitly say what you were asking for, Shotaro already knew. He unfortunately had your habits engraved so deeply into his mind he believed he’d never forget. Your defense mechanism of sarcasm that bordered bullying melted down and left you looking for closeness in any form possible. The proximity after a prolonged period of no contact made Shotaro believe you were looking to find that tenderness you so intensely craved from him. That’s why he knew that even if you stopped staring at him you were far from done. He patiently waited for your next attack while he continued to hold your cheek.

“I told you I’d always be here for you.” He said.

Shotaro watched you close your eyes, the view from above let him see your eyelashes fan your cheek. When you opened your eyes again they were blown wide, pleading for something more.

“Can you touch me?” You asked.

Shotaro already expected another one of your subtle hints. He nodded and started caressing your cheek again to emphasize what he was doing for you.

“I am.” He answered.

Shotaro could tell you were getting frustrated. He waited for your next hint as you continued staring at him. His other hand went to the perplexed crease in your eyebrow. The crease only deepens when you close your eyes and let out a deep breath.

“Can we have sex?” You ask.

He stops completely at your question. He could count on one hand the amount of times he heard you ask for sex explicitly. Usually you told him through pulling at his shirt or pinching his skin. Hearing sex fall from your lips, albeit hesitantly, was so was foreign to him. Usually you opted for a shy it in place of the word but most of the time you never said it at all. It took a full three seconds for Shotaro to recover before shaking his head.

“You’re drunk.” He said.

“I’m not drunk,” When you pulled your hand away in defiance Shotaro didn’t react. He only pointed towards your other arm. You had it propped up on the edge of his bed while your massaged arm moved to do the same. You dug your hand deeper into the edge of the mattress, but a second later it was lifted and floating towards Shotaro’s hands. “I sobered up during the walk and the cab ride.” You reasoned.

Shotaro was speechless again. He wondered how long you had your rebuttals lined up, ready to defend yourself at any moment. But he remained steadfast remembering the state he found you in, avoiding the streetlight and slinking into the darkness like a nocturnal animal while you closed in on yourself like a collapsing star. He swore he could still see the remnants of tear stains smeared across your eye bags and the tip of your nose was still irritated by sniffling and rubbing. Shotaro found the strength to deny you again, shaking his head with a small smile to offset the look of disappointment that settled across your face.

“Having sex with me will not make you feel better.” Shotaro said gently.

Shotaro felt your hand stiffen in his hold. He could tell you felt the frustration, he tried to distract the both of you by driving his fingers deeper into your palm. When you normally would’ve winced you only stayed still, your eyes fixed on his hand holding yours.

You admittedly felt frustration from not getting what you wanted. Having Shotaro deny you anything—much less sex—felt so alien it nearly placed you out of your body. Having him tend to you in every way he did as a boyfriend over the course of the evening left you searching for the last thing. You wanted him to take care of you in that final way, you needed him to. There seemed to be no better way to cope with the overwhelming wrong in your life than to have morally ambiguous sex with the ex you couldn’t get rid of.

“Being with you has always made me feel better.” You say.

You don’t try to sound teasing. You have lost entirely too much of your mystery tonight to be anything but upfront. You let the desperation come from you in waves and you don’t try to hide how pitiful you feel.

Your lack of shame and overwhelming vulnerability is rewarded when Shotaro looks from your hand to your face. You pray he can see the desire you don’t try to hide and the way you look up at him so pitifully. Shotaro’s hand cradles your face and you can tell he’s looking at you a little closer now. With your free hand you clutch at the bottom of his shirt. It’s soft in between your fingers. You wrinkle the fabric even more when Shotaro holds eye contact with you.

“You were stumbling out of your clothes.” Shotaro said matter-of-factly.

“You know i’m clumsy.” You responded quickly.

Before Shotaro could say anything else your hand clasped over the wrist that cradled your cheek. Shotaro let your hand guide his lower and lower down your body. You let his fingers graze the exposed skin of your neck before pushing it further down to your chest. Shotaro didn’t dare move his hands, he only watched you with a titled head and even expression as you arched your back into his outstretched palm.

“I’ll do all the work.” You emphasized your point by clasping your hand over Shotaro’s, molding his hand against your chest. He felt your hardened nipple press against his palm as you leaned even further forward. “You can stop at anytime. Just need a little.” You said.

Shotaro exercised his strength by pulling away from your chest. He stayed in the same spot by his bed, looking down at your defeated expression. He tried to think about how long it’s been since you had alcohol in your system, how you didn’t have that far off look in your eye like you usually did when you drank.

He almost found the strength to turn you down again. But you looked up to him with your big blown out eyes and pouty lips. He crumbled when he felt you pull at the belt loop of his jeans weakly.

“Tell me what this is before we go any further.” Shotaro said sternly.

Your hands stopped pulling at his belt loops and you nodded quickly. You sat up with perfect posture on the bed to show Shotaro you really were in the right state of mind to be doing this.

“I always feel better when I’m with you.” You started hesitantly backing towards the center of Shotaro’s bed as you kept your eyes on him. “Just take care of me a little bit. That’s all I need.”

You leave Shotaro’s hold to settle in the center of his bed. You wait there for him, playing with the bottom of his shirt to occupy yourself. You keep your eyes on him—because shame is completely foreign to you now—as he stands next to the bed. He continues to stand there unmoving and you let out a tiny breath, something between sinking disappointment and stubborn hope.

You can’t stop your smile and your eyes from widening when Shotaro puts his knee on the bed. You stay on your spot of the mattress as Shotaro slowly brings his other knee to rest on the edge. You already feel excitement bubbling across your body when you move your body towards his. You rake your eyes down his body, settling on his waist.

Before you can make another move Shotaro’s hands go to your shoulders, keeping you in place. You move to sit on your knees and look up at him. From down here you can’t help but bat your eyelashes.

“I won’t hesitate to stop.” Shotaro says sternly.

Your lie of doing all the work becomes null and void in an instant. The commanding look in Shotaro’s voice takes away all your authority, the even tone in his voice makes it impossible for you to speak. All you can do is nod and swallow thickly, putting everything in his hands. So you sit on the bed completely still. You’re all eyes and parted lips as you watch Shotaro lower himself until he is eye level with you. You keep your eyes on his face, the only movement is when he rubs your shoulders down to your hands before placing them on his lap.

Shotaro holds his thigh for a second, thinking about what to do next. He smiles at your frazzled expression, like you’re surprised he actually agreed to this. Shotaro thought that he already made it abundantly clear he could never turn you down, to not give you what you want. It was impossible to say no when you looked at him like that.

Shotaro’s fingers wrapped around the ring you gifted him. He sees your eyes dart down to his hands before your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You shift on your legs and part your lips again, already prepared for what Shotaro is going to do next.

When he gets the ring off he brings it to your lips. He watches the metal cause a dimple on your lip as he presses the ring lightly against it. He sees you almost go crosseyed to look at the ring before your shaking pupils focus back on him. Shotaro smiles, finding it hard to be pulled from the sight.

“Hold this for me?” He asks.

You nod, and without hesitation you part your lips even further.

Shotaro gently pushes the ring inside of your mouth, grazing the bottom of your teeth before placing it on your tongue. As Shotaro pulls his fingers from your mouth you greedily close your lips around them. You suck his fingers back into your mouth, the metallic taste of the ring mingling with the taste of him. Shotaro’s hand grazes up your arm and you paw at his forearm, looking for something to hold. You are too focused on the satisfied look in his eyes to actually pay attention at what you’re reaching for, if you’re reaching for anything at all.

When Shotaro is satisfied he presses on the flat part of your tongue. His fingers leave your mouth and a string of spit follows it. You follow closely behind, you lean your body forward in an effort to close the gap.

“It’s okay if you spit it out.” With your tongue you move the ring from your cheek to the center of your mouth. When you nod Shotaro looks behind you on the mattress briefly before moving his other hand to your other shoulder. “Lay down for me.” Shotaro says gently.

You are taken back to the time you almost choked on the ring briefly as Shotaro guides your body backwards. Your body barely makes a sound as it hits the mattress. Shotaro continues to look down at you, his wet fingers caress your cheek and stroke your chin. His fingers go down lower and lower, non-assuming and gentle as his eyes follow the invisible trail. You squirm underneath his touch, and you squirm even more when you realize how intensely he’s staring at your body.

“How do you want it?” Shotaro sounds far away as his fingers continue down your body. You shiver, trying to find the words before he finds them for you. “Or do you want me to decide?” He asks.

“You decide.” You say meekly.

Shotaro starts by lifting your bent leg and putting it in the bend of his arm. You have been in this position with him before. You ignore the habit in your muscles to watch Shotaro build the tension. He guides your calf to rest on his shoulder, then does the same with the other leg as he comes closer to your body. Shotaro bends between your legs and kisses the spot right below your knee as his hand reaches for the bottom of his shirt.

“I’ll take care of you.” Shotaro murmurs.

You already arch your back off the mattress without him doing anything. He can see you’re driven by his words, the need to be taken care of satisfies you to no end. He has half a mind to just repeat the acts of service he did for you when he was your boyfriend. Shotaro was positive you’d be a shaking mess by the end of his long list with a few praises thrown in. But Shotaro finds himself getting excited at the ability to have you in the palm of his hand again. He plans to take his time when he finally sees your bare stomach and the trim of your panties for the first time in God knows how long.

“I know you’ll take care of me.” You lament.

The name you reserved for him in bed was so close to falling from your lips. Shotaro even watched you form the word and the affliction in your tongue to ennunciate the word. He knows its for the better that you cut yourself off, he doesn’t know who he would become if he heard you call him by that name.

He distracts himself from the replays of you crying out the nickname by pushing his hand past the elastic of your underwear. Shotaro’s other hand moves to fondle your chest, alternating between groping and hard palming as a complete contrast from the gentle way he touches your clit.

You already were wet for him, your hole clenched around nothing as Shotaro circled your bundle of nerves. You twitched and let our labored groans, continue to scratch your nails over the fabric of his pants. You don’t know how much longer you can silently give him the hints that you need more. The feeling of his hands groping you and being so close to your slit does anything but satiate you. You’re somehow more wound up than before, you think you might tear through the fabric of Shotaro’s clothes if he keeps you waiting.

“Just one finger.” You say.

Shotaro looks to you and stills the hand in your pants. His eyebrows raise at your order you phrased as a suggestion. When you lift your hips Shotaro slowly starts rubbing your clit again, but even slower than before. His hand that palms your chest grips your supple skin harshly.

He continues this motion, gripping your chest but touching your clit so lightly you might break. His fingers get lower and lower. Shotaro’s smirk is almost evil as he watches you become more and more pent up.

“What about two?” He suggests calmly.

You nod vigorously, your hands dragging on the surface of the bed to try and find stability.

Shotaro harshly flicks your nipple as he finally slides two fingers in. Your walls welcome him quickly, and Shotaro can feel slick gush past his fingers as he pushes them back in slowly. He reluctantly abandons feeling your body up all together to focus his energy on fingering you. He coos at each of your whines, his eyes alternate between your cunt and your face that’s contorted in pleasure.

“You still got my ring?” Shotaro asks.

“Mhm.” You hum.

He sees the sudden protrusion in your cheek and nods. Shotaro continues working his fingers, letting the lewd wet sounds fill his room. When you start lifting your hips Shotaro uses a hand to keep you pinned to his mattress. Your whines of defiance mingle with the whimpers, both sounds egg him on to move his fingers at a faster pace.

Shotaro came impossibly closer to you while he continued driving his fingers into your cunt. His head still hovered above your knees between your legs, placing kisses to either side he deemed fit. You alternated between pushing your hips down and not moving at all, your depleting energy and tunnel vision of an orgasm distracting you. When you let out a particularly weak sound that was close to a sob you felt his attention go to you.

You knew by the way Shotaro’s fingers faltered that he saw your bleary eyes. You wondered if he could see your eyelashes that were clumped together or the fresh tear tracks that were coming down the sides of your face.

“I’m crying because it feels good.” You said, eyes still closed.

Shotaro could tell you were trying to focus, to keep it together. Shotaro saw your shaky exhale rattle your chest and the pout you were fighting back. He saw your hips twitch and he felt your walls contract around his three fingers. When he took them out of you your eyes instantly opened, wide and so sad he felt his heart break. Shotaro knew better, and he knew you knew it too. His hands left your body completely for what felt like an eternity. The ambiguity was almost as cloudy as the lust filled haze that was taking over his mind. Just when a side was about to win Shotaro felt your shaky hands grip his shoulders. He felt you guide his hands to your lower stomach before your other hand pressed his palm flat against your skin. You kept burning eye contact with him as you pressed his hands deeper into you, until your body instinctually writhed against him.

“Feels good?” Shotaro huffed.

He watched your eyebrows furrow as you nodded pitifully. Your hands left his and went back to pinching and pulling at the fabric of his pants.

As Shotaro watched firsthand that he was still person you needed, pride swell in his chest. Your hips came closer and closer to his, even through the discomfort of the stretch from your calves that were resting on his shoulders. Your body language made Shotaro reminisce on all the times he exercised his control; he remembers denying you that euphoria you were hurtling towards moments ago, he remembers only tapping your chin once before you opened your mouth obediently. Shotaro knows that’s what you wanted from him tonight, to worry about nothing else besides taking it. But he was selfishly chasing after something of his own tonight, he needed to touch every piece of you like it was his first and last time.

He continued to indulge himself in you. Each time your calves slipped from his shoulders he took a break from touching your chest to push them back in place. He pressed into your lower stomach as if the tension was materializing into something tangible and teased your nipples until they were pebbles against his hand. He was in such a frenzy fueled by you; your hips, your legs, your chest, your sounds that were becoming louder and louder and your hands that were becoming greedier.

“Shotaro.”

Your meek voice pulled his gaze away from his hands fondling your waist and chest. Shotaro registered your shaking voice and your entire body that was shaking like a leaf. You spoke clearly, determination in your eyes underneath the tears threatening to spill.

“Please fuck me.” You begged.

Shotaro watched you pathetically reach at the button on his pants. He looked at your hand grasping at nothing, the thing you wanted just out of your reach. He reveled in watching you struggle for a moment, a smile blossoming across his face the same time you let out a frustrated whine.

“Shotaro, please.” You repeated.

Finally he pulled away from your legs, sitting back on his ass as he unbuttoned his pants. Shotaro watched you rid yourself of your clothes. You quickly pushed your panties down your legs before kicking them off your ankles, and you propped yourself on your elbows to take off your shirt. He threw his pants off in the same general direction as you threw your clothes, then took his shirt off as he slotted himself between your legs again. His hands went to your ankles, guiding your legs back to their original place on his shoulders. Shotaro stayed focused on your face as he got closer and closer to you, seeing you let out a pensive breath as your legs stretched further.

“You still got it?” Shotaro teased.

Shotaro felt your feet settle in the crook of his neck and watched your hands hold the back of your calves to hold them in place. You nodded quickly, preening your hips to feel Shotaro’s dick press against your ass.

“I’m still flexible.” You answered.

Shotaro stretched you further by reaching down closer to you. He didn’t stop until you drew in a breath and winced. From here he could watch himself in the pitch black reflection of your eyes as he fisted the sheets on either side of you. He started slowly grinding his dick against your heat, satisfied with the slick sounds and the way you wiggled your hips against his. He was teasing himself but to you it felt like torture, having him so close but so far away.

“Please put it in.” You whined.

You watched Shotaro catch his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded obediently. He looks down between your two bodies, drawing his hips back until his tip prodded your entrance. When he could feel you and you drew in a breath in anticipation he looked back at you. You held eye contact through the haze, you surprisingly held eye contact as Shotaro slowly slid inside of you. The position and the feeling of Shotaro pushed the air out of your lungs. You let out a gasp when his hips kissed yours, a gasp that turned into a heavy moan when he repeated the motion.

He was reeling off the shock on your face, and he felt his entire body tighten when he pushed back into you. Your back arched off the bed and Shotaro moved his hands closer to your body, effectively caging you in. Your head turned at the same time, your closed eyes pointed towards the wall.

“Does this?” Shotaro’s skin slapped against yours and turned your face to look him in the eyes. He got closer to your body, deepening the stretch in your legs. “Does this feel good?” He asked.

You nodded weakly, you lifted your hips in tandem with Shotaro’s quickening thrusts. The angle made him hit that spot deep inside of you, the one that made you moan louder than before and had his vision spotting. You felt so familiar and warm inside, Shotaro felt like he was losing himself again. But despite the euphoria Shotaro held on tight for you, remembering the promise he made to you in the park when you gave him back your things.

“I’m taking care of you?” Shotaro asked.

“You’re taking care of me.” You answered

Your words were cut short when Shotaro gave you a particularly hard thrust. He slid in and out of you with ease, but each time you could feel your walls clamp around his dick in an effort to keep him inside of you. Your walls began spasming without your control. The feeling built up over your body again, you were teetering towards the edge once again.

“I’m close.” You warned as you brought your feet deeper into the crook of Shotaro’s neck.

Shotaro nodded down at you, a groan leaving his lips in place of words as he continued fucking you. You alternated between the damp ends of his hair and the focused look on his face. You could tell he was close like you were, arguably even more close to the edge than you were. But you could feel the devotion he had to taking care of you first. Watching Shotaro shamelessly put your needs before yours had you arching your back off the bed. Everything melted away in that moment, and feeling him move his hand from beside you to touch your face affectionately made tears dot your waterline again.

“I got you.” Shotaro spoke over your moans, gentle and soft despite the violent waves ripping through your body. “Go ahead.” He said.

You couldn’t speak during the fact. Even your moans ceased, the stretch and the intense feeling of Shotaro snug in your walls took away your ability to even form a coherent thought. He reduced you down to your teeth digging into your lip and the death grip you had on your legs. You dug your own fingers into your flesh, the pain only made your orgasm more intense. The more your body seized the more intense everything became. A string of words fell from your lips that only Shotaro seemed to understand; he nodded and cooed at you while his hand starting touching you all over again.

Before you knew it, your body relaxed. Your feet were limp and your legs felt loose, your entire body felt loose as Shotaro’s hips began to falter. You weakly let your hands run down his arms, saying more incoherent babbles as his own eyes started screwing shut. You pulled the ring from your cheek. The wet metal was pressed between your palm and Shotaro's arm.

“Got you.” You said, barely coming back to Earth.

Shotaro waited until he only felt the pulses from aftershock to pull out. His last bit of self control dissipated after seeing your hands paw at your chest. He was fixated on the way your skin peaked between your fingers when he leaned forward to consolidate his release on a small portion of your lower stomach. The sensation of finishing on you felt barbaric, but Shotaro knew he had to atleast attempt to be responsible. Your legs slid from his shoulder as he wrapped his hands around his dick and began pumping quickly. He treated himself harsher than he treated you. This was simply a means to an end, a way to show you that taking care of you was the only fulfillment Shotaro needed.

“Can I?” Shotaro asked quickly, looking to your flushed face as he continued pumping his dick.

At some point you slid the ring onto your finger, the metal band loose around your joint as you held your chest tighter.

Despite being rough with himself, he still felt the relief all the same. Even if it was Shotaro pumping his dick it felt like it was you who was pulling him thin before letting him go completely. Shotaro groaned and dug his fist into the mattress beside your body as he watched you twitch from the sudden warmth on your stomach. He continued going, Shotaro wasn’t sure if he imagined your sounds egging him on, or if it was wishful thinking. He still continued to empty onto your lower stomach while he felt the coil snap in his stomach.

When he regained his senses he lifted his head to look at your stomach. He grimaced at the mess he made on you—a small mess but a mess nonetheless—and wasted no time getting up from the bed. He ignored the look of accomplishment and pure content that rested in your smile when he came back with a wet towel. He had to bite his lip when he got on the bed again to wipe you down. He was slow with the warm towel, taking a quick peak to your face to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

If the towel was scorching hot Shotaro wouldn’t have known. You only watched with a smile on your face and something more complicated in your eyes as you watched him take care of you.

#01zfan: shotaro #shotaro smut #riize smut

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artyandink · 3 months ago

Text

the art of heresy forged 2022

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, murder, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, literal crack

STW: fingering, Ben being Ben, degradation, explicit spoken detail, practically manhandling

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

The sun hung low in the Nicaraguan sky, casting long shadows over the dense jungle. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to every leaf, every blade of grass, and every breath the small town's inhabitants took. A deep, unsettling quiet had settled over the place, punctuated only by the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of leaves. The tranquility of the town was deceptive, however, masking the turmoil that had gripped the world beyond its borders.

In the heart of the town, a small news station buzzed with a rare energy. Reporters shuffled about, their voices tense, their faces drawn with concern. The camera lights were harsh against the evening gloom, casting sharp shadows on the walls of the makeshift studio. Outside, a handful of locals gathered, their curiosity piqued by the unusual activity. News had traveled fast, as it always did in small towns, and the disappearance of Soldier Boy was no exception. For the people of this remote corner of the world, the arrival of a famous superhero—however dire the circumstances—was an event worth witnessing.

Inside the studio, the main anchor, a seasoned reporter named Esteban Garcia, sat behind a worn wooden desk, straightening the stack of notes before him. His dark eyes were set with a determination that had been honed over years of covering stories that often blurred the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But today, the story was unlike any other he had ever covered.

Esteban had been one of the first to receive the report that Soldier Boy, the legendary superhero and symbol of American might, had gone missing during a covert operation in Nicaragua. The details were still murky, shrouded in a haze of classified information and official denials. What was clear, however, was that the man who had once been invincible, the man who had been the living embodiment of strength and bravery, was now feared dead.

As Esteban shuffled his notes one last time, the door to the studio creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Crimson Countess was a striking figure; her red hair, usually fiery and untamed, was pulled back into a tight bun. Her crimson suit, once a beacon of power and confidence, seemed to have lost its luster, the fabric dull and wrinkled as if it, too, had been drained of life.

She moved with a heaviness that Esteban hadn't seen before, her every step measured, her every breath labored. As she approached the interview chair, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. This was not the Crimson Countess the world had come to know—the fierce, unyielding force that had fought alongside Soldier Boy for years. This was a woman on the brink, teetering between despair and the desperate need to hold herself together.

"Thank you for coming, Countess," Esteban said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she lowered herself into it, her movements slow and deliberate. "I know this must be an incredibly difficult time for you."

Countess nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, her throat working to push down the grief that threatened to spill over. When she finally did find her voice, it was hoarse, raw with emotion.

"Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, far beyond the walls of the studio. "I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with Soldier Boy. We all have. But this… this is different."

Esteban nodded, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming specter of loss. Outside, the gathering crowd pressed closer to the windows, straining to catch even the faintest whisper of what was being said inside.

"He was… he is," she corrected herself quickly, as if to banish the thought of his death from existence, "the strongest person I’ve ever known. Indestructible, or so we all thought. To think that he could be… gone… it’s like waking up in a nightmare you can’t escape from."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes tightly, as if that could somehow block out the pain. Esteban felt a pang of sympathy. He had seen many interviews like this before—family members of the missing, the grieving, the lost. But this was different. This was Crimson Countess, a superhero, someone who was supposed to be beyond the reach of such ordinary, human emotions. And yet here she was, broken in a way that no enemy had ever managed to break her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Esteban asked softly, careful not to push too hard, but knowing that the world was desperate for answers. "Anything at all that you know?"

Countess opened her eyes and looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to be weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal, how much to hold back. Then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

"It was supposed to be a routine mission," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before—go in, neutralize the threat, get out. But something went wrong. I… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was in a different part of the field, but I spoke to him on the comms. He was… he was confident, as always. He didn’t think anything could go wrong."

She paused, swallowing hard, as if the memory of that last conversation was too much to bear. "But then we lost contact. Just like that. One minute, everything was fine, and the next… nothing. No signal, no word. Just… silence."

Esteban leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "And you haven’t heard anything since? No communication from Soldier Boy or anyone else on the mission?"

Countess shook her head, her expression one of helplessness, an emotion she was clearly unaccustomed to. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished into thin air. The government’s been tight-lipped, as always. They’re saying it’s classified, that they’re ‘looking into it,’ but I know what that means. They think he’s dead. They just don’t want to say it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Esteban could feel the tension in the room rising, the weight of the world’s expectations pressing down on this woman who had spent her life fighting battles that most people couldn’t even imagine. And now she was fighting a battle of a different kind—one that she had no idea how to win.

"What does this mean for you, Countess?" he asked after a long moment, his voice soft with understanding. "For the team? For the world?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a deep, abiding sorrow. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really don’t know. Soldier Boy was… he was the heart of the team. The backbone. Without him… I don’t know how we go on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Outside, the crowd had grown larger, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. They had come to see a superhero, but what they were witnessing was something far more profound—a woman laid bare, stripped of the armor that had always protected her, struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense.

Esteban knew that he had to tread carefully now. He could see how close she was to the edge, how fragile her composure had become. But he also knew that the world was watching, waiting for answers, for some kind of closure. He took a deep breath, choosing his next words with care.

"Countess," he began gently, "the world has always looked to people like you and Soldier Boy for strength, for hope. In times of crisis, you’ve been the ones to lead us, to show us that even the darkest times can be overcome. What would you say to those who are watching right now? To those who are afraid?"

Countess stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something—perhaps a lifeline, perhaps an escape. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, more certain, as if she had found some small reserve of the strength that had always defined her.

"I’d say that fear is a natural response to the unknown," she said slowly, the words coming out measured and deliberate. "But fear can’t be the end of the story. Soldier Boy… he wouldn’t want us to give up, to let fear consume us. He’d want us to fight, to keep going, no matter how hopeless it seems."

Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the words seemingly giving her strength. "I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Soldier Boy is… if he’s really gone. But I do know that he wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. He’d want us to keep pushing forward, to keep believing that there’s a way out of this, even if we can’t see it right now."

Esteban nodded, feeling a sense of respect for this woman who, despite everything, was still finding a way to inspire hope. "Thank you, Countess," he said quietly. "I know that wasn’t easy."

Countess managed a small, tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Nothing about this is easy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s what we have to do."

As the interview drew to a close, Esteban could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body seemed to sag with the weight of it all. He knew that the moment the cameras stopped rolling, she would retreat back into the private hell she was living, the grief and uncertainty gnawing away at her resolve.

"Do you think he could still be out there?" Esteban asked, unable to resist the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the interview. "Do you think Soldier Boy could still be alive?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "I have to believe he is," she said softly, the words laced with a fragile hope. "Because if he’s not… I don’t know how we move on from this."

The camera panned out, capturing the room in its entirety—the small, stark studio, the gathering crowd outside, and the lone figure of Crimson Countess, sitting in the harsh light, her face a mask of controlled despair. The broadcast would soon be over, but the impact of her words would linger long after the screen went dark.

NOW:

“Whatever you’re experiencing, it’s not real.” Your shrink - you still didn’t know whether her name was Emily or Earhart - assured you, but you knew better. “Vought only wants to help you get better.”

“They’ve been so called helping me for forty fucking years.” You gritted out, your fingers gripping the chair you were sitting on. The maroon chair, with some fugly beige cushions in this fugly beige room. You hated it.

Fuck all.

She sighed, leaning forward. “You exhibit signs of anger issues and PTSD. Vought is merely facilitating your recovery and return to glory.”

“They’re fucking with my head!” You burst out, standing up abruptly, surging forward and grabbing her throat, your eyes turning black, gleaming with wisps of purple. “Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It resonated through Eleanor’s head, and her eyes turned the same colour as yours, her jaw going slack as she stopped resisting.

“You’re not crazy.” She whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You never were.”

You let her go, and her eyes returned back to normal, a shaky gasp escaping her lips. You bent forward, trapping her between yourself and the chair.

“You tell anyone what I just did, sweetie,” You warned lowly, “and I’ll snap your neck by the time I next come in here.”

“Of course.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

You sat back down on the armchair, cracking a smile as you examined the fear in her eyes. Good. “Shall we continue?”

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

“Is he always gonna be doing that?” Hughie whispered to Butcher, watching Ben crush some medicine and snort it like it was nothing. They’d broken him out of his cryogenic capsule, and it’s safe to say that he was an incredibly pissed off individual. Understandably so.

“Just let ��im, it ain’t killing us.” Butcher replied under his breath, and then snapped into suave gent action when Ben cleared his throat and looked up. “Everythin’ alright, there, guv’nor?”

“Gotta add another name to my kill list.” He cleared his throat again, grunting distastefully.

“One more?” Hughie asked, eyes widening slightly, but he recovered. “Uh, w-who is that - the one you want to kill - who?”

Ben grunted again, snorting up more crushed pills. “Tricky bitch, she is. Superhero by the name of Psyke, she was my co-leader and fuck buddy. Real tricky to get past. She can create illusions that you’ll fall for if you’re a dumb piece’a shit, and if she gets her hands on you, game over.”

Butcher crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“One, she’s hot as fuck. And a great fuck.” Ben chuckled, reminiscing the days. “Second, she’ll just whisper a command and you’ll do it no questions asked.”

“No problem, guv.” Butcher smirked confidently, but Hughie raised his hand. “Put your hand the fuck down, we ain’t in school.”

“Cocksucker.” Ben snorted - not recreational drugs this time - drinking his beer. “What is it?”

“Psyke, she… she’s impossible to get to.” Hughie revealed, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently she had a psychotic outbreak after you were put in the freezer in ‘83. Vought’s holding her for rehabilitation and therapy. Has been for forty years.

Ben saw the picture of the old newspaper, the title blaring in his face. ‘Psyke in Rehab for Violent Behaviour’, but no explanation. It told him one thing— that you must have known something was wrong.

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

There wasn’t a world in which Vought would imprison their darling, their golden girl. Not unless she went rogue.

“That means she’s deep in a Vought facility.” Butcher smirked, glancing between the two others. “We get the team together, launch an attack on the cunts holdin’ her, we can get her out quick an’ easy.”

Ben’s protective instincts over you flared up when he thought of what Vought could’ve done to you. “She gets out unharmed, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

Oh, fuck. You could go for one of those at the moment.

You were left on the ground, on your back, trembling. Your brain felt like it’d been stretched and then left to rebound against all four walls of your brain, close to turning into mush had you not been fighting the drug injected into your system with everything you had.

“She’s resisting.” You heard one doctor mutter to another, just as searing, white hot pain made the corners of your vision turn black.

And then they shaped into the nightmare land, taking over your vision until it was half reality half illusion, messing with your perception until you weren’t sure which was actually happening.

You could see Nicaragua.

The blood, being distracted by a legion only to find Ben being subdued by Novichok.

Fighting off every member of Payback, making them turn on one another with nothing but a hand on their shoulder and a persuasive whisper.

Getting hit with a cheap shot from behind, and both yours and Ben’s bodies were dragged across the dirt.

Only difference was that you were barely awake. Awake enough to see his unconscious face as they took him away and put him God knows where.

“Have we tried giving her a stronger dose?” A male doctor replied, the corners of your vision blinking from reality, back to nightmare, reality, nightmare, reality- nightmare—

Keys jangled. “We give her a stronger dose and she’ll go up in a stroke. Homelander wants her alive.”

“I don’t understand why, she’s a walking weapon.”

“Talking like I’m not there.” You rasped out, like you hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. A rough chuckle left your mouth as you shakily pushed yourself up, the pounding in your head still there but finding it easier to regain muscle control. “Ballsy move, especially for a couple of dickless scientists.”

You pointed at the lady. “You’re already dickless, so you don’t count.”

The two doctors looked between each other, getting more and more anxious as you found your feet, staggering towards them, almost shuffling, footsteps uneven.

“Uh, what are you-” They froze when you clapped your hands on their shoulders, leaning forward so you were speaking in their ears, your iris turning into gleaming purple mixed with black.

“Kill each other.” You whispered, and the command resonated. The urge to pick up their pens and go postal overtaking them.

Kill each other.

It went through their mind, body, soul. Clipboards flattering to the floor as their irises turned black and swirled with purple, turning to each other slowly. Teeth gritting, veins popping as the two doctors looked into each other’s eyes with pure hatred and a chuckle left your lips as you watched them click their pens and go straight for the jugular.

Over and over again.

“Sleep tight, bitches.” You muttered in satisfaction just as armed Vought soldiers burst in, two forcing you to your knees while two others went to check the tangled, lifeless bodies of the two doctors running rampant.

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

“Bet you’re so wet for me, pretty thing.” Ben chuckled against your lips as you stumbled back into the his hotel room, the rapid undoing of clothes not privy to the two of you as the curtains were wide open. Everyone in the street below could see the filthy way yours and Ben’s lips joined together over and over again, eyes closed but hands familiar with where they needed to go to make the other moan.

Ben separated from you to go and close the curtains, leaving the taste of whiskey on your tongue, still in his slacks from the press conference while he’d ridden you of everything but that delicious fucking lace you’d worn under your dress.

He’d been eyeing you all day in that thing, and all he thought about was having it off.

“Didn’t have enough after coming like a faucet on my cock this morning, hm?” He added, toeing his shoes off and working on his belt, his lips descending to your neck and leaving hot trails of kisses and rough sucks. “Nah, you didn’t.”

Your hands slid up his chest, and then one went down to palm him over his slacks, which had the vein in his neck popping, jaw tensing as his head fell back for a quick second.

Then he took control of the situation, tearing your panties off and throwing you onto the bed, the bra going with it as he sank two thick fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Shit-” You gasped, arching off the bed, your legs widening instinctively as he set a brutally delicious pace, leaning forward to lick and suck at your nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth at his fancy.

Ben only laughed, manoeuvring your body how he wanted, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, hearing your moans, seeing your eyes roll back, knowing you were close-

NOW:

“TMI.” Hughie groaned, putting his hand out and shaking his head. “Really, dude. Ew.”

Ben frowned. “TMI- the fuck does that mean?” He thought for a second, then waved Hughie off. “Eh, I don’t give two shits.” Then he chuckled at the memory, nodding and hitching his shield higher on his arm. “Psyke, man. Best fuck you could ask for. She’d ride me like a damn champ, knows how to suck you off too. Had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum-”

“As much as I want to hear about your old buddy’s jerkin’ off talents, guv,” Butcher cut in with a wave of his hands as they walked, “we have half an hour to get in an’ out.”

“We’ll get her.” Ben assured, finding a Vought guard and slamming his shield into their face, successfully breaking their nose and making them drop, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

“Fuck you.” He added, sneering at the unconscious guard before trudging further through the halls, Hughie and Butcher keeping up right as the alarms blared red.

The moment they did, you - in your cell - smirked, finding an opportunity. The guards were about to restrain you, but you used their grip on your arms to knock them into each other, rolling out of the way and grabbing their handgun, shooting them both once each in the head before anyone could react.

You barely dodged a bullet (literally), jumping and spinning, whipping your leg around so your heel could connect with the side of one’s head, snapping it sideways and sweeping another guard’s legs out from under them, grabbing their head and snapping their neck.

All the guards were down, so you got up, looking at the massacre - the art - you’d created with a small smile on your face and an approving nod.

“Cocksuckers.” You muttered under your breath before shaking your head, clearing the corners of your vision of Nicaragua, induced by whatever shit they put into your system. Wasn’t the good shit either, it was bad shit.

You really needed a smoke round about now.

But now wasn’t the time, so you picked up the guard’s assault rifle and pocketed a few rounds, making your way through the clinically white halls with it held up, popping a few rounds through the heads of the guards you met.

Eventually, of course, all your rounds were depleted soon enough, and you resorted to using your hands (and not in the sexy way), Nicaragua threatening to take over your vision

“You can check that way, guv, she might be there.” A voice with an accent said gruffly, and when you looked around the corner, you saw a boot disappearing down a side corridor, and two other guys. You stepped up behind the smaller one, your bare feet silent on the cold floor.

With a sharp movement, you grabbed the smaller one’s shoulders, yanking him against you as your powers activated again, ready to strike. “Move a muscle and I tell this one to dislocate his own shoulder. Maybe break a leg.”

“What the fuck- I don’t wanna break a leg!” The dude held to you squeaked to the taller guy, who turned around, taking one look at you and smirking.

“Guv, we found ‘er!” He yelled, and a large red and brown boot stepped out, connected to a much larger body that you knew all too well. Only difference was that his hair was darker and he had a trimmed beard. Oh, you’d have fun with that - you mused, right as a grin spread on your face.

“Son of a bitch.”

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 8 months ago

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 20

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Graphic depictions of illness; allusions to major medical procedure; accidental violence (m on f); allusions to child abuse

A/N: Finally. I make no excuses and a lot of apologies. Daryl is going through it right now but it's not just my normal whump. Reader gets to find herself again. I say that as vaguely as possible but you'll see at the end and in coming chapters.

A day and a half. A full fucking thirty six hours. The group still hadn’t returned. While it was logical to be concerned for their safety, you just couldn’t seem to look any further than the man on the bed no more than a foot in front of you. His fever raged and his breathing deteriorated, shallow rattles and painful fits of coughing. Still, those were less distressing than the moments he would wake, not remembering where or when he was.

During one such episode, you had been a peer from school. An innocent girl who had followed him home one day to catch crawdads in the creek behind his house. His one friend that he had to hide in the crawlspace until he could get his father to beat on him instead of looking for you. He didn’t have any friends. You were special, he said. The bruises were worth it.

Of all the ways to get Daryl to talk about what had happened to him, this wasn’t what you had expected.

To make matters worse, he had become violent, waking in a rage that no one could understand. He was swinging punches and trying to leave the bed, Lori holding you away from him while Hershel of all people tried to subdue him alone. It was the grating of his own voice against his throat that had brought on the coughing, the force of which had eventually tired him out.

You had appreciated the concern but had asked Lori not to come between you and Daryl again. Though she had retreated in a huff, Carol later assured you that she was only concerned for the safety of you and the baby. She wasn’t angry and she wasn’t judging Daryl for something over which he had no control.

Things were quiet at the moment. You hummed and carded your fingers through the archer’s hair. He had been sleeping without interruption for a little over an hour, but his breaths were seeming even more labored.

You were beyond exhausted. Two or three hours of sleep, barely eating between bouts of nausea, you were nearly to the point of being confined to that sickbed right alongside Daryl.

“How’re the patients?”

You didn’t lift your head, only your eyes. “Baby and I are fine. Daryl sounds worse than when you were here earlier.”

“Let’s take a look at you two and then I’ll examine Daryl.”

There was no point in arguing. You didn’t have the energy. Sitting up straight in the chair, your back protested from the time spent bowed over the edge of the mattress, but you continued the journey to relax against the backrest. Your hand never released Daryl’s.

Hershel motioned toward your sweater in a silent request for permission and received a mumbled knock yourself out in reply. Baby Dixon was still for the moment after hours of kicking and rolling and seemingly trying to fit a foot between your ribs. The veterinarian smiled gently upon removing the stethoscope and rolling down your sweater. You were grateful for the small gesture, likely would have left it up if he hadn’t taken the initiative.

“Heartbeat’s strong. Seems to be doing just fine according to my limited knowledge. You really should get some rest yourself. Eat something, drink more.” His stethoscope was already nearing Daryl’s chest when you noticed it; the twitch of a hand before fingers curled into a fist.

“Daryl, no!” You weren’t meaning to hurt the old man, inwardly wincing when you heard the thud of his body hit the floor. You were just quick enough to shove him out of the way, Daryl’s fist barely grazing your cheek instead. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s Y/N. You’re sick.” You kept your voice soft, right next to his ear, holding him firmly in a way he couldn’t escape in his weakened state.

“Hershel! Y/N!” Carol and Lori burst into the room, Beth just behind them. You heard the girl begin to cry and tend to her father but the other two were quiet.

“Where—dunno—can’t think—”

“I know, Daryl. It’s the fever.” He was coughing into your shoulder, his skin hot and dry where it touched yours. “You’re safe. I’m here. Thumper’s here.” The archer made a sound in his throat and by some miracle, you knew what it meant. Otherwise keeping your hold on him, you fumbled for his hand and pressed it firmly to the side of your belly. “Feel that? You woke them up too.” Your lip was wobbling, your voice threatening to do the same. “They just want their daddy to rest now so they can too. How ‘bout it, hmm?”

You pulled back slowly, steeling yourself for whatever it was you would see in his eyes. You almost whimpered when there was nothing short of exhausted recognition.

“D’I hurt—”

Your cheek burned and felt wet, but you shook your head. No, you wouldn’t tell him while he was like that. “I tripped. Face-planted. You definitely would have laughed.” He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious, but thank heavens for Thumper and a well placed punt straight to Daryl’s palm. His reaction was sluggish, head bowing to watch his hand rub circles over that spot.

“Hey, kid. Go—easy on—your mama.”

“How about you go easy on their mama too and drink some water for me?” With your hand behind his head, you slowly guided him to his mountain of pillows. “Just a bit, okay?” He gave no answer. His palm continued to caress your bump. You wondered if he would still be so affectionate once he realized you weren’t alone in the room.

With one hand raising his head slightly, the other tipped the cup to lips. He didn’t drink as much as you’d hoped but it was something. His eyes were closed but his fingers remained steady, curling and straightening over where you could feel the ripples of movement. It was as if they could sense one another. Daryl was calm, only the cough moving him at all. The baby’s movements were gentle waves below his hand.

You didn’t dare move, allowing him the comfort he likely didn’t even know he was seeking. If you were being honest, you were relaxing a little as well. With a sigh, both tired and contented, you slouched but stayed next to him.

“Is he okay?” You asked, finally rolling your head toward the others. Beth and Carol were getting Hershel to his feet, Lori pacing behind them with an expression you just didn’t like.

“I’m perfectly fine.” The man answered for himself, patting Beth’s hand so that she would release him.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, risking placing your hand over Daryl’s. When his fingers went still, you gently guided his palm back and forth over your belly.

“You did nothing wrong, Y/N. I should have been more—”

“He’s going to seriously hurt one of us.” Lori interjected, continuing her pacing. You shot her a warning look, eyes narrowing when she shook her head. “I understand this is out of his control, but this is Daryl and out of all of us, he’s hardwired for violence.”

“Lori, you should go.” You spoke quietly, not willing to disrupt any rest the archer might be getting. You could only pray that he hadn’t heard her careless comment.

“We should just take shifts to come check in on him. You could rest and eat, we’d probably hear him cou—”

“Are you seriously suggesting I leave him alone up here?” Where the anger was coming from, you had no idea. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the concern for Daryl that was constantly eating at you. It hardly mattered, you’d made it clear that she was crossing a line. Your tone was dripping with venom. “Carol.” You beckoned, eyes remaining on Rick’s wife. “Please, take Lori downstairs before I say or do something I would definitely regret.”

“Come on, Lori.” You heard Carol say quietly, a heated glare continuing between you and the other woman as she was led from the room. Once the door closed, your anger dissolved as quickly as it had materialized. “Beth—Hershel, you know—”

“We know he’d never hurt any of us on purpose.” The girl said in that sweet southern tone of hers. “You neither.”

“Having two expectant mothers in one room with enough charged energy was just asking for an explosion of some sort. Now don’t you stress yourself over it any further.” As he neared, Hershel squeezed your shoulder. “Think you might be able to keep him from becoming agitated long enough for me to take a listen?” He lifted the stethoscope.

You nodded with a sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Yeah. If you can go around, I have an idea.” The old man rounded the bed while you crawled up beside Daryl, gently pulling him onto his side and against your chest. Once situated, you pulled his hand back onto your belly, and though he didn’t move it, you felt him relax a little further into you. “Daryl.” You whispered into his hair. “Hershel’s gonna listen to your lungs. The stethoscope is gonna be cold but your skin is hot from the fever. I’m right here. And it’s just Hershel.”

You carded your fingers through his hair while Beth leaned over you to clean the cut on your cheek, hands just as gentle as her father’s. There wasn’t so much as a flinch when the cold instrument pressed against the archer’s back. You paid attention to the his reactions—or lack thereof—but you also watched Hershel and the way his expression fell. It was then you knew he would tell you nothing good.

“His right lung is full of fluid. It’s hindering his ability to breathe normally. The cough is still productive?” You nodded slowly. “May I see?” Well, that was disgusting but Beth carefully pinched one edge of a cloth and carried it to Hershel. You didn’t care to have that ick on your fingers.

Your attention turned back to Daryl, his weight heavy on your side, chest rattling, cheeks flushed, and lips pale. When would the group be back? Were they okay? Should you plan to leave?

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?” You didn’t look up from stroking the archer’s cheek until your name was said again. The expression you were met with was grim. You had your concerns about the pink frothy liquid that accompanied the mucus. Fuck. You should have told Hershel immediately. “What is it?”

“If I don’t do something about the fluid in his lung, it is possible he may—for lack of a better term—drown.”

“When they get back—” He cut you off with a shake of his head.

“This can’t wait that long. We don’t know if—we’re not sure when they’ll return. I need to see if I have anything that I can use. What we were able to grab from the farm was extremely limited and even that has been cut in half with being on the road.” Hershel was mentally running through inventory as he began to leave the room with his daughter in tow, turning but not meeting your eyes. “I’ll need him awake for this.”

Start waking him up now. That’s what he meant. You were horrified. You had no idea how to thoroughly explain to Daryl what was going to happen, because you didn’t know. Why did he need to be awake? ‘Oh, you’re going to drown slowly if we don’t do this now.’ How badly would it hurt?

“There’s a—time an’ place—to be pullin’ on—a man’s hair an’ this—ain’t it.”

You sputtered out apologies and let go immediately. “I didn’t even realize—I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t even looking at you, half lidded eyes blinking slowly and staring toward the wall. Your tight grip returned but this time on his bicep, pulling him more snugly into your side but easing when he buried his face against your sweater to cough. Gross, but what could you do? “Daryl. Do you think you could try to—”

“Heard the—the old man. M’awake.”

The two of you laid in silence, not necessarily uncomfortable but with the looming fear of what was to come and if could even possibly help him. Your fingers ran a trail up and down his arm while his hand splayed out over your belly, eventually sliding around to your side to shift you toward him. Face to face, you could now clearly see the exhaustion, the way the illness was slowly tearing him down, and the resignation in his eyes.

“I’m scared.” The words slipped from your tongue unbidden, and though his expression didn’t change, he brought a fiercely trembling hand to your cheek, hot against your skin.

“Me too.” The admission shocked you to your core. Daryl always strived to be strong for everyone. Hell, it was what led him to his current position in the first place, trudging on while ill just to make sure you and the group—mostly you—were fed. “Didn’t fall.” His thumb barely brushed the bruised cut on your cheek. “M’so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to speak but quickly turned his face into the pillow to cough harshly, the force rocking his body hard enough to jar your own. You twisted to reach for a cloth, shushing him when his hold grew tighter, openly displaying his discontent at the thought of you moving away.

With gentle swipes, you wiped his face and then the pillow, folding the fabric before laying it above your heads for easy access.

“I don’t wanna do this without you. Thumper needs their daddy. And,” you swallowed, face crumbling and tears stinging your waterline, “I need their daddy too.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Why the hell was he comforting you when he was the one being ravaged by an illness that would have been easily remedied in the old world? You really were weak, dependent. Where was the headstrong woman that had shown no fear on her own during the first days of the turn? “Stop—stop lookin’ at me—like m’already dead.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away abruptly to cover a fit of barking coughs that left him groaning, face lined with pain while he gasped and heaved to catch his breath.

You had no chance to offer him any sort of comfort before there came a knock and Hershel entered, Carol at his heels. “We have what we need. Well, what can be used in place of what we need.” He held some sort of thin tubing, a syringe, and a plastic mixing bowl, while Carol carried a mostly empty bottle of whiskey, some gauze, tape, and a knife. Even with your wide eyes displaying a naked fear, Daryl never turned to look. “Is he awake?”

“Get it—get on with it.” He grumbled, weak but to the point.

Hershel merely shook his head with that fond smile he had developed toward your group since the farm. “Carol, could you sanitize the knife?” Seeing her pour a portion of the liquid over the blade made your stomach turn, or maybe it was your own illness rearing its ugly head to take advantage of your weakened state. Regardless, you looked away, finding Daryl’s eyes on your own. “First, I’ll need to find the right spot. You’ll have to be completely still for this, son.”

“Yeah, okay. Got—got it.” The archer wheezed. In your peripheral, you could see the veterinarian’s arm moving, pressing and counting the ribs in search of the correct site. Daryl was rigid, his eyes squinted but remaining open and focused on you with the occasional flitting down to where your swollen belly pressed against him. His hand fisted into the fabric of your sweater on your hip.

“Okay, I’m going to—”

“Just do—just do it for christ sake.”

The old man was still behind him for a moment, long enough to draw your gaze to his. He nodded, a silent request for you to do what you could to keep Daryl still and compliant. Drawing your eyes back to the dull blue that was watching you with such intensity that you felt crushed under the weight, well, that must have been enough for Hershel to continue.

Daryl made a noise in the back of his throat, the slightest spasm of pain indicating that the knife had pierced his skin. Hershel and Carol were moving behind Daryl, communicating through whispers and gestures while you felt Daryl’s arm begin to shake, your sweater pulling tight against your body.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good, Daryl.”

His eyes suddenly clamped shut, your sweater rising away from your hip when he twisted his fist. The seconds felt like minutes that felt like hours of watching him tremble with fever, weakness, and restraint. Finally, there came the blessed sound of liquid hitting the bottom of the plastic bowl.

“Catheter is in place as best I can tell. We’re getting fluid. Don’t hold your breath, son. Nice and slow.”

You could tell he was trying, each breath a wheeze laced with pain. Slowly, you moved your hand from his arm to his face, just brushing your fingers over the stubble on his cheek. “We need to start thinking of names, you know. Thumper is cute but the baby isn’t a rabbit even though they feel like one sometimes.” Daryl’s eyes opened, tears pricking at the pinched corners. You knew he couldn’t answer you and so did he, probably couldn’t even if he tried. “I try to picture what they may look like. I hope they look like you, big blue eyes and maybe even a permanent scowl so that when they smile, it’ll be the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen.” You thumbed away a tear that escaped down across the bridge of his nose toward the other eye.

When his throat spasmed, you thought maybe he was going to be sick but then he began to cough, loud and agonizing and dry. Your wide eyes found Hershel’s, the calm in the old man’s gaze fizzling out your terror.

“It’s okay. Just keep him still. The coughing forces out more fluid. It’s almost over.”

As painful as it was for Daryl, it was agonizing for you to watch him suffer with no way to help him. “It’s almost done. You’re doing great. Stay still and stay awake. Can you look at me?” He answered with the smallest of nods, an almost imperceptible movement. Carol moved closer to Hershel. It was torture to not know what they were doing out of your sight but at the same time, an immense relief. The zip of tape being pulled and torn was surely a sign of the procedure coming to an end.

But it was when Daryl drew in the deepest breath you had heard in two days that you felt yourself relax, truly and utterly just drain of tension, placing your forehead against his. “It’s over. Just rest now.” You focused on his even breaths, just the slightest wheeze, the barely audible rattle. He was limp against you, his hand still tangled in your sweater but no longer holding on. The archer was exhausted and sleep had claimed him almost instantly.

“Hershel?” You need not ask anything. He knew.

“It won’t last long, but it buys us some time. The incision was deep but small. I will examine him in a little while, make sure it stays clean. In the meantime, listen for any struggles with breathing. Let him rest.”

You nodded, your forehead brushing against Daryl’s. The used supplies had been gathered and the old man had already made his way downstairs. You caught Carol’s eye as she started to close the door.

“An hour.” You stated flatly.

“What?” The other woman stepped back into the room, her brow drawn.

“I’m giving them one hour. If they’re not back, I want the list and I’m going. There won’t be a discussion.” No room for argument. “You sit with him while I’m gone. You’re the only other person he really trusts.” She looked as if she might object, but when her shoulders relaxed, you knew you’d won. With a nod, she left the room.

Without Daryl’s desperate attempts to breathe, it was so quiet, a sound you welcomed and reveled in so deeply. Hershel had opened a doorway and you’d be damned if you’d let it close. Moving your arm below his to wrap around him, low on his back to avoid the incision, you used the leverage to pull yourself as close to him as you could with baby Dixon barring the way. The archer didn’t stir. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you felt the fever still burning hot, only fueling your determination to get what he needed if the group failed to return.

“I don’t care what you say or what you think. I don’t care why you think I shouldn’t.” You spoke softly, a near whisper. “I love you. And I am not losing you.”

Of course you had fallen asleep. Daryl was resting comfortably, albeit still feverish. You were cozy beside him. You felt safe while simultaneously feeling like you were guarding him. It had been more than an hour, that much was certain. Hershel hadn’t given a timeframe regarding how long the treatment would help Daryl and you were taking no chances. It was time to take things into your own hands.

As fate would have it, just as you began to disentangle yourself from Daryl, there were frantic footsteps on the stairs. Fuck. Daryl was too weak to move if walkers had wandered into the area. The door burst open without a knock, revealing a breathless blonde teenager wearing a brilliant smile.

“They’re back!”

You stared. It was all you could do, your voice had seemingly decided it was in just as much shock as you were. Besides, she had already disappeared, leaving the door wide open. A sob worked its way up your throat but you blocked it with your teeth, looking down at Daryl as he slept.

He would be okay.

The glare you had fixed on Hershel settled the maybe you should wait outside argument rather quickly. You weren’t leaving Daryl to be manhandled should he wake up confused.

A herd had blocked their direct path back. Of course one had. Because the world was cruel and unforgiving and the dead were always hungry and always looking for a life to take.

Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were bringing up supplies while Maggie assisted her father with Daryl’s care. An IV was started immediately, after carefully searching for the perfect vein due to his state of dehydration. They didn’t have the cannulas to waste. Fluids were started right along with a bag of something called Azithromycin—an antibiotic, Hershel had said. They had scored several bags of each, along with a few other things that could be used for injuries or illnesses. But when they brought up the oxygen tanks, you could have sobbed.

The nasal cannula placement was what finally woke Daryl, bloodshot eyes scanning the room before you saw the first signs of panic. “Ssh. It’s okay.” You slid your hand under his and squeezed his fingers softly. “They’re back. Just let Hershal do his thing, okay? And then I’ll chase them all out. I promise.”

You were so relieved to see his usual scowl shift into place, even if it was somewhat diminished. “Fine.” He rasped.

“Good. Now, since I have your attention—don’t touch that—” you swatted his hand away from the cannula, “take these pills.” Hershel wanted around the clock alternation of acetaminophen and ibuprofen every four hours to get the fever under control.

With an utterance of something containing the word bossy he let you place the pills on his palm and tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them dry while you sat there offering a glass of water. There was a look shared between you that would have been amusing had either you had the energy to laugh. “Thanks.” He whispered, his hand shaking when he accepted the water. He only took a couple of sips but you wouldn’t hound him just yet. The fluids were going and he likely would take a while to feel like doing much of anything.

“We’ve done everything we can do for now. Just need to keep an eye on those bags and hang new ones when they’re empty. Keep giving the fever reducers and, son, try to drink when you feel like. The sooner you’re taking in fluids on your own, the better.”

“Leave that oxygen right where it is too.” Maggie added in a no-nonsense tone.

Daryl’s nod was sluggish, his chin almost staying on his chest during the gesture. The commotion, everyone moving, even while he did nothing more than take a couple of pills, had left him running on fumes. As promised, you were up, hand on your lower back to rub away the ache there as you used the other to shoo everyone out of the room.

Absolutely nothing was stopping you from crawling under those sheets with him and sleeping for four glorious hours. You had asked Carol to keep an eye on that. Thank heavens he was lying in the middle of the bed. The side with the IV needed to be avoided.

Actually lying down with the intention to sleep, knowing Daryl was receiving the help he needed, you were just done for, already drifting off and somewhere between awake and asleep when you felt Daryl’s knuckles brush against yours. You took his hand without a second thought.

“Are you sure about this?” Carol asked, standing with you in the doorway of the bedroom. She was nervously glancing back and forth between you and Daryl. Aside from a few bouts of those harsh, barking coughs, he had slept the entire four hours and barely woke enough to choke down the pills before being pulled right back under.

“I’m sure.” You secured your knife in the sheath on your thigh and wiggled Daryl’s gun holster a little to the side so it wasn’t gouging into the bottom of your belly. Your rifle was long gone and you weren’t about to alert anyone else to your plans by choosing a different weapon. So with both your bag and Daryl’s crossbow on your back, you were ready to head out.

“You don’t have anything to prove, Y/N. We’ve lived off less. There’s a little jerky left and we have some cans—”

“I’ll be fine, Carol. I’m only going to be a few hours and hunt small game. If I happen across a doe that I can lift, I’ll take that chance, otherwise, it’ll be squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, or opossums. Yum.”

“What do I tell him if he wakes up and asks for you?” She shifted nervously.

“The truth. We don’t lie. If he tries to come after me, knock him out or barricade the door.”

She followed you to the top of the stairs but not down, staying close to Daryl as she had promised. “You really don’t need to go.”

“I do. I’m the only other hunter in this group. I won’t have him trying to go out sooner than he’s ready to make sure there’s enough.” You paused on the bottom step, staring at the door and then toward the kitchen where everyone else was gathered. Chewing your bottom lip, you climbed up two more so she could hear you without alerting the rest. “If I’m not back before his next dose, I’m headed west. That’s where they can look.”

Carol looked so stricken and unsure so you offered her a smile, as she always did for you. Finally, she conceded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl angst #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #sick!daryl dixon

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tiredfox64 · 6 months ago

Note

Are you comfortable with writing about the reader and Smoke are expecting a child and Smoke is freaking out since it's their first kid as reader goes into labor?

Calm Down! Everything Will Be Okay!

Prior notes: HOW MANY BABIES HAVE I WRITTEN ALREADY?!!!? Got me paranoid. I don’t claim this energy yet.

Pairing: Tomas x Pregnant! Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: GIVE BIRTH

How exciting! Your first child with your wonderful husband. A sweet baby girl on the way just ready to melt your heart.

If only your husband Tomas could just relax.

He doesn’t have cold feet, thank goodness. He just wants everything to be perfect and for you and the baby to be safe. The thought of losing you scares him to death. Even though you have been keeping yourself in good health and the doctors said you were in perfect conditions he was still being cautious.

He is baby proofing everything and anything. He has a bunch of books on how to support a pregnancy wife and how to be a good father. He went over birthing plans before the first trimester ended. He wanted to be on top of everything after topping you.

Yes, you were nervous as well. You’re becoming a mother. That is a huge commitment. But you took what knowledge you have gained in life and tried your best to stay steady. Drink some raspberry leaf tea, hum to prevent throwing up, exercise and stretch a little to make labor easier, you have tricks and you will use them. If your mama was able to push you out, you can do the same with that baby girl in your belly. You’re a strong woman, you got this mama!

Your due date is soon and Tomas is about ready to scream.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You sit at the table with Harumi, enjoying your breakfast to the best of your abilities. She’s asking how you’ve been feeling and you tell her the same thing about how your back hurts and your feet are sore.

“Ugh, when is this baby gonna come?” You groaned.

Now, the baby will come now. You manifested it.

In that moment your water broke. You thought you had another accident but then you felt a cramp. No, wait, not a cramp, that’s a contraction. Oh lord that is not pleasant.

Harumi was about to run out but you didn’t want to be alone in that moment. She questioned how you will get help then. Then you started to scream,

“THE BABY IS COMING!”

That message went out and into the ears of the many members of the Shirai Ryu.

“The baby is coming!” Kuai Liang yelled

“The baby is coming!” Hanzo screeched

“Oh my baby is coming…” Tomas, did it click in yet?

“MY BABY IS COMING!” There it is.

Tomas sped towards the room you were in. He picked you up with ease and brought you to your bedroom. You were the one who wanted a home birth, this will be interesting.

Tomas is yelling at everybody. Get some towels, get the doctors, get some ice chips, by the elder gods his wife is in labor!

He’s yelling but you really just want him by your side right now. You kept doing your breathing practices to help with the contractions. But breathing won’t help with the feeling that hell itself is opening inside you. You call for him, begging him to come near.

“Oh my sweetest, it will be okay. Just breathe and I’ll make sure you are well taken care of. WHERE ARE THOSE ICE CH-“

You yanked Tomas by the collar of his uniform which cut off his scream. You appreciate everything he is doing but he can tone it down on the screaming.

“Listen, I know everything will be alright. Just please stay by my side. Don’t leave me at all. I really need your support.” You begged him.

Tomas was looking down at you. You are the love of his life and you are about to push out his child. You’re already sweating and panting. He can see that you need him and you need him to stay calm in this moment.

“Alright. I’ll stay here. I won’t move at all. You got this.” He kisses your hand.

You would have smile if it weren’t for the contraction that hit you like a son of a bitch. Better start cursing like a sailor because that will be the only pain relief you can afford right now.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You are so lucky. So very lucky that you were in labor for only an hour. This could have taken a whole day. But now you have a wonderful baby girl in your arms.

This was the most amazing sight to see for Tomas. Now he has two beautiful girls that he loves in his life. He is so grateful to see you well. You luckily didn’t need stitches down there. Just six weeks of rest and it will feel brand new down there.

“See Tomas, everything turned out fine. If you consider having a fussy girl to be fine.” You chuckled as you tried to calm down your somewhat grumpy baby.

“Yeah, everything is fine. Everything is perfect actually.” He kissed the top of your forehead before taking another look at the baby.

A combination of you and Tomas in a seven pound body. She’s gonna grow up with the best dad in the world. Tomas is imagining all he could do with her and how he’s gonna treat her like a princess.

Kuai Liang, Harumi, and Hanzo came in to congratulate both of you. Tomas entrusted Kuai Liang and Harumi to be your baby’s godparents which they were honored.

Tomas placed the baby in the crib so you can finally rest after that struggle. He starts brushing your hair away from your face before you all heard Hanzo say something.

“Oh she looks so weird.”

“WHAT!” Tomas tells again before running over to the baby’s crib. Kuai Liang and Harumi run as well. There’s nothing wrong with her.

“You’re looking at her upside down.” Kuai Liang said before grabbing Hanzo by the arm and pulling him to the front of the crib.

“Oh yeah you’re right that is a baby.” Hanzo thinks he’s an inspector now.

An exhausted sigh leaves everyone’s lips. That’s enough for the day. Get some rest, Tomas will take care of things while you are out.

After notes: I love that man. I love that man to death. I love maining that man. That man would be a good dad. I’ll make him a dad…BAYBLADE BAYBLADE LET IT RIP. Adiós!

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foreficfandom · 9 months ago

Text

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (1/2)

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader)

Overlords are common sinners that boast many indentured servants to their name. Some also focus on physical territory. Some, like Alastor, don't bother. After all, radio knows little physical limitations.

Every Overlord had their own method of gaining prowess. Know one knows how Alastor became so dangerous. The strongest of the lords. Possibly stronger than some goetia royalty.

You weren't sure, either, but you had an inkling.

Because unbeknownst to anyone, you weren't some common sinner soul.

You were unique. A being originating far from this Christian realm of Heaven and Hell. You were undying, or a reincarnation, or a demigod. But you kept on the down low, 'cause attention would have meant trouble.

You could feel that Alastor's magic was a dark, bloody thing, nestled deep in his chest and hooked tightly like barbed wire. It tasted like sacrifices. It smelled like ultraviolet. And you knew it was borrowed, almost seeing the leash around his neck out of the corner of your eye.

Through a shared interest in the Hazbin Hotel, you and Alastor became acquaintances. Months later, you were proper friends. You could tell that Alastor valued the kind and pure of heart, even if he also believed them pitiful. Because they reminded him of a pleasant, happier life. A hidden part of him wanted to believe in their hope and love.

He thought you were just another sinner soul, and you didn't give him a reason to know any better. You had a job as part of the hotel staff. Their accountant, or security, or maintenance. Or their head concierge, guest service agent, auditor, what have you. Something vital to the business, but nothing glamorous. Labor has always been your most successful mask.

He was growing to love again. His mortal self might have been more recipient of affections and bonds, but decades living in hell has twisted him, and you could see him despair over the lump in his throat. His defeat at the hands of Adam proved his limits. You felt him writhe for weeks afterwards, and you let him reap what he sowed.

Curious, you sneaked away one evening and drew from your well of power to step through the fabric of time, finding yourself on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to watch a young Alastor drink the blood from a bloody corpse, and spitting it over his shoulder. Some loa watched this bastardized libation from across the crossroads, but what answered was far more malevolent.

Alastor agreed to a very dangerous exchange. He now had hold over magic impressive enough for a mortal, but you knew it to be a relatively bum deal compared to true power. He would hunger constantly for flesh just to feed its energy, which was a cleverly hidden clause to curse him further through devilish consumption. His shadow sprouted antlers and a maw of sharp teeth.

For two decades, Alastor hunted and ate. Always male victims, usually white men, individuals some might damn as monsters themselves - the abusers, the genociders, the murderously entitled. What was once a scared young man grew hollow and fat on the power.

You've seen enough. Stepping through once more, you joined Alastor in cooking an orzo for shrove Tuesday. Sharpening your gaze, you watched his reflection on the shiny metal surface of a pot, and saw the stitches embedded in his face, pulling tight and vicious.

You nonchalantly asked, "How did you become so proficient at the kitchen knife?"

"Well, I was taught that one could eat, or they could eat well," he replied in a sing-song voice. "And practice makes perfect! Hunger is truly the best teacher."

The meat he was pairing was pork, but you knew he's served human flesh for dinner at least once before. You didn't say anything, because they'd grow suspicious at how you could possibly know from just the smell.

Alastor allowed only you to join him in cooking, partly because he favored you so much more, also because you were a right hand at making a meal. You didn't mention that millennia of existence made one a right hand at any skill.

And tonight, he would begin to see it.

Leaving the broth to simmer, you grabbed a small pairing knife and one of the tomatoes. Instead of simply coring and slicing, you inserted 0.013'' of carbon, chromium, and manganese right between where the molecular cells of epidermis ended at the pericarp. In a single momentum of both your knife and the tomato, the skin was perfectly peeled within two rotations.

Alastor wasn't even looking at you. But he froze over the cutting board, rictus smile sharp.

You haven't even used magic yet.

Both the tomato epidermis and its flayed flesh were completely free of any trace of the other, so in one hand, you ignited the skin to transmogrify into a tiny figurine made out of its glycerin wax. In the other, the tomato was sacrificed in a hole of light-bending void for its animal equivalent - the tiny heart of some small animal, possibly a bird or an amphibian, beating calmly as if alive.

Alastor slowly turned his head to watch as a miniature wax replica of himself held the heart in both shaking hands, before doubling over to devour it whole, its relative size and gore very reminiscent of a large, juicy tomato.

A picture perfect snapshot of his fifth or sixth murder while alive. Some world war veteran that still longed for the battlefield and had exercised his frustration upon his mother and younger siblings. The man might have been rotten, but his warrior's blood had burned hot and nourished Alastor's gaping void particularly well.

(NEXT)

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel imagines

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meowzfordayz · 1 year ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet — Tomioka Giyuu

Author’s Note: ~1.5 months after starting this (and ~3 months since it was supposed to be started 🥴), and it’s finally finished !!!!! 🥳 If these were shorter headcanons, then they wouldn’t take so long 😅, but each individual letter is a labor of love (and lust 😏). As w/ all hcs, these are simply my opinions in this exact moment of writing, and are subject to change depending on the context/my mood! 😉

NSFW Alphabet — Tomioka Giyuu

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~3,500

CW: 18+NSFW, explicit language, Fem!Reader, oral, rimming, spit

MILESTONE 20.0

~faqs~

Aftercare? what they’re like after sex

Giyuu’s very sleepy after sex. If you’ve discussed it beforehand, then he’ll muster up the energy to gently towel wash you, brush your hair (if things got ~intense 😉), and make sure you drink a glass of water, but he’s otherwise hopeless. And by “hopeless”, I mean: he’s passing out with his cock still leaking onto your thighs, warm mouth smooshed into your shoulder, and will moan softly—Hnngg—and proceed to roll over should you attempt to wake him. 😌

Body Part? their favorite body part(s)

Giyuu’s a thigh guy, or GTTG (Giyuu The Thigh Guy) for short. 🦵 Don’t get me wrong! He could totally cum fixating on basically any part of your body 🫢, buuut nestled between your thighs… life couldn’t get much better. 😌 He isn’t huge on marking you (aka: he is, but he typically refrains because one hickey is a sure slide to two, then four, then seven, then- 😇), but biting softly at your thigh, listening to you squeal, halfheartedly attempting to push him away as his fingers wrap around your knees, tongue slipping out to soothe your fresh “wound” — he’s entertained himself with your thighs for literal hours, and not necessarily even sexually. 😆 He’ll often push your legs apart just so he can rest his head on the plush of your thigh, the rest of his body cradled by the curves of your knees and calves.

If you were a vampire, then Giyuu would surely be your first victim, because his neck is just: 😍😋🩸❣️ It’s kissable, nuzzle-able, biteable, and sooo fun to rile him up with a simple swipe of your tongue (bonus points if you suck on his Adam’s apple 🤤). He smells delicious too; a gentle, unassuming fragrance of ripples on a pond (whatever those smell like 🌊) that’s strongest where his neck meets his ears. Step in close and interlock your fingers behind his neck, and he’s certain to wrap his arms around your waist, surroundings fading to a hazy buzz as he murmurs, “I love you.”

Cum?

Giyuu loves cum while he’s still horny (something about the way it glistens and slides down the backs of your thighs, collecting in droplets on your puffy folds, slightly watery and warm as it slowly dampens the mattress beneath you… he’s fixated for sure 😌), but as soon as post nut clarity hits, he’s desperate for a shower (something about its smell and stickiness, clinging to your skin—and his—reminding him of how amazing you felt… and of how messy things got… if you’re taking too long to collect yourself, then he’s scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom for sure 🫠).

Dirty Talk?

He loves dirty talk, but has to pass a certain threshold (of horniness) to really ~get into it. 😅 Before that threshold, a simple So pretty baby while straddling his hips, your fingertips stroking his softly toned abs, will guarantee you a blushing, flustered Tomioka Giyuu, his own grip tightening around your waist. And after that threshold? 👀 Best believe you’ll be the flustered one, low whimpers pushed out of your chest as a cool hand rests gentle around your throat, steadying your body while his cock fucks needy and forceful into your warm, clenching hole.

Experience? their level of experience

Before meeting you, Giyuu isn’t a virgin, but he’s also far from experienced. He knows how to have sex, knows how to make someone else cum, but he doesn’t know how to enjoy himself. He’s always been physically sensitive—always quick to orgasm with enough wetness and friction—but physical pleasure without its emotional counterpart only does so much. And then he falls in love with you. 🥺💙 He falls in love with how delicately you kiss the tops of his shoulder, across his collarbones, tongue swirling in the hollow of his throat. Falls in love with how easily you raise goosebumps on his forearms, his thighs, your fingertips grazing lightly—teasingly—along the seams of his clothing, toying with the buttons on his shirt, the zipper on his pants, not willing to undress him unless he begs. In love with how begging means catching your wrists and holding them above your head, brought to neediness by your tender ministrations, safe enough to seek his own desires in the heat of your breathlessness. “I want to cum,” he whispers gruffly, your pulse warm in his palms, “So help me.”

Foreplay?

Giyuu thoroughly enjoys foreplay, to the extent that he has trouble lasting through it. 😅 He actually fares better when you go down on him, because he can guide your movements and pace. His large hands—normally cool to the touch and tender in their intentions—firmly cup your nape, sweaty and needy as your hair tangles soft between his fingers. When you choke on the sensation of his cock nudging against the back of your throat, he can only whimper and groan, hips chasing the quiver and wetness of your breath, grip ensuring you remain planted between his thighs. And when he’s close to cumming? He’s strong enough to gently tug you away from him, your lips shiny and insatiable, a low whine kissing his skin as you pout. But when he goes down on you? That same attention dissipates. Lost in the heat and clench of your thighs, the ache in his scalp as you cling to his hair, the incoherent babble of pleasure spilling from your mouth while you tremble and arch before him… is it really his fault for cumming with you? 🙃 After all, you didn’t stop him from thrusting his hips into the mattress, the edge of the couch, his own fist, as he flicked his tongue over your clit. You didn’t stop him as he whispered about how Beautiful, Stunning, Divine, Fuck… I think I’m gonna cum… you were, your moans rising in pitch as you met his dazed expression, his eyes dark and determined, the tip of his nose glistening with your essence. You didn’t stop him as his body shuddered before you, his cum splurting sticky and pearlescent, the taste of your orgasm gushing tart and warm onto his tongue.

Goofy? their sense of humor

In the beginning, Giyuu’s uber serious… mostly because he’s worried about dying of embarrassment should he fumble while trying to get/keep you in the mood. 🫠 That’s not to say he’s incapable of smiling! He doesn’t want you to think he’s having a terrible time either. 🥴 But gosh forbid he accidentally fart, or nudge himself against the wrong hole, or elbow you in the face, or- 😭 Eventually, however, he slips into a deeper comfort and trust with you, which inevitably leads to him smooshing your hair, chuckling when you queef, and taking a breather when you become literally tangled in the sheets (you can’t stop laughing, and he somehow finds himself grinning adoringly at you vs running out the door in mortification). 🥺

Hair? pubes maintenance

Giyuu keeps himself well groomed due more to habit and personal comfort, but hey — you benefit too! Plus, you know you’ve reached peak closeness when you’re showering together and you randomly ask, “My love, could I trim your pubes tonight?” and instead of shoving you out of the shower, curtain rod and all, he just blushes a deep red and mutters, “Yeah, okay.” 😶

Intimacy? their degree of intimacy

Intimacy and Giyuu are a complicated duo. 😅 On one hand, Giyuu definitely isn’t casual; casual and physical closeness, casual and feelings, casual and sex, are not how he prefers to pair such concepts. But intimacy is difficult for him too, because intimacy means trusting, and trusting means revealing his nakedness — not just undressing his lover. While you know from the get go that you aren’t just a one night stand, friends with benefits, or connected in some other vaguely defined manner, you also initially aren’t entirely sure exactly how deeply rooted his intentions and desires are. After all, he’s shy about meeting your gaze, keeps the lights dim, and hardly moans or closes his eyes… until you finally, finally ask him about it. “Giyuu, what am I to you?” 🥺 “I don’t understand.” 🙃 “I… well, I feel like when we have sex, you make love to me, but I somehow can’t make love to you.” He doesn’t properly answer you, seconds from dreamland after tiredly wiping his cum off your thighs 😴, but he was listening, and the next time he finds himself sliding slowly into you, he cracks a smile—rather than glance away—when you catch him in his contented daze. 💓

Jack Off? masturbation

Giyuu goes through phases of jerking off every day of the week to not touching himself for upwards of a month. There’s no pattern to the duration or frequency of each phase, and he doesn’t really consciously think about it either. Sometimes he’s horny, and other times he’s just not. That being said, solo masturbation and sexual acts with others (others being you) are separate entities to him. Whether he just came that same morning, or hasn’t cum alone in a couple of weeks, he’s always more than willing to feel your pretty cunt (or throat, or hands, because he’s not about to be picky) flutter and squeeze around his cock.

Kink? ~specific turn ons

Lace. 😍 Giyuu knows lace is often rough and uncomfortable 🥲, but there’s just something divine about seeing your breasts in lace and satin; about running calloused palms up your scantily clad thighs (if you ever want to buy a(nother) garter, then Giyuu will always hand you his credit card — no questions asked 😌), snapping your frilly waistband against your plush, warm hips; lapping at the delicate material covering your nipples till they’re perky and damp, gushing about You’re absolutely stunning and Can’t decide if I’d rather fuck you with these beautiful panties on or off. Sometimes, he’ll literally stop and stare (or make you ~model for him 😵‍💫), breath caught in his chest at how perfectly the floral embroidery matches your eyes; at how ethereal and whimsical you appear, the facade of angelic elegance dissipating as you perch on all fours before him, teasing fingers tugging at the sorry excuse of a string between your cheeks. “The longer you wait, the more likely I am to ruin these panties,” you purr, craning your neck to stare over your shoulder at his awestruck expression, “You wouldn’t want that, hm? Wouldn’t want me to have to buy a new set of lace for you?” Spoiler alert: of course he wants you to buy another set of lace for him 😖, but he quite likes your current set too 🥴, so he’s quick to lean over you, mouth messy and hot as he kisses you thoroughly, clever hand slipping underneath you to cup and knead your tit while his other maintains his balance on the mattress.

Location? where they prefer to have sex

Call him basic, but Giyuu likes having sex in bed. 🤗 It’s comfortable, safe, and a sturdy headboard (+ a couple of velcro straps and/or handcuffs) can make it not-so-vanilla too. He’s the reason you have so many pillows, because while he’s okay with taking one for the team and sleeping in any cum spots 🫡, he refuses to sleep on a stained pillow (understandable 😝). As a man who gets extra sleepy after sex, changing sheets/pillowcases usually isn’t in the cards for him, so he’d rather just have plenty of pillows and swap them out when necessary.

Motivation? ~general turn ons

Being nice to him. Giyuu’s got a bit of a praise kink, albeit less so that he’ll get go from zero to erection emergency zone if you compliment him 😆, and more so that he remembers your kindness and attentiveness throughout the day, and returns your care and affection tenfold at night 😉. He also appreciates clean and tidy nails, genuine smiles (although your fake laughter—when not targeted at him—does make him chuckle 🫢), and when you playfully tug his hair to redirect his focus. “Oi, babe, I said left,” you huff amusedly, pointing across the street. He nods slowly, smirking faintly as he promptly continues heading in the wrong direction (if only to get you to tug on his hair again 😌).

No? turn offs

Giyuu’s pretty flexible. 😌 He can be kinky (after reading a dozen or so ~articles about how exactly to go about exploring X kink), he can be vanilla, but he isn’t into cheating/cuckolding. 😓 Not even for a roleplay scenario. He could be (pretty easily) discussed into having a threesome, or simply a voyeuristic counterpart 👀, but No. Cheating. He trusts that you love him, and he knows he loves you, but it just feels a lil too real to even think about, let alone play out. 😕

Oral? giver or receiver

Giyuu tends to be the receiver, because he has a 50/50 chance of lasting through foreplay whenever he’s the giver. 😶 That being said, he doesn’t exactly have a ~preference, and definitely doesn’t perceive giving oral sex to be a chore, annoying, or tiresome — he just doesn’t want to disappoint you by cumming too soon should you still desire penetrative sex after oral sex.

Position? their favorite position(s)

Doggystyle, because Giyuu can’t get enough of hearing his thighs slap against yours. 🫢 From cupping the tops of your thighs and pulling your body toward him to both steady himself and fuck deeper into your cunt, to gripping the inside of your thighs to spread your legs farther apart while spitting lazily on your back Fuck, so fucking filthy for me, to listening to how sweaty and eager you are as your skin clings and claps to his, doggystyle is easily his favorite. A close second, when either of you are feeling too lazy for doggystyle, would be missionary, because once again, Giyuu can use your thighs to pull you closer and spread you wider (and his spit + your boobs = ✨shiny boobs✨).

Quickie? a fan or not-a-fan

Giyuu isn’t a huge fan of quickies (not enough time to devour you whole), but your first few times together were quick nonetheless. 😏💀 After he’s gotten over his initial awe (let’s be honest tho — he never really gets over it 😍), he’s better about not ~accidentally making everything a quickie 😝, but you lowkey still have him wrapped around your finger. 😇 In other words, Giyuu doesn’t like ‘em, but you have the power to create them whenever you so desire. 😎😂

Risk? their risk tolerance

Low risk tolerance. 🙃 In theory, Giyuu isn’t against sexual risk taking (i.e. semi public sex), but in practice, he gets too flustered-embarrassed-mortified-at-the-thought-of-being-caught 🫣 to actually follow through. If you casually mention how hot it would be If you pressed me up against this wall and slipped your hand under my skirt to feel how wet I am, then he’ll do the press-you-up-against-the-wall part 😏, but will shakily vice grip the hem of your skirt, unable to continue (he wants to 😭, but just can’t 🥴).

Stamina?

In terms of how long Giyuu can fuck you in a single position before his muscles give out? He has practically unlimited stamina. 😎 His lanky, lithe physique isn’t purely for show y’know! 😉 It’s for holding you up against a wall, cock thrusting upward into your dripping cunt as your nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders, his face buried in your neck as he focuses intently on the slick, lewd sound of his balls tapping your pretty asshole. And for holding you up above him while you straddle his hips, your legs cramping from exhaustion—Aw darling, can’t ride me any longer?—adoration in his eyes as he begins fucking roughly into your pussy, delirious on how willingly you allow him to pleasure your body. However, in terms of how long Giyuu can fuck you before he cums? … … … he’s working on it. 🫠 That being said, he makes up for premature orgasms with potential quantity! 😏 If you’re feeling especially horny, then he can usually manage an orgasm morning, noon, and night 🥰 — just don’t expect much out of him the following day. 😵‍💫😂

Toys?

Giyuu might be a lil jealous of them. 🤪 Not actually, he’s not that insecure of himself and your relationship… but you could totally rile him up by starting without him, winking exaggeratedly with your favorite vibrator grazing your clit as he walks into the bedroom, giggling when he promptly plops onto the bed beside you, still fully clothed, hand nudging you and your toy out of his way as he grumbles halfheartedly, “So I guess I didn’t need to hurry up the stairs after all, you’ve got everything taken care of.” 😔 Your failsafe solution? Gently grasp his noticeable bulge, and declare, “Clearly not everything, seeing as I’ve yet to solve this problem.” 😌😉😏😎 Will he cringe at your cheesiness? Yes. 🥴 Will he also frantically begin unzipping and kicking off his pants? Also yes. 😳

Unfair? how they feel about teasing/being teased

Tease at your own discretion, because Giyuu can not handle it. 😃 He enjoys it! But his imagination does wonders at filling in the blanks you’re leaving, and if you’re not careful, then he might just spill over before you’re ready! 😅 Teasing you goes pretty much the same, because as much as he tries to convince himself that you’re the one he’s edging, truly, he’s edging both of you, and he’s too in love with you to not succumb to his own delicate, torturous charm. 🙃💞

Volume?

Quiet and breathy, or desperate and babbling, with no in between. Push him far enough, and he’ll murmur filth nonstop (most of it incoherent 😅) until he’s shaking and cumming, or bask in the soft glow of his occasional grunts and low hisses. Sex in the morning is usually near silent, but sex in the evening frequently brings out the singular, guttural groan that always accompanies his hardest orgasms.

Wild Card?

On rare occasions, Giyuu rims you. The stuttered, needy whine, and the feeling of your pussy tightening around his cock, whenever he brushes the pad of his thumb over your asshole do not go unnoticed by him, so he can only imagine how sensitive and gorgeous you would feel and sound if the tip of his tongue replaced his wandering hands — and he’s proven ~right when he rims you for the first time, and you practically wail at the hot wetness of his mouth. So good for me, letting me eat your pretty ass he rasps, spit bridging from his chin to your ass cheeks, your thighs quivering in his grip, drooling onto your pillow as you rock your hips backward toward his slick, skillful tongue What a fucking treat, getting to taste you here.

X-ray?

Giyuu’s cock is pretty. 7” erect, somewhat slim, with a fat and squishy tip that beads precum like it’s modeling for an advertisement. Its length always catches you off guard because it doesn’t look especially big (think cute twink vs beefy jock), but as he slowly pushes himself in a couple inches, pulls out till his tip catches at your entrance, and then slowly pushes himself in a couple inches farther than before, you can’t help but gasp. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, voice low and thick in his throat, eyes gleaming as he watches himself disappear into your luscious cunt, your body presented to him so stunning on your chest and knees. “Fuck,” is your graceful response, face buried in the mattress, back arching forward with every shallow thrust, “So deep.” He’d chuckle at your cliche whimper if he wasn’t so focused on not cumming, his hands cupping your hips in an attempt to handle you tenderly, the desperate clinging of your walls sucking away his self control as he slips farther, farther, deeper into your heat.

Yearning? sex drive

Horny, and by horny, I mean 24/7. Giyuu’s so used to it though (the perpetual state of being borderline turned on), that it doesn’t exactly feel like horny. He could fuck whenever (albeit, not necessarily wherever), but doesn’t need to (he’s a grown man y’know, he has ~some control 😉). This is a problem at first, because he refrains from initiating (afraid of scaring you away with his sex drive 😬)—to the point where you worry that you’re pressuring him into being physically intimate—but as soon as you communicate your concern, he’s quick (and embarrassed 😶) to assure you that I’m horny all the time. Do you want me to fuck you all the time? 😐 You might jokingly say Duh!, but his sentiment registers nonetheless. ☺️

Zzz?

🎵out like a light🎶 Morning sex? Giyuu’s taking a five minute power nap. 😴 Afternoon sex? Giyuu’s taking a thirty minute cat nap. 😴 Evening sex? Giyuu’s going to sleep. 😴 He does his best to check in with you vs straight up knocking out, but unless something urgent arises (i.e. intense feelings, physical pains, etc), he’s not someone to rely on after he cums. Of course, he can ~technically orgasm and then continue his day without conking out, but his resulting moodiness/distractedness takes a while to wear off whenever that happens.

#milestone event #20.0 #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #tomioka x reader #water hashira #headcanons #modern au #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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nomazee · 7 months ago

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hello, could I request a model! Dan Heng x fashion designer! Reader? Here’s some keywords if they might help, tiredness, praise, warmth, try-on. The timestamp is 17:57, thank you so much!

as always i had too much fun with this... i love the idea of model dan heng but i still made him an awkward wet rag in this one (because i love him) THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

You greet Dan Heng with your usual warm smile and a “hey, love” that never fails to fluster him. He’s heard it from you a handful of times now, visiting your studio a few times a week at your request for fittings and some brainstorming sessions. He thinks that the frequency and timing of his visits is definitely unnecessary from a professional standpoint, but he’s not planning on bringing that up any time soon. Not when your hands are so kind, light on his shoulders as you guide him through your studio.

“I started on the pieces that I showed you the sketches for, um, last week, was it? I’m kind of losing track of time.” Dan Heng wouldn’t tell you out loud, but he can tell. There’s a huge table in the center of the room, and he can barely see its surface beneath all the cut fabric and tracing paper and tangled thread from your serger. For someone working under deadline after deadline, you’re handling yourself better than he would, but he still can’t help the heat of concern flickering in the crease of his brow.

This is your debut show, he knows as much. So he won’t meddle with your workflow. Only hope that you can somehow pick up the signals that he’s sending you to please sit down and maybe drink water?

“I need you to try them on,” you tell him, a gentle command as you hand him a hanger draped in silky fabrics and delicate laces. “There’s pants and a lace shirt. I’ll turn around while you change, but you need to be wearing pretty much nothing underneath these, if that’s okay. And then I’ll hem your pants—let me get you some shoes…” you’re trailing off, passing the clothes to him before turning around in a rush to find him a pair of heeled boots.

The fabric is— it’s nice. The pants are some kind of silky, lustrous material, dark blue and cool on his skin, and the shirt is embarrassingly sheer but you’ve seen him in and out of clothes in the last month often enough that he can’t really be too sheepish about it now. What does make him flush, however, is the look on your face as you turn around to stare at him, black heeled shoes forgotten in your hands as your eyes flit across Dan Heng’s form.

He can hear the soft breaths that you take, no more labored than usual, but it feels so intimate and so quiet that his palms grow damp. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he waits for you to— say something, anything, tell him to take it off and go home or maybe stay, instead. The back of his neck feels itchy and he’s pretty sure you haven’t blinked yet.

“The, um. It looks…” you’re trailing off, again, but you’re also walking towards him until you’re so close he can hear your breathing even more distinctly than before, along with the rustling of your own clothes as you lift up a hand to play with the ornamented collar of his shirt. “The color is nice on you. It’s different from the other pieces I’ve made you try, right?”

Dan Heng only has enough strength to nod in response, the rest of his energy taken away by the feeling of your finger tips on the soft, pliant skin beneath his jaw. He’s sweating— so much, it must be gross, but he can see you chewing the inside of your cheek as you drag your fingers to the seam on the shoulder.

“I was thinking a sash around the waist, but I don’t think it suits this outfit. Maybe I can add something like that to the pieces from last week, though.” And you’re back to your usual self, much to his dismay. Your rambling is endearing and tender, but your previously weighted gaze has now lightened, focused on the waist of his pants and the hand-sewn hook-and-bar closure, and Dan Heng misses having it trained on him. You’ve never been this close, this warm, this focused on him in particular, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight the urge to take your hands between his own.

“Dan Heng,” you say his name, breaking him out of his anxious reverie with a quiet call. “You have a lot on your plate for this show. You have three outfit changes, which can be a lot, but I know you’re capable. Do you know you’re capable?”

He wants to say this is silly, that you’re the last person who should be telling anybody else that they have a lot on their plate, considering that you’re sewing more than a dozen garments all on your own, with no assistants besides your in-and-out mentors who rarely find time to help. He says none of that, though, because your gaze is trained on his again and he’s busy hoping you don’t notice all the little involuntary twitches in his face.

“Yeah, I’m— I know.”

You smile, again, something saccharine and addictive and he wants to chase it, over and over and over. “Good. You’re my favorite model, you know. It’s important that you’re ready.”

Dan Heng could say a million things. He could say this is unprofessional, or joke and say that he’s currently one of your only models, or tell you that he’s always ready as long as he’s wearing something put together by you and your hands alone. Instead, he nods like a fool, stumbling over a weak “okay” and trying to ignore the way his stomach twists when you laugh a little.

“I’ll be doing your makeup for the show, too. I hope you don’t mind that. I just wanted to do something specific for you,” and it’s hit after hit with you, and his throat squeezes again because you’re still smiling and talking all about him like he’s your prized gift, and he really really doesn’t hate it. “You trust me with an eyeliner pen, right?”

His mouth is dry, but he forces himself to joke back before you kick him out for being so awkward. “I trust you with a needle more than I trust you with a makeup brush.” And you laugh, and his stomach still hurts but the tightness of his mouth loosens up into a diffident smile. It’s just a joke, really, because he wouldn’t mind you handling a brush against his face, or the gentle press of your fingers on his cheeks and on top of his eyelids, or the awestruck look you give him every time he tries something on, or the weight of your hands on his shoulders when you drag him around your studio.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dan heng x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #i have been progressively going more and more over the 1k word limit i set for myself

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reallyromealone · 1 year ago

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Dazai a/b/o family thing with male reader who is prego and Dazai gets a call from his work that male reader is going into labor and hightails it to the hospital to be able to watch his baby be born and watches as his mate and baby snuggle in their sleep and he takes so many fucking pictures and is just gone for the next few days and then comes back with the smuggest but genuine smile ever

Ohohohohoo

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷

Mornings were always slow in the Dazai household, the brunette wandering out of the bathroom to see his mate preparing coffee and (pregnancy friendly drink) "you should be resting" Dazai gently wrapped his hands around his mate, wrapped fingers tracing patterns on the others large belly and kissed his mating mark "your pup is awake so I'm awake" (name) said simply and Osamu smiled "he's not causing problems is he?"

"No he's just energetic like you" (name) teased causing the Alpha to smile "now eat and drink your coffee, I don't need a call about you being late" (name) instructs and dazai chuckled "yes~yes~"

Dazai savoured his mates meals, something he wouldn't trade for anything.

(Name) was his reason for living.

He saved him.

(Name) knew what he did and who he was and loved him regardless.

"Here's your lunch, come home to me" (name) said lovingly as Dazai put on his coat, kissing his mate goodbye before going off about his day.

Dazai was a smug bastard with his love life and constantly rubbed it in Kunikidas face that he had a wonderful mate who was everything and more.

"He made me a lunch~" dazai said flaunting the adorable Bento with all the fixings and put it in the fridge "he's so wonderful~"

(Name) puttered around the house, he was on maternity leave (dazai wanted to join him but (name) knew he would get restless) as the assistant to Yosano and frankly bored to no end.

"Oh-- did I?...shit" (name) went through a few stages before realizing what was happen, his water breaking "damn it" (name) hissed as a contraction rolled through him.

"Oi! Dazai answer your phone" Ranpo yelled out as he ate his snacks and dazai grabbed his cellphone "hey baby, miss--" dazai went quiet before getting up and walking to Fukuzawas office, the team confused as the two left the building.

(Name) called an ambulance and tried not panicking without his alpha, instincts going Haywire as unfamiliar alphas were around him.

Dazai rushed to the hospital with his father-in-law and rushing to (name)s room to see (name) pacing around as a contraction rolled through "oh thank -FUCK- you two are here" (name) said as the two alphas fretted over him.

9 pounds was what his pup weighed.

Dazai and Fukuzawa took countless photos, Fukuzawa comforting his kid "you did good" he said to (name) who was ready to pass out.

Eventually the older alpha left the new parents to go get (name) water, dazai helping (name) so he could feed their tiny bundle of joy "they're perfect" (name) said "I have a name idea..." (Name) mumbled and Dazai looked curious but let him continue "Sakunosuke"

Dazai was quiet, (name) looking at their pup while he fed "do you --" looking up he saw something he only saw a few times.

Dazai crying.

"I love you..."

Dazai was gone for at least a week before returning to work, (name) being checked on by his dad.

"That smug bastard"

Dazai set photos of his pup on his desk, a shit eating grin and a smug energy.

"My pup is the cutest~" dazai said dramatically but the others could see the loving and fond look in his eyes.

They let him have this... For now.

#male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #bsd x male reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x male reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x male reader #dazai x reader

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gtsdreamer2 · 9 months ago

Text

Ever since your dad walked out on your family, you felt like you had a responsibility to your mom and sister to be the man of the house. You worked hard, studied hard, went to college while working a job that helped pay the bills, and it all paid off. You used your degree to dive into the tech industry and become a great inventor. Some of your inventions were taking off, and you were finally starting to see the fruits of your labor. That also meant that you could delegate some of your work to others now, which granted you enough free time to be able to work on pet projects and spoil your girlfriend, Katy. Sometimes, those two things coincided.

After a few tireless weeks of working 'round the clock in secret, you had finally finished your girlfriend's present. She was a retro soul with a 70s aesthetic, so you made her a special lava lamp. It was special because you had engineered some of your new tech into it. Katy had always had a waifish figure since you had known her, which, although you loved her just the same for it, made her very self-conscious both in the bedroom and out in public. The lamp that you had produced just for her was designed to emit special waves of energy to both grow her lacking assets and instill confidence in her, both through temporary mental manipulation and a renewed pride in her physical appearance.

You finally got home with your new toy when you got a ping on your phone to go out for drinks with your boys. 'What the hell, why not? I've been working my ass off. I deserve this.' you thought to yourself, setting the lamp on the kitchen counter before quickly changing and speeding off to the bars. Slamming the door as your left, you woke your sleeping mom, Cindy.

She came downstairs and into the kitchen and spotted the lamp on the counter. "Well this is cool. I haven't seen one of these in years!" She said, picking it up and examining it. "I bet Jake got it for me since my birthday is coming up. He definitely wouldn't have gotten this for himself. I'm so excited to set it up. It'll make a nice night light." Your mom scampered back up the stairs with the lamp and a glass of water in hand. She quickly downed her refreshment and plugged in the lamp, setting it on the dresser on the far side of the room before switching it on.

As it heated up, a warm glow filled the room. "Wow, it's giving off a lot of heat. I probably won't be able to use this in the summer, but its very comforting right now. As the lamp got hotter, so did your mom as she got cozy in bed. She dozed off while staring at the lamp's memorizing lava bubbles.

She couldn't remember her dreams, but they must have been wonderful. Cindy awoke with her panties soaked and wedged tightly against herself. She moaned and stretched, feeling a strange tightness all across her sleepwear. As she tossed and turned, trying to get her clothes to adjust, her nipples brushed the soft fabric of her PJs and elicited another, more sexual moan from her lips. She hadn't felt this turned on in years. It was like a long dormant fire had been lit. Turning on her side, Cindy put her legs around one of the extra pillows on the bed and started to aggressively hump herself to climax, biting her blanket to stifle her whimpers of pleasure all the while. Her sensitive nipples ached to be teased as she bucked. She eagerly obliged them as she snaked a hand under her top. She was so lost in her trance that she almost didn't realize that she was grabbing more breast than she should have had. Cindy was far too lost in pleasure at that moment as she humped and groped her sensitive body until she finally came hard into the pillow that she was abusing.

Sweat-speckled and panting, she finally released the poor pillow, covered with the evidence of your mom's much needed release. 'That was amazing.' She thought to herself, still trying to collect herself as she stood up from the bed. Her clothing still felt wrong on her as she made her way to the full body mirror in the bathroom.

As she looked herself up and down in the mirror, her jaw dropped. Her tits had grown. Her ass had plumped. Her head was slightly outside the frame of the mirror which was never an issue before this moment. "This is a lot." She said to herself, trying to take it all in. "I'm...a lot. I need coffee."

Cindy forced her soaked panties off her and discarded them into her laundry bin. She replaced them with a fresh pair that seemed to strain against the might of her new rear, but they fit, for now. A bra was out of the question, so she threw on a sweater by itself and then a part of leggings that couldn't cover her ankles and made her ass perk even higher. Checking herself out in the mirror again, she felt a wave of confidence as she tossed her sex hair from side to side. "I feel amazing this morning." She whispered before heading downstairs.

You awoke on your friend's couch, your natural body clock telling you that it was time to get up for work. "Shit." You cursed under your breath. You must have gotten too wasted last night. You pulled yourself together and got your things as quick as you could. You checked your phone and realized that you wouldn't have time to go home and would have to go straight to work. You wouldn't be home until late either. Sighing, you forced yourself out of your friend's house and into your car and then off to work.

Your sister came downstairs to find your mom humming to herself while doing the morning chores. She was loading the dishwasher, finishing breakfast, and sipping her coffee. She seemed different. Not just happier and peppier, but less...mom-like. She couldn't put her finger on it. "You're in a good mood this morning." She said. Sitting down to be served. Cindy quickly placed the spread before her.

"I know!" Your mom beamed back at your sister, Destiny, sitting down with her own, overloaded plate of food. "I feel amazing this morning." She dug into her breakfast, far more ravenously than she normally would have. She blamed it on the calories burned from touching herself that morning, conveniently trying to block out the obvious answer, which was that her increased assets caused the calorie deficit. Destiny sat there in disbelief of Cindy as the massive plate of food disappeared. She had no time to gawk as she had to get her things and get to her classes, however. Destiny said her goodbyes and left your mom home alone and to her own devices.

After clearing her plate and helping herself to everything that was leftover, she finally felt satisfied. She continued with her daily chores, cleaning around the house, vacuuming, tidying up the bathroom, normal motherly duties. Around midday, she finally started to feel sluggish and tired and returned to her room for an afternoon nap. That's when she remembered the lamp. "Oops" she said to no one. "I forgot to turn this off. Reaching for the lamp, she felt the warmth kiss her fingers before moving up her arm and then through her chest. Her nipples awoke and grew hard, pressing against her already too tight top. Instead of turning the lamp off, she instead put both her hands on it and lifted it up, holding it close to her chest. The warm feeling that had already started to completely envelop her intensified and she cooed at the feeling filling her body. As her body drank in the heat that was radiating from her new luminant gift, she could feel herself growing. Suddenly her nether regions had started to produce a heat of their own and she was reminded of the fun that she had gotten to have with herself that morning. Cindy then had a devilish idea. She unplugged the lamp from the outlet on the far wall and replugged it into the one by her nightstand. Peeling off her shrinking clothing, she crawled into bed and switched the lamp back on She sat with her back resting up against the headboard and her legs spread open and her feet touching In the center she placed the lamp, mere inches from her hungry snatch. Then as she was basking in the glow, she again began to pleasure herself. Cindy had no need to hold back her cries and moans in an empty house, so as she rubbed her needy clit, she wailed in ecstasy for the first time in countless years. Orgasm after orgasm shook through her as her growing body continued to become more and more sensitive.

"Fuck!" she cried out as another climax and subsequent growth spurt rattled through her. "Why does this feel so good? I just want more and more and more! There's no way this should be happening." Not that she was keeping track of how big she was growing, but she had long left the six foot mark behind. If she had kept her clothing on, it would have started ripping itself apart from her body by now. Groping her giant tits, she couldn't help but smile. "These have grown so huge! So big and sensitive! And my nipples!" She tugged on each of them in turn then, not daring to take a hand away from her needy needy cunt. With each buck of her hips, she could feel her feet sliding further and further towards the edge of the bed and then beyond as her head pressed up against and then crept up the headboard. She could feel her pillowy ass jiggle and bounce against the bed as her leg muscles continued to thicken. After what felt like her twentieth finish, her body was finally satisfied and she passed out, the lamp tipping forward and delicately landing between her lips. As she slept, the energy from the lamp poured into her, forcing her bigger and bigger in her sleep.

Work finally ended and you were heading home. You felt behind the whole day and had hardly a moment to yourself to think. Throwing your keys on the counter, they landed right where the lamp should have been. Immediately you were wide awake, mind racing. 'I forgot all about the lamp, fuck.' You thought frantically. 'There's no way that someone plugged it in right?' You crept down the hall to your sister's room first. Slowing cracking open her door, nothing seemed out of place. You gave a sigh of relief and shut her door.

Next came your mom's room. As you quietly opened her door, your heart immediately sank. She was naked in her bed and at least eight feet tall by now. Both hands gripping the lamp as she rhythmically humped against it in her sleep. You were horrified, but it was also hard to look away. Her body was producing dangerous pheromones, just like the lamp was designed to do. Luckily, you knew this and were conscious of them. As you snuck up to the side of her bed, the pheromones grew stronger. You quickly unplugged the lamp and the room darkened slightly, now only lit from the setting sun outside. You held your breath as you slipped the lamp out of her hands, careful not to wake her. Exiting the room, you finally let out a frustrated sigh and an audible "fuck" as your sister was closing the front door.

"Woah, what's the problem?" She said, immediately noticing that something was off. She set her school stuff down and walked over to you.

"It's mom. She took this" You said gesturing to the lamp in your hands "and now she's like eight feet tall."

"Well that's...something" Your sister says, clearly lost. "What's 'this'" she said pointing to what looked to her like a relic from the 70s.

"'This' is a present for Katy, but I had to run off to work this morning after being out all night. I guess mom took it to bed and plugged it in." You let out another exasperated sigh. "Katy is on her way here right now to come pick this up, but I need to go back to my lab to get what I need to fix mom. Hopefully before she wakes up. Can I trust you to hold onto it while I'm gone and give it to my girlfriend? I don't need mom waking up and using it again. It seems like it can get pretty addicting pretty quickly based on her size. Maybe it works a little too well. I think I'll grab some supplies to recalibrate it for Katy before I let her use it." You were talking to yourself at this point.

"I don't really know what's going on since she seemed pretty normalish this morning, but sure bro!" She said eager to help. "I promise I wont let mom use it while you're gone. You should hurry though, I don't know how long she's been asleep. And if she's eight feet tall, I don't think I'd be able to stop her anyway. You better fix this."

You pushed the lamp into her arms and quickly left for your lab, leaving your sister alone with your sleeping colossus of a mother. Setting the lamp on the counter, your sister crept over to your mom's room and cracked the door open. "Holy shit," she whispered, "she's huge!" Silently closing the door, Destiny quickly scooped the lamp up and brought it to her room, where she promptly undressed and plugged it into her nightstand. Sitting on her bed, she held the lamp between her petite breasts as it began to produce heat. "Come on, come on. I don't have much time before Katy gets here. I wanna grow, too. Make me bigger!"

#gts #giantess #size kink #sizetumblr #macro #minigiantess #growth #gts writing #g/t writing

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manias-wordcount · 1 month ago

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Too Sweet (Satoru Gojo)

Kinktober 2024 Day One: Licking

[𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪 𝗢𝗙 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗘 𝗔𝗨]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You learned very early on to let him do his own thing.

It’s not that you mind or anything. Because, in all honesty, you don’t. You love him, after all. But you just can’t keep up. You tried to at first. You really did. You tried to follow his mind. Keep pace. Meet him where he’s at. But Satoru Gojo is special, for lack of a better word. He’s unpredictable. Fun and thrilling, sure. But you can never know his next move. You never know what he’s gonna say and when. You never know when he’s going to pull you to the side or his office or some other place and keep you occupied for a long, long, long time. But you’ve learned not to be surprised about.

That’s why you weren’t surprised today when he appeared out of the blue with a grin on his face.

You were overseeing some work for him. Just some light supervising work when he snuck behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. You couldn’t help but smile and giggle and laugh as he peppered your neck in small kisses and spoke about how he missed you. You smiled and giggled and laughed so much that you didn’t have the time or energy or chance to remind him that the two of you saw each other just this morning- right when you woke up side by side.

But pressing you up against him wasn’t enough for him.

You realized that fairly quickly when you found his touches growing less innocent and his breathing growing more labored. But you’ve been around long enough to expect what would happen when he reached his breaking point. And sure enough, it happened. All too suddenly, you found yourself being dragged away from your post and being pulled down and away from work. Through hallways. Past doorways. Down corridors. Left turns. Right turns. Until finally, you stepped into his office.

Where he promptly turned around and locked the door. And pounced.

You recall his kisses tasting just like candy and being a little greedy, despite the fact that he almost always has you all to himself now that you work beside him. There’s no one he really has to worry about stealing you away from him. There are very few things and people in your life that require your attention nowadays too. But that didn’t stop him slipping his tongue between your lips and moaning desperately against your mouth. That didn’t stop him from gripping your waist tightly and rutting sporadically against your thigh.

And that certainly didn’t stop him from eventually propping you up on his desk and spreading your legs while his tongue found its way into places that weren’t your mouth.

“S-Satoru…!” Your whimper came out quietly as you gripped onto his shirt. Things had quickly escalated from making out and some heavy petting before you could even bat eyes. But that’s just who he is- that’s just who you have to work with. But even so, you still find yourself struggling to breathe. Struggling to keep up. Struggling to follow. Because one minute you’re standing right in front of him with your hand rubbing his cock through his trousers and letting him fondle your ass all he wants. The next minute, your panties are being stuffed in his pocket, his fingers are being stuffed inside your pussy, and he’s lapping at the sweat building on your neck like it’s fresh water- prime for drinking. “What are you doing? That’s weird! Don’t lick right-”

“Mmm,” He cuts you off with a hum and a lazy smile as he brings his head away from your neck. Just for a moment. But in that moment, you can see as clear as day that he’s enjoying himself. That he’s proud of himself. It’s all in the way that his perfect blue eyes go half-lidded with pleasure as he periodically pumps two fingers inside of you in a constant scissoring motion. Stretching you out and playing with your warm, wet insides. It’s all in the way that he doesn’t even bother wiping away the drool trickling out of the corner of your now-swollen lips. Instead, he lets his tongue dart out and lick at his lips in a slow, seductive, and almost cruelly hot manner before he leans in and does the exact same for you. “Can’t help it. You taste too good. Too sweet.”

You whine at that because you don’t exactly know what it is that you should be saying. But all you know is that it’s embarrassing. He's embarrassing. You hadn’t even realized you worked up a sweat before your boyfriend had wounded you up so tight and helped you out of your clothes. But you didn’t think about it much more than that. Because when you love someone, you do the work for them. You get happy when they pull you into their office in the middle of the day because they just couldn’t keep their hands off for long enough. You drink in all their attention and affection and offer some of your own back. But most of all, you won't care about the puddles of sweat building on their skin when you go to reach out for them. Because no matter how "gross" it gets, you know only more is going to build up on their skin. Because you’ll do the work for them. Because you’ll put in the work for them.

But with Satoru, he’s always been different. He’s always been all that and more. But he’s definitely been different. Still, you couldn’t help but be surprised when you felt his tongue travel a little lower than your neck. It’s soft as it pressed against your skin, leaving wet trails of his saliva in his wake. Against your shoulder blades. On the underside of your breasts. Around your pretty and perky and now sensitive nipples. Before traveling even lower than that.

His tongue is able to find its way just about anywhere. It’s something he’s never shown much interest in before. Something he hasn’t really talked about either. But his movements seemed so practiced. He seemed so sure of himself. There was no hesitation when his tongue started trailing its way down, down, down your stomach. There was no pause even as he explored new heights for the both of you.

And it took a couple attempts of swatting his head away for him to get the message of the fact that the absolute last place you want your particularly freaky boyfriend to be sticking his tongue inside of your belly button. But he was more than okay with just leaving that spot with a few extra kisses before moving on to lick at the space between your inner thighs. And you were okay with that too. Because you had felt the miraculous combination that was his fingers inside of you and his tongue lapping at your clit like it was his favorite lollipop before. And because of that, you swear you know what it’s like to see stars.

But he didn’t just stay there either. No, instead he was using his tongue all up and down your body. Licking and kissing at all the random spots that he had access to on your body. All up and down your thighs. Around your hips. Around your waist. Your chin and neck and chest and arms and fingers and just about everything. Even at one point, you found him alternating between kissing your ankle and licking the bottom of your foot over and over and over again. Much to your confusion. And much to his almost sick and twisted pleasure.

Because although the fingers stuffed inside your cunt were doing a good job at making your mind go a little dumb at certain moments, you were aware enough to know that he seemed happy. He seemed eager. No- more than that. You know that he's happy. You know that he's eager. He wears that badge of his proudly. He wears the fact that he can pleasure you so easily while having his own ways to get off with a sense of pride that one might find obnoxious. But you don’t find it to be that way. You don’t.

You’re far too wrapped up in just how good he makes you feel, despite any lingering feelings of embarrassment. So much so that you couldn’t really do anything but squeal and grab fistfuls of his pretty white hair as he fingerfucked towards an orgasm and let him do what he wants. Because you learned that lesson a long time ago. Let me do what he wants. Let him do his own thing. Because when he does his own thing?

“Fuck- you’re sweeter than any piece of candy I’ve ever had.”

He’s happy. So, so, so very happy. Because he gets to indulge. He gets to enjoy his favorite things. He gets to compliment his pretty little girlfriend and lick her all over while she squirms in front of him because the way his fingers stuff themselves inside her is too much for her to form a coherent thought in her mind. He gets to do all this. He gets to do all of this to you. And that’s the type of sweet treat that could make even a grown man go crazy. But luckily (or perhaps unluckily), Satoru has always been crazy.

He’s just now going crazy for you.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

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actuallysaiyan · 9 months ago

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I Think You're Holding The Heart Of Mine(Part 2)

warnings: mentions of alcohol, my own spin on cursed techniques, Kento being such a sweetheart, some violence(just from the training), reader gets drunk, usage of the nickname "usagi-chan/bunny"

word count: 2.7k

pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

summary: Kugisaki is convinced that you and Nanami are a thing so she thinks about her next plans to figure out how to get you to confess. When you go out to dinner, a third party is there to surprise you...and to buy you drink after drink after drink until you're drunk and Nanami has to take care of you.

taglist(Wanna be a part of this? Just message me): @beneathstarryskies

Part one! Part three!

“Ahhh so you and Nanami-sensei?” Kugisaki asks you as you usher her to a quiet place on the training field. She’s already got her hammer in her hand.

You laugh, “you and Itadori-kun have a good sense of imagination. But no, we are merely what they call “work spouses”. That’s all.”

You can tell she’s not really buying it, but she keeps quiet for the next little bit. She heads toward the clearing and gets into a fighting stance. You watch carefully as she begins to think out her first move, but you’re already ahead of her. Your fists are imbued with blue cursed energy, and from them a burst of water comes from them.

Kugisaki is so quick to deflect, and from that a sense of pride swells in your chest. She’s a tough cookie, this girl. She’s smart, clever and quick on her feet. She knows her worth and she knows how good her cursed technique is. You work on drawing forth another one of the powers of the twelve zodiac, a bonus from your own cursed technique.

You watch as Kugisaki has a hard time shooing off two cursed heads that have come from your own hands. The twins of Gemini try to bite her, and she swings at one of them. Then she slams her hammer down on the second one, just narrowly missing a bite from the other. The first one squeals in pain as one of her nails penetrate it.

“Very good, Kugisaki-chan!”

She scowls at your use of the honorific ‘Chan’, but she doesn’t allow it to distract her. She then watches you as you make a seal with your hands. This is the big one, the same Zodiac sign as your own. You’ve got a special pact with this one, and it will act on its own if you aren’t careful. Aries, the ram, charges towards the young sorcerer.

There’s a moment where you are sure she will be able to dodge it, and she almost does. But she is quickly knocked back on her ass, the ram dissipating as you call it back towards you. It disappears in a cloud of red smoke, and you know that you need to give Kugisaki a moment to breathe as she recovers from your attack.

“Well done!” You praise her, helping her to her feet.

She beams, “Thanks! I’ve been practicing!”

“I can tell. You’re getting very strong.”

You two catch your breath, speaking of other battle techniques. She’s becoming a very skilled sorcerer before your very eyes and it’s touching to see something like this. The fruit of your labor is blossoming beautifully. Someone was actually becoming stronger because of you, which was always something you doubted. When Gojo had asked you to take this job, you were sure he was losing it. But he’s got lots of faith in you.

“Hey sensei,” Kugisaki asks, hands behind her back. You know she’s scheming.

You smirk, “What is it?”

“Are you sure you and Nanami-sensei aren’t a couple? I wouldn’t tell anyone if you were!”

You laugh softly. If only she knew just how desperately you wanted her to be right. You’d keep it a secret if you knew it meant you could be with Nanami. You’d never tell a soul if it meant you could have his love all to yourself. Then you smile at her, ruffling her hair.

“Kugisaki-chan, I’m sure. It’s not a real relationship. Just a friendship.”

She seems so unconvinced. Which leads her to think up the next part of her plan. She knew she’d be getting the answer from you whether you liked it or not. She just had to do a bit of sleuthing. So for now, she drops the subject and pretends to be very much invested in the training. This makes you so happy and so proud of her work.

Little do you know, she’s got ulterior motives…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

You’re running a little late as you get to the pub. Training lasted a lot longer than you intended it to, and the paperwork you had to attend to took a little longer as well. By the time you got home, you were just answering the messages that Kento had sent you almost an hour before you got off work. You apologized profusely, but he really showed no signs of being angry. He just let you know the time and place, like the gentleman he is.

What you aren’t expecting to see is Satoru Gojo sitting next to him at the booth that was meant for just two. He’s quick to bounce out of his seat and wave at you excitedly. You see how annoyed Kento looks, but his face softens when he sees you approaching.

“I didn’t think we’d be three. But the more the merrier, yeah?” You ask Kento, who’s trying to hide his displeasure.

“Right you are.”

Gojo is practically hanging off of you. He was looking over Kento’s shoulder when he had sent you the text, which prompted the older man to declare he was joining you both. Gojo was also privy to some knowledge that the pair of you were definitely so deeply in love with one another, but you wouldn’t budge. He decided he’d be the one to get you both together.

“Ahhh usagi-chan! I’m so glad you’re here! Maybe you can help uptight Nanamin loosen up!”

You laugh at Gojo’s nickname for you, “What’s wrong with Ken? I think he’s just hungry.”

Kento’s face turns a little pink when you take up for him. He’s always happy whenever you defend him against Gojo’s rudeness and teasing. Nanami didn’t really mind the teasing too much, but he had wanted this dinner to just be the two of you. With a sigh, he downs his drink and flags down the waitress.

“Make it two, please.” You ask her, flashing your best smile.

You sit down in front of Kento, and you gasp as Gojo climbs over you to be able to sit snug between you two in the booth. He sighs overenthusiastically as he plops his head down on his palms. You notice he’s got a drink in front of him, and it looks very sweet and sugary.

“This is the…what did she call it now?” He asks himself, cupping his chin.

Kento sighs, “Sweet Sunrise.”

Gojo laughs, “Ah! Yeah the Sweet Sunrise!”

You roll your eyes playfully. Kento looks at you, his heart skipping a beat whenever you flash that angelic smile in his direction. Gojo isn’t dumb, he knows when you two are flirting with each other secretly. Despite you telling him that it was just a friendship and a work relationship, he knows it’s so much more deeper than that.

The waitress returns with a tray that holds yours and Kento’s drinks, and she sets them down in front of you. Gojo then takes the time to order another one of his sugary drinks. It’s a bit silent for a bit when she leaves.

“Soooo, tell us how training went today! How is the little Kugisaki-chan doing?” Gojo asks, tilting his head at you.

You take a sip of your drink, “She’s showing lots of promise. She is a skilled fighter.”

Kento chuckles, “She’s got a good teacher.”

You blush at his praise and thank him. Gojo then gets closer and he praises you as well, a smirk forming on his face when he sees how this affects Kento. Kento scowls softly, drinking more of his drink. Then he flags down the waitress once more, ordering some appetizers for all three of you.

“Awhhh Nanamin is treating us tonight, usagi-chan!” Satoru is beaming at this.

“It was supposed to just be us two…” Kento mumbles under his breath, drinking some more.

Gojo perks up, “What was that? Care to share with the rest of the class?”

You see how Kento’s jaw tenses and he looks like he’s ready to get into a physical altercation with the white-haired man. So you soothe Kento’s nerves by changing the subject and you ask Gojo about Megumi’s progress.

Gojo smirks, “Megumi is doing well. I think he’ll probably end up even stronger than me!”

You gasp. “Really?”

He nods, turning his body towards you. You’ve got him caught in a discussion, which will keep the attention off of Kento for a little bit. You really get so caught up in Gojo’s conversation that Kento begins to feel like he’s being ignored. Eventually, the waitress returns and everyone begins eating.

It’s not long before Gojo climbs over the top of the booth and declares he needs to pee. Once he’s out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You slide closer to Kento in the booth and you take his hand in yours and give it a very gentle squeeze.

“Ahh finally, I get to spend a little time with my husband.” You say with a little giggle.

Kento smiles genuinely, “I was beginning to think I’d have to pull Gojo off my honey. It was terrible to see him hanging off of you like that.”

You begin playing with his long fingers, your own fingers tracing the veins in his hand. The alcohol is definitely making you even more bold than usual. Kento’s heart races a little as you become so tender with him. He wishes it was just the two of you. He lives for these moments alone with you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favorite.” You coo softly, leaning even closer.

Kento stiffens, he can smell your perfume as you get closer. The way your fingers keep tracing the veins on his hand. Then you trace up and down his expensive timepiece. He knows you’ve always been curious about that watch of his. You’ve asked a few times about how much it costs, but he’s almost embarrassed about talking about how such a little thing costs. It feels frivolous at times, but buying it reminded him of his past as a salaryman.

“My, my,” Gojo says as he comes closer. You sigh softly. “What is this? Nanamin, you sly dog.”

Kento groans, “Don’t pay him any mind.”

You laugh at the interactions between these two. They sometimes act like some kind of old married couple. Gojo annoys Nanami, and Nanami tries his best not to let his senpai get to him. You wondered if there was anything else going on between those two, but it seemed like this was all it was. Just a senpai hellbent on annoying his kohai for the rest of time.

“Oh! Usagi-chan, you should have another drink!” Gojo knows he needs to amp this up if he wants to see anything happening between you and Nanami.

As if you were going to say no to that…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

You stumble as you make your way out of the restaurant. You have to lean on the blond sorcerer as he guides you towards his car. Gojo left a while back, but not after getting you nice and drunk. He knew that Nanami would love the opportunity to take care of his drunk little wifey.

“You alright, dear?” His tone isn’t even the slightest bit sarcastic for once.

You nod your head, “Jus’ a little tipsy…”

He helps you into his car, buckling you up in the passenger side. Then he makes his way to the driver’s side. He’s had considerably less to drink than you did. He opted out on the drinks that Gojo had been buying you all night long.

“I’ll bring you to yours,” Nanami says as he begins driving.

“No, please…I don’t wanna be alone.”

This surprises Nanami to know that you’d want to have company while you’re in this state. You lean back on the seat and groan. You wish you hadn’t had that many drinks. But Gojo was paying and he kept egging you on. After the fourth or fifth shot, that’s when you knew you had messed up.

Kento drives you both towards his place. He knows you need someone to take care of you right now. You watch as he makes himself towards the affluent part of the city and the car turns into an underground parking garage. He opens his window and presses his thumb to a fingerprint lock. The minute it acknowledges it’s him, the bar raises and allows the car to drive smoothly into the garage. Then Kento finds his spot and parks the car. Once the engine dies, he turns to you and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

You shake your head again, “Please, just let me stay. I’m not feeling good.”

He could tell you weren’t well. Your face was pale and your eyes were shut. He gets out of the car and then walks over to your side. Kento is helpful as he gets you to lean against him. Then he brings you towards the lift, pressing the button to call it down to you both.

“Don’t worry about it. What kind of husband would I be to leave his wife on her own in her time of need?”

This makes you blush and your heart wrenches. In your drunken mind, you desperately wish it was the truth. You wish this was where you lived. You want to be his wife and have this kind of life with him. Once the lift gets down to the floor you’re on, Nanami helps you on and then presses the button for the penthouse floor.

It’s a little ways up as you lean against the blond sorcerer. He smells amazing, something musky and leathery. It must be some pretty expensive cologne. You know that Nanami has a lot of money to be able to drive the car that he does and live in such a fancy building. You think to yourself that you wouldn’t even care if he had money or not, you’d still be completely head over heels in love with him.

Once inside his penthouse suite, Kento helps you into the bathroom. Gently, he wipes your face and removes your makeup with a warm washcloth. Then he takes your hair out of the ponytail you usually have it in and brushes it out softly. You have never had anyone take care of you quite like this. Not even any of your previous boyfriends had ever done anything like this for you.

“Thank you, Ken.”

Your words warm his heart. You’re starting to look a little better. He helps you up and guides you over to the sofa. The two of you lounge about and he pulls his phone out. Then your whole body stiffens when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close.

“Let’s order some more food, yeah? You’ll feel better if you eat something substantial.”

You nod your head and snuggle closer to him. He lets you scroll through his phone and choose what you’re going to order. Once it’s been ordered, he gets up from the couch to procure a few more things for you.

This gives you a chance to have a proper look around. His place is so beautiful and luxurious. Much more fancy than your own place. You wonder how life could be if you lived in a place like this.

When Kento returns, he’s got some pajamas for you and a bottle of water. He hands them to you, allowing you the chance to head back into the bathroom to change. You get dressed in the silky pajamas, relishing in the scent of his laundry detergent.

“There’s my pretty little honey,”

You swear you’ve died and gone to heaven when Kento speaks those words to you. He gathers you up in his arms, his own clothes changed from his usual suit and tie combo to a sweater and some sweatpants. You’ve never seen him look so comfortable.

“And you look cozy as well, my dear.”

Kento looks deeply into your eyes, his hands pulling you closer to him. It’s like time has stood still as he leans in closer. Your lips are a mere inches away when you hear a loud buzzing coming from the kitchen.

“Oh! It’s the food,” Kento declares, his cheeks red.

He reaches into his pocket to confirm that the driver is actually here. Then you watch as he goes to the buzzer and answers it.

If only…If only… you think to yourself. If only you hadn’t been interrupted.

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