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lovebugism · 10 months

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Oooooo how abt shy reader & Steve at the movie theater? 🥰

thanks so much for your request, angel! i hope you enjoy!! steve takes shy!reader to the movies to make up for a bad date, featuring a wee love-bomb (1.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Even though it’s your fifth date, you’re nervous like it’s your first.

It’s been a few months since then. Four of them, to be exact.

Steve took you to a drive-in on your first date. He confessed some weeks ago that he thought it’d be easier for you — doing something that wouldn’t require a whole lot of talking outright. By the end of the movie, a reshowing of Rocky Horror, you felt more comfortable with him and less like the buzzing ball of anxiety you’d been when he picked you up earlier that evening.

The second date was dinner, the third was mini-golf, and the fourth was a picnic.

The fourth date did not go well.

Steve picked the hottest day of the year to eat outside. He hadn’t meant to, of course, but he certainly hadn’t packed enough water to combat the heat. And being that he also forwent the sunscreen, the two of you were sweaty, miserable, and sunburnt by the time he brought you back home.

There was a world of bugs, too. The butterflies you hadn’t minded, but the wasps were a different story.

“I swear they’re antagonizing me,” you joked as you cowered into Steve’s side.

He was scared of them too, but he protected you anyway. “Well, what did you do to them?” he laughed with a pretty grin that made the heat and distant fear worth it.

“Nothing!” you giggled. “I’ve never done anything wrong in my life!”

Steve smiled down at you, sandwich crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth. “I know that’s a joke, but I totally believe you.”

And as if the day wasn’t already going horribly wrong, a couple of asshole kids kicked a soccer ball in your direction and smacked you against the ear.

They were in kindergarten, practically babies, and their moms were very apologetic. And you, being too nice for your own good, promised them that it was okay — that it was an accident and that it barely even hurt.

That wasn’t totally true. Your ear was red and ringing then, and hadn’t lessened when Steve took you home. He got you into bed and nursed you back to health with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your ear and a million kisses.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whispered against the crown of your head as he held you to his chest. “I feel like I fucked everything up…”

“You’re not the one that whacked me in the face with a soccer ball,” you laughed.

“Yeah, but… It was really hot. And the bugs wouldn’t leave you alone…”

“They had a vendetta against me, I think.”

“Totally,” Steve chuckled.

Your jaw rubbed against the fabric of his t-shirt as you turned to look up at him. His scruffy chin jutted downward as he peered down at you. “You protected me, though.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “So thank you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t thank me. You’re hurt.”

“’S not your fault.”

“Yeah, but I’m the idiot who wanted to picnic in a hundred-degree heat.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you retorted softly.

Steve grew sheepish. With the hand not holding the frozen pack to your ear, his fingers brushed the length of your arm “So… you didn’t have the worst time in the world?”

“No, it was pretty bad,” you confessed, smiling when you felt his laugh rumble through his chest. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever go on a picnic again, but… I’m glad I got to be miserable with you and not someone else.”

You meant it.

As overwhelming as the afternoon had gotten, Steve made it a lot less agonizing. He was your focal point, your teddy bear, your soft place to land. The big bouts of anxiety felt less significant with him holding you. Besides, you don’t think anyone else would clutch you to their chest and hold a bag of frozen vegetables to your throbbing ear.

It wouldn’t feel as good with anyone else, either.

Steve’s smile curls against your forehead before he presses a kiss there. “I’m glad you get to be miserable with me, too, babe…”

The fifth date, though simple, had been carefully planned out.

He didn’t want a redo of the fourth one, lest you decide never to go out with him again.

So he asks you to wait a few weeks before seeing Labyrinth despite your enthusiasm for the new film. He promises to take you, but that he’d rather wait until everyone else has already seen it so it could just be him and you in the theater.

And you, having never been a fan of huge crowds anyway, accepted without question.

He only asks that you wear the same pretty dress you wore to the picnic. The white sundress with the puffy sleeves and the flowy skirt that stopped just above your knee. Since, you know, neither of you got to enjoy it last time.

Steve leads you hand in hand into the cinema two weeks later. Everyone else was too busy crowding into the theater to watch the new Karate Kid sequel, which left the entire auditorium to yourselves.

Well, mostly. There’s an older couple sitting in the middle off to the exit side. Steve jokes that they must’ve just heard that Labyrinth came out, and in two more weeks they’ll learn about Karate Kid. You giggle into your Slurpee.

The two of you settle in the very back of the theater in the center of the row. The theater isn’t dark, but it’s still dim — yellow in the faint lamps and the smell of buttery popcorn.

“Guess the means we can’t fool around in here, huh?” Steve quips, his shoulder nudging yours when he leans in to whisper to you.

Your eyes go wide, and your cheeks burn like a stove eye. “Steve!” you scold, much louder than you meant to. You shove him away with your shoulder, though you don’t really want him off you.

He reads you like a book and wraps an arm around you to press you closer to him. His musky cologne covers you like a warm blanket. Even in the dim light, his eyes twinkle when he grins down at you. “I’m kidding,” he promises.

“I was just about to thank you before you got all pervy,” you grouse lightheartedly.

“Thank me for what?” the boy scoffs. “For not taking you on the worst date of all time?”

“No. For… For buying my ticket and… for getting me snacks and everything…”

Steve shrugs. “That’s what a date is, babe. You let me do those things for you.”

“Yeah, but… You don’t have to do them, you know? But you do. So, thank you.”

You go sheepish, looking at him so shyly you’re practically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

You do that a lot — not get all shy (even though you do that pretty often, too), but thank him for being your boyfriend. He doesn’t know if that sort of excessive politeness has been conditioned into you or if you had an ex that never did anything worth thanking them for.

He doesn’t press the subject because he doesn’t want to stir up old ghosts. He remains curious about it nonetheless.

Steve squeezes your shoulder with one hand and digs his other into the container of popcorn in your lap. “Thank you for not dumping me after our last date.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you promise, giggling.

“Yeah, ‘cause it was terrible!” he retorts dramatically. “I was scared you were gonna break up with me after that wasp started swarming you. And when you got whacked with that soccer ball, I was sure you were never gonna wanna see me again.”

It makes your heart hurt to think that he’d ever think something like that — that he’d been stewing over the whole thing long after you’d gotten over it.

“Honestly, I think it might’ve been a test,” you confess quietly.

“A test?” Steve snorts.

“Yeah, like… the world was trying to see if I liked you enough to suffer through second-degree sunburns, and bugs, and getting hit in the face, and… everything.”

The boy tilts his head to his shoulder. “And what did the world decide then, huh?”

“That I like you,” you admit, all quiet like it’s the first time you’ve ever said the words. Steve lost count around the millionth time they left his mouth. “Enough to do it all over again.”

“You like me?” Steve teases, as if your schoolgirl crush on him doesn’t give him schoolboy butterflies.

You nod and try not to smile too wide. “I really like you. And I’m scared to say the stronger word, so I won’t, but…”

“Stronger word?” the boy repeats with a laugh. His eyes go wide in realization a second later. “…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” you mock with your own laugh, a lot more awkward than his had been.

You turn your gaze to the popcorn in your lap. Steve analyzes your profile for any hint that you might be kidding. He knows you’re way too kind to joke around with his feelings like that — or yours, for that matter.

“Well, you know what?” he lilts.

You smile to yourself but don’t humor him enough to look at him with it. “What?”

“I’m not scared to say the stronger word.”

Your eyes sparkle in the dim light when they finally flit up to him. “No?”

“Mm-mm,” he hums with the shake of his head. “Actually, I’m pretty brave, as it turns out.”

“The bravest.”

Steve beams. “Exactly. And I love the shit outta you.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt. “I love you too, Steve Harrington.”

He kisses you when the room goes dark.

He’s not a teenager, so it isn’t obscene, but the peck is languid and full of the words he’d just said to you. He spends the next two hours whispering them into your ear. I love you, I love you, I love you.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x shy!reader #bug's summer fic fest!

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 8 months

Text

Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 1: Going Down Swinging

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary: It's the hottest day of the year, you're exhausted from a mission, and all you want is your bed. Unfortunately, the elevator in Avengers' tower throws a spanner in the works.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5373

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @kittimbo @mcximffs @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @alternativeprincess @annocaprosmaloka @thrutheburnout @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Notes:

Hello and welcome to my week of summer themed fics! I'll be posting a fic every day for a week.

warnings for unprotected sex, creampie, hate-fucking, pietro is a lech, ankle injury, trapped in an elevator, reader has an IUD, oral (both receiving), reader and pietro are both switches, teasing, sweating, heatwave, teensy bit of angst

---

You were exhausted. It was a hundred degrees, and you’d spent the better part of the day fighting some freshly superpowered men on the streets of New York.

Your mission had had two parts: neutralise and bring in the powered people; and retrieve the stolen alien tech they’d used to give themselves the power to manipulate and control energy.

Your foes’ inexperience had been a gift and a curse. On one hand, you outstripped them in every sense: physically, mentally and tactically. On the other, they were unpredictable, with powers barely in their control. That made them very dangerous, especially on the crowded streets of New York City in summertime.

You and the rest of your team – Clint, Natasha, Steve, Wanda and Pietro – had all made it back in one piece. There had been a few civilian injuries but no casualties. Two of the men you’d been fighting, however, had died in the process. Their powers had overcome them and they’d exploded before you could subdue them.

That was the trouble with messing around with alien tech. You never knew what it would do to a human body.

Of course, you had to feel sorry for them. There but for the grace of God…

You had received your powers from dangerous alien tech as well, though through no fault of your own. You had been a junior scientist working for a brilliant xenobiologist, but a lab accident had left him dead and you with the ability to move objects with your mind.

When SHIELD had found you, you’d been out of control and terrified out of your mind. They had brought you in, though, with zero casualties. That you were forever grateful for. You weren’t sure how you could live with yourself otherwise.

You had been an Avenger for several years before a couple more enhanced test subjects had joined the team: the Maximoff twins. Wanda was withdrawn and unsociable, but Pietro was unbearable. He was arrogant, he was cruel and he always found ways to push your buttons.

You were sick to death of Pietro Maximoff, and his pretty eyes, and his toned body, and the way he would leer at you when you stared for half a second too long, because he knew. He always knew.

When you had realised that you would be on a mission with him today, you had groaned, but you knew it made sense. You had experienced being on the other side of this situation. So had the twins. It was also a good opportunity to train up the Maximoffs, who were the newest recruits to the Avengers.

So you had bit your tongue and fought alongside them, and stayed the hell away from Pietro.

Now, as your half-unzipped costume hung from your shoulders, boots in your hands as your bare feet padded across the cool tiled floor, all you wanted was to shower and get into bed.

That wasn’t entirely true. You were hungry too, but too exhausted to even think about eating. You wondered who would be the most likely person to bring you food if you asked. You reckoned that Steve would do it, gentleman that he was.

You were almost home. You stepped into an elevator in Avengers’ tower and hit the button for your floor. The doors were sliding closed when a familiar silver-blue blur shot in between them. You groaned internally as another button lit up, and then Pietro Maximoff was standing next to you, grinning at you with that unbearably boyishly charming smile.

The door closed behind him before you could even think about escape.

“Boy, it’s hot in here,” he said in his smooth, Sokovian accent, and then, without another word, he pulled the shirt of his costume off over his head.

He did it slowly for him, at a normal pace for anyone else, which was how you knew it was for your benefit. If he really wanted to, he could be naked in milliseconds, but he did slowly to put on a show. Your cheeks heated up at the thought, and you looked away from him, but it was too late. You could see him smirking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Can’t you wait until you’re in your room before you start stripping?” you snapped.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your anger. He never was. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. The elevator began to move, giving you an uncomfortable turn in your stomach that you were sure had nothing to do with the way Pietro was staring at you.

“Come on, prinţesă,” he practically cooed. It was a nickname that he knew you hated.

“I’m not your princessa-”

“Prinţesă,” he corrected. You had once asked him why he called you that, and he’d responded, “because you’re beautiful but you’re such a priss.” You had almost slapped him. Almost.

“I know you’re used to women falling at your feet, Pietro, but I don’t know why you bother with me. It’s never going to happen.”

“We’ll see,” he said in that unbelievably cocky tone. “In the meantime, you’re cute when you’re angry.” He reached out towards you, and you knew what he was going to do because he’d done it before. Before he could ping your bra strap, you slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

“You’re so-”

You were cut off by a horrible screech, and then a mechanical groaning sound. The lights flickered and the elevator came to a sudden, jarring halt, knocking you off balance. You fell back against the wall, and the red emergency lights came on.

“What the-” said Pietro, but you had already gone over to the wall panel hit the emergency call button.

“The elevator is broken, obviously.” The call button crackled. “Hello?” No response. “Hello?” There was a buzzing, and then it sputtered out and the entire panel went dark. “Shit.”

Instinctively, you patted where your pockets should be, but of course, your phone was in your room. Pietro’s suit didn’t have pockets either, and you’d both handed over your earpieces when you’d arrived back after the mission.

“Here, let me try.” He moved past you to get to the panel.

You glared at the side of his face. “All you do is press the button. It’s not like I did it wrong.” He ignored you, jabbing at the button several times in quick succession. “That’s not gonna-”

“Shut up,” he snapped, and you took a step back. Pietro might’ve been an asshole, but he wasn’t usually openly hostile to you. He preferred to annoy you in more subtle ways.

You stared at him. For the first time, you noticed that his hand was shaking. He was nervous.

“There’s a hatch,” you said, not quite apologising (why should you apologise?) but almost making amends. “If you give me a boost up there, I can see if I can climb up to the next floor and get the doors open.”

For once, he didn’t argue with you. He laced his fingers together and let you step into his hand, and, when you were ready, pushed you up towards the ceiling.

You had to put your hand on his head to keep your balance, uncomfortably aware of how close his face was to the vulnerable flesh of your stomach. Not that he would do anything. Still. You managed to pull the lever to open the hatch.

“Higher,” you said, and he grunted in response, lifting you up further. You were glad you couldn’t see him right now. You’d seen him working out in the gym, and exerting himself on the field. The way his muscles flexed always got you a little hot under the collar, and that was the last thing you needed right now.

You managed to grab onto the edge of the hatch and, with Pietro’s help, pushed yourself up onto the top of the elevator.

You stared up into the shaft above you, but it was very dark. You couldn’t see the doors for the floor above. With your hands on the wall, you looked for a ladder, but there was no sign of one.

“Any luck?” Pietro called out to you.

“Can’t see much.”

You did have an idea about how you could see a little more. You couldn’t fly, but with your telekinesis, you could hover a little. Projecting yourself into the air, you tried to get closer to where you thought the door might be. There was only more darkness.

Letting out a frustrated noise, you pushed yourself further up. Your body was trembling with the effort, sweat beading at your brow. High above you, you could make out lights. If that was the inside of the door, then you were a lot further away from it than you thought.

You tried to push yourself a little bit further, just to check if the door was truly what you were seeing, and faltered. As if your slick-sweat body had slid across a surface, your hold on yourself failed and you tumbled out of the air, landing hard on your ankle.

“Fuck.”

Pietro called out your name. He never called you by your name. You felt dazed.

“Are you okay?” he shouted.

“Yeah, I’m…” Your voice had come out high-pitched and wobbly as you choked on the pain in your ankle. You cleared your throat. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay. Come back down.”

You didn’t fancy trying to climb back down right now. All you wanted to do was stay in one place.

“I’m alright, I’m gonna stay up here for a bit.”

“You can’t stay on top of the elevator!”

You didn’t respond to that. After a few moments, you heard him call out your name again, and when you stayed silent, you heard a grunt, a clang, and then Pietro’s hands appeared at the edge of the hatch.

You were about to lean forward to help him up, but you didn’t have to. He pulled himself up onto the roof of the elevator beside you in an impressive display of upper body strength.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “It sounded like you fell.” It was much darker up here, so you couldn’t see his expression, which unnerved you, because for the first time since you’d known him, he actually sounded sincere.

“I did fall, but it’s okay.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“… I landed awkwardly on my ankle.”

He tutted, but for once, it didn’t sound patronising. It sounded worried. “Let me look at it.”

“It’s dark.”

“Well, let me help you back into the elevator, and then look at it.”

“I’m not going back in. We need to get up to the doors.” You pointed vaguely upwards.

You saw Pietro’s silhouette shift as he looked where you were pointing. “There’s no way we’re making it up there. We need to go back in and wait for rescue. Someone will notice the elevator is out eventually.”

You groaned loudly. “I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck in an elevator with you.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a barrel of laughs either, prinţesă.”

“Stop calling me that!”

He ignored you. “I’m going to climb back in, and then you’re going to lower yourself back down.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I will catch you. Come on.” His tone left no space to argue. He climbed back down into the hatch and landed back inside with a light thump. He was agile, like a cat. You were envious of that right now.

You swung your legs over so you were sitting on the edge of the hatch, your legs dangling into the elevator. You could see Pietro properly now, bathed in the red emergency lighting.

“Come on,” he repeated, holding up his arms. “I’ll catch you.”

“Are you sure?” An edge of nervousness was creeping into your tone.

He chuckled. “I have superspeed, prinţesă. I promise I won’t let you fall. Now drop down. I will catch you.”

He was watching you. That only made you more nervous. You had to close your eyes and shuffle forward. A hand, strong and strangely comforting, grabbed your calf.

“Just a little further, prinţesă.”

Squeezing your lips together, you edged closer. Pietro had a firmer grip on both of your legs now. Putting your life into your hands – or, to be honest, Pietro’s – you shoved yourself off the ledge.

Pietro’s hands let go of your calves and caught you around the waist. You clung to his shoulders as he held you there, feet dangling a foot off the ground.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m going to lay you down, alright? Let’s have a look at your ankle.” Swallowing, you nodded.

Carefully, he lowered you to the ground. You held on tight to him until you were firmly sitting down, at which point you released each other. He hooked his hand under your calf again, gently lifting it up so he could get a closer look.

“It looks a little swollen,” he said. “Maybe you sprained it.”

“Maybe.”

“You should get some ice on it when we get out of here. And maybe see a medic, just in case.”

“… Thanks.”

“Here.” He picked up his shirt, which he had discarded at the corner of the elevator. He bunched it up and then placed it under your ankle. It didn’t do much to elevate it, but at least it cushioned it from the ground.

You leant back against the wall, stomach swirling. Pietro stood up and crossed the room, mirroring your position against the wall opposite. You closed your eyes, trying to think of some way to pass the time when you heard the sound of unzipping.

Your eyes flew open to find Pietro with his trousers halfway down his thighs. He was wearing black boxers underneath, which were sleek and strangely pretty.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax, prinţesă. I’m not going to take my underwear off.”

“Put your pants back on,” you hissed, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s hot. My costume is too tight. I have no idea how long we’re going to be stuck here. I’ll boil alive if I keep it on.”

You huffed and looked away from him. You had to admit he had a point. It was very hot. You wriggled fully out of the top half of your costume, which had already been hanging off you. You were wearing a vest underneath, so at least you were more modest than Pietro, who was now sitting in his boxers with his costume in his lap. There was no way you were taking off the bottom half, no matter how hot it got in here.

A bead of sweat rolled down your neck, and you felt it heading for your cleavage. You grimaced. You’d kill for a bottle of water right now. And ice. For your ankle and for everywhere else.

You glanced back at Pietro and found him staring at your chest.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” you said, no heat behind your voice. You were too sweaty and exhausted to fight anymore.

“I can’t help myself, prinţesă. You have a great rack. It draws the eye.”

It was one of the cruder Americanisms that he’d picked up since he moved to New York.

“Fuck off, Pietro. I’m not begging to be ogled, unlike you. I mean, you were practically doing a striptease earlier.”

A grin spread across his face. “Did you like it?”

You rolled your eyes. “I was just trying to get back to my room to sleep. I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with…” You gestured at him. “All of this.”

He cocked his head to the side, resting his chin on his palm. “What are you dealing with, prinţesă?”

“You!” you snapped. You shoved yourself onto your knees, your costume flapping around your waist. “I’m so sick of you!” You wobbled to your feet, but thankfully your ankle seemed to be able to support your weight.

As you stalked towards him, you were pretty sure you were actually gonna hit him this time, and from the look on his face, you could tell he thought so too.

“Careful,” he warned, on his feet in a split second. “Your ankle-”

You barrelled into him, grasping his chin with one hand and dragging him down to your level. His eyes went very wide, but you were already kissing him.

Wait.

Kissing him?

You were supposed to be hitting him!

His hands dropped to your waist, smoothing over the fabric of your vest, and you leant into him, letting him take the weight off your ankle.

“You’re so,” kiss, “fucking,” kiss, “annoying,” you muttered, and you felt him smile against your lips. “I hate you,” you snarled, pulling away from him, but he held you in position.

“No, you don’t,” he said fondly.

“You’re, ugh-” Your words stuttered to a halt as he pressed a kiss to the spot below your ear, and then one further down at the column of your throat.

“You seem tense,” he said, sounding smug. “Let me help with that.”

Despite yourself, you pressed against him, and then leant back to look at him suddenly. “Are you hard?”

“Honestly? I’ve had a semi since you took your top off.”

You let out a growl of frustration, pushing him back. That shouldn’t have turned you on nearly as much as it did. You cupped him through his boxers and watched the smug smile disappear. His lips parted and he exhaled hard. That was much better.

“Take these off,” you said.

“Feisty,” he said, but dutifully removed his boxers. He was moderately well-endowed, and the thatch of hair around the base of his cock was brown, not platinum blonde. It was something you had wondered about, on hot lonely nights when he’d pushed your buttons just a little too hard during the day.

You wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed, watching the expression on his face change. He swore quietly, his hands going to your waist, gripping your vest. You swatted his hands away.

“Lie down.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, but did as he was told. He sat down on the ground in one fluid motion, and then lay back, hands behind his head. He was stupidly, unfairly, annoyingly attractive. You knelt down in front of him.

“Shut up,” you said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, continue not saying anything.”

He ignored you. “You know I’m completely naked and you’re still wearing most of your clothes. How is that fair?”

You huffed out a mirthless laughed. “Only because you decided toget practically naked before we even got started. How is that my fault?”

He shrugged, which was a slightly awkward motion in the position he was in. “That doesn’t matter. I want to see you.”

Lips pressed tightly together, you pulled off your vest and then your bra in quick succession. His eyes went wide and he reached for you, but again, you pushed him away.

“Hands to yourself.” And then you bent forward and wrapped your lips around his cock. He swore loudly. You supposed that was a good sign.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Pietro was a naturally fidgety person, so they twitched by his sides, trying to find something to hold onto.

You pulled back, letting your cock fall out of his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“You said to keep my hands to myself!”

“Well, this,” you gestured to the motions his hands were making, “is offputting.”

“What do I-” You grabbed both his hands in yours and guided them up to your hair.

“Better?”

He gulped and nodded. You leant forward again and licked a stripe up his cock. His grip tightened, pulling hard enough to hurt, but the pain sent a sizzling sensation through your body.

Still, you wouldn’t let him set the pace, as much as he was trying to. You bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him. He groaned deeply.

“Prinţesă, maybe you should stop. I’m not gonna last very long if you keep- Fuck.”

You ignored him, continuing to push. Your hand came up to fondle his balls, thumbing over the crease between them. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling you off him, but warning.

“I’m gonna- Fuck.”

The hot, salty taste of his cum hit the back of your tongue. You swallowed it, taking pride in the way he whimpered as you sucked him clean.

“Prinţesă, baby, I…” He sounded wrecked. You relinquished your hold on him pulling back and letting him breathe. His eyes were glassy as he stared back at you. “That was… Fuck.”

“You said that already.”

He sat up suddenly, crowding into your space. You were ready to tell him to fuck off again, but then he kissed you, his tongue pressing insistently into your mouth. It was like he was trying to taste himself on you. Maybe he was. He was a narcissist, after all.

When you’d both run out of breath, he pulled back. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright and shiny with excitement.

“Can I touch you?” He said the words in a low voice that sent tingles down your spine. Here was the flirty, seductive Pietro you knew. You wondered how many women he’d used this voice on. You wondered if it worked every time. It was working on you. You nodded.

His hands were uncharacteristically clumsy as he tugged at your costume, trying to get the bottom half off. You loosened the straps and lifted your hips up so that he could pull them off you.

Now, in just your panties, you were feeling pretty exposed. Sensing your nervousness, he kissed you again. Gentle, insistent hands pushed you until you were lying flat on your back. He moved with you, covering you with his body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into the skin of your neck. Every breath across your skin left goosebumps in its wake. You trembled, and you were sure he felt it, but for once, he didn’t seem all that smug about it.

You were worried he might try to give you a hickey, but his lips continued to press soft kisses against your skin, persistently kissing and licking, not sucking. You carded your hands through his hair, breathing in time with him.

He moved lower until his mouth found a nipple. You twitched, almost pushing away out of instinct – you were very sensitive – but he held you still with one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip. His eyes flickered up to yours as he sucked, and his lip quirked up into that annoying (sexy) smirk.

“I was right,” he mused as he nosed his way along the valley between your breasts, lazily looking for your other nipple.

“About what?” Your question came out breathless. He’d just found it and bitten gently down.

“You do have a great rack.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” This time, he said it in a sing-song voice as he travelled further down, laying kisses along your stomach that made your muscles jump. “In fact,” he said, lips grazing over the waistband of your panties. “I think you like me.”

“I do not.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, his lips hovering over your clothed pussy. He was right there, where you wanted him most, but he wasn’t moving anymore. Instead, he was very gently nuzzling at you through the fabric.

You let out a huff of frustration. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’ll stop teasing when you admit you like me.”

You snapped your mouth shut, glaring down at him. He stared back up at you with amusement in his eyes, kissing along your inner thigh. It was torture.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You like it.”

“Fine!” you snapped. “I fucking like it! I like you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

You barely heard his response because your heart was beating so loudly. The blood was rushing in your ears. What were you doing?

“That’s good,” he said, tugging down your panties. “Because I like you too.”

That was all the warning you got before he dove into your pussy. His hands came up, parting your lips so that he could explore your folds with his tongue. The noises that were falling from your lips were frankly embarrassing. You tried to cover your mouth, but Pietro slowed down.

“If you don’t let me hear those god damn moans, I swear I won’t let you cum,” he said. You glared at him, but removed your hands.

He held you down, one hand resting flat against your belly button. His tongue danced over your clit, moving in patterns so fast you couldn’t follow them. It was like his tongue was a vibrator, and you felt a telltale warmth building inside you.

“Pietro!” you moaned, unable to hold back any longer. You grabbed a handful of his hair, holding him as tight to you as you could. You ground down against him, riding your orgasm out on his face.

In the immediate aftermath, you felt too good to be embarrassed. He slid his fingers inside you, filling you with a fresh sensation of pleasure.

“I, uh… Don’t have any condoms,” he said.

You let out a grunt of frustration. “I don’t care.” And then, as an afterthought, “I have an IUD.”

“I get tested regularly.” That made sense. From what you knew, he was a bit of a player.

“I haven’t had sex since my last test.”

“So I can…?”

“Just fuck me, Pietro.”

He hooked a hand under your hip and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. You let out an undignified squeak, which quickly turned into a moan when he pressed against you from behind.

At first, he put just the tip inside you, until you whined and pushed back against him. He slid in further, and you exhaled. It was a strange relief, having him fill you up like that. It was as though, from the moment you’d met, the two of you had been heading for this moment. Now he was inside of you and you were sprawled out underneath him, you felt fuzzy and warm.

As he slid all the way inside you, you leant your forearms on the ground and rested your forehead on your hands. The metal floor was cool against your skin, which was nice because you felt like you were burning up everywhere that Pietro was touching you.

After a moment, you said, “you can move.” He let out a groan of relief.

His movements started slow. He was exceptionally consistent, thrusting in a perfectly even rhythm, hitting just the right spot inside you every time. You wondered if it was practise, or if his powers helped. He certainly had stamina.

“You feel so good, pretty girl,” he murmured, stroking your hip. “So tight around my cock.”

You felt your walls clench involuntarily, which drew a choked out groan from Pietro, making his rhythm falter for the first time. He regained his composure quickly, sliding a hand into your hair as he began to speed up.

Your g-spot was being pummelled, and every thrust pushed the air out of your lungs, forcing you into a gasping rhythm of ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

As his movements grew more desperate, Pietro’s hands were everywhere, lightly scratching down your back, squeezing your breasts, anchoring himself on your hips. When his hand finally found his way down between your legs, you knew it was over for you.

With his fingers on your clit, breast squeezed tight in his other hand, hot breath in your ear, you came with a gasp.

“Shit,” he hissed, and you could tell he was close. You continued to clench around him, even after the aftershocks of your orgasm, trying to push him over the edge. Still, he kept going.

You looked back at him over your shoulder and his eyes met yours, pupils blown with lust. You smiled at him, and he swore under his breath. He clung to you, spilling his cum inside you.

You felt cold as soon as he pulled out of you. There was a gnawing feeling in your gut. Regret. You shouldn’t have done this. He was your coworker. You hated each other.

(No you didn’t)

You rolled over into a sitting position, wincing as you felt his cum dripping out of you. You grabbed your discarded costume and shuffled over to the wall.

Pietro was sitting back on his heels, watching you. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head, but you felt tears prickling at your eyes. He leant forwards, putting what was supposed to be a comforting hand on your knee. You flinched. He pulled back like he’d been burnt.

“Was I too rough?” There was an earnest expression in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Is it your ankle?”

“No,” you said, your voice thick. “It was good.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“We’re still stuck here. What do we do now?”

Pietro was about to answer, but he was interrupted by your stomach rumbling loudly. He regarded you for a moment, and then scooted over to where the trousers of his costume were discarded. He dug around in them for a moment, and then produced a granola bar, which he slid across the floor towards you.

“Here,” he said. “Eat this.

“Where were you hiding that?” you asked, picking it up and unwrapping it.

He grinned at you, boyish charm back in full force. “Secret pocket.”

“You have a secret snack pocket in your suit?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

You knew he wasn’t joking. He had to eat a lot. Something about his metabolism. You had seen him at mealtimes, loading up his plate. It made sense that he kept emergency snacks on him.

Right now, you were very grateful for them. You felt your anxiety draining away as you ate.

“Next time, I’ll buy you a real dinner.”

You paused. “Next time?”

“Yeah. If you want to.”

You opened your mouth, but at that moment, the main lights flickered back on. There was a moment of silence, and then the elevator juddered to life. It was moving upwards again.

You had the sudden, horrifying realisation that you were naked, with Pietro’s cum dripping out of you.

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” You fumbled with your panties, but changed your mind at the last second. Trousers were more important. As you struggled to pull them up, Pietro put his boxers and trousers back on in half a second flat.

Your vision went white. You blinked, and you realised you were wearing your vest. Pietro must’ve put it on you.

Meeting your eyes, he slipped your panties into his pocket. “I’ll be holding onto these.” He winked at you. Your cheeks burned.

DING.

The doors of the elevator opened and you scrambled to your feet. Steve and Sam were standing on the other side of the doors, staring at you both. Steve looked horrified, but Sam looked more amused.

You quickly tucked your bra under the shirt of your costume, which was hanging over your arm.

“Hey guys,” you said, trying to sound casual. “The elevator got stuck.”

“There was a power cut,” said Sam. “But I don’t wanna know what you two got up to in here. I’m taking the other elevator until this one has been thoroughly sterilised.” He turned and walked away. Steve stole one last shocked glance at you, before following him.

You looked at Pietro, and found him looking back at you. Sudden, uncontrollable, laughter bubbled up from your chest. Pietro began to laugh too, which only made you laugh harder. You grabbed onto his arm to keep your balance.

“Did you see Steve’s face?” asked Pietro between gasps, and you doubled over, hands over your stomach.

You laughed until there was no more breath in your lungs.

When you had both finally got over your fit of hysterics, you realised that you were leaning on each other. Instead of stepping away, Pietro leant down, pressing your foreheads together. It was a brief touch. He pulled away and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

“Next time?” he asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.

You swallowed. “Next time.”

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: sharing a tent with Steve Harrington.

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff x y/n #summer fic week 2023

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dirtytransmasc · 8 months

Text

mild rant, cause hotd TikTok is insufferable.

so I saw an edit, with the scene of Viserys on his death bed, calling Rhaenyra his only child...

these were some of the comments...

how dense do people have to be to say this shit, as if the abuse/neglect Aegon, Helaena, Aemond (and Dearon) faced, is the reason they are the way that they are????

aegon turned to his cups so young because he had to face the fact that his father didn't love him, his mother had... complicated feelings towards him (he was her first, born of marital rape that destroyed her life and childhood, and she loved him no doubt, but part of her hated what he represented in her life. all of which is Viserys and Otto's fault). not to mention the abuse he faced from Viserys and Otto (focus on Otto, cause he did what he wanted, since Viserys wasn't around enough to thoroughly abuse his son himself and wouldn't punish Otto for doing so). his drinking and need to self destruct to escape a life he doesn't want, turned him into the destructive, drunken bastard he is.

aemond was permanently maimed, an injury that very well could have killed him or hindered him greatly in life, and was ignored by his father, who then supported such an obvious lie instead of protecting his own son (aka, treating the greens and the blacks as equals and not playing favorites, they're aren't asking for miracles they asking for bare minimum). he suffered so greatly and his father couldn't give less of a shit. so on top of everything else, he had this anger boiling in his chest for years and years, stoked by his father's willing negligence. not to mention the fear it cause his mother (who was being manipulated by Otto) that Rhaenyra truly was a threat to his livelihood, which only targeted his anger.

Helaena, on a direct/surface level, was the best off, in terms of her father, but the ripple effect he caused on her life and those around her caused her to be married to her brother, who she didn't love, who didn't live her, and brought her suffering to some degree. it was the war Viserys practically created (tell me he didn't, I dare you) that sent her to madness (amongst other things *ahem* blood and cheese).

like, this man destroyed his children, directly or not, everything he did broke them down and apart, until he died, leaving them with a war that would end them all. his actions made them (Aegon and Aemond) into the people they were, but of course, that doesn't matter, apparently.

#gonna flip my shit #you cant hate the victims and then love/support their abuser #that logically does not make any fucking sense #and before anyone says anything #no I dont not hate rhaenyra/the blacks #they are morally complex and are neither entirely good nor bad #But if I were to choose one said to defend and deem the most 'right' I'm picking the greens and I will fight and die on this hill #also #yes I know what aegon did #no I do not support it/him (after the fact)#what I will say is #I support him up until that point with my whole chest AND acknowledge that he could have been different had his life not sucked so bad #also also #I acknowledge that the whole plotline of Aegon being evil was just to make the greens look worse for the show #so my feelings torwards aegon are complicated and messy #but I will always defend him in terms if the treatment he recieved frim Viserys #hotd #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #anti viserys i targaryen #I want this mans head on a stick #anti otto hightower #I wish this mans desth was 10x more painful #lukewarm feelings towards the blacks.... thats all im gonna say #pro team green

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acowardinmordor · 4 months

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Contractual Obligation

The plan went perfectly, is the thing. TMZ got the scoop, Tiktok had hundreds of reaction videos in the first few hours. They were trending on Twitter. Which was good. Steve would get his pay day, Eddie would get past the rumors and back to the good press, back to the path towards platinum records. According to the plan, Eddie would even have new ideas and inspiration for his next album.

It was only five months. Long enough for the gossips to pick it up, long enough to be a big deal, not long enough that anyone would expect Eddie to be too broken up about it.

Steve torched all his social media accounts a few hours after TMZ posted the story. He had to. The handful of messages and notifications he saw while deleting it all made his stomach flip. Once it calmed down a bit, he might make anonymous accounts again, if only so he could follow the kids and see the weird pictures of Robin's travels. Not with his own face though. Part of the agreement. Steve Harrington wasn't going to exist online as himself for a minimum of three years. That would keep anyone noticing that he got paid. It would also keep Steve from being torn apart by Eddie's fans.

It wasn't like he had to worry about money for a while. That was why he signed the contract with the PR firm. They needed to erase the memory of his slut era - capped off with photos of Eddie in a decadent orgy - show that Eddie Munson was capable of a committed relationship, and then get him single again. His sales were better when he was single, and being seen on celebrity dates was great for PR. They needed someone to play a part to make the change.

Steve's dad hadn't cut him off or thrown him out for being queer, or for how he got GNC when the mood struck. No, Richard Harrington was a proud liberal supporter, and didn't give a damn about any of that. But Steve flunked out of his degree in business at Richard's alma mater, and that was unforgivable.

So he was working days at an amazon warehouse, and overnight at a 24 hour diner in Chicago, because he needed money to keep his crappy studio. The PR team found him at the diner. Steve accepted the job and the contract without knowing who the hell Eddie Munson was. It was that much money. Steve really should have thought through the final phase of the contract before he signed. But it was almost a quarter million dollars for just under five months of work. "Work". Five months of dating a guy who permanently altered Steve's brain chemistry with his first smile.

Steve knew this was his fault. How he felt was his own fault. He wanted the money so he took the job, and he agreed to the terms. He went in with open eyes. Eddie didn't know Steve wasn't a genuine relationship. A real moment of serendipity that put them in the same place. Didn't know there was an end date inked and signed before they ever met. Steve agreed to this stupid fucking job because his parents cut him off and he wasn't used to having to budget for food and use coupons and hunt for deals to get phone service.

He may have flunked out in his junior year, but he was a business major. Steve read the contract and knew there was no getting around the financial penalty if he broke the terms. Seven fold repayment. How biblical of them.

He wasn't stupid. Eddie had the cash to cover the contract breach. And the inevitable court case over it. But Steve was stupid, and when he signed, he'd thought it wouldn't matter to either of them. Then Steve realized it mattered to him, but thought Eddie would be fine. He was a rockstar. Surrounded by friends. Endlessly laughing and happy. Eddie would get over Steve quick. It was just a couple months with some broke college drop out.

Then he saw Eddie's face three days ago when the rockstar found his boyfriend in bed with two models.

So yeah, Eddie had the cash, and maybe if Steve had told him from the start, he would have spent it, but now? Eddie didn't have a poker face. He walked into the scene set up by the PR team - Steve in bed with two peppy blonde models after standing Eddie up on a date - and Steve knew there was no way Eddie would cover anything. The truth could have helped early. Now that it was done? Telling Eddie the truth would only hurt him more.

All the stories were on Eddie's side. The firm made sure of that. Photos were already being 'found' by the gossip sites. Steve had been 'cheating' for weeks. Really had fucked both women that night to satisfy contractual obligation and to make sure Steve knew there was no fixing it. Steve had his fifteen minutes of fame, and the thing he'd be known for forever, was the guy who cheated on Eddie Munson.

His phone pinged with a message from one of the only two numbers saved to it. The way his chest soared and sank in the moment before his brain caught up was awful. Hope and fear, neither of which made sense.

Steve had deleted all of his socials. The PR firm had taken his old phone and disconnected the number. Now he had a brand new samsung, with one contact for the PR agent, and one for Robin. One was a threat, the other was a lifeline.

Robin's message was a calendar with her locations for the next month, and a link to AirFrance. It was a good idea. She was absolutely furious with him, and had been since he told her about the contract a month ago. She was still his best friend. Eddie was famous, but mostly an American celebrity. Steve could be a no one easier in Europe.

His phone, the one he handed over, had hundreds of contacts and thousands of messages and conversations across apps. Hundreds of photos of him and Eddie. Messages and voicemails and stupid jokes and memes.

This one had the default background, the default apps, and a single conversation in the messages. Robin was going to scream at him when she saw him, but she'd give him a hug first.

That was a better choice than sitting in the dark in his new apartment, which was too big, and too nice for crappy stuff they'd moved from his studio. He tapped the link she sent, and started looking for the first available flight.

#steve harrington angst #steddie angst #my writing #as ever guys #I did not write this with any intent #just responding to a fic that ended happily #and my brain going 'ok but what if'#this idea is agony to me #that Steve completed the contract like he was supposed to #it is technically a success #this was the expected outcome #and it hurts like hell

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meirimerens · 6 months

Text

cleaning out this account of last night's ruckus because posting when sleep-deprived & going along with (even gentle) egging is Not productive and frankly did not do much beyond rallying people to heehee and haha and feel a sense of moral superiority which was not something i meant to & should have fostered by continuing to engage, cos that was not going to give us anything.

i do apologize firmly and fully for last night's mess and noise. i should have cut it short, should have said less, should gotten my ass to bed because I was in no state of mind to attempt cool-headed discussions, and it is my fault for not having had the discipline to sleep on it. it wasn't then, and it is not now, any kind of witch-hunt. i did not name names and i did not show anything on purpose, but i should have said even less, for one of my tags, which did not strike me as potentially too identifying for comfort when sleep-deprived, made them pretty identifiable, and i firmly reiterate my apologies for it should not have happened. people deserve to be left alone to do some reflecting and growing, and i have repeated it as such. this thing should be talked about as a wider problem and not be pinned on individuals, even if it easier. from what i had remembered, the artist/s had already been made aware of how unsavory the depictions were, and had just kept going, but this is something i should have checked for myself. I didn't, and for that I'm sorry.

i do very much stand by the fact that only drawing the one non-white guy like Wreck-it-Ralph when he canonically is profoundly average beyond being tall, while all the white characters get to have normal proportions (if comically smaller than him) is, at the very least, "sus", and worth interrogating even within the context of heavy stylization, because it's not like stylization has never been used to racist extents. this is an opinion i hold and am not particularly inclined to budge on. i do not believe it is conscious, or comes from a will to harm. but i think it's real silly and deserves reflection. this is a trope i've seen spanning fandoms, that every fandom with a white guy x nonwhite guy popular ship has to reckon with at some point, and every time you got people who think it's sus as fuck, nonwhite people who take the time and effort to explain how and why, and people, including nonwhite people themselves, who think it's not a big deal. i have both my own personal opinions on caricature (which are that you can do so while still not falling into racialized depictions) and no power nor desire to change anyone's minds. those two opinions can and do coexist, and even people who will relate to burakh on the same basis will have varying degrees of tolerance for this, and their opinions on the matter. let's just say there's room for everyone.

discussions from indigenous russian &/or central/east asian people on how the fandom treats artemy as the one nonwhite guy in one of the most popular pairings have been going on for years: i was coming across them before i even got here. but my personal experience of 4 years of seeing such depictions and reading them be criticized by people it affects and my personal exasperation towards mischaracterizations bordering on racism developed from seeing a constant stream of them, and them being identified as such, is not the experience of people who just got here, and a discussion spawned from a "woe the hounds be upon ye" imgflip meme does not particularly lend itself to 4 years, tens of posts, tens of threads and more strewn-around discussions of nuance.

I reiterate my apologies for the noise, the ruckus, and for the pointedness that had no business being here, especially considering how long stuff like that has been going on for; it was uncalled for and callous for it to fall on specific people when it is more productive to talk about it as tropes and a wider fandom problem than to point fingers. I should have had the discipline and the discernment to cut it out and go to bed. i didn't, got way in over my head, and truly and fully fumbled. i apologize for making a circus out of this. thank you for reading, and hope you're well.

#of racialized caricature my US viewers will be more familiar with anti-black and anti-japanese caricature but it's not a US thing and #its silly to imply otherwise. western europe had a whole body of antisemitic caricature all through the 19& 20th century (still found now)#russia also had antisemitic caricatures as well all the caricatures related to ''the yellow peril'' and generally anti-asian propaganda #the racialized/racist components Thrive in caricatures; even if subconsciously #oh girl this is no neigh that's a whinny #sad i find myself artemyposting like this these past days but man

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luvrxbunny · 5 months

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Let’s start with my mom: My mom is not the worst mom. I love her so much that it hurts. She could just be better like all the other parents in the world. Like once she kicked me out of the house bc of my stepdad who cheated on her multiple times and treated her like absolute shit. She would purposely put my little sister off to the side (which doesn’t make sense bc my step dad is her father😭) and would put her on me and my older sister. She used to constantly criticized me on how my hair looked, how I dressed,and more. But that motivated me. I changed up my wardrobe, started learning how to do my hair, bought makeup, everything. I did it not only bc of what she would say but what people at school would say. Which when I told her I was getting bullied at school, she told me to just stand up for myself and when I told her I didn’t know how, she would ridicule me about that too. Another time she flat out told me I wasn’t wanted. AT A PUBLIC POOL. There were worse times than others but I’m glad I still have a good relationship with my mom. Not everyone is as lucky as me

Now my dad on the other hand, fuck him. First off, when I was growing up he was a poor excuse of a father. He still is but that’s wtv🙄. He would bail on me at times even though he promised. And when his health got worse, he started to treat me like a maid. I do currently live with my dad and for the past few months, I have to do almost everything for him. He’s always like “Kenya do this for me” and “Kenya do that for me”. He asks me for so much that sometimes he pays me. I cook for him, I clean for him sometimes, I get things for him and what I don’t do, my grandma does. And let me tell you, my grandma is a strong woman bc I would have gave up a long time ago if I was her. This man is ungrateful, lazy, a piece of shit, and a overall bad person. He smells first of all at his big grown age, my grandma cleans up after him, and the reason I say he’s ungrateful is bc recently when he got back from the hospital bc of a knee injury, my grandma had stripped his bed and he got mad. He said and I quote “I told her what to do and she just did whatever she wanted to do.” So I said “you’re lucky she washed anything. Just ungrateful.” And this dumbass nigga had the audacity to say to me “I didn’t ask for your fucking attitude Kenya. You sit in here and let her do the shit.” Referring to her stripping his bed and cleaning his sheets. I just walked off before I hurt him bc he can be such a pain in the fucking ass, you know? Like y grandma is not getting any younger and you’re just putting more stress on her. And what kills me is he got a degree and never did anything with it bc he’s a failure. Why go to college and never have a career? What makes me mad about that is some people never got the chance to go to college and you just threw your life away like nothing? And he can’t even blame it on his health bc ITS HIS FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE. It’s all those years of terrible eating and unhealthy decisions that got you in this place.

I could really talk about my dad for hours and how much I hate that man. But what’s crazy is I would still be sad if he died. Sometimes I feel like I wouldn’t though

okay babes why are you almost me

i’m the same way with my mom, like she’s almost my best friend, we have a pretty good relationship, definitely better than most but she is also the meanest person to me in my life. she’s the only one who can make me feel as terrible as i do, yet i love her????

and for the doing everything around the house, i also relate to that. my mom has me and my siblings clean the entire house, she used to withhold food or sleep until we got things done, she would scream and more that i’d rather just not get into but luckily she’s too old to do that anymore— or we’re too big. but i don’t know why some parents think their children were made to serve them? like we’re our own people with our own lives. you wouldn’t like to be doing something like this for free so what makes you think i want to?

and i hope u don’t take this the wrong way but your dad sounds insanely immature. like as a grown ass man you’re yelling at your child and your mother over some bedsheets!?! just hearing abt it is making my blood boil

and then i said how you’d still be sad if he died omg i felt that

my dad was abusive and had been absent for god knows how long but if i randomly got some shit in the mail saying he died…? i think i’d still feel some sadness over it and it makes me even more upset that he can make me feel anything when he doesn’t deserve any of it

#luvrmail 💌#group therapy~ <3

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shakespearianne · 2 years

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Hi sorry if you're not taking requests you can just ignore this but if you are can you please do a eddie x reader fic where after the events in the upside down they become roommates and get really close but the reader won't ever tell him their feelings and one night she hears him being very loud and kinds rough with a random girl and then it keeps happening almost every night he has a different girl but she notices they kinda resemble the reader in different ways then one night eddie goes into the readers room drunk and confesses that he likes them and pretends those girls are the reader everytime he hooks up with them

hey there! this is actually my first request ever and i LOVED it so i wrote something based on what you gave me! i hope you'll enjoy it, please don't forget to like/reblog/tell me what you thought about it or even send me another request! ♡

tags: mutual pining, mention of rough sex (it's only heard, never seen or experienced by reader but still +18 minors dni), fem!reader, dom!eddie, thanks god for robin & steve, idiots in love, angst but it ends in fluff

word count: 6.6k (ehehe)

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be sharing a flat with Eddie « the freak” Munson from Hawkins High, you would have called them crazy, burst into laughter and probably asked them if they were high or something.

And yet, here you are, living in Indianapolis, studying English Literature at University (because what other degree would interest a Shakespeare nerd like yourself?) and having Eddie for a roommate. Of course, you are now much closer to Eddie than you were last year, when all you were sharing was a common distaste for chemistry. That happens when you found yourself trapped in another dimension and manage to save the world together. The events in the Upside Down had created a particular bond between you two, one that you couldn’t explain differently than by saying “He’s just not what I thought he was” when your high school friends had asked why you had picked him as a roommate. And it’s not like you could ask anyone else, Nancy has left for Emerson, Robin and Steve were still in Hawkins and you couldn’t afford to be living on your own. Eddie, finally graduating from high school, wanted to give his music career a decent shot and that meant moving to a bigger city. It was an obvious and sensible choice.

And it has nothing to do with the fact that you have the biggest crush on him. It’s ridiculous, really, and such a cliché. Robin finds the whole thing hilarious and every time you call her to talk about life, she only asks if you told him yet. And the answer is always the same: I can’t. He doesn’t like me. Not like that. It’s pointless. It’ll pass. But it doesn’t pass. And as you begin your sixth month of living together, you feel like you’re losing your goddamn mind. Because, if anything, it’s getting worse. It’s not Eddie’s fault, it’s not like he encourages it or something but he’s just so… Eddie. He always asks you how’s your day, if you had any interesting lectures or anything that made you smile. He often comes to the small café where you work three times a week and always leave a much bigger tip than needed – but you repay him by using this money to buy him his favorite brand of cereals. He borrows records from the shop where he’s a seller and he brings them home to make you discover new music, when he's not making new listen to his own art. That might be your favorite part of living with Eddie, this intimate sharing of what makes him truly happy. And also the fact that the boy seems to hate shirts because you’ve seen his naked torso so many times it’s actually painful. But, hey, it gives you great imagery when you’re alone in your bed, one hand slipped under your panties while the other caress your body, looking for some kind of release, that nobody at university can provide.

You tried. You really, really tried. But after the third failed talking stage, you just gave up. You don’t blame the guys. They’re sweet, funny, intelligent but they’re just not Eddie Munson. They don’t make you laugh so hard that you fear you might piss yourself. They don’t insist on buying quality coffee, even if it’s more expensive that the off-brand one, just because they know that you always start your day with a cup of coffee (black, no sugar, no milk, and just enough to make anybody go into cardiac arrest) and that you really enjoy good coffee. They don’t have the dimples, the always untamed hair, the soft smile or the deep chestnut eyes. Maybe the reason you like coffee so much is that its color reminds you of Eddie when he looks at you a certain way, never in broad daylight but always carefully hidden in the winding of an evening with friends, with a joint on his lips and an indecipherable glimmer to his look. Sometimes, you like to pretend that it’s desire that lays behind those thick lashes. But you know better than to entertain these fantasies, especially since you don’t plan to act upon them.

If your nights are mostly spent alone in the confines of your bedroom, Eddie, however, likes to indulge in other nocturnal activities. You’re not angry, truly. He is handsome and he, more than anyone you know, deserves to feel good. You know he also left Hawkins because he was always going to be the freak, the cult leader, the everlasting suspect of a series of gruesome murders. Here, he can be Eddie. He can charm girls at a party or while selling records to them. He is unstained. He can bring a girl home and make her feel good without wondering if she is in his bed because she has a weird fascination for potential killers. (He once met a girl like this, just after graduation. He doesn’t like to talk about it.) And you know that making a girl feel good is something that he is quite capable of. You’ve heard the moans, even muffled and reserved. You’ve even seen a handful of them, crossing paths as they leave the flat while you’re on your way to the bathroom. They retire with a sense of appeasement on their faces who leaves you musing. What does your lovely roommate do to these girls, so that they always cum? You’ve been with enough guys yourself to know that an orgasm in not always in the cards when having sex. You don’t mind, sex is no competition for you, there is no goal to achieve. But still, it would ne nice to experiment the same amount of euphoria than these girls when you hear them cry his name at night. You wonder how those five letters would sound in your mouth and sometimes, when you lay awake in your bed, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, you murmur it, just to try.

Eddie.

And the whisper is enough to make you clench your eyes, wishing that he would say yours back.

It’s during a night like this that everything starts to shift. You’re in your bed, reading Much Ado About Nothing. Again. You can’t help it. It’s your favorite comedy by Shakespeare (tragedy is Romeo and Juliet because you always had a weird crush on Mercutio and if you have to pick an history play, you always say Henry VI. You just really love the Wars of the Roses). You sometimes wish you were more like Beatrice, witty and daring. But you feel like life has turned you into a Hero, patiently waiting for someone or something to fix things for you. And you don’t enjoy it very much. You’re at the beginning of Act IV, where Beatrice asks Benedick to kill his cousin Claudio to avenge Hero’s honor and you’re mouthing the words as you’re reading, having learned them from reading it over and over. You’re about to recite to yourself ‘O, that I were a man!’ when you hear the distinct chime of the keys turning into the lock of the front door. It’s Eddie and he’s not alone.

« Now be a good girl and follow me. »

His voice is deeper at night, or perhaps it’s his tone that’s different. There’s something natural about his commanding inflection and without realizing it, you’re putting the book on your nightstand, eagerly waiting for what comes next. There’s a feeling that resembles a bit too much shame to your liking but you decide to ignore it. There’s no harm in listening, you decide. So you listen. There’s only a single wall between yours and Eddie’s bedroom so everything is pretty clear for you. You recognize the sound of clothes being pull out, the unmistakable creak of a body on a bed, followed by another. Your pulse beats faster as a chant of sloppy noises echoes on the other side and you grasp your sheets, wishing that you had agreed to that second date with Sean Burr when he had offered to see you again, two days ago. You miss physical contact, especially at this instant and your fingers are wonderful, but sometimes it’s just not enough.

« Get on your knees and suck my dick, you dirty slut. »

Eddie’s roar pulls out from your thoughts and you gasp at the ruthless order. He’s never been like this before. Usually, you don’t hear much from him when he comes back accompanied. The girls are more vocals than he is. But you can’t complain at this sudden change, because when he talks gain, you feel a very familiar pool of heat forming in your lower belly.

« You like being treated like a whore, don’t you? »

It’s as if he was talking to you and his inflection leaves no doubt that he is not asking, he is acknowledging. You suddenly wish you were on the other side of the wall, kneeling before him, your mouth wide open for his length. You haven’t seen him naked but those tight black jeans leave little room for imagination. You don’t think Eddie Munson has anything to be ashamed of. And you’ve seen those fingers at work multiple times on his guitar. That man has a gift and there is no doubt he’ll put it to good use tonight.

« M’ gonna show you who’s in charge here. »

The girl whimpers something back but you can’t quite distinguish what she says and to be honest, you don’t really care. Your only point of focus is Eddie, his erratic breaths, his groans and you bit your cheeks, desperately fighting the urge to touch yourself. You won’t. You can’t. This is a line that you refuse to cross, even if the need for friction becomes almost painful. You try to calm yourself, to focus on your breathing but you hear a slam and you know that Eddie’s hand must have left a red imprint on that girl’s ass. You wonder if he kept his rings on and you decide that if it were you, you’d beg him to never take them off, even if it means he’ll have to finger you with it. You’re sure it’ll only add up to the experience.

« Eddie. » The girl whines but she’s quickly muffled

« Did I say you could speak? » He sounds practically dangerous and another slap follows, « No, I didn’t. So keep that mouth shut and those legs wide open. »

He must be fucking her from behind, you realize and you wince. It’s one of your favorite positions but no partners of yours has ever made you feel truly good while doing it. It’s always awkward, the boy not knowing exactly what’s expected of him, unsure thrusts and messy hands. But Eddie would be different. Eddie would know what you want. Eddie would wrap one of his hands - rings on - around your neck and gently press the side of it while pounding into you. You hate yourself for visualizing so quickly but you can’t help it. You’ve got history with your Eddie Munson fantasies. Might even write your thesis on all of the ways you wish he would fuck you.

But that’s not you who’s getting fucked tonight and the ever-pressing moans and begs that escape that lucky girl’s mouth are a reminder that you are alone in your bed. And now you wish it all ends quickly, for you’re not sure you can’t bear it much longer. God - or is it Eddie? - seems to hear your prayers as a mantra of fuck and shit along with a fair share of moans rings through the flat. They are so loud, especially Eddie and a litany of curses leave his mouth as he reaches his apex. You’ve never been so aroused by anything in your life and you can’t do anything about it. So you pull out your tape player, glue the headphones to your ears and you press play. The soothing voice of Janis Joplin fills your head and you try to focus on her lyrics rather than on the fire between your legs. Eddie often mocks you for listening to such old tunes but you can’t help it, there is something in this anthem that just speaks to you.

I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it

Take another little piece of my heart now, baby

You don’t need to ponder too much to know what it is.

The next morning is awkward for you. You don’t like to leave your room before you’re sure that the girl of the night is gone but you also need to pop over to the university library before your first class to borrow a few books. You take a quick trip to the bathroom first because if you’re going to see that girl who got the time of her life last night while you were laying hot and bothered in your bed, you might as well look your best. You don’t consider yourself to be particularly pretty but still, you like to feel good about your appearance. You feel almost territory when you enter the small kitchen. It’s your home and it’s your Eddie. No one if there and you’re grateful for it, preparing your usual morning cup of coffee. You even find yourself softly humming as you pick your favorite mug, a gift from Uncle Wayne when you moved in. It’s white and embellished with bats, a nod to Eddie’s infamous tattoo. Of course, good ole Uncle Wayne ignores that it made Eddie and you die of laughter, realizing the inadvertent reference to a somewhat traumatic souvenir in the Upside Down. You smile at the tender memory, pouring the black liquid into the beloved vessel and you’re unaware that suddenly, you’re not alone anymore.

« Hello? »

Her greeting is almost a challenge and when you turn around to face her, you practically drop your cup. She is pretty, you won’t deny it, taller and leaner than you will ever be but there is something about her face that leaves you confounded. She’s got your eyes. Well, not exactly the same. Yours are slightly different, the color perhaps more intense and the shape kind of sharper. But there is something strikingly common between your stares, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. At nighttime, in the fever of the act, you wonder if Eddie felt like it was you who were staring at him.

« Oh, hm, hi ? » You try your best to be polite but you refuse to be overly affectionate with this unknown person that you will never see again. You sip on your coffee and she seems to be waiting for a conversation that is definitively not going to happen.

« I’m Tracy. » She tries again and this time, you feel obliged to answer.

« Y/N. » You press your lips into a semblance of a smile. « I live here. »

You don’t know why you felt the need to precise it. Perhaps it’s because you want her to know that she’ll be gone soon and that you’ll keep on living with Eddie. That you know him better than she ever will and that you have access to part of his soul that she can only dream of. It’s kinda petty but you don’t care. You can’t always be noble.

« Tracy? »

You’d recognize Eddie’s morning voice anywhere and your sudden boldness disappear as soon as his messy mane enters the kitchen. You realize you can’t do it, not after what happened last night. There’s an ache in your heart that his presence will only enhance and as soon as you lock eyes with him, you do the one thing you’re really good at. You act as if nothing’s wrong and you get the fuck away from this.

« Gotta go. »

Your voice may be cold but you feel as if your lungs are on fire. You don’t even wash the cup and Eddie will know that you’re not okay because you’re the one who always insists on at least putting it in the sink. You brush against him while leaving the room - and you hate that he has no shirt on and that you can see the red marks that her fingernails must have left - and pick up your bag from your room before making your way towards the door. You’re frivolous enough for a last jab before leaving.

« Bye Tracy! »

You spend the day trying not to think about Eddie. You go out of your way to come back to the flat as late as possible. You stay at university until the security guard has to push you out of the building and you even think about walking home to gain more time without Eddie. But it’s stupid and you know it. So you take your car and drive anxiously, wishing that time would stretch out. Coming home is usually your favorite part of the day. It’s when you get to see Eddie again and you share everything that happened to both of you today, even if it’s of little importance. Sometimes you cook and he puts a record and you dance together in the kitchen, and it’s simple and it’s what home feels like to you. You realize it as you park near your apartment. There is something domestic about living with Eddie and somehow it had been shattered by the events of last night. Your heart breaks at the thought of it and it takes you all of the strength that you have to not cry in your car.

You’re relieved to find the flat empty and you go straight to your room, once stopping by the kitchen to found out Eddie has already washed the mug you left this morning. Fuck him (you wish). You’re not hungry and the only find you want to do is sleep and hope that tomorrow will be less painful. But it’s not. Eddie brings another girl back that night and you can’t help but found yourself wary at this incongruity. Eddie never do one girl after another. That’s just not him. But you never deemed him to be mean during sex so you guess you don’t really know anything about him after all. And he is mean, again. Rough, even. You pinpoint the sounds of pain that lead to pleasure, as he only speaks in orders. This time you don’t lend an ear to the whole spectacle. You need sleep. Your finals are dangerously close and you won’t let Eddie Munson distract you. So you smoke a cigarette to calm your nerves and you put Janis on.

The next morning, you wake up even earlier; It’s a change of strategy: perhaps if you wake up before them, you won’t have to face Eddie and what’s her name. But the plan fails and you grind your teeth when the kitchen is once again invade by an unknown girl while you sip your coffee in peace and quiet.

« Oh, sorry! » she stutters « I didn’t know Eddie had a sister. »

« Roommate, actually. »

Your smile is everything but sincere and the girl in front of you starts twirling her hair, probably caught off balance at your snarky answer. Your brows furrow at the sight and you gawk when you suddenly become aware that this girl, whom Eddie fucked last night, has your hair. If you were to look at her attentively, studying her as if she were some sort of insect and you a scientific, you may come to find a few differences. The length differs and you want to believe that yours seem to be in better shape. But it’s not your locks Eddie was grasping last night and it’s just another poke at your ego. You’re not good enough. This time, you don’t even wait for Eddie to come out of his bedroom and you barely acknowledge the girl as you leave the flat, knowing that you will come back as late as you can.

He’s there when you finally push the front door, hours later, exhausted. You know it because you hear the sound of his acoustic guitar, gently humming a melody that you have yet to hear before. It’s probably one of the multiple tracks Eddie is working on. The boy is incapable of focusing on one thing and you know that once he will begin to feel satisfied by this song, he will have to write another one. You can already see him, filling the pages of his notebook with new chords and new words.

« You’re home. »

You dart when Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your reverie. You hadn’t realize that the music had stopped and now you’re standing in the corridor and he’s looking at you from his bedroom, door wide open. He’s sitting on the floor, hair attached into a ponytail but a few wild strands frame his face, the ebony curls making him look like a Renaissance painting. His stare is fixed upon you, indescribable and the intensity of it uneases you.

« Yep. » You nervously start to chew on your lower lip, a very old habit of yours, « It’s been a long day. »

« You should rest then. » You want to scream at his solicitude. He has no right, being so gentle with you, as if you were some delicate vase that could break at any moment. Especially not when he is so rough with those other girls.

« I really should. » You really shouldn’t think about Eddie fucking, not when you can almost smell the faint scent of sex that exudes from his bed. Or maybe you’re just imagining it because you’re that desperate.

« Sleep well, sweetheart. »

Your answer is barely a sigh and you turn to leave when Eddie calls again.

« Y/N? » You instantly switch to face him and his eyes are now glossy with an emotion that almost scares you with its magnitude.

« We’re good, right? » He suddenly looks so young and you feel so very old and tired. You just want to crawl into his arms and make the pain disappear. But you simply say, « Of course, we’re good, Eddie. Why would we be anything else? »

It’s more a question to yourself and you have no answer to provide when you go to sleep.

The next few days pass in a hurry. You’re almost relieved that you have so little time between finals and your shifts at the café that you barely see Eddie at all. However, you don’t know why but you always meet the girls he brings home. You don’t mean to, but it’s like they can sense when you’re awake and they go to you, like a moth to a flamme. Except you’re the one burning here. You hear them as well. It’s almost like he doesn’t care that you’re a few feet away, completely capable of getting what he does to them, how he fucks them with vigor. You envy them. They leave his bedroom with disheveled hair, sore muscles and a smile that reveals how much they must have enjoyed it. And every time you look at one of them, which is not every morning but more often than you wish, you can’t help but grasp a likeness between you and them. It’s never the same thing, but there’s always something. Sometimes it’s in the sketch of the nose, or the way that she barely parts her lips when she smiles. One, you would swear she has the same voice as you and another, it’s something about her hands that makes you gaze a little bit too much.

You feel as if you’re slowly losing the little sanity you had left after escaping Vecna and you turn to the only person you can safely share your concerns with. Robin.

« So, what you’re telling me is that Eddie has been bringing a different girl back to the flat every two nights for the past two weeks and that, somehow, they all look a little bit like you? »

« I know, » you sigh, massaging your temples as you fathom the cast of disbelief on your best friend’s face, « I know it sounds crazy but I don’t know Robin… there’s something about those girls, it’s like they all have a little bit of me in them. »

« It doesn’t sound crazy considering that Munson has a crush on you since you crushed the skull of a demobat with your combat boots. I thought he was going to propose on the spot. »

« What the fuck are you talking about? » You hiss into the receiver of your rotary telephone but Robin doesn’t listen and she keeps talking - like she usually do when she has something she wants to say

« It’s glaring, Y/N! If Eddie is fucking all of those different girls that somehow, in the grand mystic scheme of the universe, seem to look a little bit like you, it’s because he wants to fuck you! Now, I don’t know why the man can’t grow some balls and actually fuck you - because, let’s be honest, we both know you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea - but you have to do something about it! Do you want to be fucked by Eddie Munson or not? »

« Robin, I know that you are at work, could you please not scream the words Eddie Munson and fucking?! » You shot an apprehensive glare at your bedroom door. Eddie is not home, but he should be finishing work soon and the last thing you want is for him to overhear this conversation.

« Why? It’s not like he’s going to hear me! He’s not in Hawkins, for fuck’s sake, he is in Indianapolis, with you. You should be the one screaming that you want him to fuck you, I’m sure he’d be more than pleased to hear it! »

You hang up shortly after that, Robin spending the rest of the call trying to convince you to make your feelings known and you rebuffing the idea. Perhaps she’s right, perhaps Eddie is trying to find some bits of you in those girls but the fear of losing him because you misinterpreted what just happens to be a coincidence is greater than your need for closure. You’re glad you haven’t mentioned the roughness of his intercourses. It’s one thing to admit other the phone that yes, you do indeed want your roommate to fuck you, it’s another one to confess that you want him to fuck you until you can’t walk.

Two days later, your finals are finally behind you and you’re grateful for it. It’s Saturday night, which means that Eddie will probably be having a drink with his colleagues from the record store and you can spend the evening alone, watching a movie on the worn-out sofa that Eddie had found in your street, just a week after you moved in. He called it fate, you called it a sanitary hazard but he insisted that you needed one and that cleaning it would still be less expensive than buying one. So you had agreed because when could you say no to him?

So here you are, alone, David Bowie’s blinding smirk on your TV screen as you watch Labyrinth - the cassette was a gift from Steve for Christmas, Robin probably telling him about your preference for eccentric long-haired boys. You try not to think too much about Eddie, where he is, who he is talking to. You force yourself to ignore the persisting speculation that keeps on telling you that you will find out soon enough, when he brings another girl home. You got a beer in your hand, something that’s very peculiar of you. You never drink alone, a promise you made to yourself years ago to never become like your father, but those past days have been torturous and you just feel like unwinding tonight. So you sip the alcohol, enjoy your movie and revel in the peaceful atmosphere that you have created for yourself.

Peace doesn’t last. It dies when the front door suddenly slams open and the oh so easily identifiable drunken voice of Eddie Munson reverberates in your flat.

« Y/N Y/L/N! »

You barely have the time to register what is going on that he is already in the living room, leaning on the doorframe, definitively plastered.

« Eddie Munson? » the dainty intoxication of the beer you’ve just finished is making you bold and you raise an eyebrow to him « You’re home early, and alone. What happened? Thought you had more game than that. »

« Do no mock me, princess, » Eddie grunts, clumping to you until he almost collapses on the couch, his head resting on your lap. You quiver at the sudden intimacy. It’s not like he’s never done it before, he does it all the time when you’re watching a movie together. It usually ends with your fingers playing with his hair. It soothes him, or so he claims. « I missed you.»

« I missed you too, Eds. » You’re glad he’s not looking at you because you feel like crying.

« Did you? » he’s looking at you now, his deep brown eyes peering at you so sharply that you feel as though you are staring at the center of Earth itself, « ‘was under the impression that you were, dunno, avoiding me. »

You don’t know what to say but you don’t feel like lying, not tonight. And your silence is enough of an answer so that Eddie pulls himself up, now fulling facing you as he sits on the couch next to you, his shattered look a dagger in your already bleeding heart.

« It’s because of the girls, isn’t it? » he pleads, your attention locked to the television.

« Eddie, I-» but you don’t have the time to finish whatever made up sentences you were planning on offering to him

« I fucked up, I know. I shouldn’t have brought so many of them, don’t know why I acted like that, probably trying to make you jealous - as if you give a fuck about that sort of thing - and now you must think me truly abnormal because I know you could hear us from your room and that’s why you can’t even bring yourself to look at me, you’ve finally realized that I am, in fact, a freak. »

There’s so much to unpack in his little monologue that you don’t where to start - although the part where he talks about making you jealous has started a fire in your lungs and you don’t know how long you’ll be able to breath before asking if he actually mean it. So you just switch to face him and you take his jaw between your hands, a gesture that you know will calm him down.

« Eddie Wayne Munson, » you over-articulate each syllabe, your eyes never leaving his, « I do not think you are a freak or abnormal, just because you like it rough in the bedroom. »

« But the girls, they bothered you, right?? » he keeps on babbling, « because I called Steve and he said something about Robin yelling my name and the verb fucking when she was on the telephone with you during one of her shifts at Family Video so please don’t tell me that there’s nothing I should worry about because it’d be a lie and we both know it! »

He finally ends his diatribe with a blow and you’re left more lost than ever. Eddie is obviously very drunk but you know from experience that alcohol makes him the very picture of honesty. One drink and he is incapable of lying. And while there’s this respectful, dignified part of you who objects to using his state of inebriation to your advantage, you’re also just human and painfully flawed.

« Well, » you’re unsure at first but your inquiring mind gets the best of you, « well if we’re being honest, yeah, there’s something about those girls that… bothered me, you could say. »

Eddie’s fretful eyes never leave you as you begin to unravel your heart to him. Your hands, that were once on his jaw now rest on his lap, his fingers intertwined with yours and the familiar feeling on his rings against your skin somehow gives you the strength to utter the rest.

« It’s just that, I don’t know, perhaps I am imagining things and I’m completely mistaken - and if that’s the case, I want you to know how sorry I am and please don’t let me being a moron ruin our friendship but I just feel like… those girls they… I was under the impression that they kinda all add something in common with me, you see? »

Eddie’s silence is deafening. He is no longer facing you and as you anxiously observe his profile, you distinguish an odd brilliance in his eyes. He’s about to cry, you comprehend, I’ve ruined everything.

« Forget it Eddie, » you’re quick to shake your head, as if the gesture could erase your words, « I’m sorry, it’s probably the beer that’s making me say crazy shit. »

« No, » his voice is softer now, although you still recognize the cast of alcohol in it, « no, you’re right. They all looked like you, somehow. That’s why I wanted them. »

He turns to face you, bearing a smile so full of sadness that you feel a knot slowly forming in your throat.

« I know it’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. But it took me three years to graduate high school so perhaps I am indeed a lost cause. »

« Don’t say that. » You cut him off, tightening the grip that your hands have on his.

« But that’s the true, isn’t it? » Eddie lets out a sour laugh, gazing at your joined hands before he sighs, « Because any normal human being would just tell you how much they like you instead of seeking bits of you in every girl they meet. I can’t help it, I just - I just pretend they’re you even though they’re nowhere near as beautiful or smart or funny but I have to! Shit, I even almost hooked up with a girl once because she had your name but I couldn’t bring myself to say your name while kissing another name, that was too fucked up, even for me. »

« You… you like me ? » the knot in your throat is tighter now and you feel as if air has left your lungs

« Y/N, I’m crazy about you. »

There’s something in you that breaks at the very instant, perhaps the dam that you have built months ago, when the slow realization that your attraction for Eddie was not going anywhere had taken over your being. It’s like being submerged by a wave of emotions that you don’t quite know how to describe and, almost instinctively, you just laugh.

« I know » Eddie groans, hiding his face into the back of the couch, « Jesus H. Christ, this is so embarrassing. »

« More embarrassing that the fact that I’ve heard you slap at least six different asses during the last two weeks? » you can’t help but tease him, a sweet revenge for what he put your through

« You see, that’s exactly why it couldn’t be you! I could never be like that with you, » Eddie suddenly jolts and you laugh again because frankly, the whole situation is ridiculously funny to you

« Eddie Munson, you wouldn’t fuck me? But I thought you were crazy about me? » you dramatically act as if he was announcing you the worst news ever, gasping audibly, one hand planted on your open mouth, eyebrows comically risen above your overly shocked gaze. You’re about to laugh again but Eddie’s gentle tone interrupts you with something that you hadn’t expected at all.

« Y/N, I wouldn’t fuck you. I would make love to you. »

And you ultimately decide that fuck it, you’ve already wasted too much time ignoring what’s been spreading inside of you since you first heard him being dominant.

« Perhaps I want you to fuck me. »

Time stops for a second, or maybe for an hour. You can’t tell. Eddie looks at you, astonished, like a deer caught in the headlights, but there’s also the gleam of a fire in those magnificent brown eyes. You don’t know who moves first and later, you will both argue that it was the other but at this very instant it doesn’t matter. What matters if that you’re finally kissing Eddie Munson and he’s kissing you back and it is glorious.

It’s messy, of course, as first kisses tend to be, especially when there’s alcohol involved but as you part your lips, an eager invitation to feel his tongue against yours, you find out that you don’t care. It’s perfect just the way it is, with his hands buried into your hair and yours grasping his shirt wile you push yourself against his torso, craving even more contact. But you still need to breath so you break the kiss, your foreheads meeting and Eddie’s smile is so dazzling that you giggle again.

« I’ll fuck you in the morning when I’m sober, darling. » He pecks at the corner of your lips, tracing a route that goes from your jaw to your ear. « ‘cause I wanna remember every second of the first time I’ll get to feel you clench around me. »

Your laugh dies in a whimper and his lips are on yours again, only this time there’s a fervor that leaves you breathless. It’s like Eddie knows what you like, his teeth grazing your lower lip without biting it, his tongue slowly dancing around yours in a mystic choreography. Your nose is so pressed against his cheek that it’s all scrunched up now and when capture Eddie’s lips between your teeth, he lets out a moan that makes you shudder with anticipation.

« Easy there, princess. » He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace, his mouth leaving delicate kisses at the crown of your head, « we’ll have plenty of time tomorrow. »

« But I want it now, Eddie » you’re not far from begging, your nose finding the crook of his neck as your start leaving sloppy kisses at the juncture between his neck and shoulder « I want you to fuck me. Or to make love to me, I don’t care. »

« Maybe I can make fuckin’ love to you » there’s a glimpse of malice in his boyish smile that makes you question why you waited for so long before making a move on him.

« Or you can fuck me with love » you counter, playing with the unkept curls that frame his beautiful face.

And you both laugh, and suddenly everything feels easy and right. You have completely forgotten about the movie playing in the background, about David Bowie and magic babies, because the only thing that matters is right in front of you. You want Eddie and he wants you to and tomorrow, after Eddie finally fucks you, you’ll Robin and Steve and you’ll thank them for making things right. But for now, you kiss him until your lips hurt and you can’t tell if it’s because of the constant contact with Eddie’s mouth or because you can’t stop smiling from the sheer ecstasy that this night has brought to you.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #Eddie Munson fanfiction

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veryace-ficrecs · 1 year

Text

Good Omens POV Outsider Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

And Your Enemies Closer by GoldenUsagi - Rated G

Some Satanic monks summon Aziraphale to sacrifice to a Beast of Hell. Unbeknownst to everyone involved, the Beast is Crowley. The ritual sort of goes downhill after that.

On Being Bar Mitzvahed by write_away - Rated G

Zachary Hirsch is quite certain that he's never met Uncle Anthony and Uncle Ezra before, but all sorts of relatives have come out of the woodwork for his bar mitzvah, so it's not like he's surprised.

Crowley and Aziraphale occasionally crash b'nei mitzvahs, confuse the bar mitzvah boy, and leave presents.

The future's going to break through by nieded - Rated T

Series: 3 Works

My take on South Downs: Aziraphale and Crowley decide to become professors. This is inspired by the headcanon that Crowley has 20 different degrees. He is the Serpent of the Tree of Knowledge after all.

The Official Mr Fell Quarantine Thread by argentconflagration - Rated T

It is with an exasperated sigh that I introduce you to an official thread for this guy. We've discussed it and we've decided that this is the only way we can stop you guys from derailing threads to complain about this guy. By mod decree, all Mr Fell complaining, griping, bitching, grousing, and miscellaneous butthurt now belongs in THIS THREAD AND THIS THREAD ONLY.

The forumgoers of The Codex, a forum for rare book hunters, come to some very interesting conclusions about the personal life of one Mr Fell of Soho. (Inspired by a tumblr post.)

Sleeping Like The Dead by WorseOmens - Not Rated

Aziraphale takes up the habit of sleeping, and goes a bit overboard. After all, with Crowley in bed beside him, why would he ever want to get up?

(Or: The ineffable husbands sleep for three months straight and the whole street thinks they're dead. NOT ANGSTY)

Unto the Whateverth Generation by AstroGirl - Rated T

When your family has been unsuccessfully trying to summon a demon for generations, it's bound to be a little bit of a shock when he actually shows up. Especially for the demon.

Chicken Soup for the Dudebro's Soul by ShinyHappyGoth - Rated T

Chanctonbury Ring, a prehistoric hill fort covered in beech trees, is a point of interest near Devil's Dyke on the South Downs. Local legend has it that, if you run around it seven times anticlockwise, the Devil will appear and offer you a bowl of soup in exchange for your soul.

Local legends are weird like that.

Like He Hung the Stars in the Sky by asideofourown - Rated T

“There’s so much you humans don’t understand about the universe, it’s not my fault that I do,” he said in a statement to BBC reporter Jane Smith. “Just you wait!”

BREAKING: SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN DISARRAY AS NEWCOMER UPENDS DOZENS OF ACCEPTED THEORIES

Up and coming British astrophysicist Dr. Anthony J. Crowley has rocked the science world this week with his research that proves many previously-accepted scientific theories about dark matter and the nature of our universe completely wrong. Dubbed the ‘Devil’s Theory,’ Crowley’s research has made the astrophysicist a star practically overnight, and one of the most sought-after scientists in the country.

[Crowley can't keep his mouth shut about the stars, and accidentally becomes a famous scientist. Based on this!]

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square by ThetaSigma - Rated T

Sam had settled into his job at the Ritz nicely. For example, no one there cared that his birth certificate listed him as Samantha and female and accepted him as Sam and male easily. It's a job he really loves, not least because his supervisor is possibly the nicest person to roam the Earth.

Sam also may be the first waiter in all of history to find out why the wine bottles fill up again when Aziraphale and Crowley have dined there.

***

He discreetly cleared away the empty bottles on the table and went to put them in the recycling, same as he always did.

Jim stopped him. “Not those bottles, son.”

“But they’re just empty bottles, Jim. Nothing left.”

“I know. But trust me. Cork them and put them back on the shelf, especially if those two ordered more than four bottles total.”

A Guide to Fame for the Enterprising Demon by asideofourown - Rated T

tildeathdoustogether

ok friends so i know we all joke about, like john mulaney and keanu reeves and hozier being immortals, but… i really think we gotta add anthony j. crowley to that list

thelongest27yearsofmylife reblogged and said:

Christ, Beth, Anthony Crowley is an increasingly popular, openly queer creator with explicitly queer rep in his work that’s really important to some people, can you not make this into a meme for ONCE in your life?

[Crowley accidentally gets a bit famous, and the internet figures out he may be a bit immortal]

tildeathdoustogether reblogged and said:

you think i’m joking but. i’m not. l i s t e n i did not get a history degree for nothing, i have RECEIPTS. buckle in kiddos this is a wild ride

The Cell Block Gavotte by WorseOmens - Not Rated

Crowley is forced to defend himself from three disgruntled demons in the heart of London, and that is really, really hard to explain in a human court of law.

(Or: Crowley goes to prison, and decides to just roll with it)

stand on the brink of the warm white day by appomattox - Rated T

hdjngjjbg you guys earlier i was waiting at the bus stop just outside a bookstore and the owner, a little upper-middle aged man who gives off immense gay vibes, walked by on his way in and just. handed me a bag of fun size almond joy????

Wherein: Aziraphale is a Confirmed Immortal.

Wilson & Sons by voidify - Rated G

Ever since its establishment in 1768, Wilson & Sons Barbershop had been a proud family business. Customers came and customers went— but there was one who had, apparently, been there since the very start: A.Z. Fell.

it's a new craze by attheborder - Rated T

***

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan.

AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we?

CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all.

AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous.

CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast.

But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

Crowley Invented Youtube Recommended (Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils remix) by flibbertygigget - Rated T

After Aziraphale's video on crêpes makes it into Youtube recommendations through a little demonic intervention, he quickly goes viral. Cue college students just trying to make it work, a bunch of young queers who see A.Z. Fell and his husband Anthony as "goals," and quite a few comments from one Newton Pulsifer.

The Art of Pretence by WitchFlame (RachelMcN) - Rated T

Playacting is an essential skill for a demon.

Especially when you get summoned by amateur witches with a thirst for power. Luckily, Crowley's silver tongue has always been his most versatile trait.

“You wrote the binding wrong,” the demon speaks and she jumps so harshly that her carefully cradled flask spills and smashes against the floor.

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by TheOldAquarian - Rated G

What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals.

The resulting Airbnb property has been variously described as "an instagram trap," "a vampire den but make it botanical," and "the weirdest bed and breakfast in the shared history of beds and breakfasting."

what a way to make a living by attheborder - Rated T

Without any more assignments coming from Downstairs, Crowley is struck with a bad case of the doldrums.

It takes a bit of trial and error, but eventually a solution is found.

(Or: the one where Crowley becomes an Uber driver.)

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #anthony crowley #aziraphel #outsider pov #veryace recs #ao3 fic recs #ao3 #social media fanfiction

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palant1r · 1 year

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Between light and mikami, who would u say is worse

ooo interesting question! "worst" is a metric with such a wide variety of interpretations, so i'm gonna put forward a few definitions...

Least fun to hang out with at a party: Mikami, no doubt. He's the most boring person alive. Light is a charismatic person who's very good at acting personable and feigning interest in others, so I feel like he'd be a pretty fun acquaintance to have, even if he never lets anyone beneath the surface

Least fun to actually be close friends with, at least for me: Light. It would be like being friends with an incredibly sophisticated chatbot — all the right responses, but you can't get a peek at what actually makes him tick without a 400 IQ and 3 separate terminal degrees, plus years of hannibal-level psychoanalysis. But I could be friends with Mikami. I'm actually a bit of a law nerd — the kind of person who got tickets to a conference about public document requests for fun — so while we wouldn't be able to make small talk, I feel like once we got to know each other we could have some autistic ass conversations about court precedent. Also I could use a gym buddy.

Most net negative impact on the world: I mean, Light, obviously

Most pleasure taken in atrocities: Light. Mikami doesn't actually seem to take much personal pleasure in killing beyond his worship of Kira. Light, meanwhile, despite his self-justification of just wanting to make a good world, looooves to vindictively gloat over victims, even those that aren't those he thinks of as "criminals." See: L, Raye Penber, Near

Least coherent moral code: Mikami. His moral code is just like. Some religion he duct taped together out of a bunch of coincidences and terminal cop brain, plus a heavy dose of inexplicable cultural christianity despite not being culturally christian. Which makes it all the more baffling that he's apparently able to hold coherent conversations about politics. Light's own situation may be a middle schooler's first introduction to deontology and consequentalism, but at least it's something

Most aggravating moral code: Light. Man, I fucking hate the way this guy thinks about the world, because it's eerily similar to shit I see IRL. It's the idea of a moral code that exists fully to justify oneself as Good, cruelty justified through hatred of a so-called "evil," assuming that bad people are an ontological class that can be eliminated with no consequences and society will improve as a result. There are people who deadass believe this shit. I've compared Light tongue-in-cheek to Republicans in a fic before, but honestly I see it in leftist spaces all the time — just replace "criminals" with "billionaires." Hating the "bad people" and wanting them gone is such a convenient way for people to deny systemic injustice and their own role in it. And of course, as long as one defines oneself as "good," one gives themself free rein to eliminate opposition with righteous vindication. It's a mindset that's not unique to Light Yagami, he's just unique in the power he wields to enact it. It's the reason that, while as a Light Yagami Enjoyer I would never judge someone for loving Light Yagami, I tend to side-eye the side of the fandom that unironically argues Kira was right. I need to cut myself off before I go on my full anti-Kira rant...

Worst in bed: I'm not entirely confident Mikami knows what sex is.

Worst at being Kira: Light, by default — it was his own damn fault they lost, though he tried to blame Mikami. Hell, if he hadn't insisted on gloating in the warehouse, he might even have talked his way out of that situation. After all, it made sense for him to be the owner — someone in the task force had to be, and I'm pretty sure it's actually a plot hole that Mikami could see Aizawa's name. It wouldn't have convinced the SPK and Aizawa, but it would have given Ide and Mogi hesitation and Matsuda would certainly have been convinced. "But Mikami should have checked the notebook again before coming to the warehouse and it's stupid that he didn't—" HE WAS BEING CONTROLLED OK I 100% THINK MATSUDA IS RIGHT ABOUT THIS because otherwise both near and mikami's characters are assassinated in the final chapter more brutally than JFK and i do have a bit of respect for O&O as writers lmao. Mikami played his part perfectly. If he'd been the one to find the first notebook, I think he would have lasted longer than Light, simply because he wouldn't decide to do all the galaxy brain plays to get close to L.

#death note #ask #light yagami #teru mikami

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pirxtefairy · 4 months

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ZARINA ZARATE - - - - - *.⊹₊‧

"two parts sunflower seed & a dash of moonflower."

GENERAL –

full name: zarina zarate.

nicknames: z.

age: twenty-eight.

gender: cis female.

species: fairy.

eye color: hazel.

hair color: brown.

height: five feet, three inches.

date of birth: october twenty-seventh .

occupation: peddler.

positive traits: passionate. clever. resourceful. curious. adventurous. creative.

negative traits: sneaky. distrusting. reckless. feisty. self-serving. thievish. crafty.

HEADCANONS –

Zarina’s pixie dust alchemy has combined with human chemistry upon getting trapped in Evermore. What she’s been focused on as of late is trying to find a way to create more pixie dust, whether synthetic or pure. Maybe even blue pixie dust! She only has so much left of her supply from Pixie Hollow… but she’ll be damned to let her passion trickle out when she’s come so far.

Most fairies have their reservations of the ocean to some degree, other large bodies of water included. Zarina wasn’t any different. Wet wings made for a downed fairy, and in extreme conditions the loss of their wings entirely. But of course, Zarina being Zarina, she had her curiosities about the sea. She daydreamed about what all could be dwelling in such intense, expanse oceans and trenches. Mermaids. Monsters. Magic? Maybe. Eventually the water grew on her after running away from Pixie Hollow and spending so much time on ships and boats. Now she seeks it out when in need of peace or inspiration.

Zarina has always been very independent and more than comfortable with her own company. However, her severe trust issues and growing loneliness are at a constant war inside her mind. Not to mention that she’s always in survival mode. The other fairies seem to have grown accustomed to Evermore, getting cozy and building a life. Zarina doesn’t really have that luxury. Stealing things just to get by typically burns bridges before she can build them. She’s learned to keep her talents to herself since people have only ever used her or thrown her to the curb because of them.

Did you know crows bring “gifts” to people who share morsels of food and kindness with them? Zarina does. Crows are misunderstood creatures, just like her. They’re also probably the purest friends she currently has. Zarina regularly feeds the crows that loiter outside of her very small apartment. Occasionally they bring her gifts. “little treasures” as she prefers to call them. Dropped coins, lost earrings, small pebbles, etc. She keeps the more interesting items in a little box under her bed. One time a crow even brought her a one-hundred dollar bill… that was a really good week for her.

Zarina often adds little braids into her hard-to-tame lion’s mane. Sometimes she even weaves in little feathers, charms, hair cuffs or whatever else catches her fancy. Scarves and bandanas are also very common. But beware: if Zarina asks to borrow a hair tie, you’re not getting it back. More than likely she’ll accidentally snap it before you remember to ask for it back. Be gentle with her though, it’s not her fault. Blame her hair.

This girl is super crafty and creative in more ways than one. In the traditional sense, Zarina without fail customizes and personalizes a lotttt of her things. Her favorite is her lab coat and smock. Whenever she has free time, Zarina will add some scrappy embroidery to the fabric or glue sea glass to the edges. In the less traditional sense, while she hates all of their guts, she learned a lot from the crew that betrayed her. Pickpocketing, sneaking around, resourcefulness, fashioning a good lie and even knowing how to work a knife. Well, sort of. She has surprisingly great aim.

Zarina is a big tea girl. Earl Grey is her favorite, but she loves coffee, too. Like many other people, she'll turn to flavored, espresso based drinks when she's looking for an extra kick of caffeine as long as they're not too sweet. Zarina isn't a huge fan of sweet coffee, but she always munches on candy when working in her little makeshift lab. When it comes to alcohol, Z bounces around between rum and cokes, whiskey and bourbon. It's also not uncommon finding her turning to weed when she's stressed or her brain won't shut off.

#evermore intro #intros are scary?#intros are scary.#hello to all (:#tw: mentions of alcohol and drugs

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enelea · 9 months

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Milan lay on the bed in his holding cell. He really hoped his dad would come through for him and help him get a proper lawyer who can squash these charges somehow.

"Riley, you caught the big fish?" an older cop asked giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Sure did, but I think the big fish is working for some sharks, who I am even more interested in." Both men had a good laugh. "Riley! Chief Lauden wants to see you", a slender brunette called from a distance. "Ah gotta go, see you guys later", Max said placing some files on a nearby shelf before turning around and making his way over to the new police chief's office.

Forest Lauden was a tall, stern man. He didn't have a reputation as being particularly nice, but he gave Max a pleased smile. "Congratulations Max, have a seat". "Thanks chief, glad to have him off the streets and away from the family whose lives he has ruined". Max replied seriously. "Speaking of family, Milan's father is a family friend of yours, I've heard." Max nodded. "Yes, they are decent people". "Unfortunately, as decent a man as he may be, blood is thicker than water and word has it that he is trying to help his messed up son out of the tight spot he finds himself in." Chief Lauden continued. "I guess we should have expected that. If it were me I would have wanted to help my kid too." Max frowned. "Look I have kids myself Max, but we aren't talking about some inexperienced, naughty teenager shoplifting a candy bar to impress his girlfriend. Milan Craigh is a grown man with a wife and children, who earned a college degree. He knows right from wrong and should take responsibility for his actions. His father should accept that and let us do our job without expecting favours. I can't allow this man to walk because we are softhearted over here." Lauden slightly raised his usually calm and deep voice. Max couldn't disagree with him. As tough as it was, Lauden was absolutely correct. "I guess I am asking you to speak to him." I will, sir." Max wasn't pleased but he had to stand up for what was right.

It was just after lunch, Max wasn't sure if he had convinced Mitch Craigh to let the law deal with his son without interference, but he sure tried. He sat at his desk with the paperwork that he needed to complete, dreading sharing the news at home. His kids attended school with Milan. What a shock it would be to find out their father had to cuff Milan and bring him in.

Forest eyed Milan's father. It was clear he was a decent man, not some corrupt lawyer. He kept his pose and showed professionalism throughout their meeting. He made it clear that he wanted what was fair for his son as well as justice served for those who had been wronged by his dealings. He did help him, by getting a lawyer who could properly represent him. No one could fault the man and Lauden actually felt impressed with him. He was sorry that Milan was Mitch's son and thought of his own teenagers and how it would hurt him if any of them ever chose the same road as Milan.

He was grateful to get home and spend some alone, quality time with his lovely wife.

#driftwood #sims 2 #sims 2 storytelling #sims-2 #kyle wood #my sims #sims 2 pictures #sims 2 stories #sims 2 gameplay #sims 2 screenshots #ts2 tumblr #milan craigh #Foster Lauden #Max Riley

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apoapsis · 8 months

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@decidentia // send 🌑 for your muse to climb into bed with sigma [hanzo]

There's something fun about getting drunk and rowdy with Hanzo, sipping saccharine spiked beverages in expensive lounges and hotels while indirectly complaining about their employers. He'd never realized how cathartic it could be to simply vent his frustrations with TALON'S politics and policies with another, commiserating over common irritations endured. It's a sense of comradery he'd never truly experienced with any of the other agents prior to Hanzo's introduction; he really, really enjoys these moments.

Tonight was no different, the doctor quietly tittering to himself as Hanzo corrals him back to their suite-- resulting in a couple stray giggles of his own as SIGMA inadvertently bumps his head against the low threshold of the door. "-- Oh!" He gasps quietly, a gloved hand lifting to soothe the sore spot, another suppressed laugh bubbling up from his chest. Although he's spent much more time on his own two feet as a result of his more covert operations in tagging along on Hanzo's assignments. alcohol makes his poor sense of proprioception that much worse in dampening the effects of his ANOMALY, leaving him lurching and swaying on fawn-like legs as he enters their suite and allows the archer to shut the door behind him.

"-- It really is my own fault! I should not have drank so much..." Oh, but it had tasted so damn good, though. A hand at the small of his back coaxes him to keep shambling forward, rather than becoming distracted by standing around to chatter about nothing. Slowly, he makes his way to the bedroom of the suite-- and although he does realize that a mistake has been made with their arrangements, considering that there were, arguably, supposed to be separate beds, he finds very little concern with it in his drunken stupor.

Instead, he merely allows Hanzo to herd him over to the bed, allowing his body to drop listlessly upon it for a moment-- before kicking off the thick socks he wore in lieu of actual shoes to peel up the covers and slither beneath. However, instead of promptly going to sleep, he lifts the corner of the blanket in an attempt to coax Hanzo to join him with a lopsided smile.

"...It is so comfortable-- you should lie down!" SIGMA insists, patting the other side of the bed. Whether it's because Hanzo genuinely accepts the invitation, or whether he's simply too intoxicated to want to find somewhere else to sleep, SIGMA is delighted when he accepts, peeling off the bulkiest layers of his wear in favor of slipping under the covers with the astrophysicist. He's quick to toss the edge of the down comforter over Hanzo once he's gotten himself settled, and although he doesn't explicitly cuddle with the archer, there isn't an exceptional amount of space with SIGMA occupying the bed, his long, gangling body barely even fitting upon it without some degree of hunching.

"-- Let me know if you need more of the blanket. I, ah, tend to get wrapped up in it..." He giggles again, rolling onto his side to press his back up against the other's shoulder before settling down for bed, himself.

#interactions + ғʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛʏ ; ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇᴏᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴄ ᴘʀᴏɢᴇɴʏ +#decidentia #recall + ʙʟᴜʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs ᴏғ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ʀᴇᴀʟ ; ʀᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ +

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purp-yam · 2 years

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The World Engulfed Pt.2

The Tainted Ancients AU - purp-yam

CW: slight language, mentions of kidnapping, slight stalking,

Y/N - Gender Neutral

<< Part 1

"Light Enchantress-! Light Enchantress Cookie!" Cherry Licorice was panting out of breath and so was Milky Choco. "Whats going on?! Where's Reader Cookie?!" Sliced Pomegranate Cookie, a beautiful and graceful cookie, but don't be fooled, she is a swordswoman despite her wardrobe. "We...we don't know.. I think they've been kidnapped and it's all my fault, I was responsible for both Cherry and Reader Cookies." Sliced Pomegranate empathized with him to some degree. "Oh Milky Choco," The palm of her hand lightly touching his cheek. "We all make mistakes, though I can't imagine your pain." Milky Choco and Sliced Pomegranate share a kiss. Cherry Licorice cringed at the sight, "Go get a room or at least do that AFTER we find Reader Cookie!" "Yes, you're right, I apologize, Cherry Licorice Cookie."

Soon after their conversation, Light Enchantress Cookie with all her grace and beauty entered into their conversation. "A-ah! Light Enchantress! You heed my call!" "Indeed I have..What is ever the matter, dear Cherry Licorice Cookie?" He stammered around with his words until Light Enchantress Cookie reassured him to relax. "What I was going to say is that..we lost Reader Cookie! What shall we do Light Enchantress?!" She took a long pause, "Come with me, all of you. I will need all of you to bring them back home." "So, you're making all of us go on this (possibly) dangerous mission even though Healer Mushroom Cookie is a literal child who barely knows how to use his healing ability?!" Light Enchantress only smiled at her complaint, that very smile that filled everyone with hope. "Now, there's no time for dilly dally, get ready cause tonight we're rescuing our dear friend Reader Cookie!"

In the meantime. . .

You, Reader Cookie wake up in a luxurious room, with you placed in a king sized bed (ooh comfy). You try to move but your arms and legs are tied up in a very vulnerable position much to your dismay. Embarrassing... ass up and face down just your luck. "Shit! I should've listened to him but instead my dumbass self had to go off somewhere.." You were cursing to yourself until you heard quiet mumbles outside of the room you were in. It was the Tainted Ancients or The Rulers of Darkness as they call themselves. They were the complete opposite of Light Enchantress Cookie and her group, they do nothing but enslave the poor cookies under their rule to make statues or anything that can be implemented in their image and for little reward. Usually a small amount of food that could barely feed a child.

The door creaks open and a tall majestic figure looms over you with a sickly sweet smile, it was Tainted Vanilla Cookie. "Ah you're finally awake my dear, Reader Cookie! You must be asking 'Oh my goodness! How do you know my name?' It's simple, I have been following your little rebellion for quite awhile now and I must say, you are the most interesting of the bunch." You stayed silent out of sheer shock. "Hmm, not much of a talker I see? Well, it's not everyday that you get to see your righteous and most famed king of Earthbread right in front of you!" The way he boosted his own ego, bleh gross. You kind of knew what type of cookie he was. A perverted, evil cookie with no good intentions in mind.

"Wh-what's your deal? Like..you do all of these evil things to my people that live in your kingdom! They have no where else to go and you take advantage of that!"

"Are you critiquing my kingly ways?! The gall! Shame! Shame on you!" For a king he sure is immature. You only snickered at him, "You're such a child!-" "You better shut your mouth or I'll put something in it, you bitch!" He made you face him, "Say something else I dare you, motherfucker!" You just looked at him, his eyes gave you chills. He takes a deep breath and gently stroked your back as if you were his pet. "Ahh..Reader Cookie, oh how you make me so mad. It reminds me of a certain cookie, hmm.. what was her name? Oh yes, Light Enchantress Cookie! She was such a pain to deal with!" "You..you know Light Enchantress Cookie? H-how? She's secluded herself for years!"

He glared at you, "Oh? Has she not told you about her past? Well she used to be Wilted Lily Cookie but, she had a change of heart. You see Wilted Lily Cookie was the most powerful of all of us Ancients (well used to). Now she's trying to save this world full of pathetic cookies such as herself."

"No! Don't say that! She is not pathetic, she was never Wilted Lily Cookie, y-you're just trying to get into my head! She would've told me!"

He only chuckles, as he gets closer and closer to your face. "Thats the thing between me and you. You know NOTHING about her than I do." He slowly retreats and calls for his other fellow Ancients to enter the room. "Ahahahah! You weren't kidding when you said you caught one of Light Enchantress' little workers!" Poison Hollyberry Cookie came bursting in with such volume! She looked rough and dangerous with spikes all over her armor and shield. "Hmm...Another weakling, how pitiful." The thundering voice of Burnt Cocao Cookie, the cold stone king of the Cocao Kingdom, the one who slays his own children in order to keep the thrown, except for one child. "Do you want me to execute them, Tainted Vanilla Cookie?" "What no! This is entertainment of course, why would Tainted Vanilla waste such an opportunity?" And the last of them, Moldy Cheese Cookie, (yuck!) she's as rotten as the rest of them except she has a bit of a bird brain (pun intended). "Why, you are correct Moldy Cheese Cookie! We're gonna do something worse than death itself." "Oooooh! Hahahah! I like the sound of that!"

You gulped as they went closer to you and...untied you? Huh? "What..the..you're letting me go..?"

"PSHHH!! AHAHAHAH! AREN'T YOU FUNNY? Of course not! We're gonna play a little game of Cat and Mouse! Be gracious that we'll let you get a 30 second headstart! Now go, run as fast as you can! 1.. 2 .. 3.. 4...."

You ran, and ran fast, fearing what would happen to you if they caught you..no you can't think of that now. Just run home no matter what, imagining the sorrow and relief of your co-workers especially Light Enchantress Cookie. "..30! HAHAHAH! Reader Cookie, you've better ran fast and far cause we're COMING!!

You were crying your ass off while you ran. Your legs ached but you still ran, you wanted to go home. "I found you~!" "Fuck, fuck , fuck!" Adrenaline reaching an all time high as you ran faster than you ever did in your life!

Back with the gang . . .

Light Enchantress and her group of heroes make progress with tracking where you were held captive. "Very good, Cherry Licorice Cookie! We have made great progress!" "Why thank you, your grace heheh.." There was an awkward silence until Healer Mushroom Cookie tugged on Light Enchantress' arm. "Erm..Momma Light Enchantress what are we doing again?" He was always clueless and forgetful well he was a child after all, still learning their healing magic, though he has gotten a little better at it. Sliced Pomegranate complained once again. "No offense, Light Enchantress Cookie but I told you this was a bad idea-" "Do not doubt her ways Sliced Pomegranate Cookie, she has a way with everything that comes around. Do you rather Reader Cookie endure possible suffering in captivity? No? Then lets get on with it." Fudge Icecream was and still is a flamboyant and eccentric cookie showing cleverness from time to time. He was even the reason why Milky Choco Cookie is still alive today, saving him from his father.

A loud scream could be heard just beyond the horizon, "It's Reader Cookie's voice! We must hurry before anything terrible happens to them!" "Yes most definitely!" As they reached closer, you're screams were louder until you ran into them and cried happily hugging Light Enchantress Cookie. You were a mess but you didn't care, you were just glad you've found your family, your friends...you were so happy to see them, and they were so happy to see you. You were finally safe..or are you?

"Reader Cookie! You are having a stern talking to when we get home but..im so glad you're safe." Milky Choco gave you a big bear hug and swung you around. "Yaay!..can we go home now?" "Nuh uh uh! Not so fast! The fun was just beginning, why do always have to ruin EVERYTHING, Light Enchantress Cookie!" The Tainted Ancients blocked their path in every direction.

"You're not leaving without a fight, especially you, son.." Burnt Cocao pointed at Milky Choco Cookie, the lucky survivor of his father's wrath. "AHAHAH! I haven't been in a battle in quite awhile! This'll be fun!" "Awwh damn..get ready guys cause this is gonna be one hell of a fight!

TO BE CONTINUED >>>>

Writer's note - I kinda rushed this cause I have school but I did have fun writing this! Thank you for your time♡

#cookie run kingdom au #dark choco crk #dark enchantress cookie #licorice cookie #pure vanilla cookie #dark cacao cookie #affogato cookie #poison mushroom cookie #pomegranate cookie #hollyberry cookie #golden cheese cookie #purp-yam

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