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#about time he croaked
mercisnm · 1 year
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More "Tissaia, but a gentleman" folly for @ehay in fandomtrumpshate. If anybody can still recall it, I did some doodles for the same subject last year.
They are all Leyendecker studies. For those who are interested:
The teal dress with lattice pattern: is "translated" into a late Victorian/Edwardian suit with the same decorations, a high-buttoned waistcoat, plain shirt with winged collar and white cravat. Just another casual day dress.
The crimson ascension ball gown: hoo boy this gown was a tough one to design, the easy flow of the material gave it a more sensual, almost seductive feel compared to the rest of Tissaia's wardrobe, yet the deep colour and silver leaves decorations made it unmistakable a ball gown, or at least one for special occasion. My best bet was to go with "luxurious, seductive yet formal enough", and put "him" in dress uniform from the same time period, with a lot of leaf motif embroidery. A jacket draped over the shoulder making up for the lack of flow. Inspiration was mainly Hussar uniforms, which I think would fit well with The Witcher books' Central European/Slavic elements.
The comfy sleeping gown: Men also wore nightgown back then, so this was an easy job, no comment
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saintlesbian · 4 months
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as for the rest of the ep…
Chalynn truthers we won. we fucking won 🍾🍾🍾
Lois trying to talk Ned into making peace w/ Michael and Drew sounds REAL funny knowing that drew and Michael r still planning on pushing him out of ELQ again. fuck those two forever actually, y’all can make peace in hell
speaking of drewfus, I wish I could be glad he’s leaving but it’s not for very long and crew is gonna be annoying abt it I’m sure. this version of drew is such a shell of himself that anytime hes brought up I just feel disgusted 😖
I’m getting tired of Sonny bringing up Carly when talking to nina it just feels WEIRD… I really don’t wanna see a Carson reunion but it’s starting to feel like the pikeman/cyrus bs might end up being the catalyst for one… sonaritas should we be worried. 😟
also Tolly agreeing to use krissy as the surrogate… wasn’t there literally a whole argument against doing this months back that resulted in tolly icing krissy out for several weeks…? once again I must assert this whole surrogate storyline is a load of barnacles
#pentababbles#general hospital#I’m happy abt the proposal :) but I also feel like they kinda did this so they could be married b4 Gregory croaks#still! taking my wins where I can! their scenes today were sweet and I liked it 👍#i know ned has beef w/ nina over the SEC thing but. once he finds out Michael knew and STILL tried to push him out of ELQ#nina should be the least of his worries. since let’s face it drew earned that prison sentence 😅 and it’s not a crime to report a crime!#the bensons r just mad they had to face even the mildest of consequences for their actions tbh#drew goin to Australia tho like. take joss and Carly w/ u I don’t wanna see them again either#have joss spend time w/ her Aussie father or something I just can’t take her anymore#also the fact that he’s leaving for Christmas so Michael doesn’t have to… bro I hate him so much#bro you just got out of PRISON how about you spend time with your DAUGHTER that you PROMISED to be there for you ASSHOLE#and with drew going away… PLEASE I don’t want a Carson retread please please please#like I find crew annoying and meaningless but at least they’re over in their own corner. but I was actually starting to like Sonny#a Carson retread is just gonna make him suck again 😞#cannot stand the surrogate storyline and tolly is nothing to me anymore but w/e I can deal with it.#however if they really are setting up the surrogate arc to be an angst backdrop for kraze… burned-lariat go get them royalty checks I stg 🤣#but yea that’s my thoughts! story feels discombobulated as ever but we soldier on iguess
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grimgrinningghost456 · 8 months
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🦇Husband Shenanigans🦇
Drac: …..shit
*Johnathan, absolutely demolished, having Face planted on the ground below the tower after trying to take flight as a bat for the first time*
Drac: ……..Johnny?
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orcelito · 1 year
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Being asked to choose between akeshu and vashwood in that tumblr post is really quite mean of them
I chose vashwood by basis of tragedy bc. Oof ouch ow. I haven't even seen it all yet and yet it hurts. Stampede only fans wouldn't understand.
At least akechi has the potential of being alive lol. Can't say that with vashwood
#speculation nation#trigun spoilers/#now if it were a plain 'who is my favorite' Wellllllllll#right now it's undeniably vashwood let's be real. u guys have seen it in motion.#it's like akeshu but with adults and one of them is a weird alien angel thing and the other is a genetically modified priest#and YES we get the hitman falling in love with his mark. except infinitely more relationship development (in trimax at least)#gnawing at the bit rn. as i have been for the past almost 2 weeks now. i will never be the same#hfkshxjd i will return to my akeshu writing in time but Listen. listen. vashwood is akeshu but More#of course i still love my boys very much and i will not abandon them#but Objectively. as a pairing. vashwood is just getting to me So Much rn. they r so goofy and they r so tragic#akeshu is playing 5d chess with a million unsaid things. vashwood is two men caught up in a hell of a world#disagreeing ideologically but sticking with each other thru thick and thin. laughing and joking around and being best of friends#battle boyfriends. the only people who can keep up with each other.#the only human vash can lean on in a fight bc he knows he's not gonna just croak like most people#but in the end.......😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#that poll made me really realize where my current priorities are. but really. we been knew.#and this is why im thinking about writing vashwood. still undecided about anything aside from vague alien smut lmfao#i'll come up with something. i should probably try to finish trimax first tho. 🤔🤔🤔🤔
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sparingiscaring · 2 years
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*drop kicks into your askbox * do Fires for the blorbo meme lol
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I can't believe it was HIM that got a bingo first bdjvkvsjvsjv
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lunefrog · 1 year
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uriel, holding me like a ferret while bargaining on my behalf to god: your honor. you dont have all the facts.
god: and those are?
uriel: i love him
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sirfrogsworth · 4 months
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Do you remember that Aussie sword guy who used to talk about medieval weapons?
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And, like, he seemed pretty good at talking about swords and shit. He seemed to have a good grasp of the history and tactics. He'd analyze movie weapons for their realism and that was fun. He did demonstrations with real weapons. For a time I really looked forward to his videos popping up in my feed.
He seemed like a harmless sword-fighting aficionado.
But then I guess he wanted to spread his wings. So he started down an anti-woke path. Giving questionable critiques about media and feminism. He started defending boob armor by showing historical examples even though most of those were decorative and not battle ready like in the games.
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Then he admitted he was a fan of The Daily Wire.
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And that was disappointing.
I missed him nerding out about swords, ya know?
Well, Shad decided to spread his wings again.
He has become...
*bad French accent* An artiste.
You see, he types words into a little box. Then a little robot does a google image search and steals a bunch of art. Then that robot reconfigures that art to be nearly indistinguishable from the source material. Well... aside from the occasional artist watermark.
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Whoops!
A.I. art is very difficult. Sometimes when you type words into the box you get a woman with 5 lopsided anime tiddies. Or 20 fingers on one hand. It takes time and effort and experience to type in the perfect magic words so that you get something close to your imagination that doesn't belong in some sort of Lovecraftian horror ripoff.
For example, check out this cool "pirate hat" I asked A.I. to place on my head.
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Clearly, I am not skilled enough at typing words into a box to get a proper pirate hat.
It. Is. Not. Easy.
I heard someone say you have to type things in a box for 10,000 hours before you start getting truly masterful generations.
I mean, you can't type "marathon runners" and expect that to actually work.
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THIS REQUIRES SKILL, PEOPLE.
And I am a lowly amateur. I can only dream of becoming the box-typist Shad has honed himself into.
The thing is... Shad is very upset.
He is upset that you don't like his "art" and he is ready to die on this hill.
So... before he croaks on a mound of bullshit, he has something to show you. He has created something truly brilliant and when you see it, he is convinced you will validate his considerable efforts.
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Before I show you his "Not. Easy." artistic masterpiece I'd like you to sit with what he has said for a second.
Ruminate in the verbiage.
Process the ideas and points of view presented.
Digest his plea for you to accept and love his hard won battle after typing words into a box to manifest his imaginings.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Have you sat?
Ruminated?
Processed?
Digested?
Okay, here it is...
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saetoru · 9 months
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had
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synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling
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— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)
— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)
— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON
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you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.
it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.
“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”
satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?
“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.
you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.
“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”
your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”
“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”
satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 
why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.
“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”
“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”
“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”
you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.
gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 
not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.
but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 
and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 
he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?
satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?
it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 
you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 
and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 
he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?
—————
breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 
gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 
satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 
but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.
“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”
“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 
satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 
satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 
you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 
“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 
“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”
you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 
“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 
your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 
“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”
“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”
the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 
—————
you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 
in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 
it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 
you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 
suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 
there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 
everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 
every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 
in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 
you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 
before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 
satoru. of course.
he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.
you shouldn’t open it.
but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?
before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 
“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”
“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”
you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 
“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 
“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”
“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 
the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 
“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”
and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 
“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 
“why did you leave me?” he asks. 
“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”
“why? just tell me why.”
“i don’t have to—”
“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 
and then you break.
you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 
so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”
you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 
“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”
“you can realize a lot in a month—”
“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”
“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 
satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 
“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”
“satoru, you need to leave—”
“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”
“i didn’t ask you to—”
“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”
“satoru,” you plead. 
you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.
satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.
“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 
his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.
“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 
“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.
satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 
“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 
it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  
“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 
satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 
you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 
“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”
“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”
“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.
“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”
“because i couldn’t!”
“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 
it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 
“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”
“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”
you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”
“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”
“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.
he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 
“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”
“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”
“promise?”
“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”
“you deserved that.”
“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”
“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”
“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”
“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.
yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 
“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 
but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.
“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”
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read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
if this fic was a person i would want it dead.
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yaekko · 14 days
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 SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN.
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⋆ suguru geto, choso kamo, satoru gojo + fem!reader.
 ⋆ mdni. college au kinda. fingering, cunilingus, dry humping, choso + shy reader, making out, ‘just the tip’ satoru cums in your panties, dirty talk. usage of sweetheart, baby, babe, princess, angel.
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ִֶָ SUGURU
Suguru’s not shy in the slightest, often smacked in the back of his head from the dirty looks he gives your cute ass under the tight little skirt you wore to the party. a couple of drinks in and he’s thanking the world for the chance to be locked in a cramped closet with the pretty girl who caught his eye.
“fuck, sweetheart, you’re dripping” he murmurs against your cunt, two fingers knuckle deep and his tongue continuously flicking over your clit. the closet’s carpeted floor burns in your back where your shirt rise, up your neck for his fingers to occasionally pinch a nipple in between keeping your thigh spread for him to feast on your spasming pussy. Suguru would lie if he said he didn’t dream about this moment, grateful for the opportunity even though he would have found a way to bend you over the bathroom sink.
his eyes are hooded, cock pulsing and dribbling precum all over the front of his boxers solely from the satisfaction of having you gush all over his tongue and digits. “you’re always this wet? or just excited because it’s me?” he teases, breath direct against the flutter of your cunt seconds before his tongue is gliding between your puffy lips, alternating between licking and slurping on your clit until your thighs shake.
“feels good” you sniffle, eyes crossed and chest heaving from the intensity, from the agonizingly slow drag of Suguru’s fingers inside your walls.
“’m glad, baby” he smirks, face fully buried in your cunt, his once slow and steady rhythm now sloppy and eager, forcing the wet sounds of your pussy to resonate through the room as he eats you like it’s the best fucking meal he has ever tasted. your time is running low, and Suguru will make sure you walk out of the closet with wobbly legs.
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ִֶָ CHOSO
although forced by Yuuji, Choso is not quite mad he ended up in the current situation.
he thinks you look so pretty, so fucking pretty in that outfit, allowing his eyes to trail down the shape of your body much like he often does while you walk past him in class. “you look good” he finally manages to croak out after a whole minute of sitting side by side in the closet your friends pushed you into.
“thank you,” you murmur with your fingers twiddling shyly, and Choso feels his cock throb, “i’m glad you decided to come.”
“yeah?” his voice drops, pulled closer to your side like a magnet, eager to hear more, “why is that?” driven by a sudden burst of self confidence, Choso slides a hand to your thigh, briefly brushing the fabric of your pants.
“y-you seem like a nice person” you stutter in return, chest thumping and pussy wetting at the touch, at the low raspy and breathy tone in his voice, “wanted to know you better”
‘cute’ the black haired thinks, tentatively allowing his warm lips to brush your jaw as you stutter, eyes unconsciously landing on your cleavage, fuck..., how he wished to rip your shirt open in the spot, cup your pretty tits in his hands and make you cum from his tongue on your nipples.
"feelings’ mutual, babe” Choso groans, unable to stop his hand from reaching your cheek and tugging your face gently towards his, the touch of your lips on his is almost immediate, sloppy and messy with tongues clashing, saliva wetting the bottom of your lip that drops and stains your flowy shirt.
you’re too good to him, he thinks, and you deserve better than a quick fuck in a closet, so much against his inner lewd thoughts about savagely tasting your pussy, he tugs you up, lips still attached as your ass land on his clothed cock, begging to be freed and release inside or all over you.
but this will do for now, he just wants to make you feel good, he needs you to feel how much he craves for you; Choso might think he’s going slow, but the broken cries and whimpers increasing in intensity with each drag back and forth of his hands on your hips prove otherwise, grinding you nice and directly against his pulsing member. addicted to your moans, to your sounds, Choso can’t wait to become addicted to your cunt too.
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ִֶָ SATORU
“lean back against the door, princess... mm, yeah, that’s perfect” Satoru grins, tongue poking on the side of his cheek at the perfect sight of your pliant body, cutely leaning back for his eyes to take in the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock head, panties pushed aside enough for the fat size of him to comfortably get enveloped by your walls. ‘just the tip’, he promised, mentally kicking himself for the teasing he brought on himself.
he needs to fuck you nice and deep, to bury the whole girth of his cock inside your warm inviting pussy,— but he won’t, Satoru promised to keep it light, just the tip... for now, and it’s hard to resist when you look at him with that slight glazed over gaze, lips glossy, puffy from the intense make out session you had just a couple of minutes ago, spread for huffs of air to come out.
but of course, when Satoru wants something, he’ll do his best in trying to get it.
“it’d be so easy, to pull your hips down and slide my whole cock inside...” Satoru tuts, sliding his thumb across your belly until it lands on your folds, rubbing on your engorged, glistening clit, “wouldn’t you like that baby? to take me whole inside this tight cunt of yours?”
“you promised” you whine in return, slowly circling your hips on his cock, dribbling slick all over his length until it coated his balls and most likely the floor underneath.
“tsk” the blue eyed retorts, continuing his assault on your clit while occasionally bucking his hips up, just slightly, but how can you blame him when you feel just too good, too warm and slick, almost begging to be pounded, “’kay, but at least i’ll make you cum on my cock” he groans, using the hand that isn’t on your clit to rub at the same pace on your nipples, bringing them to full hardness under his ministrations, “your body is so responsive, angel, so fuckin’ sexy” it comes with a buck of his hips, making a dragged cry to come out of your lips, thighs shaking from the effort of maintaining yourself in a hovered position, “you gonna cum? I can feel you twitching” the constant previous teasing got you to the edge in a matter of minutes, arching your back in a beautiful way that makes Satoru groan appreciatively, “fuck, yeah, so hot”
the cry of protest comes almost unconsciously at the same time he pulls his tip out of your still convulsing cunt, fixing your panties before sliding his cock through a leg opening, eagerly rubbing on your mound and sensitive clit until the crotch of your underwear got translucent by the amounts of mixed fluids, soon joining the thick ropes of sticky cum that land on your flushed skin, a reminder of the too short moment of passion you shared.
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heich0e · 4 months
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yuuji calls sukuna a lot.
it's almost like second nature to him now, muscle memory even, so many years since getting his first cellphone; any time he finds himself idle, maybe on his walk home after his part-time job, or on a break between his college classes, he picks up his phone and dials his older brother without thinking. they never talk about anything of importance—maybe just what yuuji did that day, or some gossip he overheard, or what the two of them should have that night for dinner—but he still makes the call.
sukuna always acts annoyed when he answers, greeting him with a characteristically terse 'yeah, what?' that yuuji never pays any mind to. but he still answers the call—at least most of the time—and that simple truth speaks volumes in and of itself.
sukuna's phone rings at a few minutes past 1am, and his little brother's name lights up the caller ID.
"yeah, what?" sukuna snaps groggily, holding his phone up to his ear. he'd passed out on the couch soon after he got home from work, a half-drunk and now room temperature can of beer left abandoned on the table in front of his spread knees. yuuji's babbling starts as soon as the call connects and his brother greets him, and it takes sukuna a moment to make sense of him.
"—'n now i can't finder!"
"the hell are you talking about, dumbass?" the elder of the two grumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face. his brother's voice is panicked and hard to understand.
"we got spliddup at the bar, 'n now i dunno where she is anymore—"
"don't know where who is? fuck, are you hammered?" sukuna complains, sitting himself upright on the sofa as he wipes sleep from the corner of his eyes, suddenly a bit more awake than he was when the phone first rang.
yuuji says your name with a croaking, worried voice, and sukuna sighs exasperatedly. he stares down pensively at the can of beer he forgot to drink on the coffee table, then his eyes flicker to a framed photo hanging on the wall across the room—the glass smudged, frame slightly crooked, and photograph sun-bleached from the years it's spent hanging there.
"just..." he grunts as he pushes himself up to his feet, "fuckin' send me the address and stay where you are, idiot."
it's not hard to find his little brother once he arrives to the address yuuji sent him—especially since the youngest itadori brother is waiting (as promised) right by the entrance of the familiar bar near the university campus where both you and yuuji attend classes. it's still busy for so late in the night, but the clubs are closed now and little bars like this are the only places still open. sukuna's not even sure what the difference is anyway, because the lights here are still dim and the music is loud and there are still people dancing off to one side of the establishment, so the distinction between the two seems tenuous if not entirely negligible. but as someone who's spent his fair share of nights in bars just like (and including) this one, he's usually not really one to complain.
but tonight's different.
yuuji is teetering a bit when his brother arrives—an unusual sight, considering he's usually pretty good at holding his liquor.
"shit, how much did you drink?" are the first words out of sukuna's mouth when he approaches.
the youngest itadori's cheeks are flushed as pink as his hair, and he grimaces in the wake of the eldest's question—he's always been a terrible liar, especially when it comes to his brother, so he doesn't even bother trying to deny it. sukuna doesn't wait for a response in any case, turning his head towards the thick of the crowd and letting his eyes scan through it.
he doesn't see you.
"where'd you see her last?" he asks, leaning towards his brother to be heard over the music.
"by the bar!" yuuji replies, raising his own voice to overcome the bass. "she said she was getting one last drink, but she never came back to the table."
yuuji's lip wobbles a bit as he concludes his sentence, but he sucks it quickly into his mouth and catches it between his teeth.
"and you looked for her?" sukuna asks again.
"all over," yuuji nods, letting his lip slip out from between the bite of his incisors to reply. "fushiguro's doing another lap. nobara's checking the bathrooms."
sukuna ruffles a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing it's probably a mess from his rudely-interrupted slumber. "maybe she just left or somethin'."
"she wouldn't do that, you know that," yuuji says firmly. there's an insistence burning behind his eyes as he looks to his older brother, and it's the most sober he's seemed all night.
sukuna rolls his eyes, even though he knows yuuji's right—you'd never leave on your own, much less without so much as a goodbye. the two of you have been joined at the hip for long enough he's almost surprised that yuuji wasn't able to find you with some weird telepathic form of echolocation. he swings an arm up over his little brother's shoulders pushing him down a little just to tease him, before using his grip to tug him towards the crowd.
"you track down that little sea urchin friend of yours and i'll take a look around. meet me back here in ten minutes or text me if you find that little pest, alright?"
the bar is harder to navigate the further in sukuna travels from the entrance, the bodies pressing closer together with every step he takes away from fresh night air. he's pissed off, but that's not out of character for him. he's more pissed off than he usually is, considering not even an hour before he'd been peacefully sleeping at home, and now he's glaring at some drunk college kid who just almost spilled their beer on him.
"move," he hisses through his teeth at the wide-eyed kid whose life he can practically see flashing through his eyes as he shoulders past him. sukuna would be lying if he said the look didn't improve his mood at least marginally.
as sukuna weaves through the bodies in the bar, his eyes don't stop looking for you. it's almost startling how quickly he can rule people out—how definitively he can say that someone is or isn't you with just a passing glance. he starts to doubt himself as he reaches the far corner of the bar and begins to round back towards the entrance, an annoying, grating irritation in the back of his mind. worry, maybe, if he were the type.
then he sees you.
just the faintest glimpse of your profile, caught behind the shoulder of the man who has you backed into a corner by a pillar, hidden mostly away from the crowd—at least as hidden as anyone can be in a place like this.
sukuna feels his lip curling into a furious sneer as he takes a step towards you—people move out of his path wordlessly as he trudges over to that dark corner where you're tucked away.
it's only when he gets a bit closer that he's able to read the lines of your body properly. you're teetering, just like yuuji had been—the two of you had probably enabled each other in your intoxication that night like the stupid kids sukuna knows you both to be. but you're also distinctly uncomfortable, pressed up against the wall as if to put as much distance between you and the man hovering over you as you possibly can. your eyes glance off to the side, like you're searching uselessly for an escape.
instead, they meet his.
"sukuna," you gasp out in surprise, and the man you're speaking to glances over his shoulder in confusion. he seems annoyed, and a bit nervous, when he spots the man (taller, and broader than he is) standing behind him with a scowl.
sukuna hears the relief in your voice when you say his name. reads it behind your glassy eyes.
"what are you doing here?" you ask, reaching out towards him clumsily.
the man in front of you puts a hand on your waist—possibly to steady you, more likely to stop you—and it makes sukuna see red.
"hands off," sukuna snaps, wrapping a hand around your upper arm and tugging you into his side away from the creep.
"who's this? you said you don't have a boyfriend," the kid asks you, jutting a thumb towards sukuna accusatorially.
you mumble something quietly in reply about him being yuuji's brother, tucking yourself a bit closer to sukuna as you say it.
"your brother?" he asks as his eyes squint in confusion, having clearly only caught part of your explanation. "you're ditching me for your brother?"
sukuna's anger flares again at the entitlement this little brat has the nerve to display so flagrantly. the older man's hand slips down to your waist on instinct, and then lower still to the curve of your ass, making a show of how his big hand grips into the flesh beneath it. you squeak quietly at the contact, turning and hiding your burning face against sukuna's chest. he keeps his hand right where it is.
the stranger's eyes widen at the inappropriate display before him and sukuna leans in close with a vicious, almost manic grin.
"we're very close."
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faeriekit · 3 months
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#i'm very pro danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of talons previous installments
*
The next day, the body was back.
The green was gone from its eyes, but the awareness wasn't; it spent about an hour watching people go around outside Danny's apartment, which was new behavior. None of the corpses that shadowed him had shown any interest in garden-variety humans before. Now it sat at the window and watched families come home from school or head to their afternoon shifts.
That went into Danny's notes.
After that hour, it taught itself to flush the toilet repeatedly, rearranged the contents of Danny's half-assed linen closet (again) and then stood hovering over the safe where Danny had stashed the ectoplasm.
"...Okay," said Danny.
The dead body croaked. It was a new sound, but there was no context for it. Danny just kind of...wrote it down and hoped for the best.
The day after, Danny woke up at a very reasonable ten forty eight in the morning to find stray corpses feeding each other spoonfuls of ectoplasm in the kitchen.
At that point he kind of had to throw out the notes on how much each one was dosed with, because what the fuck.
"Really?!" Danny shouted, spooking the bodies into fleeing behind chairs and doors and back into his closet again. The only one that didn't flee was Danny's ringmaster corpse of the hour, of course. "You really couldn't wait??"
It stuck out a withered black tongue out at the mortician, who was, really, the victim in all of this. A victim to his parents' whims and a victim to the dead people who followed him around all the time.
This was how Danny found out that, when it doubt, the corpses could just tear through solid steel if they were motivated enough. The finger-marks were so deep and so embedded that they actually looked more like rough claws in the metal.
Great.
Danny ordered a new locking cage for the fridge on Prime and darted off to work. One of his regulars was on the table, though, so Danny just ended up doing what he would have at home— sewing up a gash in its neck and reattaching dead fingers back onto dead stumps.
On the third day, in which four of Danny's frequent fliers had learned from the first how to flush the toilet (and therefore raise the water bill immensely) Danny got a ring from a dark voice he (almost) recognized.
"Is he here?"
Danny squinted, jerking the phone further under his ear as he whipped up some scrambled eggs. The dead girl leaning over his shoulder leaned a little closer to watch the egg froth up. "Is who here? Who is this?"
"This is Batman. Is— the body requisitioned from your facility currently at your place of residence?"
Danny fully let go of the whisk. It landed haphazardly in the glass bowl he'd been stirring in. "What on Earth is a Batman?" he asked, incredulous.
"I visited your workplace previously."
Oh! "Yeah, the cop's friend. I remember now." Danny pulled the whisk out of the liquid eggs and held it out to the body. The unusually animate cadaver mostly prodded the whisk wires and paid no attention to him. "No one's here but me, though. Not that it's your business...?"
"And there are no non-living bodies currently in your apartment?"
Danny ignored the flushing noise in the other room. "I don't know, dude. They practically live in the walls at this point. Don't come over unless you have a warrant."
The call ended with a click.
His omelette turned out amazing, by the way. In case you were wondering.
On the fourth day, the ectoplasm was gone, because the corpses had apparently all taught each other how to lockpick the container in the fridge.
"Okay, some of that was meant to be my dinner. No more lotion at the funeral home now, okay? Now you all can be ashy forever. I'm so serious," Danny complained to the only visible dead person in the room.
The dead person held up a cracked egg. It was probably a gesture of peace, but now there was egg on his vinyl flooring to deal with. And. It wasn't exactly all that comforting in the end.
On the fifth day, Danny awoke to the sensation of a hand jamming itself through his neck until it punched into the mattress beneath him.
Fuck.
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ervotica · 4 months
Note
“shhh, shhh..I know, I know..” with finnick pls 🥺
pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader
warnings: this takes place after the poison fog, r is badly injured and finnick takes care of her
hunger games masterlist
You twitch against Finnick’s chest in the tall grass, rough like sandpaper against your wounded face. You’re covered head to toe in blisters from the fog, eyes half lidded as you begin to lose consciousness from the pain.
Katniss’ strangled wail is muffled and far away in your ears and you barely register the words.
“The water! The water helps.”
You drag yourself from where you’ve collapsed on top of your fiancé; crawling along on your elbows, you make it a couple of feet at most before you’re exhausted; your entire body is burning, skin raw, every little touch flaring up every nerve ending inside of you.
There’s a rustling next to you as Finnick is lifted and dragged to the shallow pool of water a few feet away; there’s a splash and a gurgled scream as Katniss and Peeta start to clean his blistered skin.
“Finnick,” you gasp, your concern for him overriding the searing pain for a split second. “Finn,” you croak again, eyes heavy.
It’s quiet for a minute, the only sound the whispering of leaves brushing against each other. All the while you lay face down, trying to peel your eyes open where they feel like they’ve been superglued shut.
Thick fingers pull at your jaw and your head turns; your neck is stiff and the touch feels like the lick of a flame against your bulging wounds.
“C’mon,” It’s Peeta. “Gotta get you to the water.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” comes Finnick’s voice and his hands pull you up by the armpits. You hiss and squirm away from his hold, the skin on skin contact causing too much pain.
“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” He speaks in that soft voice you love, the one reserved just for you. “It’ll feel better soon.”
He lowers you into the water and you scream. It’s a pain unlike any you’ve ever felt before, white-hot and scalding. It’s like you’re bleeding from every pore.
“Shhh, shhh… I know, I know.” He winces as the blisters start to lodge free from your skin and you relax, sagging in his arms.
“‘S better,” you slur. Your eyes snap open as you grapple for purchase against Finnick’s neck; your thumb rubs circles into his cheek. “You’re okay? You’re sure you’re okay?”
He laughs, incredulous that even at a time like this, he’s where your worries lie. Pointed teeth glare back at you as you thumb at his bottom lip and smile.
“I’m fine. Just worried about you.”
“I feel better. I’m okay now.”
His muscular arms engulf you, wrapping around your waist now it’s finally safe to touch you again.
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contact-guy · 3 months
Text
I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...
content warning for drug use!
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I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird
Text under the cut:
"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."
They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.
"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."
"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."
He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"
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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months
Text
Show me where it hurts (part 1)
Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader
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(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist
summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.
warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo
a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D
(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)
edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(
wc: 3.6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You think Miguel is avoiding you. 
One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 
"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."
She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 
"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"
"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 
"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 
He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 
"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 
"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 
"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 
"I don't have time for this-" 
"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 
"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 
"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 
"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 
This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 
"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 
"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."
"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."
He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "
Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 
When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 
"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 
Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 
~~~
Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 
He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 
Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 
"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 
Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 
"What happened?" He strains. 
"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 
"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"
"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"
Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 
"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 
"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."
Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 
"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."
When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 
You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 
"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."
You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."
"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."
You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 
He shrugs. " 'Course I was."
"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 
"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 
He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 
"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 
"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"
"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 
"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 
"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"
"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 
"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "
He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 
"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"
Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.
"I don't… I d-don't…?" 
"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 
Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 
"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."
"Miguel-"
"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."
"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 
Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."
You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 
"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."
You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 
~~~
The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 
The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 
You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 
"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"
"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 
You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 
The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 
"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."
"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 
"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"
"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."
"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."
"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."
"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 
You hum.
"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"
"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."
He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 
"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"
"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 
"Naturally…"
"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."
"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"
"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."
"Shit."
"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."
"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."
"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "
"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 
" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."
"Good to know. I'll see you around."
He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 
Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 
You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  
On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 
"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 
"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 
"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 
"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."
"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 
She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."
Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 
"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."
You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 
"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."
"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 
She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 
"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"
"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 
"I'm a little confused, Lyla."
She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 
It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 
Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…
"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "
You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 
"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."
Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 
"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 
"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."
"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."
"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."
"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 
"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"
"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."
The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."
"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 
With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.
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ickadori · 4 months
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i dunnooo i feel like whenever you’re mean to yuji it turns him on, you’d be cursing him out nd he’d already be like half hard
I also feel like Yuji would beg to put it in😊
idk I just want him to throw me around
[cws] fem reader
[an] you get it!! i know it in my heart that yuji likes his partner to be a little mean :( a little spoiled, a little bratty! it makes it that much better when he finally gets you to be his sweet mushy baby that’s only that way with him !!
yuji knows that you have a bit of an attitude problem, and he knows that he probably enables it, never once chiding you for the way you speak and act with him.
you drag him shopping with you whenever the urge strikes, which is worryingly frequent, and shove bag after bag into his arms, not even so much as uttering a thank you, just fully expecting him to be your human pack-mule.
whenever he gives another woman his attention, even if for something as simple as giving out directions, you’re shooting daggers his way and refusing to speak to him, answering him with huffs and hmphs until you deem him worthy enough for actual words.
it’s mean, you’re mean, and he should really say something about it and get it under control… but he can’t deny that the spoiled, bratty act gets his cock hard and his brain fuzzy.
“god, yuji! it’s like you have a bunch of rocks up there or something!” your finger taps against his forehead twice as you bend at the waist, and he silently looks up at you, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed as his cock chubs up against his thigh. “it’s as if everything i say just goes in one ear and out the other, you never listen.”
you’ve got one hand on your hip, the other animatedly moving around as you talk a mile a minute, eyebrows scrunched together and eyes narrowed on him.
yuji has no idea what you’re saying, but he knows he’s heard this spiel a thousand times before and isn’t missing out on anything too important - at least, nothing more important than how badly he wants to stuff you full of his cock until you’re sputtering out apologies and drowning him in kisses.
you always get so sweet and pliant when he’s fucked you full—cunt full of his seed and hole left gaping. you make sure to cradle him close and kiss all over his face, hands running through his hair as you whisper i’m sorry’s into his skin.
“—doing it again! yuji, you’re not listening to me!” he zones back in just in time to see your hand coming towards him. “you’re so annoying. just go home—!” he snags ahold of your wrist, and with a gentle tug you’re falling forward into his lap, your hands shooting out to brace yourself against his chest, while his move to encircle around your waist, arms flexing and tensing as they pull you close, his aching cock pushing up into your cunt, thin layers of fabric keeping him from sinking inside.
“i’m sorry,” he rasps, your lashes fluttering as you give him a bewildered look. “let me make it up to you, yeah?” realization dawns after a moment, and you shake your head, hands weakly pushing at his shoulders.
“huh? no, yuji, i was—oh.” he rocks his hips into you, hands moving down to palm your ass, a cheek in each hand.
“please?” he croaks, cock aching and leaking and throbbing and begging to go where it belongs. “can i put it in? can i fuck you? can i make you come, baby? can i?” he rocks against you with every question, his forehead resting against yours as he holds your gaze. “let me show you how sorry i am, baby. let me make it right.”
and you give in, you always do, his sweet pliant girl. he just has to get his hands on you first, tell you what you need to hear, sit you on his cock and make you come a few times, maybe even get you to squirt depending on if he wants you to be nicer for a couple days.
it won’t last but so long, that little honeymoon phase you two go through every time yuji gets between your legs, but he’s already looking forward to the next time.
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eddiethefreakkmunson · 4 months
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I’ve been stewing ona request that isn’t a duplicate of your work or one I’ve asked for before and all I could come up with is:
Eddie accidentally ingests viagra or some sort of stimulant “sex chocolate” or something of that nature. And what kind of friend would we be if we didn’t help him out? Gotta take one for the team, right? 😏
I LOVE this idea, thank you so much for requesting it 💕
Prescription Predicament
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Eddie accidentally takes viagra, what kind of friend would you be if you didn’t help him out?
Word Count: 7.1K
Content Warnings: 18+ Only, Best friends to lovers, Smut, PIV (protected), Oral Sex (Both m and f receiving), Fingering - (Let me know if I missed anything my brain is fried rn)
Author's Note: I know asked for smutty requests over two months ago but my personal life has been exhausting lately and it's fucking with my creativity on every level, I appreciate your patience. Thank you to everyone that showed interest in this, it was the perfect little motivation boost I needed to get this finished and I hope it was worth the wait 🥰
Taglist is at the bottom but there is a few people that asked to be tagged in this that for some reason it just would not let me - So if you see this and weren't tagged I'm sorry I tried! ☹️
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“Eddie!” Your voice boomed as your fist repeatedly hammered on the door of your best friend’s trailer. “Eddie, come on, what the hell are you doing in there?”
After a few minutes of silence that had you genuinely concerned for his welfare, you finally heard the sound of clumsy footsteps followed by the thump of someone walking into a piece of furniture.
“Jeeesus Christ,” Eddie complained, he squinted harshly at the sudden blast of sunlight hitting his weary face as he swung open the door. “Do you have to be so loud?”
You snorted as you took in the sight of him in his blue chequered boxers and tattered band tee, the W.A.S.P logo faded and cracked from years of being washed. His sleepy eyes and wild nest of curls made him look like a bear that was fresh out of hibernation.
“What was taking you so long? I thought you’d died or something.”
“Yeah well I might croak soon, feels like my head is packed with dynamite and it’s about to blow,” you watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, his features screwing up in pain while he stepped aside to let you in. “What time is it anyway?”
“It’s almost eight, you know, like we planned?” You brushed past him and into the centre of his cosy living room, waving the VHS he asked you to pick up from Family Video. Setting the tape down on the coffee table, your features softened in concern as you turned your full attention to him. “Are you okay?”
Eddie blew out a frustrated breath, his mop of tangled curls bounced as he shook his head. He quickly stopped, wincing when the sudden movements caused a sharp flash of pain to shoot across his brow. 
“Do I look okay?” he grumbled. “Can’t see shit either, it’s like I stared into the sun for a really long time and now the spots are stuck there forever.”
“Sounds like a migraine,” you grimaced with sympathy. You’d suffered from plenty of them and wouldn’t wish them on anyone. “Have you thrown up yet?”
“No, does that happen?”
“Sometimes, have you taken anything for it?”
“No,” he gritted his teeth knowing you were about to chastise him for not doing anything to help himself.
You rolled your eyes, typical Eddie but you decided to not give him any grief, at least not until he felt better and he had no choice but to tell you that you were right, as usual. 
“Well… That would be a good start,” you ushered him in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ll leave you in peace though, you should try and sleep it off.” 
“Wait,” he spun on his heel, catching your arm softly in his grip as you turned to leave the trailer. “Will you sit here with me? You can still put the movie on, I’ll just close my eyes for a little while.”
“Eddie, the sound won’t help,” you almost whispered. “You need to go lie in a dark, silent roo-”
“Please?” He cut you off, his hand sliding down your arm until he could intertwine your fingers with a gentle squeeze. 
Eddie loved his Saturday nights alone with you. He may have hung out with you every day at school, but you were always surrounded by friends. He found that there was something extra special about the time spent with just you and him. It was the reason he didn’t cancel his plans with you when he started feeling like shit, he just hoped he’d be feeling better by the time you arrived which turned out to be wishful thinking.
“Okay,” There was no use arguing with him, you couldn’t deny him anything while he was looking at you with such an adorable pout. “But go and take some Tylenol, now.” 
“Yes ma'am,” even in his bleak state Eddie still gave you a dorky salute before turning round and trudging down the hall to his bedroom. 
Eddie felt around his nightstand three-quarters of the way blind, his lids drooped low to avoid the sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window. Various belongings thump as they hit the carpeted floor, knocked off of the littered surface by his haphazard search efforts. He couldn’t be bothered to check if he’d broken anything of importance, too determined to locate the bottle of Tylenol he knew was hidden somewhere.
“Where the fuck is it?” he groaned. His frustrated expression morphed into a smirk when his fingertips grazed the plastic bottle. “Gotcha.” 
Eddie’s smirk faded just as quickly as it had formed when he found it empty. He shook the bottle for good measure as though he could magically refill it with the pain relief he so desperately needed.
“Son of a bitch!” Eddie chucked the bottle over his shoulder and began feeling his way to the bathroom. 
He shuffled cautiously until he found himself at the medicine cabinet. Wayne had to have something right? The old man was constantly complaining about his bad back and shoddy knee. 
Eddie retracted his lids a sliver to browse the various medications, the amassing fuzz obscured his vision making it impossible to read the tiny print on the label. He reached for what looked like a generical pill box on the highest shelf, figuring that they were prescription strength pain meds and therefore exactly what he was looking for. How convenient for Wayne to have a brand new box. He thumbed two pills from their foil-sealed packaging and tossed them into his mouth. They sat bitterly on his tongue as he leaned down and angled his head beneath the running faucet to help wash them down. Now that he’d finally fulfilled your wishes, Eddie didn’t bother putting the box away. When he returned to the living room you’d already gotten comfy in your usual spot, the opening credits of the movie were rolling on the screen at the lowest possible volume. He smiled fondly when you patted the cushion on your lap that was awaiting him. Making his way over to you he plopped down and wiggled around until he was comfortable; despite his feet hanging awkwardly over the arm of the couch.
Eddie sighed and his lashes fluttered closed. Instead of dwelling on the throbbing in his forehead, he focused on the sensation of you lightly tracing the contours of his face. Your fingertips were chilled from your walk across town, the coolness making it all the more soothing for him. Your heart melted as his tightly sewn brow unwound and his features were no longer warped by the pressure threatening to split his skull.
Your touch effectively fought off the previously unyielding tension, rendering him still and at ease. Your fingers found their way into his hair which came without a second thought. Sometimes you’d scratch his scalp to help him fall asleep and Eddie often finds himself craving your phenomenal head massages. Your attention was focused on the TV screen playing the mediocre slasher film while he practically purred in your lap. Your fingernails continued to graze his scalp until the pain reliever kicked in and his moans of discomfort had subsided. Eddie was so relaxed that he almost succumbed to the pull of sleep that was weighing heavily, that was until he felt an all too familiar awakening below the belt. It came as no surprise to him, you were touching him. He’d hidden innumerable semis due to your presence but something about this one felt different.
Eddie cracked one eye open to peek down at his crotch and he immediately kicked himself for not putting pants on once you had arrived. He was not sporting his usual semi, hell, he was pitching a full tent like it was summer camp. Praying that you were too invested in the crappy movie to notice, Eddie reached for the spare cushion wedged beside his hip and inconspicuously clutched it to his front. He tried his best to make it appear that he just wanted something to hug.
Of course you had noticed his very prominent erection, it was impossible not to. A thrill shot to your core with the thought of your touch being the cause of his arousal. You didn’t know how to react despite how giddy you felt about his body being so responsive to your touch. 
Throughout your friendship people had always assumed you were an item. On the contrary, you had shared one drunken kiss at most and both of you were too chicken shit to bring it up again after that night. But truthfully, you wished for him to want you in the way that he’d kiss you when he was sober. The fact that he’d popped a boner while you were spoiling him suggested that the feelings were mutual. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself, so you kept your gaze glued across the room and acted oblivious.
Eddie couldn’t conjure up a reasonable explanation as to why he was so bricked up. He’d never been so hard in his life and it had grown to be uncomfortable, his cock begging for any ounce of friction he could slyly get away with. There’s no way he could excuse himself to the bathroom without you spotting the obvious when he stood up. He certainly couldn’t take the cushion to the bathroom with him to use as a shield. The instinctual need became unbearable, he was going to lose his mind if he tried to sit still for a second longer.
With the utmost subtlety, Eddie used his grip on the cushion to push down while simultaneously wiggling his hips. His jaw clenched as he choked back the gasp that sat on the tip of his tongue. The faintly strangled sound drew your attention away from the screen. Eddie’s eyes were screwed shut, but this time it was out of frustration rather than pain. His nostrils flared and his breathing deepened. On the cusp of asking what was the matter, the words dried in your throat as your gaze landed on his lower half. Your heart pounded in your chest at the realisation of why he made that sound, and why he had started moving after being still for so long.
You wondered if the thermostat had gone haywire because the air felt stifling. The short thrusts of his hips against the orange cushion made you wish you had one of your own to use. You weren’t sure what his endgame was, but the room felt too suffocating to wait and find out. You needed some air and fast, or at least a moment away from him to try and compose yourself.
“I uh- I gotta use the bathroom,” you stuttered and stood hastily. His head bounced against the couch, having lost the support of your lap and you disappeared before he had the chance to even process what you said.
Shit. Eddie seized the desperate rutting of his hips as he was dragged back to Earth by your sudden departure. He got carried away, what the fuck was wrong with him tonight? He lifted the cushion and glared down at his now painfully hard cock straining against his boxer shorts. A dark blue patch of precum blotted the spot he’d been rubbing. He had no reason to be in this state, only an hour ago he felt like he was dying so what had turned him into such a pathetic pervert in such a short time? He was starting to panic as he wondered what you were thinking. How obvious had his inability to control himself been to you?
You slammed the bathroom door closed behind you. Standing in front of the mirror, you stared at your reflection and took several deep breaths. Get a hold of yourself, you thought as your fingers curled around the cool porcelain edges of the sink. It wasn’t until after you splashed your face with cold water that you noticed the box of pills lying beside you on the counter. Once they had caught your attention, you were stunned to read what they really were.
 You cracked the door open slightly and called out to him. “Eds?”
For a moment, you worried he’d fled due to the beat of silence that passed before he answered.
“Yeah?”
“Come here a sec.”
“Do I have to?” He sighed, not wanting to get up while he still hadn’t managed to get rid of his big problem.
“Yes,” You rolled your eyes and waited for him to stroll down the hall.
Eddie strategically hid his body behind the door frame and popped his head into view. There was an expectant look on his face, waiting for the reason he was beckoned. His eyes followed your finger as you pointed to the pills on the counter.
“Did you take those?”
“Yeah?” Eddie replied feeling unsure of himself, the fact that you were questioning it made him nervous that he had inadvertently poisoned himself.
“Do you know what they are?”
“Uhh, pain meds?” 
“Noooo,” your lips curled into a smirk. “You took Viagra.”
“Viagra?” he roared. Temporarily unphased by his predicament, he stepped into the bathroom and picked up the box, the fuzz no longer afflicting his vision. “What the fuck?”
“Why did you think they were pain meds?” you fought the urge to giggle.
“You told me to go take something knowing full well I couldn’t see!”
“You’re blaming me for this?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m blaming you!” His voice got higher the louder he became. “Why do we even have this?” 
Eddie froze when it dawned on him that the only reason they would be in the cabinet is because they belong to Wayne. 
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, dropping the box at his feet. He buried his face in his palms and threw his head back. “Ughhhh! Why me?” 
You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer, the first chuckle escaped your lips while you took in the pitiful sight of him.
“It’s not funny!” he yelled, feeling agitated and more than a little humiliated. “It hurts!”
“It’s a little funny,” You teased.
“Shut up! Seriously, what am I gonna do?” 
“Nothing,” you told him calmly, swiping up the box from the floor to read the instructions on the back. “It says here it should go away on its own in about three hours.”
“Three hours?!” He whined.
“Three to four hours.”
“Why the fuck does it last that long?”
“Oh, quit being dramatic. You’ve already made it through the first one,” you said, placing the pills back in the medicine cabinet. “Come and watch the rest of the movie with me, it might help take your mind off it.”
Eddie dragged his feet as you took his hand and led his pouting face back to the living room. He returned to his spot beside you. but instead of laying in your lap, he chose to sit upright. With the cushion pulled back to its previous position over his groin, he tried his best to focus on the mostly forgotten movie. His expression reminded you of an overgrown child that was seconds away from a tantrum because they didn’t get their way. You snickered at the absurdity of the situation you had found yourselves in and folded your legs beneath you to make yourself comfortable at the opposite end of the couch.
Over the course of the next half hour you watched Eddie fidget in your peripheral vision as he huffed and sighed in aggravation. You hated to admit it, but his squirming was turning you on more than it ought to. It was the way he was incapable of regulating his bated breathing, how his toes curled into the rough carpet and the subtle shift of his hips when he involuntarily thrusted into the cushion laid across his lap. It overwhelmed you to the point that you were squeezing your thighs together to suppress the throbbing that was blooming between them. When a whimper escaped from his lips, it was game over for you.
Would it be completely inappropriate to offer him a hand? You were doubtful that he would turn down such an offer in his current state. But what would that mean for your relationship? Best friend's don't give each other rub and tugs. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn't want to just do him a favour. You didn't want to have to hold back, and you wanted to do it more than just this once. Deciding that it was worth the risk, you uncurled from your position and slid down onto the carpet. While Eddie's eyes remained closed and his head rested against the back of the couch, you crawled the short distance to sit on your knees between his widely spread legs. He wasn't phased by the movement until you pried the cushion from his grip and tossed it aside. Eddie's head snapped forward and he looked down at you like a deer in headlights.
“Huuuuuh- what…. what is happening?” He stuttered, softly taking hold of your wrists when your hands found purchase on his bare thighs.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we did something about this?” You asked, looking pointedly at his cock.
“Like what?” He croaked.
His grip remained firm but he did nothing to stop you when your fingers creeped higher up his legs. Your fingertips now danced along the waistband of his boxers. 
“I think you know what.”
“Errrm, yeah but it’s kinda hard to believe this is happening,” he chuckled breathily. “Oh God, my head really exploded didn’t it? I died and this is heaven.”
“Well, I am on my knees aren’t I? And I wanna worship you, is that your idea of heaven?” 
“Hoooly fucking shit yes,” he whimpered. “But-”
“You know it won’t go away with just your fist or that cushion. I can help, if you want.”
Eddie nodded eagerly at almost comical speed. Unwilling to waste another second you tugged down his boxers, he lifted his hips just enough for you to drag them below his ass and free his swollen cock. He exhaled in relief as the cool air tickled his searing skin. You took a moment to truly admire him, your mouth watering as your gaze fixated on the girth of him, his weeping tip flushed dark pink with a prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft. He was fucking beautiful and your pussy clenched around nothing at the mere thought of him stuffed inside of you. Wrapping your fist securely around the stiff and hot base, you ran your tongue up to his tip. You placed a single peck to the head before you took him fully into your mouth. 
Wet warmth engulfed his cock while your fist pumped what you couldn’t handle. He whined above you, his fingers threaded into his hair and tugged harshly to keep himself from grabbing the back of your head. The last thing he wanted was to be forceful, but nevertheless, his hips had a mind of their own. You breathed deeply through your nose, attempting to suppress your gag reflex when he fucked your mouth harder. You didn’t mind, you found it impossibly enthralling that he was so worked up he could hardly control his movements. Your pussy grew wetter as his moans got louder, and you couldn’t help but snake the hand that wasn’t jerking him off down the front of your jeans and beneath your underwear. Your fingers rubbed tight, quick circles to your swollen clit. 
“Oh my god… Baby that’s… Ohhhh,” Eddie mumbled between broken moans. “No idea how many times I thought about this… Your lips - Mmmmm, thank you… Thank you…”
He barely lasted a few minutes before he was reaching out to cup your cheek, urgently attempting to guide you away as a warning he was about to climax. He expected you to pull away but you only moaned around him in response, the vibrations travelled along his shaft tipping him over the edge. His balls drew up tighter than they ever had before. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he shot rope after rope of cum down the back of your throat.
Even after coming down from what was without a doubt the most drawn out and intense orgasm of his life, his cock is still rock hard. Throbbing and twitching in your palm, he’s ready to go again despite the fact that he shouldn’t be.
“What the actual fuck?” He growled breathlessly, the bewilderment evident in his voice.
You wanted to offer to keep going, but with Eddie being particularly well endowed, your jaw was already aching. With your own arousal yet to be relieved, you decided to boldly take what may have the only chance you would get.
“Do you have condoms?”
His eyes met yours with scepticism, as though he really didn’t think he could get any luckier than he already had. You squeezed his knee to remind him he had yet to answer you and Eddie nodded apprehensively, maybe you really did want him as badly as he wanted you. 
“What do you say we move this into the bedroom then, hmm?”
“Fuck… Are you sure?” 
In place of a verbal response, you rose to your feet with a shy smile. You swallowed down any self-consciousness that was threatening to get in the way. With him still sitting on the couch and his cock exposed, you eyed him while you stripped down to your underwear. Eddie’s restless fingers clawed at the skin of his thighs, his head started to feel woozy as your body was revealed to him one garment at a time. Once your bra was unhooked and your underwear had dropped to the floor Eddie held his breath involuntarily. His big brown eyes travelled along your naked figure, feeling indecisive on which part of you he wanted to explore first. 
He was mute with a strong gaze and it caused your confidence to waiver. Before you could let it crumble completely you held out your hand to him, your fingers wiggling in encouragement to take it. As he let the breath he had held captive free, Eddie tucked himself back into his boxers. His legs quaked as he stood and closed the short distance between you, his fingers reaching out to tangle with yours.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” he said under his breath. “You’ve done more than enough for me already.”
Eddie would much rather be miserable on his own than to cause you a shred of discomfort in trying to help him. 
“Trust me,” you assured him, guiding his hand down between your legs so he could feel how sincerely soaked you were for him. “I really fucking want to.”
A squeak barely escaped you when his lips unexpectedly captured yours. Instinctively, your hands caressed the side of his face to keep him from pulling away. Eddie's hand explored your slick covered folds and in a matter of seconds, his fingers were coated with your arousal. You moaned into his mouth as he circled your clit, rubbing firmly against the nerve. Your hands travelled down his neck and you were unhappy to find him still mostly clothed. You frustratedly broke the kiss in order to yank his shirt up over his head. Eddie followed your lead and pushed his boxers back over his hips until they fell to pool around his ankles. Stepping out of them one foot at a time Eddie began to walk you backward down the hall toward his bedroom. All the while, his desperate hands sought to feel every inch of your body and his lips glided down the column of your throat. You gripped his slim waist to avoid tripping over the various obstacles he'd thrown to the floor while you made your way to his bed.
Once the backs of your knees met the edge of his mattress, Eddie urged you to lay back. You did as he asked and inched back while he watched. Eddie crawled between your legs and gently groped at your naked chest, his lips not far behind to suck harshly on the crook where your neck meets your shoulder. To give him more access, you tilted your head to the side and nuzzled your face into the pillow. His scent fills your nose and it sets your senses aflame, squirming as he continued to suckle on your pulse point. Before you had the chance to reach down a grasp hold of his cock, he travelled south. His mouth left a hot, wet trail as he made his way down to your core. Eddie’s strong hands forced your thighs apart to settle himself between them. His eyes locked shamelessly on your heat as he looked forward to spoiling you with the same treatment you gave him. You were conflicted in that moment because while you were on the verge of losing your mind if you didn’t feel him inside you soon, you also appreciated his eagerness to get a taste of you. 
Eddie covers your inner thighs with the softest kisses, using one hand to hold you in place by your hip. You felt the knuckles of his opposite hand glide through your wetness. Your body reacted immediately, your hips rocking in time with his thumb swiping firmly against your clit. Your body melted beneath him while his tongue smoothed over the sensitive nub. 
Eddie's experimental licks grew more confident as he grew acquainted and subsequently fell in love with the way you taste.
Your legs dropped open further when he moaned into you, the vibrations reverberating through your core. You lifted your head to watch him savour you. There was a little pinch between his brows and his eyes were squeezed shut, which only fanned the flames of your burning desire for him. You lifted your hips to encourage him to venture further. Understanding what you needed, he slid two fingers inside you with very little resistance and hooked them upwards. It only took a handful of explorative strokes before he was brushing the spot that he knew would bring you to euphoric bliss. 
“Yes… oh fuck, right there,” your hands threaded into his hair while his fingers pumped in and out of you. “Oh my god… Eddie…”
“Mmmm, you taste so fucking good,” he pulled away for only a moment to respond. 
Eddie’s brown eyes, darkened by lust, stared up at you while his plump lips glistened with your arousal. Without hesitation, his tongue returned to your clit and he sucked greedily, his plunging fingers following suit. You ground your hips against his mouth, and with little warning, you came hard.
“Eddie!” You cried, your pussy clamping down around his fingers as your thighs snapped closed to hold him in place. “Oh my fucking god! Ohhhh-”
He happily worked you through your orgasm until your body was limp beneath him. Eddie retracted his fingers and dragged them up through your folds. You twitched as he spread your release over your sensitive clit. He grinned softly when he looked up at you again, the pride evident on his features as he crawled his way up your body.
“Holy shit,” Eddie laughed breathlessly. He pressed a wet kiss to your lips for you to taste how sweet you were. “That was so fucking hot. I’ve never made someone cum that hard before.”
You grinned back. Still at a loss for words, you reached between your bodies to give him a few steady strokes. He pulsed in your palm and it sent a surge through your lower belly. You hastily flipped him over, his back meeting the mattress with a bounce. Eddie was spread before you, and you committed the sight to your memory to cherish until your dying days. He tucked his hands behind his head, the fucked out expression still melted onto his features. Eddie had never looked so beautiful. Your eyes wandered his slender torso and followed the delicious happy trail that led to the thatch of dark curls framing his gorgeous dick.
Spying the small blue box of condoms on the dresser, you grabbed them while Eddie shuffled himself up the mattress to get more comfortable in a sitting position. You straddled his hips and he leaned forward to kiss you hungrily. He took the little foil wrapper from your hand, tore it open, and rolled the condom down his aching cock. He gave himself a few strokes for good measure and you watched him adoringly.
“Ready for more sweetheart?” he asked with an air of smugness. He could see how you were practically drooling. The way your eyes fixated on the motion of his hand gave him one hell of an ego boost.
You nodded embarrassingly quickly and he chuckled. Eddie’s free hand gripped your hip to pull you closer as he guided his tip to your entrance. Your fingertips dug into his shoulders as you steadied yourself, and ever so slowly sank down on his generous length. You shuddered as he stretched you inch by glorious inch. You couldn’t recall ever feeling so full and it was the best goddamn thing you’d ever felt. He gave you a moment to adjust before both of his hands found purchase on your ass. Eddie started to fuck himself up into your pleading pussy, causing the bedframe to shake from the force of his thrusts. You braced yourself with one arm on the wall behind his head to keep yourself upright.
Eddie had one hell of a view, and it had him entranced. Your jaw was slack as you gasped and panted from how deep he was, and your tits bounced in his face while he relentlessly pounded into you. His hooded eyes never stopped roaming your body. He wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you flush to his chest. Eddie buried his face into the crook of your neck to resume his attack on the tender flesh of your throat.
Mingling moans and whimpers were paired with the wet sounds of him driving into your cunt filled the small space of his bedroom. You tugged his hair to pull his face from your neck, needing to feel his lips on yours as you ground desperately in his lap. He met you for a sloppy kiss, both of you too far gone to care about the clumsiness.
“Close, close- baby I’m so close,” you whined against his lips. The white hot pressure in your core grew closer to reaching its boiling point with every brush of his wiry curls against your clit.
“Yeah, you gonna cum for me?” he growled. His sweaty forehead pressed to your own while his borderline black irises looked deep into your soul. “Fuck, I wanna feel you cumming all over my cock.”
“Uh huh, Eddie I’m gonna cum,” you nodded dumbly. Your heart was pounding in your ears so loudly that you could hardly focus on a word he was saying. 
His hand left your waist to snake down. His thumb rubbed circles to your clit, which in his urgency, may have been a little rough. But it didn’t matter, it was more than enough to get you there. 
“Oh fuck!” You cried as you came. Your hips continued to roll, a clumsy attempt at keeping up with his thrusts. 
You rode out the waves of ecstasy until you collapsed against his chest. Both of his arms wrapped protectively around you and his nose nuzzled against your temple. Eddie whispered how good you were for him. It took you a few minutes for your cloudy head to clear to notice that his hips were still rocking into you. You had forgotten that the whole point of this was to get Eddie off and not yourself. Despite how sensitive you were feeling, you pushed through the mild discomfort. He surely couldn’t be too far behind you. 
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and with each minute that passed, Eddie grew more frustrated. The pills were affecting his ability to cum in a timely manner. Even though he had a blowjob beforehand, it had never taken him this long to blow his load before. Your movements grew sluggish and when a tiny whimper passed your lips, he knew it was becoming too much. Eddie's heart squeezed behind his ribs at the thought that he was causing you pain. The guilt pulled him further out of the moment, and he was prepared to surrender. 
“I’m sorry,” he practically sobbed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I swear any other time I would’ve busted ages ago.”
“It’s okay,” you reassured him. You ignored the ache in your thighs that was begging you to change positions, you were determined to get him there. 
“No it’s not,” he shook his head. The stray curls plastered themselves to his damp skin. “We don’t have to keep going, I don’t wanna hurt you-”
“Hey, I’m fine,” you stopped him. He had gripped the meat of your hips to lift you off of him but you halted him with the placement of your hands on top of his. “Really.”
Eddie sighed deeply and averted his gaze, clearly unconvinced. You curled your fingers gently around his and lifted his hands to your chest, placing one on each of your breasts. You made him squeeze them as a form of encouragement. You rested your own hands on either side of his head and forced him to look at you. 
“Stop worrying about how long it’s taking and focus on what you’re feeling,” your thumbs tenderly brushed the apples of his cheekbones. “How am I making you feel?”
You emphasised your words with a roll of your hips, your dedication to helping him get there gave you a boost of energy to persevere.
“So fucking good,” Eddie shivered. His eyes fluttered closed as he zeroed in on the way your muscles quivered around his cock and how soft your skin felt cupped in his palms.
“What is it that feels good?”
He could barely think, barely speak. It felt like his brain was melting to mush with every second he stayed inside you.
“Eddie,” you pressed, gently demanding his answer.
“Feels… fuck, your pussy,” he babbled, unable to form a coherent sentence. “I don’t… you’re just so… warm, soft.”
“Mmmm, you like my pussy?”
“Oh, f-fuck, yeah.”
“Yeah? Then take it Eds, I’m all yours,” you promised.
“You mean that?” his hands tickled your ribs as they glided from your breasts to your ass, his palms squeezing what now belonged to him. “Even… after tonight?”
“Is that what you want?” 
His lovestruck gaze never broke your own as he nodded sincerely, your foreheads still stuck together.
“Then you can have me anytime you want, baby.”
Eddie groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he let the words he had dreamt about hearing for so long finally sink in. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and let every one of his senses be entirely consumed by you. Eddie was concentrating so hard on driving himself into your warm, wet heat that he didn’t notice his orgasm sneaking up until it was too late. Before he could get a word out he was already pulsing inside you, grunting into your neck with a deep growl. When Eddie finally slipped out of you, your fingers lightly soothed any part of him you could reach while he recovered. His entire body trembled from the force of his release. The problem however still remained. Despite your best efforts, the full condom glistened around his everlasting hard on. 
“Fuck!” Eddie yelled.
You stared at him hopelessly. You hated that it was causing him so much distress, but you knew neither of you had the stamina to go another round. At least, not without a break first. 
“I’m just gonna… Try to take care of it-” he muttered, pulling off the condom and tying the top with a tight knot as you moved out of his lap. He swung his unsteady legs over the edge of the bed and tossed it in the nearby trash can. “In the bathroom… I’ll be back.”
You'd already gone out of your way to help him and at this rate he considers himself a nuisance; he has to solve this issue on his own. You reached out and grasped his wrist before he could get too far.
“You don’t have to go,” you said. You gnawed in your lower lip, worried he may reject you in favour of his own hand. “I wanna help.”
Eddie felt like an idiot for being blinded by frustration and almost leaving the girl of his dreams naked and alone in his bed.
Eddie, beckoned by your pleading expression, returned to your side. The springs squeaked beneath his weight as he rejoined you. When he laid back against the pillow and you giggled; a subconscious attempt at easing the hopeless atmosphere. Once he was comfortable beside you, you tenderly wrapped your fingers around his shaft. You'd only stroked him a handful of times before you were startled by his outburst.
“Ow, ow! Fuck, stop!” he wailed at the lingering pain in his balls. “I can’t go again, it hurts too bad.”
“Sorry!” You placed your hand on his thigh and gave it a firm squeeze, unsure how else to comfort him. 
Eddie didn't speak another word, his train of thought overpowered by self-pity. You slid off of the bed and retrieved your clothes from the living room. Dressing yourself there, you pulled on your t-shirt and panties leaving your jeans in a heap where you’d dropped them. After returning to his room, you crawled back into bed and encouraged him to settle between your open legs. He obliged and scooted until his bare back was against your chest. Too sore and too exhausted to care about being naked, his eyes fluttered closed. You pressed your cheek to the crown of his head and drew soothing patterns across his flushed, pale skin. His reflection in the mirror across the room was saddening; he looked like he wanted to cry.
“I’m gonna be stuck like this forever.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you chuckled. You turned your head to look at his alarm clock. “You’ve still got an hour left, I’m sure it will go away in no time.”
“What if it doesn’t?” he lamented.
“Then I guess I’ll drive you to the emergency room.” 
The look on Eddie’s face as it snapped towards you could only be described as one of pure horror but if it came down to it, you really would have to. You cupped his cheek in your palm and told him once again to stop worrying. Leaning forward you pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose. When that failed to banish the worry lines that still marred his face you placed another to his forehead. Then to the corner of his mouth and each of his cheeks. Still unsatisfied you lifted his hand and brought each of his fingers to your lips. Eventually he caved, the sweetest of smiles creeping across his features. 
“Thank you,” he whispered before settling back into your embrace.
Against all odds you managed to relax him enough to drift into a light sleep. By the time he stirred a little over half an hour later his erection had finally subsided. Eddie had never been so happy to go soft in his entire life.
The following morning, Wayne was lounging in his armchair ready to enjoy his day off. He kicked his feet up to watch The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, bologna sandwich in hand, when Eddie stalked into the living room and planted himself heavily on the couch next to him.
“Can I help you?” Wayne asked after a moment of silence and Eddie staring at him intently.
“Drugs Wayne? Really?” he scolded, sounding like a disappointed parent interrogating their teenager. 
“What in the hell are you talking about, boy?” Wayne scoffed before he took a hefty bite of his sandwich. 
Without answering, Eddie whipped the box of Viagra out of his back pocket and slapped them down on the coffee table between them. It took Wayne a second to realise what they were, but once he did, he almost choked on his food. He whacked his chest with his fist and reached for the glass of water beside him. 
“Have you been in my medicine cabinet?” 
“You mean our medicine cabinet,” Eddie retorted. 
Wayne was speechless. He didn’t know whether to laugh at Eddie’s seriousness or scold him for his attitude.
“You really wanna lecture me about drugs? You think I don’t know what you keep in my old lunchbox?” Wayne countered. 
“That’s not the issue here,” Eddie dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “The issue is-”
“Now just wait a second,” Wayne interrupted as he inspected the sheet of pills, taking note of the empty pockets. “Did you take these?”
“That’s irrelevant. Why would you have these under our roof? This is a christian household Wayne. I expected better from a man of God.”
It wasn’t often that Wayne’s face gave away what he was thinking, but at that moment, he was finding it extremely hard not to crack a smile at how ridiculous Eddie was being. In all honesty, he forgot that the viagra was even there. They were a gag gift from his drinking buddies down at The Attic on his 50th birthday. While he hadn’t used them yet, Wayne was nothing if not a resourceful man. He put them on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in the event that they may prove useful in the future.
“Kev gave them to me on my 50th,” Wayne explained once he had composed himself. “You know, as a joke.”
“But you kept them,” Eddie stated as he stood and towered over his uncle who’s eyes still twinkled with amusement.
Wayne didn’t respond, he only crossed his arms over his chest and watched Eddie start to back away towards the bedroom. He knew now was not the right time to pry but he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened that caused Eddie to ambush him like this. 
“Very disappointed…” Eddie continued muttering his disapproval as he disappeared down the hall. “Make better decisions… Oh, and we’re out of Tylenol by the way.”
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