#and proceeded to write himself

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #14

[masterlist] [part one]

Trigger warning: depiction of a dissociative episode, misconception concerning the sentience and sapience of a being. Warning for Jason's language and use is Zalgo text

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Jason was... Well, he was a lot of things, but terrified was near the top of the list. He'd seen and experienced a lot of crazy shit since trying to steal the tires off the batmobile, including his own death and revival, but having control of his body forcefully taken from him by what he could only assume was the Lazarus Pit was by far the most insane and terrifying thing he'd ever experienced. Not even the Joker had made him feel this hopeless, he'd still been able to run his mouth then, but this? This was like sitting in the driver's seat of a high-tech hyper realistic RC car, frantically stepping on all the pedals, pressing all the buttons, flicking all the switches, and trying with all your might to crank the steering wheel, and all of it doing jack shit. You're stuck watching out the windshield as the car goes flying across the haphazard track, your seatbelt is locked, the doors don't even open from the inside, and nothing you do makes a damn difference as someone else takes you for a joyride.

Of course, he's the fucking Red Hood, he wasn't gonna let the Pit just do whatever the fuck it wants, hell no! He'd successfully fought the thing off during the height of his pit madness and homicidal tendencies, there was no fucking way he was gonna let the Pit use him to murder a kid!

"W̸e̷ ̴d̷o̴ ̵n̵o̵t̷ ̵m̸u̵r̷d̴e̵r̶ ̵c̵h̴i̸l̸d̶r̷e̵n̶!̷" Came a voice from inside his head. It was unlike anything he'd ever heard, like a gestalt of different voices from all different walks of life. Time seemed to be endlessly slow as he/it/they screeched a war cry and took off.

"Oh yeah? Why the fuck are we charging the kid, then?!" Jason yelled back. It was weird, his voice was both echoey and soundless at the same time. He didn't like it.

"H̸e̶ ̴i̵s̶ ̴c̶h̴i̷l̷d̶/̸i̶n̶f̴a̸n̴t̵/̵l̸o̴n̴e̷l̴y̷/̴k̷i̸n̸g̷.̵ ̵H̴e̴ ̶i̷s̴ ̶U̸n̵C̸l̶a̵i̸m̸e̶d̶.̶ ̵H̴e̶ ̸i̶s̶ ̵O̶u̵r̷s̷ ̸n̵o̷w̴.̴" As the Pit said that, Jason watched through green tinted vision as the Pit disarmed the goon, extracted the kid, and outright threw the goon into the wall to the side of them. As soon as the goon was out of the way, the Pit adjusted the kid so they were cradling him, and suddenly Jason was drowning in overwhelmingly foreign feelings of comfort/safety/claimed/calm/peace/safe as distinctly nonhuman sounds came from their mouth.

He'd like to say he'd managed to claw his way out from under the flood of emotion by himself, but that'd be a lie, and he tried not to lie to himself too often. It was the sound of a sudden, sharp, almost adorable little frustrated chirp the kid let out that let him breach the surface and actually think again. "What the hell was that?" Jason asked. If his consciousness needed to breathe, he'd be gasping right about then.

"H̴e̷ ̸w̵a̶s̷ ̵p̶a̵n̵i̷c̵k̶i̷n̵g̵.̶ ̵W̵e̸ ̴r̶e̸s̵p̵o̷n̵d̶e̸d̴ ̴a̵p̶p̶r̶o̶p̴r̸i̶a̷t̵e̷l̵y̵.̸ ̷W̸e̷ ̸a̸p̷o̶l̸o̶g̵i̶z̶e̴ ̶f̷o̵r̷ ̷s̸m̴o̴t̴h̸e̵r̵i̷n̷g̸ ̴a̶ ̶p̴a̷r̸t̷ ̵o̸f̴ ̸U̴s̷.̵" The Pit sounded genuinely apologetic, but he wasn't sure he trusted it. Their head turned and Jason saw the rest of the Bats arrayed in wary stances, with Damian taking the lead. He said something about wanting to check on the kid in their arms, but that they could keep hold of him. He could see how much B wanted to protest that, but a sharp gesture from the kid silenced that Bat. "W̴e̴ ̵d̸o̵ ̷n̶o̶t̶ ̷k̷n̵o̷w̷ ̶t̵h̸e̸ ̶o̷n̷e̶s̵ ̶b̵e̶h̶i̴n̶d̷ ̴u̵s̵.̴ ̸A̸ ̶p̵a̶r̵t̴ ̷o̸f̴ ̶U̴s̸ ̵d̷o̵e̴s̶.̸ ̷C̶a̷n̷ ̷W̴e̷ ̷t̸r̶u̶s̵t̸ ̴O̵u̶r̷s̶ ̴w̵i̴t̸h̵ ̴t̸h̵e̴m̵?̸"

Jason thought about the question for a bit. He was fairly certain, as long as Damian was the one taking the lead, they'd be fine. Since Bruce was letting the kid take point, Tim was more likely to follow along, and Dick would only jump the gun if the kid looked injured or terrified out of his mind, which he was neither. In fact, the kid was making some of the cutest fucking noises he'd ever heard, nevermind they didn't have any right coming from a very human looking kid. "We should be good, so long as the baby bird is in control, he seems to grasp the situation better than the rest," he finally replied.

"V̶e̸r̴y̸ ̵w̵e̴l̸l̶.̸ ̸W̶e̸ ̸w̷i̶l̴l̷ ̴t̵r̵u̷s̶t̷ ̷t̷h̵e̵ ̶B̸a̴b̵y̶ ̶B̵i̶r̶d̵,̵ ̶a̸s̷ ̴p̶a̶r̵t̵ ̷o̶f̷ ̸U̶s̴ ̵c̶a̸l̴l̴s̵ ̶H̷i̵m̶.̸" They slowly turned around, the kid held protectively within their arms, though visible enough for the Bats to be able to determine he was okay.

They all stared at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. Jason was getting ready to make a sarcastic comment about the stalemate when the kid spoke up. "Hey, so, uh, I'm Danny, it's nice to meet you all."

Oh shit. How could a teenager be so adorable? "I have never thought of a kid as adorable, what the fuck?"

"H̴e̴ ̷i̵s̷ ̸O̵u̶r̸s̵.̵ ̶H̵e̴ ̶i̸s̶ ̶C̶l̷a̶i̴m̶e̵d̷ ̷b̵y̸ ̵U̴s̶.̴ ̵H̵e̶ ̶w̶i̴l̸l̶ ̶a̶l̷w̸a̷y̸s̶ ̶b̸e̴ ̷a̴d̶o̴r̷a̶b̸l̵e̵ ̷t̵o̶ ̶U̸s̴,̸ ̵e̴v̴e̵n̷ ̶t̶o̶ ̴a̷ ̵p̴a̶r̸t̸ ̷o̷f̴ ̵U̸s̸ ̵t̸h̵a̵t̸ ̸i̷s̶ ̷n̵o̶t̴ ̶o̷f̷ ̶U̶s̴.̴"

Wait. "Did you adopt him? What if he has parents! We can't just adopt random kids!"

"W̴e̶ ̵d̶i̴d̴ ̶n̴o̶t̶ ̷s̴e̵e̸ ̷a̸n̴y̷ ̴P̶a̴r̶e̶n̷t̸s̴.̴ ̷W̴e̵ ̸o̸n̷l̷y̷ ̴s̵a̷w̷ ̷H̶i̸m̴.̶ ̶H̵e̶ ̴w̴a̴s̴ ̴U̵n̴C̷l̸a̷i̸m̵e̴d̸,̵ ̷n̷o̷w̵ ̶H̸e̵ ̷i̶s̵ ̸C̶l̷a̴i̷m̸e̸d̶.̷ ̶I̷t̵ ̵i̵s̷ ̴f̴a̴i̵r̶.̶" The Pit was being far too cheeky. It was like the Pit was saying "finders keepers losers weepers". Jason... Wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly. "A̷n̷d̸ ̷H̸e̵ ̷i̸s̷ ̴n̵o̴t̴ ̴r̷a̴n̶d̶o̴m̴.̸ ̶H̴e̷ ̷i̶s̵ ̸k̸i̸n̷g̵.̶"

Wait, wait, nope, he had to have heard that wrong. "Hold the fucking phone, are you saying he's some kind of royalty? Of what government? His accent sounds Midwestern!"

"H̸e̵ ̷i̴s̴ ̶H̷i̶g̷h̵ ̴K̷i̴n̸g̶ ̸o̶f̷ ̵t̶h̸e̶ ̴I̴n̶f̷i̶n̵i̶t̷e̴ ̶R̴e̶a̸l̶m̸s̷.̵ ̶H̷e̷ ̸i̵s̵ ̴G̵h̵o̴s̵t̸ ̸K̴i̶n̴g̴.̶" The tone with which the Pit spoke of Danny was complicated, though pride and seriousness were prominent. "H̵e̸ ̴i̵s̷ ̴O̶u̵r̶s̶ ̷a̵s̶ ̸W̷e̸ ̴a̴r̴e̷ ̸H̶i̶s̷.̸"

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"Hey, so, uh, I'm Danny, it's nice to meet you all."

The teen in Jason's the Pit creature's arms was remarkably calm, in Damian's opinion. He'd seen many people bathe in the Lazarus Pit come back not right, not themselves, enough to have an idea of how to handle this thing that took his brother's body as its own. Admittedly, this creature was among the most tame he'd ever seen or heard of, though, he never thought someone could become a Pit creature years after bathing in the Pit's waters, either, so perhaps that wasn't saying much.

Damian refocused and gave the older teen a small smile. "Hello, Danny, are you alright? You've had a rather stressful day, haven't you?" He needed to figure out a way to get Danny away from the Pit creature without provoking it. He had no idea how long it would stay reasonable and he didn't want to chance Danny getting hurt by what was once his brother.

Danny let out a snort. That... Wasn't the response he was expecting. "Honestly, the past week was significantly worse, this was nothing. This was almost expected, honestly. No, yeah, I'm doing pretty well now that Goony McGoonface over there isn't trying to use me as a meat shield anymore." The creature let out a short screech, and Danny glanced up at it, face contemplative, almost confused for a second, before understanding flashed across his features. He then let out a few chirps that, to Damian, sounded almost like he was asking for clarification for something. The creature responded with a trill and a few chirps of its own. Danny nodded and turned to look back at Damian with a slightly apologetic expression. "Um, he said you can come closer, Robin. He trusts you not to hurt me, but the others will have to stay back for now. Something about you being vouched for? I guess?"

He wasn't sure what to make of that, but Damian could work with this. He nodded before either of his brothers could argue, silently grateful his father was following his lead like he'd asked. "Thank you for passing along the message, I will gladly take you up on that. How close may I get?"

Danny turned to the creature again as it tilted its head in thought before chirping something at Danny that caused his eyes to widen. Danny trilled a question back, the mental impression of a disbelieving, "Really?" strong enough Damian could have sworn he'd actually heard it instead of imagining it. The creature repeated the trill back with a few chirps at the end and Danny's eyes widened further as he turned to look back at Damian. "You, uh, you can get as close as you'd like, he says he remembers you, now. You must have made a good impression, I wouldn't have thought he'd let anyone near me for the next hour, at least."

Well then. That was significantly closer than Damian had expected based on previous experiences with Pit creatures. What did Danny mean, the creature remembered him, though? How could it remember him? "Thank you again, both of you," Damian said as he started forward, being careful not to move too quickly or make any sudden movements. The closer he got to the two of them, the more he started to notice a deep rumble and slightly higher purr coming from the two he was approaching. They seemed to resonate within his own chest, touching at something he'd never noticed was tense and on constant alert until it started relaxing at the interaction. It made him just the slightest bit less hesitant at getting closer to the two of them.

It was only when he was within reach of the creature that he realized that something in his chest had started buzzing, an answering purr that startled him enough for him to pause in his tracks. That... He'd never... What? His purr hitched at his disjointed thoughts. The Pit creature slowly sat down, shifted a suddenly worried looking Danny to sit on its lap, and carefully extended an arm in Damian's direction. His purring hitched again at the movement, and the rumbling shifted in tone slightly. Somehow, the rumble seemed to draw his purr into harmony with it and the other purr, which Damian was starting to suspect was Danny's. The Pit creature chirped softly, and somehow, Damian understood it this time. "Baby bird. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe."

It—the Pit—Jason—Damian took a quick moment to sign back to his father that he had a plan he didn't, he didn't need one, either before diving into the being's arms. He'd been wrong, this wasn't a Pit creature like he'd assumed, and he could only be glad he'd said nothing about his previous assumptions aloud.

He'd only ever heard hushed rumors about it, but once, a long time ago, near the beginning of his grandfather's reign as the Demon's Head, there had been a being who'd bathed in the Lazarus Waters and came out not less than they had been, but more. They had still been themselves, they had still been healed like others before them, they'd just also become the avatar of the Waters in the process. They'd been honored by many, hailed as a great protector and given many titles as thanks, though his grandfather had apparently taken exception to someone else having such an elevated position. His grandfather had killed the being and destroyed all mentions of them as he could, even going so far as to ban talk of them. But thoughts and ideas cannot be bound, and there were those who still revered the being more than his grandfather, even within his own League.

Somehow, Jason, his brother, had become the next Avatar of the Waters. His brother was still there. His brother wasn't dead again. He held back his sobs as he let out his own quiet trill. "You're still here."

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WOW. Didn't expect I'd be able to write this sequel any time soon! Well, surprise, dp×dc week has provided the prompts I needed to write a number of my more requested sequels! ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧

Good news, I'm feeling better today than I have this entire week lol hopefully this continues through the rest of the week, right? (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

If anyone thinks I missed a trigger warning for this ficlet, PLEASE let me know! I've tried my best to cover all the ones I thought might be an issue, but I'm not the most knowledgeable on what topics can be triggering yet (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) I want my readers to know what they're getting into before they get into it, y'know?

Thank you all so much for your patience! I've got some people who asked to be tagged when I wrote the sequel, so hopefully I got them all! @stealingyourbones, @ghoststoneguard, @meira-3919, @onyxlightdragon, @gatorgoose, @rainbowbunny0159, @jarlyd, here's the update y'all asked to be tagged in! Hope you liked it ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp crossover #fanfic #dp au #nanowrimo 2022 #NaNoWriMo Day 14 #dp/dc week 2022 #gosh i hope this wasn't too much for y'all #i didn't initially intend for Jason to open for us #but he grabbed me by the shirt collar and demanded to open the show this week #cussed me out a bit while he was at it #and proceeded to write himself #he's very good at that I've come to find out #though i gotta say #i absolutely love his interactions with the pit #also! world building! from Damian's POV! #lol imagine finding out your older brother whom you've denied caring for since you were nine #seemingly turned into a creature from your nightmares and took a teen not much older than you hostage #ONLY to realize that no your brother is actually NOT a creature from your nightmares #no he's now the freaking Avatar of the Lazarus Waters #he's achieved being status #he's become the thing your grandfather hates and some of your old teachers practically worshipped #lol just wait until you find out who he adopted!

[rhythmic-idealist]

Chase Trinaeste POV Shepherds of Haven fic? Yeah………….. Chase x MC fic? Yeah.......

And another friend’s OC is also mentioned in here? …..Yeah…………… dw about it..........

Listen though. L-listen:

---

You gotta learn to braid.

Thinking about it, your head is immediately gifted with images of him irritatedly brushing it out in the morning and chewing you out for bad technique. Better yet, he wears it to breakfast, thinks it’s good, and then chews you out only after Trouble makes some no-brained comment and he looks in a mirror for the first time. After all, you’ve got nimble fingers, makes sense to assume you were trustable.

Rock’s head is in your lap.

And his hair is going everywhere, and he’s always clearly taken his time with it (at your best guess he uses five different products at least), so that’s why you’re thinking about it. Don’t people with long hair sleep with braids, sometimes? Lavinet would probably teach you, and do you the favor of not announcing that you’re about to use your skills for evil.

He’s been like this since about five in the morning. You’re a light sleeper. As needs be, you rise either with the sunset or with the sun. Or elsewise, if you’ve got to— you have what some might call an uncanny sense for a well-timed catnap.

So you’re up again, working out the couple little kinks in your back from dozing upright like that. It’s another of the perks of the job: learn to sleep anywhere. You have a lot of little resume filler skills like that, just a tragic lack of resume to put it on. Idly, you wonder over the nonsensical notion of putting one together for the Order once your writing gets good enough to, and you’re kind of attached to the idea now. Blade wouldn’t read it, especially considering you’re already in, but there’s some small giddy joy you get out of the idea of putting it in his possession anyway. Maybe Trouble would read it. Maybe Shery would think it’s juicy enough that she can’t keep her hands off it, and then roll in the guilt about it for a few weeks after. ...No, you can’t do that to her. Funny as that is, she could read with permission. You might be cruel, but she’s a horrible choice of target.

Anyway— So you’ve been watching him be like this since about five in the morning, and thus have evidence of him being like this since about five in the morning. You remember falling asleep late last night, though. Waiting for him to drift first. It was probably one, two AM.

When six-thirty rolls around, you’ll have to wake him, you have a bright and early morning dose of espionage on the schedule today (it’s why the two of you are all the way out here, plus Lavinet and Ottilie graciously hosted in another wing) and you can’t have a grouchy Hero of Haven who hasn’t had a good hour or more awake to put his silver tongue back on.

Something something joke about that tongue’s many talents.

Head in lap is a surprise at all. It’s one of those things— Rock has done this thing to you where all your defenses are the ones that keep coming down first.

It feels a little like getting grifted. When you’ve caught onto a grift, though, and you’re playing along to see what or whom or where they take you to, you don’t feel like you’re in danger, because you’re good. You’re in as much danger as you want to be, or more like: when there are unpredictable variables, you know more or less where they’re going. Rock makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something you don’t fucking play with, and it doesn’t help that he likes to open his mouth sometimes just to remind you you’re rolling off a cliff.

Anyway. Then you get this, and you wanna be a charming shit about it, as usual (and you intend to), you just also wonder how much he’s falling off a cliff.

He gets bad nightmares. You know that because of the trip to the Reach. You do also know it because of the tightness in Blade’s lip when you mentioned it offhand later— there’s history there; they’ve been worse than that. You also know it because you picked the brains of a couple recruits who were standing around griping after Trouble sent them for something like twenty laps around the compound (not a real intuitive head for numbers on that man): apparently, it was Captain Nomura they’d been gossiping about, and Trouble was a hardass about it.

It’s the one thing that makes you feel borderline… even. If not even, then at least okay with it.

That’s a lie, you’d probably feel okay with it anyway, you got down to being okay with whatever he’s doing to you the minute you realized you were this invested. It’s just something you use to put things in perspective. There are things you didn’t exactly expect to peel open for him, about you. But there are also things he’s not asking to broadcast publicly to every hard-luck-fleer who wanders onto the Shepherds compound to recruit. Rumors about the head of the Thieves Guild abound, but the unflattering ones are usually less true, and the untrue ones abound so plentifully that no one knows heads or tails of that, anyway.

Feels fair he should have secrets from someone. You’re still gonna fucking dig your way into them before they bury him alive, it’s just. Yeah, you haven’t had your brain pulled open onto a projection screen.

So he has nightmares. You’re not actually sure how often. Technically, you don’t have proof they haven’t gotten better since you last heard. But since you’re not bound to the same evidence requirements as a court of law, and since it’s become a roulette game of how grouchy Rock’s gonna be minute-to-minute, he was dodgy about the prospect of rooming with you or anyone on this mission at all, and he’s recently had a god or demon or trick of the light try to tell him (plus all of the rest of you) that he’s less Mage and more something else’s torn out rib, you can look at two plus two plus two and say probably.

You’ve learned how not to dream. It’s basically the same as learning how to wake up when you want to. When you did dream, you dreamt of mutiny, imaginary holes you left and getting torn down through them. You were always yourself in your dreams—some people are characters, tropes, or other people they know, apparently; you wouldn’t know. Now you keep that in the waking world, and you keep ten paces ahead of it.

That’s the thing you’re deadly sure about in him. That he’s keeping ten paces ahead of something. You—your whole tether to his side—account for anything from like one to like eight of them, as far as you can tell. That’s all you know.

…Well that’s the quick way to tell it. He’s keeping ten paces ahead of something inside the Shepherds. Could be Blade, but you’re not sure why. Could be the Autarchy, but that’s too simple for you. Doesn’t feel like it. Could be Ottilie’s God-given plans for a pretty obvious heathen, but your nose also says it’s not that easy.

He looks dead asleep right now. Comfy, you’d kind of go so far as to hope. And anyway you look at his face, still waters, and you’re a little afraid to even brush his hair out of it.

You don’t even know if he meant to lay his head down on you at all, if that’s a cliff he made his shaky peace with (or if it’s a cliff at all, if means anything to him, Hael if you know) or if he was just miserable.

You don’t know if it’s you, like the stillness might be the effect of having another body in the room that he’s willing to lay his head against— …or if maybe he just doesn’t get them every night. Or if there is one under there. But you hope he’s not dreaming.

You try to bask in it, for now. Try to pose like a king with a sweet little kitten in his lap, like a guy painted on the front of a romance novel with the sweet, innocent angel he’s seduced to lay over him, nightgown slipping down her shoulder. You spend an hour with only walls to watch, dutifully still so he can finish sleeping, and it’s only a small handful of times that you have to stop and breathe through a creep of bile up your throat.

Six-thirty hits.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Mmf. What.” Rock spits a strand of hair out of his face. Yeah, you probably could have done him a favor on that instead of leaving it there for him to wake up to. But it’s funny, so, you know. Win-win.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Ottilie’s slaughtering her morning chicken—” (she is not).

Rock seems to parse the reality of where he is, and peels himself up from you, sitting facing away from you— and then he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, and everything about it is horribly, disressingly raw.

He looks at you a little too long. The thing about Rock is his rules are a lot like yours, and you are not supposed to say anything about it, but he’s looking at you, like he’s asking you to, and it lasts a long time.

Then he goes to brush his teeth.

#shepherds of haven #chase trinaeste #chase trinaeste x mc #shepherds of haven fanfic #yeah sorry this one doesnt. resolve. thats it thats the oneshot! #i have more drafted from later on this little made-up mission im sending them on #but it's more like a second chapter #one day I'm gonna write the fic about how deeply fucking tragic everything going on w Blade and Rock is bc it's not clear here but #listen. listen. Blade is one of his most important people. #I have constructed a guy who loves Blade so much. and who then proceeded to convince himself that one day Blade will kill him #I mean not necessarily Blade. just the Shepherds. but it would hurt worst if it's Blade. so now it'll definitely be Blade. see. logic #Blade is going to feel. so extremely ill when he discovers this has been going on #so there's the... FLAVOR of the Blade mention in here

[roobylavender]

i know naruto and sasuke are the special boys, but kishi could have developed sakura and kakashi’s relationship more bc they’re my faves 😭

i LOOOOVE kakashi and sakura i actually like to think they are more closely paralleled to each other than are sasuke and kakashi per the canon parallelism (naruto-obito, sasuke-kakashi, sakura-rin). both originally very rule abiding people forced to contend with transgressive means of superseding state order and both people with little to no family of their own that subsequently leads them to pour all of themselves into a team doomed to so much trauma and grief.. both left to pick up the pieces and process and continue moving forward bc if they don't then who will. i love them deeply and i am always thinking about them bonding with each other in the aftermath of the war esp

#i had this canon divergence fic i wanted to write once where like. naruto and sasuke actually died bc of their final fight #and sakura had to sort of hold the fort down while kakashi proceeded to emotionally collapse in on himself #the makings of it in my head were good. there was a lot of grief and tears but there were a lot of hugs too bc at the end of the day #that's his baby sister. and i truly believe due to proximity alone that he is the closest to her out of all three of them #outbox

[sunnyupsidedown]

“As soon as you let something matter to you, that’s when you give it the power to hurt you. Nothing matters, Neil.” His heart pounded as Neil’s icy blue eyes stared back at him. They were close but still a respectable foot away from each other. Still. Too close.

“Let’s back up a little,” Neil said. The foot was suddenly halved. “We’ve already established that I’m ‘Nothing’. So by your logic, ‘Nothing’ - Me - matters…” he faded off in a whisper and a peek from under his eyelashes. “Andrew…” He was so close. Inches away. “If I have that power, then you have the same power over me. We can destroy each other together.”

#andreil #snippet #write junk #I’m going to write a whole story around this #not that anyone cares (because i recently had a reality check that proved that true) #I’m going through some major heartbreak #you think you’re respecting someone’s boundaries when in reality you’re enabling their cowardice #a whole year and 3 months spent thinking of someone and of ways to make them happy when you’re not even an after thought #he decided he couldn’t do the distance two weeks after I visited him and we decided we’d try #instead of just telling me he emotionally distanced himself to “try to make me hate him #so like a fool I made excuses from him. he’s just stressed. he’s really focusing on his career #when in reality he’d already moved on and found a girlfriend #and proceeded to still not tell me anything until 2 weeks before my birthday when I confronted him #and he finally said he couldn’t do the distance and he was scared #and then a week later. 3 days before my birthday. he admitted to having a girlfriend of OVER A YEAR #so really #nothing matters #because when you let things matter. shit like this happens

[vallasochrasy]

in my cringe era aka subjecting myself to all the glee episodes i skipped back in the day

#now that years and years have passed i can come back to the shitshow of season 5 and enjoy how batshit problematic it was #worst things were defo the twerk/blurred lines fiasco and blaine hallucinating everyone as puppets #and proceeding to make irl puppets for everyone?? speaking to a fake kurt puppet by himself???? hello??!! #i didnt even bother with the christmas episode bc those just SUCK #it really was the most show ever #glee #sometimes i actually write stuff

[justashadetalkative]

(Continued from here with @theovergrowth )

theovergrowth:

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had any strength to even stay sitting up. That worry was quickly abandoned as soon as he felt the cool surface of the bottle. Water. He had to fight the primal instinct to down the entire thing in one go. Hands shaking with sudden energy, he gently and slowly drank the water and stopped himself. He remembered what would happen if he didn’t (and getting sick now would be 1: Embarrassing and 2: Stressful). …Wait. Did that bag move on it’s own? “…Ghosts,” he whispered, taking another small drink and waking up slightly more with it. Not ghosts. As Diamond talked of wards and fields and other magical sounding things, Titus couldn’t stop himself from grimacing. Another magical old man? He was starting to have enough. Another drink. “N-None of those are sure bets… They got tricks for magic sh-“ Language, Diamond was an elder. “-hhhtuff. ..Nowhere is safe from ‘em, t-trust me.” The only safety was to not be him, or to not be near him. Diamond was lucky not to meet the first criteria, but the second… Titus was putting him in danger. “I… appreciate your help, ol’ top, but I don’t… y-Y’know when ya wanna help a hurt animal, but th… then come to find out it has… uh… foam mouth… rabies? I-I got rabies. But if, if rabies also meant other rabid animals were always… followin’ ya, y’know?” That was a good explanation, right?

Diamond gave an annoyed huff as he turned back to the trauma kit. 

“I have tricks of my own, you know. I have dealt with other magic users before,”  he muttered, faintly offended. “It’s a fucking… frustratingly large part of my job these days, actually.” 

He sighed at the kid’s attempt at an analogy; closed his eye, trying to think how to respond. (He was too fucking tired for this.)

“...you don’t have rabies, Titus. You aren't dying, and you aren’t trying to hurt me. And even if you were, it’d hardly be the kind of death sentence rabies is. I can take care of myself.” He stripped off the gloves, pulled out a small packet of plain crackers, opened it, and passed it off to the kid. 

“Besides, even if I do play along with this analogy of yours… there’s actually a post-exposure treatment for rabies, now, did you know that? It’s reliable and effective, as long as you administer it early enough – before symptoms start,” Diamond continued as he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. It was... probably true, on this world, it seemed fairly modern.

“Of course, what that means is that you have to know what you’re dealing with.”

He sat back from the kit, a piece of equipment cradled unattended in his hands as he took a moment to focus the full force of his attention on Titus. He looked haggard and wan, but there was a clear strength in the serious set of his jaw. For the first time, he wasn't just dismissing Titus's concern.

“If you actually want to protect me, then tell me more about the people who attacked you – facts, not analogies – and let me make my own damn risk assessment from there. Alright?”

#injury tw #medical tw #(it isn't often that Diamond's arrogance actually comes up in a thread and it's kind of fun to write for once sldfhdsg) #(also; I love Titus censoring himself and Diamond then just... promptly proceeding to curse throughout this whole reply) #(poor guy has manners ingrained to the bone) #(...though that doesn't even take a strict upbringing tbh. I point blank *refused* to curse until I was like. 20-something) #(even though my parents wouldn't have minded; cursed all the time themselves; and literally tried to bribe me into it a few times xD) #rp #Titus #theovergrowth #thread: troubles and trees #Diamond

[megaera-of-pigeon]

Big “games kings play” au vibes from Mercury sitting on his evil villain king throne though….

#yeah that DOES look like the guy who murdered all his siblings caused an apocalypse with his best frenemies and then built a monarchy #with himself at the helm proceeded to have severa children and then fuck up every last one of them #might fuck around and write a bit more in that au now damn. #the Batfam brain rot has had me in a chokehold but SN lore has been slowly coming back as an area of interest

[ririblogsss]

I have found inspiration to write :).

The flash for the fist time in forever stop moving. No twitching. NO moving his leg up and down. No running back and forward to the cafeteria for snacks. He was completely still with his jaw open looking past Batman who at the moment was giving the league members an overview of the missions that have been happening within the past month. Immediately everyone locked in, Flash not moving major red flag. Batman caught it first and proceeded to turn around in a split of a second and froze (caught of guard) this caused the other league members to slowly turn their heads and eyes away from starring at the Flash. And they couldn't believe their eyes.

Superman had his jaw dropped.

Flash was pointing and unable to form words the only sound escaping his mouth was vocals "aa" "ee" he was over all gobsmacked.

Not like the other leagues were fairing any better. It's just that their eyes could not make their brain correctly process what they were seeing. And what they were currently seeing was a teenager with white hair with a box of donuts and drinking something out of a coffee cup. Now this is the watchtower everyone has seen teenagers from various backgrounds to say the least enjoy their coffee and snacks. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that the teen wasn't one of theirs. Not that it really matters Batman.

What actually matters is that the kids outside. IN SPACE. How is he surviving. How isn't he dead? Is he an alien? Then why is the box of donuts from earth?

And the kid has the gull to smile sheepishly?????

---

Danny only wanted help. HE SWEARSS. And the Justice League wasn't helping after they had been spammed with calls for help against the Ghosts. Amity parkers think that the JL has banned them from making calls. So Danny decided if they won't come. He will go to them, but his parents did not raise a disrespectful child the Fentons maybe break tax laws and driving laws and overall all OSHA regulations. BUT THEY NEVER DISRESPECT (unless warranted) ANYBODY. And Danny wasn't about to misrepresent them. So he brought a box of donuts and his fathers homemade fudge in hopes to make some sort of slightly good impression.

So taking a breath in (as a force of habit) he knocked on the watchtowers window and didn't become intangible and go in until Wonder Woman nodded with her head yes.

Batman was side-eying WW, but Danny decided that Wonder Woman had more decision power in this instance.

So with the approval that he may come in Danny made himself (and everything else) intangible so he could enter. Once inside he realize that Jazz had been correct in telling him to at least know how he was going to approach the subject.

He placed the treats on the table and made a gesture that they could eat. He took a sip of his hot ecto and then he opened his mouth.

"Why are you guys hunting us down for sport? w-we are people too"

Danny said it in such a broken voice with teary eyes. He really should have practiced first.

The JL choked.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc

[carriesthewind]

Oh dear.

So as some of you may know, I love to point and laugh at bad legal arguments. And as fun as legal dumpster fires are when they are made by people who aren’t lawyers but think this whole “law” thing seems pretty simple, it’s even funnier when an actual, barred attorney is the person dumping gallons of kerosene into the dumpster.

And oh boy folks, do I have a fun ride for y’all today. Come with me on this journey, as we watch a lawyer climb into the dumpster and deliberately pour kerosene all over himself, while a judge holds a match over his head.

The court listener link is here, for those who want to grab a few bowls of popcorn and read along.

For those of you who don’t enjoy reading legal briefs for cases you aren’t involved with on your day off (I can’t relate), I will go through the highlights here. I will screenshot and/or paraphrase the relevant portion of the briefs, and include a brief explainer of what’s going on (and why it’s very bad, but also extremely funny). (Also, I’m not going to repeat this throughout the whole write-up, so for the record: any statements I make about how the law or legal system works is referring exclusively to the U.S. (And since this is a federal case, we are even more specifically looking at U.S. federal law.) Also, I don’t know how you could construe any of this to be legal advice, but just in case: none of this is, is intended to be, or should be taken as, legal advice.)

First, let’s get just a quick background on the case, to help us follow along. In brief, this is a civil tort suit for personal injury based on defendant’s (alleged) negligence. The plaintiff is suing the defendant (an airline), because he says that he was injured when a flight attendant struck his knee with a metal cart, and the airline was negligent in letting this happen. The airline filed a motion to dismiss on the grounds that there is an international treaty that imposes a time bar for when these kind of cases can be brought against an airline, and the plaintiff filed this case too many years after the incident.

The fun begins when the plaintiff’s attorney filed an opposition to the motion to dismiss. (So far, a good and normal thing to do.) The opposition argues that the claim is not time-barred because 1) the time bar was tolled by the defendant’s bankruptcy proceedings (that is, the timer for the time limitation was paused when the defendant was in bankruptcy, and started again afterwords), and 2) the treaty’s time limit doesn’t apply to this case because the case was filed in state court before the state statute of limitations expired, and the state court has concurrent jurisdiction over this kind of case.

I’m struggling a bit to succinctly explain the second reason, and there’s a reason for that.

You see, the whole opposition reads a bit…oddly.

This is how the opposition begins its argument, and it’s…weird. The basic principle is...mostly correct here, but the actual standard is that when reviewing a motion to dismiss for failure to state a claim (which is what the defendant filed) the court must draw all reasonable factual inferences in the plaintiff’s favor. But even then, you don’t just put that standard in your opposition. You cite to a case that lays out the standard.

Because that’s how courts and the law work. The courts don’t operate just based on vibes. They follow statutory law (laws made by legislature) and case law (the decisions made by courts interpreting what those laws mean). You don't just submit a filing saying, "here's what the law is," without citing some authority to demonstrate that the law is what you say (or are arguing) it is.

Again, this isn’t wrong (although I'm not sure what it means by new arguments?), but it’s weird! And part of the reason it’s weird is that it is irrelevant to the defendant’s motion to dismiss. The defendant filed a motion stating that based on the facts in the complaint, the plaintiff has not stated a claim based on which relief can be granted, because the complaint is time barred by a treaty. There is no reason for this language to be in the opposition. It’s almost like they just asked a chatbot what the legal standards are for a motion to dismiss for a failure to state a claim, and just copied the answer into their brief without bother to double-check it.

The opposition then cites a bunch of cases which it claims support its position. We will skip them for now, as the defendant will respond to those citations in its reply brief.

The last thing in the brief is the signature of the lawyer who submitted the brief affirming that everything in the brief is true and correct. An extremely normal - required, even! - thing to do. This will surely not cause any problems for him later.

The next relevant filing is the defendant’s reply brief. Again, the existence of a reply brief in response to an opposition is extremely normal. The contents of this brief are…less so.

Beg pardon?

Just to be clear, this is not normal. It is normal to argue that the plaintiff’s cases are not relevant, or they aren’t applicable to this case, or you disagree with the interpretations, or whatever. It is not normal for the cases to appear to not exist.

Some highlights from the brief:

Quick lesson in how to read U.S. case citations! The italicized (or underlined) part at the beginning is the name of the case. If it is a trial court case, the plaintiff is listed first and the defendant second; if the case has been appealed, the person who lost at the lower court level (the petitioner/appellant) will be listed first, and the person who won at the lower level (the respondent/appellee) will be listed second. There are extremely specific rules about which words in these names are abbreviated, and how they are abbreviated. Next, you list the volume number and name of the reporter (the place where the case is published), again abbreviated according to very specific rules, then the page number that the case starts on. If you are citing a case for a specific quote or proposition, you then put a comma after the beginning page number, and list the page number(s) on which the quote or language you are relying on is located (this is called a “pincite”). Finally, you put in parenthesis the name of the court (if needed)(and again, abbreviated according to extremely specific rules) and the year the case was decided.

So the plaintiff’s response cited to Zicherman, which they said was a case from 2008 that was decided by the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. However, the defendant was not able to find such a case. They were able to find a case with the same name (the same petitioner and respondent), but that case was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1996, and the lower court cases associated with that case weren’t in the 11th circuit either. (The United States Reports is the only official reporter for the U.S. Supreme Court, and only includes SCOTUS decisions, so it’s not necessary to include the name of the court before the year it was decided.)

Just to be clear. The defendant’s brief is saying: the plaintiff cited and extensively quoted from these cases, and neither the cases nor the quotations appear to exist. These “cases” were not ancillary citations in the plaintiff’s brief. They were the authority it relied upon to make its arguments.

This is as close a lawyer can come, at this point in the proceedings, to saying, “opposing counsel made up a bunch of fake cases to lie to the court and pretend the law is something different than it is.”

That, “Putting aside that here is no page 598 in Kaiser Steel,” is delightfully petty lawyer speak for, “you are wrong on every possible thing there is to be wrong about.”

By page 5, the defendant has resorted to just listing all of the (apparently) made up cases in a footnote:

(skipping the citations to support this proposition)

This is where I return to my struggle to explain the opposition’s second reason why the motion to dismiss should not be granted. I struggled to explain the argument, because they failed to explain why the argument they were making (that plaintiffs can bring lawsuits against airlines in state court, and the state court have specific statutes of limitations for general negligence claims) was relevant to the question of whether the plaintiff’s specific claim against the airline was time barred by the treaty. Because 1) this case is in federal court, not state court, and 2) federal law - including treaties - preempts state law. Again, it’s almost like plaintiff’s attorney just typed a question about the time bar into a chatbot or something, and the machine, which wasn’t able to reason or actually analyze the issues, saw a question about the time to bring a lawsuit and just wrote up an answer about the statute of limitations.

We also end with a nice little lawyerly version of “you fucked up and we are going to destroy you.” The relief requested in the defendant’s original motion to dismiss was:

In their reply to the opposition, however:

“The circumstances” in this case, being the apparent fabrication of entire cases. Because courts tend to take that pretty seriously.

And the court took it seriously indeed. The defendant’s reply was docketed on March 15th of this year. On April 11th:

AKA: you have one week (an extremely prompt time frame for federal court) to prove to me that you didn’t just make up these cases.

On April 12th, the plaintiff’s attorney requests more time because he’s on vacation:

The judge grants the motion, but adds in another case that he forgot to include in his first order.

On April 25th, the plaintiff’s attorney files the following:

(And he lists the cases, with one exception, which he says is an unpublished decision.)

But he says of all of the cases except two, that the opinions…

Which is…nonsense?

First of all: if you cited a case, you had to get it from somewhere. Even unpublished opinions, if you are citing them in a brief, you are citing them because you pulled them off of westlaw or whatever. Which means you have access to the case and can annex it for the court. (There are even formal rules for how you cite unpublished opinions! And those rules include citing to where you pulled the damn case from!)

Secondly: remember that long digression I went into about how to read case citations? Remember that bit about how you include the name of the reporter (the place the case was published)? Yes, cases are published. They are printed in physical books, and they are published online in databases (e.g. lexis or westlaw). If the specific online database you are looking in does not have the case, you look somewhere else. If you have a judge telling you to get them a copy of the case Or Else, you track down a physical copy of the reporter if you need to and scan the damn thing yourself. You - literally - can’t just not have a copy of the case! (Especially published federal circuit court opinions, which multiple of these cases are! Those aren’t hard to find!)

And what kind of “online database” doesn’t include the entire opinion anyway? I’ve literally never heard of a case research database that only included partial opinions, because that wouldn’t be useful.

Maybe if we look at the attached annexed copies of the cases, that might give us some answers.

...

My friends, these things are just bizarre. With two exceptions, they aren’t submitted in any sort of conventional format. Even if you’ve never seen a legal opinion before, I think you can see the difference if you just glance through the filings. They are located at Docket entry #29 on Court Listener (April 25, 2023). Compare Attachments 6 and 8 (the real cases submitted in conventional format) to the other cases. Turning to the contents of the cases:

In the first one, the factual background is that a passenger sued an airline, then the airline filed a motion to dismiss (on grounds unrelated to the treaty's time bar), then the airline went into bankruptcy, then the airline won the motion to dismiss, then the passenger appealed. And the court is now considering that appeal. But then the opinion starts talking about how the passenger was in arbitration, and it seems to be treating the passenger like he is the one who filed for bankruptcy? It’s hallucinatory, even before you get to the legal arguments. The “Court of Appeals” is making a ruling overruling the district court’s dismissal based on the time bar, but according to the factual background, the case wasn’t dismissed based on the time bar, but on entirely other grounds? Was there some other proceeding where the claim was dismissed as time barred, and it’s just not mentioned in the factual background? How? Why? What is happening? Also it says Congress enacted the treaty? But, no? That’s…that’s not how treaties work? I mean, Congress did ratify the treaty? But they didn’t unilaterally make it!

In the second case, there’s an extended discussion of which treaty applies to the appellants claims, which is bizarre because there are two relevant treaties, and one replaced the other before the conduct at issue, so only the new treaty applies? There isn’t any discussion of the issue beyond that basic principle, so there is no reason there should be multiple paragraphs in the opinion explaining it over and over? Also, it keeps referring to the appellant as the plaintiff, for some reason? And it includes this absolutely hallucinatory sentence:

…the only part this that makes sense is that the argument is without merit. I’m not going to discuss the actual merits of the legal arguments in the opinion, because they are so bizarre and disjointed that even trying to describe them would require a Pepe Silvia-sized conspiracy board. Like the previous case, both the facts and the legal posture of the case change constantly, with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

The third one…oh boy. First, large portions of the “opinion” are individual paragraphs with quotations around the whole paragraph. What’s happening there? As far as the content of the opinion itself - I can’t. I mean that, I literally can’t. What is being discussed seems to change from paragraph to paragraph, much of it contradicting. It makes the first case seem linear and rational by comparison. The court finds it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over the defendant so dismisses the case based on a lack of subject matter jurisdiction? But also the defendant hasn’t contested jurisdiction? And also the court does hold that it has both subject matter and personal jurisdiction over the defendant? And then it denies the motion to dismiss the case? Also, at one point it cites itself?

…also, even if this was a real case, it doesn’t stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited it for in their opposition? I’m not going to go into the weeds (honestly it’s so hallucinatory I’m not sure I could if I tried), but, for example, the plaintiff’s reply brief states that the court held “that the plaintiff was not required to bring their claim in federal court.” The U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia is a federal court, and there is no discussion of any filings in state courts. The closest the “opinion” comes is with the statement, “Therefore, Petersen’s argument that the state courts of Washington have concurrent jurisdiction is unavailing.” (This statement appears to be completely disconnected from anything before or after it, so I am unsure what it is supposed to mean.)

Moving on, case number four is allegedly a decision by the Court of Appeals of Texas. It includes the following line:

Honestly, the plaintiff’s attorney best defense at this point is that he wasn’t intentionally trying to mislead the court, because if he was doing this on purpose, he would have edited the cases to make them slightly more believable. (Context in case you’ve lost track: these documents are supposed to be copies of the opinions he is citing. The screenshoted line makes it clear that what he is actually citing is, at best, someone else’s summary of an "opinion". It would be like if a teacher asked a student to photocopy a chapter of a book and bring it into class, and instead the student brought in a copy of the cliffs notes summary of that chapter. Except that the book doesn’t even exist.)

The actual contents of the “opinion” are, as is now standard, absolutely bonkers. First, the court decides that it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over Delta because “Delta did not purposefully avail itself of the benefits of conducting business in Texas.” This was despite the fact that the factual background already included that the appellant (sorry, the plaintiff, according to the “opinion”) flew on a Delta flight originating in Texas. Like, this is just wrong? It’s not even hallucinatory nonsense, it’s just facially incorrect legal analysis. Then the court starts discussing the treaty’s time bar, for some reason? Then it goes back to talking about personal jurisdiction, but now the trial court denied the defendant’s motion to dismiss for lack of personal jurisdiction, and the appellate court agrees with the trial court that it does have personal jurisdiction, even though this is the plaintiff’s appeal from the dismissal for lack of personal jurisdiction and the court already ruled it didn’t have personal jurisdiction? And even though on page 1, the plaintiff was injured during a flight from Texas to California, now on page 7 she was injured on a flight from Shanghai to Texas? Also the trial court has gone back in time (again) to grant the motion to dismiss that it previously denied?

Also, I’ve been trying to avoid pointing out the wonky text of these submissions, but:

Everything ok there?

Case number five is similar enough to number four that it’s not worth repeating myself.

Thank god, cases six and eight, as noted above, are real cases, so I’m going to skip them. The defendant alleges that the cases do not stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited them for, and I’m going to assume that is true, given the rest of this nonsense.

Case number seven looks legitimate on the surface. But neither the defendant nor I could find the case through any legitimate search mechanisms. The defendant looked up the purported docket numbers on PACER and found completely different cases; I was able to find a case with the name “Miller v. United Airlines, Inc.,” but it was for a different Ms. Miller, it was a California state case (not a Second Circuit federal case), it was decided on a different year, and the substance of the case was entirely different from the alleged opinion filed with the court.

On top of that, this might be the most morally reprehensible fake citation of them all? Because it is about the crash of United Airlines Flight 585, a real plane crash. Everyone on board - 25 people in total - was killed. 

The individual cited in this fake court case was not one of them.

I cannot imagine conducting myself in such a way where I would have to explain to a judge that I made up a fake case exploiting a real tragedy because I couldn’t be bothered to do actual legal research.

Now, I know you all have figured out what’s going on by now. And I want you to know that if your instincts are saying, “it seems like the lawyer should have just fallen on his sword and confessed that he relied on ChatGPT to write his original brief, rather than digging himself further into this hole”? Your instincts are absolutely correct.

Because obviously, the court was having none of this b.s. On May 4th, the court issued an order, beginning with the following sentence:

That is one of the worst possible opening sentences you can see in an order by the court in a situation like this. The only thing worse is when judges start quoting classic literature. If I was Mr. Peter LoDuca, counsel for the plaintiff, I would already be shitting my pants.

“I gave you an opportunity to either clear things up or come clean. Now I’m going to give you an opportunity to show why I should only come down on you like a pile of brinks, instead of a whole building.”

We are getting dangerously close to “quoting classic lit” territory here.

If I learned that the judge in my case called up the clerk of a circuit court just to confirm how full of shit I was, I would leave the legal profession forever. Also, the judge is now also putting quotes around “opinion.” When judges start getting openly sarcastic in their briefs, that means very very bad things are about to happen to someone.

So I’m guessing the delay between this filing and the court order was because the judge’s clerk was tasked with running down every single one of the additional fake citations included in the "opinions", just to make this sure this order (and the upcoming pile of bricks) are as thorough as possible.

If you are following along with Dracula Daily, the vibe here is roughly the same as the May 19th entry where Dracula demands Jonathan Harker write and pre-date letters stating he has left the castle and is on the way home.

Also, hey, what’s that footnote?

Wait, what?

Folks, it appears we may have notary fraud, on top of everything else! Anybody have bingo?

So on May 25, one day before the deadline, Mr. LoDuca filed his response. And oh boy, I hope ya’ll are ready for this.

Hey, what’s the name of that other attorney, “Steven Schwartz”? Where have I seen that name before…

...I ran out of room for images on this post. So I'm going to have to leave this as an accidental cliffhanger. Part 2 to follow once I refresh my tea.

#ai bs #2 Stupid 2 Sanction

[lovebugism]

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t. 

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of. 

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface. 

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You. 

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. 

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer. 

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth. 

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look. 

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

[melancholyhigh]

ALL MINE.

ft. leon x f!reader

synopsis. you realize you're in love with your roommate. it sucks that he's ignoring you all of a sudden.

content. 4.7k words. smut. slight jealousy/possessiveness, subby leon, dry humping, handjob, finger sucking, praise & degradation kink, unprotected p in v (riding), overstimulation, creampie, slight subspace.

note. i had mental anguish while writing this so i apologize if it's not my best. i'm also sorry for being so inactive :((

masterlist. i love feedback & reblogs <3

Leon S. Kennedy was probably the best roommate you could’ve asked for.

He had fit the criteria you hand conjured for the perfect housemate the first time you met. Leon was calm, and the apartment was pretty clean. From what you can tell, he cared enough about himself and his surroundings. 

Hell, the place looked almost uninhabited save for some trinkets and a few bits of his personality sprinkled about.

Only if you had known what you were getting yourself into when you had agreed to become his roommate.

–-

The first month of residing with Leon was great. You rarely crossed paths and never really communicated with each other due to how stressful looking for a new job was, and then proceeding to attend said job was tiring enough for you to make little social interactions.

He was relatively closed off as well. Not talking to you unless necessary or common courtesy such as a simple ‘Good morning.’

After you settled in, you noticed how much of a strange man Leon was. For one, when he did go to work, he left for weeks at a time, and in his return, he was even more closed off somehow. Leon doesn’t spare you a glance or a greeting, only grunting if you ask if he is alright.

He’s also covered in bruises and bandages, leaving you more concerned.

It made you question who really was your roommate.

In the first meeting you and Leon had, you inquired about his job, mostly to try and figure out how your schedule would work, but also with genuine interest. At the time, he merely shrugged, not answering your question point blank, telling you not to worry about it. 

He mentioned his past job as a police officer. You’d dare to ask him more about it, but you didn’t want to pry, leaving the questions for another day.

Lately, you’ve been wishing more than ever that he had answered the question instead of dodging it. In rare moments that you focus on anything else but your job, it often leads you to think about Leon and what he does while he’s away.

It annoys you too that he doesn’t tell you when he’s leaving. He doesn’t owe it to you, but some nights you think he’s getting a drink, only to return a few days later bloodied and bruised.

One night, your overthinking got the worst of you after Leon returned to your apartment in the worst condition you’ve seen in the past few months you’ve been living with him.

Up late, you were in the shared living room, wondering when he’d get home. It had been two weeks since you had last seen Leon. It was way longer than his usual business days. You had been worrying nonstop, not getting a wink of sleep. Was he dead? You’d be the first suspect on the list.

You had called him multiple times, all going to voicemail. That is until you heard the faint creaking of the front door. There he walked in, faced all fucked up. His lip busted, sporting ugly yellow and purple bruises all over the exposed flesh of his body, and a bandage wrapped around his left hand blotted with dry blood.

He was awkwardly shuffling into the room, trying not to wake, you presume. A bit late for that. 

“Where the hell were you, Leon?” your voice breaks the early morning silence. 

You see him jump slightly in surprise, almost dropping his bag. A different emotion washes through him. A mix of fright and guilt, it’s different from what you’re used to seeing him with.

Leon quickly composes himself, going back to his stoic expression. Taking his shoes caked in mud off at the front door, resting his bag down, he walks over to the kitchen opening the fridge. The light streams out, illuminating the kitchen as you follow him, awaiting an answer.

“Didn’t I tell you not to worry about it?” His back is turned to you, rummaging through the contents of the fridge.

“You’ve been gone for two weeks,” you stress with exhaustion, eyeing his injuries. “What the fuck happened to you.”

He flexes his broad shoulder before turning around to face you. His gaze pins you down before he’s back to ignoring you as he chugs the cold bottled water in his grasp. The fridge is still open, and it adds more nuisance within you.

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugs. He finally shuts the fridge close, only the moon’s light filtering into the room. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“‘Cause when you go missing, I’ll be the one locked up, Leon,” you say. He’s staring at you, trying to suppress a smirk. 

“You sure it’s not ‘cause you like me? I’m here to stay.” Is this fucker teasing you? He’s nothing like you first met him. Maybe it’s the blood loss. But to be fair, this is the first proper conversation you’ve had with him in months — you didn’t know how he actually was. 

Rolling your eyes, you ignore him, shifting your focus to his bandaged hand, blood seeping through the fabric. 

“Let me take a look at that, please,” you urge, taking his hand into yours. You overlook the questions blooming in your mind to tend to his injury.

“Okay.”

You turn the lights on, searching for a first aid kit. Once you retrieve it, you’re back in front of Leon, who’s sat patiently at the dining table. 

You roll the sleeves of your sweatshirt up before carefully peeling the fabric sticking to his bloody skin. The large gash on the back of his hand makes you uneasy. It’s deep, almost to the bone, and blood spills onto his pale skin.

“Your stitches reopened,” you tell him, cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. What did he do to warrant such an injury? “If it worsens, you need to go to the hospital.” 

“Mhm, you work with patients?” You shake your head, wrapping the wound with fresh gauze. 

“What’s your job, then?”

You scoffed, “Some office job. What’s got you busy, huh?”

“Some government bullshit.”

–-

That night the relationship you had with your roommate shifted. For the better, you supposed. 

You also bonded better with him the following morning while driving him to the hospital. He was so dramatic, yet he continued to undermine his clearly serious injury, refusing to go. The bleeding had not stopped, and you were worried it could get infected.

He was such a baby. You had bargained with him for his own health, promising to do his chores for a whole month so his hand doesn’t get amputated. 

You never really did figure out what his job was, but you guessed it was most likely confidential. It was a vague answer to your question. He could be lying, but once you’re not behind bars, you can’t complain.

You and Leon spent more time with each other.

Even though you had no idea what his job was, he did tell you why he couldn’t disclose such information, something along the lines of putting your safety in jeopardy. Wasn’t him as your roommate just as dangerous? But you didn’t bother. He had his reasons.

Leon, on the other hand, probably learned too much about you and your job. 

You weren’t familiar with the city or the people, so it was nice to talk to someone, and you may have gone overboard. You were here for a better quality of life, and it was significantly better than where you previously lived. 

You loathed your job. Your co-workers were so condescending and passive-aggressive. Not to mention, you couldn’t quit. It paid enough for you to shut your mouth. Well, not to Leon.

You’re sure he’s sick of you talking and complaining. And when you’re not complaining, you both still get along about other stuff. You mostly banter, though, because Leon is such a child.

The guy can barely care for himself, contradicting what you initially thought about him. You care for him most nights after his so-called ‘missions.’ You rebandage his wounds, scolding him for not caring about himself while he’s looped up on pain meds.

Any other night — when he’s actively not trying to get killed, and you’re not incredibly busy — you both get drunk to attempt to forget about responsibilities. Often you were spouting drunken, nonsensical rambles as Leon somehow listened to.

Ironically enough, Leon cared about your well-being more than you do. Maybe you’re delusional, but you swear he does more than a normal roommate should. It’s because you’re constantly checking up on him, you reasoned. He’s just a respectable person.

But what kind of roommate consistently asks about how you’re going? What roommate get you your favourite takeout when you’re not feeling your best? What roommate threatens to beat the shit out of your annoying co-workers?

But you’ve acknowledged that Leon wasn’t your average housemate. Not just his job, but who the fuck looks that good when they’re bleeding out?

–-

Your job has a celebration upcoming, the company’s 50th anniversary. You barely made it a year working for the place, but you want to make a good impression. You also don’t want to bore yourself to death, so why not coerce your lovely roommate to join you as your plus one?

“I’m not gonna go. Don’t you hate that place?” You stare up at him, sulking. 

“Good impressions,” you say before pleading, “C’mon, Leon, please. We can go to the bar after.”

He gives you an unimpressed look before turning away from you.

“I’ll pay for you.” You’re going to go broke because of this man. It catches his attention. 

“So desperate,” he chuckles.

“You’re going?”

“I’m gonna run you dry.”

–-

You definitely weren’t prepared to see Leon in a suit when you exited your room. He’s sat on the couch, his hand nervously running through his hair — notably slicked down with gel. 

“You that serious about making me go bankrupt?” You voice jokingly, breaking Leon out of his thoughts.

His eyes trail along your body, admiring the dress you wore — how it hugs the curves of your body — noticeably gulping as he stands up. The black suit fits his body, accentuating his broad physique and nice ass.

“I keep my promises. I hope you do too.” He says, before mumbling, “You look nice as well.”

You smile at him, ignoring the unusual feeling blooming in your stomach.

The event was indeed incredibly bland. You’re glad you bribed Leon into joining you. He’s been your saving grace. His sly quips and awful jokes have made the experience increasingly more bearable.

Your enjoyment seemed to fizzle when your co-workers wanted to converse with you. They never did before. Why would they now?

Then you realize too late that they’re not here for you. They’re there for the attractive male next to you. You watch in amusement as the girl blatantly ignores you in favour of Leon.

She’s sweet, you’d imagine, but Leon looks awkward, and there’s an uneasy feeling bubbling in your gut as she squeezes his arm in a flirting manner. The feeling is unlike what you’ve felt earlier.

You could go for a drink right now. 

The poor girl’s attempt at seducing Leon goes on longer than you’d like. He’s uncomfortable, and you admire her persistence, but it’s getting on your nerves.

Didn’t she get the memo? He’s your plus one.

You decide to interrupt their conversation, you’re not particularly proud of it, but you want to get drunk. Maybe you’re doing Leon a favour as well.

You pull him away, not offering an explanation, just the promise of getting wasted. 

When you’re at the bar, you both get settled, conversing and taking shots, all on you, of course.

Leon mentions that he understands why you hate your job and colleagues, and you laugh lightly at his claims. While you two talk, a few guys approach you, trying to get your number or asking to buy you a drink, ignoring Leon.

It wasn’t a usual occurrence, but it happened more often than not. And even though you find it flattering, it did begin to irritate you.

You politely declined their requests with an uncomfortable smile on your lips. It felt wrong to indulge in their proposals in front of Leon.

Leon’s eyes gleam with an unknown emotion as another guy approaches you. His grasp on the glass tightens, and it looks like it's about to shatter.

You once again deny the request. As you get more tipsy, your filter worsens as you half-heartedly refuse the poor guy. He walks away, visibly irritated. 

“That’s the fifth guy to ask for your number,” Leon states, taking a swig of his whiskey. His grip on the glass loosens, but his shoulders are still tense. 

You roll your eyes at his over-exaggeration. His suit’s jacket is off, revealing the white button-up shirt underneath. 

“I wasn’t interested. A few girls asked you out, too,” you declared bitterly. You’re not drunk per se, just very tipsy. 

“They’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?” Taking a sip from your drink, you observe Leon shake his head before downing his glass.

“Having fun?” you inquire, and Leon’s grateful you changed the topic.

“Liquor’s better when it’s free.”

–-

It’s the next day, and you haven’t seen Leon since. 

When you woke up, you had a pounding headache. You walked into the kitchen expecting to be greeted by an equally shit-faced Leon, but he was nowhere to be found. It was unlike him.

Usually, he’s already making fun of you for being a lightweight, and you attempt to make breakfast together. He’s probably still in bed. He did drink more than expected. It was a miracle you both got home in one piece.

You took some painkillers before heading back to bed. If you’re up to it, maybe you’ll make breakfast later. 

A few hours have passed, and still no sign of Leon. You wonder if he went to work, but that didn’t make sense. Why would he go to work with a hangover? Leon was a bit careless, though.

He was most likely ignoring you. That would be the last thing you wanted. He was the only person you cared to talk as pathetic as it sounds. Did you say something last night that upset him? He was his usual self, but you probably were too drunk to notice something off.  

He probably has work-related things to worry about. Not everything was about you. Though, you were still concerned.

You had camped in the kitchen for a while, waiting for Leon so you could confront him. You wanted to make sure he was alright.

When he did enter the kitchen, you tried to start a conversation, only for him to dismiss you entirely. He refused to respond to your troubles, getting what he needed and returning to his room. 

You thought it was a one-off thing, but sadly it wasn’t. Leon ignored you the following days, leaving you perplexed. You wished Leon would talk to you about what’s going on. Isn’t that what friends do? Communicate? Every attempt you tried to make was fruitless.

All he’s been doing was ignoring you, and it broke your heart.

His sudden indifference reminded you of when you first moved in. This abrupt disinterest in you left you staring at the ceiling in your bedroom, reflecting on your relationship with Leon. 

You despise how he’s been acting lately. 

You despise his reckless behaviour. You despise his hair that falls so perfectly. You despise how considerate he is. You despise how sweet he is to you. You despise how attractive he looks when he walks about the place shirtless, in short shorts that barely contain the flesh of his thighs and lay low on his hips when he’s sweaty after working out.

You despised how other girls looked at Leon. You despised how other guys looked at you, wishing it were him.

But you don’t hate him, far from it.

You loved his company. From the first night to the night at the bar. You wouldn’t want him to share that with anyone else. He was familiar, so it hurts that he’s been ignoring you. 

He’s treating the moments you’ve had with him seemingly worthless, the time you’ve shared — the late nights when you cared for him. The insecurities you have confided with him. Did it mean anything to him?

He most likely wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings, and you doubt he could. His job explains itself, but you’re still worried as a friend — as his roommate.

Your overthinking has got the best of you, and fuck it. You’re going to confront Leon, whether he likes it or not.

–-

You’ve been building the courage to knock on his door for 20 minutes, pacing back and forth in front of his room door. You didn’t want to make him hate you more, but his bitchy attitude made you wonder why you even liked him in the first place.

Knocking on his door, you instantly regretted it, not wanting to make a fool of yourself, but you had to face him sooner or later. The door surprisingly opens, presenting you with a tired Leon dressed in nothing but his boxers. You probably just woke him up.

When you meet his soft gaze, his brows furrow, and he scowls. It’s been a while since he’s looked at you, so you can take what you can get. 

“What do you want?” Leon dully asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he leans on the door’s framing. Okay, so he’s talking to you after a week of silence, granted, not like he used to, but it’s something.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you counter bluntly, glaring at him. His facade crumbles, shoulders dropping as he frowns. He quickly recovers, scoffing and looking anywhere but at you.

“What are you talking about–” 

“I’m not a dumbass, Leon. Just why? Are you okay?” you quickly cut off his poor excuse of a response. He shakes his head, his messy hair concealing his eyes as he tries to reply.

The look you’re sending him gives him goosebumps as if you’re reading him with just a glance. You are, and it’s terrifying yet so arousing that you can do so easily. Your eyes don’t leave him, trying to figure out his problems. It’s equally arousing how much you care for him, looking through him like he’s glass. 

His composure crashes, stuttering an answer you’re unable to pick up. You stare at him, confused at his sudden nervous behaviour. 

Leon’s selfish for wanting you all to himself. He doesn’t want to hurt himself with the rejection that you may throw his way. He doesn’t want to feel like that even though your actions say otherwise. He wants to tell you that, but what he says is much more pathetic.

“God, it’s you,” he repeats. The look of disappointment that crosses your face hurts. It hurt that he’s the one that made you look so broken so quickly.

“What?” Your voice falters, but you’re curious despite the ache in your chest. You’re not surprised. Maybe, a bit shattered.

“Not like that. I mean, fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as he tries to formulate his words, a blush dispersing on his pale cheeks. 

“I was fucking mad, okay? Not at you– never at you. I hated how those guys looked at you. I know I shouldn’t feel like this. You’re my roommate, for fucks sake, but–” He continues to ramble on, and the words he spews give you whiplash. 

You’re simultaneously flattered by his words and pissed. He was acting like a prick because he was jealous. As much as you were annoyed by his immature behaviour, you couldn’t ignore the butterflies swarming your stomach.

You impulsively crash your lips into his. He stops his rambling, startled, before melting into the kiss, his long lashes fluttering close. His plush lips move softly against yours. The kiss is soft and much better than either of you could’ve imagined.

Pulling away from him, you catch your breath, huffing, “You dumb boy.”

His cheeks darken in colour, the blush leading to the expanse of his chest. He grips your hips, tugging you closer to his body. You feel his dick hardening in confined in his boxers, pressed to your lower stomach.

“Fuck,” Leon gasps softly. You tuck strands of hair behind his ear, your nose bumping together as you admire his pretty face.

“All that from a little kissing?” you breathed against his bruised lips, your fingers toying with the waistline of his boxers. “You want me to help you, baby boy?”

“Yes, please.” 

You frown, moving away from his hold. His face falls, his brows furrow in confusion as he pouts. “C’mon, Leon. You really think you’re going to get to cum that easily after ignoring me?”

“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please touch me. I– I’ll be your good boy,” he pleads, moving back closer to you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. 

“Okay, sweetheart. You’ll get to cum if you behave.”

He captures your lips in a quick kiss, moaning softly before pulling away. He takes your hand, leading you into his bedroom, and you observe the new surroundings. Even though you’ve been roommates for nearly a year, you never saw the inside of his room. Posters of bands you weren’t familiar with were on the walls of his room. 

“On the bed, baby,” you coo, and Leon shuffles on the navy blue sheets of his bed, leaning against the headboard. You crawl onto the soft sheets, straddling him as you seat yourself on his plush thighs. His warm palms shoot to rest on your waist, softly squeezing them.

He tugs you closer to him, pressing your chest flat against his. Leon gasps softly, his nipples rubbing against the coarse fabric of your tank top.

“S’much better than I imagined,” he sighs, guiding your hips so your clothed cunt drags along his prominent bulge. He groans, feeling your cunt dripping, soaking through your panties and shorts. 

You move back from him, halting your movements on his hardening cock as you’re sat on his thighs once more. Your hands grip his arms, and even though he’s stronger than you, he ceases his motion. It’s so fucking hot how this huge man submits to you. 

“You’ve thought about me in your lap?” you tease, palming his erection through his boxers. The head leaks precum, staining the delicate fabric. “Playing with your pretty cock?”

“Mhm,” he whines softly, bucking his hips to your warm touch. His head tilts back, knocking the wooden headboard quietly as he writhes at your touch. 

“Ohh, you poor thing. Cummin’ in your hand wishing it was mine,” you mock, pulling Leon’s boxers down to reveal his throbbing dick flushed pink. It aches for your touch, twitching and smearing his precum on the dark curls on his happy trail.

“Fuck, yes.” Leon whimpers when you wrap your digits around his cock, squeezing it, oozing more precum, coating your fingers as you stroke him slowly. His hips eagerly thrust to meet your movement.

“So, so pretty.” The blush on his cheeks somehow deepens at your words. His head is spinning, and not just from your touch. He roughly grips his silken sheets, bunching them up. You thought he was pretty?

“God, baby, you’re the prettiest.” 

Fuck, had he said that out loud? 

His back arches as he nears his orgasm, pleasure rushing through his body. His thighs tremble as he spills his cum, coating your hand. You don’t stop tugging on his weeping cock, living for the little cries he makes from being overstimulated.

“Don’t, m’ sensitive– shit,” Leon whines, and you finally take your hand off his spent dick, admiring his cum dribbling onto your fingers. Leon props himself up, chest heaving as he tries to collect himself.

“Did I say you could cum?” you tease. Leon’s eyes widen for a second before pleading for forgiveness.

“I- I didn’t mean to. God, I’m so sorry. I’ll be your good boy.” He sniffles softly, and you take pity on his cries. You’ll punish him another time.

“It’s okay, honey. Can you open wide f’me?” you say. Leon does as he’s told, parting his lips and sticking his tongue out. You wished you could take a picture. 

You place your index and middle finger on his tongue, pressing down. Leon wraps his lips around your fingers, sucking his cum off them. Moaning softly, he peers up at you through his lashes and gags when you push your fingers further down.

“You’re such a slut, Leon,” you say, pulling your fingers out his mouth, lips slicked with his spit. You flicked his nipples, causing him to moan loudly. His cock is beginning to harden once more.

“I’m your slut.”

“Think you can go one more round, baby?” you asked, hovering over his rock-hard cock, before sinking down. Your drenched pussy through your thin shorts stimulates his overly sensitive dick, and he groans softly, squeezing your waist.

“Wanna take care of you too, angel,” he murmurs into your ear as you grind yourself onto his erection. “Can I eat you, please?”

“Maybe next time, honey.”

“Fuck, okay. Can you kiss me?” You press your lips to his softly, and he whimpers sweetly into your mouth. Pulling away from him, you take your shorts and panties off, and they’re fucking drenched. Leon tugs your tank top off, and you giggle at his eagerness.

Your body, so soft and warm, is pressed against Leon’s. It’s almost enough to make him cum, and he’s not enough inside you yet. You slide your dripping cunt along his shaft, ensuring he’s fully hard. Leon fucking whines each time the tip of his cock nicks your entrance, begging to plunge in.

Every time the tip nudges your clit, your cunt clenches, and each flutter sends his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Please, angel. Fuck me. Use me– I don’t care. ‘M all yours.” You guide his cock to your entrance before finally sinking down slowly. The tip enters you with a soft moan. He’s so fucking thick. Once fully sheathed in you, you grip his shoulders for support.

“You’re all mine to use, right? F- Fuck, you’re stretching me so good, Leon.”

Your tight walls hug him so tightly, and when you bounce on his cock, each drag of his sensitive dick adds to the building pressure in his tummy. He filled you so good, reaching spots you didn’t think were possible as you used him like your toy.

Leon thrusts his hips to meet your pace, your ass slapping his thighs, making obscene sounds. He can’t get enough of you. From your tits bouncing as you rode his cock, or the expression you hold when he hits that special spot. 

It’s so much better than he has imagined.

He rubs your clit with his thumb, a broken whimper leaving him when your gummy walls clench around him tightly. The pressure in his tummy was rising, and you were no better as he played with your clit.

“‘M so close, sweetheart. Can I cum in you, please?” he pleads, his hips stuttering to meet each of your moves. His pink lips parted, eyes barely stayed open, and he looked utterly ruined.

“Yes, baby.” You trail kisses along his neck, sucking marks along the column of his throat. You’re pleased with yourself that you’re the reason he has those marks now. Each bruise you suck on his flesh adds another butterfly to his tummy. He’s all yours now.

“Cum with me, please.”

After a few more thrusts, the pressure within him bursts he cums inside you, filling you with his warm seeds. You climax along with him. Your cunt spasms around his sensitive cock, gushing its arousal, clinging to his happy trail.

You collapse on top of him, your head falling on his shoulder. Leon kisses the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair. You try to get off to clean yourself and Leon up, but arms encircle your waist, preventing you from doing so.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. Don’t want you leaving.”

You comply, laying with him, your skin, sticky with sweat and cum, clings to his as you both enjoy each other’s embrace.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #re4 smut #re4 #i need to peg him #✩‧₊˚ fics

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

#time for Dracula Season pre-gaming :3 #thank you to everyone who sent in their suggestions! #dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula

[madschiavelique]

accidentally overstimulating miguel while you’re riding him so he literally has to lift you up off him and he’s like “okay, yeah, that’s enough”

yESSSSS AAAA (i know this is not a request per se but i felt like writing a lil smth about it)

summary : overstimulating miguel while riding him to the point where he has to lift you off him... so he fingers you and gives you oral instead

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), reader riding migul, overstimulation, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 839

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel couldn't wait, it had been too long since you and him had fucked. The reasons were varied: you were on a mission and he wasn't, he was on a mission and you weren't, you were both on a mission and had to take care of business, or you had to take care of reports and other interdimensional problems.

So when you had a little more free time and he welcomed you into his home, he couldn't hold on any longer. He'd double-locked the door, and as soon as he'd done that, he'd guided you in the bedroom, pulled down your bottom, practically ripped off your panties and thrust himself inside you.

And now you'd been in there for over an hour. You were on top of Miguel, riding him, undulating your body perfectly on top of him as he just had an orgasm.

He'd gripped your buttocks tightly, taking your skin entirely between his fingers as he'd pressed his pelvis as close to yours as possible to go deep inside you.

At last, he'd let his head rest on his pillow.

Only you hadn't stopped moving. The sensations you were experiencing were delicious, his whole length and width plunged into you and stretching you to perfection. The rocking of your hips was delicious, yet Miguel's sensitivity was beginning to kick in.

It was as if you were gently caressing a fresh wound, each movement turning the touch into a painful grip.

He grunted, sighing as you continued your movements. He looked at you, absolutely magnificent above him.

He had no desire to interrupt your pleasure, to suddenly stop the superb sounds you were producing thanks to him - he was too proud of making them.

But the sensation was becoming less and less sustainable, and with a final grunt he gripped your thighs firmly and lifted you off him to let his cock fall back against his lower belly, still glistening with your juices.

"Okay," he huffed, completely out of breath and relieved, "yeah, that's enough."

You looked at him, equally breathless, the small regret that it stopped so suddenly settling on your face.

Miguel felt almost guilty at your apologetic expression, but he was unable at the moment to continue satisfying you like this, unless he proceeded otherwise...

"Still wanna go at it, nena?" he questioned, stroking your thigh.

You nodded softly, the warm desire in your lower belly still present and demanding attention.

"I'll give you a choice then," he nodded, "choose: fingers, or mouth?"

You bit your lower lip with a smile before only leaning into him and confirming:

"Both."

A low rumble vibrated in his chest as a sneer stretched one of his lips in a dark smile.

"Good choice."

In one swift movement you found yourself in his place and he in yours, towering over you with his massive body as he began a trail of kisses across your skin and you chirped under his touch.

He moved down to your lower belly, leaving small marks in his wake before bringing his hand to your wet folds, coating two of his fingers with your wetness before sliding them in.

The shaky breath you took made Miguel smile against your skin, the warmth of his breath crashing against your exposed flesh. You deserved this attention, and he was going to give it to you.

As his fingers slowly began to curve in and out of you, he came to kiss your skin, moving down with each kiss towards your clit. The sensation of his lips grazing the latter inevitably brought your hand to rest in his hair as you arched your back.

The gesture elicited a slight moan from him, which vibrated on the sensitive ball of nerves, and you sighed a mix of a breath and a moan.

His tongue made sinuous circles around your clit as his two fingers accelerated slightly. He knew which places he had to touch to make you produce the sweetest sounds, and he wasn't going to deprive himself of hearing them.

He would never tire of seeing in your eyes even the size of your desire, and he would never tire of the idea that it was meant for him. He knew how lucky he was.

Your walls were perfect, taking his thick, long fingers into you so good. He curved them while making smaller and smaller circles centered on your clit, kissing and licking it.

The state you'd been in just a few moments ago while riding Miguel was close to orgasm, and his calculated gestures were going to push you over the edge. Instinctively, your pelvis began to undulate on its own.

Your hands gripped his hair more firmly, your breath quickening as the heat rose to your cheeks and the knot tightened in your belly.

And then it all exploded, Miguel tenderly kissing your skin as you felt like he was kissing a second heart beating in your entire body. He waited a bit before pulling out his two fingers gently, bringing them to his lips, sucking them until all your juices were clean from his fingers.

Then rose to kiss you, murmuring tender words to your ears.

"You're amazing, nena, and I need you to know it."

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎ #mads' requests ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎ #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara one shot #miguel o'hara across the spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel o hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv #atsv smut #miguel atsv #atsv x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse

[captainfern]

omg omg cap please i’m begging you to write this (if you have time)

HAVE YOU SEEN that specific scene of “Six” with Barry Sloane where him and his wife are trying fertility treatments and he basically has to j off and fill a cup and then his wife comes and calls him “my big bear” and man’s already busting with just that??? WELL-

can we get smth like this with Price? Like it doesn’t have to be that specific scenario just smth where his s/o is jerking him off and calls him a name, and he immediately comes, but that’s exactly not the end of it? YOU GET IT

i’ve been thinking about it an unhealthy amount these past days… I’m literally foaming at the mouth.

Anonymous asked: Been seeing a lot of Bear appreciation on here, so what about... C. Price and reader trying to (naturally, of course) conceive? Maybe he's on injury leave or something! He gets hurt and now is the perfect time to tell him she wants him to retire and put a baby in her >:) I just see that scene from SIX and go feral every time. Breeding kink go wild 🙏

Anonymous asked: Dbf!price x reader mating press? Or or or price taking her somewhere nice for dinner and they go back to his place and he leads her through it while doin the nasty….

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

In Utero

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“In Utero” Album by Nirvana]

[18+]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

• summary - you and price are trying for a baby lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.9k • warnings - fem!reader, civilian!reader, some possessive!price, handjobs, unprotected piv (obviously), praise, breeding kink, creampies, mating press, talks of pregnancy n babies blah blah blah, body worship, breeding kink (again cause i'm being so fr), price calls you mama at one point (*whispering* is this a mommy kink? i don't know. i don't think so? but idk take this how you will), strong language

the amount of breeding kink related requests i get for this man is crazy 😭 some of you should be studied cause oh my god (i am not complaining)

killing three birds with one stone with this one. changed it a little but hope you all enjoy :)

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

It had been a long few days on base, and Price had been looking forward to coming home to you.

He loved nothing more than returning home to you after work. You'd greet him, looking absolutely fucking stunning, and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and cradle him to you. He'd breath you in, absorb your presence, his mind running a million miles an hour as he hugged you back.

You were his. And he was so happy.

Price never considered himself a very possessive person. But when it came to you, his wife, he felt an overwhelming urge to ensure everyone knew you were his.

He was so, so proud of you. He's always show you off, worship the ground you walked on. He'd hold your hand, or guide you with a hand to the base of your spine in public. He wasn't afraid to pin your body next to his in a crowd, either.

It was much the same in the bedroom.

Price would worship your entire body. He'd kiss up and down the length of it, from head to toe. He'd take extra care in massaging different parts of you that he loved– your tits, your waist, your hips, your arse, your thighs. He'd smooth his fingers over your skin, trailing kisses in their wake, whispering sweet praise and affirmations as he did so.

When he'd finally reach your face, he'd kiss you with as much passion and force as the sea. Cradling your head, holding your face, moving his lips warmly against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss so he could be closer to you.

He loved you.

You were his, and he was yours.

•º•

You had gone for a night out with your friends, leaving Price alone at home.

To keep him occupied in the silence of the house, he cleaned and cooked, listening to his music. He cooked up a meal that he stored in the fridge for later, then he proceeded to clean what he could of the house. He wanted to ensure you got home from having fun and didn't have to lift a finger.

And so Price could have you all to himself for the night.

You returned home hours later, the sun sinking past the horizon. You entered your home, your social battery ticking downwards, and Price was in front of you as soon as the front door was closed and locked.

He wrapped you in his arms, your face to his chest, and you returned the hug as he placed his chin on the top of your head.

"You had fun, sweetheart?" Price asked, taking a deep breath after pressing his nose to the crown of your head.

You hummed into his chest. "Yeah, it was nice."

You pulled out of the hug, and Price held your hand as you walked him into the living room. The both of your flopped down onto the couch. You couldn't help but admire the way he spread his legs when he sat, and the expansion of his thighs beneath his sweatpants as they made contact with the couch cushions.

You squeezed your thighs together, heat blooming in your core. A giddy, almost nervous feeling swelled in your chest as you locked eyes with your husband. You chewed on your bottom lip, fighting a flustered smile.

He looked so good.

Annnndddd you were ovulating.

Yep.

Evident by the fact that at just one look from your husband, one smile, your underwear was completely fucking soaked.

Price released a breathy laugh. "What?"

You whined, still biting your lip and smiling. "You look so handsomeeeee." You said, dragging out the final word.

He laughed again, eyes twinkling. Your eyes scanned his face, then you were crawling across the couch. He shifted, leaning back so you could crawl onto his lap, arse across his thick thighs. You ran your hands up and down his torso, feeling the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath his shirt. He hummed in the back of his throat, eyes closing, as you dragged your nails down the soft bumps of his abs.

"John, can I touch you?" You asked, hands coming to rest on the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the ridges of the elastic.

"You are touching me." Price joked, opening his eyes. He settled his hands on your hips and squeezed gently.

You rolled your eyes. "I want your cock."

Price couldn't help but laugh through his moan as you shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, pulling out his hardening cock. He groaned deeply as you pumped him a couple of times to full stiffness, before swiping your thumb across the head.

His hips bucked, twitching against the couch. You continued to fist him tightly while leaning over and letting a string of saliva fall from your mouth. It dripped across the tip of his cock, and Price let out a throaty moan, the grip on your hips tightening.

You used your saliva to make your hand glide, pumping him quickly. Usually, your stokes would be languid, seductive, as you prepped to either take him in your mouth or in your cunt. But this time, your movements were purposely fast, and the grunts in Price's quick breathing was an indicator that he liked it.

The wet clicks were consecutive as you stroked his cock from base to tip– squeezing tighter near the base, twisting near the tip. Price grumbled contentedly as you did so, beads of pre-cum leaking from his slit. He watched you with hooded eyes, a fucked out smile on his face as you jerked him off.

"Haven't even been home five minutes and you were so desperate for my cock, huh, sweetheart?" Price mused, hips jerking and cock twitching as you sped up the movement of your hand. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He forced them open, watching your hand for a second, before finding your face. He smiled, leaning forward to try and kiss you. "Mmm this is your cock, isn't it, baby? You can have it whenever you want..."

He kissed you, and you let him. You let his tongue lick along the seam of your lips, and you allowed him to coax your mouth open, a moan passing from his to yours. You continued fisting his cock, heating up against your palm, the tip flushed and glistening.

You pulled out of the kiss and with his eyes closed, Price rested his forehead against yours, mouth agape. He opened his eyes eventually, looking down at where you rapidly stroked his throbbing cock. He let out a quiet groan, flecks of pre-cum splattering onto his shirt at the pace at which you jerked him off.

He was close, his release building higher with each stroke of your hand. He held your hips tighter, grinding you onto his lap, and you moaned quietly, sweetly. He groaned in response, lifting his mouth to try and kiss you. You backed up a bit, enough so his lips were just brushing yours.

"John?" You whispered, and he released a quiet groan at that.

"Mmm?" He didn't have the cognitive ability to reply with words at his point, solely focussed on the way you were stroking his cock, and his looming orgasm.

You pressed a brief kiss to his lips, then pulled back. He watched you, eyelids drooping, eyes glassy, and you couldn't help but smile. You leaned back in, and whispered, "I want you to put a baby in me."

Price let out a loud, guttural groan. "Holy fuck."

He came abruptly, thick ropes painting your hand and his shirt. He moaned your name, cock twitching as strings of white dribbled down your fingers and across his now semi-hard length. Price pressed forward, kissing you, and you pumped him a couple more times before you were retracting your hand. You moved your head away, and licked his cum off your fingers. His eyes rolled, and he slumped back against the couch with a groan.

"You liked that, huh?" You teased, creeping your fingers beneath his shirt and slowly pushing it up, revealing the dark happy trail that led from his navel to his pelvis.

He hummed his agreement as you pulled his shirt further, and he sat up, lifting his arms so you could pull it off all the way. You tossed it aside before running the flat of your hands up and down his body. He hummed again, this time in content as you massaged the flesh of his pectorals, running your thumbs over his nipples and making him jerk against the couch.

"D'you mean what you said?" Price suddenly asked as you dragged your nails down the grooves in his abs. Goosebumps raised along his skin.

"What, about putting a baby in me?" You smiled, and he groaned, head flopping backwards again. You ran your fingers through the hair of his happy trail, following it down to his cock, still sticky with his release. You took hold of it again, and you felt it slowly hardening. Your smile grew. "Oh, I'm serious, John."

You pumped him slowly, gently, until he was fully hard in your hand once more. Price's breathing was laboured as he kept his head tossed back, eyes screwed shut. His chest rose and fell.

You stripped yourself of your own shirt and bra while he was occupied, managing to do so while still gently stroking his cock. Then, you raised yourself, and wiggled your skirt off– you had to use both hands to do this.

With your hand gone from his cock, Price pulled his head forward to see what you were doing. He released a breathy moan, immediately bringing his hands to your waist. You laughed as he dragged you forward and buried his face between your tits. You threaded your hands into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he kissed the soft skin of your chest.

His hands rubbed your waist, your lower back. Then, one hand still on your lower back, the other came to rest on your tummy, and he rubbed it gently.

"Wanna get you pregnant," he whispered into your sternum. "Mhm... mhm... wanna put a baby in you."

You felt your core throb red-hot at his words, your entire body thrumming with sexual energy that really, really needed to be released. You still had your underwear on, and you could feel your arousal dripping into the soft cotton fabric.

Face still in between the mounds of your breasts, Price dragged his hands away from your stomach and back and hooked his fingers beneath the waistline of your underwear. He slowly pulled them down until they were mid-thigh and couldn't go any further with the way you were sprawled across his lap.

Price shifted his head to the side, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he took two fingers and ran them up and down your wet slit. You keened, looking down at him with a whimper of his name. He looked up at you, mouth suctioned around your tit, as he dragged two fingers through your folds.

He retracted, moving to repeat his actions on your other nipple as he gently pushed his two fingers inside of you. You released a moan from low in your throat, holding yourself steady on your husbands shoulders as he fingered you open. He continued to watch you, tongue and teeth against your sensitive flesh, revelling in the way your tight walls clutched at his fingers.

Drops of arousal pooled past his knuckles and through the lines in his palm. He angled his hand so the drops dripped onto his lap, and the heel of his palm ground against your puffy clit. You gasped, hand shooting upwards to tug on Price's hair, his teeth scraping the bud of your nipple at the same time.

"John, I need you." You whined, trying desperately to grind yourself onto the heel of his palm. He let you, the pressure on your swollen clit making your eyes drop closed and your mouth drop open.

"What do you want from me?" He asked in a whisper, curling his fingers inside you and making your body alight with pleasure. The base of your tummy drew tight as the pads of his fingers worked that spot inside you.

"Need your cock," you whined impatiently, your climax just inches away from you. "Please, please, need you to fill me up."

You clenched around his fingers as he continued to hit that spot inside you. He applied more pressure to your clit, throbbing in tandem with the heartbeat in your chest. Price changed the angle of your sitting arrangement, so he could now comfortably kiss up the column of your neck.

"Need my cock, eh? Just need me to fill you up?" He murmured into your ear as he fucked his fingers into you. "I'll fill you up, sweetheart, I will. Fill you up niceeee and full. Fill this pretty tummy with my kids, eh, baby?"

His words made you come around his fingers without much warning. You pushed yourself against him, orgasm knocking you off balance as it wracked through you. Price fingered you through it, his other hand on your lower back and keeping your body close to his. He kissed you and although you struggled to kiss him back, you were still moaning his name into his mouth.

Price kissed you again, and then peppered kisses across your face as he took his fingers out of you. He grabbed your hips in both hands and helped you off his lap, standing you on your feet as he followed. Your underwear dropped the rest of the way down your thighs, and you quickly kicked them across the room as you grabbed Price by the shoulders and pulled him back into you.

Price's sweatpants and boxers fell and he kicked them away too as he kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. Still kissing, he led you out of the living room and eventually, the two of you made it to your bedroom, breathless.

He pushed you down onto your bed, and you giggled as he immediately followed after you, pinning your body beneath his. The weight of him made your cunt throb, arousal sticky against your inner thighs. The warm, solid form of his cock against your inner thigh made you moan, scratching your nails down his back.

"Can't wait for you to have my kids... our kids..." Price drawled between lazy kisses as he notched the head of his cock at your dripping cunt, smearing your arousal around your hole. "You're gonna look so pretty as a mum, aren't you, baby? Gonna be such a good mama."

Price pushed into you in one solid thrust, knocking the air from your lungs. You arched your back, meshing closer to him, as the tip of his cock knocked up against your cervix. You mewled, grasping at his back, as he dragged his cock out. The sensation was slow and heavy and sparked something deep in your stomach. When he was all the way out, he playfully tapped the head of his cock to your clit a couple of times. You choked on your moan, before he was filling you up again.

"John–" You moaned outwardly, sickly sweet and making him grunt above you. He doubled his efforts, slamming into you, the rhythm rocking the bed against the wall.

His fat cock split you open, stretching your wet hole around him and pushing up into your womb. You could feel him in your stomach. You felt so full.

Price pressed a hand to your lower stomach, admiring the subtle outline of his cock beneath the soft mound of your belly. He moaned loudly, pressing harder, and the feeling made you moan as well.

"John, fuck, oh my god." You whimpered as he thrust into you, heavy and rough, dragging along the tight, wet walls of your cunt. You clenched around him, your hands desperately trying to bring him closer to you. His chest hair against your tits, his hands on your stomach and hip– you wanted, no, needed him close.

He removed his hand from your stomach, instead gripping your hips as he fucked you into the mattress. He was grunting and groaning above you, eyes never leaving the way your body and face were reacting.

"That's a good girl, taking it so well... Always take it so well, sweetheart, don't you?" Price murmured, eyes on your face. "Such a good girl taking my cock. S'like this pretty cunt was made for it, eh, baby?"

For emphasis, he increased his pace. The tip of his cock slammed into your sweet spot, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His thrusts were drawing wet sounds from you, and you could feel your arousal being spread across your lower arse and inner thighs as he moved.

Your second orgasm approached quickly. Price fucked you hard, his noises of pleasure above you making you flutter around him. Your clit throbbed with a heartbeat, a thin layer of sweat settling over your naked body.

"John, John–" You tried to warn him, but failed when your orgasm slammed through you mid-sentence, rendering you speechless. You gushed around him, and he moaned, hips stuttering as your cunt squeezed around his cock, your orgasm dribbling out of you with each timed thrust.

He moaned your name. "Mmm there you go, there you go. My perfect girl, that's it. Feels good, sweetheart?"

You nodded, dizzy. "Yeah, y-yeah, fuck, so good, John, so good."

Price hummed, pleased. As you babbled, he shifted off of you for a second so he could hook his hands beneath your knees. Cock still stuffed inside you, he bent your legs and pressed them up against your chest, making you release a series of airy whimpers. He pressed his body heavily against you, holding the backs of your knees and literally folding you in half.

He began his thrusts again, and your eyes rolled at the new angle– his cock hit further, deeper inside you. The remnants of your orgasm were loud and wet as he rutted into you desperately, deep grunts falling from his mouth.

"Gotta fuck you deep, baby," he whispered, voice low. "Gotta stuff you full of my cock so it takes. Want it to take... want it to fucking take..." He punctuated each sentence with an extra heavy thrust, cock dragging against your slick walls. He groaned. "Gonna get you pregnant, sweetheart. Gonna get you fat with my kids. That's what you want, yeah? Want me to breed this pretty cunt?"

You hummed a yes. His words were making you even dizzier than you already were. You moaned and moaned, pleasure poisoning your veins as he fucked you towards a third orgasm. Your body was hot, damp with sweat. Price was warm too, strands of wet hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

"Fuck, fuck," Price whispered. "You're my good girl, baby, you're my good girl. Want you to come one more time for me, okay? One more time n' then I'm gonna–" He cut himself off with a moan, but you understood.

Your body shook beneath him, your legs tightening in his grasp. Then, with a shattering moan of his name, you came around his cock. Your third orgasm fizzed through you, and it took a while to fizzle out as he rutted into you nonstop. The feeling of static pleasure lingered as he chased his high, and you whimpered quietly in his ear as he fucked your sopping cunt.

Your husband was cursing under his breath, moaning your name too. His balls slapped against the curve of your arse, sticky with your arousal, and the hands on the backs of your knees gripped tighter as his orgasm loomed. He imagined the future– you, round with his baby and looking so fucking pretty. He moaned at the thought, cock throbbing inside you.

"Oh, fuck– fuck, m'gonna come, mama," it slipped out through a moan. "M'gonna breed this pretty cunt nice and full. M'gonna give you my kids–"

Buried to the hilt inside you, Price came. A lot.

He filled you, just like he promised, and you felt the thick, hot ropes flood past your cervix. You moaned his name, and he slammed his mouth onto yours, shushing you with his tongue. He continued thrusting gently, stuffing his seed further inside you, plugging it up against your womb with the head of his cock. He groaned when you squeezed around him, gently dropping your legs from him.

Price pulled out of the kiss, resting his head in the crook of your neck. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you too." You replied breathlessly, and the both of you lay in silence for a moment, panting like dogs in heat.

Fitting, really. The thought made you smile.

Price groaned into your neck, sucking a kiss to the skin. You pet his head gently.

"What's the matter?" You asked him, soothing the crown of his head as he bit and sucked at the curve of your shoulder.

"I just imagined you pregnant again," he uttered against you. "And now I'm hard again."

You laughed. "John, oh my god."

•º•

Several months of... trying... later, you sat in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hands. Happy tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at the two lines.

Outside, Price knocked on the door. "You alright, sweetheart?"

You sniffled. "Yeah, m'fine."

"You sure?" Price asked as soon as he heard the slight waver in your voice. "If you're not feeling well, we can tell the boys we can reschedule dinner–"

You opened the door of the bathroom with the test behind your back. Price noticed the tears, cupping your face.

"What's wrong?"

You had always planned on revealing your future pregnancy to your husband in an elaborate way. You'd dreamed of it, actually. But, overwhelmed with excitement and relief, you simply took his hands off your face, and placed the pregnancy test in his palm. He took it, confused for a moment, eyeing it skeptically.

Then, his eyes widened, tears immediately springing to his waterline as he looked down at you.

"You're pregnant?" He was crying.

"Yeah." You were crying too.

He wrapped you in his arms, pressing you gently to him and burying his face in your hair, sobbing with happiness. Your heart clenched, the excitement rolling off of him. After a long moment, he pulled back, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

"Told you I'd get you pregnant." He smiled, winking.

You rolled your eyes.

He laughed, then looked at the test again. He beamed, eyes twinkling. Then, he looked down at you again, eyes shining with mischief. You narrowed your eyes jokingly at him.

"What?" You fought a smile.

"Are we sure this is accurate?" He smiled. "We might, you know, have to try a couple more times, just to be sure."

"John!" You laughed.

And the two of you did have to reschedule dinner with the boys. You both got distracted.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #captain john price #call of duty mw2 #captain price #fem reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #price smut #captain john price smut #price call of duty #captain john price x reader #cod price #cod smut

[satoruwiki]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ WHEN YOU’RE NOT THERE…୭·࣭࣪̇˖

MINORS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DNI!!

content: nsfw; smut; pervy!gojo; fem!reader; porn w no plot; roommates au; masturbation

w.c: 0.4k

n/a: had this thought lingering for a while, pervy!gojo is living rent free in my mind. also lowkey creepy as hell 😭. english isn’t my first language and im still a rookie at writing so bear with me please! any feedback/request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated :b

Satoru likes to call himself a germaphobe. Hence, the reason he does laundry day often—including your clothes. "I do all the cleaning, and you do the cooking. No offence, but I don't trust anyone but myself for cleaning," he said when he first imposed those rules.

Satoru, the dude who once left a carton of milk outside the fridge rotting and then proceeded to put it back in without realizing it wasn't good anymore, the same guy that cleans the apartment once a week and has the habit of stealing bites of food from you—likes to call himself a germaphobe. Which makes you think something is not clicking. You're no psychiatrist, but something tells you he's not exactly a germaphobe as he claims to be. So, why the insistence on a strict laundry day?

...

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Satoru whined, burying his face in your bedsheets. He inhaled deeply; the scent of your shampoo and body wash still lingered on them, making his teary cock twitch. "So fucking pretty, so fucking perfect," he moaned, rutting his hips against the pillow you slept on.

Aside from stealing bites of your food, Satoru also had the hidden habit of humping your pillow when you were out for work. He felt slightly ashamed of his actions; his cute roommate had no idea how many times he had cum on her pillow, fucking himself with it. But he couldn't help it. Satoru still hadn't gathered the courage to make the first moves with you, and your slightest attentions to him had him horny.

Satoru imagined the plush of your pillow was your thighs, fucking into them languidly. He couldn't wait for the day he'd have you moaning his name with that sweet voice of yours, he yearned for it. 

Close to his climax, he undulated his hips against the soft silk fabric desperately, soiling it with his pre and the drool running down his mouth. "I need you, I need you so bad," Satoru whimpered with your name on his lips.

He shuddered, letting out breathy moans as he spilled his essence onto your pillow. "Fuck, I'll have to clean this up," Satoru huffed, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm, unaware that you had gotten home from work earlier than usual and found out about his dirty little secret, hiding behind a wall with your hand over your mouth and cheeks burning.

#KY000 ★ #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu satoru #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satorugojo #satoru smut #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #anime smut

[chrollohearttags]

“..smile for me, daddy..”

you take quite the liking to eren’s newest piece of jewelry!

oral sex (p + a eating), spit play, hair pulling, fingering, squirting, need I say more?

I’ve written this trope before but I’m doing it again because why not?! I can’t get it out of my head and I am pushing this agenda. (Also trying to ease back into writing because I’ve been bullshitting.)

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•

“What you think, my man? How ya’ like it?”

“..yeah, this is the one, dude..definitely the one..”

stood before the counter at Schiaparelli Jewelers, brandishing a mirror in one hand as the the other casually stroked over his chin, Eren’s lips curled into that of quite the smirk; in turn, refracting off of the light..to say that he was satisfied with the result of his latest commission, would be a very gross understatement. Schiaparelli’s had become a staple in Miami's Design District. A multi-generational business with a reputation that preceded them. With infamy rivaled next to Johnny Dang. Having catered to celebrities and the city’s elite alike, they curated the most beautiful pieces with the utmost care. Thus, earning them millions and a recurring clientele. Among those were the Underground God himself and seasoned musical maestro, EJ the Don. Who had gotten everything from his first chain to the wedding ring he placed on his beloved (y/n)’s finger a year prior. VVS diamonds glistened from the bottom row of his already perfectly aligned teeth as he examined the new grill he had just acquired. A spur of the moment decision he’d made on impulse while you were away on another modeling trip. The custom mold wrapped his entire bottom and encapsulated his canines with red stones. It was absolutely beautiful and although the piece had set him back roughly fifteen thousand, it was well worth it and deserved in his opinion! Having just been nominated for two writing awards and a third for album of the year. Awards season was approaching and although it wasn’t among his priorities to attend, it was still a feat worth celebrating. Not to mention, it was quite the confidence boost as well. He wasn’t one to base his self worth in extravagant jewelry or expensive clothes, but he was certainly feeling quite good about himself in these. He loved the way they looked against his lips and how they complimented his teeth.

dapping up the jeweler, EJ thanked the man once more and proceeded to give him quite the hefty payment for his services..of course, self gratification wasn’t the only reason he had gone and copped this new piece for his collection. He was actually hoping to get a little something more out of the deal..

“That’s what I like to hear, my man! Listen, how do you think the missus will react? Think she’ll like ‘em?”

a question he was certain he’d find out the answer to as you had just shot him a text, saying that you’d made it home and of course..to hurry back to you! Not a moment too soon, in his opinion. He’d spent all week longing to see you again and what better way to greet you than with a surprise like this?

“..I guess we’ll find out soon enough..”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•

“Mmph…Rennnnn, baeee! Stop—oh my gosh…”

the words spilling out in a trail of whiny huffs being drawn forth from your mouth. Among many other lewd sounds leaving you at the moment. Just as he had expected, your reaction was one he could’ve spotted from a mile away..the second Eren made it back home through the door, (y/n) came rushing him as you leaped forth into his arms. It didn’t take long after spinning you around with an array of kisses for you to spot them..the faint glint from his mouth as you slowly pecked at it. It was when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged gently, did you reveal his little secret. He could tell immediately from the glare on your face, just what you thought of it. That was also apparent by your sudden shift in demeanor..going from subtle, flirtatious kissing to full blown, unadulterated lust. He had no interest in setting you to your feet or halting your advances, especially when you continued to swirl your tongue around his own and continue filling his head with compliments. From how sexy he looked with them and how badly you desired to wet them up! “Yeah? I’m glad you like them, baby.” That was to say the least. He wasn’t shocked in the slightest and once he heard your opinions, he no longer felt any reservations about his purchase! So fast forward, and the two of you moved your little party to the downstairs game room, where he’d often reside on his days off. You’d find yourself on the leather couch in the corner, legs spread to either side as he feasted at your center. Nearly seven days had passed since you’d seen one another in person and nearly ten since you’d had any physical touch so it was obvious what was on either of your minds. Inked up fingers laced around your throat in an effort to make certain your eyes never shifted from his. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but to glare down at him with tears and lust teeming at your waterline. A finger slid between your lips as your husband delicately flicked that tongue around your clit..and each time, he’d make certain to flash you a toothy grin. In which you’d catch those sparkling diamonds littering his mouth.

“You sure you want me to stop, baby? I mean..you were the one begging me to make you come in my mouth.” Prompting both of you to burst into laughter. He knew that it was only because you were so close to your peak. Apparent by the creamy secretions leaking down his chin and staining that silver. How he craved your essence, your flavor and the feeling of you dripping onto his tongue. How good it felt to hear your moans coagulating with the sounds of his loud slurping, erupting throughout the room. Those white toes resting atop his bare shoulder blades, curled up at the slightest brush of your little bud. “I-I..fuck, it just feels so good, baby. Please..keep going.” (Y/N) uttering with the heave of your chest, rising and falling at a rapid rate as you tried to control your breathing.

“That’s what I thought..now lay your pretty ass back and lemme take care of you..lemme eat this pussy. Missed you so bad..”

with that, he’d continue his ascent into your soaking cunt. Exploring every fold, crevice and every delectable part of his beautiful wife. It may have been his favorite pastime if he were being completely honest…eating you until he brought you to the brink of tears and ecstasy. There was something so satisfying about it. Especially with the euphoric feeling of those juices making contact with his mouthpiece. Your fingertips would run underneath his chin and stroke the side of his face as his own dug into the thick flesh of your thighs..kneading slowly and keeping you in place. “Fuck…you look so sexy. Shit..” tossing your head back and releasing another breathy giggle from the overstimulating pleasure. “..swear you gon’ make me come, daddy..right there.” Guiding him along with your hand and those loud whimpers. That sundress that wrapped your body was shuffled down to your tummy as it bunched up underneath your breasts. You’d alternate between them and those dark tresses of his, not entirely sure what to do with yourself as you were unraveling.

“Don’t tease me now, princess. I need all of that..please..”

only taking a breath momentarily to work a couple digits inside of that hole as it spasmed on the air. He knew you needed to be filled but for now, he wanted to continue his feast..in more ways than one. As he parted your legs even further and continued working those digits in and out, Eren tugged you towards him. The only time he’d become forceful, as to keep you restrained. Because whilst you were focusing on the gentle thrust of his fingers in your pussy, his tongue would snake south to your puckering hole. Where the tip prodded at it and he’d flick around until you were trembling. Pleasure only increased tenfold when you pinched at those sensitive nipples. You could barely contain yourself and it was only a matter of time before he’d be getting that sweet release. He’d squeeze at your plump asscheeks as he switched between your entrances. Lobbing each hole with a very generous amount of spit. Soft whimpers arose from your throat and even hitched but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed that body to fall apart within his grasp and to react only the way he could make it happen.

“Come on, gorgeous. Let me have it. You wanna come, don’t you?”

that toothy smirk appeared yet again along with a high pitched coo. It never fails to make you melt..with the nod of your head, you’d shake vehemently, just grasping at anything to feign off the swelling in the pit of your stomach. One that was only mere seconds from exploding.

“Aw, then let it out. Do what you said you would earlier..or you gon’ hold back on me?” Teasing as he continued to push up into your most sensitive spot. And it didn’t take long until you were exploding all over the couch and of course, those silver slugs lining your man’s mouth. “Fuck! Fuck!—“ “..thereeee we go!” (Y/N) released a shroud of juices that spilled onto the cushions and Eren let his tongue wag as he lapped up every single drop..those fingers sopping with your creaminess. Which he’d let you slurp off once you were able to compose yourself.

“Shit!..Kiss me..” whining as you tugged him up by his chain and into your grasp. Shoving that tongue back between his lips and tasting the remnants of yourself against those grills. Cupping his face between your palms, you’d pull away from each other to meet gazes once more. That’s when he’d smile for you once again and you’d swoon for him all over again.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to wear those more..like all the time.”

#cherry’s works ✦⭒ #this is so cheesy #but i can’t stop thinking about it #aot x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #black fem reader #aot au #musician x influencer au #black reader smut #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x black reader #black reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x black y/n #aot drabbles #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan au #attack on titan smut #attack on titan drabble #eren yeager #eren yeager x black reader #black fanfiction #smut drabble #snk au #snk drabble #snk smut #cw smut #cw spit #drabbles