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riaki · 5 months

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after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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mythicalviper-fr · 9 months

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FR Skin Contests and You (and Me)

Let’s talk about festival skin contests.

This post will be 1) about win conditions 2) my breakdown on my wins/losses. Before we start, please know a lot of this is guesswork, and based on my own perspective. Still, I hope this will be useful for some people ^^

***August/888 and I (but August mostly as it’s his idea) will be hosting an event encouraging new artists to join festival contests on 8/8. It will have a lot of tips and references to help get you started, so please keep an eye out!

When it comes to skin contests, people generally enter for one of three reasons: 1) for fun 2) because it’s seen as a milestone of skinmaking, or 3) out of a desire to push yourself to the limit knowing you’ll regret it like a Sunday hangover– but I hope that’s just me.

In my two years of participating in skin contests, I’ve seen a lot of artists join with a lot of excitement, only to give up or drop out because they aren’t winning. Some blame it on skill, others blame it on the staff, and some blame it on fellow competitors.

Here’s what I will say: like any contest, winning the festival skin contest is based on a combination of luck, knowledge, and skill. Just like any contest, there is a strategy to it and there are win conditions that you have to fulfill if you want a chance at winning. Some artists find these win conditions quickly and are able to adapt and cultivate the skill needed to pull off a win. Some are aware of these win conditions but do not yet have the skill to pull off a win. And some aren’t aware at all. A loss is usually (but not always) a result of not fulfilling those win conditions, or not fulfilling them as much as another artist.

So, let’s talk about these win conditions.

The Biggest Win Condition: Breed Variety

In my opinion, the biggest factor that makes or breaks an entry is breed variety. Over the past ten years, there's been a consistent trend of staff picking one winner per breed/pose, though there are occasional outliers (most recently, two Aether M for Brightshine, but previously also Undertide M and Spiral M). This means whenever you submit a skin, you’re competing against artists that also submitted the same breed/pose.

For those who aren’t aware, breed variety has been dropping in contests, along with the number of submissions. The result is that there are very few submissions for less popular breeds. Take a look at Brightshine 2023 - the majority of the submissions were Aethers. But even if there ended up being three Aether wins, that meant none of the other Aether skins made it in.

I want to explain this with numbers. Say Aethers (M&F) made up 60% of the Brightshine 2023 submissions but could only make it into 2 or 3/16 of the winning slots. That’s 60% of the submissions eliminated from making it into the remaining 13/16 slots. Where would the other 13/16 skins come from, if staff were to stick to their trend of 1 breed/pose skin per festival? The flight breeds - Imp and PC might take up 4 more slots. But that’s still 9/16 slots that need winners and only 30% of the submissions to pick from. Additionally, ancients will generally make up at least 40% of the winning submissions, if not 50%. That’s why having 100 submissions might mean there aren’t a lot of winners the staff could pick, and why there weren’t any Fae skins for Starfall 2022 or Spiral M skins for Mistral 2023.

I tested this theory with F Ridgeback submissions. I mainly focused on three breed/poses that I saw as the least submitted - F Noc, F Bog, and F Ridgeback. I went with Ridgeback because it was the base I liked the most. The result? Out of the 22 contests I’ve entered, I won 5 with F Ridgeback. That’s a 25% win rate with one breed/pose alone. If we factor in wins I’ve had with these three poses combined, that’s 8 wins or a 36% win rate.

Drawing on an unpopular breed/pose is a good way to make sure you don’t have too many competitors (and also show some of the more unpopular breeds some love). This is particularly true if you’re a newer artist like I was. I started doing art in June 2021, so I knew there was no chance I could outcompete better artists on the same breed/pose.

Of course, choosing the right breed will not always net you a win - you still need good skin composition and skills to catch the staff’s attention, which is what we’re going to talk about next.

Statutory Win Conditions: Flight Themes & Colors

When it comes to making a skin for a festival contest, I always recommend people look at the apparel, lore, and familiars for that flight, because these items are usually the closest to what’s canonically considered a flight’s aesthetic. A lot of the entries I’ve seen win are based off of the fest fams or match a fest apparel.

There are exceptions. The game aspect of the Lightning Flight isn’t canon, but we’ve had hivemind and gaming skins win. Why? Maybe that contest only had a total of 12-15 breed/poses submitted, maybe it was just the best executed skin for that breed/pose, maybe a staff member just really liked it. However, generally winners will match the flight’s canon aesthetic.

The trend of skin contest winners also suggest a favoring of elements that are placed on the dragon’s wings and head (leaves, vines, fairy/insect wings, gears), or accent/tattoo-like effects that involve gradient, sparkles, or abstract smoke (see 888’s 2023 brightshine win). Skin compositions that are balanced (elements throughout the body, as opposed to just one part of the body) see a higher win rate. Skins that have lower accent coverage tend to see higher win rates when they’re gradients/accents (linings on the dragon, runic/circuit effects) or when they’re concentrated on an easily noticeable/central part of the body (like the wings, or the dragon’s back).

In the end, knowing what to draw really comes down to research and knowledge. Before each contest I would review all the past winning entries and try to glean what staff did or didn’t pick. I noticed that staff didn’t tend to pick whiteout or body morph skins, and they tend to pick skins with higher coverage. I also checked past festival winners to see the color theme for each contest. There are some contests during which colors that aren’t necessarily the flight’s colors are still picked, and there are contests that haven’t seen a festival skin which didn’t match the flight’s colors. Like any contest, there’s always going to be a small bit of luck involved.

Ultimately, while I can’t speak for the staff, I do think there are win conditions that need to be fulfilled. You need to have a basic level of art skill. You need knowledge on skin composition and colors. Then, of course, you need to know which breed/pose to choose.

I hope my analysis helps a little when you’re entering your next contest, or that it made for an interesting read. If you just came here for general tips and tricks, that’s all I have for you - you can also scroll all the way down to see my final thoughts on contests. But generally, just keep trying different things, doing your research, and making sure you’re sticking to the flight theme.

For people who want it, here’s my breakdown on each series of contests that I’ve entered, and reasons why I think I won or lost.

Personal Analysis - Brightshine 2021-Brightshine 2023

I’m a very competitive person and more importantly, I love to compete. So the moment I found myself capable of making skins, festivals were on my radar. I studied what previous artists did, what techniques and designs seem to win the most. What skills did I need and what skins caught the judges' eyes? More importantly, what bases did I feel confident with and could perform the best on? As soon as I felt like I understood the contest, I entered Brightshine 2021 with about 2 weeks’ worth of art experience.

Then I proceeded to lose four contests in a row.

So, what happened?

Brightshine 2021 (loss)

Sometimes unearthing your old art is like watching an old video of yourself in your cringey teenager phase. But knowing why you lost is important in understanding how you can win (and what to absolutely not do again).

For Brightshine 2021, I submitted a Guard F design with two recolors. At the time I only had the skill to draw lanterns and filigree, so I went “that’s Light enough” and did exactly that. Although I would say my theme was (kind of) on point, it was my execution that was lacking:

Issue No. 1: Colors. In review of previous Light winners there’s a umber/gold palette or gold/sunlight palette that appears to be the meta. There have also been cases of red or purple winning even though they aren’t used in official Light items, and some rainbow entries. While one of my recolors followed this scheme, it fell short because–

Issue No. 2: Composition. Skin composition is the balance of elements and how well each element pulls their weight in a piece of art. In my Brightshine 2021 entry, most of the base was left bare. Artists like August are really good at skin comp where their entire piece looks tied together; mine was far from that.

Issue No. 3: Quality. If you compare my Brightshine 2021 submission to my 2023 one, you’ll see what I mean. My art style relies on rendering, or applying lighting and shadows, to bring out each element. Basically I need rendering in order to win. This isn’t necessarily a requirement for you; some artists do lineless, others do painterly, and others don’t render at all, but overall the art style should have a specific level of quality that rendering brought out in my art.

In short: wrong colors, bad lineart, skill issue, no skin comp - overall it was a piece of art not even its creator could love. (I tossed the psd in the recycling bin and hit delete. Except looking in the database now apparently I printed it, so now I have to live with the shame of its existence.)

There is one takeaway that I got. By the time the contest ended there were no other Guard F entries. I realized then that had my art been better, with the breed/pose’s lack of competition, I could’ve had a shot at winning the contest.

Thundercrack 2021 (loss)

Alright, 2021 Myth thinks, I’ve learned my lesson from Brightshine. The skin composition was not good. That means I should put more stuff on the base and I’m sure to win!

Have you ever just looked in the mirror and realized you, yes you, are the most punchable thing in the world?

In all fairness, the skin comp of my TCC entry did improve. Like Brightshine, I did a single design with two recolors on an unpopular breed. Improvements I made: additional elements to the skin aside from the one big element on the wing, and a color palette that matched the flight. Of course, I wished my theme of hivemind/code also matched the flight aesthetic, but just like my love life, the only thing my submission matched with was loss and disappointment.

Issue No. 1: Design. Upon reviewing past winners, very few featured fake apparel or clothing. As mentioned previously, staff do not appear to favor whiteout or body morph skins, and prefer elements that adhere to the dragon (like wings) or add to the dragon (like bones/feathers).

Issue No 2: Technology. For my entry, the circuit patterning on the wings did not take resizing well. I drew this on a 750x750 canvas and the resizing blended the many circuit lines into a single line. This isn’t a program issue. It was a lack of understanding of how resizing works.

Issue No 3: And we’re still here with my biggest problem: skill issue. Art is not a skill you learn in two months. I did learn to render, but not well enough. I wasn’t good enough. Yet.

Starfall 2021 (loss)

So… fun fact! During all of this I was writing my thesis. As in, I was writing my thesis after not writing my thesis for a year. It was stressful. I don’t have much to say about this contest because I did this skin as a meme for the sole reason that somewhere in my 3 am sleep deprived brain I thought “Emergency Portal-col” was hilarious.

I did not expect to win and I didn’t. Still, I did notice more and more that certain breeds just weren’t submitted for contests. Ridgeback F, I noticed, had anywhere from 0 to 1 submission for each contest while M pose generally had 0. Same for Nocturnes.

Riot of Rot 2021 (loss)

By this time, 2021 Myth had given up on the “one big element + some other accessories” idea. It hadn’t worked for Light or Lightning and it wasn’t going to work. So I thought, what if I just went for the accessory elements? My ROR skin featured the spider lily, smoke, and sparkles. I also started experimenting with dark gradients on the limbs of the dragon, which I’d noticed in winning fest entries.

Gradients and sparkles help with skin composition. Especially if you’re a newer artist who can’t pull off more complicated effects. Oftentimes a skin looks empty in certain parts, but adding elements to those parts would make things look messier. That’s where gradients/sparkles come in. However, I lost because:

Issue No 1: Composition again. While my elements tied together well, I had no main attraction other than the empty void that was the center of the Ridgeback wing. I essentially did a background scene and didn’t add a main character for it. This made me think that maybe my “one big element” skin comp idea was still worth a shot, but I needed a different take.

Issue No 2: Aaaand skill issue again.I was still bad at rendering, and sometimes skill is just why you lose. Not because you don’t have good ideas or because your execution was bad, but because you do not yet have the skills to defeat your competitors. You can do a really good looking skin, but if someone else in the contest did an even better looking skin on the breed/pose, then you’re not going to win.

Gala 2021 (win)

Losing four times in a row was pretty discouraging. But here’s another important element to skin contests: consistency. The frequency of your submissions should result in a win so long as you fulfill all of the other win conditions such as good composition, understanding of the theme, and the basic level of art skill required to win.

For the Gala, I realized that wings would be the best big element to put on a base while tying in all of the other elements. This is probably the most complicated skin I’d worked on at that time. But because I’d learned minimal rendering, because my skin composition was actually good, and there was no competition for Ridgeback F, I won. For the very first time.

Trickmurk 2021 - Starfall 2022 (6 wins 2 losses - 12 skin designs submitted total)

Here, I’d found my strategy. As long as I kept to the theme and made sure my skin comp and rendering was good, I would win. Especially because I had no competition. Again, breed variety is a huge issue in skin contests, because people - particularly the really skilled artists - are more likely to go for a breed that they like or is popular. As a newer artist, I was well aware that there was a 100% chance I’d lose if I tried to fight anyone for the same breed/pose. (And part of knowing the win conditions is also knowing artists you definitely are not winning against.)

3/6 of my wins during this time was F Ridgeback. The others were: F Coatl, which had no competition during Trickmurk, and F Nocturne, which had no competition during Wind and Arcane’s fests (but competed against my will to live because this is a terrible base to work on).

But relying on unpopular breed advantage was about as reliable as internet connection in a college dorm. 3/6 of my wins were ridgeback but that meant all of my losses were also ridgeback. On top of that, the number of Ridgeback submissions peaked at one point to 5-6. I was still winning, because I had the skill to beat my competitors. But I had to up my game. My skins had to be more elaborate, closer to the theme. I began submitting two designs per competition, which was… going to be a problem for me later.

The idea behind submitting two designs per competition is simple. Instead of just relying on one unpopular breed/pose to net you the win, now you have two shots at winning.

My goal that I’d made during this time was to either win 11 in a row or to win once for each holiday. This was to keep my motivation. Keep in mind I was also writing my thesis, so I really needed a goal to go towards, especially when I committed to doing two designs per contest.

(I defended my thesis successfully in May 2022 and graduated with high honors!)

ROR 2022 - Brightshine 2023 (7 wins 1 loss - 16 skin designs submitted total)

Here’s where I found another niche in the skin contests. Flight-breeds. These are breeds that belong to each element and surprisingly - they don’t actually get that many submissions. Seeing Starfall 2022’s skin turnout as an Arcanite was tough. When it came to reviewing Starfall 2022, anyone would’ve won as long as they submitted a good quality Fae skin that didn’t break the rules or stray too far from the theme and had a skin composition that the staff liked.

I decided to put my theory to the test with Earth, Ice, Wind, Water, and Nature. Are you surprised there were only three Snap F submissions for Earth, one Tun M for Ice, two SDM for Wind, and something like two Undertide F entries for Water? I was. Especially with Undertides because the breed had been released only five months ago. By noticing the flight-breed meta, and having the time, skill, and experience to make skins for those breeds that fit the criteria, I was able to win.

At this time I started straying away from my “one big element + smaller accessories” composition. My art had gotten better so I was able to expand my designs. Wavecrest 2023 was the biggest show of that, and I’m really proud of my entries for that contest. It was essentially a turning point in my art style… but it did take a lot more time and effort. From that point on, my skins were hitting 90+ layers and taking me at least two weeks to draw.

The last skin contest I entered with that art style was Brightshine 2023. By the time the contest ended, I was pretty sure winning would take a miracle or a relationship with god that I did not have. The competition for Imp M was difficult, and I was pitting my submission against artists who had far more experience and skill. I had some hope for my Ridge F entry, but again, relying on unpopular breed advantage is, well. Not reliable.

I lost. It was crushing, because not only did that mean I lost Brightshine three years in a row, Brightshine was the last contest I needed to win to fulfill either one of my goals: winning 11 in a row or win once for each elemental holiday. However, losses happen and it sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. I simply lost to a much better artist, and I am okay with that.

Final Thoughts

Heart-to-heart time.

I know some people become discouraged because they don’t think they have the skill, or they compare themselves to other artists. I felt discouraged for the same reason. After losing so many contests in 2021, I thought I would never improve. I would never be as good as artists that started long before me, or even some that started after me but learned so much faster.

I still think that’s true. I have a long way to go and I may never catch up to these other artists. But here’s the thing about art: it’s a skill that constantly evolves and you cannot see that evolution unless you keep trying. And you need to keep trying if you want to win, because you aren’t going to without reaching the right skill level.

The hardest truth about competitions is that you can’t expect to win just because you tried. If everyone could win just by participating – that contest isn’t worth winning. There are no stakes so there is no value. But when you put in a lot of effort and time, and you win? That win is something that will stay with you. That is a worthwhile win - because it was hard and because you lost so many times.

Sure, the staff could let everyone who enters win. Maybe winners should be judged solely on participation. Maybe that would make more people happy. But would you really be happy to win, knowing there’s no chance of losing? At that point, would being a festival contest winner mean anything?

In the end, a contest is supposed to be fun. Throw everything I’ve said out the window if that’s made contests un-fun for you. Most, MOST importantly, you should join the competition because you enjoy it. If you’re joining just to win, and you take losses very hard, and participation becomes a chore - then that is never going to be worth the toll on your mental health.

Take it from someone who took it too seriously. Drawing two skin designs monthly was taxing (remember it was taking me at least 2 weeks per design), and by Nature 2023 I had severe burnout. When Brightshine rolled around, I sat down for 11 hours to finish my Imp entry, because I knew I wouldn’t have time for art later. By the time I finished, I was running on about five hours of sleep and a very unhealthy attachment to caffeine.

Then, three days before Brightshine, I was diagnosed with tendonitis.

I started feeling discomfort in my arms/wrist since March, hence why I stopped releasing public skins. But this is effectively the worst arm related injury I’ve had, and while drawing is not the main cause, doing so for 11 hours straight didn’t help. My left arm has minor pain. My right arm is swollen and in a brace. This could’ve been avoided by taking breaks and doing exercises. But the lack of proper precaution led to injury. (And yes, I drew my Bogsneak TCC 2023 entry with a mouse for this reason. I could not use my tablet pen so… circle and line tool it was. But I had fun ^^)

I hope my analysis of the contests will be of some use to you. But please do not hurt yourself, mentally or physically, in competing. UMA artists make around 3kg per run of skin, so if you are entering contests for the prize, that’s not the best use of your time and energy. When it comes down to it, you are going to be doing free art for the site, and that is never worth injuring yourself for.

As a final note, thank you to the FR staff for allowing artists to participate in the site. My art experience is purely derived from skins and contests have encouraged me to improve myself. Thank you also to my friends who cheered me on along the way, the many wonderful artists who gave me tips on line weight, coloring, and rendering. And of course, many thanks to August for being the best cheerleader I could have. I would not have made it to Brightshine without him as a competitor and fellow artist.

(However nothing you do will make me like Gaolers and that is a hill I will die on.)

Happy almost-Flameforger’s everyone! Here’s to the next fest cycle.

#flightrising #flight rising #flight rising skins #fr skins and accents #fr fest #skins and accents

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simon-sehs · 1 month

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suffer (18+)

tags / cw: f!reader, fluff, angst, smut, hatefucking, injury mention, dirty talk, insults, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, pathetic!simon, love confession, happy ending

To this day, you still couldn’t fathom what Ghost’s issue with you was. Granted, he was a weird and mysterious man to begin with, so making sense of his thoughts and feelings seemed daunting when there were bigger concerns.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t stop the fact that despite the glares and insults, he often graced your bed.

Or you in his.

You were at least glad he was a gracious lover. Maybe it was an ego or superiority thing; after all, if you’re going to fuck the brains of someone you dislike, you may as well make them see stars and ruin them for anyone else.

Unfortunately, he also loved the sound of his own voice.

“Aww, look at you, sergeant. So desperate and needy for me…”

His dick slipped into your cunt with ease, much to your embarrassment. This, of course, would not go unnoticed, or unspoken.

“That’s right… take me in, doll…” He chuckled. “Must suck, feeling how well that pretty pussy molds around me. Like it was made specifically for me…”

“Jesus, shut up and fuck me already.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He slowly moved inside you, his pace gradually building to make you crave more with each second. “I hit a nerve? You gonna throw a tantrum, slap me around?” He smirked.

“Ugh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Freak.” You moaned and felt yourself clenching around him at the thought, despite your insult.

Ghost’s grip on your thighs tightened. “Maybe. Or maybe I just feel like giving you a free pass. God knows your… aw, fuck… hand-to-hand is abysmal. Couldn’t kick my ass to save your life…”

You grit your teeth. “I don’t need to beat your ass. All I need is a few good hits to make you hurt for a while.”

"Hah, you really think you can hurt me… when I've literally taken a bullet for the both of us?" He said bitterly.

You tensed. “Huh? What… mmm… the hell are you on about?”

“Don’t play dumb, you’re too pretty for that.”

You just stared at him.

Slowly, he stopped and stared down at you. “…Are you… serious?”

You blinked up at him.

His face gradually softened, before he let out a sigh. “You don’t know, do you?”

It was your turn to sigh. “Know what?”

He leaned back, despite still being inside you. “That mission we had together, where we were supposed to bring the target in alive… I took a bullet for you after you got knocked out.” His hand traced a scar on his shoulder. “It was either let you die… or let the target escape.”

You stared at him, speechless. “No, you… I… no… no one told me….”

“You were pissed about the target getting away, I… thought you knew. I don’t know.” He rubbed his jaw.

“What? No! I… you’re lying. You’re trying to make this my fault when it was your incompetence that resulted in him getting away…” You said, but with each word that came out, you could feel your resolve crumbling, as pieces clicked into place.

He glared. “You think I care if you believe me? You couldn’t possibly understand why I did what I did.”

“Try me.”

He pulled out of you with a grunt, and you had to resist the urge to whimper at the loss.

“You don’t want to know.”

You were getting pissed. “Quit fucking around, Simon, tell me.”

He growled. Honest to god, growled. “Fuckin’ hell, because I love you.”

Your eyes widened. He stared.

Seconds ticked by. The two of you were stuck in a staring contest.

You relented and glanced away, frowning. But then a gentle touch of his fingers on your chin brought your face back to gaze at his. More staring.

“Christ, say something, you daft girl.”

“Shut up.” You snapped. “I don’t believe you. You’re messing with me.”

“I have better things to do than lie about this shit. Stuffing your cunt, for example.”

“Why do you act like you hate me then?”

He sighed and rubbed his face. “I… because it’s easier to push you away than face the fact that I… Look, it’s to protect the both of us.”

“And yet you’re somehow in my bed.”

“…Yeah.” His fingers remained on your chin. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way and I’ll go. Hell, I’ll leave you alone, even.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding viciously in your chest. “I… I can’t.” You croaked.

Ghost’s face falls. “No… fuck, no…”

“I… I love—“

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ say it. Fuck. You’re not supposed to… we can’t. Don’t you get it? We can’t.”

Your eyes started to blur with tears. “Simon… I love you.”

He glanced away, his chest heaving. “Fuck…”

Now you found yourself turning his face to yours, your hand soft on his cheek. Your heart tore at the sight of his own glossy eyes.

“I love you.” You repeated.

He crumbled.

His face sunk into your neck, and he wept.

You froze up, unsure of what to do. But then you found your arms wrapping around him tightly as his tears dotted your sweaty skin.

“I love you…” You say again, softly.

He mumbled something incoherent into your skin.

“Huh?”

Ghost pulled back slightly. “I said, we’re both fuckin’ idiots.”

“Simon… kiss me…”

He stared at you with pathetic puppy eyes, before leaning in and kissing you. It was different, this time. It wasn’t like the previous kisses. The heat was still there, but there was intimacy, longing, love.

You pulled back to moan as he buried himself back inside your aching hole.

His arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close to his chest as if you were at risk of being pulled away from him. Then, he buried his nose back into your neck.

“Fuck… Love you… so much… fuck…”

Ghost pumped into you slowly but deliberately, each stroke a token of his affection.

You could feel a tear of your own running down your cheek. “My Simon… my love…”

He groaned at that, twitching inside you. “Be mine. Only mine. Please. Please…”

“I’m y-yours. Always have been…”

“Fffuck… prove it… come for me, baby…”

You whimpered as his hips slowly met yours over and over again, his pelvis grinding against your clit. “Yes, baby, yes…”

He breathed heavily against your throat. “Say that again. Call me ‘baby’ again…”

“Baby…”

And then you came, fluttering around his cock as his arms tightened around you.

“Fuck… fuck…” He mumbled.

It took four more strokes for him to follow suit, his body shaking slightly on top of you. You had never seen him in such a state before.

Then the room was silent, except for your ragged breaths.

As the both of you laid there, you reached a hand out to tentatively trace the scar on his shoulder. Ghost snuggled into you further.

“I’m yours… never forget that…” He murmured.

“Or… what… you’ll get… shot again?” You smirk.

He sighed. “I was thinking… more along the lines of… making love to you again… to remind you, but… sure… Why not…?”

#simon riley #cod #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #my writing #okay. now that this is out of the way. it’s time for the cousin fic #which is. a lot dirtier. so much dirtier.

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adiluv · 7 months

Text

✦ : ❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 !

i've always wanted to try making one of these types of posts, and since i didn't have anything easily ready to post this weekend, i figured i'd might as well give it a shot! ꒰ironically, getting the colors to work for all of the character's names was harder than writing everything.꒱ hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀི১

612 words. character order is bold > normal > italic; raiden shogun as the puppet, not ei; written before clorinde, navia, and wriothesley release; barely edited.

Gently. A soft touch that flutters over your knuckles, to the point where you’re left to question whether or not you’d even felt it, their lips pressing against your skin, lingering for a second or two before relocating to another part of your face. There’s no rush, in their mind, only this moment of intimacy between the both of you—only this shared moment where they’re allowed to bathe in your presence the same way you bathe in the sunlight’s warmth.

The rest of Teyvat is left forgotten as they reach for two teacups, arms loosely wrapped around your waist as they guide you to sit beside them, planting a kiss or two on your cheek as they pour a cup for the both of you. You’ll hold each other like this, sipping at your beverages as they inquire about your day—the stresses and responsibilities of theirs fading away in your closeness.

Lisa, Zhongli, Ayato, Dehya, Kazuha, Wriothesley, Kaveh, Navia, Ningguang.

Hesitantly. Unversed in the concept of affection, they’ve yet to entirely adjust to the idea of being in a romantic partnership, the thought of being within one seemingly wholly outlandish before they’d met you. While you’re more than content to take the lead within your relationship, initiating physical affection and all the like, they can’t help but wish to do the same for you—keep you safe within their arms and show you just how grateful they are for your love.

This desire culminates in them walking up behind you, timidly wrapping their arms around you as they ask whether or not you’re comfortable within their hold. This initial experimentation begins with them holding you as though you’re made of glass, though they’ll slowly begin to warm up and become more confident over time. Although their fingers still nervously twitch as they hover over your skin, please don’t tease them too much. They’re trying their best.

Kabukimono, Neuvillette, Xiao, Al-Haitham, Eula, Albedo, Clorinde, Raiden Shogun.

Tenderly. They love you—they’re whipped for you, really—love teasing you for interrupting their work, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was ꒰truthfully꒱ beginning to drive them mad. They silently thank Celestia whenever you visit during the afternoon, squeezing yourself into their chair as the both of you share a meal, allowing their mind a much needed break from their duties—though you’d never know with the flirtatious taunts falling past their lips.

During the evening, your attempts to have them accompany you back to your shared home often result in you sitting atop their lap, leaning into their touch, and listening to their heartbeat as you wait for them to finish up just a few more papers and pack up for the night. Neither of you really even realize just how much time has passed before they’re finally ready to leave, too immersed within your conversation ꒰gossip, of which they hear a lot꒱ to pay attention to the ticking of the clock.

Beidou, Kaeya, Ayato, Childe, Heizou, Wriothesley, Yae Miko.

Possessively. There’s absolutely no contesting their grip once they pull you towards them, arms tightly wrapping around your form and leaving zero chance of escape. They’ll lean down towards you, burying their head in the crook of your neck as you’re held still, whispering against your skin that you’re left unable to decipher—though you suspect it's intentional.

Any semblance of space that existed between the both of you is wholly destroyed, bodies flush against each other and their arms pushing you even further into them—almost as if they’re attempting to fuse the both of you together. Their head turns towards you at some point, stars dancing about in their eyes as you catch sight of the small blush dusting their cheeks. Point it out, however, and they’ll be quick to break the embrace, pushing you away with remarkable speed and insisting that you were mistaken.

Scaramouche, Wanderer, La Signora.

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queers-gambit · 25 days

Text

Talk Shit, Get Hit

prompt: ( requested ) your high school bully picks the wrong day to taunt you and it's up to an equally hotheaded Billy to calm you down. call it irony.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader characters are ALL aged 18 years old

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.4k+

note: the reader is aggressive. the reader is violent. the reader’s hands are rated ‘E’ for Everyone.

warnings: you know the drill: author projects instead of going to therapy and uses personal experience as details. there's physical violence, aggressive reader, depiction of shitty home life / toxic family, (somewhat severe) abusive alcoholic parent, parental abandonment, cursing, bullying, Jason Carver's sister is the bully, injury and blood. cursing, threats, brief cigarette and illicit material use (marijuana / weed), i guess this is hurt and comfort, angst, we talk about Billy's abuse with Neil, too, and kinda abrupt ending.

PLEASE NOTE -

this fic will depict parental abuse, both emotional and physical. this fic will discuss an alcoholic parent. this fic will detail physical violence BY the reader.

DO NOT engage if any of these topics potentially trigger you. you will miss nothing if you decide to skip. author implores readers to value and prioritize their own comfort and mental health.

Of all the days Brittany Carver could've chosen, she picked the worst day imaginable to bully you - being akin to a ticking time bomb. To your immense surprise, she'd laid off that entire week, focused on the "big" cheerleading competition she was leading Hawkins High to victory in. It left her no energy to engage in her favorite past time of tormenting you; figuring that after 6 years of her brutal behavior, she had grown up and lost interest. You weren't someone who people bullied easily, but this thing with Brittany, it was some kind of twisted pissing contest; competition brewing in elementary school that boiled over during middle school and now lasted into high school.

However, God seemed to have a sick sense of humor because on the week your bully had temporarily forgotten your existence, things at home had escalated to a new height not previously known. It was true what they said: if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

The entire week, your mother had only been sober for - well - none of it. She was found morning, noon, and night slumped over in various locations around your home with different bottles of liquor in her grip. The house grew messier each day, a direct result of a checked-out parent refusing to do any chore and destructive little monsters that took form as your twin little brothers. You couldn't keep up, playing mother, sister, housewife, personal maid, and full-time student all at once; pushing your stress levels higher, making you bitter and short tempered. The times your mother was conscious, which was typically to find a new bottle of alcohol, she was a right nasty fuck.

Her bark matched her bite; not only yelling at you, belittling you, and gaslighting you - but also using physical aggression to "teach you a lesson" for being "disorderly" or "a waste of semen" - and yes, that is a direct quote. Her hands were dainty from malnourishment, bulging veins prominent, and despite your father abandoning the family ages go, she still wore her diamond wedding ring that left small cuts wherever she struck you. The times she wasn't sober enough to really "get" you, she put out cigarettes on your arms and thighs; leaving tiny, circular burn scars you coated in Neosporin. She’s been known to break a few wooden cooking spoons over your head, steal the money made from babysitting, even cashed-in your inheritance - pawning all of your dead grandmother’s jewelry. There were plenty of other examples, but dwelling on those instances wouldn't change the past or alter your future, so you stuffed them way deep down in your soul.

Naturally, you didn't say a Goddamn thing; under the impression that everyone had shitty family members they tolerated and that your home life was normal enough to not report to the police. You didn't know any better, you didn't know that your mother downing fifths of alcohol daily was cause for concern. You didn't know that abuse wasn't the standard - emotional or physical. It took years for you to learn that love wasn't supposed to hurt, that love wasn't supposed to scare you, that love wasn't selfish, that your mother didn't actually love you. It took years to convince yourself that you were worthy of love and acceptance, never receiving it from your mother - not knowing you could get it from anyone else.

And then, William fucking Hargrove - or Billy - breezed into your small hometown with a sweet denim-clad ass, golden, curly mullet, and a bad fucking attitude that rivaled your own.

It was a match made in heaven. Or hell.

You both suffered at the hands of your parental figures, turning abrasive and foul-mouthed as defense mechanisms. You and Billy developed hardened exteriors in an effort to protect your soft insides, and when you met officially, it was as if you two could see past that hard shell - straight through the bullshit. You recognized much of the same in one another - like looking in a mirror - and grew impossibly close in an incredibly short amount of time; grateful to have a second half who understood without ever needing explanation.

He just got you. Able to identify common threads between you. Billy understood you, having more empathy than you thought he could muster. He protected you. He loved you. He took care of you - and you did the exact same, considering you two were cut from the same cloth; wanting to assure him he was just as worthy of love as you.

Billy was known around Hawkins for being a womanizing jock with anger issues, and yet, when you finally agreed to go on a date with him, he never even looked at another girl twice. He felt as if dating his best friend, understanding that nobody else would truly understand him the way you do - so he did what he could to keep you.

He did his best to defend you, but there was only so many tangible things the star basketball player could protect you from. Gossip and petty cheerleaders, prime examples. Yet Billy still tried, even taking the liberty to confront Brittany's brother, Jason Carver, about leaving you alone. Unfortunately, it was as if Billy's concern spurred on the cheerleader's bullying, calling you pathetic for hiding behind a man and sending him to fight your battles. You told Billy to stay out of it, that you could handle the situation by yourself, that he would just make the situation much more sticky.

So he did. Billy backed off, letting you deal with the situation as best you deemed; offering his support in return, being a shoulder to cry on for the days your frustration peaked.

That entire week Brittany didn't bully you had been extraordinarily tiresome due to your mother's abuse, wanting to confide in Billy but refraining when you rationalized not bringing him into your bullshit. He had enough of his own. So, while, yes, it was a comfort to have him on your side, you never indulged Billy on the woes of your life. He was meant to be your escape, not your savior; the burden of shouldering your abuse while enduring his own feeling terribly unfair.

You kept quiet, even though you were silently begging for someone to save you. Yet you weren't a damsel, there was no Prince Charming, brave knight, chosen champion to slay the dragons terrorizing you.

However, your boyfriend was much more intuitive than you realized. You always prided yourself on your acting skills, convincing everyone around you that you were indifferent to your mother's temperament, even when showing up at school with a casted wrist, black eye, and split bottom lip. Turns out, parents in Hawkins gossiped much more than the kids, and soon, it felt like the entire town knew about your abusive alcoholic mother and runaway father. Nobody did anything to help you, they just tiptoed around the knowledge and stared at your injuries. Brittany Carver was the only person stupid enough to make the mistake of weaponizing your home situation.

It was a tepid spring afternoon, the sun peaking through the clouds and the first flowers sprouting from the thawing ground. The bell rang to dismiss for lunch, the hallways filled with mingling and milling students all grateful for the midday break. Some gathered in gaggles of friends, some headed directly for the cafeteria, and others, like you, utilized the time to exchange morning class books for afternoon materials. Your fractured wrist had long since healed, but there was a long, straight scar present as a result from the surgery you required; currently, a scabbing cut over your eyebrow, lips stinging from where the flesh split, with a collection of bruises turning different colors to represent various healing stages.

Today simply hadn't been your day.

After a week of constant alcohol-fueled battery, you felt your frustrations finally crescendo after being assigned 3 separate essays; doubling your stress, shortening your fuse, and creating heavy leaded dread as the minutes ticked by. Everyone else felt giddy for the spring-tastic weekend, wanting time to go faster so they could go home - but not you. You might've been the one teenager in the city - no, no, the county - no, wait! The state - WAIT, NO... The country, who didn't want to leave school. You didn't want the day to end and be forced out of your safety zone; anxiety twisting your stomach and prickling your skin at the thought of returning home.

Truthfully, you spent several nights a week at Billy's, being snuck in through his window; feeling unsafe in your own home and wanting to remain close without voicing your need for his proximity. You felt stronger with Billy, as if you could take on the world; as if your safety and wellbeing were (finally) a real priority. He took great pride in being that safe haven for you, thinking it a nice change of pace as he often never seized opportunities to prove himself compassionate and caring. Billy was known for being a brute, someone aggressive and commandeering; nobody associating "safety" with him - except you.

However, this wasn't one of those weekends you'd be able to sneak out, being forced into caring for your two wee brothers; them needing you, dependent on you, relying on the care and love you provide them.

As a result of your shitty week, you had been a right, foul bitch to those unfortunate enough to engage you. Being well aware of your attitude, you tried to avoid everyone, not wanting to lash out at innocent peers - labeling yourself a bitch because of your impeccable self-awareness. Though, no matter the labels you assigned, you simply couldn't rein your emotions into check given your anxiety over returning home overpowered your brain.

Knowing you'd be forced to defend yourself against your own mother set your teeth on edge, projecting your horrible mood onto anyone in your vicinity - making most keep their distance.

Keyword: most.

Much like her brother, captain of the basketball team, Jason Carver, Brittany Carver wasn't the brightest bulb of the bunch. She never picked up hints, she didn't bother reading the room or in-between any lines; she held little to no regard for those around her or their emotional state. Brittany just wanted to assert herself as Queen Bee and thought the best way to achieve that was by bullying those she deemed lesser then she. It gave her a power trip, made her feel swollen with importance, boosting her ego because in her mind, she'd rather be feared than loved.

Brittany was dressed in her pretty, pressed, and bright cheer uniform; her obnoxiously blonde hair tied in a high ponytail that swished dramatically with each step. She wore cherry flavored lip gloss, her make-up caked, skirt hiked higher than school regulation permitted because she suckled at the teat for attention - good or bad.

You heard the second bell ring and finished shoving books in your locker, trying to stuff notebooks in your bag when your locker was suddenly violently slammed shut. Flinching at the quick movement and aggressive bang, you glared at whoever dared interrupt you; a manicured hand flat on the metal to keep the locker closed.

"The fuck you want, Brittany?"

"Awh, someone's already got their panties in a twist," she mocked, two of her cronies giggling their support. "C'mon, babe, I was just stopping by to say hello - missed you this week!"

"Oh, for sure," you sneered in a sickly-sweet tone, "of course you missed me, your life is so much more boring without me in it, huh? Wow, seriously, Brittany, I'm flattered to be the main character in your life, too."

Her eyes rolled and one of the other cheerleaders at her flank, Jennifer, popped flavorless gum. "I'm surprised you still have this level of spunk and cheek to talk like that, would've thought Mommy Dearest beat it out of you by now - she hits you often enough, right? Doesn't she? Hmm, well, maybe she needs to hit you a little harder."

"Excuse me?" You snapped.

"You heard me!" She laughed. "Obviously your mom isn't teaching you any lessons since you still have this whole emo-attitude going on. But I can't say I blame her, you're such a bitch - I'd smack the shit outta you, too."

You nodded slowly, not realizing several students had paused themselves to watch the exchange; knowing this was a longtime coming and didn't want to miss the inevitable drama. Dropping your backpack, you asked, "You sure? You really wanna hit me?"

"Is it that hard to believe? I mean," she smirked, "your own mother does - of course, I do, too. Like, seriously, it's not a secret why she hits you - just look at you! No wonder she hates you, you're just a waste of space, resources, and money. Damn shame Billy doesn't see it yet, but don't worry, he will." She laughed again, "He'll get tired of reopening your lip every time you kiss. It's so pathetic and ugly, he'll start to crave what you can't offer. I mean, seriously, what guy with any self-respect wants to date a girl as broken as you?"

"Know what, Brittany?" You growled, balling your fists at your side. "I'll give you one free hit."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Yeah," your head nodded, "go ahead. One free, clean shot. Hit me if you want to so bad, but you'll only get just this one shot."

Her eyes rolled, "I don't need to, your mom's got that covered."

"Free hit, Brit," you taunted, gesturing, "c'mon, go 'head, lemme have it. Since I'm so insufferable, go right ahead - get your clean hit."

Jennifer and Jasmine shared strange looks, the latter nudging, "Just do it, Brittany, shut this stupid bitch the hell up."

"Yeah, Brittany, shut me the hell up."

She looked to her little goons with a smirk, shrugged and handing over her backpack. When Brittany turned again, she dramatically wound her arm back and used her full strength to swing her fist into your cheek; only making your head turn a fraction from impact. You hummed and nodded, the cheerleader laughing with her girls as if she had "shown you" - but her amusement died when she noticed you barely reacted.

You smirked, cracking your neck, "My turn!"

Your knuckle cracked the bridge of the cheerleader's nose - sick sound of a snap ringing in your ears and jolting the girl's head backwards; momentum forcing her to stumble. Brittany shrieked in pain, holding her nose, unable to defend herself as you launched your attack; first slamming her back into the lockers before jabbing your fist into any vulnerable spot you could.

Similar to the movies, you held Brittany by her hair to keep her in place; wailing your punches repeatedly, each hit making Britt bang into the lockers. Jennifer and Jasmine tried to pull you away but both earned their own punches or elbows to the face for the interference. You focused on Brittany, instantly curating a flock of students all eager to watch.

"FIIIIIIGHT!"

"GIRL FIGHT!"

"BEAT HER ASS, Y/N!"

Brittany sobbed as blood dribbled down her front, staining her pretty uniform, but you were just getting started. The hallway turned noisy, a circle forming around you four as all three cheerleaders were staved off; you running on pure anger, adrenaline, and overflowing frustration that encouraged your foot to kick Britt's gut. You'd never admit it, but Brittany's mocking had hurt you past words, made you feel vulnerable, disarmed, as if you were damaged, undeserving goods. With each punch or kick or stomp, you remembered a different instance of your mother's abuse, seeing her face instead of Brittany's; spurring you on with unrestrained force.

In the parking lot, Billy was leaning on his car with a few teammates from the basketball team and enjoying a hearty nicotine-filled break. Though they'd never label it as such, the boys exchanged idle gossip; listening to Conrad Jones detail his latest conquest, sneering about how "easy" Kennedy Stephens was. They were interrupted when Kyle Lambert sprinted up to them, sneakers skidding over asphalt, panting dramatically, "Billy! Billy! Y-You gotta come see this, man! You gotta help!"

"What?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I-It's your girl - it's Y/N!"

He pushed off his car that was supporting his weight, demanding, "What about her?"

"You gotta come quick, man, you gotta see this! It's fucking wild! Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine tried jumping her - "

Billy was surging across the carpark instantly, tossing his cigarette away before yanking the school doors open. He was instantly greeted by the chaotic sight and sounds of a fight, peers gathered in a large circle; screaming their support and hollering encouragement.

"Billy! Oh, thank God!!" Chrissy Cunningham cried, waving him closer. "You have to help! You have to do something, it's 3-on-1!"

He didn't acknowledge the strawberry blonde, just started instantly shoving through the crowd to reach the edge of the fight. It wasn't the sight he was anticipating - fearing the worst, now pleasantly surprised (and a little turned on).

Blood was splattered on the linoleum floors, a single streak smeared on the lockers. Jennifer was left on the ground with her back against the metal, sporting a busted lip as Jasmine was trying to coax her to her feet - sporting a ruddy face and disheveled look. Left in the center, to the entertainment of the crowd, was you on top of Brittany Carver, heaving your fist time and again into her face.

"Shit," he breathed, intending to step forward to stop the fight but needing to shove Tommy H. out of his way when he stepped forward.

"C'mon, man! It's a girl fight! Don't break it up!" Tommy begged, but Billy bullied through.

"All right, that's enough," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your middle and heaving you up and back a step - needing to engage his core and arms when you wriggled in an effort to free yourself. "Hey, hey, hey - "

"Lemme go! This bitch needs put in the ground!"

"Jesus Christ, when did you get this strong?" He grunted, your feet slipping on blood but still being restrained by your boyfriend's impressive strength.

"Talk your shit again, bitch!" You barked at Brittany, who was sobbing in pain and curling into herself. "Lemme hear you say another Goddamn word, you'll need more than another nose job! Fake ass, plastic bitch!"

Jason joined the center and knelt at his sister's side, helping her sit up, glaring at you and Billy. Your boyfriend grit his teeth when Jason snarled, "You need to muzzle your bitch, Billy!"

"I'll fuck you up for talkin' about her like that, Carver, don't provoke me. Watch yourself," Billy snapped in warning, successfully managing to get you behind him.

However, you dodged around him with only enough time to spit hatefully on Brittany, warning, "You wanna talk shit, you'll get hit! Don't let me hear you again - don't you ever dare say another word about my mama! I'll put you in the ground, bitch, fucking try me! I dare you! Try me again, say shit about my mama, and see what the fuck I do!"

"All right, all right, you made your point," Billy stiffly told you, pulling you away by force to avoid you actually killing Brittany. He got a look at her injuries, thinking there must've been more than a broken nose from the way her uniform was stained and her entire face bloodied. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here, come with me - c'mon, baby, you can't touch her anymore, you made your point, you'll end up killin' her or some shit," he panted, shoving through the crowd and effectively ending the fight.

Billy didn't let go of your form until finally outside - letting you rip yourself away as your blood boiled, adrenaline making you much stronger. He watched you pace; huffing, puffing, seething, all but gnashing your teeth hatefully. "That fucking bitch had it coming, Bee, it was self defense!" You finally explained.

"Oh, yeah, princess, totally looked like it," he scoffed, blocking the doors in case you tried to go back. He lit another cigarette.

"It was, you condescending asshole!" You snapped, eyes ablaze and anger tangible. "She approached me, she ran her mouth, and she hit me first!"

"Well," he sighed, "whatever the reason, it's not worth jail time for beating her to death."

"Might be."

"Ain't nothing worth throwing your life away," he offered you the cigarette, but you refused. "Why don't you just tell me what happened? What'd she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Billy."

"I think it matters when she looks like she's gonna need a blood transfusion to replenish what she's lost."

"Whatever - let it be a lesson that you shouldn't throw stones if you're scared of a boulder."

Billy sighed, smoke blown from his mouth, "C'mon, doll, tell me what happened?"

"Doesn't matter, it's done, it's over, it's in the past."

"Baby, I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"You can't help, period, Billy! There's nothing you can do!"

"Well, you're not even letting me try!"

"'Cause it's redundant!"

"Obviously not when you look like a raging bull!"

Your eyes rolled, head shaking, "I handled it."

"I saw," he scoffed. "So, 3-on-1? How'd that happen?"

"I told you, they approached me."

"Well, I'm gonna need a little more to go on. C'mon, pretty girl, the fuck just happened? You know you can get suspended!" This made you freeze, muscles clamming up, looking purely petrified as if the thought hadn't occurred to you. "I know you don't want that, but if you talk to me, maybe I can help lessen whatever punishment."

"Oh, whatever, like I care about being punished," you snipped, hands twisting together - telling Billy you were beginning to get anxious.

"I think you do, it'd put you in the house with your mom alone," he trailed, pushing away from the doors to approach you like a baby deer. "C'mon, I know you don't wanna get suspended, so just tell me what happened."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it from your little basketball buddies."

"I don't fucking care!" He snapped with the cigarette trapped and bobbing between his lips, making you look at him in mild shock. "There's gonna be a hundred different rumors, whole fuckin' school watched you beat the shit outta those girls - but I only care about what you have to say."

"There's no point - "

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he growled, snatching the cig between his knuckles, "I just saw three bitches on the ground, all injured, beaten up, bleeding - so stop being so Goddamn stubborn and just tell me! I'm tryna help you!"

"You pulled me off of her, you've helped plenty."

"I'd like to understand how this happened."

"It won't change anything."

"No, it won't, but you have a side to the story. Tell me what went wrong? What happened?"

You sighed, no longer pacing, planting both hands on your hips. Your head shook as Billy tossed the filtered cigarette butt aside, muttering when he exhaled the last of the smoke, "It seems so stupid now."

"Hey," he soothed, crowding into your space and taking one of your hands in his. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wasn't stupid. You're forgetting, I know well enough to understand you wouldn't throw a punch unless absolutely necessary. Whatever got you riled up like that ain't stupid, sweetheart."

Like a glazed donut, your eyes turned glassy. Billy frowned and took your other hand off your hip, forcing your attention on him. "I swear, I didn't start it," you whispered.

"Only matters that you finished it," he smirked. "Tell me, what the fuck was all that?"

You sighed deeply, offering meekly, "Guess they had it comin'..."

"I know they did," Billy chuckled. "Nobody's that stupid to provoke you, except Brittany."

"I was at my locker... They approached and slammed it shut."

"Right, okay..."

"There were words exchanged, but Brittany, she - " You paused, swallowing thickly, "she started talkin' shit about my mom, about, you know, what she does..."

Billy understood instantly. "You fuckin' serious?" He growled, seeing you nod and fill him in on what was said - unable to look him in the eye as you relived your anger. By the end, you were trembling in emotion and adrenaline loss, Billy sighing deeply and yanking you into his chest for a tight embrace. "All right, yeah," he mumbled, "should've put them bitches in the ground."

"And now," you sniffled, "I'm gonna get suspended, forced to stay home with Ma all next week."

"We'll get you outta it."

"Can't, the school doesn't tolerate fighting on school grounds."

"You said she swung first?"

"Technically, yes. I might've - allegedly - prompted her into it."

"It's still selfdefense, toots, no matter what you or anyone said - if she swung first and hit you, you were only defending yourself."

You shrugged, resting on his chest, "You see the damage? Admin won't care who swung first - not when they're beat to shit."

"Yeah, there's my li'l hothead," he smirked, chuckling slightly before pecking the top of your head. "But you gotta admit, it's impressive how you took on all three."

"I guess, doesn't exactly feel like an accomplishment."

"Nah, princess, seriously," he pulled you back to look at him again, "that's fuckin' hot. I mean, they approached you and still got their asses handed to 'em. That's straight skill."

"Or just a lot of anger with nowhere to go," you frowned. "Think I should go find admin?"

"Nah, they'll probably find you - "

The doors opened and your name was called, the principal's secretary waving you to her. "Fuck," you whispered, releasing Billy.

"I'll come with you," he promised, lacing your fingers together when he took your hand. Billy had to admit, it was a little weird being in the principal's office but not being the one in trouble; waiting without patience in a fraying chair, picking at the exposed stuffing with his leg bouncing. He'd been there 45 minutes, skipping the last half of classes, just waiting as you were behind a closed door with the principal, vice principal, and the disciplinary officer.

He looked up when the school nurse lead Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine inside - glaring at them but admiring the scattering of cuts and bruises with dried blood on their precious uniforms. A few minutes later, you were exiting the office with a passive and neutral expression settled on your face. Your lip curled only slightly when you clocked the cheerleaders - hating how smug they all looked - approaching Billy instantly.

"You all right?" He checked, standing and adjusting his jeans.

"Mhm," you nodded, keeping your voice low as the principal called the three cheerleaders into his office. You waited until the door was closed, then informed with a smirk, "I'm not suspended."

"No?"

"Nope," you confirmed. "Apparently, they asked a couple other kids what happened and my story matches theirs. I was minding my business, they came up to me, they started mouthing off, and Brittany was the one who hit me first. So," you shrugged, "guess your idea of selfdefense held strong."

"See? That's good, huh?"

"Yeah," you sighed, nodding absently, "but he said the girls were gonna lose their spot on the cheer squad for this. Listen, I don't think I feel like goin' back to class - kinda just wanna take a nap."

Billy hiked up his jean jacket sleeve, consulting his watch for a moment. "Wanna head to mine? Neil's got the evening shift and Susan has bridge club for a few more hours - we'd be alone."

Your eyes rolled, "No offense, Bee, I don't feel like fucking right now."

"I'm not sayin' that, I'm sayin' let's go nap at mine," he chuckled, picking up your backpack that you forgot about. "We can come back to get your brothers but you know you're not gonna rest if you go home."

You gulped, sighing sadly, "Yeah, well, about that..."

"Something else happen?"

"Apparently... The school has an obligation to call the police if a student reports abuse."

"You reported your mom?"

"Not on purpose," you rushed in defense, "just that... I had to explain what Brittany said to me - so I had to admit what Ma did - or does."

Billy frowned, "Jesus."

"Yeah, so... Maybe going home isn't the smartest idea right now. I wouldn't wanna be there when they conduct their wellness check."

"You wanna stay at mine?" He offered.

"What about Neil?"

"He's a lot nicer with you around," he admitted. "Won't care too much if you stay the night. Plus Max has that club thing after school, then she's going to the arcade; so, she won't need a ride, we can just go."

"You know what? Sure, all right, I'll come to yours," you accepted, your lover boy whisking you away without a second thought. "Thank you, baby."

Your hands were stiff, and when you looked at them, noted split skin and stained blood as a reminder of your aggression... Wondering why the fuck people pushed you to these limits and acted surprised when you reacted? If they wanted a punching bag, they picked the wrong one - but you were willing to remind them.

When you got to the Hargrove residence, you were silent as the grave; stewing in your anger that rolled off you in projected waves. Billy was terribly disarmed, unsure how to properly comfort you - wondering how he would want to be comforted, realizing he'd want to be alone, not subject to anyone's bullshit advice. So, he did what he knew and after handing you a bag of frozen peas for your split knuckles, comfortably stripped and crashed in bed with the window cracked and a rolled joint between his fingers.

You rested on his bare chest, sighing deeply while watching the end of the spliff come to life in a smoldering ember. Billy took the first inhale to make sure it was lit and instantly handed it to you, his arm snug around you and the silence hanging in the air like the swirls of stale, exhaled smoke.

"I'm sorry it got to this point, pretty girl," He offered awkwardly, his other arm bending to prop under his head. Both of you stared off aimlessly, stereo filling the space dully in the background.

"Not your fault," You inhaled and held your breath, handing him the joint. He casually flicked the end in an ashtray resting on the window sill.

"No, but I could've done more."

You chuckled, smoke seeping through your lips and teeth, "Oh, yeah? How? You gonna beat up three girls?"

"Nah but I could beat the shit outta Jason."

"What good would that do?"

"If he didn't want a weekly black eye, Jason would control his sister."

"It's always about control with you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying," he handed the joint back, lungs pinched to hold the smoke, "I could protect you."

"You already do, baby."

"Let me do more, princess."

"You can't fight every battle for me."

"You could let me try."

"You'd be fighting on two fronts," you frowned, exhaling slowly. "Can't fight for me when you're defending yourself against Neil."

"Might be easier to deal with your shit than my own," he chuckled without humor, accepting the spliff. "Look, I know you don't want me involved, but that's kinda what a boyfriend's supposed to do, right? Protect their woman?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Never had a boyfriend before?"

"Nobody was worth dating until you. Nobody could understand me the way you do so effortlessly."

"'Cause we're one and the same, baby girl. You don't have to do everything by yourself," he inhaled, handing the spliff over again, "don't always have t'be strong."

"Ain't no other choice."

"You could let me in more..."

"You're one to talk."

He sighed, smoke billowing. "You're right. Can't expect you to open up if I don't, so why don't we both try to let the other in more? Yeah, I get it, the shit we deal with ain't pretty but at least we understand each other, right? We're the best for each other to lean on."

"I don't wanna drag you into my bullshit, baby."

"I want you to drag me in, princess. I wanna help you."

You sighed, "Well, Brittany and her cronies are getting suspended and kicked off the cheer squad - they'll be looking for reason to take it out on me."

"Say the word, baby, and I'll beat Jason black-and-blue."

"You're so romantic."

"Only for you - so don't tell anyone. I got a reputation to protect."

You both snickered as the weed you indulged in took effect, lulling you two into a state of ease. Your knuckles had stopped burning, resting your injured hand under the frozen peas, reminding yourself to remain grateful in this turbulent period of life because now, you had someone on your team. Someone who wanted to help carry your baggage. Someone without alternate motives. Someone who was willing to withstand the storm in the hope of feeling the warmth of the sun again.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

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gimmeurtmi · 1 year

Text

routine — seungmin

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

tags: getting together, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, dry humping, making out, messing around over clothes, shy!reader turned brave, bestie han for a minute, cheesy ending bc i couldn’t help myself, unspecified relationship

inspo: requested by anon! Humbly requests dry humping with Seungmin👀

notes: some of you might’ve noticed kim seungmin has captured me in his spell. this is the first of many minnie fics i have to write to deal with my feelings. thank you. rbs and feedback are much appreciated 🫶🏻

{ wc: 2462 }

Your routine with Seungmin was quite simple. You’d come over to the dorm when the other boys were busy and get to spend some time alone with him. He usually put something on the TV—a reality contest about singers, but he never watched the episodes chronologically, so singers would disappear and reappear every time you watched another one. Sometimes he’d watch the finale before the auditions.

You thought it was crazy, but the truth was you weren’t there to watch the singing competition with him.

You were there to spend time with your crush.

After watching two episodes he’d order some food (almost always getting you the pork belly you liked) and then you two would eat.

Then you’d talk about things. He’d share the troubles he had at work and you’d share your stresses and then he’d crack a joke or two and then you talked about happier things and without fail, his head would end up in your lap as you played with his wonderful hair.

Once the silence settled around the pair of you, Seungmin would stretch, yawn, and ask you if he could kiss you.

He’d kiss you for a few minutes, softly, and then he’d ask if it was time for you to head home since it was getting late.

The routine was like clockwork.

And like clockwork, Seungmin would ignore the kisses you shared once they were done.

You did complain about the situation to your best friend, Jisung, who sadly was also Seungmin’s best friend. All Jisung had to say was, “but you like him, how is this bad?”

“Because I want more than dinner and some pecks,” you whined.

“Okay. So initiate that,” he shrugged back at you.

“I can’t,” you helpfully explained.

“He’s a coward,” Jisung said simply as he took another spoonful of ice cream, “he’s obviously too scared to start something. So if you want more just do it. What happened to girls can make the first move?”

“Girls can,” you took another bite of the ice cream you were sharing with Jisung, “but I can’t.”

“Then stop complaining.”

“You’re so good at advice, I’m so happy I picked you as my best friend,”

Jisung grinned at you, his cheeks full of ice cream.

“He likes you, he wants to be with you, and with the little schedule you have going on he gets that. Why would he risk it?” Was Jisung actually offering you advice? “If you want more then put on your big girl pants and start something.”

“What I want is to take off my—“

“—no! Don’t wanna hear that!”

You grinned at your best friend before you got back to your ice cream. Perhaps he was right.

Next time you saw Seungmin you decided the only way to get a different result would be to break the routine.

As the first episode of the show started you brought your hand in between your bodies. Slowly, you crawled your pinky across the sofa until it touched his hand.

Seungmin did not react at all.

In fact, he remained frozen for the rest of the contestant's song—only reacting when he rolled his eyes at the judge’s praise.

“That guy is biased,” he started, “that wasn’t a good cover, it sounded like karaoke.”

“You should be a judge on one of these shows,” you said, finally gathering the courage to link your fingers together.

Seungmin hummed.

“Maybe when we disband and I—“

“—Ahhhh la la laa!”

He squeezed your hand, a chuckle on his tongue. “what?”

“You’re not allowed to say that word!”

He laughed, his eyes disappearing under his bangs. “Okay.”

You held hands through the whole episode, Seungmin’s thumb rubbing against your palm in rhythm with the songs playing. You liked that a lot.

And then, after you finished the food and telling him all about your big fight with your mum, his head was in your lap again.

You ran your finger through his hair.

It was quiet.

Only this time you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You had to break the routine. That was the only way. He was going to ask to kiss you and you would say no. You’d say you wanted more. Yes, that was the plan.

“Hey, pretty?” That was different.

You hummed.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Since when do you call me pretty?”

“Since when do you hold my hand?” He asked right back. The hand that wasn’t playing with his hair was resting by his head, and Seungmin had reached out for it and laced your fingers together.

“I dunno,” you mumbled, “I just wanted to.”

“It’s not bad, I like holding your hand,” he looked up at you with a smile, squeezing your hand.

You smiled to yourself, brushing his bangs into his eyes.

“I liked it too,” you said. Seungmin hummed.

The silence took its turn again.

“So.. about that kiss?”

“Oh, uh,” you started.

As soon as something other than ‘yes’ left your lips, Seungmin lifted his head from your lap. He turned to you, eyes wide, waiting for you to say something.

You were still holding hands but one of you had started to sweat and both your palms were now incredibly warm.

“Um, yeah,” you said after a few moments.

“Um, yeah?” He repeated, eyes squinting at you.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” you nodded, “I’m here now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offered, almost getting back into position for Phase Three. But you were ready now for Phase Five.

“No, let’s kiss instead.”

So there went your plan to say no. But maybe you already changed too much today—holding hands was a great start and you can just build more from there.

Seungmin brought his hand to your jaw, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours.

You let his soft lips take control, like you always did, following his lead and asking for nothing more. He pressed his lips against yours once and then twice, and then he pulled away.

Before you even thought of opening your eyes you leaned forward—kissing him again, pulling him back towards you.

Seungmin reacted instantly, bringing his hand to your waist to keep you this close to him.

You moved against each other, your mind taken over by how soft his lips were.

You moved your hand to his jaw, feeling the way it flexed as he opened his mouth, experimentingly moving his tongue against yours. You hummed, brushing your thumb against his cheek.

When you pushed against him more, trying to get him to lay down he pulled away.

His pupils were blown as he looked at you up and down before his eyes settled on your lips.

“We should keep going,” he said, breathing heavily, “we should definitely do more of that.”

“Then why did you stop, Minnie?”

“The boys are gonna be back in like twenty minutes,” he groaned.

“So? That’s a very long time,” you smiled up at him, massaging your fingers against his scalp.

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s not enough time.”

“Enough? For what?” You asked, hopefully.

“I don’t want us to get carried away and for the boys to see you in a position you don’t want to be seen in,” he explained. You didn’t quite understand.

Well, you did. You just wanted him to say it clearly.

“What kind of position?” You kissed his cheek. When he said nothing you kept kissing him, down his jaw, down his neck, settling on a spot that made him sigh.

You sucked on his skin, grinning to yourself when he let out a groan and squeezed your hips in response. You took that as a sign to keep going.

“Pretty,” he sighed softly.

“Yeah?” You mumbled, licking over the now red spot you created.

“Don’t start something I can’t finish.” It sounded like a warning.

“And who said you can’t finish it?”

“Seventeen minutes isn’t enough,” he said simply.

“Do you always count the minutes before you kick me out?” You chuckled at him.

“No,” he countered, making the sound longer, “I count the minutes until I inevitably need to stop so they don’t come in when we’re in the middle of something.”

You shook your head at his logic. “We could just go to your room and close the door, you know.”

Seungmin looked at you with wide eyes.

Instead of saying anything else—because you made your thoughts pretty clear, you’d say—you leaned forward, grabbing his chin and tilting it upwards, enough to allow you to pepper kisses around his skin. His collarbone peaked out from his oversized shirt collar, the perfect place to plant endless kisses like you always wanted to.

When you pulled away from his skin, both his hands were cupping your head, one in your hair and one on your cheek—pulling you back towards his lips eagerly.

He kissed you with an urgency you’ve never felt from him before.

Your tongues moved against each other as the pair of you gasped, Seungmin’s hands pulling your waist even closer to him, practically dragging you over the couch.

“We have twelve minutes, Minnie,” you teased him with a smirk, pulling away slightly to catch your breath.

But he didn’t react to that. Instead, he used the opportunity to kiss down your neck.

“I’m not stopping,” was all he said, biting your skin before he started sucking on it.

“No one told you to stop,” you sighed as a tingle ran down your neck and towards your spine.

Seungmin bit the skin one more time before he faced you again, his lips wet and shiny as he kissed you for a moment.

Then he stood up. His sweats did very little to conceal the way all this affected him, and you felt a heat spread between your legs when he caught you staring at him.

He offered his hand to you and you quickly took it, standing up and following him to his room.

You’ve never been in his room before except for one other time. You were cold and he told you to just grab the first hoodie you see. That took you about three seconds and you never stepped foot in his room again.

Now, Seungmin locked the door behind him.

You easily laid onto the bed, settling yourself on the pillows as Seungmin climbed on top of you.

He rubbed his thumb in circles against your cheek as he smiled at you, licking his lips. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hey,” you smiled back.

“Can I kiss you?”

You giggled at him, rolling your eyes. “Can you please do more than that already?”

His eyes gleamed at you. “Desperate, are we?”

“Like you’re not fully hard right now?” You shot back.

Seungmin laughed, and then rolled his eyes, and before he could say whatever smug retort was on his lips you pushed your hips up and rubbed against his crotch.

He gasped.

“Yeah, what was that?” You smirked at him.

“Shut up,” he dismissed.

You decided he definitely didn’t have any right to tease you, and so you grabbed his hips and pushed him down—his body meeting yours.

His eyes fluttered shut.

You were going to say something cheeky, he knew, so instead he kissed you as you rolled his hips against yours.

Seungmin hadn’t made a move to take any of your clothes off, or his, but his hips were moving against yours in the best way.

At one point you heard the front door open, and Seungmin pulled away from you, but you quickly grabbed his face and ran your tongue across his lips.

“I don’t care that they’re here, just keep going,” you said in between gasps.

He listened, and quickly got back to kissing you as he dragged his body against yours. You moved up to meet his thrusts, moaning into the kiss as he bumped against your sensitive bud.

You were gasping, grabbing at his arms, doing anything you could to get him closer to you.

And he did everything he could to get you to make those beautiful noises again.

He ran his hands all over you, not even sure where to touch first now that he was touching you. He moved from squeezing your thighs to your arms to your waist to running up and down your stomach until he was brave enough to crawl his hand under your shirt and all the way up to your breasts.

You were wearing one of your bralettes today, which made it much easier for him to simply run his thumb against your bra until he got a reaction from you.

You moaned softly as he rubbed your nipple with a smirk.

“What are you getting cocky about?” You asked, breatheless.

“Just… that I can drive you crazy with minimal effort.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna cum from this, if that’s what’s getting you excited,” you said, bucking your hips up involentarily.

“Who said I’m trying to make you cum?”

You whined at his words, and Seungmin had to remind you the boys were home now, so he licked into your mouth again to keep you quiet.

It was fifteen minutes before midnight when Seungmin pulled away, placing his face in your neck and kissing it lightly as you both caught your breaths.

You had no idea you were going for that long, but you knew your panties were ruined from having soaked through them and that there was a stain on the front of Seungmin’s sweats from where he was leaking.

He ran his hands up and down your sides as you both just breathed.

“Do you need to go home?” He asked, like he always does. But this time it sounded more like a child asking if he had to go to bed and stop playing with his favourite friend.

“Maybe in a bit?” You offered.

Seungmin rubbed circles into your stomach where your shirt was scrunched up your middle. He kissed your cheek.

“Don’t want you to go yet, pretty.”

You ran your hand up his back and then down again, matching the pace of his fingers on your skin. “I hate when you go.”

“You’re the one who kicks me out every time,” you smiled.

“Yeah, but I told you why. I need to stop myself because now I don’t want you to ever leave. I just wanna do this for hours.”

“And what makes you think I don’t want to do this for hours, too?”

Seungmin picked his head up, looking at you bewildered. As if you just told him the most magnificent secret. “I’m…. not sure.”

“So…. can we keep doing this for hours?”

Seungmin didn’t answer, instead brought your lips together and kissed you for an undetermined amount of minutes. Or maybe hours.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #all.works #skz x y/n #skz smut #kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x you #seungmin #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #skz fics

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batrachised · 7 months

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An Exploration of Anakin Skywalker and Miss Piggy

(do NOT judge me)

Anakin Skywalker holds the unique position of being one of the most famous fictional characters of all time. Instantly recognizable, the epitome of iconic villainy, he goes beyond beloved character to join the ranks of cultural icons.

Over the past 50 years, countless analyses have been written on Anakin Skywalker and his hero's journey. While virtually every aspect of the character has been explored, one remains critically unexamined: his similarity to another cultural icon, Miss Piggy from the Muppets. While both of their presences in pop culture are nearly ubiquitous, the two have curiously never been associated with each other in the cultural lexicon.

This paper aims to explore Anakin Skywalker's and Miss Piggy's similarities through the lens of their background, their general characteristics, and their relationships. In doing so, it argues that Anakin Skywalker and Miss Piggy share a common basis as people shaped by their rage and their love in equal measure.

Background

When examining Anakin Skywalker and Miss Piggy's backgrounds, the author finds that they share several common beats. Anakin Skywalker grew up on a backwater planet, abused and a victim of a violent system from birth. Irrevocably shaping him forever, it formed the backdrop for his complicated relationship with his mother and his eventual fall into deep evil. Miss Piggy's journey neatly parallels this, as demonstrated in the following quote from Frank Oz:

"She grew up in a small town; her father died when she was young and her mother wasn't that nice to her. She had to enter beauty contests to survive. She has a lot of vulnerability which she has to hide, because of her need to be a superstar"

Both Anakin Skywalker and Miss Piggy had troubled childhoods; both grew up in backwater towns; both had complex relationships with their parents, whether through absent fathers or painful memories of their mother. Both had to use their bodies to survive. In Anakin's case, living as a piece of property who did not own his own body; in Miss Piggy's, falling back on her beauty to participate in systematic objectification. Anakin risks his life in podraces; Miss Piggy stalwartly appears in bacon commercials. Both suffered insecurities as a result of their upbringing: Anakin, forever unsure of his personhood, and Miss Piggy, tied to a mother who never wanted her. Forged in similar fires, Anakin and Miss Piggy's lives show two beings sharpened by their experiences, made especially clear in their characteristics.

Characteristics

Anakin Skywalker and Miss Piggy are primarily defined by need to respond with violence. Miss Piggy is described as conveying a feminine charm - then suddenly flying into violent rages when thwarted. In the Star Wars trilogy, Anakin Skywalker is famed as the dashing Hero with No Fear, while savagely violent when it suits his purposes. Capricious, arrogant, and convinced that they're destined for greatness, both Anakin and Miss Piggy bear the marks of their childhood. After years of being treated as worthless, neither can handle critiques gracefully, although notably Miss Piggy shows herself to be more violent than Anakin in this regard. Pre-Vader Anakin complains; Miss Piggy goes for the kill. Regardless of response, both are convinced nothing will stand in their way.

Additionally, Miss Piggy and Anakin even share a few physical characteristics. Both are burly and physically intimidating compared to the others around them. Both wear gloves that are symbolic; Miss Piggy's, of the image she wants to convey to the world, and Anakin's, of risking being more machine than man. They also both are martial artists. Anakin Skywalker is frequently described as one of the most powerful and dangerous Jedi of his generation, a formidable and cunning warrior; Miss Piggy is famed for her karate chop that sends its target flying across the room.

Most essentially, both are figures of puppetry who still retain their agency. Anakin Skywalker is a victim of forces larger than himself, groomed to be a Sith Lord since childhood, and yet the inevitability of his fall is disproven by his own kindness and heroism preceding it. As with all muppets, Miss Piggy is a puppet but one who, within the story, has a will of her own. She, much like Anakin, makes her choices in the end.

Relationships

Lastly, Anakin Skywalker's and Miss Piggy's relationships mirror each other with similar dimensions. Their relationships are characterized by intensity and undertones of violence. Anakin Skywalker consistently shows an interest in Padme, pursuing her only to be rebuffed; Miss Piggy consistently shows an interest in Kermit, pursuing him only to be rebuffed. After a rocky road in the beginning, both experience rejection until they are rejected in no longer in a whirlwind romance - Anakin, after a respectful acceptance of Padme's wishes, and Miss Piggy, after a dogged pursuit. Once together, the relationships are unstable and dysfunctional. Anakin beats another man in a jealous rage, while Miss Piggy, "when not smothering [Kermit] in kisses...is sending him flying through the air with a karate chop." Both are on and off again with their partners; both are truly in love but struggle to form healthy connections after a childhood of trauma.

Conclusion

As seen above, Miss Piggy and Anakin Skywalker share similarities in background, characteristics, and relationships. While this paper attempts to begin an exploration into these similarities, future work is still needed to fully flesh out their radical extent. This paper did not cover issues such as the two both being incredibly melodramatic, among others, nor how both suffer the consequences of their rage. The author would like to close with a cautionary quote from Friedrich Nietzsche:

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

#when i read sw discourse this is what its like #same level of logic being used #star wars #anakin skywalker #miss piggy #does the ending quote make sense? with one eye squinted #long post

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imgoingtofreakoutnow · 5 months

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we're drunk and in love (but i'd never tell)

Summary: At the Last Light Inn, you and Rolan get to know each other a bit better...

Pairing: Rolan x gn!Tav

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, sexual content (to a certain degree)

Words: 3k

A/N: I had realized I had wrote nothing on Rolan's tail in my previous fics, so I had to fix that. Enjoy <3

Tagging: @tripleyeeet @fictionobsession @elfinbloodbag @adequate-superstar @sapphiccloud (if you don't want to be tagged, or if you want to be added, let me know <3)

\_/

Sitting at a table in a corner of the Last Light Inn, you and the rest of your party have managed to drink an incredible amount of alcohol. The pile of empty mugs and bottles stands perilously on the unsteady wooden table and some of them have even crashed onto the floor, littering it with pieces of broken glass and sticky remains of booze.

Karlach and Gale are somehow still drinking, caught up in a game of their own of which you don’t know the rules but that Astarion seems quite too eager to referee. It’s quite entertaining: the tiefling, barely even tipsy with the biggest mug of ale you’ve ever seen in her hand, and the wizard, muttering something unintelligible in his drunken haze, a bottle of wine tightly held in his grip which, despite his complaints about the cheap taste, keeps meeting his lips every few minutes. Mostly whenever Astarion reminds him that the game is still on, with that mischievous smirk of his cutting his face.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel have quietly opted out from the drinking game, but have instead entered a staring contest filled with insults going from one end to the other and back. Wyll, sitting in front of them, tries to ease the tension as best he can, with no other result than finding himself at the end of some drunken — and not too subtle — threats from the both of them.

Despite the nearby amusement, your eyes keep drifting away from your companions further into the Inn; precisely, to the spot next to the counter where Rolan is leaning against as he chuckles at Cal and Lia’s drunken shenanigans. You can’t help but focus on the crow’s feet appearing around his eyes and the way his features soften everytime he looks at his siblings, hiding his smile behind his pint.

Every once in a while, when his siblings are too busy bickering with each other, Rolan’s gaze also wanders around the room, skimming the clientèle quickly before stopping on you. Everytime he does, your eyes meet as if they’ve been searching for each other all night, lingering for as long as they can before Cal and Lia demand Rolan’s attention back to them, or someone in your group calls for your opinion for whatever silly question has crossed their minds.

“Hey soldier!”

With a quiet sigh, you move your gaze from Rolan’s and turn to Karlach. You immediately notice the smirk on her face — mirroring Astarion’s — as she rests her head on her closed fist. “Fancying someone, aren’t we?”

You roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink as she and the vampire chuckle at your ever so slight embarrassment. “You should really care about your own personal life.”

“I’d truly rather not think about it,” Astarion hums, stealing Gale’s bottle and taking a sip. “Besides… this,” — he says as his fingers move between you and Rolan — “is much more fun.”

“Ch’k. And pathetic.”

Turning to your side, you find Lae’zel staring at you, spine straight as a mountain and arms crossed on her chest. She would look even more intimidating if it weren’t for Shadowheart sleeping on her shoulder.

“If you want him, go and take this ridiculous pining far away from me.”

“Wow. Really?”

“You know I’m nothing short of a romantic,” Wyll starts, kind and sympathetic as ever, although his smile trembles as he continues, “however, I must admit this is quite unbearable to watch.”

“Thanks for your honesty, Wyll.”

“He does have a point,” Karlach nods before smiling and winking at you, “and I’m sure the tiefling would be more than happy to get railed by you ‘til dawn.”

“Yeah, I-” — you pass a hand over your face, your cheeks burning as many filthy thoughts start filling your brain — “I got that, Karlach. Thanks.”

“Oh, don't be so awkward about it,” the barbarian roars as her laughter almost makes the table shake, “you also deserve some good-”

You stand up, way too quickly given how much you’ve drunk until now. Your head swirls for a moment before it settles back down.

“I’m leaving. And you should all get back to camp.” Your eyes move to Gale as he’s sleeping with his cheek squished against the table, his face flushed by all the alcohol. “Especially him. And Astarion, stop giving him the wine.”

The vampire, who had just handed the wizard his bottle back, takes it away once again with a smirk and drinks another sip from it, earning a disgruntled groan from the drunken man next to him.

You sigh, downing what remains of your ale before piling the mug with the others on the table. “Try not to die while I’m gone.”

As you walk off, you hear a loud clapping, accompanied by some whistling. You take a deep breath as you rub your eyes, trying to ignore the attention that your companions cheering has brought down on you. You suddenly remember the poison vile in your bags… mixing the deadly content in Gale's stew has never seemed such a good idea.

“What was that about?”

Stepping closer to the counter, you turn to Lia, her questioning eyebrows raised mostly with amusement than actual curiosity.

“Just a drunken bet,” you lie, leaning on the wooden surface and sliding until your elbow doesn't meet Rolan's. Even if he notices your not too subtle maneuver, he doesn't move away.

“I love bets!”

Cal’s speech is slurred by the alcohol as he speaks. He tries to take a step forward but helplessly stumbles back, leaning against his sister for stability. Lia rolls her eyes and sighs in resignation but doesn't move away.

“What did you bet on?” she asks again, taking a sip of ale.

Despite the drunken haze blurring your mind, you notice her gaze has suddenly sharpened. There's a glint of mischief behind her eyes, as if she's already seen through your true intentions and is simply wanting to tease you about it. You wouldn't put it past her — especially if it were made to get a reaction out of Rolan — and, normally, you would never indulge in her teasing.

Normally.

It's been a while since things have been nothing but abnormal. And there's a way too abnormal amount of ale running through your veins for you to hide the desire you feel for that sarcastic tiefling.

“We were merely wondering if I could manage another kind word from the snarky wizard,” you shrug, turning towards Rolan with a smirk as you lean — ever so slightly — more into him. “After all, I think I've deserved it.”

The tiefling next to you scoffs, chuckling softly as he takes a sip of his mug before meeting your half-lidded gaze with his own. “I've thanked you once already.” He leans closer, his face stopping a few inches away. “Don't be greedy.”

A teasing smile pulls his lips on that last word, contradicting that last word as the tiefling keeps staring, his eyes darting to your mouth and then back to your gaze, almost daring you to press your mouth against his and savor the lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue. An invitation you’d gladly take on, if Lia’s gaze wasn’t still piercing through your right temple.

“Perhaps,” you utter softly, tapping your fingers on his arm. “I want something different than your gratitude.”

Rolan raises his eyebrows, his pupils widening as he looks at you. Despite the surprise painted in his eyes, his smirk doesn't quiver once.

“The ale makes you quite bold.”

As your hand moves up and down his forearm, you lean closer to him, until you're whispering into his ear. “If you like that, I could be even bolder, away from prying eyes.”

When you pull away, the smirk has left the tiefling's face. His cheeks, already flushed because of the cheap booze, are the same shade of red as the blood running through his veins — perhaps even darker. You chuckle lightly at his dumbfounded expression, the back of your fingers brushing against his scorching skin before you walk past him. You sway ever so slightly towards the stairs that bring upstairs, stopping just before the first step and leaning against the wall. Waiting.

“Lia.”

The summoned tiefling turns to her brother, whose gaze is still focused on you and your smirking face. “If you could leave the room to us for… an hour or so,” Rolan continues, his words stumbling over one another. “I- we need to discuss some important business,” — he nods to himself — “magic… wizard-y business.”

“Yeah,” she hums while swirling the remaining contents of her drink, a grin on her face. “I bet your dick has a lot of unfinished business with that ass.”

“Lia!”

His whisper is so loud that for a moment it seems to bring back to the present moment even Cal. His head, however, falls soon back onto his sister’s shoulder. Chuckling devilishly, Lia downs her ale and asks with a wave to the innkeeper for another one.

“I’ll give you two hours,” she agrees, cocking her eyebrows. “But you’re paying for the ale.”

Rolan rolls his eyes. “As always.”

“And tomorrow you’ll take care of this.”

She points with a nod to Cal, once again asleep and drooling all over her shirt as his snoring grows by the minute — a loud omen of how insufferable he will be the next day, complaining about his hangover. Rolan takes a deep breath before huffing it out, frustrated but unable to quarrel, given that you’re still waiting for him.

“Fine! I will do my due.” He turns to leave but stops, facing Lia for another moment as he gently squeezes her arm. “Thank you, sister.”

“Just remember this when I’ll need some business time of my own,” she screams at his turned back, but she might as well be talking to a wall. Rolan’s attention has left her and Cal, focusing completely on you and the way your figure is still leaning against the wooden, dirty wall.

As he steps closer, your brain finally catches on to what's going to happen in a handful of minutes and you can’t help the way your heartbeat quickens at the mere thought. You had often considered the possibility, fantasizing about the tiefling before going to sleep. They were simple dreams, delusions really, a way to ease the struggles of the day with a gentle thought to yourself. But there’s no time left for the fantasy: Rolan’s standing in front of you now, with his blood coloring his cheeks and his hand — real as the flesh and bones that’s made of — stretched towards you.

“Come. I’ll show you my room.”

You take it with a smirk, rubbing your thumb on his fingers when they close around yours. “Who’s the bold one now?”

He remains quiet as he pulls you with him into the stairwell. You leave behind the light of the tavern, stepping into a darkness so sudden that it blinds you. In the time that it takes to regain your sight, Rolan’s hands slither to your waist. You hold your breath as they gently guide you backwards until your back meets the wall. You don’t even see the tiefling’s face getting near yours, you simply feel his warm breath dancing on your lips and sending shivers down your spine.

There’s a pause, a moment of stillness as you both get adjusted to the novel closeness, to the warmth that spreads between your clothed bodies and the heaviness of his hands and legs, pressed against and between yours. Rolan doesn’t move back, giving away none of the inches he’s gained towards you, but he doesn’t even close the distance that separates the two of you, leaving you in a limbo of desire that’s slowly driving you crazy by the second.

You nudge your nose against his, smirking when you feel his breath catching in his throat. “What are you waiting for, wizard? A written invitation?”

The question still rings in your mouth when Rolan shuts it with his own lips. They simply press on yours at first, sitting awkwardly on top of each other like all first kisses turn out to be. Then you move, opening and closing your lips onto his bottom one as you've pictured so many times in your dreams, and the dance begins. A dance made of drunken mouths and tongues desperately looking for one another, for a momentary pleasure, and perhaps for something more than a fire that extinguishes in the span of one night.

With all your attention focused on the way his teeth teasingly graze your jaw, you almost forget his hands; that is until they grab your ass and pull you even closer against him. Your fingers dig into his arm as you whimper ever so softly, mentally cursing the leather and clothes separating his bare skin from your touch.

A second later, it all disappears.

His mouth. His hands. The painful and blessed heat rushing through you. Completely gone.

You open your eyes to find Rolan staring at you, his golden irises piercing through the darkness like a lighthouse in a moonless night.

“Come now,” he whispers, a quiet order that you’re more than happy to comply with.

He slides his hand back into your grip and you follow him as he guides you up the stairs. You’re unsure how — despite the alcohol that's flowing and clouding both your brains — you manage to climb the two stories without faults or stumbles; what you know for certain is that the second the door closes behind the tiefling, your hands are pulling him back in before he can utter a single word.

Your mouth sloppily moves on his with the hunger of a starving wolf. With your fingers stroking and pulling his air, you drink in the soft moans that escape his lips — coal to feed the fire that burns within. His hands go back to your hips, squeezing them before his fingertips make their way under your shirt. The grazing touch of his claws on your bare skin is enough to make you gasp.

“Losing your breath for so little, my hero?”

As his whisper and the shivers caused by it linger on your skin, you grab him by the collar. You can feel him swallow as you do, his throat brushing against your knuckles.

“When I’m done with you,” you hum softly, taking a few steps back and dragging him to the bed, “you’ll be lucky if you still remember your name.”

You're not used to giving — or receiving — this kind of gentleness: your hands always find themselves more at ease when covered in blood than wrapped in the gentle hold of a lover. Yet, this softness seems to spring naturally from you as your fingertips inch tentatively along his bare skin, patiently tracing the shape of his bones and muscles instead of devouring every inch of flesh in sight. Despite your newfound care, his chest trembles under your touch, his shaky breath mixing with a soft whimper when you climb in his lap, legs spread and knees pointed on either side of him.

With his face even more flushed than ever, Rolan opens his mouth. Whatever thought crosses his glowing eyes, nothing leaves his lips other than a breathless sigh as he silently and wide-eyed stares at you. Chuckling softly, you turn him around and sit him down on the consumed mattress of the inn. You undo his belt and the knots of his leather bracers, despite the alcoholic numbness slowing your fingers down, before messily helping him out his light armor and tunic.

“You look scared.” You drag your fingers along his jaw before settling them on his burning cheek, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “We can stop here, if you want. It's been a lot of fun already.”

Rolan chuckles quietly but his eyes don't leave yours. “I'm many things right now. Drunk, mostly. In utter awe of your beauty, most definitely. But frightened?” — he holds his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly — “How could I be afraid of something I desire so deeply?”

“And doesn’t that scare you?”

“Wanting?”

“No,” you mutter softly, your thumb digging deeper into his skin. “Not wanting.”

Since you’ve been old enough to recognize it, you’ve known the thrill that desire can set alight within you and others. You’ve cherished it deeply, abused it at times and chastised yourself for it afterwards. Because where there’s wanting — where affection and love and attachment grow stronger — the looming threat of losing’s always following closely behind. You’ve witnessed that pain, tested out on your own skin, and it never left you. It’s constantly with you, a sleeping presence that lives in the back of your mind, awaking like clockwork at the slightest hint of closeness and intimacy and filling your head with dark whispers that always manage to draw you away. From what was left of your family. From friends, lovers and anyone else you’ve ever cared about.

Even now its honeyed whispers stick to your ears, a reminder that despite the rush flowing through your veins — despite the kindness that spills from your heart, this will be one of the many nights spent with a stranger in a dirty inn in the middle of nowhere. After all, you might’ve met before and bickered like an old married couple before parting ways, you might’ve thought endlessly about his hands roaming your naked body every night you were apart and you might want him just as much as he wants you, but Rolan remains nothing but a stranger.

“Then what-”

The tiefling’s words are lost in your mouth. The same gentleness from before spreads from your lips as you softly push yourself more into him until he’s laying down on the covers. His hands glide along your legs as his tail also wraps around one of them, with its pointy end brushing along your inner thigh. You can't help the sighs full of pleasure that slip through your kisses while that involuntary response continues to tease you. Or the way your insides seem to stir at Rolan's moan when you gently squeeze the bulge in his pants.

“Just relax, wizard.” You linger once again on his lips, a smirk pulling your mouth when you move away. “I'll take care of it. Then if you want, you can return the favor.”

He nods with a mischievous smile. “I’d be delighted to.”

As you keep kissing, slowly getting to his waist, you feel his muscles relax more and more under your touch. His breathing slows, getting more and more regular by the minute. Too regular in a way, unwavering even when your hands start pulling down his pants.

Chuckling lightly, you kiss him again, deeper this time. You move to his jaw, then lower, leaving a trail of spit and sloppy kisses from his neck to his chest. When you look up at him, he’s closed his eyes while his head rests on the mattress, mouth slightly open and lips shaking every once in a while whenever your tongue laps over a sensitive spot. Everytime you feel his chest tremble, you stop and torture that part of his skin, revelling in his quiet — and not so quiet — whimpers.

Another noise escapes his lips seconds later, a vibration that shakes his entire body and stops your movements on the spot.

“Are you kidding me…”

Rolan’s sleeping. You poke him in the abdomen with a finger but he doesn’t even flinch. You’ve definitely underestimated the amount of alcohol he’s managed to drink, or simply his resistance to it.

It would feel almost insulting, falling asleep like that with you about to give him head, if only he didn’t look so peaceful.

“You’re lucky you're cute,” you whisper with a pout as you get off him, ready to go back to camp and take care of your arousal in your own tent. However, as soon as you try to take a step from the bed, something pulls you back. Lowering your gaze, you find Rolan’s tail still wrapped around your leg.

“Really?”

You tap gently on it, pulling it to loosen its grip around you, but your maneuvers only make the tail tighten more. Sighing heavily, you consider every option that could aid your silent exit, but there isn’t one in which you don’t wake the wizard up. Then, as the weariness and alcohol start to take over your tired limbs, you consider staying. Not leaving, for once. Daring to want something more, something that lasts longer than a night. Maybe something that could last forever.

The mere thought awakes the dark presence in your mind. It’s louder than normal, ringing in your head like the most annoying headache. You push your hands into your eyes, rubbing quickly to soothe away the pain but to no avail. Normally at this point, with the reminder of the pain of losing so close, you’d be running away without thinking of anyone but yourself, selfishly guarding your heart like the frailest of glass sculptures.

However, once again, there’s nothing normal in your life lately.

Ignoring the shadowy voice that’s now screaming in the back of your head, you slip in bed with Rolan, snuggling next to him in the small space left. As soon as the mattress tilts under your weight, the tiefling turns towards you, his face resting so close that his nose brushes against yours with every breath.

You stare at him for a long time, taking in every detail in his face until the candle in the room runs out. Even when the shadows have wrapped you in their arms, your eyes keep searching for him in the dark. The longer you look at him — at the way his lips curl or the few scattered freckles on his cheeks and nose, the quieter the voice in your head gets.

When the door opens again and Lia and Cal step in, you’re still awake, still studying his features — the voice is a mere whisper. You hear Lia mutter something to herself, probably about the fact that you’re still there, but her voice is soon replaced with the sounds of regular breathing and soft snoring. It doesn’t take long after that for you to also give in to the pull of sleep.

However, before you shut your brain off, you let your hand slip in his hold. The last thing you feel before Selûne welcomes you in her realm is Rolan squeezing your hand.

#rolan x tav #rolan x reader #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fic #annie writes

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crystallinestars · 4 months

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Winter and Christmas HCs

Little HCs on how Kaveh, Alhaitham, Albedo, and Childe spend the Christmas season with you. I might make a part 2 with other boys if people like this.

(Apologies is anything sounds a bit weird. I wrote this while running a fever, so I can't tell if something sounds off)

Kaveh

🍷 Likes the Christmas season because it gives him an excuse to decorate your house and make it look beautiful. Kaveh enjoys decorating the house and Christmas tree together with you because, to him, it's a bonding activity where your hard work can result in something beautiful, which greatly appeals to him.

He goes all out hanging garlands, lights, and paper snowflakes inside your home and also sets up miniature Christmas trees both indoors and outdoors. He pays careful attention to both the exterior and interior of the home, bedecking it with so many decorations that you don’t know how you’ll store all of it once Spring arrives. Helping him set everything up takes a majority of the day, but you have to admit that Kaveh has a good eye for aesthetics because your house looks like something out of a fairy tale.

Kaveh will shower you with praises once you finish setting everything up, but he expects you to compliment his efforts in return. He simply wants recognition for his work, and he values your opinion on whether or not you genuinely like how he decorated the house.

🍷 Is full of Christmas spirit. Gives to charities, goes window shopping with you, and gushes to you about all the beautiful scenery you can find around shops during this time of year. He also enjoys going on short walks with you to admire the winter landscape even if he complains about the cold later. He’s absolutely enamored with how magical this time of year feels.

🍷 He is a master at building gingerbread houses. Rather than buying a kit from the store, Kaveh opts to design and bake his own. Building a gingerbread house is in some ways similar to his work as an architect, so designing one costs him very little effort. Baking isn’t Kaveh’s strongest suit though he’s decent at it, but if you are a better baker than him, the architect will greatly appreciate your help in making the dough for him. Getting all the necessary materials, Kaveh spends hours painstakingly cutting pieces of the house and baking them in the oven.

You don’t interfere with his creative process, knowing that your craftsmanship is nowhere near as precise as his, and your help would most likely result in Kaveh needing to fix your mistakes. Instead, you keep him company while he assembles the gingerbread house, chatting with him and getting him to take breaks to eat because he tends to get too wrapped up in his work. Kaveh won’t tell you, but he genuinely appreciates your company because it makes him less lonely.

The gingerbread house takes a few days to construct, but the final result is well worth the effort. The house looks magical. For a house made out of candy, it looks surprisingly realistic and grand, and it makes you feel guilty at the mere thought of eating and destroying such a delicate work of art. If you look closer, you’ll notice two little gingerbread people holding hands next to the entrance of the house. One looks like Kaveh while the other resembles you.

🍷 Kaveh is also a master at making snowmen. I’m sorry, but his snowmen will blow yours out of the water. He doesn’t settle for simply stacking three spheres together, jamming some sticks and a carrot, and then calling it a day. No, Kaveh spends hours collecting snow and constructing a beautiful snow sculpture that could honestly win a contest if he chose to enter one.

Out of all the ones he makes, his favorite one is of you. He spent way too much time making your sculpture as accurate to the real you as he could, and even added some artistic flourish (flowers, extravagant clothing, accessories etc) to enhance your beauty. His sculptures draw the attention of many passersby, especially children. Will probably get roped into teaching children how to make these sculptures because the little kids want to learn how to make them too.

🍷 He catches colds easily. If he sees you without a hat or scarf, he will take off his own scarf/hat and put it on you while scolding you for not dressing warmly because you could catch a cold. He also gives you his gloves if you don’t have any on you, and is prepared to give you the clothes on his back if you’re still cold. He ends up catching a cold himself instead. Kaveh feels embarrassed by this turn of events and won’t let you care for him at first, but please nurse him back to health. He’s not great at taking care of his health and will almost cry from how loved he feels if you take care of him when he’s at his most vulnerable.

🍷 Is too broke to afford the presents he wants to give you and his friends. Despite his efforts to save up money for Christmas shopping, it’s still not enough, so he makes your present himself. He’s very nifty with his hands so he makes you a little trinket or gadget that both looks pretty and serves a practical purpose that you can make use of in your daily life.

🍷 Likes trying out limited-time Christmas teas and hot chocolates with you to determine which ones taste the best so he can give some to his friends as gifts. Also enjoys making Christmas-themed latte art for you and is very good at it.

Alhaitham

🎧 Doesn’t decorate the house because he can’t be bothered and sees it as a meaningless endeavor. If you want to decorate it, he won’t stop you, though don’t expect him to help (so he tells you). However, if you ask him to help you put up a decoration someplace that’s too high for you to reach, he’ll sigh and come over and do as you ask. For all his indifference towards the holiday season and all it entails, Alhaitham has a soft spot for you and will still help you if it makes you happy. Unfortunately, his nature simply doesn’t allow him to resist the urge to provide critique on the placement of certain decorations if he thinks they’re in a bad spot.

🎧 Has practically zero Christmas spirit. He doesn’t want to build snowmen, won’t bother with gingerbread houses, won’t even look in the direction of all the Christmas-themed mugs/candles/clothes/other junk that serves very little purpose. He knows it’s all just a corporate scheme to get money out of people, however, he actively uses any mugs or sweaters you give to him as a gift. He may say there was no need for you to do any of this, but he does treasure the things you give him and takes better care of them than most other things in his house.

🎧 Among all Christmas-related activities, Alhaitham enjoys reading with you by the fireplace the most. The fire provides enough light for him to read comfortably, and snuggling with you under a warm blanket on the couch while listening to the crackle of the logs creates a nice ambiance that he enjoys. Bonus points if you have a mug of tea or coffee somewhere nearby for the two of you to enjoy while you read.

🎧 He’s not the most creative when it comes to giving gifts. He’s the type to not know what to give someone if the person already has everything they need, so he relies on you to help him shop for presents. It’s easier to fight the crowds with two people instead of one when it comes to getting items before they’re all snatched up, plus leaving the responsibility of picking presents to you absolves him of the need to worry about what to get his friends. Don’t worry, Alhaitham will assist you with the decision-making process by providing his two cents about each gift you pick until you both settle on something you think is good.

He hates shopping during this season because of how loud and crowded it gets, so Alhaitham develops a tendency to hold your hand so you won’t get separated in the throng of people.

Like the slacker he is, Alhaitham also relies on you to wrap up the presents because his initial decision is to simply place them in a bag and call it a day. He’s just not into arts and crafts.

🎧 If Haitham notices you rubbing your hands together from the cold, he will take one of your hands in his and place them in the pocket of his jacket to keep them warm.

🎧 Has a sharp eye and quickly notices if you own worn-out winter clothes or don’t have things like hats, scarves, or gloves. He’ll buy you a high-quality version to replace it, sparing no expense at getting you something durable that will last a long time while also keeping you warm. It’s worth the money, in his opinion. Since he believes in giving practical gifts, expect a brand-new winter jacket/boots/gloves to be given to you as a present from him. That, or a book on your hobbies.

Albedo

🧪 Doesn’t fully understand the hype behind Christmas but joins in on the festivities for the sake of garnering new experiences and trying to determine what people like about it so much. He does end up liking the holiday and winter season in general, albeit not for personal reasons. He finds it adorable to watch Klee and you enjoy the snow, build gingerbread houses, and build snowmen together. He helps to improve your gingerbread house/snowman making by giving a few pointers here and there but otherwise lets you two make them how you want. Albedo finds value in other people’s ideas and thus wants you to have the freedom to express yourselves how you like.

🧪 Wants to try Christmas-related activities, one of which is kissing under a mistletoe. He finds the concept amusing but first makes sure you are on board with the idea. If you are, expect mistletoe to appear in your shared home one day. It’ll be hung above the dining table, the main entrance, and above his work desk. His goal is to get kisses from you before you share a meal together, when you leave or enter your home, and when you bring him tea when he’s working at his desk. Albedo loves it if you become flustered when spotting the mistletoe at first. Your bashful expression gets a soft chuckle out of him before he leans in for a kiss.

🧪 Albedo likes the winter landscape. There’s something so pristine about the white snow blanketing the world and muting all sound. He spends quite a bit of his free time painting the winter landscapes. Once in a while, purely for fun, he makes a painting of you and Klee playing in the snow. The memory of watching you two building Jumpy Dumpty out of snow still makes him smile.

🧪 One of his favorite Christmas-related activities to do with you is trying to concoct Christmas-flavored teas and sweets. He experiments with classic flavors like peppermint, gingerbread, cinnamon, and eggnog among others, and tries to come up with unique flavors by combining several of them. You tend to be his guinea pig during these experiments, and while a few of the results end up being misses, the majority you actually end up liking. It becomes a tradition for Albedo to make you your favorite blend of tea or cookie recipe of his own creation during this season.

🧪 Makes your present himself. As an alchemist, he can make a lot of unusual and unique things, but he settles for more simple things like creating a body wash with a scent you like and that also works wonders for your skin, or giving you a rare plant if you’re into botany, or specially designed gloves that keep your fingers warm no matter how cold it gets. The presents he makes aren’t anything extravagant, but they’re chosen with thought and care. Albedo also helps Klee make a fancy card to give you for Christmas and helps her make a present for you too which ends up being a Jumpy Dumpty plush similar to her own.

🧪 If Albedo notices you’re cold, he’ll give you some of his own clothes to try and keep you warm, such as wrapping his scarf around your neck or giving you his hat. He’ll gently remind you to dress warmer for the winter weather. If you still end up getting sick, he’ll take care of you until you’re all better.

Childe

🐋 Having grown up in a snowy country, Childe is used to dealing with a variety of problems that snow can bring, and even has a fondness for it because it reminds him of his home and family. He enjoys going on walks to admire the winter scenery and gets you to tag along with him. He tells you lots of stories of how he and his siblings used to play in the snow and the shenanigans they got up to.

If you’re the type to get cold easily, Childe will readily give you his winter clothes to warm you up. The cold doesn’t bother him as much as it does you, plus he rarely gets sick, so he can get away with losing a few pieces of clothes to give you. Not that you’re complaining. His winter clothes keep you warm better than anything you ever owned, plus they smelled like him in a comforting sort of way.

🐋 Loves to engage in snowball fights with his siblings, and moreso when you join in on the fun. Him and you getting chased by his three younger siblings who toss snowballs at you. Though the children are a bit clumsy and rarely hit either you or him, Childe still lets them win the game on purpose so the little ones can feel good about themselves. He only asks that you play along and let his siblings win, and feels a surge of love towards you when you do.

Childe likes playing in the snow with his siblings in general. Making snow angels, building funny-looking snowmen, and constructing snow forts are just some of the things they all do together as a family. His siblings like to include you in their activities and try to make you feel like a part of their group.

🐋 Childe likes to bring you along on his ice fishing trips if it’s something that you’re interested in doing with him. He’ll teach you all about cutting through the ice, how to operate a fishing rod, and what to look for while fishing. Though he tends to ice fish alone so he has some quiet time to reflect on himself, he also likes fishing together with you as a bonding activity. He doesn’t make fun of you if you fail to reel in a catch, simply giving you some pointers on what you can do to improve your chances next time.

🐋 To Childe, Christmas means spending time with family. Every year, he always makes an effort to celebrate the holiday together with his family, and after getting into a relationship with him, you become a part of his family celebrations, as well. His family welcomes you with open arms and teaches you about their culture’s unique customs and dishes when it comes to celebrating the holiday. You are urged to try new dishes, participate in festive activities, and help convince the children that Santa is real when their father comes in dressed in the costume of one. Even if you feel a bit awkward about celebrating together with his family, Childe appreciates you a lot for taking the chance. To him, three things are most important in his life: self-improvement, his family, and you. Seeing you get along ith his family makes him really happy.

🐋 His main goal when choosing presents is picking something you’ll like. The secondary goal is picking something that will impress you. As such, he doesn’t limit himself when buying you a gift. If you’re into clothing, he’ll buy you a ton of high-quality, high-end fashion that costs a crazy amount of money. If you’re more into artsy interests, he’ll buy you the most expensive art tools and supplies on the market so your art won’t be limited by money. If you like sports, he buys all kinds of fancy gadgets to make working out easier for you. He buys the best that his money can afford without really questioning it because he believes you deserve only the best.

🐋 Mistletoe isn’t a part of his culture, but he finds the idea of it quite fun. He definitely wants to try it with you and will go as far as carrying a branch of it in his pocket and whipping it out to hold above your heads whenever he wants a kiss from you. Kissing whenever you two accidentally meet under a mistletoe is all well and good, but he thinks it’s more fun to get kisses out of you this way whenever he wants. You might have to snatch the mistletoe away from him because he can get too carried away with constantly pestering you for more kisses. He just can’t get enough of your lips.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #albedo x reader #genshin fluff

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lesinquietes · 3 months

Text

Summary: You’re trying to recover from what happened, but it’s hard to forget; especially when you know he’ll be back for you one day. Your commutes home have never been so stressful.

Mean!Yandere!Shigaraki x Bimbo!Reader

⚠️ mdni. a splash of horror. dark content. degradation. exhibitionism. fingering. incel. misogyny. noncon. sexism. thoughts of death and dying. victim-blaming. voyeurism. yandere.

Previous l

You go straight to the cops upon fleeing from Shigaraki. You understand why he let you escape when the officers stifle chuckles. You don’t have anything but your word to support the bold accusation that the leader of the Paranormal Liberation Front is trying to rape you. Saying it aloud sounds more ridiculous than the way it echoes in your thoughts.

You check the forum. Crumbleking’s post was deleted days ago. The account he used is gone, too. Your Instagram yielded similar results.

At the very least, they believe that someone entered your apartment and assaulted you. His identity being Tomura Shigaraki is highly contested. They send someone over to investigate your home. Much to your chagrin, the officer returns with a clean report. According to his examination, nothing in the space was disturbed. There was no sign of a break and enter.

It’s funny. When you stumbled towards the window, desperate for safety, you recall knocking over a table and shattering the vase. If nothing was disturbed, did your assailant clean up the mess…?

You ration that he had to have, and your heart almost stops. He’s ballsy for that one. You suppose he’s confident in his plan to enact revenge on you. He considers himself invincible, and he damn well might be. But everyone has a weakness.

You’re not stupid enough to think this is over. You aren’t keen to relax now that you’ve alerted the authorities. Will the cops who laughed at you rush to your aid when he inevitably returns for a second try? Doubtful. You’re responsible for protecting yourself.

You submit a police report anyway. They don’t include a name for the suspect because they don’t buy your allegation. It’s enough to simply have the document on file.

You don’t return to your apartment that evening — at least, not by yourself. You explain what happened to a friend. She lives in a beautiful, isolated rural area, about an hour out of town; nevertheless, upon hearing your bad news she drives all the way to pick you up at the station. A stoic, shivering mess, she works to reassure you. Nothing works. Nothing is helpful. She takes you back to her house after grabbing some essentials at your place.

Entering your space felt foreign and uncomfortable. You found yourself jumping at the slightest creak. Nothing was familiar. And you were correct about the vase — someone cleaned it up.

The days following your attack involve negotiating a lease break with your landlord. Fortunately, you’ve lived here long enough to establish a solid rapport with him. He keeps your deposit for last month’s rent and permits you to leave by the end of the week. You do so discreetly.

Gradually, you transport your essentials into your car. On the last day of your lease, you hire movers to bring your larger furniture to a storage unit. You promise your friend it’ll only be for a few weeks, and you mean that — for her sake. Although she comprehends the risks, she still agreed to help you; nonetheless, you don’t believe she’ll be spared if Shigaraki discovers your location.

You quit your job. A new one isn’t difficult to find. It’s in a different city. If all goes well, you figure you’ll move into a nearby apartment and lay low.

The next week or so is quiet. You maintain awareness of your surroundings but nothing happens. It’s as though he’s biding his time… or maybe witnessing you walking on eggshells is precisely what he wants.

Shigaraki is a busy man. He doesn’t have the energy to spend haunting you, a civilian who once talked shit about him online. There are bigger fish to fry. According to him, he gets enough women at home, anyway. It’s likely that you’ll never see him again.

Oh, you poor, naive woman; so willing to believe the logical lies your nervous brain feeds you.

It’s six o’clock in the evening, two weeks after your encounter with the dust villain. You stand on the subway terminal and glare down the tracks. There are a few other people there with you. No one you recognize.

To get to your friend’s residence, you have to take the 2216 train to the very end, walk for fifteen minutes, and catch the bus. It’s a dreadful commute. You’re saving up to buy a used car. But until then, you’ll just have to deal with the time vampirism that comes with sneaking around.

Five minutes into your gruelling wait, the train squeals into the terminal, dim yellow lights flickering as it grinds to a jittery halt. Its doors jerk open with a soft ding. You enter the cabin. As usual, it’s crowded at this time of night. Everyone else is commuting home, too. They get on at the station right before yours, taking up all the seats and more than half the standing space.

You walk down a bit and stand between two men conversing with seated passengers. There’s a group of stylish women next to you, chattering eagerly about their evening plans, and a few scattered friends on the opposite side, dazed and distracted after a long work day. It’s compact, but not uncomfortable yet.

Your hand dips into your pocket. When your fingers don’t find what they’re looking for, you grimace. No earbuds. Great. You must have forgotten them at work.

The train stops at another terminal. More people shuffle on board. The trip commences.

You close your eyes and meditate. Honing in on your breathing, you feel the air entering and leaving your lungs. The sensation is serene. You sigh gingerly as the background noise lessens a bit. Sadly, your peace doesn’t last for long.

Something swipes across your butt. Your spine grows rigid. Accidents happen on packed subways, but that? That didn’t feel like a mistake. You hold your breath as you wait, positive your assailant will make a second move. He doesn’t keep you in suspense for long.

He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing the flesh tightly. You gasp. A swift, gloved hand covers your mouth. The textured fabric is rough against your skin.

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

Your assailant’s familiar, raspy voice sends a chill through your entire body. Without a doubt, Tomura Shigaraki is behind you. You were a fool to believe he was gone for good. He had to return, didn’t he? If only to put you in your place.

“If you overreact, I’ll dust this entire cabin.” He warns. “Let me do what I want, and maybe you’ll get to leave alive.”

Why wouldn’t he kill you and everyone on this train? It’s not like you’re special. Once you’re dead, he’ll simply find another person to harass. And the people around you? No one significant. He’d probably garner a lot of attention if he committed mass murder.

But all the same, it’s impossible for you to understand the sick feelings he harbours for you in his heart, and the way they grow every time he sees you. It isn’t love. It isn’t lust. It’s a sensation that’s incomprehensibly sinister in its somber nature; a volatile melange of emotions that frightens even him. You have no idea the lengths he would go to for the sake of preserving your life; he’s not finished toying with you yet.

He releases your ass and uncovers your mouth. Securing a palm firmly to your hip, he slithers his other hand up your skirt. Slipping your panties aside, he finds your clit. His index fingers massages slow circles over your twitching nub, eliciting a delicious exhale.

He dreamed of this moment for weeks. He fantasized about bearing claim to you in public, where anyone can watch. He’s about to be the God of this world, isn’t he? He can do as he pleases, and to hell with the consequences. When he possesses rule, he’ll have you cockwarm him on his throne all day long. By that time, you’ll surely know your place beneath his muddy boot.

He teases the lips of your cunt with his sharp fingernail, gliding it gently over the edge of your small hole. He pinches your thigh when you attempt to press your legs together. He won’t let you deny him entry to what’s his.

“I’m wearing gloves that cancel out my quirk.” He mutters darkly. “But if you don’t cooperate, I’ll take them off and activate it right here.”

He twists your clit between his thumb and index finger. The horrifying thoughts causes a stray tear to drip down your cheek. You don’t want to imagine how that would feel.

“Sorry,” you whisper pathetically. “I-I will.”

Picking up the tone of your voice, the man next to you turns around. Shigaraki removes his hand from beneath your skirt and wraps both arms around your waist. He lifts a brow when the stranger acknowledges both of you. To him, it looks like you’re a couple commuting home together. He has no concept of what’s truly going on; that if you don’t obey, him, and everyone else on this train, will die. Ignorant, he smiles and returns to his trivial conversation.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” The villain growls viciously. “Second strike, whore.”

You understand that the third strike will be your last.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s wearing a black face mask to match a large, baggy sweater. Crimson irises leer at you menacingly. He has his hood pulled over a head of shaggy, unkempt hair. It’s no wonder he hasn’t been recognized; his signature traits — like the hand covering his face, or his pastel tresses — are hidden from sight.

Just as you’re drinking in his appearance, he’s basking in yours. You look even better than the photos you put up on your social media account. He managed to save a few before you deleted it. He stares at them when he’s fucking his hand to the notion of capturing and taming you. He cums the hardest to porn where women are nothing more than brain dead sex slaves; that’s what he envisions for you.

Of course, submissive bitches aren’t born obedient; they need to be whipped into shape. He thinks the fight you put up is the best part about the training process. When you’re unruly, it forces him to be crueller. He wonders when you’ll pick up on that. It doesn’t have to hurt if you simply comply.

As much as he’s intrigued to witness you up close, he’s pissed at you for wearing a skirt today. Don’t you know the meaning of decency? Anyone could have molested you on the train. It’s practically a cultural norm for cute women to get harassed during their commute. He’s going to teach your pussy who it belongs to. Then, next time you go to work m, you might think twice before wearing a garment that’s easy access.

You face forward, when he grasps your shoulders. Slowly, his hands slide down to your hands, stopping to give them an affectionate squeeze, in case there are curious voyeurs. He wants to make this look as organic as possible.

From behind, he lifts up your skirt and pulls your panties aside. The fabric bites into your flesh, no doubt giving you a rash on the crease of your crotch. He’s careless with his motions; this is all about him. Discomfort is a sensation you should become dearly acquainted with.

“Did you miss me?”

You bite your lower lip when his digits discover your clit. Your back arches as they map out the nub, teasing your hooded flesh to see what your pussy needs to drip. It doesn’t take much. You can’t distract yourself from his touches. There’s nothing stimulating; merely the backs of strangers who couldn’t save you if they tried.

Inwardly, you sob. You have no control. Even your own body is betraying you.

He dips a finger between your folds and hums when he discovers how wet you are. Running the length of his index finger along your clit, he snickers. He knew you were in denial. You must want him. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get you to admit your desire by the end of your trip back to the Deika City.

“Feels like it.”

You frantically scope the sea of people. You’re between several, so you think you’re clear from view; then, you catch the eye of an older businessman. He’s staring directly at your crotch, where Shigaraki’s fingers are massaging your puffy clit. You bite the inside of your cheek. He knows what’s going on. You bet he’s been enjoying the show. You can’t count on a pig like him to save you.

You repress a sob, utterly humiliated. You haven’t felt this degraded in your life. You’re being groped by Japan’s most notorious villain while a lustful stranger observes.

“I bet you thought you got away from me, didn’t you?” He snarls. “Thought I’d forgotten about you.”

You’re too embarrassed to admit it. You fell right into his trap. Somehow, he knew you would lower your guard after a while. It’s precisely when you set it down completely that he struck. You’re either extremely predictable or he has incredible intuition.

He removes his hand from your underwear and brings it around to your chest. You feel your juices coat your skin and shudder. You can’t believe your body got wet for this disgusting motherfucker.

His nasty fingers claw at the buttons of your blouse. One of them pops off. It shoots diagonal, striking one of the windows. A passenger picks it up and glances around. You lock eyes with her. Instantly, she notices what’s going on. Unlike the businessman from earlier, however, you know she has the intention to act. It sparks a flame of hope in your heart.

A few men shift and shroud her from view. It’s probably for the best. Shigaraki’s digits locate your nipple soon after, dipping beneath your bra to pinch the responsive flesh. You stifle a shriek when his plucking becomes too much.

“I’m going to take you back with me and tie you up in the middle of our courtyard,” he whispers hoarsely, voice dripping with desire. “I’m sure some of our soldiers could use a bit of stress relief.”

You gag. You’ll die abused, beaten, starved, and dehydrated — a prisoner of war because you mouthed off on the Internet. This is so stupid.

Your captor groans softly as he withdraws his hand from your breast and slides a lithe finger past your folds, sheathing it up to his knuckle. He can tell it hurts. Your pain makes him enjoy it more. You stiffen and bite your lower lip.

The vehicle jolts to a halt again. The system announces that this is Jolicoeur Station, the second last stop on the line. That means you’re nearly there. He hums approvingly when the doors shut.

“Time’s almost up, whore.”

You don’t know what the fuck that means. Is he going to kill you or bring you to his base? Only time will tell, you suppose. For now, you want his sharp fingernail away from your cervix. You wriggle, praying he’ll at least stop jiggling it around. It isn’t long until he does, though he makes it clear he withdrew if his own volition; he can’t have you thinking you have a modicum of power over him, can he?

He’ll treat you like you’re nothing — a lifetime of serving him will drill that into your pretty head. He’ll never let you understand your real worth again when you’re under his brutal care. Beneath his boot is where you’ll remain.

The train lunges to another ungrateful stop. Your heart drops. This is it — the end of the line. Shigaraki touches you with both hands from behind, drumming his clothed fingers atop your shoulders.

“When the doors open, walk.” He instructs you. “We’ll pretend we’re a couple.”

You want to throw up. He’s forcing you to act like his lover after playing with you against your will. You’ll be damned if you go down without a fight. If you see an opening to ditch him, you’re going to take it; to hell with considering the consequences of being caught a third time.

He smooths your clothes out from how he rumpled them. He figures it’ll seem more natural if you appear relatively put together. He fixes your blouse and then moved to your skirt. To onlookers, it’s probably cute — a boyfriend tending to his girlfriend. They have no idea about the undertones of his treatment.

As if on cue, the woman from earlier coaxes your gaze back to hers. She licks her lips and reaches for the emergency switch. Your mouth opens. You know what she’s trying to do. It’s perfect. He won’t expect it because he thinks he’s in the clear.

You nod once. She takes that as your signal to proceed m. With a visible grunt, she yanks the switch down. Reprieve floods your chest as soon as you hear the alarm.

You have to go.

Now.

The doors of the train freeze. In a panic, everyone races out of the car. You follow suit. The second you sense his grip slacken, you bolt. As you scurry off the car, you feel Shigaraki’s greedy hand reach for you — gloveless. You scream. Your voice blends in with the rest of the cacophony, shielding you from unwanted attention.

You glance over your shoulder. Everything around you slows down. He’s standing in the sea of people, still and glaring. His hood is pulled down and his mask is hanging off one ear. His scarred lips are contorted in a grimace.

For a brief moment, an understanding is met. Today, both of you learned that the other is not to be underestimated. After this little stunt, you’re his main priority. He hopes you’re prepared to take this game just as seriously, because he won’t stop pursuing you unless he’s killed. And he knows that won’t happen anytime soon.

You turn away from him and finish your flight. Like last time, he permits you to escape. He stays glued in place until nearly everyone else has left the terminal; then, he departs.

You have no idea the demons you’ve awakened inside him.

—

Suggestions for kinks to write in the next parts are welcome :)

#tw incel #tw noncon #tw misogyny #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x bimbo reader #afab reader

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littlespoonevan · 4 days

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I watched the first three seasons of 911 back when that was all that had aired and just didn’t keep watching after the break between seasons for whatever reason. I also didn’t really get buddie, I just thought it was a beautiful friendship. I’m now on a rewatch and just got to the end of season 4 and boy am I all in, Buck’s reaction to Eddie getting shot and the aftermath really made me get it. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any fic recs for a buddie newbie? I’m probably gonna speed through the rest of the show in a few days and need something else to occupy me hahah

hey bud, welcome back to the world of 911!! 🥰 okay so i have some previous fic recs that i've posted here and i also have 489 bookmarks on ao3 which you can have a scroll through here (i only ever bookmark something for rereading or reccing purposes so can confirm i've read and loved them all)

but i'll do my best to make a somewhat cohesive list below of some of my personal faves. i have no doubt i'll probably leave some out accidentally but they'll definitely be in my bookmarks so 100% check those out too!! ❤️

The Nearness of You by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure

Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it. Or: Buck and Eddie go on a work trip.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania / @hmslusitania

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels /@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

After the shooting, Eddie realizes he needs to put some things in place. Like who will get his assets if he dies. Who will speak for him if he ends up in a coma. What might happen if his family contests Buck's guardianship. Luckily, he's got a simple easy-peasy solution that won't result in insanity, catastrophe, or heartbreak: Marry Buck.

standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum / @woodchoc-magnum

In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons

“We’re working on it,” Maddie explains, shooting Chimney a look. He nods seriously. “In couples therapy.” “Huh,” Eddie says, and then he thinks about it. "Do you think Buck and I would benefit from couples therapy?" — or, Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him.

darling, the future's better than yesterday by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Eddie, ten years younger, in this awful 2010, blinks up at him. He's still sitting slumped on the curb, and for a second Buck thinks he might tell him to fuck off, but then his eyes fall shut and there’s something — aching and painfully vulnerable in the bend of his mouth, the faint tension in his brow. “My…um, girlfriend, I guess. She’s pregnant.” “Holy shit,” Buck says. - or, buck deals with some wonky dimensional/time travel and then breaks up with his girlfriend. eddie, obviously, is involved.

i'm here (i’m yours for the taking) by farfromthstars / @buckactuallys

“Everyone!” Around forty heads turn, and Buck shifts on his feet uncomfortably at the attention. “This is my old friend Buck and his husband, Eddie.” “Uh,” Buck makes, turning to Eddie with wide eyes. Eddie's looking just as stunned. “Connor, I think you got–” He cuts himself off when Eddie wraps an arm around his waist. ~ at the winter wedding of an old friend, buck and eddie pretend to be married to each other. the plan has no weaknesses, obviously, not even mistletoe or anyone’s secret feelings… they call it the season of giving i'm here, i'm yours for the taking

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

no kingdom to come by waywardrenegades

Family, FaceTime, guilt trips, phone calls, church, heart healthy meals, and learning how to let yourself be happy. Whatever that looks like. or; when his father experiences a health scare, Eddie flies to El Paso.

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by catchingpapermoons

Buck walks toward Jee-Yun’s room, still talking, and Christopher trails after him, asking excited questions in response, and Eddie’s smile grows. He wants this forever. Everything, every part of it; Buck, Christopher, and him—that’s all he needs. And— Oh. Oh no. He shuts his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply. He’s looking at Buck, and feeling something strictly not platonic at all. or: Eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (And he falls in love with Buck along the way.)

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove / @hattalove

She turns to Eddie and says something else, but Buck is busy fighting the headrush he gets at the sound of Ana Flores calling Eddie and Christopher 'the boys'. Like they belong to her already. God, what’s wrong with him? What is this? or, eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths / @bucktommys

LAFD Updates (@L*A*F*D_Metro) LAFD Alert: Red-level traffic on Gardiner Road this morning. If you are trying to get into the city centre consider taking Westerley Lane. buck 🔥🔥 (@firebuck) so true bestie or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive.

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by hattalove

“I think,” he says, watching Karen pull Hen out onto the dance floor, their eyes never leaving each other’s, “I think I’m just—sad.” Maybe. That feels like a close enough word to describe this gaping maw right in the center of his chest. It’s only really there sometimes, taking little bites out of him, easy enough to ignore, but today is worse. “About being single at a wedding,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shrugs. “Sounds stupid when you put it that way.” or, the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit).

cause i'm tired of sleeping alone by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Buck goes on dates now. Not often, and never with the same girl twice in a row, but he goes on dates. And the thing is — the thing is, Eddie can’t be mad about that, because he goes on dates too. - or, five (ish) times eddie and buck go on dates with other people, and one time they go on a date with each other

so far from being free by allisonRW96

"That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible. But even if Buck was capable of doubting Maddie, the truth of her confession is evident in the way it throws every facet of his childhood into sudden perfect clarity. That yawning, arctic absence. The unnamable fear. The impenetrable target of his parents’ approval that he was never, ever going to be able to hit. That they didn’t want him to hit. He has a brother. A dead brother who has haunted Buck’s steps for his entire life."

don't let the tide come and wash us away by writerforlife

Buck develops a relationship with the ocean, avoids talking about the day Eddie was shot, realizes he might be in love, and drives. Order may vary. (a fic for the "Buck is going to break all the way down in season 6" truthers)

dance, for all that we've been through by catchingpapermoons

The Los Angeles Ballet’s 2022-2023 season ends with a bang with their fresh take on a ballet staple, Swan Lake. Artistic Director Bobby Nash is in his eighth season with the Los Angeles Ballet, and it has flourished under his direction. However, his associate, Eddie Diaz, is the one whose reimagining of the choreography has caught our attention... (or, Eddie Diaz moves to L.A. to restart his dance career, and ends up choreographing a show, finding a family, and falling in love. Not necessarily in that order.)

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other. When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other.

never felt this way before (yes i swear) by withoutthetiger

It’s the summer of 2022, when Buck no longer wants to be called Evan, and it only occurs to his parents to mind. It’s after the pandemic – or so they say – and before whatever hell will befall the world next, when Buck can’t wait to join the LAFD in September, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever meet someone as gently strong and fiercely protective as his big sister. It’s the summer he goes with his family to the One Eighteen Ranch & Lodge. *** A Dirty Dancing AU, set in Texas in 2022, featuring a whole lot of familiar faces in a not so familiar place.

Fragile lines (and wasted time) by Mellaithwen / @mellaithwen

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin. But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed. “I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed. . While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

Don't Take the Money by HMSLusitania

“You know, being stuck here isn’t actually the end of the world,” Chimney says, coming up to the table and picking up one of the smoke detectors. “It just feels like it, Buck. Trust me, I know.” “I’m pretty sure it might actually be the end of the world,” Buck says. “Considering this is the sixth time I’ve lived this day.” Chimney stares at him for a beat and then his eyebrows lift. “Wait, are you like – dude, are you in Groundhog Day?” OR The post-lawsuit time-loop AU literally no one asked for.

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests / @fcntasmas

Buck used to speed through yellow lights; now they’re his favorite part of the drive. -- or; a glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. +++ [Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

as lucky as us by hammersmiths

One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier. “I mean, I get it,” Buck’s saying, overhead, and Ravi’s knee-deep in literal human crap and even he can smell that shit from a mile away. “You and Tommy have a lot in common.” or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

#anon #asks #911 related #buddie fic rec #happy reading anon!!!#like i said this is only a tiny list in comparison to the amount i've read and loved

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desert-fern · 1 year

Text

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 3: Intel

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*GIF is from Pinterest, not mine*

A/N: Love you all so much, thank you for reading! Part 3 is set immediately after the cut in part 2, so feel free to go back and read part 2 if you forgot what went down!

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death (If missed anything, let me know!)

Word Count: 2.0k

Read on Wattpad or AO3

Masterlist >> Part 2 >> Part 4

===

“I saw that Sir. New intel on al-Hameed’s location?”

“Yep,” he replied. “Satellite imaging confirmed his arrival outside Ash Shamli. Khrushov and Osmund are him.”

Bear blinked in surprise. “Khrushov? Like Mikael Khrushov? The arms dealer?”

Harris nodded. “The very same. Air Force radar in Riyadh noted al-Hameed’s presence two days ago in Saudi.” He paused, grabbing a file off of his desk and began to flip through it. “It’s estimated that the pair and their entourages will be in Saudi Arabia for the foreseeable future as Khrushov is now wanted in Belarus as well as Central and Eastern Europe on several charges of arms dealing, terrorism plots, and more. Osmund, on the other hand, is wanted in over 20 countries for theft of government secrets and is behind several data leaks from major foreign governments.”

“So what does this mean for us?” Bear asked. Scenarios were running through her mind, possible alterations to their plans, supplies, and personnel were now at the forefront. “Will this be a collaboration with the Air Force? Because you know my history with them, Sir.”

“As of now, Commander, we have very little information on what this means. All I can advise you and your team to do is prepare for a joint operation. Extra weapons drills, covert training, the works,” Shark told her, his face grim. “I am assigning your team a detonation expert in the likelihood of you needing them.”

Bear just nodded, her face schooled into the most neutral look she could muster. “One more question. You mentioned a joint operation, who is joining us?”

Rear Admiral Harris nodded. “That is true. The USS Abraham Lincoln is heading out in a few weeks. I believe that Busan is their destination. Our inland target of, well…I trust you to fill everyone in at the meeting tomorrow.” He paused, fingers tapping on the desk in front of him. “Long story short, we have incoming air support to help us with a few fly overs. They have their own mission, but Admiral Simpson has okayed a squadron as backup for a brief interval while we do extra recon and then again as air support.”

She blinked. “Sir, pardon the question. But are we sure that’s wise? Riyadh is a US Air Force base. Navy pilots and the Air Force don’t get along. I’d rather not be caught up in the middle of a military pissing contest.” Bear made eye contact with Rear Admiral Harris and saw that arguing was futile. “I will make plans to speak with the officer in charge asap, Sir. After the meeting tomorrow.”

“See to it that you do, Commander. You have always yielded results, I see no reason for you to disappoint me. You are dismissed.” Harris waved her off as he returned to his paperwork, leaving Bear to retreat from the office.

As she walked off, it felt like her thoughts had been out through a blender. They were scrambled and whirling out of control, but for right now, there was nothing to be done. So she put them aside for the moment and hurried to her car, tossing her stuff inside and heading off to the bar where she would meet Phoenix. God she needed a distraction.

===

For some inane reason, they had gone to the Hard Deck and it appeared that nearly every other Navy member on base had the same idea. “Remind me why we decided to come here?” Bear yelled over the din. She elbowed past a few women, ignoring the indignant yelps and cries of them as she shouldered her way through.

“That was my bad! Sorry!” Phoenix yelled back. “But hey, we can just leave!”

“Grab a drink first? Then outside?”

A thumbs up from Phoenix, and she watched the pilot redirect herself out the door and onto the beach. Bear grimaced at the amount of people around her, the volume of everyone who’d packed themselves into the bar made it hard for her to keep track of everything going on. Sniper’s instinct, her Lieutenant had called it. She was hyper aware of everything around her and it was almost too much.

“You must be Bear!” Penny yelled over the noise, wiping a ring off the bar top. “What can I get you?”

The Seal snorted. Word traveled fast when pilots were involved. “Yep. Can I grab a beer and a lemonade from you?”

“For sure. Your tab?”

Bear gave her a thumbs up, and the older woman passed the drinks over a few minutes later. “There you go.”

“Thanks Penny.” She gave a quick wave before slipping back through the crowd, effectively disappearing. Once outside, Bear took a deep breath, relishing in the fresh air and the lack of noise.

She found Phoenix sitting in the sand a little ways away staring out at the water. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks,” came the reply as the pilot took the offered bottle. “What did you get?”

“Lemonade.”

“I swear sometimes that you and Bob are the same person,” Phoenix said, shaking her head in laughter. “You don’t drink?”

“I try not to,” Bear chuckled, shrugging as she did. “I hate the way alcohol tastes and I really hate the fact that it makes me less aware of what’s going on. But that’s just me.”

Phoenix hummed. “Fair enough.” She took a sip of her drink before setting it down in the sand. “What’s the deal with you and Bagman? Both of you were acting a little weird this afternoon.”

“It’s nothing. Pretty sure he’s just trying to piss me off,” the Seal replied, rolling her eyes. “And I’m not about to let him win.”

“Maybe. But it’s definitely more than that,” the pilot pressed. “I think that he’s into you.”

Bear choked on her lemonade. After a coughing fit, she managed to wheeze out “What?”

“Hangman, Jake, whoever, thinks that you, Bear, the Navy Seal, are hot as fuck and he seems to have a thing for women who have ‘resting murder face’.” Phoenix pointed at the other woman, before continuing. “And you have the best RMF I have ever seen.”

Bear just stared at her friend. “What the fuck Nix?” Disbelief was written all over her face and Bear found herself stunned at how her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of having the cocky blonde pilot’s attention.

“I’m not wrong. And from your very dramatic reaction, I’d be willing to bet that you think he’s hot too.”

“Umm…you’re very wrong,” Bear spluttered. “But because you’re my friend, I won’t tell you how wrong you are.”

“I’m honored…” Phoenix deadpanned, taking another sip of her drink. “What happened when you left earlier?”

“CO wanted to see me. New intel for our next deployment, other than that, I can’t really say much.”

“Classified?”

“Highly.”

Phoenix nodded, looking back out at the ocean before them. “When do you head out?”

“A few weeks,” Bear replied, sipping her drink. “Heard through the grapevine that you Daggers are about to ship out too. Any idea where?”

“Nope. It’s a mission assist though, could be fun depending on who we get sent out with,” Phoenix commented. “We will meet with them tomorrow. Get a sense of the mission and see how much lifting we have to do.”

Bear opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a shout. Turning, she saw the rest of the Dagger pilots hurrying across the sand to them. “Oh great,” she pretended to grumble. She had rolled her eyes, but the gesture was fond. “When did you flyboys get here?”

“A few minutes ago,” Fanboy yelled back, beaming at her. “Why? You miss us?”

She pretended to think, humming. “Nah, I do enough babysitting as it is.”

Rooster let out a loud mock gasp, pretending to stumble backwards. “How DARE you?” He screeched breathily.

Bear made eye contact with Phoenix and the pair burst into giggles. “Oh I dare very easily,” she teased, standing up and bumping his arm with hers. “Whatcha doing out here? Thought you’d be the life of the party, Bradshaw.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Jake said jokingly as he sidled up to her. She said nothing, choosing to smirk instead. Green eyes met brown and Jake saw the amusement and mischief twinkling in them. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

“Smart man.” Bear had turned to look up at him, giving him a teasing smile in response to his words. A cough from Phoenix had Bear narrowing her eyes and giving the pilot a hard look. “No.”

Sensing the sudden burst of tension, Payback spoke up. “So Bear. Are we ever going to get the story behind that?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes!” A shout rose up from the group of pilots standing around her.

“Fine. Fine,” Bear said, giving in. “I’m called Bear, because I’m a grumpy fuck in the morning.”

A man near the back of the group who she knew to be Harvard spoke up “That’s it? Not some deep dark secret behind it?”

“Why? You don’t believe me?” Bear asked, eyebrow raised.

“We have no proof that that’s even true!” Harvard argued.

“Send Jake in, he’ll get to the bottom of it,” Rooster joked, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the sharp look on Bear’s face.

“More like he’d bottom her,” Coyote whispered to Phoenix, who had to turn away to hide her laughter.

“Hey!” Jake yelled, his face going red. “No. Just no.”

Bear just sent him a wink, laughing to herself as he spluttered indignantly. “Nix told me that you ship out soon. Any idea when? Because I’m out in the next few weeks.”

“Unfortunately due to the classified nature of US Naval deployments, we are unable to provide that information,” Fanboy recited in a serious voice. The tone of his voice made the group crack up, himself included, with Bear rolling her eyes in fondness.

“Okay. Okay. Guess I should have expected that,” she said with a laugh, putting her hands up in mock surrender.

“Just messing with you,” Fanboy replied, still chuckling a little. “Sometime in the next few weeks too. We have a meeting tomorrow about it. Giving us details and shit.”

“Oh fun,” Bear said, eyes shifting around the group. Coyote and Payback had started throwing rocks into the ocean, yelling about how far they could throw, their loud voices seeming to echo around them. Harvard, Halo, and a few of the others had broken off into their own group and seemed to be chatting about nothing in particular. It made her smile at the easy camaraderie between them. She knew how difficult the Navy could be and she was just glad that they had their people around them.

===

Hours later, after night had fallen and the air grew cold, Bear finally stood up and stretched. “I’m heading out guys,” she said, to the protests of a few of the pilots around her. “My meeting is early tomorrow morning and I actually have to pay attention to this one because I’m leading it.”

“Aww c’mon!” The group protested, Rooster among the loudest. He admired Bear for her strength and the take-no-shit attitude she had. Plus he found it funny when she teased Hangman to no end.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She grinned widely. “I might see you all tomorrow. But if not, I’ll see you around.” With a wave, Bear began to walk towards her car.

A shuffle behind her had her shaking her head as she continued walking. “Can I help you, Hangman?”

Jake paused, stunned at the speed at which she’d guessed it was him. “How’d you-”

“I just do,” she said with a wide grin, cutting him off. Spinning to face him with a smirk, Bear spoke again “So, can I help you?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?” Bear raised an eyebrow in question, looking at him curiously.

It was Jake’s turn to smirk, green eyes seeming to glitter in the night as he peered at her. “On whether or not you plan on taking my offer, Teddy.”

Her confusion deepened. “What offer?”

“You know what? Never mind. I like my dick where it is and I would like to keep it there.”

“Oh, you mean that little line in the hallway earlier,” she said, smirking. “I highly doubt you can maintain the speed I need. You seem too much like a ‘one and done’ kind of guy.”

“My mama would have me by the throat if she ever got the impression that I treated women with so little respect,” Jake replied, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Especially if I left them as unsatisfied as you must be by some of the losers on base.”

Her eyes narrowed, but this time it wasn’t teasing. Bear looked angry; her face pinched and if looks could kill, Jake would be reduced to a grease spot on the sand. “Your mama would be so disappointed in your behavior right now, Lieutenant,” she snarled, her eyes nearly slits and venom coated every syllable. “And, for the record, my “satisfaction”, as you put it, is none of your fucking business.”

“Woah. Okay, chill,” Hangman raised his hand, almost placating the woman before him. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you wouldn’t be wound so tight if you took me up on my offer.”

“Well, I guess I won’t be so lucky as to fall under you,” Bear shot back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get going.” She turned and walked off, leaving a stunned Jake in her wake.

===

A/N: Kisses and hugs to my favourite editors/fangirls: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky you guys have saved my butt more times than I can count!

Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @twsssmlmaa @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @fandomxpreferences @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @heli991113 @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris

#a gun amonst daggers #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #Jake Seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #callsign bruiser

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

Note

Ok but like I saw your post about wanting more asks about Eddie nsfw scenarios and then I saw you were willing to write for sub! Eddie and I was like😳

Okay but like imagine Eddie just being overstimulated as you ride him. He just looks so out of it and a little in pain, but as you go to get off him he just keeps asking for more. My man is Pussy DRUNK😫 so you just give him what he wants while calling him your sweet prince or good boy.

And like the heat of the moment he just calls you mommy by accident but it’s like HOT- JJSNSBSBSBS UGH JUST MANY THOUGHTS ON BRAIN PLS HEAD FULL OF EDDIE-😖

Oh LORD this ask got me wildin', hold on folks this is gonna be SPOICY: this shit goes out to all my dommes that wanted to fold Munson like a birthday card the second they saw him.

Speak Up (Sub!Eddie x Fem!Reader NSFW)

Summary: You like pushing Eddie to his limits. Coincidentally, he happens to really fucking like being pushed there.

Content: Dom/Sub play, orgasm denial, overstimulation, Eddie pussydrunk hours, derogatory language, mommy kink

Word count: 2.9k

You were... kinda relentless. But by god, was he into it. The drive-in movie was supposed to be a cute date, a quiet evening spent cuddling in his van under a scratchy, smokey blanket and generally just allowing the both of you to act like the world's most cute and cliche couple.

But you were bored. And you could hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat on his warm skin as you leaned against him. So of course the black-and-white slasher projected up on the parking lot billboard took a backseat to you slowly, idly trailing featherlight fingertips up and down Eddie’s thighs, ghosting just barely under the hem of his shirt to feel his soft abdomen.

Soft, Teasing. For hours. And every time he hummed or shifted or adjusted, subtly asking for more, you pulled away as punishment. Leaving him breathing unevenly, staring at the rolling movie credits with his cock pressed hard and painful against the metal zipper of his pants.

You gave him a look. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You'd never seen him drive back to his house so quickly, so recklessly. Your nails dragged softly across the denim of his crotch as he screamed down the backroads: his jaw was tight, knowing saying anything meant those fingers flitting away. Poor baby.

And then you spilled into the night, tumbling out of the van, Eddie all over you, sloppy hot and enthusiastic mouth roving your neck and jawline affectionately while you fumbled with the door keys and pulled both of you into the trailer. Attached at the mouths as you bumbled your way down the hallway and into his room.

"Please, please, c'mon." Eddie was already saying. Begging, equal parts aroused and fearful. It had been a few weeks since you'd actually let him cum, after all. The poor man was walking on eggshells, the slightest breeze giving him a half-chub.

It had been fun. Pulling him into the public park bathrooms and putting your lips around his cock, getting him just to the peak and leaving him dry, zipping him back up and making him drop his head onto your shoulder with a pitiful, desperate whine. Letting him rut against your thigh on the bed while you read, the friction enough to feel good, desperately so, but not enough to get him there.

"Behave." You nipped at his lower lip and put two hands on his broad chest, giving him a curt shove that sent him falling ass-backwards onto his messy mattress. You saw the resulting dizzy, toothy smile that followed: he ate this shit up, every time. Getting tossed around, getting felt up. God, the guy fucking thrived on the attention.

How you were ever lucky enough to find someone like him, you'd never know.

You popped a cassette in the player, letting Misfits music rocket through the room. Eddie just looked up at you from his thrown position on the bed, all sprawled limbs and open hope on his oval face, too desperate to even contest your personal taste in music he normally disparaged.

“You gonna be good?” You asked him, shucking off your jacket, getting up onto the bed between his knees. Hands wrestling with your pants, yanking them down. He nodded, wild mane bobbing. “Gonna do everything I tell you?” Even more enthusiastic nodding.

“Yeah- shit, yeah, I am. I swear.” He couldn’t get the words out fast enough when you rolled your shirt off yourself.

“We’ll see.” You lurched forward, crawling over him, forcing his back even harder against the mattress, until your core was over his hot, kiss-bruised mouth. His pupils blew wide at the sight, entranced. Long, strong fingers twitched at his sides. Waiting to be told what to do.

“Go on. Eat up.”

“Jesus. Jesus. Okay.” He got out, tongue wetting his lips. Shaky fingers pulled your underwear to the side, and then one of his hands was curling around your thigh and bringing you down against that mouth, against the fluid heat and agile tongue that warmed you with gusto. He licked and sucked and nibbled, flicking expertly against your clit and running the flat of of the dexterous muscle down your slit.

He felt like sin. So enthusiastic, so greedy to taste you, to feel your weight around his head. You grabbed a handful of his wild hair with a sigh, rocking your hips against his mouth. He groaned into your folds and simply took it, moving in tandem with you even as you ground your clit against his nose and slicked up his chin and cheeks with arousal.

“Fuck, Eddie, good boy. Good fuckin’ boy.” You huffed. “Finally putting that smart-ass mouth to good use.”

Eddie slurped at you as best he could with your weight bearing down on him, hazily content to let you use him. Gazing, dazed, up at you, chocolate-black eyes glassy with dumbed contentment.

“You going brainless, baby?” You cooed, heat coiling dangerously tight in your gut at the sight. “Love tasting my pussy that much?”

He hummed out an affirmative mmmmmm, long and low, fingers resettling around your thighs as you rocked against him. Use me, his half-lidded eyes said, use me like a toy. It really was a pity his mouth was preoccupied: you knew he’d be saying all sorts of stupid, pussydrunk things right now if it wasn’t.

“Love this mouth, baby boy. Love it.” Fuck, you were close. Really, really close. You put both hands on his head, tensing your thighs, using your muscles to ride his saliva-sloppy lips and grind down onto his tongue. “Gonna cum on it. You want that?”

Another mmm, Eddie kneading your thighs hopefully, encouragingly. His rings glittered in the low lamplight.

“Good, fuuuuck- fuck.” Your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, making you clench down around his head. Eddie held his breath, let himself be smothered as you spilled wetness all over him: dribbling down his pale, flushed skin, into his mussed hair.

When you finally lifted up off him him shakily, he took a ragged, heavy inhale. Catching his breath even while a stupid, ditzy smile threatened to split his wet face in two. “Shit.” Was the only word he could summon up.

Like you nearly asphyxiating him had been the best high he’d ever ridden.

Seeing him there, thoughtless and mindless and shiny with your arousal, it fucking did shit to you. This beautiful man rendered brainless from your cunt. “Clothes. Off.” You ground out, hungry and sweaty and wanting more than fucking anything to get that sweet little swollen cock inside of you.

He writhed messily, tangling himself up wildly and kicking off his pants, wrestling with his shirt like it was a public enemy number one before getting to his knees to wriggle out of his underwear. His cock bobbed in the air, weeping and dark.

“Oh, baby.” You breathed. He was so swollen, so cherry-bright, it looked like it hurt. “Fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Eddie let out a shaky, nervous laugh. “Maybe a little.”

You leaned into his personal space, staring down at his cock. “Give yourself a pump for me, sweetheart.”

Eddie wrapped a veined, lithe hand around his own dick, hissing through his teeth when his grip traveled the length: from the crying head to the base nestled in wirey curls, and back up again. Starting to travel back down.

“I said a pump.” You warned. He whined brokenly.

“C’mon. Please. Please? Just one more.” He cajoled, voice wobbling. So close to an orgasm he could probably taste it, after waiting for so long. After being so good for you. It probably wouldn’t take very much to make him fly over the edge into oblivion.

“Aww, poor baby.” You cooed. Talking down to him like a child, pulling strands of his sweaty hair away from his face. “Got nothing on your mind but your dick, huh? Can’t think about anything other than how good it feels?” You paused. “Fuck your fist, baby boy. Slow. Real slow.”

“Shit. shit.” He said again and again, complying. Braced with one hand on the mattress, hunched over himself, rolling his hips up into his dry grip. Gasping sharply when the head of his sensitive cock rolled over the warm, smooth metal of his rings.

“Feel good?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. Really fucking good.” He shivered when you ghosted hands over his shoulders, his back, watching him pump himself. Pressing occasional soft kisses to his shoulder, his sweat-tacky neck.

It only took him a minute to press his lips tight, fighting his hazy pleasure, before speaking up. “Gonna cum, angel. Really soon.”

“Don’t.”

He whined lowly, but didn’t stop fisting his cock.

“Eddie, hands off your dick.”

He let go just before he spilled over, groaning in abject frustration, guttural and low. Gripping handfuls of the sheets while his purple-red cock twitched hopefully, seeking sensation.

“Close one?” You chuckled. He just hung his head, curtain of dark hair obscuring his face. You paused. “Color, baby?”

“Green.” He said quickly. “Green, so green, just... fuck. Really close one.”

“Good job stopping yourself, then. Would’ve been a one-way ticket to a dry month.”

Just the hint of such a cruel punishment had him huffing and flushing. He lifted his sweaty head. Shit, you were so fucking weak for this big doe eyes, those plush lips, the fine dusting of stubble on his jaw.

“Okay.” You tousled his hair. “Okay, honey. You’ve been so good for me. Lay back.”

Eddie looked like he could cry in relief at your words, letting you guide him onto his back, head nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. The dusting of brown hair across his soft, muscular navel made a direct, tantalizing pathway down to his desperate cock. A dribble of milky precum dripped down its veiny side.

When you swiped it away he jumped, head thumping against the mattress. “Christ. You’re torturing me.”

You grinned. “Kind of the point, baby boy. Good thing you love it so much.”

He brought his own hands to his head, exhaling hard when you rolled the shiny condom down his length. When you gave his cock a few soft tap taps with the flat of your palm, just shy of painful, his abdominal muscle curled and he groaned helplessly.

“See?” You crooned. “Desperate. Stupid, desperate boy. Going so fucking brainless the second I touch your cock.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Eddie groaned, voice absolutely wrecked with arousal.

When you finally sank down on him he looked fucking possessed, back arching and hips stuttering underneath you, face crewing up in incredible pleasure.

“Shitfuck, angel-” He was gasping as you started to furiously fuck him, hips swiveling relentlessly, cruelly. So fast you knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it. “S-slow down, please, I’m gonna-”

“Don’t cum.” He throbbed inside of you, piercing and burning-hot and perfect, and you knew you were setting him up for failure. He knew it too. You slam slam slammed down onto his narrow hips, the wet sloppy sound of your pussy sheathed around his cock lewd and loud as all hell. “Don’t cum, baby boy.”

He was scrabbling at your legs now, blunt nails hard and terrified, like if he squirmed enough he could evade the tidal wave of pleasure you could see building, spring-coiled, in his form. Terror on his flushed face.

“I can’t, I- I can’t-” He gasped out.

And then Eddie was cumming, cummung for the first time in ages, looking like someone was performing a goddamn exorcism on him, hips thrusting so hard up into you he nearly bucked you off. His eyes practically rolling into the back of his head, pants and groans going completely mute, choked by the orgasm you could only imagine was basically erasing his brain.

You paused on top of him, feeling his cock pulse pulse pulse inside of you, watching his soft, pale chest rise and fall rapidly under your splayed fingers. His eyes were wide, shocked, mouth falling open as he tried to steady his breathing. Trying to recalibrate his systems.

You gave him exactly fifteen seconds. And then you were back to it, starting to slowly, agonizingly slowly roll your hips on his soft cock. Chasing the phantom sensations of pleasure it shot through you, feeling his soft, warm head rutting against that perfect spot that made your legs turn to jelly.

“Oh god, ah, shitshitshit-” Eddie was back to babbling dumbly but this time it was desperate, overwhelmed and oversensitive, almost agonized. He dug his nails into your legs, teeth clenched and bared, eyes squeezed shut.

It must have been torture, the overwhelming sensation of your gummy, soft, gushing pussy clamping around his exhausted cock. You didn’t stop, continuing to softly roll over him, his length slipping in and out of your heat uselessly.

“Aww. Did you think we were done?” You crooned.

“Fuck, it feels- christ, please, it’s so much-” Eddie sounded like he was in genuine distress.

All at once you stopped, stomach dropping. “Too much.” You realized.

He looked like a kicked puppy at your words. “No. No!” Eddie panted out quickly. “No. Keep...keep going.” He paused to swallow, hard. Eyes skating away from yours in shame. “I like it.”

“Oh.” You replied softly. Low heat in your stomach rising, rising, rising until it was a fucking inferno. “Oh baby boy.” You growled.

All at once you were back to bouncing on him, watching is muscles contract involuntarily at the overstimulation. Watching him shuddering and shaking and biting down so fucking hard on his lower lip to keep himself quiet. Letting you wreck him. Letting you ruin him. Offering himself up to you.

“Such a good fucking boy for me, fuck.” You snarled. You dragged fingernails down his chest, hard: Eddie gasped. You pistoned against him, relentless, grabbing his wrists and tugging them. Making him feel owned. “Willing to do anything to get a little more of my pussy, huh? You love it that much? You that brainless for it?”

All he managed to do was bob his head, letting out a pathetic moan, still shaking. It must have hurt, must feel so good, pleasure and pain in equal portions. He was starting to get hard inside you again.

“Say it.” You were incensed, obsessed with that broken, useless, sweaty expression on his sweet face. “Say you love it, baby boy.”

“Fuck, mommy-” He whined out. Eddie’s eyes snapped open. He shut his mouth with a clack of teeth against teeth.

...What? Your domineering hip-rolls slowed. Were you hallucinating? Did he just...?

“Sorry.” Eddie sounded mortified. “Shit, uh. Sorry. Sorry.”

Oh, this guy is all sorts of freaky. Fuck. I love it.

“How long have you wanted to call me that?” You murmured to him. Punctuating your question with a long, forceful roll that pushed him into your wet pussy until his arousal-soaked curls pressed against your clit.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few times, wrists still clutched tight in your hands.

“...Do you like mommy fucking you?”

He reacted visibly, stiffening under you. Cock twitching from where it was trapped in your wet heat.

Another button to press. This was... perfect. So perfect. How was he real? How was he so wonderful? “Because mommy loves this cock.” You started up the brutal pace again, and shit, your own orgasm was way closer than you expected. “This is mommy’s cock. Her baby boy’s so good for her, isn’t he? So hungry for her pussy, so hungry to be fucked.”

“Shit, angel, shit-” Eddie was back to his usual talkative self, face beet-red, “k-keep talking like that, jesus, please-”

“I want you to cum for mommy.” You growled. He was so hot inside you, so perfect, scraping your spongey-soft walls, flickering pleasure lighting you up from the inside. “Can you do that, baby boy? Can you cum for mommy?”

You managed exactly ten more brutal strokes before his awed, pleasure-drunk face made you race over the edge, orgasm hitting you so hard you choked on your own words. You barely felt Eddie follow you over, hands in your grip curling around your own wrists. Holding one another like lifelines.

You collapsed onto him, panting like a marathon runner. Sweaty skin against sweaty skin, his cock soft and extra-spent inside you.

It was silent for a long time, save for the thrashing drums and wild guitar: the music felt faint, compared to the blood roaring in your ears. Eddie was hot under you. A comforting slab of skin and muscle.

God, he was so good for you. So good.

With exhausted limbs you hauled yourself off him, peppering his panting face with kisses. Spitting some of his hairs out of you mouth with a soft pah and making him weakly chuckle.

“You okay, hon?” You asked him eventually, a hand softly pressed to his bare, tattooed chest.

“...I think my, uh, legs might not work anymore, angel. But other than that?” He cracked a sweaty, disbelieving grin. Like he was the lucky one, not you. “I’m fuckin’ great.”

You pressed your forehead to his, warmth and affection making you feel like you were queen of the goddamn world. “Love you.” You murmured.

“Love you too, angel.”

“Ah-ah.” You chided. When he raised his eyebrows in confusion, you smiled smugly. “It’s mommy, now.”

He groaned and laughed defeatedly. “Oh, man. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Never.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #minors dont look #my writing

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