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fullmtal · 2 years

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‘ analysis.

edward basically had to be the head of the house around five- four in short? not old enough to be that. hohenheim left him with a glare and this is literally edward, old enough to know something is wrong, old enough to notice and old enough to have his heart smashed into pieces, no matter the reasoning hohenheim had. so that love turned into hatred and dislike and fear and grief and it turned into a very locked and guarded horror of any adult actually trying to show sympathy or compassion.

because he’s been neglected and then weighed with essentially raising al with his mother and also protecting said sickly mother who literally had tears in her eyes at the mere mention no matter how hard she smiled. ed has been saddled with burden and responsibility since he was a baby and he literally just took it?

and even at 15-16 this is his reaction to even thinking of his father.

because hohenheim hurt al, hurt his mom, who died young and it’s so easy to pin all the blame on him because he left them and trisha was already dying, something he found out too late, but that he wasn’t there at all and that at first he did ask about his dad coming home, but that lasted what? a few days after seeing carefully, ever insanely perceptive, his mother’s shifted demeanor and thinly veiled tears and alphonse’s frowning and confused face. the moment he put on a glare for edward and alphonse, the moment he left that gaping hole of neglect and abandonment even unintentional that was it. he wasn’t a father anymore.

and while edward has compassion because edward cannot turn off his kindness, his insane capacity for love? the promised day really didn’t do hohenheim and edward’s relationship any favors because it left ed no closure, only tears, only anger, rage at his offer of using his life as a toll and confusion.

so adults....caring about him scares the living hell out of him. fills him with anger because he has to be skeptical of them because if al is fond of them, he could get burned again. he HAS to be the one to look after the elric brothers as a whole as both the protector / eldest and because he cannot BEAR to see alphonse waiting at an empty door.

‘ for as long as i can remember....i never once remembered ‘that man’ acting like a father. ‘ note he doesn’t say anything but ‘that man’. he’s so removed from him.

hohenheim is a fascinating character, and has so much depth and is so masterfully written? but that doesn’t change his decisions absolutely broke edward and alphonse in different ways, and ed as the oldest and ‘little man of the house’ had to pick up the pieces. he is not a good father no matter how much he loved his family. frankly i don’t think he knew how. but al mentions he barely remembers hohenheim, but ed remembers /enough/ that he has nightmares of him. and he remembers enough of al’s sweet, innocent face asking for their father. and that breaks him in half.

how many times do you think ed early stages had to hide his rage and distract al from that?

and he can’t bear for al to be in more pain than he already is. he’s the big brother. it’s his job and his choice and he will always look out for alphonse until he dies.

he was a child --- he shouldn’t have had to. and now hohenheim dies before they ever have any kind of closure save a sorry too late, that only invokes sobbing and pain from edward himself.

he’s just another ghost in edward’s heart, and he believes fully he should try to do this for alphonse because primarily he IS on the lookout for adults trying to win favors with them in the disguise of love or kindness because it could just be another repeat of trusting an adult figure and loving them slowly, and i genuinely think ed thinks and i have a whole other thing on that, it’s ‘easier’ to bear it himself, but if AL gets hurt again....it’s almost unbearable. remember in edward’s eyes he feels he is the one that is completely responsible for alphonse’s condition and the sin as a whole as both elder brother and ringleader. he isn’t trying to rob alphonse of his agency on that, but he genuinely has always, always out of adoration and love once he got to know his baby brother, felt responsible for him out of his own choice while having full faith on alphonse making his own decisions as an individual fully capable.

ed tries so hard to spare alphonse from unnecessary pain. he just....forgot that he had a right to that too. or more aptly, he doesn’t allow himself it at all.

#/ long post #𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 * ── the anatomy of a heart of steel.#ask to tag.#can we blame ed really for being so cagey with adults #never relying on them?#the kid was abandoned with his baby brother #series hits home that ed is constantly nonstop protecting emotionally or physically even at 4'11 his little brother without coddling bc #that is job as a GOOD elder brother.#the best big brother in fiction imho.#*his #he is constantly on guard and everything is for al's sake and the vast VAST people he loves even when he tried hard not to.#ed is HEARTBREAKINGLY KIND and we don't talk enough about it.#to him it was like hohenheim threw his love in the trash.#and love IS stored in the edward not just al both suffered EQUALLY this neglect #ed prioritizes alphonse above himself by elder brother nature and because al is literally canonly connected to him by the literal soul ?#that he FORGETS like with everyone else.#to prioritize himself.#and it makes al rightfully mad and upset.#as he should.#but considering how it STARTED?#a lot of this neglect played into it .#but above all he loves and sacrifices of his own volition.#he won't let his trauma taint that.#he isn't just hurting for himself on this neglect.#he's hurting for /alphonse/.#he's hurting for /trisha/.#it's kind of horrifying how little ed processes that he's also hurting for himself.#ugh ed....please think of yourself.#but i think if he sat down with all this immeasurable pain and burden he wouldn't be able to do the finish line of the series.#that's genuinely how he feels.

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 7 months

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"HIT HIM AGAIN. I AM THE MAN OF STEEL."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on nothing short of a total gangland style beat-down heaped upon the Man of Steel at the hand of some of his deadliest adversaries -- namely Bizarro, Solomon Grundy, Parasite, & Metallo, from the pages of "Justice" Vol. 1 #4. April, 2006. DC Comics.

Resolution at 1200x1885 & 1041x1600.

Story/script: Jim Krueger & Alex Ross

Pencils: Doug Braithwaite

Inks/paints: Alex Ross

Letters: Todd Klein

Sources: https://imgur.io/gallery/joy5R (both found on Imgur)

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byakugoseal · 1 year

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tag dump: broken & updated tags part i

#morgs tag dump #✖main verse║war-torn child you were made to hold brawls between your knuckles & bury old friends & old memories beween your ribs #✖one piece verse║on days when the sky is painted grey i feel like there’s nothing worth forgiving #✖kny verse║from a tender age i was cursed with rage came swinging like a fist inside a batting cage #✖fairy tail verse║plunge the knife; bare my soul; scrape my ribs;#✖anbu verse║& death is the only god who comes when you call #✖pre-canon verse║you know better than anyone how to cry in silence for things gone by #✖genin verse║she went from porcelain to iron to steel #✖shippuden verse║the sun has been extinguished & the moon has fallen / there goes the light of our turbulent world #✖gaiden verse║& you keep telling yourself / there is no smell of war in me / but why else would this feel like madness #✖hokage!au verse║there will come a time when you might have to decide who lives & dies out there it’s a terrible responsibility #✖bleach verse║fear is what beats inside your heart in the place where life used to be #✖modern verse║life is a series of moments you wish your ribs could take back #✖bnha verse║i carry a body full of secrets & my bones align the universe within me #✖shipping call║well i won't die for love but ever since i met you you could have my heart and I would break it for you #✖mains call║i’d be lying if i said losing you was something i could handle #✖exclusives call║could we remain quiet on earth & bear it the war we make inside #✖inbox call║she screams for heaven’s help but heaven has always been deaf #✖starter call║tell it anyways for little words can sometimes mean life or death #✖plotting call║i’ve got to learn something from my mistakes instead of establishing a new record to break #✖affiliates call║peach blossom has a colour that does not ask my sins #✖ask memes║when the local language is violence be fluent

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aurorawritestoescape · 1 month

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LIKE IT’S THE LAST TIME || 900 words

Tw: 18+ minors dni, smut, unprotected piv, public, creampie, belly bulge, gun use.

Part two || Series masterlist

***

“Yeah… shit…yeah…like that.”

Joel’s low growling always turns you on more than any dirty talk ever could. His forehead is sweaty, teeth are mercilessly biting his lower lip as he’s trying not to blow his load into you just yet.

You’re riding his cock in a stuffy car, knees planted on the back seat to help him plunge his length deeper into your hot core. Only the condensation on the windows hides your indecent public behavior, doing a poor job at that as a few passers-by have already done a double take after glancing inside your car.

You don’t care. On days like this one you can’t let go of each other, lips kissing, tongues licking, hands grabbing one another like it’s your last time.

He playfully slaps your ass and you gasp, a little smile dancing on your heated face.

“’m I taking it good, Joel?”

The man hums, the sound muffled as he’s nuzzling a spot between your breasts. The scruff on his cheeks and chin is rubbing your sensitive skin but this little discomfort won’t stop you from chasing your ecstasy. Your pussy feels so good bouncing on his throbbing cock.

Joel moans through the gritted teeth and pride blooms in your heart when this big dangerous man forgets how to speak, forgets about everything, completely lost in the sensations your body is giving him.

You keep riding his length, slowing down and then picking up the pace again. Your hips are tilted back, as his steel member deliciously slides against your soft spot.

His hands spread your ass cheeks, and you feel cold air right at your hole as your slick collects at the base of his shaft. You’re so wet, your juices must be already sliding down his balls.

Joel’s plush lips form an ‘o’ shape, eyes flutter shut and he tilts his head back against the headrest.

“No, no, too soon… need more, Joel, c’mon”, you mumble hastily, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. You slow down trying to prolong the pleasure for the both of you. ‘Will I ever feel him like this again?’

A familiar thorn of fear pangs your heart but you drive it away caressing his lips with yours while you’re holding his face between your shaky palms. You blink your eyes open, so close to him everything is blurry in your gaze but you still take mental pictures of his freckles, his long lashes, his expression, so vulnerable and honest.

You store them deep inside you. For later. In case your luck fails you.

“Lean back, baby… yeah, good girl,” Joel murmurs as his hands push you back making you sit straight on his lap. His head drops down and he watches his cock disappear inside your glistening pussy.

“Fuck,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs, “d’ya feel my cock? Shit, here it is,” he marvels, pressing his palm to a lump in your lower belly.

“Yeah, you’re so big, Joel,” you whine watching the bulge move up and down under your skin with every rise and fall of your hips.

His fingers find your clit and he rubs it fast with a perfect pressure and then begins vigorously thrusting up into your stretched pussy. Your whimpers turn into a constant whine when his fat tip hits your cervix again and again.

“Give it to me, baby, c’mon,” he encourages you, on the verge of climax himself and you hear it first, half moan-half roar that he always makes when he comes.

You feel his warm seed flood your pussy and the sensation makes your walls flutter, milking his pulsating cock.

You cry out, one hand braced on the window, the other gripping his broad shoulder as the waves of euphoria are hitting you over and over.

When your climax dissipates, you open your eyes and see Joel looking at you, his loving gaze taking in every feature of your face.

“What?” You ask with a shy smile as if you haven’t just stuffed your pussy full of his cum.

“Nothin’. Just lookin’ at you.” He sighs and adds, “We need to go.”

He helps you off his lap and after you both adjust your clothes, he opens the window, sticks his arm out of the car and slaps the roof a couple of times.

In a few seconds Tommy gets in the driver’s seat.

“So fucking long. Every damn time,” he grumbles frowning at Joel and you in the rear view mirror.

“‘s for good luck,” Joel mumbles as Tommy starts the engine.

“Did you at least sneak a peek, Tommy?” You ask giggling but quickly shut up when you see Joel’s stern look.

***

When you arrive at the place, Joel’s big hand on the back of your neck pulls you in for a kiss, desperate and rushed. It’s coated in promises and hopes, desire and love in every stroke of his lips as you clutch his plaid shirt with trembling fingers, kissing him back with everything you’ve got. Like it’s the last time.

Tommy wishes you luck before Joel and you get out of the car.

Right at the entrance Joel shoots you a wink through the balaclava opening and then storms in raising his gun.

As always your pussy tingles when you hear him roar the command,

“Hit the floor! This is a robbery!”

***

Part 2 || Series Masterlist || MASTERLIST

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for the series💖🌸

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #ficlet #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #kiss kiss bang bang series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller the last of us

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galedekarios · 7 months

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"It creates a distinct visual motif not found in other romances that captures the connection between the two characters while feeling distinctly not of this world."

"We wanted this to feel like Gale and their partner were really merging into one, new, perfectly harmonious being."

[source]

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #not only is this very interesting #to hear the thought process behind the people who created the scene #but also this makes my heart ache in the best way possible #'our souls intertwine with one another' hhhhh #i would have loved to see their original vision though had the engine / time / budget allowed it #it's beautiful either way #tagging for those who are interested as well #otp: a soul that steels my own #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate

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forbidden-sunlight · 3 months

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yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, spoilers for episodes 7 and 8 in the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial, physical abuse, implication of friends to enemies.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

Hey guys, welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fic! I know I had said that I was going to be on a break until the 8th or 14th in my last post, but I had gotten a burst of inspiration after watching the season finale and wrote this after discussing the idea with @riddle-simp and collaborated with @witch-of-the-writing-desk. It's because of these two that I managed to write 2k in a single day, so please give a big round of applause to these amazing individuals.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

Part Two

Alastor could not believe what had happened on the rooftop. No, he refused to believe that he was nearly killed by a hair. To almost die for his friends, a fucking altruist of all things. Sorry to disappoint, but this is not how his story will end here. He thought viciously, tugging at his hair as memories rushed through his mind. He needed more. He needed his freedom. Yet this deal is restricting his powers from reaching their fullest potential, and it almost killed him. Yes, there has to be another way to get out of it. But more importantly….he needed to stop these feelings bubbling inside of him. These feelings he felt towards you.

You, a simple groundskeeper who had forgotten what it meant to be a human and served as a weapon in war. You, who did not use technology like him yet still found a way to connect with the rest of the hotel’s wayward souls.

He hates it and he wants you gone, out of sight and out of mind, because these feelings have put him in more danger than necessary. When he finds the backdoor of his deal, how to unclip his wings, he will be the one pulling all of the strings and claim the power that he rightfully deserves. He is the Radio Demon, the Great Alastor! Nothing else matters to him!

He made his decision right in the dilapidated radio station to never get attached to you or anyone else again. To only focus on himself and no one else. He is in Hell for a reason, after all. He cackled, feeling the thrum of his power rising in unison with his conviction. Yes. He thought. Yes, he’s Alastor! The cold, ruthless overlord who always has room for more voices on his broadcast. Not some soft-hearted twit who would die for someone!

But what he did not realize at the time, just right underneath the hatch, you had heard everything.

Despite your injuries and losing both of your arms to angelic steel, you had used your strength to trek through the debris and look for him. Now knowing that he despised you, knowing that he sees you as nothing more than a weapon to use for his convenience….well, you could not blame him. You were a weapon when you were alive. You were feared, you were hated, and you did not care at the time. So why did it hurt so much when he said that? You did not know, except it was better to keep your distance from him.

So you left the Radio Demon alone, staggering away to join the others.

Vaggie was somehow able to find Sir Pentious’ blueprints for your prosthetics in a fireproof trunk beneath the rubble, and put in a call to Carmilla Carmine to see if she could make them with angelic steel instead of adamantine. Of course, the angelic arms dealer took a look at them first before agreeing to it, but not before telling Vaggie she must ask for your consent to do the procedure and what you wanted to add or remove. You gave your input, and the procedure was scheduled for the following week. Although you could not help with the construction of the hotel, you did assist Charlie by putting together an eulogy and memorial service for Sir Pentious. The princess was not sure when it would be held, hopefully when the hotel was finished.

You understood, softly promising to be by her side for support, even if you had to be pushed in a wheelchair. Sir Pentious had been a good person, an inventor and a gentleman who was nothing but kind and respectful to you. Even though you offered to pay him for doing repairs on your arms in the past, he brushed it off and instead asked you to join him for tea. He…you hoped he found peace.

On the day of your procedure, you asked the overlord a question that had been plaguing your mind since the war. “Madam Carmilla, I am a weapon. I was raised to be one, to be used and tossed aside when my usefulness had expired. So…why is it that I am bothered by what Alastor said…on that day?” You did not dare to elaborate on what he exactly said to her, just that he said that he did not want to see you anymore. Be gone from his sight and mind.

She stared at you for a long moment before she replied coolly, “So I have heard from Vaggie. But I do not share her thoughts. A weapon is lifeless. You are a person. An emotionally stunted one, but someone is living, breathing, and who can still be hurt by what others say about them even if they can’t see it. You are upset because of what Alastor said….and in my humble opinion, whatever you feel towards him, discard it. There is nothing to gain by being close to him.” She then turned away, pulling on a pair of gloves over her hands as one of her daughters placed a mask over her face. “Are you ready to begin? This is your last chance, and I cannot promise it won’t hurt.”

“I am.” You said. “Thank you for answering my question.”

Carmilla nodded, and proceeded to give out instructions to you and the rest of the staff in the operating room. You complied, not wanting any more time to be wasted on your behalf. At least now you knew why you were upset. It was because you cared about Alastor. Cared….yes, that is the appropriate word. You had to distance yourself from him. It is what he wanted, so you must respect his decision as the manager of the Hazbin Hotel.

Yes, it is better this way.

That was the last thought that crossed your mind before a mask was placed over your face, and everything fell into darkness.

Alastor did not understand. You were doing what he wanted you to do. He did not want to see or talk to you unless it was necessary. So why was it making him angry? When he congratulated you on a successful recovery from your procedure, complimented your progress in physical therapy per Carmilla’s instructions, or how lovely the eulogy you wrote for Sir Pentious' memorial service, you showed no reaction. You simply stared at him with a hollow expression before thanking him, excusing yourself with a bow of your head.

He should be elated. No, he is pleased. He is satisfied that his relationship with you has not gone by being professional. Why, you even pull away as soon as he lays a finger on you~! So why does it bother him that you recoil from his touch? No. He…cannot accept it. He cannot accept this. He needed to speak to you. Discreetly.

However, now that this new and improved Hazbin Hotel stood in place of the old one, everything is much bigger with the additional square footage; meaning there would be more ground to cover if Alastor is to ever find you, even if you do not wish to see him.

Niffty, bless her little deranged mind, pointed him in the direction of the greenhouse. Of course, it was much bigger than the old one. But he still saw the old stained glass windows of the Moriningstar family crest lined up on the south side, allowing red light to come through and shine down on seedling trays with new shoots poking out of the inky soil. The clean, fragrant scent of herbs permeated the air as he walked through the rows of berries, juicy melons, and other culinary delights. He did not think this place would already be thriving when you were the only one who tended to it, as the hotel’s groundskeeper. However…this is you. You, who is able to accomplish anything once you put your mind to it.

He found you hiding just beyond the apple trees, kneeling beside a bush of glistening roses, armed with pruning shears and an apron over your clothes. A watering can sat on the grass by your side. Your back was facing him…which allowed him the element of surprise. Grinning, he leaned forward, stretching his gloved fingers to lightly caress the petals of the rose you were about to snip off.

“Oh, my apologies dear. My hand slipped!”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, emotionless [Eye Color] irises holding a steady gaze before turning away. “It’s all right. There are others that I can place at Sir Pentious’ memorial site.” You said, raising the shears to carefully cut another rose with a small snip. “Thank you for your concern.”

The static around him buzzed, swelling in synchronization with his boiling anger towards you. “I see.” He hissed. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you.”

“It is all right.” Snip. “If there is nothing else, please allow me to finish this so that I can go on break. Niffty will not be happy if I am not out of here within ten minutes.”

“I’m afraid we must discuss something, [First Name].” He pressed on, irritated at your uncharacteristic rudeness. “That is why I am here. So please turn around and look at me.”

You did. You placed the shears down, twisted your body around so that you looked at him straight in the eye. “Yes?” You said. “What do you need?”

He smiled, the static around him coming to a screeching halt and he was much calmer. Finally, He thought. You were looking at him, instead of avoiding his gaze. “I understand that since you have been cleared to return to work, you’ve been quite busy~! However! What I do not understand is why you have been ignoring me.” He leaned forward, feeling his eyes transform into radio dials. “You do not greet me as much as you have before, we haven’t had tea together, nor have we taken a stroll in Cannibal Colony~! So…why are you acting like I am a complete stranger to you?”

“Because I know the truth.”

Any and every thought he could have possibly said to her at this moment evaporated upon hearing your answer. “Pardon? I’m sorry but I didn’t catch that.” His voice leaked through the rising static. He felt his antlers grow, expanding past his ears with cr-crik, crick noises. Like the roots of a tree.

“I know the truth. I know that you are angry over what happened in the war, how everyone saw you flee from your battle against Adam. I know you wish to unclip your wings and that you utterly despise me. So I am doing what you wish for. To maintain a professional relationship as the groundskeeper and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel. Our goal is to redeem sinners. There’s nothing beyond business between us.” You said with a calm and expressionless composure. “I went there that day, to the radio station. I had gone there to look for you, to make sure you were all right when I heard your words. But know this,” A sudden sheen of ice glazed over your eyes. “If you bring harm to Charlie or anyone in this hotel, I will kill you where you stand.”

The last thread of patience in his psyche split in half. Before he could stop himself, Alastor pinned you against the ground, his hands on your shoulders and glaring at you, trying to intimate you with his true form, to scare you into silence as he had done with Husk…but you held your gaze.

“It’s terrible manners to eavesdrop on someone, my dear.”

“And it isn’t wise to attack someone when you are not even at your full strength.”

In a flash you immediately flipped him over, straddling his hips as you held down his wrists over his head with one hand. The other held a garden spade to his throat and he was burning. That was when he realized you weren’t wearing your gloves, thus the angelic steel is the reason why his skin is on fire.

“Calm yourself, Alastor.” You said. “There is no reason to be angry when I am doing what you want me to do. Nor to act as you are doing right now. I advise you to take slow, deep breaths and count to five backwards.”

“Release me.”

“Not until you have calmed down.” The way you replied so calmly, so…lifelessly, made Alastor angry. Angrier than he has felt in a long, long time. Not since his prey had escaped the forest and he did not get to eat them. Not since his mother died, leaving him alone in the world except for a drunken asshole who wasn’t worthy of being his father. Make these feelings stop NOW

“Come to my office in exactly twenty minutes for an evaluation about your conduct at work. Do not be late.”

That was the last thing he said to you before he sunk into the grass as an inky shadow, slithering back towards the greenhouse’s entrance towards his room. He couldn’t believe it. How could you have known everything? How could he not have sensed your presence? Was he that weak? No. No, he assumed he was alone and clearly he had not been. You were an anomaly. You were raised as a weapon; to spy, to kill, to search and destroy upon the command of your master.

So why does it still bother him? Why does his head feel like it is about to split in half as he goes over the conversation over and over in his mind? Why is his heart falling into the pit of his stomach at remembering your promise to kill him if he harmed anyone here in the hotel? Why does he have this urge to know how you truly feel towards him? Do you still care for him? Do you love him?

In twenty minutes, he needed to know the truth…or else he would go insane.

What Alastor did not realize though, as he holed up himself in his quarters until the allotted time to meet with you, Husk had seen the whole thing from the door.

He was going to drag you to lunch because Niffty had gotten pissed that you were skipping meals again…and thank fuck Alastor did not see him. Husk, the drunken gambler and former overlord, almost flew over to you with a worried look, grumbling under his breath. Once he saw that you were all right and did not have visible bruises or injuries courtesy of a certain someone, he grabbed you by the hand, leading out of the greenhouse. He was not going to let Alastor hurt you again.

He might be a dumbass, can’t fight worth shit…but you are important to him, and he’ll protect you even if it means putting himself in the line of fire again.

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #yandere alastor x reader #alastor x reader #yandere x reader #forbidden-sunlight #yandere male #yandere #ns.fw #cw physical abuse #tw physical abuse #tw possessive behavior #cw possessiveness #hazbin hotel spoilers #violet evergarden!reader #character!reader

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deusvervewrites · 4 months

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Heart of Steel Snippet!

“Bet you know all the juicy gossip too,” Mei says with a grin. “You know! All the cool stuff that never went anywhere! Like space flight! Or Genetic modifications! Or AI.”

So that’s what she’s up to. Izuku doesn’t spare her a glance, processor whirring anxiously. Even though he trusts Melissa, this is a dangerous topic to broach.

“You sound like a friend of mine,” Melissa laughs. “Nah, there was a big project about twenty years ago, but something must’ve gone wrong with it. Like, super wrong. Nobody wants to talk about it anymore. I figure it’s probably what happened with that AI that UA has.”

Somewhere like I-Island, filled with experimental technology, a rogue AI becomes exponentially more dangerous. Izuku nods. He can… understand why no one here wants to repeat what happened with UA.

“Wait a tick!” Mei says. “That friend of yours… do they happen to be online?”

Melissa stops mid-step. “…MachineMama813?”

“GalMighty77!” cheers Mei.

Izuku laughs at the serendipity. “You are a girl after my own heart.”

#asks #ask game #ask game series 17 #heart of steel au

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eilidh-eternal · 3 months

Text

You make a promise

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | CW mentions of SA, stalking, general PTSD warning for reader and Johnny |

It happened again.

You knew it would. Know that part of being a woman in this world means living in near constant hyper-vigilance; with an acute awareness of your surroundings.

Should have known better. Should have been more aware. Should have kicked and screamed. Should have fought back.

It’s disappointment that curls around your mind like a serpent and sinks its fangs in deep, floods you with venomous, paralyzing thoughts.

Paralyzed. That’s a good word for it. Pinned against that bookshelf and presently burrowed beneath the blankets in the dark, body curled in on itself with trembling hands tucked tight to your chest. Small. Meek. Trapped in a body that betrays everything you taught it to do. Disappointed that the months of training you endured in the aftermath proved useless when tested outside of a controlled environment and theoretical scenarios.

It happened again–and you let it.

“Bubby?” Isobel is strapped in her car seat, kicking impatient little feet while Johnny works to unfasten the belt across her lap.

“Yes leannan?”

“Why’re the polis here?”

His hands go still, hovering above the buckle, and he turns his head over his shoulder just enough to glimpse the two lids standing on your front stoop. The air in his lungs rushes out of him, chin falling to his breastbone as the panic winding tight in his chest slowly unfurls.

This is home. Isobel is safe. Everyone is safe. This isn’t that day, he reminds himself, but seeing them on your doorstep strikes flint against steeled nerves. The carefully compartmentalized part of his brain that he reserves for work wrestles itself free from its confines and floods his body with adrenaline. Makes the hair on his nape stand on end and the muscles in his jaw tighten until it aches from the tension.

With Isobel extracted from the car, perched on his hip and her book bag slung over the opposite shoulder, he turns to nudge the car door closed, just in time to see your door crack open. Watches the two men present their badges and a folded bundle of paperwork. Gnashes his teeth when he sees, even from the street, wide and fearful eyes that scan everything behind them. Eyes that note his presence and dart away to catalog the next detail. Trodden snow and parked cars. The woman across the street, walking her dog. Surveying your front yard with the same scrutiny he does an engagement zone.

Isobel squirming in his arms tears his focus away from you, forces him to register the burning sensation at the tip of his nose, the tops of his ears, cold winter air surely biting into her skin just as mercilessly as it does his own.

“I dunno. Let’s get ye inside, aye? Dinnae want to find any missing fingers or toes tonight.”

To anyone else it would look like he’s taking his time with the ice, treading carefully with the little girl in his arms so as not to send them both crashing down into the snow. Anyone else would see lids next door and mind their own damn business.

Johnny’s never been particularly good at that.

Their presence alone is enough to raise his hackles, to pull the pin from his nerves and toy with letting the hammer fall. Just enough to see if they’re as trained up as the SNP says they are. But all that’s likely to do is scare you more, and he can’t have that. He just found you, just started to get to know you. He’ll be damned if he lets another rash decision chase a pretty thing like you away.

The thought of it twists and knots in his stomach, plucks at the out-of-tune strings wound through his heart in a weeping facsimile of something he doesn’t dare put a name to. Can’t name because it gives it too much power. Makes it too real.

It’s slow going, pretending to fumble with the keys in the cold. Feigning indifference as he grapples with “—in custody, for now—” and “—press charges?”

The snow and ice outside is a brilliant, blinding white. Inside, all Johnny can see is red.

Charges? What on earth happened that she needs to press charges for?

“Bubby, too tight,” Isobel grouses, and he loosens his arm around her with a sigh, lowering her to the ground to help with her jacket and boots.

“‘M sorry, Bell. Didnae mean to squeeze ye so tight.” Curls bounce around her face as she teeters on one foot, hands on his shoulders to keep her balance.

“It’s okay.” She shifts to her other foot, pulling free of the fleece-lined boots. “Ye’re makin’ a twisty face again,” she observes, and her brows mirror the pinch of his own.

Too damn observant.

“Ah know,” he admits, and his chest heaves with another sigh, reaching up to smooth the crinkles in her forehead with his thumb. “Dinna worry about me and muh twisty face. How ‘bout some hot cocoa? We’ll warm up and then see about supper, hm?” Her face splits into a toothy grin and he softens at the sight. Lets her latch onto his hand and drag him into the kitchen.

“May we come in?”

No.

“Of course.” You take a step back, pulling the door open just wide enough to let the two officers through. Melting snow pools on polished hardwood under their boots, and you quickly herd them towards the carpeted sitting room before the water can warp your floors. You sit opposite of where they do on your sofa, big fluffy robe pulled tight over flannel pants and a pullover.

“He’ll be released on Thursday morning, unless ye’d like to go ahead with the charges for—”

“—No.” Your fingers curl into your palms. “Just the restraining order. I—” Can’t see his face again. Don’t want to be in the same room with him again. “—just the restraining order. Please.”

The shorter of the two nods and produces a pen from his coat, scribbling something in the margins of the papers he holds before sliding them across the coffee table towards you.

“Tha’s the station an’ phone number,” he says, tapping on the notes he made. “We’ll ring ye when he’s released. An’ we’ll ‘ave the protective order in place by tomorrow. He shouldnae be botherin’ ye anymore.”

All you can manage is a nod and a whispered, “Thank you.” They’re kind enough. Most people are.

Until they’re not.

——

It’s dark outside when you hear a knock at your front door, and your hand immediately reaches for your phone, breath forced out of your lungs by the panic squeezing them inside your chest.

There’s a muffled voice. A giggle, followed by shushing and shuffling feet. “Dinnae want to spoil the surprise,” you hear in a familiar lilt.

Johnny?

You draw a relieved breath and wince when your nails press into the marks on your palms, angry crescent moons, and pull yourself up off the couch to peer through the edge of the curtains.

Johnny and Isobel stand, the former holding the latter, on your stoop, small pan of… something, in Isobels gloveless hands.

Bewildered as you are, you shed the blanket from your shoulders, smoothing a hand over your rumpled jumper, and hurry to the door, fretful over Isobels fingers in the frigid air.

The door cracks open, and with it, so do their smiles.

“Hi, bonnie—”

“—Surprise!” they say at the same time.

You stand dumbfounded in your doorway, hand braced on the wooden frame, and Isobel holds out what might be something of a cake beneath a mountain of whipped cream towards you.

“It’s a trifle,” she proudly announces. You turn a questioning eye to Johnny.

“Didnae have the fixin’s for a proper cake,” he supplies. “Figured it would be a sort of… olive branch.”

Olive branch? Why would he need—?

Clipped memories from several days ago replay in your head. Coming home. Sitting in the car. Johnny calling after you. Practically running away and slamming the door on him. Shutting him out.

And here he stands, thinking he’s done something worth apologizing over.

“You don’t need- you didn’t… oh, come in out of the cold, will you? No sense in freezing out there.” You push the door open wider, beckoning them in.

“Thought ye’d never ask,” he teases with a wink and shuffles inside, following you to the kitchen with Isobel in tow behind him.

“Here, let’s put that on the table.” Isobel gladly relinquishes the pan and you’re relieved when you feel its warmth seeping into your fingers, a little less worried about both of their lack of proper winter attire. “I’ve never served trifle… would bowls be best?”

“Aye, ye’ll probably need spoons too. More of a pudding than a cake,” he says as he settles himself in a chair, Isobel quick to clamber up onto his lap.

You’re surprised by your own lack of nerves. The dishes don’t clatter together when you pull them from the cabinet as they have in recent days, and you don’t feel so uneasy with your back to them. Don’t feel the need to look over your shoulder when Isobel thrums her little fingers on the wooden table, or the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice, speaking to her in hushed tones.

You’re safe here. Safe with them.

Johnny’s right about the dessert too. It’s warm, freshly made, and it’s made for a bit of a runny affair, melted whipped cream seeping into custard and some sort of cake on the bottom.

“It’s good. Thank you for, um… Thank you for sharing.” You spoon another bite into your mouth before you can shove your foot in it. Isobel seems to be in another plane of existence entirely, too absorbed with the confection smeared at the corners of her mouth. The same can’t be said about Johnny. He’s focused wholly on you, dessert in front of him a secondary matter. Tertiary, even, with Isobel perched on his knee and his arm looped around her midsection.

The warmth in his eyes has shifted, burns brighter, in a seeking sort of way. Searching for tinder to catch on. More air to billow and blaze. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”

You settle your silverware in your bowl and fold your hands in your lap, pulling the inside of your cheek between your teeth when your nails slice into your palms again. “Sure.”

The silence isn’t uncomfortable so much as it is heavy, laden with the weight of his unspoken question as he continues his assessment of you. For a moment, you wonder if maybe it’s you who owes him an apology.

“Havnae seen ye for a few days. Yer car’s nae moved and yer curtain’s been closed. And last week, when ye–” He pauses abruptly, mulling over his next words carefully. “Ye looked like a green recruit, fresh off the field.”

Terrified.

Shell shocked.

“That have anythin’ to do with the fellows who dropped by today?”

Your eyes flick between his, the bowl on the table in front of you, and Isobel–still lost in her own little microcosm. Untainted by the dark things lurking just beyond her understanding. You knew he’d seen them. Knew he might ask about them at some point. What you hadn’t expected was a trojan horse in the form of a trifle. Thought you would have more time to think of something to explain the situation away.

This isn’t something he should be burdened with. Not over you. Not when he has Isobel to look out for.

When you finally meet his eyes again they’re no less dim. Still searching for words buried beneath ash on your tongue.

“I… Yes. It did.” You swallow, shove down the knot working it’s way up from your chest. “I was followed, out at the shops,” you lie. “The man, he wouldn’t leave me alone, so… the shopkeeper called for the polis. He left me alone after that, but they still took a statement.” You glance towards Isobel again. To give yourself reprieve from the intensity of his gaze and to ensure she’s not listening too closely to the conversation being had. “Guess it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. They came by today to… to let me know he’s in custody. Wanted to know if I wanted to press charges.”

He’s quiet, unearthly still on the wooden chair, staring hard at the expression you’re doing your best to keep calm.

“This happen before?” he questions, hand curling into a fist on the table.

“No,” you lie–again.

He nods, a near imperceptible tilt of his chin. “Are ye filing?”

You nod in return. No need to go into the specifics.

His shoulders relax a fraction when he looses a long breath. “No wonder ye wouldnae come near me that day,” he muses aloud. “‘M sure my givin’ ye a fright in yer car didnae help much, either.”

“It’s not your fault,” you interject.

“Maybe so, but…” His eyes drift with his words, searching the patterns of the wood grain for something. “Can I ask ye another question?” When he looks up at you again, you nod. “Promise ye’ll tell me, if anythin’ like that happens again? Dinna like the thought of ye dealin’ with it on yer own, lass.”

“Tell ye what?” Isobel queries, bowl of trifle empty in front of her, but his gaze remains firmly on you, and you don’t think he’s willing to take no for an answer.

“Okay. I promise.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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janaispunk · 1 month

Text

sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#janas fics #fic: safe and sound #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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strangersmunsons · 2 months

Text

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 3 Prompt: Lingerie 🎀 ~ 2,200 words you buy a pretty set of underwear to wear for Eddie. smut, 18+ only: p-in-v sex, spanking (brief), oral/fingering (fem!receiving), nipple play/tit sucking, praise, body worship.

Soft tissue paper crinkles beneath your fingertips as you gently remove each thin layer from the clean, white, department store gift box.

You’re almost afraid to touch it; you’ve never owned anything so pretty and fragile-looking. Up until this point the fanciest underwear you’ve ever worn was a plain bra and panty set from K-Mart.

But this? Whole ‘nother ball game. You imagine Eddie will be very pleased.

The bra is little more than delicately-constructed strips of fabric; creamy satin to line the underside of your breasts, dainty lace to adorn the top, in a display of completely false modesty, as there’s space enough between the two materials for the buds of your nipples to peek through. The waistband of the matching thong is frilled with gentle sprays of lace that will float over the curves of your hips, and there’s a tiny silk bow sewn into the fabric that will cover your mound.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Eddie loves you in anything. That boy could look at you in snow pants and a parka and still succeed in getting a boner. But you felt the time was ripe for you to treat both yourself and him to something special.

You’re aiming for soft, romantic — cherubic, even. Something Valentine’s Day appropriate. When you slip the set on for the first time, and eye yourself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, you think you’ve definitely achieved that. It fits like a glove; you’ve never felt sexier.

As if he somehow knew exactly what you were up to, Eddie taps on the closed door. “Sweetheart? Are you alright in there?” You don’t usually lock him out of the bedroom.

“Yes,” you call back to him, heart jumping in anticipation. “Just give me one second.”

Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath, cast one last approving glance in the mirror, and open the door for your boyfriend.

Eddie’s mouth, opened to greet you, suddenly snaps shut when he takes in the sight before him. His eyes are huge as he looks you up and down, greedily roaming over every square inch of your body.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

He doesn’t even say anything — just lunges forward and crushes you to him, arms winding around you as tightly as they can go. His full lips press against yours in a searing, bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and spit. He nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth, leaving you breathless, whiny, needy; he walks you backwards, until the backs of your legs hit the side of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto the plush covers.

Eddie covers your body with his own, warm weight adding a delightful pressure against your torso. Automatically your legs wrap around his trim waist, his denim-clad crotch creating delicious friction as it rubs against your own satin-covered core.

He moves away from your mouth, peppering sloppy kisses over your chin and up your jaw, then all over your neck until he finds that little sweet spot that makes you keen. One fist tangles in his hair, and you give a gentle tug to the curly locks. Eddie moans into the hollow of your throat.

With your lips now free, you manage, “Do you like it, then?”

Eddie’s head whips up, like he’s shocked you have to ask. “Hell yes. You look fucking gorgeous.”

Willing himself to gain some self-control, Eddie slows his pace. He peels himself away from you with reluctance, standing back up, and motions with his index finger for you to spin around. “Hands and knees, baby. Wanna see that pretty ass in the air.”

You scramble to the center of the bed on all fours. Once in position, Eddie runs his fingertips down your back, brushing lightly down your spine and back up again, making you shiver. Then he flattens his warm, calloused palms against your skin, rubbing in one smooth motion from your shoulders to your bottom, grasping each bare cheek in his hands and giving them a tight squeeze. “So pretty,” he croons, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to each one. “You’re my angel, you know that?”

You already feel flushed, dizzy, intoxicated by his praise and the feel of his hands, and the sensation of a single, curly tendril falling from over his shoulder and brushing against the back of your thigh. Eddie lets go of one cheek and runs a finger over the back piece of the frilly thong, toying lightly with the fabric nestled between your cheeks. You suck in a sharp breath as his finger dances along the crevice.

“I like this,” he muses, then wallops a firm slap! against your ass. Nothing brutal — hard enough to bring the blood to the surface of the skin, warm and stinging, but not so hard that you’re writhing in pain.

It’s like giving you a kiss, really.

He spanks the other cheek and you let out a little yelp. Eddie rubs the skin soothingly, easing the pain away. Then he pulls the crotch of your panties aside, already warm and sticky with arousal. Mouth positively watering, the heady, pungent scent of your sex filling his nostrils, he leans in, and starts teasing you with little kitten-licks, cleaning away the soft wetness leaking out of your cunt.

You moan wantonly, burying your face into the downy bed cover.

Eddie’s hands grasp at your hips, your ass, your thighs, anything that’ll keep him steady while he eats you out from behind like a man starved. His tongue picks up speed, alternating between broad stripes and precise, intricate patterns with the tip of his tongue, which dips inside of you, and after a few shallow thrusts, is replaced with a finger, then two. His mouth latches onto your clit, lips sealing around the sweet little bud, sucking gently while his thick fingers pump in and out of you, curling just so.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he groans against the slick flesh, “my sweet girl.” He lavishes a series of rapid, sucking kisses against your clit, and you fall to pieces.

“Eddie!”

Skin alight and tingly, panting heavily, you push recklessly back against Eddie’s face and he lets you do as you will, helping you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, words muffled by your cunt, “cum for me.”

As you come back down, your bones feel soft and spongy; you’re drowning in oxytocin and dopamine, floating in that sweet, dreamy space that only Eddie can take you to. He moves the underwear back into place, and rearranges your pliant limbs so you’re no longer on your hands and knees, but lying comfortably on your back. He shimmies out of his clothes quickly, shucking off the black jeans and t-shirt in record time. When he pulls his boxers down, his cock springs free, red and weeping; he jerks himself with a few quick tugs. You moisten your lips involuntarily at the sight, and move to sit up, eyes locked onto his heavy balls and girthy shaft.

But Eddie has other plans. “You can suck me off later, if you want to, princess.” He grins salaciously. “But right now I need to be inside you.”

He climbs on the bed, crawling between your legs, and turns his focus to your breasts. He lavishes the same attention on your tits as he did your ass, fondling them in the soft, barely-there cups, swiping his thumbs into the space where your nipples are exposed, pinching lightly, rolling them between his fingers.

The bra comes off, and he doesn’t hesitate to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. When he’s finished with one, he kisses his way across your chest to the other. “Love these tits so much,” he mumbles into the swell of your breast before sucking the next one into his mouth, making sure he shows it the amount of same love. He looks up at you with big puppy eyes, and your fingers weave securely into his hair while he sucks.

Releasing your breast with a wet, almost-comical pop, he straightens back up and pinches the waistband of your panties between two fingers. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls them down, baring you completely. Cool air hits your sticky, aching middle, and your legs tremble in anticipation.

The curls on your pubic mound have gone soft, dampened with sweat and arousal; he strokes them with loving fingers before continuing to pull the underwear down your thighs, past your knees and calves, until they’re completely off. He bites his full bottom lip, eyeing your cunt. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he promises you. Then he brings the panties up to his nose and sniffs delicately.

You squeal and kick at him playfully with one foot. He catches your ankle and snickers, pressing a quick kiss to your heel. “What? I like how you smell. I like how you taste, how you sound, how you look…” he trails off, staring at your body beneath him with lovestruck eyes. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He runs his hands down your sides in admiration, feeling every curve and crevice and dimple and bump, and loving all of them.

“So are you.”

He reaches out to cup your face with one hand. You lay your own hand on top of his and sigh, hoping you can feel this way with him forever.

Eddie twines his fingers through yours, and presses your interlocked hands into the mattress beside your head. He lays over top of you, settling in slowly, all franticness from earlier gone. He rubs his body against yours, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, savoring the feeling, both of you letting out soft moans at the sensation of his hard cock slipping against your wet folds.

He tucks his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please…”

“Good girl. So polite.” Eddie lines himself up and slips inside of you, pushing in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his length. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, breathing heavily into the skin. When you moan, and clutch at his shoulders, he understands that you’re giving him permission to speed up. His hips start to rock into yours a little bit faster, a little bit harder.

You move in tandem. The bed creaks. The two of you are a mere tangle of limbs; holding each other this close, it’s impossible to tell where your body ends and Eddie’s begins.

You whimper at the feeling of his thick cock pumping in and out of you, stretching you out in an exhilarating mix of pleasure-almost-pain. “Tha’s it, baby, let me hear you. Wanna hear all your pretty noises,” Eddie says, voice ragged. “Let me know how good it feels.”

“Feels so good, Eddie,” you tell him brokenly, thoroughly fucked-out. “Feels so big.”

At that, his thrusts become sloppier. “Yeah? My cock makin’ you all nice and full?” He snakes a hand down to your clit, rubbing it with his thumb. He knew the second he saw you in that getup he wasn’t gonna last long — honestly, he’s surprised he made it this far with blowing his load.

With the added stimulation over your sensitive bud, you’re nearly there. The scent of sex, spiced body wash, and tobacco invade your senses, so all you can think of is Eddie. The muscles of your abdomen tighten, the walls of your cunt clenching around Eddie’s cock — you’re teetering on the precipice of climax. Eddie wants it like nothing he’s ever wanted before.

His lips at your ear. “Give me one more sweetheart you’re so close I can feel it —”

A second orgasm overtakes you, pleasure bolting from your core in every direction. You cry out, biting into his shoulder, nails digging crescent-moons into his back. He holds you tightly and works you through it, concentrating on your release, though his own is right on its heels.

It’s too much. “Kiss me,” he begs, and then, not waiting for an answer, desperately seals his mouth to yours, so urgently that it’s merely a collision of lips and noses. Equally drunk on you as you are on him, amidst the aftershocks of your own pleasure, Eddie finally lets himself go. The taut rubber band inside of him finally snaps — he cums as deep inside of you as he can with a guttural groan, curling his body around yours, hips stuttering an uneven rhythm.

The rush fades slowly, and Eddie slumps against you, pulling his cock out when it eventually softens, which wrenches another sigh from you. You both lie there together and pant, waiting for your heart rates to slow. Eddie’s warm seed starts to trickle out, adding to the wet mess between your legs.

Eddie dots a few hazy kisses to your neck, and you push the sweaty hair back from his perfect face.

With some effort, he lifts his head up, and his eyes find yours. He shoots you an exhausted grin. “You’re too good, baby. How’d I get so lucky?”

You laugh, knowing he did most of the work. “I could ask you the same thing.”

His smile softens, becoming a besotted, giddy thing. He takes your face in between his two hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“I love you,” he pecks at your lips, “so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #in retrospect. this feels like a missed opportunity to put eddie in lingerie again :(

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