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steddie-island · 11 days

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HAPPY SUB EDDIE WEEK!!! Rating: E | WC: 2,129 | Tags: Ghostface roleplay, fake home invasion, predator/prey, simulated knife play, Dom Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, Dacryphilia, hair pulling, manhandling Full list of tags on ao3. As always, thanks for reading, and reblogs, comments, and kudos are very appreciated! Divider credit to @saradika!

It’s dark. The power’s out, won’t come back on. Eddie’s tried the light switches in every room. No other houses on the street are out, it’s just this one. Goddamn breaker , he finds himself thinking. There’s a flashlight in the kitchen drawer that nearly blinds him as he turns it on and tests the strength of the beam.

The basement steps creak beneath his feet. The beam of light lands on shoes, totes holding camping gear, decorations, the cords he swears they can’t get rid of because as soon as they do they’ll need them.

There’s a sound off to the right. Eddie jumps, and the corner is illuminated by bright white. Nothing. There’s nothing there but more storage containers that hold comic books, his vinyls.

He turns, makes the short walk to the breaker box.

Another noise, this one behind him, has him turning.

A white mask, with black bloodhound eyes and a screaming mouth. There’s a hood, a cape. Big black shoes that thud as they cross the floor. A gloved hand comes out, the light reflects off of a long blade–

Eddie screams, nearly trips up the stairs. He can hear those feet thundering along behind him. A hand finds his ankle, he kicks out and then he’s running again. He tries to slam the basement door but it connects with a hand instead. He cries out again, runs for the staircase to the second floor, has a small heart attack as he slides with the rug across the hardwood.

A yelp as he skitters towards the stairs again, running full-out now. He can still hear those heavy shoes behind him. Every misstep has the intruder getting that much closer. He can practically feel the blade against his skin. He slides into the bedroom, turns to close the door but then there are hands on him, grabbing him. He’s pinned against the wall. His hands are above his head, his legs are kicked wide. And the silver object he’d seen back in the basement is pressed to his cheek.

“Look at you. Jesus, I knew you wanted this, but I didn’t realize how much it would work for you.” The blade is dull, not even butterknife sharp at best, but just the cool metal against his cheek has Eddie whimpering. “Bet you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Steve’s teeth scrape over his neck and Eddie’s hips jolt forward. He’s already pressed to the wall, so there’s nowhere for them to go and just adds pressure. “Bet you could come just from this.” Eddie loves Steve’s voice normally, but here? Growling in his ear as he rocks towards Eddie’s body like he can fuck him through both of their clothes? He doesn’t think Steve is wrong.

“Baby, please–” “Listen to you.” The edge of the blade is against his throat and can only whine. “So fucking desperate, so needy…” “Yeah– fuck, please–” Eddie gets the flat of the knife tapped twice against his cheek.

“You’re not in control here, Eddie. Remember? I am.” Eddie is moved away from the wall and practically tossed onto the bed so his ass bounces twice on the mattress. The mask is pulled back down but Steve loses the cape, revealing tight black jeans that hug his ass and a black t-shirt that has to be fucking painted on. Eddie’s going to come in his pants like he’s seventeen and not a full grown adult. Steve crosses the room. Those gloved hands grab Eddie’s thighs, knocking him onto his back, and pull his ass to the edge of the bed. “You’re fucking panting for it. God, Eddie, look at you.” Steve unbuttons his pants, tugs both pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock. The blade drags against the underside and Eddie whimpers again. Steve is trying to kill him– and not in the way they were playing. Steve is actually going to kill him. He’s so fucking turned on he wants to cry and Steve’s barely touched him so far.

“You’re dripping.” There’s a puddle of precome on his belly, still connected to his cock by a sticky thin string. “Jesus, Ed. I really think you could come like this.” “Steeeeeve. ” Eddie whines, his cock twitches beneath the touch. “Fuck, please .” Steve taps the blade against the head of his cock and Eddie gasps at the hurt. “Is that too much? Thought this was what you wanted from me.”

“Please. Please baby please–” “Safe word.” Steve’s fingers wrap around his cock. “What is it?” “P– Poughkeepsie–” Eddie cries out as Steve’s thumb presses against his slit. He’s so fucking sensitive it hurts. “Stevie, baby, fuck –” Steve gives one more stroke from root to tip, and then he’s flipping Eddie over onto his stomach. His hand comes down, connects with Eddie’s asscheek hard enough to leave a bright red handprint behind. Eddie’s eyes are closed and he’s practically humping the bed. “Stop it,” Steve says with another smack. His other hand slides between Eddie’s cheeks to tug at the plug they’d worked into his body earlier. It’s not very big, simple silver with a black jewel. He tugs at it, listens to the way Eddie’s breath whimpers and stutters out of his chest as his rim is stretched around the widest part again, again, fucking again .

“Baby, baby, god please –” Eddie’s sobbing with need now. Every touch, smack, all the pleasure and pain, they just add and build and none of it is what he really needs. “Do fucking anything –” The plug is gone, and then Steve is there. He’s thick and hot and he drives in with a thrust so sharp Eddie almost screams with it. There’s an edge of pain, but it’s mostly pleasure, pleasure so fucking intense that he snaps like a rubberband.

Just one fucking thrust and he’s coming so hard he sees stars.

“Jesus –” Steve drops his forehead to Eddie’s back, lets Eddie twitch and thrum beneath him, the spasms of his body pulling Steve’s cock deeper, holding him there while he sobs through it. Steve knows Eddie is oversensitive, but their scene isn’t over. He brushes the hair off of Eddie’s neck, lifts the mask up to kiss the back of his neck. “Safeword, pretty boy?” “Poughkeepsie.” Eddie slurs a little as he says it. His face is wet, his eyes closed against the blankets. The gloves are removed, and then Steve’s hands are running up Eddie’s arms, pushing them above his head. He pins Eddie’s wrists there with one hand, the other one coming down to his hip. The first roll of Steve’s hips has Eddie groaning lowly. Steve relishes in the clench of Eddie’s body as he slides out like it wants to keep him there forever. “Fucking beautiful,” he growls. His hips snap in a little quicker at the same time that he sinks his teeth into Eddie’s shoulder, earning a thready moan. He sucks hard enough, uses just enough teeth to leave an impressive bruise behind, one that he knows will get darker and more tender.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Steve’s hand moves from Eddie’s hip to his hair. He gathers it into his fist, tugs Eddie’s head to the side. “To be marked? Claimed? For everyone to know whose boy you are?”

The only response Eddie can manage is a whine, and to use the tips of his toes to fuck himself back onto Steve’s cock.

“You’re a wreck.” Steve drags his teeth down below Eddie’s ear as he kept up the slow but steady pace with his hips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work this hard for it before.” He grips Eddie’s hair that much more firmly, gives a tug that he knows has Eddie’s dick pulsing with need already again. “Tell me what you want.” Eddie tries to use his toes to guide himself again, but Steve stops him with another pull to his hair. “I said tell me, not show me. Use your words.” It takes a few moments for Eddie’s brain to reconnect with his mouth. He licks his lips, tries to start once and doesn’t quite get there. It’s hard to formulate thoughts when the blood has pooled in the wrong brain. “Want you to f-fuck me,” he gets out. “To mark me. Show everyone I’m… I’m yours.” Steve eases his hold in Eddie’s curls, but just barely. His hips pick up speed, fuck into Eddie’s body with long, deep thrusts. “Like this?”

“Harder,” Eddie urges.

Steve bites down on the juncture of shoulder and neck as his movements shift. They’re long, smooth strokes that punch the breath out of Eddie’s lungs every time he bottoms out. “Whose are you?” Not a growl this time, but a purr.

“Yours,” Eddie says without hesitation. “‘M all yours. I’m your good boy–” “My good boy, huh?” Steve drags his teeth along Eddie’s earlobe. “Do good boys beg to be fucked like this, Eddie? Do good boys beg to be pinned down and used, the way you want to be?” His hips snap harder and Eddie is ready to sob with it again. “Yours does,” Eddie answers.

Steve can’t help but laugh. “Keep your arms out in front of yourself. Don’t fucking pull them back, you got it?” Eddie nods, takes a deep breath as the warmth of Steve’s hand disappears. Then it’s on his hips, and Steve’s hand is pulling at his hair so his head lifts and his neck iss on display, and “ Oh god– ”

Steve’s movements are hard now, short and sharp and deep. Eddie can’t help the way he cries out, can’t help the tears dripping down his cheeks and further soiling the sheets beneath his head. His hands catch against the sheets desperately as Steve keeps pounding into him but he doesn’t even think about bringing his arms down to get more leverage. He was told not to.

“Steve– Steve, I–” Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Steve, thankfully, does. He grips Eddie’s hair tighter, lets his hand slide to the raised welts he’d left earlier. Blunt nails dig in against the marks. He drives in at just the right angle, tugs Eddie’s hair just sharply enough to tilt the sensation over into pain.

And then Eddie’s coming again. Spots fill his vision, he screams against the sheets. Just as he feels Steve emptying into his body, the world goes dark.

Eddie comes to when a cool cloth touches his face. Every atom of his being aches in the most delicious way. Steve is there, looking a little concerned as he wipes tears and snot off of Eddie’s skin.

“Hey, beautiful.” Steve kisses a trail from his forehead down to his lips. “How was that? Was that what you wanted?” Eddie nods and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Steve’s wrist, keeping the hand there against his cheek. “‘S good for you?” he asks.

“Yeah! Yeah, it was… fucking awesome .” Steve smiles and presses another kiss to Eddie’s cooling skin. “It was a lot, though.” “Yeah. It was.” Eddie doesn’t sound upset about that as he tugs Steve closer, until Steve’s laying half on top of him and he can burrow into his chest. “Wanted it.” “I know you did.” Steve combs his hair out of his face, untangles his curls before massaging lightly at his scalp. He knows Eddie’s going to have a tender head, maybe for the next couple of days, and he wants to make sure it’s at least bearable. “You did so fucking good, Eddie. Fuck, I’ve never seen you let go like that.” Eddie preens beneath Steve’s touch, beneath his words. It’s what he always (well, almost always) wants, to be good for Steve. His Steve.

When his legs no longer feel like jelly Steve stands him up, helps strip him down the rest of the way before half carrying him to the bathroom. They soak in the tub together. Steve kisses the bruises he’d left behind as he shampoos Eddie’s hair. They get out and still Steve is right there, wrapping him in their fluffiest towel. By the time Steve’s finished with his hair and getting him into pajamas, Eddie’s practically dead and swaying on his feet. “Drink for me, okay?” Steve kisses his cheek, helps him down half a bottle of water. The sheets get changed while Eddie sits in the corner and nibbles on his favorite chocolate. They finish it in bed, Eddie drains the rest of the water. “I love you,” Steve says for the millionth time as he tucks Eddie’s head into his chest. “You’re fucking incredible.”

Eddie smiles, murmurs a sleepy, “Love you, too.”

He’s asleep before Steve even gets the blankets tucked around him, safe and sound in his partner’s arms.

#Steddie fic #Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson #Stranger Things fic #SubEddieWeek #Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson fic #I'm really fucking proud of this AND I made the little banner with the name and everything #This didn't take a super long time but again I'M SO PROUD OF IT #kintsugi_kid ao3

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desertdollranch · 1 month

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Opening and reviewing my first My Imagination doll

I have a new 18 inch friend to introduce and review! And this one has had an interesting journey to me.

I stumbled across My Imagination dolls a few years ago on Dollation, a delightful but now defunct site that cataloged different brands of play dolls as well as collectible dolls (check it out via the Wayback machine). By that time, this particular brand, designed by notable doll artist Robert Tonner, was no longer producing dolls. I looked at a few listed on eBay, but I didn't feel ready to buy one. They were a bit out of my price range, and they didn't really strike me as very unique. Their brand name refers to the line of clothing that was supposed to be produced for them, in partnership with DC Comics, the Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, Alice in Wonderland, and I think maybe Disney. But there were very few of those promised items that were produced, and the brand itself only lasted from about 2015 to 2017 or so.

I have more or less neutral feelings about the partnering brands, so that didn't really sell them for me. So I moved on and put them out of my mind.

Cut to a few weeks ago, when my mom attended a doll show local to her. She's a collector as well, although these days she's almost exclusively into Barbie and similar size dolls. At the show she bought a beautiful 16 inch Tyler Wentworth doll, and when she sent me pictures I was pretty certain that the doll was designed by Robert Tonner. There's just something distinct in the face molds he creates. He also designed the dolls for the Magic Attic Club brand, and I have three of those, whom I adore. They're quite a bit older than My Imagination dolls, though.

(Heather, Keisha, and Rose.)

My mom and I were talking about other doll artists whose dolls are easily identifiable, like Helen Kish and Dianna Effner. I mentioned to her that Tonner had also designed a brand called My Imagination, and I went searching for examples to show her. That's when I stumbled across a listing for a doll that was not only a realistic price, but the particular doll I liked the best.

Since I first heard of them, my doll collection has changed a lot. It's no longer quite so dominated by American Girl dolls--not that I don't love them, I certainly do, but I've also opened my home to many other different brands of 18 inch dolls like Maplelea, Our Generation, Starpath, Healthy Roots, Götz, and Faithful Friends. I love having a diverse collection of unique dolls. It's fun to see how different they all look from each other, and yet they're all pretty much the same size and can be friends with each other.

So when I did see the listing for the My Imagination doll, I felt my heart change towards her and couldn't get her off my mind. I sat on the listing for a while, contemplating, imagining who she might turn out to be, until the seller sent me an offer for an even lower price. That did it. I went for it. And she arrived today.

Click through the cut to see the unboxing ceremony!

None of the dolls in this brand were given names. They are referred to as Brunette/Redhead/Blonde, in either Starter dolls (standard articulation at hips/elbows/head) and Deluxe dolls (bendable knees). The specific doll I got was the Starter Brunette.

She was brand new in the box, and it looks like she was probably never removed from her packaging. She was gently tied in with white satin ribbons rather than those awful plastic straps.

Time to free her from her box and take off her hairnet.

She's in perfect condition. She has a full vinyl body and is very heavy. The vinyl itself is dense and smooth with a matte finish, so much so that she almost looks like she's made of porcelain. Her skin has no shine to it at all. It's a bisque color with rosy undertones.

Her long curly brown wig is lovely but imperfect. It's rather dry on the ends.

Her glass eyes are gorgeous. They do not open and close. She has inset eyelashes.

But I think the side part isn't working for me, so how about we try a center part?

I think this gives her a younger look! Later I'll try to get her wig off and move it over so that she has a center part, but for now brushing it to the side works fine.

Looking at her undressed, I think she looks skinnier than American Girl dolls, but definitely not as slim as my Magic Attic Club dolls. Her head turns, and her arms and legs move outward as well as forward and backward.

Here she is side by side with one of my American Girl dolls, Eugenia. I think I'm right about their size comparison.

They had a fashion show to find out for sure just how similar they are! Eugenia can wear New Girl's dress just fine. It velcroes in the back and isn't too tight. New Girl is wearing an American Girl brand dress, and it fits almost perfectly--it's just a tiny bit big, and definitely not in a noticeable way.

Here's Eugenia wearing the cute sandals that came with New Girl. They're a pretty close fit.

And here she is next to (her cousin? half-sister?) Rose. To my eye, they very much look related.

Here she is in Maplelea brand clothes. I also did some brushing and reshaping of her curls.

I haven't decided yet what her name will be. I do know that she's a modern girl who loves to read, daydream, and play dress-up.

#my imagination dolls #doll review #robert tonner dolls

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eskawrites · 4 months

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23 👀? (if ur feeling up to it ofc 💖)

23. "Just a little longer."

(oh i was hoping i could do a lil cfdau for one of these)

January 1998

Robin's house is cold.

It's a nice place. It really is. It has the coziness of her place with Steve, with Robin's favorite blankets and too many couch pillows and the lamps always on instead of the overhead lights. There are touches of her here that didn't shine through as much in her old apartment. More photos on the walls, more vinyls piled on the shelves, way more candles. A stack of comics that Steve has certainly teased her about--obscure titles that Nancy suspects are Will's influence, given how close he and Robin have gotten lately.

It's nice. It's so Robin, so of course it is. But it's also cold.

It doesn't help that the winter has been bitter so far. They've gotten more ice than snow. The wind has been brutal, the sky pale and sunless. Every day since Christmas has been in the single digits.

They go out anyway, holding hands while they wait for coffee or meet for dinner. Paparazzi photos keep showing up of the two of them, and though no one ever dares to say something for certain--girlfriend seems to be a dirty word to the press--everybody loves to speculate.

It's not just the press, though. Nancy had a meeting scheduled over dinner just last night. It had been a big deal, with big names she'd been looking forward to potentially working with. An assistant had called her last minute to cancel. There's no way to know for sure why, but one look at Robin when Nancy had told her confirmed that they were thinking the same thing.

Robin had offered to take her out, to take care for her, to do anything she could to cheer Nancy up. They'd ended up curling up in Robin's bed, huddled beneath the heavy comforter, Robin's arms strong and warm around her.

They're there still, because even though the morning is half gone, the house is so damn cold, and the world beyond it is even colder. Nancy burrows further into Robin's embrace, pressing her cold nose against Robin's warm collarbone, and pretends like she can weather the winter if she just stays here forever.

"I'll make us breakfast," Robin offers, though she makes no move to dislodge Nancy and get up. Nancy makes a soft sound, something pathetically akin to a whimper, and digs her fingers into Robin's sleep shirt to keep her in place.

Robin's sigh is soft, understanding, but she tries again. "And coffee. Warm coffee, Nance."

Robin knows exactly how she takes her coffee, makes it so perfectly that Nancy will sometimes drag her feet in the mornings just so Robin will make it for her. Robin sees through her, of course, but she always presses the mug into Nancy's hands with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, so Nancy supposes she doesn't mind.

It's almost tempting, but it's not enough to make her want to move. So she doesn't. She lies there, eyes closed, not even trying to summon the energy to shake away the hollowness that has been in her chest since last night.

Robin rubs her hand up and down Nancy's back. "I'm sorry, Nance. I really am."

That makes her stir. She lifts her head to press against Robin's neck instead.

"Not your fault," she says, quiet but firm. She presses her lips against Robin's skin, just as soft, just as certain. Robin sighs again.

"It still sucks, though."

Nancy hums in response. Hence the moping in bed.

"But we both have the day off," Robin continues. "We can do whatever we want."

"Don't want to," she mumbles. She's distantly aware that she's pouting now, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when Robin is all she wants, and Robin is all she has, and Robin is the only person who really, truly understands.

"Nance..."

"Can we just--can we stay here?" Nancy pulls back to look up at her pleadingly--desperate, suddenly, to cling to this moment beneath the covers, this one chance to shut out the chill of the world. "Just a little longer?"

She's never had to ask, though. Not really. Robin's eyes are soft when she nods. She pulls gently on Nancy, and Nancy rises enough to kiss her softly, slowly, with all the warm, steadying assurance she's still getting used to having.

"We can stay as long as you like," Robin whispers when they part. Nancy hums again and settles back against her. Her fingers come up to comb lazily through Robin's hair.

"Will you still make breakfast when we get up?"

Robin smiles. "I'm sure I can be convinced."

#asks #fishwear #ronance #celebrity fake dating au #it feels weird posting this before nancy pov is finished but like. it's not a spoiler y'all know how their story ends

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thequiver · 1 year

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you got any indie comics recommendations?

OH BOY DO I

So some of these are educational graphic novels bc of who I am as a person but they're SUPER GOOD and you should still read them - but here's my list of recommendations in no particular order

Marie Curie: A Quest for Light (a graphic novel bio of the famous scientist that highlights her politics!)

Folklords (only 5 issues, does some really cool stuff with subverted fantasy tropes, Ansel is a cutie, 8/10)

The Magicians (this is based on the book series by Lev Grossman, and if you're familiar with the FX show you already know the premise, but it's VERY FUN and I like it so it's on here)

The Good Neighbors (this is more of a YA vibe and as the title suggests deals with fae nonsense, very fun)

Something is Killing the Children (some other comics go along with this one like House of Slaughter, all are in the horror genre, and it's a GREAT TIME if you're into that sort of thing)

Shubeik Lubeik (THIS IS A REALLY COOL BOOK ABOUT WISHES AND HOW THOSE WOULD LOOK IN A MORE REALISTIC CAIRO AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

Pixies of the Sixties (this is a period piece that deals with things like xenophobia and racism while also playing up the aesthetics of 1960s London and fairies)

Now Let Me Fly: A Portrait of Eugene Bullard (a graphic novel bio of the first African-American fighter pilot)

Little Monsters (a horror story about children vampires in a post apocalyptic setting)

Judas (yes, Iscariot, it's a really fascinating look at the Biblical figure)

Heavy Vinyl (wlw, late 90s record store, teen girl vigilante fight club- good times)

Grimm (based on the NBC show of the same name, there are other titles set in this world too, I'm very fond of this extremely trashy fairtytale-cop show mashup and how poorly it represents cops)

Godshaper (there's a god for every person, except one and he teams up with a god who doesn't have a person and together they travel around looking for a warm welcome and a paying rock gig)

Evita, the Life and Work of Eva Perón (a biography of the former Argentinian first lady)

Eat the Rich (a little bit like Knives Out)

Carmilla: The First Vampire (queer feminist murder mystery inspired by the gothic novel, Carmilla, and pulling from Chinese folklore)

Bone Parish (a necromantic horror story about the rich peddling drugs made with the ashes of the deceased)

Blue Book (true tales of ordinary people encountering the strange and impossible - ex. alien abductions)

Art Brut (equal parts police procedural, hyper-fantasy, and psychological thriller set on a backdrop of a trip through art history)

Aristotle (biography of the philosopher dealing with more than just his ideas)

Alienated (a story about having the power to change the world but not being ready to wield that power- more YA vibes but a good read for any age imo)

Abbott (and Abbott: 1973- a tabloid reporter investigates grisly crimes she knows the police have ignored and that she knows are occult in origin)

#indie comics #comic recs

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thefingerfuckingfemalefury · 1 year

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“FADE THIS SCENE TO BLACK NOW”

#Heavy Vinyl #Comics #Sfw #LGBTQ comic book couples #LGBTQ comic book heroes

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dropout-if · 8 months

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🩹🎶💯 pls?

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

Heavy spoilers for one of the ROs sorry!

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

Jade/Jean- mostly listens to movie ost. Either really chill or dramatic music basically. Loves Frank Sinatra and Elvis Costello.

Uma- Alternative and indie rock. Loves Garbage and The Cure.

Statler- Pop music mostly, pop rock. Is a Taylor Swift stan. Also loves Mitski.

Wanda- Hip hop, pop, rock… Listens and likes every genre and artist. She can’t commit to a favorite artist.

Kai- Punk, punk rock and grunge. Their favorite artists are The Gits and The Clash.

Travis- Likes dad rock lol. His favorites are Pink Floyd, Velvet Underground, etc. He also used to listen to lofi while studying.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

Jade/Jean-

J practices meditation daily.

They are fluent in three languages and do translation work when in a pinch.

J is one of the few ROs who has a healthy relationship with their family and that deserves a shout-out.

Uma-

Uma has a talent for baking and makes the most mouthwatering cinnamon rolls.

They have an impressive green thumb and has turned their apartment into a mini jungle with various exotic plants.

Uma's first tattoo was a well-kept secret for many years (everyone knew but their parents).

Statler-

They have an impressive knack for fixing things and can repair anything from a broken phone to a malfunctioning car engine.

Statler collects vinyls.

Has a family dog named Gold.

Wanda-

Wanda is a huge fan of astronomy and often goes stargazing in the nearby countryside.

She's passionate about environmental conservation and volunteer regularly for local cleanup initiatives.

Has not seen her parents in the past four or so years.

Kai-

They're a closet fan of cheesy romantic comedies, and they secretly binge-watch them when they think no one is watching.

Kai has an impressive collection of vintage comic books.

Kai enjoys learning about different cultures and travelling. They would like to visit many different countries.

Travis-

Travis used to be a competitive chess player in high school and even won a few local tournaments.

He is a part-time volunteer at an animal shelter. Travis adoped his cat Byron there.

Has a fascination with history and enjoys visiting museums.

#dropout if #dropout #ask #j gray #ros #ask game #kai alofa #travis camaro #statler amani #uma bharat #wanda pavon

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ms-nesbit · 8 months

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Sleepless In Seattle (chapter 5 of Empire Records)

Summary: Y/n has a guest at her place, and things go better than planned.

Rating: 18+ (minors, fuck off)

Warnings: smut, FINALLY smut, masturbation, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), swearing, trauma

Note: this is the final chapter of Empire Records. Lmk if you like it or if you want a different fic or some kind. I enjoyed this.

Previous Chapter

ao3

It was winter now - clouds loitering in the sky, over welcoming their stay, bringing grayish drab to the rancid city below them. Gothamites acclimated, as always - they were, after all, residents of Gotham, one of the most dangerous places in the world.

Y/n left her window cracked, welcoming the cold breeze as she lit her carefully placed candles. The wind tickled her skin, and she smiled when it did - her loungewear was underwhelming considering the climate, the band tee and black track shorts failing to cover what was now being touched by the cold air.

And she cleaned her apartment to prepare for company. Jason visited y/n’s flat before, usually to stop by for a chat (which turned into hours-long debates or dabbles), but in their exchange, it was clear this time was different. Her boyfriend hadn’t explicitly stated this, but given the tone of his voice and counsel provided by her horoscope reading, Jason was going to sleep over and - sex or not - it was important for y/n, who otherwise would have left her habitat a comical mess.

The apartment doorbell buzzed, followed by a static-distorted voice: “Hey, y/n? Could you, uh, buzz me up here? I got my hands full.”

Complying, y/n shook her head and giggled, pressing the button on the intercom. She wiped off her kitchen island, half-surprised by the spaciousness of it. She forgot the material of her countertop, and she reminded herself to look elsewhere for an apartment when her contract ended.

Then, a knock in the form of words. “Y/n?”

Jason. Y/n unlocked each lock before opening the heavy door to find the tall man grinning down at her, his arms holding a couple of vinyl and a reusable grocery bag, its contents unknown to y/n. Was this his sleepover bag?

It seems not, based on Jason’s answer after y/n’s thought. “Sorry for the wait. I brought some albums we could listen to, and some ingredients to make food in case we get hungry.”

He stepped in, and y/n closed the door, eyes on Jason’s ass in his dark jeans. She relocked the doors - a move critical to Gothamites - and pointed him in the direction of the island, where a pair of chairs were pulled out. Jason commented on the cleanliness of the apartment with a zest, “Oooh, dressin’ this dump up for me?” And y/n, too proud to admit she was falling in love with the ex-Robin, she quipped easily.

“Why did you bring food, anyway?” Y/n questioned when Jason was removing the ingredients, each in their own container, bagged or rigid. She noted the eggs and paprika first, then the bagged fresh cilantro, onion, spinach, and…cheese? Bagged cheese, at that? “Jason, do you have the rest of Whole Foods in here? I didn’t think there is one in Gotham.”

“Too much crime.” Jason smiled wickedly at y/n. “And no, I want to make something good. You said you’ve never had shakshuka, and that was almost a dealbreaker until you sent me a pic of your tits-”

“Ah, yes, the notes of true love.”

“-and I thought, ‘Well, I can just make them for y/n.’ And we can turn it into a date or something.” Jason finished, varieties of tomatoes in hand.

Y/n read the labels of cheeses. “I thought there wasn’t cheese in shakshuka.”

Sneaking a bite of spinach, he replied enthusiastically, “There isn’t! But I think I could use the remaining egg to make you a quiche in the morning.”

In the morning. Y/n was right, and she made a mental note to thank her astrologist later. She would be lying if she wasn’t excited - she tried some of Jason’s creations on their picnic at the cemetery, and wondered why he decided to pursue sexwork and not cooking - he was a rebel, one after y/n’s heart, at that, and y/n kissed him after that.

She walked across the island to meet Jason, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. “Thank heavens for my tits.” Y/n remarked after they broke the kiss, her face still inches from his.

His stormy hazel came to a tranquil green, the branches of a tree swaying to and fro. It wasn’t that he intended for the storm to brew - it was in Mother Nature’s hands indeed - but something in him stirred, something y/n spotted on their previous dates. Either way, she was thankful for Jason, and his arms securing her body close to his was a reminder.

“I love you.”

The words left Jason quicker than he wanted them to… or so y/n thought judging by the remorse-ridden expression he wore. Y/n’s eyes darted, the first time since their first date that she did so out of avoidance, and she opened her mouth, but nothing came of it.

Did she love him? Wasn’t it too soon to love someone? And if she did love him - theoretically, of course - why would he say it while she wore her period outfit (it was laundry day, an unfortunate time for y/n)?

Certainly, y/n loves Jason. But the hope in his eyes dropped, and the storm reeled back in, this time in full swing. Y/n hesitated.

“I love you too.” Y/n pushed out, her hands clinging to Jason’s shirt, praying to Aretha Franklin that he wouldn’t slip away from her. The sincerity in her eyes were burning, far greater than any hatred she felt, and Jason knew.

It was all he needed to calm the thunder in him, and the corners of his mouth twitched, turning into a grin, one that…it was endearing. Reassured, at ease, as if he avoided a nasty collision at a traffic stop. His arms loosened around her waist, unafraid of losing her. He has her, in his arms, and she wanted him.

Y/n wanted Jason, too, in a way that was softer than the sumptuous comforter she slept in, and quieter, her shouts and anarchistic demeanor maturing, aging into a keened elder, empowered by the experience in her wrinkles.

It was love that brought them to each other, despite the miscommunication; it was love that brought Jason’s hands underneath y/n’s band tee, his cold hands causing her to shiver; it was love that allowed Jason to remember y/n’s scent, her smile, her signature cackle; it was love that y/n chose when her hands instinctively traveled south, just above his jeans, all while staring at him for approval.

Jason nodded, a thousand proclamations of love in a silent room. He hissed when y/n hooked her index fingers on either hip under his dark jeans, and hauled them, revealing his erection. Having been familiarized with his line of work, y/n knew how he looked nude through a screen, but when Jason threw his shirt behind him, and presented himself vulnerable to her in her apartment, she teared up.

Still clothed, y/n guided them back to her bed, and laid him down, before removing her band tee, exposing her breasts to Jason. He shifted, cock filled with blood, and it twitched with each inch he allowed his eyes to wander. Instead of removing her shorts, y/n laid beside him, and threw a leg over his toned waist, burying her head in his chest.

Affirmation. It was validation he needed most of all, that he wasn’t an object to be used, and tossed into a closet, thrown with other forgotten memories webbed in ultraviolet tragedies - y/n told him she wanted him, not his body, all with a motion. She could have easily stripped herself completely and ridden him, no matter how tempted they both were, but she chose him.

Again and again.

Jason bit down on his lip at the sight before him though, and he was the one who broke the wholesome intimacy, darkening the mood into an amber as he lowered a hand to y/n’s chest and began kneading her breast. He heard a stifled noise from y/n, and she ground down on his waist, face still buried in his chest.

He chuckled. “Really, Princess? This is your weak point?” he pulled at y/n’s nipple, causing her to lift her face from him, as she yelped in a mix of pleasure and pain. “You look so much better in person, too. Feel incredible.”

Closing his eyes, Jason focused on the softness of her skin, and the suede, perked bud aching for attention. He wondered if her clit was the same.

“Sit on my face.” Jason blurted, both hands on y/n’s breasts as she leaned toward them, welcoming the attention.

“Come again?” Y/n asked.

“I didn’t come yet.” Jason joked, voice low in lust. “I want you to sit on and ride my face.”

Y/n processed his request quickly, and kicked her shorts off just as much. Before settling on his face, y/n eyed Jason’s cock - neglected, dripping with pre-cum - and gave his head a lick, causing Jason to moan loudly in surprise. He bucked his hips and groaned, annoyed by the tease.

“I hate you.” He said while y/n was positioning herself over his face.

“No you- oh.” Y/n lowered herself, her snide comment cut off by a moan as Jason anchored her legs with his arms, which gripped her thighs. He lapped at her wet cunt impatiently, tongue searching for the right pattern to set y/n off.

Y/n was in such a state of bliss that it took her a moment to realize Jason was spelling his name against her clit, her hips shaking when Jason signed a ‘J’. She looked down and saw Jason’s eyes, pupils blown in filth, as he ate her out, signing his initial over and over, until y/n met the constellations.

And she spotted the Big Dipper behind her eyelids when she shut her eyes, orgasm rapidly approaching. “Just like that, Jason!” she gasped, gripping his hair and riding his face. Y/n reached behind her with a hand to jerk Jason off, and when her hand grasped his cock, the moan he let out into her pussy sent vibrations of pleasure that drove her over the edge, her climax hitting her recklessly.

Jason guided her through it, stifling his moans despite y/n’s hand pulling at his needy erection perfectly, and he felt his balls tighten before he met y/n in the deep space, eyes screwing shut as senseless curses and explicit, long groans left his mouth.

Still straddling his face, y/n looked down at Jason to see how his face looked. It was so much different in person, the hues of flesh on his skin so tenderly painted with the cascade of the lighting and euphoria he experienced. “So beautiful…” doesn’t even cover what she stared at in the moment, and although it was inappropriate and greedy for her to remain, pussy hovered over his face, like that, she didn’t want to move.

Until, with his inhuman strength, Jason did, slipping out from underneath y/n so that he could sit beside her on her bed. Instead of rushing to get dressed, he laid her down, kissing her shoulders as he did so, and after y/n’s head hit the flat pillow, Jason pulled a comforter over her, excusing himself to the bathroom to clean himself off. In that time, y/n blinked at the ceiling, plucking thorns in the rose of their relationship and cutting herself, so nervous about what would become of their relationship after this shared experience. She feared she would be disposed of, so awkward in her own mattress.

“Here.” Jason returned and kneeled beside the bed, taking y/n’s hand in his. “How about I make you something to eat? Like that shakshuka, if you’re willing?”

The sharp prick of the thorns at her sides eased with Jason’s healing touch, a superpower he could never bring himself to see. Y/n nodded, grinning weakly at the handsome man tending to her.

She sat up and watched Jason as he whisked away in the kitchenette, involved in the meticulous cooking. “You know, you can take a picture. It’ll last a lot longer.” Jason leaned over the island, cutting board in hand, and winked at y/n, clearly calling her out for staring too long at him.

What could y/n say though? She loved it. She felt the comfort that only domestication could bring, something she believed, until this very moment, she was allergic to. And to be proven wrong by a twenty-something-year-old man with the body type of a linebacker?

Y/n had to be dreaming. Either that, or the fairy godmother enriching her Gotham experience was soon to be waving her wand and pulling the rug from under her.

“Depends. If I put music on, would you shake your ass for the camera?” Disney princess or not, y/n wouldn’t dare to lose her sharp tongue.

Jason stopped his chopping and stabbed the cutting board with the paring knife, walking over to the threshold between the living space and kitchenette, hand on his naked hips. “Darling,” he began with a long, dragged out Southern drawl, “you know you don’t have enough money to afford that.”

Y/n giggled, the first time she did that night, and watched as Jason dramatically swayed his hips as he strut his hips back to the cutting board. She shot up from the bed with a grunt, stretching her arms overhead before she walked to her record player, fingering through her stack. She picked one from the stack and carefully placed the vinyl on the platter, gingerly setting the needle before flipping the button to ignite its power.

A series of percussion and guitar immediately began playing through the speakers, the distorted voice tying the sounds all together. Y/n walked to the kitchen and rested against the wall, waiting for Jason to finish placing the eggs on the skillet so she could invite him to dance with her.

After washing his hands, Jason offered his hand, immediately pulling y/n close to him as they held each other. In a space where she usually felt like a stranger, Jason was the key piece to make her feel at home. “How do you get all this music, anyway? Employee discount?”

“Used to steal from FYE before they fired me.” Y/n replied without missing a beat, a shameless smile rising on her face.

“Fuck, I love you.” Jason cupped the back of y/n’s head and brought her to a deep kiss, their lips tangling.

And that was how their night was spent - bodies intertwining in an attempt to display affection in various ways. Y/n hummed along as she kissed along Jason’s torso, her lips wrapping around the head of his dick before swallowing what she could of it, pulling her head back with a pop;

Jason scooped up a forkful of shakshuka, feeding it to a sleepy y/n. He lowly sang Nancy Wilson as he did so, the voice warmer than the spiced tomato sauce, and smoother than the cashew milk Jason brought to wash down the meal with (so considerate, y/n purred after Jason slid his cock into her cunt, walls pulling him in deeper).

They exchanged vows in forms of stolen kisses and laughs, Jason falling asleep first on the brink of their honeymoon as the sun shone through the gaps between the curtains. Y/n didn’t want to fall asleep; her boyfriend was gorgeous even in his sleep. Gracious was how she felt as she gazed upon the beauty.

The darkness suited him, moon reflecting in his werewolf face (a daunting secret eating at him, only to be exposed by the climax of the lunar phases); however, the sunlight, when he was fearless enough to immerse in the innocence of it, called to him. It was a dear old friend of his, surely, as they reconnected with such familiarity: the warm colors of the bright sky dyed his hair, its ethereal tones complimenting the cool brown, green, and gray hues in his eyes (when he did wake up).

“I love you.” his mouth moved, voice sleepy and hazy, plump lips moving to a grin, the stretch of his lip curling up enough for her to feel its embrace. And if it wasn’t for the formality (curse those - who hadn’t heard of a morning kiss?), y/n would have reached over and connected their lips, united them by a twizzler of wanton and affection.

Yet they sat, eyes fusing in a tunneled stare. Y/n didn’t want to look away; Jason was afraid this was the dream, and falling back to the sheets would snatch him back to the nightmare he lived.

The indie mix sounded in the background, blended together with the chitchat of the Gothamites rising in the dangerous world just outside of y/n’s and Jason’s, and the everything they didn’t care about in that moment. Y/n now comprehended the campy cheeriness of Peter, Bjorn, and John’s hit - I only care about you and me. You and me.

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