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moonstruckme · 17 days

Note

If you don’t mind what about poly!marauders (emts version) x reader where she hides a injury that’s kinda serious (idk like a cut that’s pretty deep or smth) but she doesn’t think it’s serious, so she tries to hide it from them to not feel like a burden since they are always busy with work. Basically just a mix of emts marauders and casual dominance

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: mention of blood

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re trying to figure out whether putting your shoe in the washing machine will damage it irrevocably when the bathroom door handle twists.

You look up like a deer caught in headlights. Sirius’ gaze flits from the shoe in your hand to the bloodstained sock on the floor to your wide-eyed look.

“Shut the door!” you whisper-yell. He must be reeling, because he actually does it, closing the door with a click and dropping down beside you on the bathroom floor.

“What’s going on?” he asks. Again, his gaze goes to your once-blue sock, now marred by a dark red stain. “Are you hurt?”

You see the moment Sirius notices the foot you’re holding, layers of toilet paper wrapped loosely around the arch. His eyes sharpen.

“Don’t tell James and Remus,” you plead.

“Are you hurt?” he asks again, sternly now.

Your lip finds it way beneath your teeth. “Not really,” you say. “It’s not terrible or anything, I just can’t get it to stop bleeding.”

“That’s not usually a great sign, sweetheart.” Sirius scoots closer, holding out his hands. “Let me see.”

You know better than to argue, transferring your foot into his lap. He gives you an odd look about the toilet paper before starting to unravel it, the thin material tearing under his rushed handling. Your boyfriend relaxes slightly when the wound is revealed. It’s deceptively small for how much blood seems to come out of it, the cut only a couple of centimeters along the arch of your foot.

Sirius adjusts his grip, lifting it to the light to see it better, and you try not to look so visibly flustered at the tender way he’s handling you.

“It’s little, see?” you say. “No need to bother anyone else.”

He lowers your foot to give you an amused look. “Darling, as much as I love to have our dirty little secrets together,” he says, “you know they’d kill me.”

“They wouldn’t,” you say, half desperate. “They love you, and I’ll protect you anyway.”

Sirius’ mouth pinches. He thumbs at your ankle apologetically. “James would have us both flat on our backs in under a minute. Admire your confidence, though.” He sucks in a breath. “Rem, James!”

The TV shuts off, and then there are footsteps on the stairs. Sirius is impervious to your glare, only picking your foot up again and turning it this way and that to see it better.

“What?” James calls. You can hear Remus grumbling about how your apartment is hardly large enough to necessitate this much yelling.

“In here!” Sirius shouts back.

The door opens a second later, your other two boyfriends crowding the already small bathroom. James is crouched in an instant, setting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder to steady himself.

“Oh, lovie, what’d you do?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Sirius says, “Can one of you grab the first aid kit and a pen light? I can’t see if there’s anything still in here.”

“There shouldn’t be,” you say as Remus goes for the kit. “I already took out the glass.”

Both Sirius and James look up from your foot, eyebrows raised.

“And what were you doing that you ended up with glass in your foot?” Sirius asks.

Your shoulders gravitate towards your ears. “Cleaning up the glass that I broke.”

Remus hums disapprovingly as he passes a pen light to Sirius, who clicks it on, shining it onto your foot. You do your best to pretend this doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin.

“When did that happen?” he asks.

“This morning.”

“Sweetheart.” James’ disapproval is evident in his voice. You can’t bring yourself to look up and witness it in his face, too.

“And why didn’t you say anything when you hurt yourself?” Remus asks. He sits down beside you, eyes on what the other two are doing though you can feel his attention on you.

“Because I didn’t want to bother you,” you say quietly.

He tsks, and he doesn’t need to say anything more. It’s plain enough you’re in trouble.

For a few moments, the silence is thick and hot, torturous, but surprisingly it's Sirius who does you the mercy of putting you out of your misery.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got any more glass in here.” He clicks off the pen light, and your hamstrings sigh in relief as he lowers your foot to rest back in his lap. “That’s lucky,” he tells you severely. “You can’t always rely on just picking out the big piece and having that be that.”

“Stitches?” Remus asks, and you tense. You hadn’t even considered that.

“I don’t think so,” Sirius says, but he sounds uncertain. “It’s just barely deep enough, though.”

“Let’s see.” James holds out his hands, and Sirius hands it off to him. You try to ignore the fact that your foot is being passed around like something a child brought to show-and-tell. James takes up the pen light, peering at it for a few moments before nodding decisively. He pats the side of your foot. “I think you should be safe.”

You must look as relieved as you feel, because James smiles, squeezing up the length of your calf.

“What I really don’t understand,” he says lightly, “is why the hell you’ve been keeping it wrapped in toilet paper.”

You can’t help but return his smile sheepishly as you shrug. “It works,” you say. “Plus, Remus gatekeeps the first aid kit.”

“It’s only in the cabinet above the toilet,” Remus sighs.

Sirius scoffs, and James across you to pat him on the thigh. “No one can reach it up there but you, love.”

You look over in time to catch your boyfriend’s eye roll, paired with the smirk he tries to hide. “Regardless,” he says, “it seems as though it wouldn’t be an issue if anyone who can’t reach it,” his eyes slide to yours, and you find new interest in the floor tiles, “would just ask someone else to get it for them, rather than being secretive.” You can feel his gaze searing into the side of your head, but you refuse to look up even when Sirius snickers and pinches your leg meanly. “If you didn’t have the kit, how did you clean it, dove?”

“It’s clean,” you hedge, but make the mistake of looking up into Sirius’ stern gaze. He cocks an eyebrow as if to say Go on. “I ran it under the tap in the bathtub.”

Remus sighs, Sirius groans, and James lets his head fall fully forward onto your knee.

“Sweetheart,” James presses a kiss to your shin, “my love, I know you mean well, but this is why you need to tell us things.”

“What’s the problem?” you ask as Remus moves to sit by Sirius, opening up the first aid kit. “Water’s just as good.”

“It’s really not,” Sirius says, “seeing as antiseptic kills bacteria and water doesn’t. Do you want to stay where you are or sit up on the counter, darling?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” James scooches over by you, lifting you by your waist and setting you in his lap. “There. Far more comfortable, don’t you think?”

“Much.” You grin, turning your head to kiss him. “Thanks, Jamie.”

“Spent a whole day keeping secrets and still getting the princess treatment.” Sirius’ tone is equal parts teasing and affectionate as he smooths a hand up and down your calf. “We must really love you or something.”

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vivwritescrappythings · 1 month

Text

Velma

eddie munson x fem!reader

You attend a Halloween party with Eddie, things don't go quite as planned when Jason Carver acts like a jerk.

cw: allusions to curvy reader, drinking, drugs, blood, violence, eddie fights off screen, body insecurities, kissing, not proofread, working on writing fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

masterlist

—

“Are you gonna go to Chelsea Hanover’s Halloween party?” Eddie asked, long legs hanging out the back of his van. His stained Reeboks were planted firmly on the concrete, knees pushing out of the rips in his black jeans. You sat in the parking lot of the movie theater, eating the remainder of the snacks you hadn’t finished earlier. The night was quiet, most Hawkins residents already tucked safely into their beds.

You paused midway through trying to shove a handful of popcorn into your mouth, is Eddie going insane? “Are you going to Chelsea Hanover’s Halloween party?” You were practically gawking as you swung your sock-covered feet in the crisp night air. The sneakers you wore had been abandoned in a pile on the shag carpet.

You thought Eddie was over all the stupid high school activities at this point, with it being his third go at senior-year and all. He’d never talked about going to a party in the past six months of your budding friendship, and, in Hawkins, there were plenty of parties to attend.

He was quiet as he took another drink from his slushie, red-stained lips turning up into a smirk. “I was thinking about going to sell. Make some money off the rich kids.”

“What, do you want me to come entertain you?” There was an edge to your voice that you didn’t expect. Your chest felt tight as soon as he brought up the party, anxiety knitting your lungs together. You traced the cracks in the asphalt with your eyes.

Your frustration wasn’t meant for Eddie, it rarely ever was.

You had to stop pretending that all your so-called friends from your junior year of high school weren’t because of Billy. None of them had even bothered to speak to you since he dumped you like trash last summer. And especially not since the day of his funeral. They were fake and plastic people.

Eddie chuckled, fishing his carton of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He didn’t seem to notice how stiff you’d become, your legs rigid in the night air. “Well, yeah. If you want. It could be a night of making fun of Hawkins’ finest.”

You smiled weakly, trying to hide the sour mood that had come over you. Eddie just wanted a friend to be there–you knew Gareth and Jeff would say no immediately. You didn’t want to throw him to the wolves alone. Chelsea Hanover’s parties were awful if you didn’t know anyone or didn’t want to dance. Eddie didn’t seem like much of a dancer to you. “You know what, sure. Count me in, Munson.”

His pearly white teeth lit up in the glow of his lighter as he brought the cigarette to his lips, a smile radiating across his masculine features. A tendril of anxiety wrapped around your throat as you filed through worst-case-scenarios, each growing more and more catastrophic.

Your stomach did a flip as you pushed the bucket of popcorn aside, trying to be subtle as your thoughts raced. You suddenly obsessed about how your thighs pressed together and your bra cut into the layer of excess fat in your back, all new discoveries in the past couple of months. Your mother had reminded you that being thin at eighteen would be harder than being thin at seventeen—you’d locked yourself in your bathroom to cry for the better part of your birthday after stepping on the scale.

Eddie didn’t seem to notice your turmoil, methodically chewing as though everything was fine. Of course he wouldn’t notice, he didn’t understand the intricacies of girlhood that made your skin feel too tight. You fluffed your sweater out, suddenly self-conscious about what areas of your body it was snug against.

Robin would help you find a costume.

—

The high socks squeezed just above your knees as you made your way up to the front door, red skirt swishing around the middles of your plush thighs with each step. You took a deep breath, a wave of heat and sound rolling over you as you opened the door. There were people in a variety of costumes everywhere inside. A few classmates nodded at you in acknowledgment as you shut the door and stepped into the humid living room, quickly turning their attention back to their friends.

Where was Eddie? You did a once over of the room, scanning the edges of the dance floor for the shaggy-haired boy. The couches had all been pushed out of the way to make space for a makeshift dance floor, the stereo in the corner booming Cyndi Lauper. It was a miracle that it couldn’t be heard outside.

The clusters of people spilled into the kitchen. There was limited space to weave through the crowd, you kept whispering apologies as you made your way to the other room. Upon entering, you were handed a cup of red punch from a boy you vaguely knew from English. You offered him a smile, a nod in his direction as you raised the cup to your lips.

You wrinkled your nose as you took a sip, it was strong.

There were no traces of Eddie anywhere. The room was filled with Indiana Joneses and Maddonas and Ghostbusters and Flashdance characters. No curly-headed metalheads in sight, though. Eddie didn’t seem like someone who would wear a Halloween costume, not for a party he was planning on dealing at.

You leaned against the breakfast counter lazily, watching the people on the dance floor bump into one another. The plastic cup stuck to your fingers as you gulped down the rest of the drink, grimacing at the after taste of vodka. You traced the edges of the porcelain tiles as you took up your place as a designated wallflower.

You downed four more cups of the punch before you got restless, deciding to investigate the rest of the party before accepting defeat. Your feet shuffled in slow motion as you approached the sliding glass door on the other end of the room. It was open, allowing teens to trickle outside and spread across the dark backyard.

The smell of cigarettes and weed wafted through the door as the autumn breeze picked it up, sparking a small flame of hope that your best friend was outside.

You tripped on the door track as you stepped into the much cooler night, steadying yourself and your sloshing drink against the doorframe before looking up. There were a few groups outside, most nursing drinks or joints or cigarettes and murmuring to one another. The music coming from the living room was so faint that you could barely make out the lyrics.

“Hey, Velma!” Your head slowly turned towards the voice, your lips buzzing as the alcohol settled in. Eddie was illuminated by the soft light diffused by the curtains in the kitchen window. He sat at a metal table with his trusty lunch box, head cocked slightly to the side as he absorbed your costume. You realized he was wearing a dark green “Corroded Coffin” t-shirt under his leather jacket and dark jeans, meaning you vaguely matched.

If you squinted, or drank too much.

You fell into the chair next to him with an oof!, crossing your legs at the ankles as you leaned back. Your head lolled back to rest on the weathered cushion as a breathy laugh escaped your throat. “We match,” you said, looking at how the stars were swirling in the sky. Your breaths were heavy as you waited for the world to still, a smile stretching its way across your face regardless.

“I didn’t know you were gonna come in costume, princess,” Eddie laughed, busily rolling joints to keep his hands occupied. You placed the sticky plastic cup on the table before stretching your arms out in front of you. Your gaze traced the wide cable-knit of the orange sweater, wiggling your fingers as you contemplated.

Self-consciousness reared its ugly head, making you sit up and lean closer to the brunette. “Do I look bad?” you whispered, fingertips finding the edge of your skirt. Your eyes were wide as he paused to study you, a soft grin breaking out on his face. You waited for his judgment, fiddling with anything in your reach before landing on braiding a thin strip of your hair.

“You look great,” he assured. There was a beat of silence, your heads still bent together conspiratorially. Eddie looked like he was thinking, his tongue licked his bottom lip. “You should’ve told me you were gonna dress up, I would’ve done it with you.”

“You already look like you did, Shaggy,” you murmured with a sly half smile, taking another drink as you settled back into the metal chair. Eddie grinned, glancing down at his own outfit.

Everything got all fuzzy on the edges as you finished the red liquid in your cup, joking with Eddie between drug deals. The basketball players who came by barely looked at you, only sparing glances as Eddie overcharged them for weed.

He didn’t notice the cold shoulders, or he at least pretended not to, making fun of their costume choices as soon as they walked away. You pretended like they didn’t bother you. It felt strange to be at one of these parties after everything that happened with Billy, you’d never felt more invisible.

But Eddie saw you, his brown eyes drifting to you more often than usual. You couldn’t tell if it was just because he was worried about how much you were drinking. You found yourself liking the way he talked, hands waving wildly as his voice slid into different impersonations of the people around you. He was always so genuinely Eddie, you wondered what it would feel like to be like that.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said as Eddie’s attention was pulled away by a group of juniors with wide eyes and crumpled dollar bills. He gave you a thumbs up as he rifled through the contents of his stash.

You swayed a bit as you stood, your grip on the plastic cup crumpling it slightly. The juniors eyed you as you walked around the edge of their little group, Eddie’s voice spitting out prices calling their attention back to him.

Armed with a deep breath to ground yourself, you shouldered your way back into the house. There were even more people than before. With no room to move properly, you jammed yourself into the throng of people that were making their way to the kitchen. Despite how many people were here there was surprisingly still plenty to drink.

You had never known Chelsea to be so generous, at least not during your short-lived friendship.

You stopped in front of the punch bowl, staring at your wobbling reflection in the liquid as you filled your cup with the ladle. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you hardly recognized yourself. The proportions of your face were so different than when you primped and prepped in the mirror, your gaze felt less harsh as you stared at the girl in the punch bowl. You could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks as you glared at the rose-colored image of yourself, wondering what you actually looked like.

A hand clasped your shoulder, an anchor back to reality. You pivoted on your heel, thinking that Eddie had come to talk to you about something, maybe ready to leave and go find somewhere to park and talk and listen to music.

Your face fell when you recognized Jason Carver’s blue eyes.

It had been ages since Jason had so much as talked to you. He used to follow Billy around like a puppy, hoping that it would make him the captain of the basketball team after graduation. Of course, Billy had treated Jason like the rest of you, rewarding his neediness with a cold shoulder.

“You know, Billy would be so disappointed if he was still here.” Jason may as well have spit on you. You stepped back, your spine pressing into the chilly counter as you tried to put some space between you. His eyes had a hard time settling, staring you up and down as you tried to remain still under his gaze. “He probably wouldn’t even recognize you, especially now that you’re hanging out with the losers.”

You scowled, rage making your throat tighten. “He didn’t even like you, Jason.” Blonde eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m sure he’s rolling in his grave knowing that the pathetic Jesus kid who would’ve blown him if he asked is in charge of the basketball team.”

You were getting a little too loud, the people standing nearest to you were turning their heads to see what the commotion was about. Jason evaluated the crowd before grabbing your wrist, a sick smile spreading across his face. “I think you’ve had enough.” There was a threatening edge to his voice as he leaned to whisper in your ear.

You strained against him, the punch sloshing over the edges of the cup and down your fingers. Droplets flecked onto his yellow Teen Wolf costume like blood. Panic started to creep up your throat, the reminder that none of the other people at the party were going to help you made your blood run cold.

“Jason, stop,” you muttered, your voice thick. More punch slid down your hand as you tried to tug yourself from his grip. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you attempted to find a way out. “Let me go.”

He squeezed your wrist even tighter as hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. You were sure long lines of mascara were left behind, you couldn’t even move your free hand to wipe them away. Fear paralyzed you as the pounding of the music filled every space in your mind. Your mind whirred uselessly, so caught off guard by the aggression that you hardly knew how to respond.

A ringed hand wrapped around Jason’s forearm; you flinched at the sudden intrusion. Eddie was bristling next to you, squeezing the jock’s arm until he let you go. You pulled your wrist back to your chest, your brows knitting together as your lips fell into a pout.

The metalhead pushed his lunchbox into your stomach, his eyes dark as they scoured your face. “How about you go wait in the van, princess? The keys are inside the box,” he murmured, his expression leaving no room for protest. You hesitated a moment, causing him to jerk his chin smoothly toward the front door. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, his jaw set.

Suddenly shy, you dropped your gaze to the floor. Everything was swimming around you, the party too loud and the room too hot and your hands were so sticky with punch. You’d never felt more overwhelmed.

Nodding once, you gripped the handle of the lunchbox for dear life as you scurried out of the house. By the time the night air hit you, you realized you were still holding the cup, most of it empty as it coated your hand and stained the skin. You choked back the rest of its contents, crumpling it in your hand and tossing it into the grass. Eddie’s van was parked across the street, looking out of place amongst the other cars.

–

You were almost asleep in the passenger seat by the time Eddie threw the door open, scaring you into waking up. He was obscured by the lights of the house behind him as he climbed inside. “Eddie, what happened?” you croaked as he tried to jam the keys into the ignition, his hands practically vibrating.

You gasped as he turned to look in the center console. His right eyebrow was caked entirely with blood, a gash splitting it nearly in two. Blood was smeared in a trail down his face, following the curve of his nostril and making its way over his pale throat and to his shirt collar. He plucked a cigarette carton out of the glove box, the streetlamp illuminating the smears of blood across his pale fingers. His knuckles were blown apart.

“Eddie,” you murmured, reaching across the center console hesitantly. He still didn’t look at you, rummaging around for his zippo. The house beyond was relatively quiet, no signs of a party other than all the cars parked along the sidewalk. Jason walked into view of the upstairs bathroom window, glaring at the van before pulling down the shade. His face was smeared with blood, his costume ruffled.

The chains on Eddie’s jacket sleeve jingled as he lit the cigarette, taking a drag with a sigh. “Eddie.” You hesitated for a moment before you pressed your palm into the worn leather. You could feel the muscles in his shoulder jump under your fingertips–you rarely ever touched him. It just felt like a boundary the two of you never crossed. “Y-you didn’t have to do that,” you said.

The heater and the radio jumped to life, Dio blasting in the small space. Eddie’s brows furrowed as he turned to study your face. “Of course I had to,” his voice was surprisingly soft. His hand came out of nowhere, a warm thumb wiping your cheek. Your nerves must have been fried, because you leaned into his touch without thinking about it. “That idiot made you cry, couldn’t just let him get away with it.”

You pulled in a ragged breath, a bit surprised by the amount of tenderness in his voice. His hand was so warm, his fingers wiping away the lines of makeup that ran down your cheeks when you cried. Shaking fingers brought the cigarette back to his pink lips, you watched him take a drag and blow the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“Can we go?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as your throat tightened. It was all you could do to keep from crying, you didn’t even know why you wanted to cry this time.

He smiled, nodding as he pulled away from the curb like a maniac. His hand dropped from your face, turning the radio up until the heavy sound of a guitar riff was blasting through the speakers.

—

Apparently it was Wayne’s night off, so the trailer was off-limits for a late night sanctuary. That was how you ended up at the quarry, the side door pulled open as you and Eddie sprawled out in the back of the van. You’d guzzled a bottle of water as soon as you parked, already starting to feel like a bit of a human being again.

Eddie had cleaned up his face with the bandana he kept in his back pocket. The gash in his eyebrow looked painful, but he kept assuring you it was fine. He sat against the wall of the van as he wiped his knuckles, the largest one on his right hand slightly torn.

It was like once you all had crossed the barrier of touch, Eddie didn’t want to stop. He just kept touching you, be it a hand brushing against your arm or his leg jostling yours. It felt shockingly comfortable, making you wonder why you had been so resistant to touching him before.

“Those rings must not have felt nice,” you commented absentmindedly, laying on your stomach on the carpet as you watched him. Moonlight flooded in the van through the open door, glinting off the silver that adorned his fingers.

He smiled, flexing his hands as he looked down at them. “Carver didn’t seem too excited about them,” he murmured, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You’d cleaned most of the makeup off your face on the drive to the quarry using a baby wipe you kept in your purse. He hardly ever saw you with a clean face, the moonlight revealing a few blemishes on your skin. The urge to cover your cheeks still lingered, but it felt nice to have it off.

“Thanks for like, defending my honor and stuff,” you murmured, looking down at your chipped nail polish. “You really didn’t have to do that, Eddie.”

The idea that he would go out of his way to fight Jason Carver on your behalf was still hard for you to wrap your head around. Eddie loved to talk and bitch and complain about the basketball team and larger society regularly, but he wasn’t violent.

“I did.” His eyes searched yours, wide and honest as always. A joint found its way between his long fingers, he took a deep drag. You watched him through heavy eyelids as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, he continued until he’d finished nearly half the joint. “I couldn’t just let him mess with you like that, not my girl.”

My girl. My girl. My girl. The phrase went off in your head like a bell. You didn’t know if he’d said it just because he was high or if he actually meant it like that. You wet your lips with your tongue, glancing at him for a moment.

“Well, thanks,” you breathed, twirling your fingers in a loose thread on one of the weaved blankets he kept in the back of the van. You had wrapped yourself in it on multiple occasions, mostly on cold nights when you were ungodly high. But tonight, alcohol thrummed through you like liquid fire.

Eddie finished the remainder of the joint on his own, his warm brown eyes tinged with pink as his smile stretched easier. There was a fluidity to him when he was stoned, his normally theatrical mannerisms mellowing out to something that seemed less like a performance and more genuine. His movements became more languid, his lanky form sprawling out on a half-deflated bean bag. His calf rested on top of your leg.

The cassette that was playing ended, the power chords fading into silence as you heard the player whir to a stop. The water lapping at the cliff face below and the breeze rustling the foliage outside the van seemed louder, indicative of the transition from fall to winter that was soon to come.

“You want to pick the next one?” Eddie asked, his voice soft and breathy like it always got when he was stoned. It was sweet of him to ask, considering you knew that he already had a playlist of what he wanted to put on next written out in his head. He was particular about music, always wanting to be in-control of what was playing no matter where you were.

You knew he meant for you to pick from his cassette collection.

“Yeah,” you answered, a smirk starting to spread on your face. You stood up, your feet digging into the shag carpet as you crouched to avoid hitting your head. “I’ve got a Madonna tape in my purse that I’ve been wanting to listen to.”

“Madonna?” You could hear the anguish in his voice as you stepped over his long legs to reach the front. There was an air of disbelief at your choice, Eddie couldn’t stand Madonna.

You laughed, nodding as you pulled the aforementioned tape from your bag and flashing it to Eddie. “You said I could pick,” you teased, hunkering down in front of the radio to exchange the cassettes. Stunned silence filled the space behind you as you waited for the Dio tape to be spit out, you tapped the Madonna cassette against your kneecap.

What at first was silence burst into a flurry of motion behind you.

Before you could react, Eddie’s hands locked around your waist from behind and elicited a squeal from your throat as he yanked you back. “I’m not listening to Madonna,” he said, twisting his body around yours to try to snatch the tape from your hand.

You scrambled, holding the cassette out of his reach and angling your shoulders to keep him away. “Eddie! You said I could pick!” you exclaimed with a peal of laughter, feeling the length of his body pressed against the back of yours. He pulled you close with a forearm curled around your waist, reaching over your shoulder.

“Yeah, you can pick from good music!” His chin bumped the top of your head as you both fell forward from losing your balance. The floor absorbed most of the impact, Eddie’s shoulder banging into the floorboards next to you. You let out a soft grunt as Eddie landed partially on top of you, pressing you into the carpet.

“This is good music,” you insisted, digging your elbow and knees into the thick carpet so you could shimmy forward. Eddie slammed an elbow in front of your shoulder, stopping any forward movement. There was no time to redirect as he melded you into his shadows, lanky limbs moving over where you were prone. His other hand curled around your wrist, so close to taking the tape. “You’re just judgmental!”

In a last ditch effort you twisted your arm from his grip, pulling your hand under your body and pressing the tape between your stomach and the rustled blanket. “You’re not being fair!” You were still giggling, Eddie stuffed his fingers between your forearm and your stomach in an attempt to follow the path of your arm.

“It’s my van, princess,” Eddie said with a breathy laugh of his own. He lifted himself off you, letting you breathe for a moment before his hands scooped beneath your shoulders and flipped you onto your back. “I can judge however I want to.”

You tried to push him away with your feet, matching smiles on your faces as he reached for you around the assault. With a shove your legs were out of the way, his torso settling between them with your knees on either side of his ribs. He leaned over you, managing to pry the tape from your hands and slide it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

You still had some fight in you, reaching for Eddie’s pocket before he grabbed your wrists and pressed them to the floor. “Eddie!” you whined, squirming in an attempt to throw him off.

He was smiling above you with all his teeth, the two of you panting as you stared at one another. The distance between you decreased, long fingers threading through yours as his head dipped lower. You were so close that you could practically count his eyelashes. Eddie scraped his teeth over his lower lip, a clear sign that he was about to ask you something. You nodded before he could, your heart pounding in your chest as you prayed that you weren’t reading into things.

When he pressed his lips against yours you knew you guessed right.

You sighed into it, your eyes fluttering closed as your mouth moulded to his. Butterflies had made a home in your stomach, part of you wondering when you started having feelings for Eddie. Why did it take you so long to do something about them?

His mouth was so soft, slotting against yours in clumsy open-mouthed kisses. You both were smiling, giggling nervously when your teeth clashed or noses bumped. It was as though you both were clumsy and new to this, the anxiety of wanting to impress making you forget how to relax for a moment. His hair tickled your cheeks and neck, curling wildly in every direction. You desperately wanted to thread your fingers into it, your hands flexing against his.

A strong gust of wind blew dried leaves into the open door of the van, the chill cutting through your clothes making the two of you pull away from one another with laughs. Eddie tugged the door closed in a quick motion, leaning back on a bean bag and patting the side of his thigh in a motion to come over there.

The moonlight was diffused through the windows on the sliding side doors, illuminating Eddie in a beautiful silver as you practically crawled on your hands and knees to him. You were a bit off-balance, partially falling against his chest. He chuckled, curling an arm around your back and pulling you closer with a wide hand pressed against the curve of your spine.

“Been waiting to kiss you like this for months,” Eddie murmured, his calloused fingers tracing along your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your hands resting on the soft Corroded Coffin shirt he wore.

“Yeah?” you asked, your eyes wide as you looked at him. Part of you didn’t want to believe him, you’d thought his taste in women leaned on either far-end of the Morticia Addams to Chrissy Cunningham spectrum. Maybe you were wrong, or at least you prayed that you were. When considering the Eddie Spectrum of eligible women, you were situated somewhere near the middle.

He nodded, stamping a quick kiss to your lips. “Of course, princess,” he said, his other hand coming to rest on the curve of your thigh. Goosebumps pricked along your skin, his fingertips tracing up and down the bare section of your leg between the skirt and high socks. “And you make a very cute, Velma.”

You rolled your eyes at the compliment, shrugging it off. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, eyes cast down at the blood soaked into the collar of his shirt. Shyness consumed you, it had been a while since a guy had flirted with you like this.

Well, Eddie’s fingers drawing figure-eights on the outside of your thigh felt like a little more than flirting.

One of his eyebrows lifted, disappearing beneath his bangs as he looked at you. “I do mean it.” Before you could argue with him, he pulled you into another kiss.

It was enough to take your mind off of it, your head tilting up toward his as you twisted your body closer to him. Your hips turned, the handcuffs serving as his belt buckle digging into you through the thick fabric of your skirt. Thick thighs split apart over his knee, your spine curving on instinct.

Normally, you wouldn’t have considered the back of Eddie’s van to be romantic, but now there was nowhere else you would rather be.

Unable to think of much else, the kisses became messier. The sloppy smacks of your mouth against his made you giddy, fingers curling over his shoulders and keeping him close. His hand slipped under your sweater, palm pressing into your ribs like a brand. A submissive whimper was pulled from your throat, a dizzy feeling filling your head. You didn’t know if it was from the lack of oxygen or the alcohol you’d drank earlier.

Heat was pooling between your legs, making your thighs momentarily squeeze against his. The feeling of Eddie touching you made your insecurities about how your body had changed melt away, he didn’t seem to mind the softer parts of you as much as you did. Your hands traveled to his belt and traced the silver buckle of it, making Eddie pull away with a shake of his head. “Not tonight, baby,” he murmured, a sheepish smile curling his pink lips.

Despite the small part of your mind that was still rational, it felt like a slap to the face. You stiffened in his hold as you yanked your hands back like you’d touched a hot stove. “Oh, uh, sorry. I misunderstood,” you murmured, trying to tamp down the sting of rejection. You didn’t want him to feel bad, there wasn’t anything to feel guilty for.

Eddie snorted, shaking his head again. “Trust me, I want to,” he breathed, gently cupping your cheek. Something burned in his gaze. His thumb pressed into the corner of your spit-slicked lips, his chocolate brown eyes lingering for a moment. “Just don’t want to when you’re drunk, not in the back of my van.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that made you melt, rejection fading into yet another reason you felt like you were starting to fall head over heels for Eddie. “Okay, you’re right,” you said sweetly, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb.

“You want me to pick another tape?” The silence that had fallen over the van became noticeable.

He laughed, seemingly having forgotten what had gotten the two of you tangled together in the first place. “No Madonna in the van, those are the rules,” he said, his fingers caressing your jaw. “Even for pretty girls like you.”

“Oh shut up,” you sighed, your face heating up despite yourself. “You’re just trying to butter me up so I pick Metallica.”

Eddie snorted, the width of his shoulders squaring with confidence as he kept you in the space between his arm and torso. You could feel how warm he was. “You really think so?” he asked, the soft lilt of a tease in his voice.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” It still felt like there was lightning between your ribs, electricity pooling at every juncture where you and Eddie touched.

“But, I was teasing you. It’s a Van Halen cassette… you would know that if you’d bothered to read it before you decided to wrestle me for it.” You stamped another kiss against the tip of his nose. He wrinkled it endearingly, making you smile.

“Well now I’m glad I didn’t.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #reader insert #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #joseph quinn #eddie is a soft boy

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luveline · 5 months

Note

hii lovely can i request miguel x spidergirl or tasm!peter x reader where is too shy to ask for something directly and miguel/peter keeps pretending that he is oblivious to tease her? thank you <33

When Miguel talks, his cheek distends, and the pen smudge gets longer. You look at it for the tenth time in as many minutes, wanting to wipe it away, but quick to bring your gaze back to your desk.

“You did it again,” he says.

You bite the tip of your tongue, pretending you haven't heard. The schematic in front of you flickers a warm orange against the yellow screen, but the lines won't register in your head.

“How's that blueprint coming?” he asks.

“It's fine.” You click the file button at the top of the screen to save your progress. File already saved.

“Need help?”

You shake your head, clicking on the next tab. If you weren't distracted by his stupid high cheekbones and the strange mark of ink slinking beneath it like a wonky heart, you'd be finished by now. You're quick. Miguel knows this, and he clearly finds your pace strange, coming to stand next to you to check your progress.

“What's wrong with that?” he asks, the heat of his arm warming your own despite the layers between them. “Render it, print it.”

“I need....” You draw a circle in the air around the measurements that are bugging you.

“I see. Let me.” He leans around you to click on your elevated screen. His fingers pinch a spring, reroute a wire, and before long he's fit everything together neatly, ready for rendering.

“Miguel,” you say.

“Yeah?”

Closer now than he had been, it's even harder to tell him than before. Not because it's oh so difficult, not because you think he'll be embarrassed. Not even because you've drawn it out. You're reluctant to tell him because you really want to ask to wipe it off. You want to take his face into your hand and clean the mark away with a tender touch, but Miguel is allergic to being taken care of.

“You…”

“I,” he prompts, meeting your eyes. Confusion draws his brow together.

“Would you…”

“What?” he asks.

“You have– Can I?” You raise your hand but stutter to a stop when he doesn't move to accommodate your touch.

“Can you what?” he asks quietly.

“You have a pen mark.” You have to try very, very hard to keep your voice steady. “Can I get it for you?”

“Oh, I do?” His voice gives it away —that slight humorous fry, like he's smirking and sorry at once. He'd known you had something to say, might have guessed what you wanted ten minutes ago.

“You're such a jerk.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Would you?”

You wipe at the pen line until it's smudged away, ink warmed by your finger and spread into transparency. He stays still as a statue for the entire ordeal, and he doesn't gloat, but something akin to smugness remains even when you've declared it, “Gone.”

“Thank you.” He just stands there looking at you for a while. “Sorry. I was teasing.”

You roll your head down into your shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”

“So shy… Render your schematic, then, and I'll give you a nice thank you.”

“I don't think so.”

“I won't tease anymore.” He puts his hand on your shoulder, his big huge hand, all encompassing and so, so warm. Your skin prickles and recovers as his thumb digs into the muscle that bridges the skin between your neck and shoulder, never cruel, but rough all the same. “I swear. This is good work.”

You sigh. “Thanks, Miguel.”

He lifts his chin ever so slightly. “You're welcome, cariño.”

It's worse than being teased, but in a new, somehow more mortifying way.

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tobifuyu · 4 months

Text

Snowflakes In My Stomach When We’re Kissin’

RAN HAITANI x f!reader

cw: nsfw, mdni, smut, fwb to lovers, oral (male reciving), tiny bit of angsty themes with happy ending, sappy fic, ran being a simp as always to feed my “he’s a self-centered bitch until he finds the one” agenda.

wc: 3.2k

a/n: surprise… i’m back with a christmas present! this is the first fic in a three pieces installment, which can all be read as standalone but come from the same universe and evolve in the span of three different christmases. in case you didn’t know, in japan christmas is a holiday in which people spend time with their partners because they reserve new year’s for family (not only i’ve seen it in a whole lot of shoujo anime but i’ve asked my japanese coworkers to confirm eheh). it’s also customary to eat cake! ;)

“Though you said you just wanted to get a coffee.”

The only thing peeking from the red scarf is the tip of his nose, flushed with the same color of the fabric that’s wrapped around his neck. You imagine his lips curved in a smirk under it.

When he came to pick you up earlier this morning, you thought he made a bold choice pairing the red garment with the unusual color of his hair. Up until then, you always believed red and purple would clash.

But Ran made it work, somehow. Like most things in his life, he did it with a confidence that made you question your world and how you view it even if for just a second.

“Well, that we did,” He shakes his hand, his long fingers easily supporting the weight of the full cup. You can see the steam rise from it and wonder if he’s not drinking it because he’s scared to burn his tongue or because he’s not ready to go home yet.

The two of you are currently walking around Shiba Park, not too far from Roppongi Hills. The peak of Tokyo Tower is hidden in plain sight behind the trees, stripped naked by the season, and adorned by strings of fairy lights.

In daylight they look clear, void of color, and empty, they come alive at night. Just like we both do, thinks Ran.

Ran does like winter. He believes winter poses more opportunities to forgo going out and staying in bed. He loves to gaze out of his apartment’s window and spot rain pit patting against the glass, watching the water droplets leave streaks behind as he lets himself get lulled back to sleep.

He also likes that he can layer more clothes, the more the merrier, he says, it’s easier to style it. You would agree, because he looks particularly elegant with his long black coat, left unbuttoned to glimpse at the nice sweater under it. The sight of his tightly clad body alone ignites a fire inside of you, one that is meek but insistent, and will soon start to burn you inside out.

What Ran doesn’t like it’s the cold. The wind is not fair against his pale skin, it leaves it red and stinging, much like his heart when he wakes up after a night together and doesn’t find you there. He does not like the cold, the cold of the sheets around him when you’ve left hours before.

He would like to pretend he’s clueless as to why, the same way you’re staring at him now, but he knows the reason behind it.

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re wandering around without a destination in freezing weather?

“Can’t you just live a little?”

You scoff at his words, taking another sip out of your hot chocolate to bite back an insult. He’s already testing your patience, and you have very little of it left today of all days.

“We should go eat some cake, I’d love an excuse to grab a Mont Blanc for later at that bakery by your apartment. Y’know I like it there.”

Cake. You don’t like cake, and you don’t like what eating cake with him would mean today of all days.

“Why do you have to make everything so complicated, Ran?” You sigh, head shaking in disappointment.

When you decided to start this with Ran, it was because you believed the man to be on the same wavelength as you. Ran had seemed like someone who knew what he wanted, and you had been sure that was not you.

He had promised that would stay the case. Your heart could not afford to be cared for by somebody.

When you look at him this time, you don’t notice how the wind is whipping the skin of his high cheeks red because his scarf is now covering everything but the lidded eyes staring at you.

At this rate Ran might end up hating winter: you seem to get colder with the season. He doesn’t think he would pick sleeping in over you, so if he could, he would like for summer to last all year long.

He’d like for you to cling to him even when the temperature is so high you can barely breathe in your cramped room, sweat sticking to both your skin and his, like your very first night together.

Because where the holidays bring glee to most, to you they’re a reminder of times that are long gone. A childhood spent decorating the tree and wishing for the perfect Christmas gift, now turned into a life of solitude. Your fast-paced job and lonely apartment away from home don’t leave space for the frivolity of Christmas.

“Didn’t wanna leave you alone,” he speaks so clearly of his intentions you almost feel shame, “Did ya think I would’ve left you bask in your gloominess, today? ‘M not that bad of an ass.”

You don’t think Ran owns you anything. He shouldn’t be picking up the pieces of you that other people left scattered and putting them back together as if it were a kids’ puzzle.

Ran knows you don’t really have anyone, he thinks he’s much like you, and would be just as bitter if he didn’t have his brother.

“You left Rin by himself?”

You hear his muffled laughter, “‘course not. Haruchiyo’s there. Y’know how they are.”

Yes. In love, you suppose. And you wonder if Ran thinks that is what it is. And what is it between you two?

You can feel his body warmth as he gravitates closer to you, “‘M cold,” is his excuse when his now ungloved hand catches yours. He intertwines your fingers, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb, before hiding them away in his coat pocket.

Gotta warm your cold heart up, he thinks.

“Saving you from this freezing weather,” is what he says out loud.

But you know it’s because the movement brings you closer, he pulls you so you’re now shoulder to shoulder, and you’re not strong enough to keep your head from falling on his. As if you were fresh snow in the sun, you melt in his presence.

“Let’s go get cake,” your voice is but a soft whisper, running past him like the breeze through the dying leaves, the wind finally settling down.

And that’s how he ends up in your apartment. Sounds of wet skin slapping against one another fill the void as he buries himself deep inside of you.

The sweet pastries Ran bought long forgotten over your kitchen counter, as he’d much rather taste the honeyed nectar spilling from between your thighs.

He’s grabbing at them now, the hold on your flesh sure to leave marks behind as he folds your legs so that he can loop his arms under your knees, keeping you spread open for him.

Big body caging you under his warmth with his forehead pressed against yours, and open mouths a breath away from the other, sharing sounds of pleasure without ever meeting in the middle.

It had been a tantalizing dance when you first started sleeping together. Like most people in your situation, you had both concluded that it would be best if you refrained from kissing. Deeming it too intimate.

Ran had caved after the third time you ended up in his bed, lips too needy to be kept from yours. He had let out a soft plead before you met him in the middle.

From then on you made it your mission to never kiss him outside of your bedroom activities, too scared of the power his kisses held over you. He and his annoying self had taken it as a challenge, always on the edge of his seat waiting to see who’d kiss the other first.

“Oh fuck this,” Ran groans before giving in.

You catch sight of his eyelids fluttering shut, hiding that violet color that you love so much, and your lips lock in a kiss that takes your breath as much as the hips still snapping against yours.

The coarse patch of hair on his navel repeatedly brushes against your puffed-up clit, making your hips jump up to chase the friction. The man is shamelessly shallowing your moans and caressing your tongue with his, teeth closing around your bottom lip when you go to pull away.

“Ngh, you taste like cake.”

Ran had snuck a bite of one of the pieces the moment he stepped out of the bakery, and the sweet taste on his tongue was, in your opinion, way better than the real deal.

His hand grasps your chin with firmness, the tips of his fingers squeezing your cheeks and making your blushed lips pucker up.

“So you do like cake, mh?”

“No, I don-“ Ran squeezes harder, and your mouth parts. A glob of spit falls on your tongue, one that you shallow under his scrutinizing gaze.

The moan that he lets out at that reverberates through your chest as he bends so close your bodies are now completely pressed against one another, sharing body heat.

This is what sex with Ran is, a concoction of rough touches and fucking that turn soft and slow when you least expect it. He likes to tease and surprise you, stealing the prettiest sounds from your lips and making them his. Making you his.

“Y’don’t like cake, s’okay. I know you like me,” one of his hands teasingly pinches your right nipple, respective eye closing in a wink.

You like that he makes sex fun, cracking jokes as if his cock weren’t pumping inside of you. You like it, you like him, but you can’t have him know that.

“That’s not-“ he interrupts you once again, this time with the snapping of his hips. He starts fucking you like he means it. Calculated thrusts hitting against the sweet spot only he knows how to find.

Ran is on his knees now, hands firmly planted on your raised hips, guiding you back and forth over his length.

“Fuck! Ran, fuck that feels good- so good-“

Slurred words leave your panting mouth as your hands hold onto the pillow behind your head for dear life, back arched and chest exposed to the greedy eyes that are raking over your body. From your perked-up nipples, begging to be played with, to the way your cunt is stretching around his cock.

“Don’t have enough hands for the things I wanna do to you,” Nonetheless, he repositions his right one so that it’s splayed over your navel, thumb reaching down to rub tight circles on your slicked clit.

“Fuckin’ cunt squeezing me so good,” moans spill from your mouth at his words, his voice is strained but maintains that hint of icy superiority and poise that is characteristic of Ran.

The way your hole flutters around him is maddening, Ran can feel your walls clenching against his length so perfectly. He can feel everything.

As a matter of fact, so do you. No matter how dumb he fucks you, you can’t ever miss out on the sweet feeling of his bare skin caressing your wet cunt. The squelching sounds are filling the air around you, making your cheeks heat up and your head lull to the side, trying to avoid his eyes in shame.

Half face buried in the pillow, you beg for him, “Ran, please, please. I need to cum so bad.”

His thrusts slow down, thumb stilling over your clit, and you hear him hum, pensive.

“Maybe if you looked at me, pretty, I might think about letting you.”

Gathering your remaining strength, you open your eyes to the sight of his glorious body above yours.

The wetness of his skin shines under the light of the outside street lamp, peeking in from the window, full body tattoo so enchanting, you watch it move and bend over his rising chest.

With violet eyes fixed on yours, he stands tall, unreachable.

The purple strands that fall from his gelled-back hairstyle are the only giveaway that he’s not so perfect and pristine after all, but he still looks like a god in your devoted eyes.

“Ran,” you call his name so softly he tumbles from the skies right to you.

His body bends to lay over yours, weight supported by his arms at your sides. With a snap of his hips, he breaks the longing stare you’re both sharing, mushroom tip hitting the spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Oh my god, that feels so-“ “I know, baby, s’okay.” One of his hands caresses over your head, before stopping at your neck and closing around your windpipe. The pressure of his touch against your feverish skin is delicious.

Your nails are now creating indents in the flesh of his arms. You want more, you need him to break you.

Ran can’t stop thrusting, pounding, burying himself inside of you to the hilt. He’s never wanted to be this close to someone before, never needed their warmth as he does yours.

He stops you before you can reach your clit with your fingers and, wanting to be the one to take you over the edge, he uses his free hand to rub over it vehemently.

“Coming, I’m coming,” are the rushed words that fall from your lips before you hit your peak. Wanton moans are gracing Ran’s ears, making his balls strain from holding back, but he wants you to bask in the glow of your orgasm before he reaches his.

“Doin’ so well fo’ me, look at this pretty pussy. Gushing all over my cock.” He looks down as he says this, watching how good he’s splitting you open, his cock coming out of you covered with the white sheen of your arousal, then plunging back in.

Your spent body is overstimulated, twitching in his hold as if trying to run away from the pleasure.

“You’re the only one, baby.” Ran lets slip, the sight of you in your most vulnerable state makes him just as weak, “S’all yours, so take it.” And he means it, you’re the only one.

Before you, life used to be in black and white. Ran had tried everything to paint it some other color, from violence to sex, but nothing ever came close to holding you in his arms.

Color is always all around him, but Ran’s devoid of it until you touch him.

You pull him down to you at the confession, arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed against one another, hard nipples tickling the soft skin.

The pace suddenly turns slow, and you wonder if Ran does not care about coming anymore. His focus is on you, and you’re staring back at him with just as much affection.

“Let me take care of you,” it’s what you suggest once you’ve come down from your high, fingers pressing against his shoulders to have him lay back in the sheets. Short hair sprawled over the white pillow like a halo behind his troubled head.

Both of your thighs are circling his hips, too scared to have Ran pull out, and be prevailed by that sense of emptiness and cold that comes from being away from him.

Fighting a whirlpool of emotions, you feel the need to silence your mind with his lips on yours. The clashing of your noses does nothing to stop you from kissing each other passionately.

The blame should be on Ran for making you fall for him and gifting you a brand new reason to celebrate Christmas, but you should’ve known better when he walked into your life with that snarky smirk that makes you sigh just thinking about it. You bite his lip in retaliation.

The feeling of Ran’s hands traveling over your skin and sinking with his strong grip on the flesh of your hips is what makes you separate your two halves, pussy clenching around the length that has been filling you up so perfectly. The need to make him feel just as good swells up on the inside.

“Fuck, please,” A choked whisper, falling from the pearlescent of his lips, wet with your love, blood pouring out of the bitten skin.

Purple and red do look good together, you think.

Your hands are warm, trailing up his stomach like the ink on his skin. He feels as if you’re moving too fast, scared he might blink and lose the moment, and at the same time too slow for his liking. He’s begging and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. But you do.

Ran’s hands tighten around the bedsheets. He wants to touch everywhere you’ve been, wants to get stained in you. Like fresh paint that sticks on skin, he’s now colored in your shades.

Wet kisses are being left on the top of his shaft. Ran’s right hand finds your hair, waving his fingers between the loose strands to uncover the sight of your pretty face.

Lidded eyes are watching you glide your tongue down his hardness, caressing the bluish veins running across its sides, tasting yourself on it.

When your lips wrap around his sensitive tip you have to hold down his hips with both hands.

The peace you set is slow, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. His girth stretches your lips and he thumbs the lower one as you look up at him with tears forming at your lashline.

“Mouth feels like fucking heaven, angel.”

Ran can barely contain himself, dangling from the edge, his balls heavy with his release.

When your nose is buried in the hair at the base of his cock, you know you’ve successfully taken him whole. A huge accomplishment on your part, considering how blessed he is.

With your throat clenching around him, it doesn’t take long to feel him twitch in your mouth.

“Yeah, pretty girl, just like that. Make me cum, fuck!”

Bobbing your head at his request, you’re hasty in sucking your checks around his length, letting him come on the back of your tongue with languid moans that contain your name.

No need for him to ask, you’re one step ahead by swallowing his semen, making a show of it before leaving a wet kiss on his tip, to collect the white drop that was spilling over.

“Better than any cake.”

Booming laughter fills the space around you as you scoot closer to his tired body, laying on his naked frame and stealing all his warmth.

“I do like you.”

“I know,” Ran looks down at you, left check cutely smushed against his pecs, “Let’s spend New Year’s together.”

The faint movement of your hair brushing his skin tells him you’re agreeing, “And what about… next year?”

“Let’s spend them all together.”

You’re warm in his hold, and he figures the fairy lights might’ve come on in the park.

Ran thinks back to the rest of the untouched cake on your kitchen counter and is happy enough that the two of you have exchanged Christmas gifts in your own special way.

After all, he took away the cold, and you’ve brightened up his life.

That’s more of what you could’ve wished for.

#ran haitani #ran haitani imagines #ran haitani smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x y/n #ran haitani x you #ran imagines #ran smut #ran x oc #ran x reader

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siriusleee · 5 months

Note

How about a guardian angel au with Gaz?

send me an au and a character and I'll write the first scene that comes to mind

He did stupid shit. All the time - hanging out of helicopters, gunfights in the ocean, traversing across the world to save a general populace that could care less about him. There had been times you’d almost tripped up and admitted the entire charade to him: he’s risking his life each day for people who won’t remember him in 20 years.

But you’d kept it to yourself, biting your tongue as your fingers worked at the deep slices in his shoulders, stitching him up so that he can turn himself back inside out the moment you turned your back on him.

“Swear you’re an angel or something.”

His comment takes you off guard; you pray that he doesn’t feel the way your fingers slip against his skin. But you just “hmm” at him, hooking the needle and pulling the stitch taut.

“Why do you say that?”

Kyle turns his head so that he can peer at you out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t dare shift and disturb your ministrations.

“Every time I get injured you’re there to patch me up.”

The ruse is getting old - the contract you signed binding you to work for whatever afterlife you tried to deserve withholding you from saying the words that sit bitter at the back of your tongue. You couldn’t say them if you wanted - the magic that held you to Kyle also held your tongue.

I’m here to keep you alive.

So instead you drop the needle and thread that you’re done with into an emesis basin and strip off your gloves only to replace them with a fresh pair. Kyle lets you smear a thin layer of antibacterial cream across the row of black thread you put into his skin. He is the most patient man you deal with on any given day.

“I guess you’re just lucky that you keep ending up on my table.”

It’s the only thing you can get around the magic, but it’s enough to make the laugh lines around Kyle’s eyes crinkle deeper as he shrugs his shirt back on. You pretend not to notice how he hides the wince that flashes across his face.

“Is that all you need from me, Sargent?”

You wonder if somehow he knows about the curse, about the magic, about the contract just then. You wonder if somehow he’s bound to silence like you because he’s chewing on the words at the corner of his mouth, but never lets them slip out.

Instead, he tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans and meets your gaze.

“I think that’s it.”

#my fics #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #cod imagines #cod imagine #cod mw2 #cod mw3

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xoxoavenger · 1 year

Text

Soulmates

pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N hasn’t met her soulmate; she knows because she can’t see color. It doesn’t stop her from wondering how Mando is supposed to meet his when he can’t lock eyes with anyone. (aka you can’t see color until you lock eyes with your soulmate)

word count: 2531

warnings: so much fluff except for S2 finale stuff

notes: happy birthday to pedro!! i thought this would be a nice birthday treat :)

masterlist

Y/N wasn't used to the weather on this cold planet. She wanted to go back to Tatooine, no matter how dry it was. She would deal with the peeling skin if it meant her back would stop aching from shaking in the cold. Her teeth chattered against each other, and she cursed Din for not having a central heating system.

Not that it would help with the massive hole in the wall that wasn't being covered very well by the tarp Din had thrown up quickly.

"We're not getting out of here tonight." Din said, watching Y/N hug her legs to her body tightly. Her head was buried in her thighs, and he could tell she was shaking. It was quiet in the hull, save the kid making funny sounds and banging his hands on things as he crawled around. She tried to keep the jealous thoughts out of her mind when she heard the frog-lady clasp her eggs close. She had been far more fortunate than most of the galaxy, traveling far and wide and meeting thousands of people - but never her soulmate. "Okay," Y/N whispered, teeth gritted so that the Mandalorian couldn't hear her chattering.

It didn't work very well.

"Go lay on the cot." Din nodded his head toward the small closet like resting area, even though Y/N wasn't looking. If she was honest with herself, she knew part of her just couldn't deal with the bleak grays that painted her vision right now. It would only make her feel self conscious for thinking about the fact that Din had never met his soulmate, and he probably never would with his Creed. She wasn't sure how it worked out for him, if he had to guess or if he thought he was just destined to be alone.

The thought made her heart break. Their unspoken connection, the fact that they shared the bed now instead of the off and on switch they did when Mando first took Y/N on the crew. She had never seen him take his helmet off, but she'd seen him in just his pants when that quarry had gone crazy with the blaster, catching him a couple times. She'd had to use the cauterizer to patch him up on his back, pretending not to notice the shudders of Din's shoulders when her hand brushed against his muscular back for a better angle.

"What?" She looked up, one of the blankets slipping down slightly at the movement. She had been so lost in thought she forgot what Din had said in the first place. Her lower back was aching from the shaking, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I'll go start fixing up the ship." He grunted as he pushed himself up.

"I thought you said-" She started, but Din cut her off.

"I can tell you're in pain." He said, watching her lips part and show off the shaking. "Get in the bed." He helped her up and guided her over to the closet-room, helping put the mountain of blankets on her. While she moved around to get comfortable, Din grabbed the Child to put in him in the hammock. His eyes caught on her still shaking form, and before he realized what he was doing he was taking off the beskar on his wrists and unwrapping the cape from his neck. He pulled back the blankets laying on Y/N's shivering form and put the cloak underneath all the blankets, knowing it was the warmest layer. He then closed the small door and walked back out into the cold.

She tried to force herself to sleep, hoping that she would somehow work up a sweat while being asleep and wake up warmer. She was lost in her thoughts as the door slid open, causing her to jump and pull the blankets close as she sat up to see the Mandalorian staring at her from the main hull of the Crest.

"You're l-letting the h-heat out!" She chattered, trying to keep the fact that she was shaking away from Din.

"I could hear you shaking from the cockpit." He told her, and maybe if it wasn't so knifing cold, her cheeks would heat up.

"You're l-lying." She accused, eyes widening as he put an unarmored knee onto the bed, leaning more into the small room.

"I don't lie." He told her, putting a warm hand on the exposed part of her shoulder. She jumped and turned to see Din free of all his armor except his helmet. "I'm going to need to be close to you so we can share body heat."

"Your helmet is literally freezing." Was the only thing she could say, heart racing at the thought of actually cuddling with Din. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about the ice that was beginning to fuse to his helmet, however, and she knew that neither of them would be warm if he didn't take it off.

"I'm going to bend the rules." He muttered, switching off the light and drenching them into darkness. She couldn't see anything, but after a moment she heard the hiss of his helmet and then the clink of it being set down.

It seemed like the unspoken thing was multiplied by ten in the dark room.

"What are you doing?" She whispered, squeezing her eyes closed and keeping her head turned away from him. He slid into the bed behind her, grabbing the blankets and pulling her close.

"Keeping you warm." He said, and she felt hot at the sound of his unmodulated voice.

"I thought you couldn't take your helmet off." She said, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You're not shivering anymore." Din changed the subject, wrapping his arms loosely around her. She grabbed them, pulling him close to let him know that she was okay with this.

"Looks like your methods work." She whispered, letting him entwine his fingers with hers. Everything about this situation felt immensely intimate, had her heart racing with adrenaline.

"They usually do." He muttered softly, pulling her as close as he could, so close she could feel his breath against her neck. When they had slept in the same bed in the past, he always had his helmet on. The only time he didn't was when he ate, locking himself in the cockpit. This was new, and she still wasn't sure if this was against the rules.

She closed her eyes, finally warm enough to sleep, and tried not to think about it.

"I'll go with Mayfield." Y/N said, pausing the argument for a moment. Everyone looked at her, and for the first time she was glad she couldn't see Mando's expression; she was sure he was looking at her as if she was crazy.

"No, you will not." Din said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not on any lists or whatever. I'm the only one here who won't set off any alarms." She told him.

"Not the only one." Mando told her, but she just looked at him incredulously.

"Oh, because they won't notice a Mandalorian coming onto their base." She turned, looking at the Empire vehicles slowly trucking along.

"You're not going without me." He told her, causing her to role her eyes at his over-protectiveness. She knew it was because he was hard on himself for leaving Grogu - he felt like he should have never left him alone, that it was his fault that Grogu was taken.

"They're never going to let the Mandalorian in." Y/N says annoyed.

"I'm not going as a Mandalorian." He said, watching everyone else looking at him confused.

"Unless your Creed has changed recently, you're not getting in with that helmet." Mayfield told Din, who just shrugged

"I'm going in," He said. "But I'm not showing my face." Y/N just frowned as she was confused.

"Then Y/N can't go. There's only two guards in each vehicle." Fennec said, but Y/N smirked.

"I have an idea," She said as her eyes widened. She turned toward Mando. "But you're not going to like it."

"You were right." Din said as he helped her out of the huge truck. He had taken down all the enemies without his weapons or armor, which was impressive.

"About?" She asked as she smiled up at him. She was trying to act like she wasn't looking for his eyes, the same way she always did. Except now, she was worried the dark panels weren't dark enough to block out his face.

"I hate this plan." He said, a hand on her lower back as he lead her through the Imperial base, nodding at the Troopers who were thanking him and Mayfield.

"Why do you think I didn't tell you until after we were on our way?" Y/N was wearing a borrowed dress from someone in the village, playing the part of a 'pleasure girl' - it was obvious why Din was pissed that she had come up with a plan of making herself a prostitute.

"We're almost done anyway." Y/N told him, feeling his hand curl around her waist and hold on tight when a couple of helmets didn't turn away quickly enough for his liking.

"It's right there. I'll be in and out." Mayfield said, walking into the small break area but walking right back out.

"What do you think you're doing?" Y/N asked, eyes wide as she realized Mayfield wasn't going to get the data for them. She needed to find Grogu, if not for herself, then for Din.

"I can't go in there. My commanding officer is in there." He explained, causing Y/N to be even more confused.

"So?" Din asked, sounding as annoyed as Y/N did.

"If he recognizes me, we're never getting out of here anyway. It's over, we're done." Mayfield said, but Y/N shook her head.

"Give it to me." She held out her hand, but Mando shook his head.

"If you go in there looking like that, it'll be even more suspicious. I'll do it." He turned to Mayfield, who was looking at him in shock.

"You have to show your face, Mando. To make sure you're not a droid." Mayfield informed them, but Din just held his hand out.

"Give me the stick." Y/N's heart raced as Din grabbed the stick from Mayfield, marching into the room and going straight to the machine in the corner.

"He's gonna cause a scene." Mayfield said, knowing an alarm would go off when the machine scanned a helmet and not a real face.

"He'll do something." Y/N told Mayfield, knowing that he was right. They watched as Din eventually did set off an alarm, and Y/N's heart raced. "Come on," She whispered, knowing that one move from Din and she would help him take out everyone in the room.

But then Din was taking off his helmet.

Y/N saw dark hair before she turned, seeing Mayfield lean around her to look at Din. Y/N slapped him, watching him look annoyed as he cradled his cheek.

"What are you thinking?" She whisper-screamed, annoyed that Din was in there breaking his Creed for Grogu when Mayfield couldn't even handle going in there himself.

"Come on," Mayfield grabbed her as they walked into the room.

"What are you doing?" She asked, eyes widening when she realized that Mayfield was dragging her into the the room.

"Just follow my lead." He whispered, Din pointedly not looking at Y/N as Mayfield spoke to the officer.

The whole time Din's helmet was off, Y/N made sure she wasn't looking at him. She was silent as she leaned against him - playing her role as a whore - as Mayfield talked about his brown eyes - so now she knew his eyes were brown, and that Mayfield had seen his soulmate. She still didn't look at his face, into his eyes, keeping her head down.

Y/N only made sure to pay attention to the signal to shoot, and in no time they took out everyone in room.

"You did what you had to do. I never saw your face." Mayfield said as he handed Din his helmet, eyes cast down.

"I actually never saw it." Y/N chuckled awkwardly, still not looking as Din slipped the helmet on and they began fighting more.

When they got back to Boba Fett's ship - sans Mayfield - Y/N couldn't look at Mando, even though he had his armor back on. She knew he wasn't looking at her either, but as soon as Fennec and Cara walked out of earshot he was speaking.

"You don't have to be here anymore." He said, his voice straight forward and even-toned. "The ship is gone, so your job is done." Y/N had forgotten that Mando had hired her as a mechanic, since the recent problems with the Razor Crest were problems she couldn't fix on her own with the few tools she had.

"I'm not leaving until we get the kid back." She said, head snapping up to be surprised that his helmet was pointed toward her. He was silent for a moment until he finally sighed.

"I know he meant a lot to you." He said, and Y/N nodded.

"He meant more to you. You meant a lot to him." She smiled comfortingly as she said it, but it was clear Din was having a moment.

"You didn't look at my face?" He asked after a while more of silence, and Y/N answered immediately.

"No. I saw your hair when you took off the helmet, but I turned before I could see anything else. And when I went in there, I made sure not to." She smiled, hoping this was making Mando feel better. "I only know your eyes are brown because Mayfield made that joke." She scoffed with a tight smile.

Mando didn't respond, and it was a strained ride back.

"He doesn't want to go." Din said, not wanting to let Grogu go. He'd had to say goodbye before when he thought the kid was going to go with Ahsoka, and he'd just saved the kid. He didn't want to give up Grogu.

"He wants permission." The Jedi said and Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes. She also didn't want to lose Grogu. She could barely hear what the Jedi was saying before she watched Din take off his helmet.

Y/N was staring at Din's hair once more, watching him say goodbye to Grogu. They all watched as the Jedi took Grogu with him, but Y/N's eyes ventured back to Din's helmetless head. She didn't have the chance to look away when he turned toward her, their eyes locking.

For a moment, nothing happened. Y/N's heart had just begun to sink when color erupted from Din's eyes and began spreading to everything, making her lightheaded. Everything was bright, and she didn't hesitate to run into Din's arms.

"It's okay." She whispered, hands running through his hair. He squeezed her tightly, his armor bruising her. She didn't care, however. She had her love in her arms.

Din was crying into her shoulder, not caring about the people around her who were watching.

"You're okay, Din." She told him, kissing his cheek and tasting the salt of his tears. "We'll be okay."

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @roxaya

#din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #star wars

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pterodactyl-hater · 4 months

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𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

・❥・ You had no clue he was alive, but he didn’t know that

・❥・word count: 2k

・❥・warnings: mentions of death, mentions of past sexual abuse, ANGST, LOOSELY based off one scene from tsitp, my own hc of pre-vamp Astarion

・❥・ Has anyone else seen that one tsitp edit to Sign of the Times? No? Also it occurred to me that now 2/3 fics I’ve posted on this platform are about vampires, lord I fear I have a type, also also, let’s just pretend Astarion can remember his life pre-vamp, just pretend for me thank yewwwww

You adored your best friend more than words could describe. Anyone could tell how you admired him, just from how you looked at him. Astarion had always been very handsome, you struggled to look away from his gorgeously tanned skin, and his platinum curls. Your eyes caught on the strong curve of his nose and the way the sun highlighted his brown eyes. But he was more than just his appearance. He was clever and too charming for his own good.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Astarion would ask, his voice tinged with a teasing playfulness.

“Like what?”

“Like that.” ‘Like you’re in love with me’ is what he failed to say, but the message rang clear. The air thickened. You shrugged, eyes never breaking from his. He smiled and shook his head, the slightest bit of pink forming on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. For all that you adored him, Astarion would worship you.

Then one day, you stopped seeing Astarion. He didn’t show up to the cafe you two had planned on meeting at, perhaps he had fallen ill. He stopped showing up to work, a spontaneous vacation he had forgotten to tell you of in advance, possibly. He wasn’t home, everything had been just as it was left no longer than a week ago. A thin layer of dust covered the house, completely undisturbed. Another week had passed before you got closure.

“This is (y/n) (l/n)?” A large man asked. He had knocked at your door late at night, a heavy hood over his eyes. You hesitantly nodded in confirmation. “You were close with Astarion Ancunin correct?” He asked.

“Correct.” You replied slowly, your curiosity peaked, along with your worry, anything could have happened to your best friend, he could be anywhere.

“I’m here on behalf of Cazador Szarr, to inform you of Astarion’s passing.” He nodded coolly as if he hadn’t just delivered the worst news one could deliver.

“How?” Your voice was quieter than you wished it to be.

“He was murdered on Cazador’s estate. We’ve been unable to determine who killed him, but we are working diligently to bring him to justice.” The hooded man assured. Tears welled in your eyes, your throat closed in on itself. You nodded quickly and closed the door once the man had left.

You never saw Astarion’s body. It was a morbid thought, sure. To wish to see the mutilated corpse of your best friend was a sentiment not shared by many. You assumed his body had already been handed off, most likely to his parents. Oh Gods, you wonder if his mother has seen the cold mangled body of her young son. You’d have to check on her eventually. You wonder if he was handled with care. Did the hooded man carry Astarion in his arms to pass him onto his father? Or was he perhaps shipped in a cramped box, tossed on their doorstep with no regard to the remains of the young boy, who had so much life ahead of him?

You lost track of how long you mourned. You would never see him again. You’d never hear his voice, look into his beautiful brown eyes. You missed him so bad it would keep you up at night, your head hurt from staying awake so long, yet your chest hurt from the idea of falling asleep and having a singular moment of not thinking of him.

After a while, you finally started to allow yourself to rest. After that, you began letting yourself enjoy things. You started getting invited to large parties hosted by Cazador, as some effort to apologize for the tragedy that had befallen your closest friend on his property. A cold case as it had been declared after almost a month. You attended a few, you couldn’t help but be made uncomfortable by the atmosphere, the guests seemed off, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched every time you set foot near Cazador’s palace, for no particular reason. Perhaps it was Astarion’s ghost keeping watch over you.

It had been your first time leaving Baldur’s Gate in years. Except for a short trip to your and Astarion’s parents you had taken a few weeks after his death, you hadn’t left in the many years since his untimely demise. You still remember that trip vividly, the smell of the countryside, and how everyone seemed to walk on eggshells to avoid speaking of the no-longer-present boy.

You weren’t doing anything particularly important on this trip, simply looking around at whatever there was to find. You had found your way to a busy market, scents of fresh bread and lavender and bright silky fabrics overwhelmed your senses when one thing caught your attention. A head of platinum curls. The head turned towards you and you swear you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

It was him, Astarion, undoubtedly. He’s changed, barely recognizable if you hadn’t known him like the back of your hand. You felt like you would be sick, seeing the dead boy clearly not dead. His once sun-kissed skin was now a ghastly shade of white. Cinnamon brown eyes now ran a shade of red, dark as blood. It was jarring, seeing the boy you once loved so suddenly in such a vastly different state. Yet, his nose remained the same, as did his high cheekbones, his hair hadn’t changed one bit, except perhaps it was a bit messier now.

“Astarion!” You yelled before you could stop yourself. Your feet carried you to him as if it was second nature to be as close to him as possible. “Astarion!” His head turned towards you, his ruby red eyes giving you a once over before widening in surprise. You saw him take a step back, like a scared dog. You stopped running, only a few steps away from him. “How? How are you here right now?”

“I’m sorry who are you?” He asks. His eyes tell exactly what his mouth won’t, the same way they always have. He knows exactly who you are.

“Don’t play dumb.” You start, he flinches away. “You know who I am.” A few people look over at him, friends you presume. You inspect each of them, what a team he’s gathered. One of the few, a rather tall tiefling walks up to you with her fists clenched. As she approached it was like heat radiated off of her. She was about to open her mouth when a man who seemed rather keen on minding his own business stopped her. She continued glaring. “We need to talk.” You hissed to the man in front of you.

“Whatever it is that you want, I can’t provide.” His voice shook ever so slightly. Anger rose in you, he had left for 200 years and been presumed dead only to reappear and act as if he was scared of you.

“Astarion.” You said, warning in your tone. Silence hangs in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. “We need to talk.” You repeated. “Alone.” You could only imagine how you looked to his friends at the moment, a strange person running towards Astarion and insisting on privacy for a conversation. You hardly cared at the moment, too lost in inspecting every curve and line of your best friend’s face. After a second he looked towards the group and nodded them away wordlessly, he held the gaze of the tiefling a second longer.

“Well, guide the way.” He said in a faux confident manner. You huffed and turned on your heel. You lead him away from the bustle of the market, somewhere you two were ensured privacy. You found yourself near a murky pond, shaded by trees, and inhabited by large bullfrogs. Just as it became most important for you to speak, you felt your throat close up. Your mouth ran dry as you looked at him.

“I thought you were dead.” Your voice held a mixture of anger and hurt. You felt tears sting your eyes and you tried to blink them away.

“You’ve done quite enough, you don’t need to lie to me now.” He said. His eyes were wider now, his lips were pressed in a thin line. In stark contrast to the confident way he had held himself around his companions.

“I- what?” You asked breathlessly.

“I said you shouldn’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“You have some nerve.” Astarion started. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, his face now flushed red. “Coming after me after Gods know how long, only to pretend you didn’t see me at my worst? When I was nothing more than Cazador’s spawn. You disregarded me then, why do you think you have the right to crawl back to me now.”

You felt hot tears dare to fall out of your eyes at his seemingly unwarranted anger. He looked at you like you were nothing but a monster. “Cazador’s spawn?” You repeated quietly. “You mean you- you’re-” You sputtered. You felt like the air had been punched from your chest.

“A vampire?” He scoffed. “You really should stop acting clueless, it’s hard to watch.”

“I am clueless.” You shot back immediately. “I had no idea, I-I thought you were dead. I heard the news that you had been murdered.” Tears fell down your cheeks and dripped down your chin before you could stop them. You sucked in a harsh breath. “If I had known you were alive I would’ve fought for you.” Your hands reached out to his chest, you didn’t know if you were trying to push him away or bring him closer.

“What?”

“Fought for you! I would’ve fought for you, through everything. I would’ve been there for you!” You sobbed.

“I thought you knew!” His hands found yours on his chest. His skin was ice cold and you almost hissed from the temperature change. “Cazador had told me you knew."

"You think I would've just abandoned you?" You cried, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt.

"You were at the parties!"

"And I had no idea you were there!" You insisted. Your salty tears clung to your lashes, and your throat hurt from yelling. "You should've told me!"

"How? How would I have told you?" His crimson eyes bore into yours.

"I don't know! I just wish I could've been there for you! I would've helped you, no matter what." Your voice broke off as you cried. Astarion didn't cry, he barely made an expression as he looked at you. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice quivering. “I’m so sorry.” He still didn’t make much of an expression.

“You should go.” He said after a beat of silence.

“W-what?”

“I said you should go, anywhere but here.”

“I’m not leaving you again, Astarion.”

“Well I don’t want you here.” He insisted.

“Why not?” Your voice raised.

“Because if you stay any longer I think I’ll fall back in love with you.” His voice was quiet and collected. Your voice died in your throat.

“Fall back in love?” You murmured, as if speaking it too loudly would make it untrue. “You were in love with me?”

He ran his hand through his hair and looked away from you. He took a step back. “Yes.” He hesitated. “I was. Which made it all the more heartbreaking when Cazador,” he spit the name with enough venom to burn right through you. “told me that he had told you about my… transformation, offered me to you as a warm, or cold, body, and you declined. He said you simply didn’t wish to see me anymore, that you were glad to never speak to me again.” He inhaled a shaky breath. “Which is a?”

“Lie.” You finished for him. “I was told that you had died. Cazador had one of his men tell me you had been murdered. I was too lost in grief to question any further. Clearly I should have.” You laughed humorlessly. “I mourned you. Everyday. For years.”

“You did?”

“I did.” You sighed. “And I did it because I loved you. With everything I had.” Awkward stillness came once again. “Can I kiss you-” You were cut off by feeling Astarion’s cold hands grab your cheeks softly and pull you into a short, tender kiss.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. He laughed airily.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For not being there.” He took a deep breath.

“Well… you’re here now.”

“And I don’t plan on leaving.” You finished

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #bg3 x reader

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maliland · 4 months

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HEAVEN 'N HELL - OPHELIA

if i die, please, let them find me.

angel(s): gwen stacy & fem reader includes: angst, flashbacks, & themes of depression chapter synopsis: you wasted away the summer ignoring your feelings, gwen unable to escape hers. wc: 4.5k

divider

heaven 'n hell m.list

august 2023

you felt as though you were melting into your mattress as you lay in your bed on your stomach idly. soon enough, you would be nothing but a puddle of liquid that your sheets and your covers were forcefully drenched in. you had tried so incredibly hard not to mull over the loss of your ex-girlfriend, and for some time, you didn’t do so at all.

for the first few weeks of the summer, you dismissed the aching feeling in your chest entirely and feigned stability, carrying out your habitual summertime regimen. you went on nightly strolls when the moon was shining a little too bright for you to fall under. when it wasn’t too hot out, you’d venture to the lake and journal thoughts that didn’t involve her. it was therapeutic the way your pen glided across the sheets of paper with ease, and you found solace in the green grass beneath your fingers, coupled with the way the sun kissed your delicate skin. you dove even deeper into the artistry of baking, discovering new recipes and modifying older ones. your method seemed to be working efficiently, because by the end of each and every day, you were far too worn out to give anything else so little as half of a thought.

no matter what, you refused to confront your feelings. what you didn’t yet realize was that pretending like your feelings didn’t exist wasn’t going to stop them from eating you from the inside out whether you liked it or not.

that’s exactly what they did. your efforts had essentially gone to waste.

one night, something in you just snapped. you could only ignore the tugs at your heartstrings until they turned into painful yanks. you couldn’t stand to bury your hurt anymore, so you dug it up. the oppressive ache of losing both of your best friends in such a short time period plagued your being from then on. you felt dead.

being locked away in your bedroom made you lose track of time. days turned into weeks and weeks turned into the entire summer. you had unfortunately succumbed to the desolation and the seclusion that your body had been begging to enervate you with, and the gelidity that had been nipping at your soul had overpowered your suffocating routine and broken you.

were just there and residing inside of you, the only escape being the tears that spilled from your eyes not intermittently, but only when you let yourself think about gwen too much in one day.

you didn't grieve how you should've. you’d willingly let sorrow consume you. it was who you were now.

summer break was coming to a close. the first day of your senior year was just a week away from the night jules came over to check in on you. she did these checks because your parents were usually on business trips, giving you the freedom to rot in bed without anyone’s knowledge.

jules came sometime in the evening. she found you snuggled in your bed, blankets layered on top of your exhausted figure. your tv was playing a movie, but you weren’t paying attention, nor did you know what movie was on. you were facing the wall, staring blankly. you’d been doing so for some time. it’s not like it was on purpose.

“hey girl, i brought you some chinese food,” jules announced with a soft sigh.

you heard a plastic bag crinkling in unison with jules’ footsteps. she set the plastic bag down on the surface of your desk, knowing you’d get up and eat when you were hungry. she briefly inspected your room and picked up a few items that she noticed were out of place. earlier on in the summer, you’d fallen into the habit of having an untidy room. you quickly fixed that when you realized it only made you feel worse about yourself, so now, your room was almost always spotless.

jules said, “you changed your curtains.”

“i did,” you confirmed monotonously. your old curtains were white, embroidered with baby blue floral designs. the new ones you had put up were light pink blackout curtains.

“they’re cute.” “thanks. and thanks for the food.”

you thought jules was simply making sure you were still breathing, dropping off food, and leaving, because that’s how these things usually went. instead, she sat near the foot of your bed, the cushiony mattress slowly shifting under her. it urged you to roll over and sit up, a puzzled expression painted on your face as you stared at jules.

“school’s about to re-open,” she reminded you.

“i’m very aware,” you nodded, releasing an exasperated sigh.

she nodded slowly, squinting her eyes at you slightly. “right, so… have you packed? done any school shopping?”

“no…” you shook your head.

“you do know when your orientation is, right?”

you tapped your chin repeatedly for a few moments as if the answer was stored in a file deep inside your brain, and you needed to retrieve it before offering up a response “…yeah, no.”

“it’s tomorrow!” jules exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you flopped back down onto your mattress, clearly uninterested. “i can just skip this one. they talk about the same shit every time. it’s really not worth it.”

“it’s mandatory,” jules added. like it would change your mind.

“mandatory, my ass,” you rolled your eyes, yanking your blanket back over you. “how do you even know about this?”

“someone’s gotta keep up. you won’t. i know you better.”

you didn’t give her a reply, in lieu turning over on your back so you could fix your eyes on the ceiling.

jules exhaled your name, her eyebrows now furrowed in concern. “i’m leaving in two days to go back to houston. i won’t be able to check in like this anymore…” she laid down next to you, joining you in your staring contest with the overhead of your bedroom. “i need you to start taking better care of yourself. no more staying inside twenty-four-seven. you’re gonna go on walks and–”

“walks?” you cut in with a scoff. "seriously?”

“you used to love walks!”

“i liked going on them with gwen.”

you grimaced deeply as soon as you said her name. it left a bad taste in your mouth, but it was true. back when you were dating, you and gwen would regularly go on late-night walks together when sleep wouldn’t have either of you. it was something you two had been doing ever since you were kids, so it stuck with you when you got into a relationship, and even after you called it quits.

“look,” jules began. “i know you miss her, but this breakup is seriously becoming an obstacle. if you keep up like this, you’re gonna ruin your future. all i ask is that you make an effort–”

you planted the palms of your hands on the mattress and used them to arise from your spot, speaking over your cousin in a rather accusatory manner, “you think i’m not making an effort?”

“you didn’t let me finish,” jules replied, her expression hardening. “all i ask is that you make an effort to try and do some of the things you used to. don’t rush things. that didn’t go well last time.”

you looked down at your lap, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. you felt embarrassed at how defensive you got. you knew jules was right anyhow. she was only trying to help.

“you’ve worked so hard, from the moment you got into that school. it can’t be for nothing. don’t let it be.”

you pressed your lips together and a puff of air shot out through your nose. jules was right–again. it was your senior year. you just needed to push through those ten months, no matter how harrowing they felt.

“i haven’t even finished packing,” you mumbled. the fact that you didn’t condemn the idea elicited a smile of hope on your older cousin’s face.

jules hopped off the bed, pulling on either of your arms so you were sitting up. “so we’ll pack. don’t worry, girl. you’re gonna have a great year, okay?”

you nodded, though you didn’t believe that in the slightest. “okay.”

you couldn’t subdue the doubt that you’d never be able to seal the deep puncture in your soul. maybe this was one of those wounds that time couldn’t heal.

the next day arrived faster than you wanted it to. you were pining for the familiar comfort of your bed, eager to escape senior orientation. you were sitting in a fold-up chair, your bottom growing numb from the hard, rough plastic. it’d been a prolonged thirty minutes of various staff explaining things such as college, scholarships, test scores, clubs, sports, community service, and dorms. you weren’t mentally present for the vast majority of it, rather exhausting your social media apps or contemplating ideas that weren’t relevant in the slightest.

out of curiosity, your eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. you weren’t met with anyone you recognized, but forgettable faces that would star as background characters in your future dreams.

you left a little bit before orientation officially concluded to get a head start on unpacking your suitcase. jules was already in your dorm, awaiting your arrival so she could help you unpack since she knew you’d been putting it off.

on your way to student housing, you passed by one of the larger gyms. you were greeted with a familiar warmth in your chest, then it tightened when you remembered. you halted immediately and took a few steps backward to peek inside. it was the gym you attended your first and only prom in—the prom peter died at.

it was like his soul and his energy still resided within–like he was haunting it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

december 2022

you and gwen strolled into the faintly lit and thoroughly decorated gym alongside each other. the cooler lighting cast a gentle hue of purple over the both of you. the white spotlights whirling around the gym heavily illuminated the area as opposed to the ones that weren’t as harsh. a crescent moon hung gracefully from the ceiling above the stage on the other side of the gym, alternating between tinges of blue, pink, and purple. dangling from the ceiling and decorating the walls were strings of silver stars, exuding the illusion of a starry night.

you liked your outfit. you had on a short, sparkly, fitted black dress with thin spaghetti straps. you wore black stockings over your legs and black heels on your feet. your earrings were simple but cute: sparkly moon studs. a silver necklace with a shiny star pendant hung around your neck, resting in between your two collarbones. the girl beside you wore a black, grunge leather jacket, with various pins decorating the collar over her pink high-low skirted dress. to accessorize, she wore a dark-colored choker around her neck, two pearl necklaces, and identical pearl earrings that matched the neckpieces. black belts decorated her hips, hanging loosely. she had told you she was going for a nineties kind of look and you thought she totally nailed it.

both you and the blonde wore matching pink rose corsages around your wrists. peter was going to have the other piece pinned to the jacket of his suit. since none of you had dates, you decided to go together as friends. you had yet to spot him though.

you and gwen walked further into the gym, wrapping up the conversation you’d been having on the way in. gwen’s bandmates all waved at you and gwen from one of the drink tables and you two waved back.

“you excited to play?” you asked gwen, gesturing to the instruments that were already set up on the stage. mj had pulled a few strings, and now her band was going to play near the end of the dance.

“excited, yeah. also a little nervous,” she admitted.

“don’t be, you’ll do great,” you slung your arm around her shoulders, flashing her a toothy grin. your eyes wandered the gym, searching for the last piece to your trio, but you couldn’t find him.

“hey, where’s peter?” gwen asked you.

“i was wondering the same…” you took your arm back and squinted into the distance, standing on your tip-toes and trying to see over the heads of other students. “i thought he was catching a ride with harry, but he should be here by now.”

“i don’t see harry either,” gwen groaned. “jesus christ, i hope they didn’t bail.”

you shook your head. “peter wouldn’t do that.” “yeah, you’re right,” gwen shook her head. “let’s split up. i’ll text you if i find him.” “cool, me too.”

you weaved through the crowds of people, muttering small “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” as needed. despite your efforts, your eyes never came to land on the familiar lanky brunette with glasses. you turned on your heel, beginning to make your way to the opposite side of the gym. at the same time, you checked your phone. no text from gwen. you shoved your cell back in your purse and made your way to one of the drink tables, grabbing a can of your favorite soda and popping it open. your eyes continued to sweep the crowds in the gym as you leaned on the table, your quiet sigh drowned out by the loud music reverberating throughout the gym.

“lookin’ good,” a sonorous voice suddenly said from behind you, disconnecting you from your thoughts.

your eyebrows lowered before you had even processed who the voice belonged to. you craned your neck to the left to see none other than ned leeds smirking at you, him and his stupid blonde mohawk. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, then close them before exhaling.

ned continued, “way too good to hang with that nerd and his girlfriend.”

“excuse you,” gwen’s voice scoffed before you could rebut, leaving you confused as to where she even came from. “peter is not my boyfriend.”

“and your compliment was ass!” you added, the blonde’s fingers simultaneously wrapping around your free wrist.

ned looked like he was itching to fire back at you, but gwen was already pulling you away by your arm, her grip firm. she led you to an area that was less populated.

“g, i’d like to keep my circulation,” you said to her once you both had stopped, wiggling your arm around. “right, sorry,” she chuckled awkwardly, letting go of your wrist and clearing her throat. “i didn’t find peter.”

you rubbed your wrist and breathed out, “neither did i. didn’t see harry either.” “i did. he was with some girl, and told me that peter was going to find another way here.”

your eyebrows raised. “peter said that?”

“according to harry, yeah,” gwen pressed her lips together, folding her arms anxiously. “and may told me peter’s not home.”

“shit…” you muttered.

gwen’s eyes suddenly narrowed and her neck snapped so she was facing the opposite side of the gym. mere seconds later, the wall fell apart, screams erupting as debris fogged up the air around you. you pulled gwen towards one of the exits as what appeared to be an oversized green lizard stormed further into the gym, the impact shaking the ground and sending you straight for the floor. gwen caught you, helping you gain balance again before you both sprinted out of the gym.

“i gotta go! get out of here!" gwen directed.

“what?!” you yelled, having barely heard your best friend over all the chaos in the background.

“trust me!"

she took off, disappearing into the debris as more and more students rushed out. what was she thinking? you were left conflicted. in the moment, you didn't trust her at all. how could you? as much as you wanted to go in there and talk some sense into her, you’d be a fool to run into that gym after her.

“gwen!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

june 2023

“gwen!”

two gentle taps to gwen’s shoulder pulled her out of her head.

“yo, death leopard,” a voice called out. “something wrong?”

gwen turned around to see her bandmate, mj standing behind her, arms folded over her chest. she looked half irritated and half annoyed. gwen cleared her throat, a shade of red sneaking up under her pale, freckled cheeks. she swallowed thickly and only then did it click that she was still at band practice, not prom.

she then spoke, “no, everything’s good.”

“cool, so could you maybe start playing the drums on three?”

“huh?” gwen glanced down at the drum set below her in confusion, then back at her friends.

“we counted off three different times, but your head was in space, star girl,” glory explained.

“could you even hear us?” betty inquired, a worrisome frown etched on her face.

not at all.

gwen had been deep in thought, the world surrounding her now irrelevant as the tragedy that transpired at prom replayed in her head like a broken record. the fatal blow gwen delivered to the lizard followed by the discovery that it was peter all along was stuck on loop. she didn’t mean to kill him—spider-woman never kills anyone. that’s not what the media and the press thought though, and sure as hell not what gwen’s father, the police chief thought, either.

gwen recalled desperately throwing rocks and rubble off of her best friend, holding his face in her hands as her body went numb. his hair was shaggy and coated with dust from the foundation of the broken wall. his eyes were half-lidded, his brown irises appearing to have had the life sucked out of them.

“i just wanted to be special… like you, gwen.” he had said. gwen didn’t know what he meant. she didn't think there was anything special about her. she felt like the most useless person on the planet, especially in that moment.

her job was twenty times harder now. for the rest of her life, she’d have to fight off supervillains while the cops were hot on her trail. for the rest of her life, she’d have to live with the guilt that she took her best friend’s life. she’d have to listen to her father complain about how spider-woman ruins lives. how she ruined may’s life, and his life–and hers. given the way gwen’s life was going, she wouldn’t argue him on it. she lost peter and she lost you. ever since, she felt as though she was living on autopilot, far too busy to have any time to grieve properly. to feel.

gwen couldn't talk to anyone. there wasn’t a single person she could confide in–except for you. the only issue was gwen didn’t just break up with you, she had severed you two’s connection entirely, giving you the impression that she wanted nothing to do with you.

gwen was unsure how to respond to the questions that still hung in the air, so she only stared further, her eyes darting between betty and glory, who both awaited her answer.

mj sighed. “are you sure you’re okay? it’s okay if you’re not, we all have our days.”

“yeah, i’m good. i just spaced out,” gwen insisted, though the girl before her was extremely unconvinced.

mj walked back to her mic, ripping it from the stand and unplugging the wire. “let’s just end early today. i think we all deserve a break, yeah?”

betty and glory nodded in unison. gwen stared at her lap in pure defeat. this was the second band practice that ended earlier than scheduled that week because her mind was somewhere else. she eventually packed up her drum set and migrated off stage to the second row of seats in the seating area. once betty and glory were gone, mj joined gwen, sitting in a seat to the left of her.

“look, we have a festival to play at in three weeks. that’s really not a lot of time,” mj furrowed her eyebrows. “but i’m more worried about you. what’s really going on?”

gwen never was one to open up. even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. she couldn’t tell anyone about the double life she took on, so nobody would ever be able to even begin to understand the grief that came with peter’s passing. you still tried. even though you were mourning peter too, you still managed to bring gwen’s walls down and held her hand gently, assuring her that what happened wasn't her fault. teaching her that she wasn’t a burden for feeling, because feeling was what made her human. it wasn’t a surprise that gwen built those walls again right after your breakup.

gwen couldn’t even give the redhead a proper response before two honks blared from outside, but they both know she would’ve dismissed it anyway.

“that’s probably my dad,” gwen muttered, grabbing her tote back and slowly rising up from the chair. she pulled the tote over her shoulder and began to walk away, but she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “i’ll be better next rehearsal. promise.”

mj watched with worried eyes as gwen left. gwen held her breath until she was behind those double doors.

mj knew there was something gwen wasn’t telling her.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

april 2023

it was a cool friday evening. the refreshing spring air that the month of april so kindly delivered blew against your soft skin. the sunset looked heavenly that day. the sky dyed with warmer colors as opposed to the usual blue, the contrast in the differing tinctures painting the clouds a salmony pink. you were walking to your girlfriend’s apartment with the intention of spending the night. you two had planned in advance, so it had been the only thing one your mind just about that entire week. even though you’d had an argument a couple of days prior, you wouldn’t say it was detrimental to your relationship.

that was until you arrived at her apartment.

it may sound fucked up, but the truth was that after peter’s death, when you found out that gwen was spider-woman, you didn’t think anything else could possibly come between you two, since the secrecy that came with gwen being a superhero had always been where your doubts had stemmed, though you didn’t know it at the time.

when you learned of gwen’s alter ego, you also learned to empathize with her. you understood if she missed a few movie nights. you didn’t snap at her if she left you high and dry at restaurants where you were supposed to be having dates at. you didn’t mind having to go on a couple of nightly strolls alone, and you didn’t get angry when she’d show up at your window with injuries, because none of it was out of the blue or suspicious anymore.

in retrospect, you hadn’t realized how chaotic your relationship was. you were far too busy being caught up in the highest highs to really stop and think about it. the lows practically descended as low as the bottom of an ocean floor, where no land was in sight from the surface of the water, and the memory of the highs was the only thing that helped you stay afloat.

albeit you and gwen hadn’t had a low in a while, your most recent argument had to do with her tendency to distance herself when she gets stressed or when things got difficult. you thought you two had worked through it, enforcing healthy communication like you agreed to. at the end of it all, the issue was resolved (temporarily, anyway.) you thought that meant progress.

oh, how wrong you were.

you arrived at her complex and knocked on the door, pressing your lips together as you waited. a couple of seconds later, you heard the lock twist and the door opened. gwen was in one of her hoodies and black sweats, the back of her hair bunched into a pink claw clip while a few of the front pieces hung loosely. she looked disheveled, to say the least. tired.

“hey,” you spoke first.

gwen cleared her throat. “hi.”

you squinted at her as she maneuvered around the open door, shutting it behind her and clearing her throat. you stared at her in confusion while she stared at you in what you could only make out to be woe.

“is everything okay? can i come in?”

gwen opened her mouth to speak but then hesitated. her left thumb was making back-and-forth motions on her right one, an unspoken tell that she was stressed or nervous.

“gwen, i’m talking to you.”

she shook her head. “i know. sorry.”

“is something going on?” you reiterated.

“yeah, i forgot to call you,” she said, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“about?”

she exhaled. “we can’t do the sleepover today.”

your face morphed into one of confusion. “why not?”

there weren’t any villains terrorizing the city, otherwise you wouldn’t even be face to face with gwen. you hadn’t hung out with her one on one in about two weeks, so she’d had plenty of space and time to herself.

“i think i need some time to think about a few things,” she told you, her voice low.

you froze. you were at loss for words entirely.

“okay… um…” your voice trailed off, searching through your scattered brain for something to respond with.

“you didn’t do anything, i promise,” gwen clarified as she hugged her arms, tugging at the fabric of her hoodie. “it’s me.”

“you wanna talk about it?” you offered.

“no,” gwen replied quicker and harsher than she meant to, causing your eyes to widen. “sorry—no. i just need some time to myself,” she corrected herself, her tone softer. “for a little longer than a while.”

“oh,” you retorted. “yeah, no, i understand.”

“thanks,” she coerced a smile, but it was weak.

you nodded and both of you stood in silence for a few moments before gwen turned on her heel, retreating back to the warmth of her apartment and leaving you alone on the other side of the door. she didn’t offer to walk you back home, or even hug you. you sighed in disappointment and began to walk back the way you came. you were heavily conflicted. apart from the fact that she had basically just told you she needed space indefinitely, all you could think about was how your interaction with gwen had felt stale, or unnatural. something felt different, although you couldn’t put your finger on it. gwen was without a doubt distancing herself again, you knew that, but it wasn’t the same as all the other times. there was some kind of uncertainty to it.

your thoughts were so loud.

was that a breakup? no. it couldn’t have been. she just said she needed space—but why from me?

your head was already pounding and it got worse the more you thought about the possibility, so you opted to let it go. just for a little while. you told yourself, it isn’t a breakup it’s just a break.

that’s all it is.

©maliland

taglist: @spid3namy

#heavensent 🪽#heaven ‘n hell 💌#gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy x fem reader #gwen stacy #gwen stacy x you #atsv #istv #fem reader #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse

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sunshiline-writes · 8 months

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Drabble: Eat Your Heart Out

UH... yeah I had a rough week and decided to take it out on a nameless whumpee. Enjoy! this is REALLY FUCKED please heed warnings

CW: Autocannbalism!!!!!, GORE!!!!, Sadistic whumper, implied drugging, restraints, scapels, ummm medical whump?? kinda?? maybe?? idk?? general fuckedupness of my drabbles I guess. __

They were strapped down, wrists, ankles, knees, waist, neck and forehead all held by soft leather straps. The irony of it was that whumpee wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. They just wanted to be able to move. But everything seemed fuzzy, they tried to remember why they were here, but couldn’t quite paint a clear picture. They had been walking to their car.. and then everything went black. Now they laid here, staring at an artificial light that seemed all too bright. Everything was too bright and the smell of cleaning supplies burned their nose. It wasn’t enough to wake them from the dreamlike state they were in. It was all a bit too unreal for them to truly register. They closed their eyes for a second and when they opened them again, someone stood over them. “Hello Whumpee. Remember me?”

Whumpee thought hard and forgetting their restraints tried to shake their head. “Oh that’s okay darling, I figured it would be hard for you. You and I met a long time ago. Once. You said that you would wait for me.” Whumper moved from Whumpee’s line of sight and they tried desperately to remember what they were talking about. The thoughts in their mind moved slowly and they whimpered slightly.

“Please.. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where am I? What..” They were cut off when something cold touched their lips. It took them a second to realize that it was a scapel. Whumpee’s lips remained firmly closed. Even as Whumper, slid the flat of the blade against their lips, down their chin, neck and stopping in the middle of their sternum. “Shhhh,” whumper cooed, “Shut up. You were supposed to wait for me, you were supposed to love ME forever and ever. I was only gone for a year. Prison was so hard. But you.. you got me through. The thought of you.” “Please I have no idea who you are!” “SHUT UP,” the yell startled whumpee into silence and they felt tears burning at their eyes, “You can pretend all you want. But I know you remember me. I know it. You broke my heart whumpee.”

“I don’t know who you are! You crazy son of a-“ The scapel dipped into the skin with a fierce sting, just over their heart. The cut curved and slid down. Whumpee cut themselves off with a scream. Fighting uselessly against the restraints. The scapel cut deeper, probably through about an inch and blood flowed down Whumpee’s chest, as they screamed until their voice was raw. “You were always so loud,” whumper said absentmindedly, “never shut up.” Whumper dug the scapel in again on the opposite side, curving and then down at a diagonal until it reached the other gorge in their chest. They cut again and again until it was deep enough.

Whumpee screamed the whole time. Panting heavily as each breath brought new waves of pain through them. “please.. whatever I did, im sorry.. im so sorry.” “You’re not sorry. You’re just in pain,” Whumper said as they liked the flat of the scape, humming with satisfaction. “Yes, now, this next part will hurt, but just try and stay awake.” Whumper grabbed an edge of the cut they had made, the abstract heart on their chest, lifted slightly and with a look of determination, began to cut under the skin. Whumpee screamed and sobbed as the scapel worked under the skin, sliding easily through the layers. Until the skin was held up by whumper, completely away from their chest where it was supposed to be. Waves of revulsion, nausea and pain ran cold through whumpee as they fought not to vomit. “P-Please… stop..”

“No I don’t.. think I will. You know.. this is a very sad rendition of how you made me feel when you left me to rot. When you went off and got with someone new while I was away. Now.. now I want you to eat you fucking heart out.”

“No.. No no..” Whumpee screamed in a panic, sinking against the restraints but they couldn’t turn away. Not even clamping their mouth shut could help. Especially when Whumper, clamped their nose closed with their bloody fingers. Forcing them to open their mouth to breath. As soon as their mouth opened in a gasp. Whumper shoved the heart shaped skin in their mouth and slammed a hand over whumpees mouth. “There we go. Now you know how it feels huh?”

They just tasted blood and they retched as the skin felt loose and soggy in their mouth. “Eat it whumpee. Or we do this again and again and again until we get it right.”

Whumpee swallowed, and whumper tsked in disappointment. “You were supposed to chew.” They released the hand from their mouth and the retched, trying to keep down the growing sense of nausea. “Lets try this again.”

The scapel stung as they carved just over their ribs.

-- thinking about making a taglist for my dribbles. lemme know if you want me to add you!!

#whumpblr #whump #whump blog #sunshine drabbles #sunshine writes whump #autocannibalism #carving #scapels #GORE #cw: gore #gore #sadistic whumper #implied drugging #blood #violence #really gross descriptions lmfao

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sarandipitywrites · 12 days

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writing patterns tag game

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

thanks for the tag, @adhdavinci! let's pretend this wasn't sitting in my drafts for a month 😅 go check out their lines here

passing the tag along (with no pressure) to @i-can-even-burn-salad, @macabremoons, @fanged-writer, @innocentlymacabre, @winterandwords, and an open tag for anyone who wants to share

sooo I'm gonna have to break some rules here bc I don't think I've even worked on 10 fics recently, much less posted them (not more than, like, a snippet at a time, anyway). so i'll start with what i've actually posted, then just... fuck it, we ball?

yeah that sounds good.

'Just stuff my dad into a bag,' she'd said. 'He'll fit, of course he will. Have you seen how small he is? He's bluffing, he won't really turn you into a fern,' she'd said. (Dead Roots, Dark Water, Ch 1)

For all his research, Daxter had never figured out who'd designed the Krimzon Guard Fortress. And it was a good thing, too, because if he ever did, he would shoot the architectural anarchist in the foot, run them over with a hellcat, and throw them in the port. Then he'd fish them out again just so he could shoot them in the face. (DRDW, Ch 2)

Magic and blood sit heavy on V’s tongue. (Untitled Cyberwitch WIP, Ch 1)

The silence amplified everything: the squeak of rusty nails in the boards beneath Luka's feet; the rat-a-tat rattle of the loose panes in the windows; Jules's unsteady breathing as they tapped on their phone; Luka's own stammering heartbeat. "I don't think we should be here." (I Am Alive)

I have always been here. (A Haunted Home)

'The monster is not your enemy.' A half-crushed note, faded and bled, written in his own hand: the only familiar thing in the room where Lienzo had awakened. (The Art of Empty Space (V2), Ch 1)

It was the pain that woke him. (TAES (V1), Ch i-don't-know,-i-didn't-section-this-thing-into-chapters)

The air coated his lungs in a thick layer of smog and exhaust, vapor and sweat and noise, cacophonous clanging competing for his attention. Engines, alarms, voices. Jak let them all in, let them bury him in a landslide of stimulation. It wasn't stale, silent, recirculated air. It was alive, and so was he. (DRDW, Ch 3)

Metal shrieked against metal. Violet paint streaked across the green of his speeder. Screaming. Crackling eco slugs reached out with staticky tendrils as they whizzed by. (DRDW, Ch 10)

The ocean breeze brought with it decay: rotting seaweed infested with sandflies; drowned fish with oil and eco caked in their gills; algae and mildew and rotting wood. Its icy fingers trailed goosebumps down his skin, cooled the blood beneath. (DRDW, Ch 13)

so, if we're looking for patterns, i think it looks like... i really like character voices; starting en media res; and starting with some really vivid descriptions. anything you guys see that i missed?

#writeblr tag games #writing patterns tag #my writing #the art of empty space #dead roots dark water #cyberwitch wip

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idabbleincrazy · 1 month

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Catalyst

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: E

Pairing: Clex

Characters: Clark, Lex, Lois Lane

Word Count: 4503

Warnings: under the influence, pwp, smut, dirty talk, teasing, bondage, bottom!Lex, rimming, anal fingering, anal, Lex is a lil slutty and a lil subby (but only for Clark), coming untouched, Lois is looking *respectfully*, mention of the Justice League, canon divergent

Summary: Turns out all they needed was a little shove in the right direction...

A/N: set in an au where Lex never tried to kill Clark in the Fortress, so no hand issue and no need for Queen blowing him up and no clones needed to repair him. so, I guess, Smallville versions of Clark, Lex, and Lois set in other Superman iterations? idk. I had an idea but it doesn't fit squarely in Smallville canon. Opening dialogue prompted from this list.

"This is wrong." Clark halted his movements, Lex's shirt bunched in his hands, torn open and halfway down the older man's shoulders.

"So wrong." Lex's voice was a husky rasp as he tilted his head up to close the unwanted distance between them, shimmying his way out of the ruined button-up. "And so fucking right, Clark. Kiss me."

Clark gave in, too dazed and aroused to resist the wet, friction-reddened mouth pressing against his. He let the tatters of expensive cotton flutter to the floor, his hands gripping around Lex's hips and tugging him impossibly closer. He knew, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, that this really, really, shouldn't be happening. He tried to ignore the feel of Lex's tongue slipping over his, oh, so sweet, so slick, and the way their cocks rubbed against each other through thin layers of fabric, to focus through the haze of red clouding his thoughts.

"We…we were…fighting, weren't we? How…oh, God, Lex!"

"Tired of fighting, Clark. Tired of secrets, and lies, of pretending I don't think about this every fucking night." Clark felt Lex's fingers grappling at his belt buckle, his teeth scraping along his jaw. His cock twitched in his pants, throbbing at the pleasurable sting and Lex's rough words sounding in his ear. "Don't care why we're not fighting. That was never what I wanted. This. You, here, like this, hard for me. This is what I've wanted for so long, Clark."

“Shit, Lex…we can’t…I was…angry, at you, some…new experiment with Kryptonite, did you-?”

“That was just a red herring, Clark. It always is.” Lex’s hands moved up from Clark’s unbuckled belt, scrabbling at the tie around his throat, tugging it away to work at the buttons of his shirt. Needed to taste more of that golden skin. “Only way I get to see you anymore is if you’re swooping into my office in that ridiculous costume to yell at me, or snooping around LexCorp with Ms. Lane. And, frankly, Superman, I’m starting to run out of schemes. So, whatever this is, magic, a mutant with some kinky grudge, I don’t care, I’ll take what I can get. You can hate me later.”

“You…you know?”

“Oh, Clark, the second I saw the Red-Blue Blur streaking across the skyline, I knew it was you. How could I not? You could never hide yourself from me as well as you thought. I know you too well.”

Clark groaned as Lex's teeth scraped over his throat, surprised by how he could feel the slightest sting of pain beneath the pleasure. He'd come to Luthor's office as himself this time, to pose some questions on the latest batch of tests Lois had caught sight of in her constant digging into LexCorp, wanting to see what he could find out as Clark, before rampaging through as Superman like he always did. The last thing he remembered was the two of them yelling at each other about ethics and repercussions, and a flash of red light beaming through the window. When it had cleared, they were wrapped around each other, Lex's lips beneath his, Lex's hands in his hair, his own shredding through Luthor's shirt without a care of the show of strength.

"Stop thinking, Kent. Use that superspeed of yours and find us a bed before I lay you out over my desk. Not stopping this, Clark, not till we get what I know we've both wanted for over a decade."

Lex's tongue was back in his mouth before he could snap a retort, arms wound around him and clinging. He let himself give in to the desire coursing through him, picking Lex up off the floor and zipping through the tower up to the penthouse. Unerringly, he found the master bedroom, and tumbled Lex onto the orgy-sized bed.

Speeding out of his clothes, he stood bare before Lex, nerves creeping back in as the older man gazed up at him with a hunger more ravenous than any he'd seen in those steel-blue eyes before. His cock, so hard his foreskin had already fully retracted, pulsed out a thick drop of pre-cum, eliciting a groan of want from Lex as he watched it cling from the tip of the jutting erection.

"God, you're beautiful, Clark. Perfect. Just like I knew you would be." Lex tore at his belt as he scrambled further up the bed, desperate to be rid of his pants, to pull Clark to him and feel him, skin on skin. "Shit. Little help?"

Clark smirked a quick Luthor-worthy shark-toothed grin, his eyes flashing red, and pounced. Lex was naked beneath him before he even felt the air whoosh out of his lungs, warm skin pressed against his own from chest to cock. He really didn't know what had triggered the change between them from hurling verbal pain at each other to clinging to each other, sucking face, and he truly didn't care. He'd wanted him for far too long to give up what might be the only chance to know what it felt like to be fucked by Clark Kent. And from the feel of the thick cock brushing against his own as Clark's lips latched onto his throat, he was going to enjoy every inch of it. Arches his head back to press into the mouth sucking bruises into porcelain skin that he hopes will last more than a day or two, legs spreading to accommodate the width of Clark's hips. He trails his hands up the brunette's sides, one digging clawed fingers into a shoulder, the other tangling into thick hair he's only dreamed of learning the silky-softness of.

"Jesus, Clark, just take me already. Trust me, I don't need foreplay right now. We can be soft and sweet next time," Lex groaned half in arousal, half in frustration, as Clark began slowly moving down his body, licking and nipping at random points of skin. "I want it hard, Clark, rough, and raw, and everything you couldn't be with anyone else. You know I won't break so easily."

"Fuck!" Clark didn't curse often, hard to just leave behind the two decades of small-town politeness drilled into him, but it was worth it to feel the subsequent shudder that ran through the lithe body beneath him. He was so hard it hurt, Lex's urgency thrilling him to a level of desire he couldn't remember feeling with any other lover he'd had. "What do you want, Lex? My mouth, my cock…my ass? Tell me, baby. Anything, everything, anything you want, and I'll do it. There's nothing I haven't already imagined when it comes to you, Lex."

And just where had Clark learned to talk like this, Lex wondered as he groaned louder, pulling at his hair to urge him back up, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss, tongue teasing along Clark's, memorizing the precise dimensions of that mouth he'd spent far too many nights fantasizing about. Superman presented himself to the public as this otherworldly Boy Scout, all wholesome and polite, and here he was, spouting filth that would probably make even Lois blush. Let it never be said Lex Luthor couldn't dish it out as good as it was served.

"Want you to fuck me, Clark", Lex panted against his lips, nipping harshly at the bottom one. "Dreamt about that huge cock filling me, splitting me open so I feel it for days, leaving me aching when I have to sit through meeting after meeting. Want to be spread open for you, taken…make me yours, Clark, make me scream, make me beg."

Clark had to close his eyes at the unexpected burning he felt building up, his control slipping at the onslaught of dirty talk. His heat vision hadn't reacted that way to his arousal in years, but then, he hadn't felt this much need for someone since he and Lex had become embittered towards each other. Only someone like Lex could test his resolve this way. One of his favorite fantasies popped into his head as Lex spoke, fire tingling behind his eyelids at the images flashing through his mind.

Once he was back under control, he did a quick scan of the room and sped off the bed, grabbing what he was searching for from various drawers. Setting the lube beside Lex just as the older man registered the movement, he held up the handful of silk with another shark smile. Lex's breath hitched, and he nodded at the unspoken question in Clark's gaze, limbs spreading out to the corners of the bed.

"Do it."

Before Lex could blink, his hands were secured to the newels of the headboard by the expensive ties Clark had rooted out, tight enough to keep him in place without cutting off circulation, and Lex couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the font of knowledge he didn't know the Kryptonian had possessed. He pushed it aside as Clark laid himself back over him, deciding it better to take advantage of the gained experience rather than sulk or rage at not having been the one to teach him.

"Let's see just how flexible you are, Lex." Using the other two ties, Clark bound Lex's feet beside his hands, folding the businessman practically in half. Kneeling back, he looked Lex over, his cock leaking pre-come at the sight of him spread open for the taking. Lex's cock bobbed, hard and proud and leaking, against nearly-washboard abs, surrounded by a smattering of coppery curls, and as Clark's gaze drifted lower, he could just see the tiny hole twitching from between slightly spread pale cheeks. "God, Lex, all the times I imagined you like this, all the times I've x-rayed through the layers you hide behind, never did you justice. So sleek, and smooth, and yet, still so fit. Look how your muscles flex and strain like this. Gonna put them to a true test tonight, baby."

Lex twisted against the ties holding him in place, wishing he'd turned over before allowing Clark to strap him down. At least then he'd be able to get some much needed friction on his aching cock. All the times he had pictured himself at Clark's mercy, or vice versa, had never been this intense, and he just knew that by the time this was over, he was going to have come harder than he ever had before. He couldn't hold back the moan that fell from his lips as Clark finally reached out and touched him, that huge, warm hand stroking down the back of his left thigh, fingers trailing down to the curve of his up-turned buttocks. God, he must look every bit the wanton slut, trussed up like this, but, fuck, if he didn't revel in it.

"Clark…"

Clark felt a thrill of possessiveness rush through him at the slight whine in Lex's voice, the word full of need, but not yet a real plea. Bending down, he swiped his tongue through the growing puddle of pre-come pooling on Lex's stomach, growling in pleasure at the taste of him, and the twitch of muscles that rippled across his torso at the touch. Nothing was hidden from him now, every bit of skin bared to his sight, emotions clearly written on Lex's face, everything Lex had tried to keep from him, revealed in the depths of those stormy blue eyes.

With his cock throbbing against his own abdomen, Clark followed his own hidden desires, taking the tip of Lex's erection into his mouth, suckling the bulbous head briefly before releasing it. Lex groaned out his displeasure at the too-brief contact of wet warmth around his cock, the sound going high at the end as that slick tongue trailed down the shaft of his aching length.

Clark would've been content to suck Lex down, to taste him as he poured down his throat, but his cock had other plans, needing the tightness promised by that enticing pink pucker teasing his sight from beneath the heavy, full testicles as he licked and teased his way further down between Lex's stretched and straining legs. He relished the whimpers Lex voiced when he mouthed at his balls, engulfing first one, then the other, in the heat of his mouth, letting his tongue roll around each, unconsciously cataloging the weight and give of them.

Releasing the right sac with a hint of suction, he continued his downward path, tongue licking over the sensitive patch of skin beneath them and trailing slickly down, along the perineum, nose pressing into damp flesh and inhaling the musky scent as he neared his target. He braced his hands against the tautened muscles of Lex's thighs as the older man strained against his bonds again at the first flick of his tongue over the furled ring of muscle, keeping him in place as he licked around the rim of puckered flesh.

"Oh, fuck! Clark…shit, never thought you'd - oh, yeah. Yeah, baby, like that, just like that." Lex tried futilely to buck up onto the slick appendage teasing his asshole, his cock leaking steadily at the knowledge that it was Clark, his Clark, giving him the rimjob of his life. That broad, nimble, tongue lapping over his hole, dipping into it, humming noises of hunger and satisfaction like he was devouring a fresh slice of homemade pie. No one had ever eaten him out with such naked enthusiasm. "Christ, Clark, in me. Want you in me."

Ever the people-pleaser, Clark smirked against the saliva-slickened hole, thrusting his tongue into it, deep as he could. Using his x-ray vision to help guide him, he flicked the tip of his tongue repeatedly against Lex's prostate, his grip tightening around his thighs as he renewed his thrashing at the sensation. He'd never done this before, though he knew of the act's existence. Never wanted to. Never wanted to be this intimate with anyone else, knowing he would only have been imagining Lex in their stead anyways. Everyone knew how obsessed Lex was with Superman, no one knew just how much the reverse was also true. He craved every part of the man he'd thought was his enemy, his body, his heart, his soul, everything. He'd stopped fooling around with men after college, realizing it wasn't fair to them when all he saw was Lex when he fucked them. Women were easier, kept him in the moment, with their soft curves and softer voices, not as likely to leave him biting back the wrong name as he shouted out his release. And now he had him. He tasted better than he had ever dared to imagine, musky and masculine, dark and raw and thrilling beyond belief.

"Clark! Oh, God, stop, you have to…too close, Clark. Don't wanna come yet. Not till your cock is in me."

After a final flick, Clark relented, his mouth retreating from the glistening pucker. Quickly, he snatched up the lube he'd set aside, warming the cool gel before slicking up his fingers. As he circled a finger around the twitching rim, he turned his head to kiss along Lex's left leg, nipping lightly at the corded tendons to feel the muscles spasm minutely between his teeth, trailing his mouth up to the slender ankle. Tongue laving over the sole of his foot, Clark slid his forefinger into the twitching hole, pleased to find Lex relaxing into the stretch so easily.

Lex arched his head back into the pile of pillows as Clark's finger sank into him, the slick digit nearly as thick as his tongue. Between that and the attention being paid to his foot, of all places, he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin, shivers of arousal coursing through him with each new movement from his alien lover. He knew sex with Clark would be far from ordinary, how could it not be? But this…oh, this was beyond any scenario even his overactive imagination could have conceived. He didn't know how he had managed to keep from coming this long, every move Clark made was orgasm-inducing in and of itself. It was merely the thought of that thick, steel-hard cock finally thrusting into him that kept him holding out. He'd never edged himself like this before with any other lover, delayed gratification had never been his thing. But Clark, Clark was worth the wait. After years of it, what were a few more minutes, here or there?

"More. God, Clark, more."

"Shit, Lex, you're beautiful like this. Your eyes, so wild and open, showing me everything. Tell me we won't go back to how it was before, Lex." Clark slipped another finger in beside the first, scissoring the digits as he watched Lex's face, his head leaning against his foot, nosing at the smooth skin. "Tell me we're done pretending. Can't go back to acting like I hate you, Lex, I won't. I'll never be able to look at you and not see this. The honesty on your face as I fuck my fingers into you."

"Oh, Jesus Christ! No, Clark. We won't go back to that. I'm done pretending." Lex was panting, forcing the words out between thrusts of nimble fingers. "Now that I know what you look like underneath those cheap suits and…brightly colored spandex…I can't fake the anger anymore. If you ever yell at me, oh, God, I'll only remember all the other things that pretty mouth can do. Fuck, another finger, Clark, stretch me wide for you."

Clark obliged, the third finger a tight fit as he tried to ready the loosening hole for the girth of his cock. He knew he was big, bigger than most human males, and he didn't want to cause Lex any undue pain, regardless of the healing abilities the older man possessed. They'd caused each other enough unwanted pain to last a lifetime.

"Now. Please, Clark," Lex begged, flexing harshly against the ties strapping him down, growing desperate as he tried to fuck himself on the broad fingers spearing him. "Please, fuck me. I want to feel you, your cock, oh, fuck, please."

Clark growled at the sound of Lex Luthor pleading with him so wantonly, the megalomaniac façade gone, just Lex, as he was always meant to be with Clark, needy and uncaring of showing it. He could feel the last few bits of whatever it was that had overtaken him fading away, leaving him with only the pure lust he had harbored for his former friend, still just as strong, still unfettered and raw. And judging by the growing, uncharacteristic but so obviously honest, desperation Lex was displaying, the effects of the flash of red light were leaving him, too. At least he could come away from this without the guilt of thinking he'd done anything to Lex that he didn't truly want.

Easing his fingers out, Clark slicked his throbbing cock and positioned the head at the rim of the stretched hole, moving to brace his hands on either side of Lex's head. He kept his gaze locked with Lex's as he started to slowly push into him, watching every minute reaction as his cock stretched him even further than his fingers had. Pausing when the body beneath him stiffened, Lex's breath hitching in his throat, he held himself halfway in, waiting for the nod to continue. The feeling of Lex surrounding him so securely, his hole clenching and grasping around the shaft of his cock, set the fire tingling behind his eyes again, and he gritted his teeth against the threatening loss of control. Inch by inch, tortuously slow for both of them, he sank into Lex.

"Yes," Lex gasped out, as Clark finally bottomed out within him, the sting of the stretch only adding to the pleasure of the fullness he felt from the huge cock invading him. He suddenly regretted being tied up, wanting nothing more than to wrap his limbs around the broad body looming above him, clutch Clark tightly to him, keep him from ever leaving his body, this bed. "God. So big. Oh, fuck, never felt so full."

Clark heaved a gusting breath as he took control of himself, fighting back the urge to thrust hard and fast into the still-adjusting body pinned beneath him. He dipped his head and captured Lex's lips with his own, kissing him deeply and hungrily as he felt the tight grip around his cock slowly relax.

"Move," Lex moaned against his lips, trying to buck down on Clark's cock, his own twitching and leaking profusely against his stomach. "Please, Clark, oh, God, need you to move!"

Clark bit at Lex's lip, pulling back at the waist to give him what he was begging for. Faster than Lex could track, Clark reached up and untied the silk wrapped around his ankles, guiding his legs around his hips as he thrust back into him. Lex yelped out in pleasure, his heels digging into the small of Clark's back.

"God, you're so tight, Lex. So perfect. Can't believe how well you take all of me, baby. Never been able to fuck anyone like this."

"Told you, Clark. You don't have to be so careful with me. Want it hard." To make his point, Lex bucked his hips, meeting Clark's next thrust with a deep moan. "Wanna feel you, oh, fuck, yeah, all of you. Everything you can't be with anyone else, be it with me. Let it go, baby, and fuck me."

"Fuck."

Kneeling up and gripping Lex's still-bound hands in his own, Clark did as Lex pleaded, his next thrust going as hard and fast as he dared, Lex's nails digging uselessly into the back of his hand as he held on tight. Lex arched into it with a loud, delighted moan, stretching his neck taut to mouth at the edges of Clark's collarbone. Taking the approval at face value, Clark thrust again, starting a quick rhythm of in and out, speed building up slightly past the limits of human motion.

"Oh, yeah, fuck, Clark, that's it. That's it, baby. Shit! Right there, please, Clark, right there." Lex felt Clark's cock pummeling his prostate, every thrust splitting him open anew, and he could feel his balls pulling up, his climax nearing the point of no return. He hadn't come untouched since he was a teenager, but he knew it was damn well going to happen now. And soon. "Don't stop! Oh, God, fuck, don't stop, baby, please. So close, Clark. So fucking close. Ohh…I love you, Clark Kent."

The last was uttered in so soft a whisper, Clark barely heard it. His rhythm faltered for the briefest fraction of a second, time slowing as he looked down into Lex's face, seeing the truth there. Time went back to normal speed as he ripped the ties from around Lex's hands, needing him free to move with him. Fingers immediately tangled in his hair, tugging him down to a pleading, gasping mouth. He kept thrusting into Lex, arms wrapping around him to pull him close, his own orgasm threatening on the edges of his control.

"I love you, too, Lex Luthor. I never stopped. Oh, God, Lex, I've always loved you, through everything. Come for me, baby, let go. Let me see you."

Lex's eyes, wide and wild, were watery as he cried out once more, his cock pulsing between their close-pressed bodies. Clark rode him through his orgasm, groaning at the renewed tightness of clenching muscles around his aching cock, stray drops of come landing high on his chest.

"Beautiful. So beautiful when you come, Lex. Oh, just fucking perfect."

Capturing sobbing lips with his own, Clark thrust one last time and stilled, his own release rocketing through him. He felt Lex's cock spurt again, an unexpected second climax catching them both by surprise as Clark filled his twitching hole, swallowing down Lex's moan.

Lex's limbs flopped limply to the mattress as he came down from his release, drained of more than just the come that covered them both. Clark, still embedded deep within him, collapsed lightly onto him, taking care not to cause injury, breathing harshly into his neck as he pulled him close.

Neither of them had recovered from their explosive orgasms before the door to the bedroom swung open with a resounding slam as it bounced back off the wall. Lois Lane stood in the doorway, staring at them, her face caught somewhere between disgust and lust as she took in their bare, tangled bodies.

"Dammit! Bruce said the spell would be worn off by now." She started marching across the large room, gathering up articles of clothing at random and tossing them on the bed. "Guess he didn't account for the red Kryptonite enhancement skewing the timetable."

"Lois."

"I don't care what your monkey brain is telling you right now, Smallville. Get dressed and release the evil CEO."

"Lois!" Clark snatched up the pair of pants thrown at his head, scrambling into them to hide his most private bits. Lex, of course, just stretched his sore muscles, spreading out like the Adonis he was, unabashed by his nakedness.

"No, Clark. You may think sex with Lex is what you want, but that's just the red K talking, okay?"

"God damn it, Lois! Stop. Whatever happened, it wore off at least twenty minutes ago. And red Kryptonite has never made me do anything I didn't want to, only took away any reasons I might have had for not acting on it. Now, please, leave."

Lois dropped the torn remains of Clark's shirt, turning back to face them again, unable to stop her gaze from drifting over towards Lex's lithe frame draped across the bed.

"Fine. But you are debriefing the League about this. I am so not going to be the one who tries to make Ollie understand that Lex is now untouchable."

"Goodbye, Ms. Lane", Lex drawled from where he was snuggling into the pillows. "Tell the Bat, no hard feelings, huh?"

With an eye roll and a huff, Lois stormed back out, the door swinging shut with another slam. Clark sank back onto the bed, somewhat deflated. He felt the mattress shift as Lex sat up, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of his shoulder.

"Guess you'll need to head off the calvary before they come barging in, too, hmm?"

Barely pausing to think about it, Clark took Lex's hand in his, tugging his pants back off with the other as he rolled over to face him. Pulling Lex into his arms, he waited until the older man finally met his gaze.

"They can wait. I've more than earned a little vacation time."

Lex smirked and allowed Clark to maneuver them both under the comforter, letting himself fall asleep in the warm embrace of the only man he'd ever loved. If Clark wasn't going to freak out over the events of the evening, then why should he? It had taken them nearly a decade to get here, and they deserved to enjoy it.

*****

@leatafandom

#smallville fanfic #clex fic #lemon #clex

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panthera-tigris-venenata · 5 months

Text

Soulmate AU

I wrote a thing. Please be proud of me.

(Soulmate AU – first touch leaves a mark. Only after a certain age though cos getting a mark when you can’t remember it sounds impractical and also creepy.)

Claudine uncomfortably tugs at the hems of her long gloves – the night is too hot for such a thing and yet, here she is. Dressed up head to toe in heavy fabrics, no skin in sight.

And she’s not the only one, far from it: In fact, most of the people in the party are dressed like this, save for few:

The Captain, of course, and Harry right at her side, as always. They laugh and flaunt their shared soulmarks shamelessly, as if they weren’t an impossible sin.

Villains can’t love, you see. They shouldn‘t at the very least.

And yet, those two don’t seem to care.

Claudine scoffs at that and turns away from them, carefully avoiding as much human contact as she can.

Her eyes turn to Harriet Hook, her first mate’s older sister. She, at least, has the decency to pretend that her soulmark isn’t what it is. Just a permanent bruise, you see, tainting her knuckles. Just all the fights that she gets to and that get to her, and she has the right hook to prove it. What a coincidence it matches the weirdly shaped <i>scar</i> on the nose of Anthony Tremaine, isn’t it?

(There is a rumour that Anthony hides another soulmark among the near-permanent dye stains at his hands, too; that the colourful streak in Ginny Gothel’s hair hasn’t always been there.)

Claudine doesn’t listen to rumours, though, she will have you know.

She also thinks this pretence of theirs would work a lot better if they weren’t basically eye fucking in the plain view of the whole deck, but who is she to say?

She scoffs at them and steps aside to avoid knocking over: Uma and Harry had decided to dance, pressed close together and with no regards for anyone who might be standing in their way. Obviously.

„Make room for Jesus,“ she hisses, hopefully not loud enough for them to hear her.

Harry glares daggers at her over Uma’s shoulder for a split-second before inevitably forgetting that anything but Uma exists in this word again, and Claudine shakes her head at that.

She ducks further into the crowd to get away from the dance floor, still carefully not to touch anyone, despite all the layers. Dancing is a sin, anyway, nevermind the spectacle the two of them are doing of themselves.

She comes to a freer place and shakes out her arms. People, you see.

Then she nods at Desiree and Bonny who are leaning at the railing and passing a bottle between them.

„Lovely to see you too, Claudine,“ says Desiree. Claudine makes a face in return. She did already greet them, so they should just shut up.

Desiree flips her middle finger at her and Bonny laughs; „Join us?“ she says, holding out the flask.

Sure, yeah, join them. That sounds reasonable. Claudine leans on the railing too and carefully takes the flask from Bonny. Their fingers don’t meet for even a second, separated by two pairs of gloves as they are.

„We were just talking ’bout the marks,“ Desiree’s slurring a little already, „Who’ll get theirs next and all that.“

Bonny giggles at her crewmate and Claudine decides that getting a drink counts as an answer. She lifts the flask to her lips.

„’m telling you, Bonny, it’s gonna be you! I mean, you get to touch people all the time!“

„I’m a medic, Desiree! Me touching people usually involves me literally sewing them up!“

„Yes!“ Desi’s giggling intensifies, „Imagine how cool of a mark would that make!“

Bonny rolls her eyes, takes the flask from Claudine, and proceeds to lightly thud Desi on the forehead with the bottom.

„Hey!“

„You deserved that,“ notes Claudine dryly. That’s just what one gets for talking about soulmarks so blatantly.

„Hey!“

„Anyway,“ interrupts Bonny, „It’s gonna be one of the Tremaines, I tell you.“

„How do you know they’re not hiding any marks under the dye already?“ asks Claudine offhandedly. At least something would the horrid dye be good for, then.

„Ooh now there’s a hot take!“

„Hey, you heard about Ginny and Anthony, right? I bet Harriet’s hiding a second soulmark too, I tell you.“

„How much are ya willing to bet?“

„How would you find out anyway?“ Claudine interrupts before the conversation sinks into an outright betting session.

„Oh I–“ Bonny clasps her gloved hand over Desiree’s mouth before she can speak and answers: „I’m a medic. I’d simply take a shift on Hope with Marya, Harriet’s bound to come sooner or later.“

That is… Reasonable answer, actually. And better that anything Desiree was going to say, Claudine is sure.

A whirl of red and gold flies around and Claudine presses further into the railing instinctively: CJ Hook. Hair unbound and gloves nowhere in sight, and honestly, it’s a miracle she didn’t lose her coat yet.

„…Is she old enough for a mark yet?“ asks Desiree, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

„I think so…?“ answers Bonny.

„Pretty sure this is her birthday party,“ adds Claudine, „So, yes. I think.“ Whatever. Time doesn’t really matter on the damned Isle, does it now? A year give or take, they’re all doomed already, so where’s the point.

„Right,“ shrugs Bonny, „Sounds right, yeah.“

Desiree just dissolves into laughter again: „Excuse to party as good as any! Now, gimme that!“ She reaches for the bottle Bonny’s holding.

„Girl, I tell you, if you turn up morning in the infirmary with a killer hangover, I’m not treating you.“

„C’mon, Bonny, you’re more fun than that!“

Claudine ignores her bickering crewmates, looking out into the crowd; looking for black-and-red-and-white, now matter how much she wishes she wouldn’t. There. On the improvised dance floor, right beneath her cousin’s makeshift podium: Ivy de Vil.

Dancing like there’s no tomorrow and showing off so much skin it should be considered a sin. Claudine looks anyway.

„Ivy de Vil,“ she says, interrupting whatever argument Bonny and Desiree had going on by now.

„What?“

„Ivy’s gonna be the next one with a mark,“ she clarifies. Just – look at her. She’s asking for it, tempting destiny in that daredevil way of hers. Claudine bites back a sigh and tugs on her gloves; she gets back to bickering with her crewmates and only looks at the dance floor sometimes.

She’s unsure of how much time has passed when Gil appears in front of her. „Claudine,“ he says, „Dance with me?“

She looks at him blankly, at the hand he held out in front of himself; he’s even wearing gloves now. Borrowed, probably, but still.

„Please?“

„Fine,“ Claudine sighs as she puts her gloved hand in his, „If you insist.“

He beams at her: „I do!“

She lets him lead her towards the dance floor and as they walk away, she hears a badly-whispered: „Hey! What about Gil’s soulmark?“

She thinks Gil only pretends he didn’t hear.

They dance for a bit, her back to the podium and <i>not</i> the crowd, which is nice of Gil, actually, but it also gives her an excellent view on Uma and Harry who apparently decided that the middle of the dance floor is the perfect make-out spot.

Whatever. It’s their ship anyway.

(It gives her view on the red-and-black-and-white, too, not that she cares.)

Claudine moves so that Gil’s body would block the sigh, and, well, if she sways a little? She’s just dancing, moving to the music.

(She shouldn’t do that either, but oh well.)

She can no longer see Ivy.

It comes as a surprise, then, when the de Vil heiress suddenly drops at them: „Claudine!“ she greets, kissing her on the cheek. Claudine’s mind freezes. „Gil! Gil, can I steal your dance partner away a bit?“

To his credit, Gil looks at her for any signs of disapproval or discomfort before he says that, yeah, sure, go ahead. Claudine doesn’t think she’s capable of thinking straight, though, not right now, not after–

She tentatively lifts her hand to her cheek, brushing the fingertip of the glove over the skin.

Ivy’s voice shakes her out of her mind a bit, her accent and „Oh, you’re both such dears,“ and still, she can do nothing but give her her hand and dance with her.

(Pressed close, entirely too close, but does it matter?)

Claudine can’t remember how long she dances when Ivy leaves her, how many songs it was. She just stays standing under the podium, trying to find her in the crowd. No such luck.

No comment from Diego either, that God.

„Dance with me again?“ Gil offers, and Claudine does. More people join them then, forming a circle and taking turns in the middle, and Claudine almost doesn’t mind it at all.

The party ends when CJ sets a house nearby on fire, proclaiming it her birthday surprise and gleefully cackling at the fireworks that go on and on through the cacophony; Claudine decides to leave for the crew’s quarters.

She doesn’t need to hear the older two Hooks and Uma yelling at CJ for lighting up shit at the port up close, thank you for asking.

Besides, the fire’s pretty: She stands just in front of the doors inside, looking at it, transfixed.

„Beautiful, isn’t it? So alluring.“ She hears Ivy say, but when she tears her eyes of the flames, the de Vil is gone again.

(If anything else catches fire tonight, it’ll be written off as CJ’s fault, won’t it?)

But she shakes her head and walks in anyway.

Walking around one of the mirrors scattered around the Revenge, shattered and cloudy as they are, she looks at herself briefly as she passes by. Just- Just because she wants to, you see.

She notices a smear of colour on her cheek: Ivy must have printed her lipstick on her with the kiss. She wipes it down with her sleeve absentmindedly.

It doesn’t go away.

#This is so asking for part two but anyway #ivy de vil/claudine frollo #ivy de vil #claudine frollo #disney descendants #soulmate au #first touch lingers #what do i know #party #alcohol #harry hook #cj hook #uma descendants #gil legume

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whovianwatchingstartrek · 5 months

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A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 110 - Under the Command of Evil Georgiou

Star Trek: Discovery - Season 1 Episode 15 - Will You Take My Hand?

Okay, We're now onto the Season 1 Finale of Discovery! I'm excited to see how we end this season out!

We open aboard Discovery with making quoting something about the nature of feart, and unfortunately I don't recognise it, so I'm just left with the Foreboding nature of the passage.

This Georgiou's command style is immediately noticeably Terran. I loved how tense the Bridge was during the opening sequence. Her absolute disdain for the Klingons, Saru, and later in the episode Ash Tyler, pushes all of the right buttons in my head, and I can't wait for her to get her comeuppance. She makes a few veiled references to how she eats Kelpians towards Saru, and it just made my skin crawl, and so did her calling Ash an "it" later on. Unfortunately however, there is not much the crew can do for now, as she's the only one who fully knows the plan.

After the intro Georgiou and Michael interrogate L'Rell about which landing site would be best for discovery. Of Course L'Rell doesn't talk, which launches Georgiou into a much more brutal method of getting the information out of her. That doesn't work either, and Michael calls that to a stop. I'm really glad that Michael is starting to realise that maybe this isn't the way to go. Michael then takes Georgiou to Ash, and since he has Voq's memories, he willingly gives over the information they want. We also get a bit of worldbuilding about Klingon history, just a bit about Kahless and how he defeated someone called Molor, who the Klingons seemed to have worshipped in a similar way to how they worship Kahless now. I really want to know more this, and I'm trying to piece together their culture from the little scraps I'm being given.

This episode from the get go is clearly about the clear difference between Imperial tactics and Federation Tactics, and whether or not the ends justify the means when it comes to Georgiou's brutality.

This episode is putting in a lot of work to undo the mistakes of the last few episodes surrounding Georgiou, and I am 100% here for it. The last couple episodes tried to make her too sympathetic, when she is a fascist dictator, but here she is written and portrayed in such a creepy slimey way, and it's definetly what they should have been doing from the get go. I've already mentioned her racism, but also in the way she interacts with the human crew. Her various threats towards Michael, and just general attitude towards Sylvia Tilly gives me shivers, and in this episode alone I think she's earned a spot among my favourite villains so far.

Discovery Makes it's jump into the caves of Kronos, and the ground crew, made up of Michael, Ash Sylvia and Georgiou exit into an Orion market to try and get the location of this shrine.

On a side note, the more even split among male and female Orion slaves makes the whole idea feel a lot less behind-the-scenes slimy than the Orions did in Enterprise, thankfully. Here it feels slimy in a way where it feels like it's supposed to feel slimy, and not just... whatever Enterprise was doing in it's Orion focus episode. Also I'm not going to pretend like the eye-candy isn't appreciated in my bisexual brain, it feels a lot less uncomfortable when it doesn't feel like exploitation.

Amongst the chaos of the market, we get a few good downtime scenes, particularly of Sylvia being an absolute fish out of water, and a really well written heart to heart between Ash and Michael, where we finally get the full details of what happened to Michael's Bio-parents. Her survivor's guilt over this trauma is an interesting angle, and the detail of her memory over her trauma is something I really want to see explored in the future, and it really adds a interesting layer with her relationship with Ash.

Tilly finds out that the Drone she's guarding isn't a drone, but a planet cracking bomb designed to make the planet uninhabitable, and unfortunately Georgiou has moved too fast for Discovery to do anything.

Thankfully, Discovery manages to talk Starfleet out of the plan, and fromt here it's just a matter of sending in Michael to convince Georgiou to stop, which turned out easier than expected. Discovery hands the Detonator over to L'Rell, and convinces her to step up as the Klingons leader, and end the war. Ash choses to go with him, meaning we'll need a new chief of Security again. His goodbye to Michael . Georgiou is then let free, and I'm hoping we'll see her again sooner rather than later, because she still has a lot fascisty stuff to answer for.

Michael's speech at the end as she obtains her official pardon, and the crew get their official commendations, was also a fantastic way to cap off the season. We're also given an absolute shocker of a cliffhanger, as Discovery picks up a distress call from the Enterprise, so I can't wait to see what that's about!

I really liked this finale. I was shaky going into it with how the previous episodes were treating Georgiou, but this more than made up for it. It really capped of the whole methods vs results theme the season was going for, and it was just generally fun. I enjoyed myself here.

I have a couple Short Treks which I'll cover in one post tomorrow, and then immediately onto Season 2!

#whovian watching star trek #star trek #star trek Discovery #Star Trek DIS #Star Trek DISCO #ST DIS #ST DISCO #DIS #st: disco #DISCO #st: discovery #Discovery #ST: DIS

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goddessofroyalty · 1 year

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Blood for Blood

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Aemond/Lucerys

Summary: Aemond is married to the omega who took his eye. And while he is not such a fool to request an eye for an eye, blood for blood seems a fair trade. Or: Omegaverse Aemond/Lucerys arrange marriaged wedding night smut where Aemond is not cruel, but he is also not kind (and Lucerys has both none of and all the power).

Warnings: Underage sex, uncle-nephew incest, forced marriage and matehood, dubcon bordering on noncom, knots that hurt (or are at least very uncomfortable the first time)

Notes:

I don’t actually go here so know nothing about the show other than what I’ve picked up on gifsets on tumblr. I just got really obsessed with this idea for some reason and here we are. Basically don’t ask me when this is set in the timeline or any of the political ramifications of it (but feel free to tell me when you think this is and what you think they are).

I was going to give Lucerys a lot more layers before I realised then I would have to get him out of all those layers. Just pretend there are 2 more layers between the Outer gown and shift when imaging the full gown.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43985872

—————

Aemond had spent the ceremony wondering how anyone believed Lucerys was as fragile as they liked to claim. The omega holding his head high and proud, sure in how this would ensure his inheritance and keep his mother’s right safe as well.

Now Aemond sees what makes Lucerys mother and retinue coo about their delicate boy, warning Aemond not to harm him despite his nephew having already proven that he is the one of the two of them capable of maiming the other. Lucerys’ gaze darting across the room nervously as he worries his plump lip with his teeth, cringing whenever they even momentarily land on the wedding bed.

Aemond leaves the boy to his glancing, going to wash his hands in the rose-water filled basin and strip himself of the heavier outer layers, leaving himself in his shirt and breeches.

Lucerys gets very good at avoiding even looking at the wedding bed once Aemond sits on the edge of it.

“Mate,” Aemond says, not actually expecting the omega to come when called.

“Don’t,” Lucerys says, his voice uneven even as he meets Aemond’s eye. “I am not your mate yet.”

Aemond laughs at it, getting over to crowd his nephew and new-husband’s space. Watching the omega’s eyes harden as Lucerys clearly steels himself to not step back.

“Surely you aren’t hiding behind that technicality?” Aemond reaches out to wrap one of Lucerys’ curls around his finger. Saving the little flinch it earns him. “In the eyes of the court we are and soon we will be by even the commoner’s definition.”

“I-” Lucerys’ pupils dart as he tries to find the words and Aemond waits in rapt anticipation for what he will come up with. “Call me Luke.”

Aemond can’t help and grin at that, his hand falling from his nephews curl to instead cup his jaw, gentler than he really wants to.

“I could call you Strong and it would not matter. You must play your part in this as much as I must mine.”

“Please,” Lucerys’ mutters, twisting his face so his cheek is brushing Aemond’s hand instead of chin. “Uncle, I am sorry for what I did. What must I do to have peace in this marriage?” He shudders as he shuts both his eyes, forcing a steadying breath before looking back up at Aemond. “Is it my eye you want?”

“No.” No anymore.

Aemond lets his hand fall from his new mate’s face, resting it on the collar of the omega’s wedding-gown, his fingers curled so his knuckles rest against the skin of the boy’s neck.

He watches as the realization dawns on Lucerys’ face. The fear creeping in as he realizes what he has been handed over into by his mother to secure both their thrones. No escape for her little Strong bastard this time despite his soft features and sweet act.

“Come,” he says, taking hold of his nephew’s hands and leading the omega to the bed. Lucerys for his part follows loyally, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring off across the room. Not even reacting as Aemond undoes the laces of his outer gown.

“I did not think you would surrender this easily.” Lucerys may be a bastard but he was still of dragon-blood and had already taken the blood of another despite being omega-aligned.

“This is not surrender,” Lucerys hisses, glancing at Aemond from the corner of his eyes, their darkness suits his hate. “It is as you said I have a part to play as much as you do.”

“And what part is that?” Aemond says, moving to the foot of the bed, his hands resting on the white sheets either side of Lucerys’ hips so he can lean right into the omega’s space. “The delicate nervous maiden?”

“If you are questioning-”

“I am not. By now your mother would have done something to protect the fact if you truly were not.” She no doubt would believe that Aemond would revel in being able to prove the lack of morals in her house. That he would wave pure-white sheets as a banner in a battle against her and hers.

She is not so clever to hide her plays and there is none here. Her darling omega is untouched until now.

“Then what point are you trying to make?”

“No point,” Aemond says, nipping at the now exposed collarbone just to hear Lucerys gasp. His next words are said low by the omega’s ear. “You do not need to keep up the act around me. I know what you really are.”

Lucerys shoves him away at that. Holding him away so his nephew can glare up at him.

“You do not know me. And this is not an act,” the boy spits out. But he doesn’t push further. Doesn’t shove Aemond away and run to his mother like he could.

“Don’t I?” Aemond asks, taking one of the hands pressed against his chest. Tugging the outer gowns sleeve off before pressing a kiss to the scent gland on the inside of the omega’s wrist. Never breaking eye contact with his nephew as he runs his teeth down it.

It seems to turn Lucerys pliant again, and Aemond takes the opportunity to get the sleeve off the other arm as well. The top part of the gown falling into his new husband’s lap over the second half.

“We need to take the rest off as well,” he reminds when Lucerys stays planted on the bed.

He takes Lucerys’ hand to pull him from the bed even if he knows the omega can do it perfectly well himself. Resting his other hand on his new husband’s waist as the gown falls in a puddle at his feet, feeling the muscles move though the shift as Lucerys frees his feet from it. The omega standing on top of the pile as if he doesn’t care if he damages the expensive green material. As if he’s doesn’t care about soiling Aemond’s family’s symbol.

“And the other one,” Aemond adds, tugging up the skirt of the shift by its waist.

“Uncle please don’t,” Lucerys says, bordering on a cry. “Let me keep it on.”

“And catch your maidenhood in it and not the sheets?” Aemond asks just to see Lucerys wince. “People talk enough about you as is.”

He watches Lucerys process the words and waits for the agreement that he is right, tugging at the shift again when the brown eyes settle in decision.

“Fine. But if I am to be bare than so should you,” Lucerys says, catching Aemond’s hand to stop it.

“That is not necessary-” He hadn’t thought about it but he realizes he had fully planning on just shoving his breeches down low enough to get his knot out to do the act.

“No. But it is fair. And I already have to bare so much more to ensure this matehood is recognized.” Lucerys is the one that will have to prove his maidenhood taken, and if this does result in a child, will be the one to birth them. The irony of how protected omega nudity is when their lives require it shown to others by necessity more than alphas.

“You are getting so much more out of this matehood.” Two claims solidified and someone else to defend against the bastard taint.

“You are getting a lot more from it than many other of your prospects.” Anything that is Lucerys’ will be Aemond’s. The resulting children will carry his name and not their barers and while not pure they will have dragon-blood sustaining them in the womb.

Lucerys is watching him as closely as he watched the omega as he comes to weigh his options.

“Perhaps you will be a fine negotiator in time,” Aemond concedes as he tugs his shirt over his head.

It earns him a huff of a laugh as Lucerys tugs his shift over his own head as Aemond works his breeches off. The two standing nude before each other soon enough.

Lucerys is more muscular than any other omega Aemond has seen bare. His legs fit and buttocks round from the necessary strength to ride a dragon. His stomach toned and defined, evidence that his mother has ensured he was trained despite his designation. Even his breasts are firmer than even the standard expected of males of the soft designation.

That stomach will soften for Aemond’s child when it is time.

Lucerys is watching him back, his eyes locked on the eyepatch.

“I said for us both to be bare did I not?” he says, and Aemond has to catch his hand to prevent him from reaching for it.

“It stays on.”

“No,” Lucerys says with a shake of his head that has his curls bouncing. And Aemond must be distracted by that for the omega to be able to dart past his defenses with this free hand, snatching the eyepatch from his eye and scurrying onto the bed to hide it under the pillows before Aemond can catch him.

He does at least have the decency to gasp when he turns around to face Aemond again.

“I’m sorry,” Lucerys says before Aemond can demand if he’s happy yet?, the omega making his way down the bed to kneel at the foot of it. A gentle hand coming up to rest against Aemond’s face, thumb rubbing the delicate skin under his sapphire-replacement.

“Are you satisfied?” With forcing the damage bare. With his handiwork in carving Aemond’s eye out.

“No, I, I am truly sorry,” Lucerys says, his previous joy and fear gone from his voice replaced with guilt. “I only meant to protect my brother.”

“Our intentions do not change the results.”

“Of course,” Lucerys says, drawing away to return to the center of the bed. The place in the room that only a little ago had been terrifying now apparently turned refuge.

The terror returns when Aemond follows him into it. Not that it causes Lucerys to shy away from him when Aemond reaches for him, running his hands over the exposed pale skin as Lucerys. Feeling the tense muscle ripple at his touch.

Lucerys doesn’t so much open his legs as let them fall apart when Aemond’s hands start their path up the inside of them. The omegas inner-thighs slick in what is the only evidence he has been bordering on heat this whole time.

“I,” Lucerys starts as Aemond runs his finger against the source of the slick, the omega’s voice shaky. “I would like to see your face.”

It’s not a detailed explanation of a preference for how they are to do this but it is effect to make the position Lucerys wants clear.

“I would not.”

Lucerys gives a huff at it. And Aemond is sure it would be joined by some comment, whether about alphas or him particularly he does not know, if not for the situation.

“Well, I’m not moving,” Lucerys says more petulant child than demanding prince. But it gets the message across the same – if that is what Aemond wants than Aemond must do it himself.

His dear nephew should have thought more before making that stance. He may be strong for an omega but Aemond is a trained alpha. It’s all too easy for him to grab the boy’s leg and drag him down the bed by it, wresting him over and forcing him to his knees.

“Brute!” Lucerys cries as he pushes himself up by his elbows but makes no move to get away.

“Are you not strong enough to take it?” Aemond asks, grinding his hardening member between those slick thighs. He had thought, when he was told about the marriage, that he would struggle to perform his duty on a nephew that had maimed him. That fear has completely evaporated now.

Lucerys gives out a huff at that and Aemond is kind enough to let the omega take the time to prop himself on the pillows of the bed, settling his top half on them.

“If the point is to stain the sheets this feels ineffective.”

“I’m sure we can find a way,” Aemond comments, spreading the firm cheeks before him to see his prize for the night. Unable to resist the urge to press his thumb against the glistening puckering hole.

A hand is suddenly on his hips and his eyes snap up to meet Lucerys’ frantic ones.

“Uncle, slow, please.” He must know he is in no place to make such requests and yet he does. Asking for the mercy Aemond hadn’t been offered.

“I suppose if I do not I will never be sure if our children are mine?” It would make it too easy for Lucerys to justify indiscretion if he believed his husband to be cruel.

Lucerys shakes his head.

“I will be faithful,” he promises. As if his mother hasn’t ruined any chance of that being believed.

And I’m sure my father will believe it, Aemond wants to say, because it is true. His older half-sister’s family can do anything and their king will believe whatever story they make up.

He doesn’t. Instead leaning down to capture the plump lips in what is the second kiss of their marriage.

Lucerys feels as unsure in it as he had the first but he lets Aemond do as he pleases, lips parting as Aemond’s tongue presses against them. Letting Aemond feel the gasp as two of his fingers breach the previously untouched hole.

Aemond wonders if it is truly untouched or if Lucerys had explored himself in the way omegas sometimes did in heats. The vice-grip on his fingers means nothing, he is sure his nephew’s nerves would be enough to ensure that even if he had been with an alpha the night before.

Aemond is not as methodical as he could be in the stretching. But it is hardly something he must do.

Still he enjoys the little gasps and whimpers Lucerys gives out at it. Eye lashes fluttering as Aemond finds a spot inside him that makes the omega’s toes curl.

It is a shame it is inside him. Aemond would like to be able to cause that reaction in his nephew when the boy forgets his place in the pecking order in the court.

He regrets his choice in positioning when he finally removes his fingers. Completely unable to see what, if anything, settles on Lucerys face as he does.

It is not fear he is imagining in the omega’s eyes, as he uses the slick coating his fingers to pump himself a few times to be sure he is fully hard, but anticipation.

Lucerys’ whole body tenses when he aligns the head of it to the wet hole.

“That will only make it worse,” Aemond chastises.

“I know,” Lucerys says, a hand coming back to press against Aemond’s hips. His sharp nails digging into the flesh of it. They both know he couldn’t actually stop it but it promises not just Lucerys’ blood will be spilt if Aemond did. “Just give me a few moments.”

Aemond lets out a huff at it. His nephew keeps asking for patience, and careful, and slow that one would think he believed his uncle’s nature to be kind.

He watches as Lucerys sides move in and out with the deep purposely breathes the omega takes to calm himself, shimming his hips in what really is a blatant tease.

Lucerys tenses when Aemond leans over him. Aemond running his dry hand up the omega’s tight side to wrap around his chest, thumb playing with one of his small nipples as Aemond nuzzles against the scent gland on Lucerys’ neck he will be biting into once he finally gets his knot into him.

“Save your fight for our enemies,” Aemond advises. Not that he yet knows who their shared enemies will be.

It doesn’t work immediately, nor did Aemond expect it to. But Lucerys’ form does eventually relax, giving another of those cautious teasing shifts of his hips.

“You can now if you want.”

“Can I? Or are you going to have another moment of indecision about this?” Aemond asks, not that surprised when it earns him a whack from the omega.

There’s a part of him that wants to grab Lucerys for it. To turn the omega around and pin his legs by his ears and show him that his pathetic swings are nothing compared to Aemond’s strength.

He doesn’t. Slowly pressing into the wet entrance that his cock has been resting against for the last too long, allowing the gravity of his hips coming down do all the work.

Lucreys gives out a keen at it. But not one clearly or pain or pleasure, if Aemond had to hazard a guess it was curiosity as odd as that seems.

He can’t help but give a solid thrust once he has sunk all the way in. Both to make sure he is fully sheathed inside the omega and because he enjoys the gasps it forces from Lucerys’ lips.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he coos because Lucerys isn’t shuddering like some traumatized victim.

“I still think I would like to see your face,” Lucerys says after a moment’s contemplation.

“Maybe next time,” Aemond says with a kiss against the crown of brown curls. He has already decided he would like to see Lucerys in his lap, the omega sinking himself down onto his alpha’s knot.

“So there will be another time?” Lucerys asks, and Aemond still regrets his position choice because he cannot read his nephews tone.

“I doubt we will be so lucky to have a baby just from this.” Few are that skilled. Not that Aemond finds himself minding all that much.

“Of course,” Lucerys mutters with that damned unreadable tone. “Well, are we to continue?”

“So eager.” Aemond is not sure if it is because his new husband is enjoying himself or wants it over.

He supposes it doesn’t matter as he starts up a rhythm of his own making with his thrusts. They are duty-bound to each other if nothing else. Lucerys’ body is to be Aemond’s so Aemond’s sword and dragon will be Lucerys’.

Lucerys seems to be enjoying himself overall. Sure he isn’t moaning loudly but making little gasps but they are pleasure-filled. He sounds almost like his dragon does when the little thing chirps in excitement.

As the pleasure builds for Aemond and his cock starts to swell to lock them together the gasps start to turn from pleasure to pain until eventually one of Lucerys’ hands reach back to push against Aemond’s hip.

“Uncle, enough! It’s getting too much!”

“It’s just the knot,” Aemond says, thrusting the thickened base in and out knowing that it will soon lock them together for a time.

Lucerys cries at it.

“No! It’s too big! Take it out! Uncle please!”

Perhaps Aemond is cruel in that his heart doesn’t break at his nephews plees. But this is hardly the worst pain the omega will endure in life and his mother should have trained him for it just as she did to ride dragons and fight battles.

Considering that training it really is no surprise when Lucerys strikes out. His foot coming up to try and kick Aemond away as he tries to squirm away.

He probably could as well. The knot isn’t fully swollen and Aemond can feel it threaten to tug out at it. Not that it would do either of them any good if Lucerys actually succeeded at his goal. It only asking for more pain.

“Enough,” Aemond decides when a sharp elbow comes at his gut. Grabbing both of Lucreys’ arms as he blocks the omega’s legs in with his own, leaning his full bulk over him to prevent the attempted escape. Pushing his hips close so the knot stays where it is put until it will be impossible to remove until it is gone down. “You were made to take this. So take it.”

Lucerys gives out a desperate, pathetic whine as Aemond bites into his shoulder to seal their matehood in body as well as in law. His breathing long and desperate and wet as the high of it for Aemond passes, leaving him in the reality of being locked in his new mate as his body tries to fill him with seed.

Lucerys chest is panting under him as the omega gets himself back under control. Perhaps Aemond should be more attentive to him but he is mostly concerned with his own discomfort – this position not an ideal one to hold for the next quarter hour. While he could just collapse his weight forward it would not do well for him to crush his new mate.

“Shall we move?” he asks once Lucerys’ breathe is even enough that he thinks his words might actually be heard.

“If you do I will take your other eye,” Lucerys says. There enough heat behind the words that Aemond takes their message seriously even if he does not the actual threat of it.

“Can I at least put a pillow beneath us?” At least then some of the strain of his own thighs will be eased.

“Carefully,” Lucerys agrees after a moment because his own must also be starting to burn.

Aemond reaches for one of the pillows that Lucerys has not already claimed to rest his chest on. Easing it beneath the omega’s hips, ignoring the little hiss it earns him as he does. A little pain will be worth being able to not have to keep holding themselves up on their knees.

Lucerys slowly sinks into the pillow once it is set, carefully stretching his legs out beneath him as Aemond lets his weight slowly rest on him.

Aemond knows the knot should not last more than a quarter of an hour but that is still time that must be passed and conversation with his new mate not something he wants right now. So instead he entertains himself by nuzzling against his nephew’s hair and lapping up the blood his teeth drew on the pale expanse of a neck. Enjoying the little grumbles it earns him and the hiss that occurs when Lucerys twists to try and bat him away.

Aemond gives an experimental tug as he feels the knot start to deflate.

“Don’t!” Lucerys barks at it, reaching back. This time to hold Aemond’s hip against him.

“I thought you would be done with me?”

“I will once it doesn’t hurt,” Lucerys hissess, in what is probably his most honest of the night.

“It won’t be much longer,” Aemond promises, reaching down to remove the hand and sharp nails from where they dig into his skin.

The whine Lucerys gives in response sounds more like impatience than pain so Aemond goes back to his nuzzling for the few more minutes it takes for his knot to fully deflate.

He slides the pillow out from under Lucerys hips before pulling himself out. And, as expected, Lucerys collapses forward, rolling around so his back is against the bed.

“What are you smiling at?” Lucerys demands, propped up on his pile of pillows as if it is his throne.

“You have more than ensured the sheets are adequately stained.”

Sure enough, when Aemond parts his new mate’s legs the sheets beneath him have a puddle of blood and seed and slick sinking into them. The suddenly elevated position causing it to flow out of him.

“What? Ngh- don’t!” Lucerys tries to squirm when Aemond comes closer, running a finger along the now red and puffy hole he had just knotted. He holds the omega’s hips in place as he pushes the finger in, forcing more of the mingling fluids out and onto the white sheets beneath. “Stop it!”

“Why? Do you want people to question whether you came to your wedding night pure?”

When no snap comes back Aemond looks up to his new mate. The omega’s face red and blotchy and tear-stained. He looks done more than anything. Exhausted on all fronts.

Yes, this is the same omega who took Aemond’s eye and Aemond deserves his revenge for it. But there is blood on the sheets and Lucerys’ will soon enough give Aemond’s mother a new innocent babe to fuss over to replace the one he stole from her that night he taught Aemond just how cruel and unjust the world could be.

Aemond draws back.

Lucerys is off as soon as he does. Darting to the robe that had been placed in the room for him to cover himself.

The omega only ventures back to the bed after Aemond gets off to retrieve his own robe. Even then Lucerys sits on the edge of the bed that faces the closed window, staring at it as if it was open and he was watching the goings on of the world. His expression a closed-off numb Aemond has seen on his own mother.

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” Aemond doesn’t even know himself why he is asking, coming to sit beside his new mate. It shouldn’t matter – this is their duty and they have done it.

“No. It wasn’t,” Lucerys says with a glance over at him before returning to his straight stare at the window. Aemond resists the urge to lean over to see if maybe there is something his nephew is watching – a bug perhaps, that he cannot see from his angle.

“You should sleep. They will want to check over this whole scene as soon as the sun rises in the morn.”

—————

I’m probably not going to write it in full but please imaging Lucreys conversation with his mother afterwards:

“Mother! The knot!”

“I did warn you it was intense.”

“Intense!? It felt like I was going to be split in two. I thought it would kill me.”

“You get used to it. And it is nothing compared to your first babe.”

#Lucemond #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #Omegaverse #GOT omegaverse #aemond x lucerys #House of the Dragon #HOTD #arranged marraige #loss of virginity #I accidently a ficlet #Realised I hadn't cross-posted this here oops

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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

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Day 2-Atsushi/Fyodor w/ Crossdressing and Breathplay(yes, i know rarepare)

Notes: Just pretend they’ve met in canon, also don't ask me how so much talking can happen in a three minute song, just don't. Also the waltz is Shostokovich Waltz no 2(because obvi)

This is partly inspired by this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23803525/chapters/57187927 but also just my imagination

“Excuse me, pretty miss.” This was so humiliating. “May I have your number?” Atsushi forced a smile and pitched his voice a little higher, just like Yosano had instructed. “I'm sorry sir, but I'm on a work trip. I'm afraid I can't accept any numbers or invitations.” The man slinked away sadly and Atsushi breathed a sigh of relief, carefully taking a sip of the drink in his hand. How had he gotten here, in the fancy ballroom surrounded by a bunch of drooling men. And most importantly, why was he dressed as a girl?

☠☠☠

“Dont worry Atsushi, you're going to look great!” Atsushi frowned, eyeing the hot iron Naomi was brandishing with apprehension. “Are you sure that's safe?” Naomi giggled, putting it down and picking up some silver hair extensions instead, talking with the other two over his head.

“Cute or sexy?” Naomi sounded way too excited. Yosano responded from her place across the room, looking through a rack of dresses. “Let's go with the unattainable sexy vibe. Maybe a slit dress and a fur?” Kyouka, the quietest, responded from her place beside Atsushi, filing his nails to even little rounds. “Black. He looks good in black.” She put down the filler, and picked up a small bottle of clear liquid, which she started spreading it on his nails. Yosano yanked a dress from the rack, and Atsushi could feel himself blushing all the way across the room. “This one?”

Naomi nodded, her hands pinning fake hair on Atsushi’s head. “Yeah that's perfect. Definitely going to attract a lot of attention. Should we go with pin straight or waves?”

“Waves I think, we're going for that sultry vibe.” Yosano responded. Kyouka was blowing on his nails now, finished with the first layer of gooey clear and moving on to a bottle of black paint. Two other bottles rested near her on the table, another clear and a shiny silver that sparkled in the light.

Yosano had hung the mortifying dress on a chair, and was pulling from a shelf of fur ruffs. She held up a tiger striped one, laughter in her eyes. “What do you guys think? Too obvious?” Naomi laughed, and even Kyouka giggled a bit. “Nah, it's perfect. Atsushi?” Atsushi startled, so used to them talking over him. He had to admit the ruff was funny, and if it could hide some skin he was all for it. “It's good Doctor Yosano.” She smiled, plucking the dress off the chair and tossing the entire thing at him. “Great, now go change please.”

The dress was as mortifying as he had expected it to be. It was a chinese design, with little clasps running along his collarbone, and short sleeves. It fit him like a glove, hugging his waist and hips snugly. The problem was the bottom half of the dress. It was divided in half, with two slits big enough for both his legs to show through falling all the way down the dress. He had to admit, it was a pretty easy outfit to run in, but the idea of showing so much skin in such a way was mortifying. The ruff was cute however, covering his shoulders and a bit of his arms. He slipped the small heals the girls had given him on and exited the room, and back into their clutches. Yosano whistles jokingly, while Naomi and Kyouka clapped enthusiastically. Atsushi blushed. Naomi was waving that weapon she called a hair curler around dangerously, and Atsushi spotted the cosmetics resting on the table. He sat on the chair they guided him to, surrendering to his fate. His eyes were closed, and the tap of brushed on his face was the only thing he felt for some time. As well as a concerning heat near his head but he was sure Naomi knew what she was doing.(He dearly hoped she did.)

The girls were talking over him again, but nothing of any importance, mostly chatting about different brands of makeup, and what perfume to use on him. And it was calming, at least until they informed him he was done, and he opened his eyes. He had to admit, he really did look like a girl. Or maybe a girl version of himself. They hadn't really transformed his features, just made his eyes appear bigger, the lashes longer. His lips were covered in a thin red glossy thing, and slightly sticky. They shone in the mirror, looking delicate and strange, but at the same time very beautiful. His hair was long and curled in big waves around his shoulders. The dress looked as mortifying as it felt, but the ruff helped hide the fact that he clearly didn't have any boobs.

Atsushi could recognize himself, but at the same time he could not at all. It was still embarrassing though. Three giggling women stood behind him, smirking. Yosano’s hand lands on his shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Now, it's time to test this baby out.” Atsushi feels a strong pulse of dread, as he's gripped tightly and dragged out of the room and towards the AdA office.

☠☠☠

One of the many reasons Yosano volaintered Atsushi for this job was the look on Dazai’s face, and hoo boy, he didn't disappoint. Shock, dead fucking shock with hints of arousal greated her as she and the girls dragged a dolled up Atsushi back into the front office. Kunikida’s expression was a treat too. More shock and arousal, mixed with cheeks the color of a tomato. Even Ranpo, sitting by the window as usual with a still wrapped lollipop in his hand, was so surprised an actual flicker of it showed on his face. Yosano was enjoying herself very much right now, and she knew the other girls were two. The only two men in the room who weren't a little turned on were the president and Kenji, and the pure shock on their faces made up for it. Yosano practically flew across the room, yanking the lollipop out of Ranpo’s hand, and unwrapping it, shoving it into Atsushi’s protesting mouth. He sent her a tiny little glare, but seemed to enjoy the lollipop, taking it out and licking it and definitely doing a number on the men in the room. Yosano was having a hard time holding back her laughter, Naomi as well, but Atsushi looked oblivious, going at his lollipop happily and oblivious to the state the room had been reduced to. Even if she had used up a good portion of the Agency’s budget on high quality hair extensions, she didn't regret a thing.

☠☠☠

And so here Atsushi was, dolled up and standing against the back wall of the grand ballroom, scanning the room for their target. He was supposedly a middle aged man with brown hair and green eyes, and apparently a total womanizer. That was why Atsushi was dolled up in the first place, the Agency had decided that it was safer to send Atsushi in than one of the women. And not safer for the women, no for the target. They were supposed to take him in, not kill him. Yosano had been the first option, but Kunikida had decided against it, because they all knew the moment the creep came close Yosano would(rightly) inflict some permanent damage. The same could be said for Kyouka, and anyway Atsushi didn't feel safe leaving here with some middle aged creep, and Naomi wasn't an option, because she didn't have a way to protect herself. So Yosano had joyfully suggested Atsushi, and here he was, at a grand ball, a living honey trap.

He sighed, leaning against the wall. At least it was pretty. The ballroom was gilded in gold, and the dancefloor was a whirl of skirts of different collars. The orchestra was raised on the side of the room, their instruments boosted with some kind of magic so the waltzes being played echoed loud enough for the entire room. The only odd thing about the picture was the strange ratio of men to women. The majority of the large crowd were men, and besides the seven or eight on the dancefloor, Atsushi spotted about twelve women in total. He suspected it had to do with the reputation of the host, and target of tonight's mission. John Remy was a businessman and a major creep, now also suspected of killing three women. And of course these missing women had been last spotted at these parties, so it wasn't a surprise that not many women were jumping at the chance to be a guest at said party.

The consequence of this decision was that Atsushi, one of the few ‘women’ not already with a partner, was subject to many requests to dance, lecherous stares, and bad pickup lines from a bunch of thirsty men. He could see the next one approaching now. Ice shot down his spine as he recognized the familiar face of Ango. Ango would totally recognize him, and then what? He needed to get away. He booked it away from the corner, as gracefully as he could while still trying to hurry, and towards the large crowd near the refreshment table.

In his hurry to get away, and in consequence that he was wearing heels, he smacked nose first into someone's shoulder. Temporarily blinded by white and fur, it took him a moment to realize exactly who it was he had bumped into. His heart leaped and fell at the same time as he took in that familiar grinning face surrounded by that familiar purple black hair and pale skin.

“My, what are you doing here little weretiger?” Fyodor’s accent was unmistakable, and erased any doubt that Atsushi might have had left that maybe this was actually Mori, or Yosano’s secret long lost twin brother. But no, it was definitely him, and Ango was closing in, and he would never live down the humiliation, and the undercover operation would be ruined. He steeled himself, and took a slightly less humiliating leap of desperation.

“Yes! I would love to dance!” Gripping one of Fyodor’s gloved hands tightly, he all but dragged him onto the dance floor, just as a waltz started. Fyodor seemed to catch on quickly, and Atsushi blushed as he felt his hand gripping his waist, the other one still clasped in his own. The waltz started, and Fyodor whirled him around, across the floor and away from Ango.

Fyodor chuckled lowly, even as they moved across the floor with the other dancers. “Im flattered weretiger.” A tap on Atsushi’s waist urged him into a turn. “To think you wanted to dance with little old me.” Atsushi flushed. “I was trying to escape certain humiliation and defeat.” Fyodor lets out a small laugh, as the music crescendos slightly. “But really, what are you doing here, looking like…that.” He pauses slightly, and the last word is laced with something Atsushi can't really decipher. He hopes the taller man isn't laughing at him. “I'm looking for the host, John Remy.” Another tap, another spin. He's glad Yosano taught him the basics before this mission. “Oh my.” Fyodor deftly avoids another couple, pulling him close for a second too long before they spin away. “Is he your type?” Atsushi coughs. “No! He's suspected of murder.”

“I see. Well, unfortunately he's not here today, I asked around.” Atsushi sighs. “Well, all this makeup and hair and dress for nothing then, Yosano is going to be disappointed.” Another tap, another spin, another graceful fall into Fyodor’s arms. “I wouldn't say it's for nothing.” Atsushi hates how attractive he finds this man, truly. “You have gained more than a few admirers.”

Atsushi has to laugh a little. “What? They only want to dance because there aren't that many women here in the first place.” The curls in Atsushi’s hair tickle his cheeks as he spins once again, as Fyodor pulls him close for the next part of the dance. Fyodor is taller than him, but only by a little, so as the song slows and Fyodor pulls him close, all Atsushi can see is the man in front of him.

Their noses are inches apart, their chests so close, one hand linked, the other still a hot brand on his waist, lulling him into a hazy state. Fyodor’s voice has gotten softer, and if Atsushi didn't know better he would almost call it sultry. A smirk still curves his mouth as he speaks. “Look around you Weretiger. They're all jealous. Jealous that you chose to dance with me, and not them. Jealous that I can touch you like this, have you this close, while they can only dream.” They get closer, and Atsushi cant breath, he can feel his heart beating through his chest. “You do look very pretty, although I prefer you in your normal state.” It almost sounds like Fyodor is complimenting him. His shock must show on his face, because Fyodor lets out a pleased little laugh. “I'll give you some free information, Weretiger.” Fyodor’s voice is a pur, and Atsushi is losing his mind. “Your target is currently stalking a young lady undercover policeman. They’ll have him in custody soon.” Relief floods Atsushi’s mind, temporarily distracting him from the fact that Fyodor is literally almost on top of him, so close they could kiss in the middle of this ballroom(and truthfully, he kinda hopes it would happen). And maybe he said that out loud, because as the song crescendos, Fyodor dips him, and presses the slightest little kiss to his cherry stained lips. And with that, the song ends and he turns to leave.

Atsushi’s hand moves of its own accord, catching the tail of Fyodor’s white coat and pulling the man to a stop. He feels a bit like he’s been caught in a trap, especially when Fyodor turns, his lips, stained with Atsushi’s gloss, curved into a smirk. But truthfully, as Fyodor leads him off the dance floor he can't bring himself to mind.

☠☠☠

It's cramped in the closet they’ve found themselves in, a little stuffy and full of coats, but as Fyodor’s mouth sucks little hickeys into his neck, his body pressing Atsushi against the wall he can't really bring himself to mind. The closet is a little off the main hall, down a small side passage and, in this den of rich people, virtually impossible to find. Atsushi thinks it's a coat closet, but he doesn't really have the brain power to think at all right now, not with a mouth on his neck and a hot dick pressed against his butt.

He’s pressed against the wall, fur ruff discarded somewhere on the floor, still clothed in the dress. Fyodor’s mouth is ruining him, leaving little hickeys all over his neck and shoulders, probably too many but Atsushi can't bring himself to care.

The demon behind him chuckles, as Atsushi grinds back desperately. “My, aren't you an impatient little one.” His voice is teasing, his accent is slightly thicker, the only sign of his slipping composure . Atsushi grumbles, his voice slightly too breathy to be convincing. “We need to hurry before someone discovers us.”

Fyodor's mouth leaves his neck, and Atsushi feels hands pulling his dress up, hitching it over his butt, and cold hands at the hem of his underwear, pulling them down. He's not even fully undressed, but the whole idea just feels so dirty, that Atsushi shivers. Then, a cold hand wraps around his dick.

Atsushi moans far too loud and Fyodor’s other hand comes around, sticking two fingers unceremoniously in his mouth to shut him up.

“Quiet little kitty, we wouldn't want to be discovered.” Atsushi does his best, sucking on the fingers in his mouth to keep quiet, but at some point he just gives up, and the fingers leave his mouth and prod at his lower hole. Fyodor’s mouth nips at his ear, voice throaty. “Have you ever been with a man, kitten.” Atsushi shakes his head, biting his lips to keep the whimpers in as a finger penetrates him, wiggling around a little, but stilling for Atsushi to adjust. “I see.” Fyodor chuckles, all rough and low. “I'm honored to be your first. Man, that is.”

It feels strange, but not uncomfortable to have a finger penetrating him and Atsushi finds his hips canting back a bit, urging the man behind him to move. The only sounds that penetrate the thick air in the coat closet or painted breaths and the occasional small grunt, as Fyodor begins to move his finger, setting a slow, deep pace. Atsushi lets his head fall back, his eyes falling closed. He would never have expected the evening to end like this, pressed up against the wall by a known enemy, still dressed as a girl, and having his insides pried open by one, no two(Atsushi lets a little moan escape his lips, still red with lip gloss as Fyodor adds another finger.)long fingers. He doubts even Ranpo could have predicted this, god he hopes Ranpo never finds out what’s happening, that would be mortifying.

Fyodor bends the fingers lodged inside of him, and presses against the side of his walls, trying to find something. Atsushi turns his head, about to ask what he's doing when Fyodor’s fingers press against something that makes his brain blank, and little stars float across his vision. He can't help the loud moan that escapes his lips, even as Fyodor levels a teasing smirk his way. “Careful little kitten, don't let anyone hear you.” He's mocking him, and Atsushi doesn't even care.

He does start to care when Fyodor removes his fingers. Atsushi suddenly feels all empty and cold, and he turns again, leveling Fyodor with an(admittedly pathetic) glare. “Why’d you stop?” The clink of a belt and the rustle of fabric greet his ears as Fyodor chuckles.

“Stop? My, we are just getting started.” And then something big and hot is pressing at his entrance. “Ready, kitten?” Faintly, Atsushi feels the slightest prick of apprehension, but it's far overwhelmed by the hot need in his gut, and his throbbing dick. So, Atsushi nods as best he can, canting his hips back against Fyodor’s cock.

The sting is slight, but mostly Atsushi simply feels full as he's penetrated, his poor neglected dick throbbing heavily. His back arches and Atsushi moans against the wall as Fyodor bottoms out, not even giving him a second to adjust. The pace he sets is brutal and oh, so good, and Atsushi starts to seriously wonder if he has a bit of a masochistic streak or something, as Fyodor does his best to bruise his insides. His thrusts are long and deep, he pulls almost all the way before slamming back in, one of his hands caging Atsushi against the wall, little grunts escaping his mouth. Atsushi knows he's moaning up a storm, but he can't really bring himself to care, even if someone may discover them. It's obvious that's the last thing on Fyodor’s mind as well.

“Feel good?” Fyodor is practically puring in his ear, his voice full of pride at the state he’s reduced Atsushi too, and honestly, it's pretty sexy. He nods his accent, his cheek scraping against the wall.

“And you sound so good, so pretty.” Fyodor continues, his voice throaty. Atsushi keens at the praise.“Such a pretty, obedient kitten. It's a wonder Dazai has not done you like this.”

“Dazai doesn't like men.” Atsushi’s voice is embarrassing, his sentences interrupted by moans. Fyodor seems to find his sentence slightly funny. But a simple, “is that so?” is his only reply. Another deep stroke, and a husky moan by his ear. “Well, he's certainly missing out.”

One of Fyodor's hands is still on the wall by his head, but the other makes its way up, carefully pressing Atsushi against the wall, curled around his neck. Atsushi’s moans as his airway is slightly cut off. He can still breathe the slightest bit, but it takes deep heaves, in between the moans of pleasure. Atsushi wonders if he’s crazy, because he feels his dick twitch, and the heat in his gut doubles. Fyodor chuckles as his moans double. “How dirty, you like being choked, little kitten?”

It's an entirely rhetorical question, but Atsushi doesnt think he could answer anyway. Fyodor doesn't seem to mind. Atsushi can feel himself nearing his peak, he's most certainly dripping precome all over the floor, and his heart pounds insistently in his chest, his moans more and more frequent.

He can tell Fyodor is as well, by the way his grunts and small groans become full blown moans. As his head drops into Atsushi’s shoulder, his hand from its position on Atsushi's neck wraps around his waist, pulling the men together until there's no space between their bodies. Is strangely intimate, and he's sure if Fyodor weren't on the cusp of an orgasm, the man would never do anything like this, but Atsushi feels almost honored none the less. He loves it, the feeling of love that comes with this position, and as his mind blanks out for a moment as he cums, he knows he screams Fyodor’s name, much too loudly.

Fyodor shivers behind him, and a hot feeling fills Atsushi’s ass.

The redressing act is subdued, Fyodor helps Atsushi clean himself up, tidying his fake hair and dress and placing the ruff back around Atsushi’s shoulders. Unfortunately, they can't do anything about the hickeys, and they remain, glaring proof about what had happened that evening.(although Fyodor looks suspiciously pleased by the fact). Atsushi leaves the closet first, and makes his escape from the party altogether. It's not too bad, although he does get a few stares as he excites the lobby, and calls a taxi. The taxi driver is thankfully silent, probably used to this kind of thing.

☠☠☠

Its now about eleven, and as Atsushi opens the door to the Ada, he's oddly touched by the fact that they stayed up for him. The younger ones have gone to bed, and Tanzaki and Naomi are absent, but the rest of them are here, sprawled across various chairs across the room. They look up when he enters.

Kunikida speaks first, still typing on his computer. “So Atsushi, how did it go? Were you able to apprehend him?”

“Apparently, the police had an undercover mission going, so I wasn't needed after all.” Atsushi says, sinking into a chair with a sigh, dropping the small purse Yosano had forced him to carry onto the table, and discarding the ruff beside it. “So it was a lot of wasted effort.”

Kunikida hums, but no one else responds. Atsushi frowns. “What?” Yosano is snickering, seated somewhere behind him. Kunikida is still typing, but everyone elses eyes are glued to him.

“What’s going on?” Eventually Kunikida, tired of the silence, glanced up. Atsushi watches in confusion as the man jumps to his feet, trips over his own chair and falls with a clatter to the floor, his face bright red. Ranpo giggles. “Well, I wouldn't say it was a totally wasted effort.” He motions at his neck and then it hits Atsushi, he swears his face is the shade of a tomato.

Ranpo hops off the desk, gathering all his snacks in a large bag and making his way towards the door. “Oh yeah.” He says, as he turns. “He left you his number, Atsushi. If he was that good maybe you should add it.” Yosano is choking on her laughter, but no one else seems to think it's that funny. Kunikida is still blushing as he asks the loaded question. “Who is ‘he’, Ranpo?”

Atsushi prays that Ranpo will just shut up, but of course, he doesn't. “Fyodor, you know, the strange Russian guy.” He sends them a confused look. “Wasn't it obvious?” He slams the door on the chaos that erupts behind him.

...

End Notes: Ango totally didn't recognize him, he just wanted to get a dance from the pretty lady in the corner, and she ran away from him. He definitely cried about it over a drink later. Also, ‘kitten’ is cringy, except when its literal

Taglist: @mulit05ho3st4n

#bungou stray dogs #atsushi x fyodor #bsd smut #mariannacrxss #helplesslypurple77Kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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