#icey blue hair

[r3ynah]

THE FAMILY OF BEAUTIES

The girls the boys they all like Carmen.

(In this scenario Carmen is the fentons).

I just want to headcanon, that the Fenton's have a ethereal type of beauty, not sexy or hot. Ethereal, like if you didn't know that they're a family of Mad scientist, a obsessive therapist and a dead boy. they could've passed as deity's.

And the amity park's citizens can and will totally agree, they might've disagree and fight for a lot of things but the only thing they can agree on was the Fenton's was down to earth beautiful.

Like Jack Fenton for example, He has built that can seemingly bench you without any hesitation, but a himbo at heart, the greys of his hair compliments way it mixes with the black hair of his, if Jack isn't in his ghost hunting suit, he is pretty decent when it comes to his fashion sense, When Jazz first brought along her friends, the first thing they asked was if Jack was single, which caused Jazz to smack their heads individually with a newspaper.

And don't get me started with Madeline Fenton, because I cannot stop when it comes to her, My girl with her short straight Reddish-brown hair, looks like a masculine but also feminine beauty, Can and will bench you, if you have any ill intent towards her family, she came from a long line of riches if I say so myself. Tall as fuck, about 6'7 while Jack is 7'0. very elegant when it comes to fighting, that it looks like she's just dancing, Was titled as a Milf by Danny's classmate which made the boy groan in annoyance, Sam and Tucker calls out to Maddie and says "Mother is Mothering", just to get something out of Danny who looks at them with disgust knowing full well what they were trying to do. While Maddie is just happy for the kids to see her as a mother figure.

Now Jazz, My love, my girl. Her long Red hair that came down to her hips, and her blue eyes, made all the girls and boys in her college swoon, with her 6'4 figure she strutted down the halls with confidence, beauty and brains everyone would oh so called it, and her knowledge in martial arts didn't lessen her attractiveness, The humans and ghosts can agree with that delightfully.

And now her dearest sibling Danny, Danny is a nonbinary fuck that can gender envy anyone he meets, that's why he got bullied in the first place, he was too fucking beautiful and handsome at the same time, all the boys and girls of his school have atleast had a crush on him, He was the only cute boy there, what could they do? He stared at them with his icey colored eyes that made their legs tremble from the pressure, and that black hair that always seemed messy but in a good way. It didn't help when he got that lichtenberg scar, that ran up his neck and the side of his face. you should've seen him in P.E cause my guy got everyone staring at him.

And the Fenton family has fashion sense, if they really put their mind and soul into it, everytime they dressed up for a family reunion or just an outing it was a very sweet treat for everyone's eyes. like how it is right now.

The Amity parkers waved goodbye at the Fenton's as they went on and attended a gala they were invited to, it was supposedly because of the sudden rise and popularity of their works and how's it been helping the environment.

One citizen sighed as he looked at the car that family was driving as it slowly became smaller and smaller.

"You think they can handle Gotham, heard nasty thing bout that place." She questioned

"Girl, Gotham should be the one readying to handle them, that family may be beautiful, but their crazy." Her friend's answered

"well that does give them a more attractive look isn't it?"

"I hate how you're right."

__

The Gala the Fenton's went to certainly had an awkward atmosphere when they went inside, all the guest kept staring at them that it was starting to get creepy, did they overdress or underdressed, come on just walk towards start to talk or criticize them, because it's starting to get embarrassing for the family.

Gotham wasn't fucking prepared to meet the Fentons like as in, They had been awestrucked when the family walked in. A very tall man seemingly in his 40's with his hair gelled back, and a suit that fitted him too perfectly, gosh dang, even the homophobic guests couldn't help but stare, And then there was his Wife her straight her was curled and brushed out leaving a wavy effect that compliments her face shape, and that dress she was wearing was utterly gorgeous, fancy but also simple and mature, the heels certainly helped her height more and made her look more intimidating, The ladies blushed when she looks at them and smiles.

And don't get them started with the couples children, who looked adorable and elegant at the same time, The older sister had a aura that says: 'Im in your presence bow down' (And they would've if it was in a more private area due to the paparazzi's out the window). She wore a spaghetti strapped dress that had a slit on either side and was , making it more comfortable to move in for the girl, partnered by a white shawl made of silk, she had heels that also complimented he already tall stature, her hair was tied in a neat bun, with a few strands free to not make her face feel bare. And lastly the youngest everyone assumed, wearing a suit, double-breasted suit that was elegant and sophisticated it matched the way his hair is messed up for him to still look young, he was also wearing a black shawl that had specks of white making it look like stars. The family had a colour scheme of green, that made all gothamites present swoon, Including a certain family of bats.

(I might make a fanart of this later.)

#dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpdc #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc fanfic #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc fanart #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny is nonbinary #the fentons are beautiful #amity park is just built different #Spotify

[merakidoll]

Doll — Gojo S.

✧.* black chubby reader! ditzy / bimbo reader! pen pal gojo. yander gojo! riding, vaginal sex, mentions of dildos, reader has love handles and stretch marks. captivation, reader loves pink! obsessed gojo!

mirah note — hiya! i love this dabble so much and do plan to make more on this pair :) i used to have a series about them, and how exactly they met but have since deactivated that page, but my love for them had came back hard!

after months of letters, and video calls, the short vists and everlasting day dreams. gojo was right where he wanted to be. he had dreamed of this exact moment in many different scenarios, many different settings, but none of those visions were quite as good as the actual thing.

“what else babydoll?” his hand ran through his white hair, icey blue eyes starting at the women who lost control on his cock. his hands squeezed her pretty little love handles, pads of his thumb rubbing over the stretch marks, ears alert and in awe at the beauty of her whines and hiccups- that he was the cause of.

“d-daddy! l-like em’ s’much! w-wanna k-kiss em’ all t-the time” she told gojo all of the things he had been yarning to hear, feeding into his obsession even more. making the need to hold her captive just for him overpower the good guy in him.

bucking up into the wet, tight pussy, he put his hands on the back of her head and pushed her into his shoulder. her teeth immediately caught ahold of the skin tight black t bitting down onto it. gojo used his feet and pushed himself down more into the couch and began bouncing his pretty doll.

“that’s what my’good girl needed mmm” once he knew she wasn’t going to move her head, he grabbed ahold of the fat ass cheeks using them to bounce her harder, faster. her voice vibrating, words and rambles no longer able to come out.

“daddyd-daddyyyy” she chanted his name over and over her puffy pussy tighten in a way it never had on the pink dildos she used to practice on. “gonna breed my pretty baby, stuff m’cunt so. fucking. full.” the room grew hotter while the highs approached. gojo’s talking got more dirty, more nasty. while your mind only got filled with the thoughts of cumming.

it wasn’t long before your slick covered his large cock. your body growing tired as he shushed you to sleep while filling you with the white, gooey, seamen. after he washed your body carefully, mumbling to himself how beautiful you were, he put you in the pink room a nightgown clinging to your body. and tied your hands tightly with the silk baby pink rope.

“welcome home baby doll” he whispered leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

#i came. #gojo x black reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x chubby reader #gojo satoru x black!reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x chubby reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk x plus size reader #jjk smut #jjk x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #anime smut #anime x chubby reader #anime x black!reader #˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ (mirah work’s) ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄ #ׁ ˳ ౨ ( mirah’s creation) ৎ⠀⭑ ⠀𓂋⠀⠀!

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

#jegulus raising harry #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus fluff #james potter #regulus black #kid harry potter #toddler harry potter #james potter x regulus black #regulus black x james potter #lune’s tiny fic

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Eight: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids, masturbation, oral, creampie, dick piercing, forced male orgasm GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is a straight sex god and he’s so cocky about it until he lets himself think about how lucky his is and then he turns to a puddle bc he loves you so much [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

“Did you have fun princess?” He asked, tenderly kissing your temple and tucking a hair behind your ear.

He had one hand above your head, resting on the door to your apartment, the other now lightly gracing your hip with a soft squeeze.

“Mhm.” You nodded, melting at the rich timbre in his voice.

“So pretty.” He whispered, looking down at you like he hoped he’d suddenly gain the ability to swallow you whole and never let you go.

His eyes were so intense, steeled icey blue that held the warmth of the summer seas. Contradictory but somehow very fitting for him, you couldn’t imagine him with anything else.

You’d never grow tired of the way he poured his soul out through the pools of black that encroached on that pretty blue. He didn’t ever have to say what he thought of you. It was clear to anyone who witnessed the way he looked at you, that he was wholeheartedly devoted.

“Kiss?” He asked softly, his breath a whisper across your lips as his nose brushed against yours.

“Plea-“ you couldn’t even get the full word out before he wrapped an arm around your waist and cradled the back of your head, his lips soldering to yours.

The moment his mouth moved against yours, the strangest feeling washed over you. One you’d felt before, the thought you’d had in the past.

He’s loved you in a past life. How else could his lips feel like home?

It was tender and smooth, all lips and no tongue. But passionate all the same. How he managed to breathe life into your very soul with just that kiss… you’ll never know.

That ache. That horrible terrible ache had been back for some time now, your affliction of sexual suffering had returned in full force and your mind was overwhelmed with those feel good chemicals.

That ache turned into a full fledged pain in a matter of seconds.

All from one kiss.

Is it desperate of you to ask for more? Would he even consider it? This is the end of your first real date. He’s so… old fashioned that he wouldn’t possibly…

“What are you thinking hmm?” His gravely voice derailed your train of thought as he mumbled against your lips, never fully breaking away from you, keeping that heated connection as if he needed it to breathe.

“I’m thinkin’ of you.” You whispered.

“Well I’d sure hope that you were.” He chuckled.

“Shit I didn’t mean-“

“No, I know what you mean.” He silenced you quickly, “I just like to tease you. Make you buffer.”

And goddamn did you.

His tongue invaded your mouth so smoothly that you felt like it had always meant to be there. He tasted so familiar, he smelled so welcoming. He held you so firmly against his chest, one hand inching down your back, giving you plenty of time to back out before he cupped your ass and squeezed.

It was truly outrageous the way your entire body was screaming for him. It was taking everything in you to stay sane, your mind felt like it was buzzing. Overrunning your nervous system with micro-sensations that you could’ve never felt with anyone other than Anakin.

Intensifying a thousand times over when he pushed his groin against the softness of your lower stomach.

You would’ve died of embarrassment at the pitiful whimper you let escape if Anakin hadn’t been there to swallow it up and fill your lungs with the fiery breath of his undeniable need for you. He growled, truly he did. Like a feral beast that had been caged and starved for days on end.

And you were his meal.

“Inside.” He said, his voice low and commanding.

You faltered for a moment, not because you didn’t want to, but simply because of the way he was speaking. He’d always had the ability to leave you speechless with his stern tone. But this was different.

This was authoritative. Not like his voice of the previous times, no. He was demanding it.

For some reason, you liked it. It made you all the more weak for him.

“C’mon baby. Gimme the keys.” He whispered kissing your jaw as he fished in your back pocket to grab them, he knew he’d sent you into a stupor and he didn’t have the patience for you to snap out of it.

The door opened and shut in record time, Anakin locking it behind him without missing a step.

“Bed?” He whispered, kissing you softly, a smile quirking up the side of his mouth.

“Uh huh.” You nodded.

“Uh huh.” He mocked you, grinning as he scooped you up with both arms and carried you to the bedroom.

“I can walk you know?” You giggled, cheeks flushed.

“Not fast enough.” He countered, slipping off your shoes and socks and doing the same for himself after sitting you gently on the bed.

You had started to take of your shirt when he gave you a disapproving glare.

“I’ll undress you.” He said, “wanna take my time.”

The bed dipped under his weight when he kneeled before you, looking down at you like he was seeing the Seven Wonders all at once.

“Come sit in my lap princess.” He requested, leaning against the headboard and unashamedly palming his erection to make himself more comfortable.

You stared, practically drooling. You couldn’t believe he was finally here. In your bed. You’d get to see what you’d dreamt of so many times. To prove those dreams right. To have him cure you of that ache.

“Sit.” He said gruffly, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

“R-right.” You nodded, obeying immediately and straddling his thighs.

“Getting distracted are we?” He teased, kissing down the column of your throat, leaving wet marks behind. “You’ll see it all soon enough. Just let me have my fun first yeah?” He finished with a sharp nip to your collarbone that made you yelp.

“Kiss me again.” You whimpered, this time Anakin obeying you for a change.

He was eager to fulfill that request, immediately diving back into the depths of your mouth. Laving his tongue across yours tortuously slow and savory.

He hummed a question of consent as his hands traveled up your thighs. You nodded in response and earned a chuckled and smile from him that broke your kiss momentarily.

He kneaded the flesh of your ass with the hands you’d held in your own so many times. The hands you’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long, it was just as satisfying as you imagined it would be.

He gently groped and caressed you while devouring your mouth, eating up those beautiful moans leaving your lips. Soon enough his calloused fingertips graced the soft skin of your bare belly, hardly making contact at all, just enough to send a shiver through you and leave goose-pimples in their wake.

“More?” He asked, his lips leaving yours in favor of worshiping the gentle curve of your jaw.

“More.” You whined, nodding your head quickly as your hands tangled into his hair.

He raised his eyebrows to quiet your grumbling of protest when he pulled his lips from your neck. Anakin gently lifted up your shirt and once it was gone he immediately unclasped your bra and tossed it to join your shirt, as if it would burn you if he left it on you for a second longer.

“Oh goddamn.” He moaned, supporting them in his palms to feel their weight.

“Perfect. How is everything about you so fucking perfect?” He looked up at you with an expression that almost mirrored pain.

Anakin’s facial expressions were always something of a mystery to you, he conveyed so much through them. But, there were times like this when you wished you had a book to reference. It was pained, almost mournful, akin to the expression you’d expect to see on someone’s face the first time they witnessed a painting that made them feel something.

“Ani…” you whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I just adore you so much.” He said, his hands slowly releasing your breasts in favor of smoothing over the expanse of your abdomen and back, anywhere he could reach uncovered skin, he was trying his damndest to touch all at once.

He nuzzled his face against your breast, a whimper leaving his lips. Looking up at you with pleading eyes. A stark change from the authoritarian figure he’d been before. Right now his body language was oozing submission.

“Everything about you is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He mumbled as those plump lips enclosed around your nipple and allowed his warm tongue to swirl around it.

Your hands raked through his hair and from the little bit of stimulation your cunt fluttered around nothing, you felt so desperately empty. Needing something, anything, you started to rock your hips just enough to drag your clit across the bulge of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groaned, his strong hands gripping your hips tightly.

He let his head tilt back against the headboard as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and pinched his eyebrows together. Bucking up against you with each little thrust punctuated by a pitiful ‘uh’.

You were amazed at this change of roles. You would’ve never in your wildest dreams imagine Anakin-uber masculine-Skywalker to act this way in bed.

And oh god did it excite you.

“Baby please?” He whined, his once confident hands shaking as they caressed your arms and finally took your hands to lace your fingers together.

“What is it Ani?” You cooed.

“Need you bad.” He whimpered, uncharacteristically timid. “Need you so fuckin’ bad.” He whined.

Jesus Christ, you didn’t think your ego could grow any bigger. You’d need a canoe to travel across the lake of arousal seeping through your jeans.

“Want me to take care of you, Hmm?” You whispered in question, looking down at the red faced man beneath you.

“Uh, mhm.” He nodded, his bottom lip quivering.

“Oh baby,” you soothed, your hands leaving his to cradle his face. “don’t worry. I’m right here.”

“Lord have mercy.” His eyes practically rolled back in his head at your quick acceptance of this little submission kink of his.

You couldn’t help but giggle, it was cute. Way too cute.

“What’s my boy need?” You asked softly, grinding down on his unbelievably hard dick.

“Need you, need you everywhere.” His voice sounding broken.

“What do you say Ani?” You teased, eager to play this role for him.

“Please, please, please.” He begged not only with his words but his eyes and his actions too.

“Get this shirt off for me.” You commanded softly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He moved quickly and whipped it up and over his head, his mouth parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You on the other hand, had a lot to say.

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered, exploring his tattooed skin, soaking up the images and committing them to memory.

“What?” Anakin asked, wearing that same pained expression from before.

“I said you’re beautiful.”

“You?” He huffed out a laugh before giving you a shy smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Very.” You nodded, smiling right back at him.

“C’mere my sweet girl.” He said, his voice low and warm.

He pulled you even closer, skin to skin. Letting your body heat meld the two of you together the same as the warmth of your kiss cemented your lips in an embrace.

He was regaining that confidence from before, you realized now that maybe he just got overwhelmed. Maybe he just really did want you as badly as you wanted him.

This wasn’t a bossy confidence though, this was the confidence of a man who knew how to please. He touched you like he’d played you like a violin a million times before. So gently laying you back on the bed, so softly licking his way down your stomach to unbutton your pants and free you.

“Shit sweetheart.” He moaned, tugging at your panties until he had them in his hands.

The white cotton was so soaked that it was almost see through. Something about it made Anakin feral.

“All this f’me baby?” He cooed, keeping one hand on your body and the other firmly holding that wet spot to his nose and breathing deeply.

“Smells so fucking good.” The words tumbling out of his throat in a low rumble, the hand on your skin traveling down between your legs.

“This little pussy need some attention?” Teasingly he circled your entrance with his thumb, making eye contact as he committed a sin so delicious that it should be stricken from even the devils playbook.

He shoved the wet spot of your panties into his mouth and sucked on it like his life depended on it. His eyes fluttered shut and his now unoccupied hand clenched tightly, the veins in his arm cropping up across his inked skin.

“Oh god.” Never had you seen something like this. Never did you think you’d ever see something like this.

This is the stuff you wanted to see but was never brave enough to ask or lucky enough to have happen to you unprompted. Your hole clenched around nothing and Anakin obviously felt it because he immediately moved two fingers to prod at your entrance, waiting until you nodded your head before pushing inside slowly.

A choked sob left your lips and his free hand palmed at his cock while his head tilted back in the ecstasy of pleasuring you and getting pleasured because of it.

His deft hand unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them quicker than you’d seen most men do with both their hands. And he was only using one. Talented fingers indeed.

You thought he would pull out the cock you’d been dying to see, but of course he didn’t. He was a gentlemen despite the depravity of his kinky actions. He wouldn’t dare jump straight to penetration without having you cum first.

He was just shoving his hand down his boxers to readjust himself so that he could lay down between your legs without stabbing a hole in your mattress with the cock of steel clearly visible beneath that checkered fabric.

Anakin tossed your panties aside and opted for the real thing instead, not waiting before removing his fingers and bringing them to your lips.

“Taste baby.” He gently commanded, watching you intently as you licked your juices from his fingers. “God damn you.” He whispered, in awe of the throaty moan you made.

He dove between your legs. No slow introduction of his tongue, no gentle kisses. No.

He was hungry.

He went straight to lapping away at you like he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks and your pussy was the first thing he’d come across.

It sent you into a spiral, stole the breath from your lungs and seized up your muscles.

“Anakin… Ani…” you whined as his tongue parted your folds and licked into your cunt.

“Hmm?” He hummed, sucking your sopping folds between his lips.

His gaze met yours and it was a beautiful sight. Those pretty eyes of his staring up at you in pure unadulterated adoration. You’d expected to see straight lust. But that was just a background emotion within his eyes.

He wasn’t lusting after you.

He was worshiping you.

That realization alone was enough to break down that first wall on your way to orgasm. Your hands flying to his hair and tugging him right where you wanted him.

He eagerly sucked at the little nub of pleasure, finding it instantly like he’d mapped out the expanse of your cunt before. He knew *exactly* what you needed.

And he was overjoyed to give it to you on a silver platter. He sucked and rolled your clit with his tongue, sneaking his fingers back up into you to massage your leaky walls. Massaging that sweet spot that made you whimper.

He’s loved you in another life. How else would he know that he’d have you trembling in a matter of seconds like this?

Your legs spread wide, you hooked your ankles together over his back, trapping him there and earning a laugh from him. As if he were amused by the fact that he was unraveling you at the seams.

You gripped the sheets and moaned like you never had before, devastatingly low and rumbling. The vibration of it felt like your heart was being ripped from your chest as your world imploded. Anakin never wavered, never stopped as he finger fucked and clit sucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

He wouldn’t have stopped then either. Not if you hadn’t of begged him.

“Anakin please.” You whined high-pitched and close to tears. “Please I don’t wanna cum again so quick…”

“Why?” He muttered against you as your thighs squeezed his head.

“Want your cock.” You hoped that this would sway him but it didn’t.

“You’ll have it.” He growled. “Just gimme one more.”

“I-I can’t… it’s too s-soon.” You sobbed out, trying to catch your breath.

“No it’s not.” He said matter of factly, pumping those long fingers into you like it was his life’s work to make you cum.

“Fuck… fuck oh shit.” You clawed at his shoulders and he didn’t even flinch.

If anything it spurred him on and had you seeing nothing but blinding white light as he pulled your soul from the depths of your core and stole it away for himself.

You were vaguely aware of his quietly spoken praises and compliments as he crawled up your body and caressed your marred skin. He’d painted you with little love bites that he now proudly traced and pet.

“There she is.” He chuckled when you finally resurfaced from the sea of pleasure he’d dropped you into.

“Ani I can hardly breathe.” You panted wildly.

“Need some help baby?” He teased. “I know CPR.”

“Shut up.” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Yes ma’am.” He said with a grin, nuzzling your breasts and lazily circling your nipples.

“Anakin!” Your hands coming to swat his away. “M’sensitive.”

“On your nipples? I’ve hardly loved on them.” He pouted.

“Hardly?” You admonished. “Really? They’re so raw I’m gonna have to put some lotion on later.”

“I’ll do it for you.” He cooed.

“Yeah? That’s just an excuse for you to play with my tits again.”

“Of course it is.” He admitted with a shrug.

“At least you’re honest.” You sighed.

“Mm.” He snorted. *’yeah sure’*

“Think you’ll be recovered enough for me to make love to you?” He asked, voice low and honeyed. “Or should I wait three to five business days?”

“Make love?” You grinned.

“What? You making fun of me?”

“No I think it’s cute.” You giggled with a light blush.

“Well I don’t think I can call sex with you ‘fucking’.” He chuckled, kissing the valley of your breasts.

“Why not?” You looked down at him, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Cause you’re too precious for that.” You could tell he was being completely honest just from his tone. “You deserve respect while I defile you.”

He snickered and nipped at the soft part of your breast, making you squeal and giggle, shying away from him.

“No, no, no, you get back here.” He growled, dragging you back over to him with two firm hands on your hips.

“Anakin!” You yelped and broke out in a fit of laughter that dissolved quickly into a breathy moan as he latched himself onto your neck, licking along your throat slowly.

“M’not done.” He mumbled, lifting himself up and pressing his covered bulge against the slick surface of your pussy.

“Maker…” you groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and drawing him closer.

If he was talented with his mouth and hands… it’s hard to imagine how well he can wield that monster between his legs.

“Please…” you whispered. “Anakin please? Fuck me?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“What?” You squeaked.

“M’not fucking you.” He chuckled. Grinding his hips down onto you. “Didn’t you hear me princess?”

“Fine.” You giggled. “Anakin? Make love to me?”

“Oh absolutely.” He growled, attacking your neck with his lips and tongue.

He pushed up and kneeled between your legs, suddenly you realized he’d completely shed his jeans along the way somehow. Left just in his boxers you could see his collection of tattoos continued on his legs. And a wet patch of his own spotted the fabric where his weeping cockhead rested. He looked just as impressive as he felt beneath those boxers.

“Condom?” He asked, panting as he gazed down at you with glassy eyes.

“Are you asking me if I have one?” You asked with a confused look.

“No sweetheart.” He laughed. “I’m asking if you *want* one.”

“Oh.” You blushed, feeling a little silly for not understanding immediately. “I- I don’t… I mean…”

“It’s up to you babydoll.” He soothed, his warm palms feeling across the plush part of your thighs. “I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone in a while.” He gave you a bashful, crooked smile.

“I mean, I’m on birth control… yeah- I haven’t…I’m clean too.” You nodded.

“I know baby, but I need you to tell me okay?” He said softly. “I want you to be comfortable, this is a decision for you.”

“But I want you to know, I plan on being exclusively with you.” He said, caressing your cheeks gently.

“Me too.” You whispered, thankful that he’d said that so you didn’t have to.

‘Not for long’ he thought, hiding his snickered laugh with a click of his tongue. ‘

“Good girl.” He beamed. “My good girl.”

You nodded and felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Yeah.” You giggled.

“So what’s my girl want huh?” He asked, taking one of your hands the the wrist and dragging your palm down his stomach to his waistband.

“Want it raw?” He smirked.

“Anakin!” You hid your face in your free hand.

“Oh, you do don’t you?” He teased, bringing your hand lower and helping you wrap your fingers around his thick shaft. “Tell me princess, do you want me to *’fuck’* you raw?”

“Yes.” You squeaked in the tiniest voice you had.

“Dirty little thing.” A devilish grin spread across his kiss bitten lips and he licked his top row of teeth like he was preparing for the last feast on earth.

As you started to timidly pull his boxers down, he let you get all the way to the base of his cock before his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Look at me.” He said in a voice so gentle compared to his steel grip.

“Huh?”

“I should warn you.” He ran his knuckles across your cheek and then let his thumb traced the slope of your neck. “I have my dick pierced. I took the ring out.”

“You what?” Your mouth dropped open and your eyes flickered from the cock just out of sight below your palm and the serious blue eyes looking down at you.

“I have a cock ring.” He said plainly. “But I don’t have it in right now.”

“Why?”

“Pretty presumptuous of me I know, but I didn’t want you to freak out if we ended up here.” He said softly.

“I appreciate that.” You couldn’t help but smile, how sweet.

“Course baby.” His voice rumbled. “Just be warned. Got an extra hole down there.” He smirked, laughing.

“Oh I didn’t even think of that.” You gasped. “Damn I’m glad you said that before I saw it.” You giggled, turning serious before biting your lip and tugging the elastic down to expose his length.

“Holy shit.”

“S’a mouthful isn’t it?” He grinned, clearly enjoying the look of lust painted fear on your face.

“Yeah.” You scoffed, wrapping you hand around it and feeling it twitch beneath your touch.

Eight inches and thicker than you thought you could comfortably take. The bruise colored tip weeping precum that looked good enough to taste, so you did.

Anakin could’ve died a happy man at the sound your wet mouth made as it willingly wrapped around his cock head for the first time.

“Goddamnit.” He grunted, his knuckles white as chalk with his hands folded tightly into fists.

“Thats it. Good… good girl baby.” Gritted teeth and groaned words tumbled from his lips as he released his gripped fists and opted instead to cradle your head and help guide you to take his monstrous cock.

“Look at you,” his voice shook when you gazed up at him with half lidded eyes. “taking me so well darlin’, there you go.”

His thumbs brushing against your cheek bones in soothing circles while his fingertips dig into the back of your skull to keep you steady.

“You tap my leg if you need me to stop got it?” He said seriously, that delicious commanding voice that made your pussy flutter. You hummed in response and Anakin seemed to love it.

“Christ baby…” that masculine timbre falling back into that pitiful whine you’d heard before.

“Gonna look so fuckin’ good.” He whimpered, letting his head fall back so he could look up to the ceiling.

He laughed, like an actual laugh when his head dropped against his shoulders, you sucked hard on his tip and that shut him up right away.

“Oh fuck.” He whispered, his head snapped back down to see you looking up at him when amusement clearly in your pretty eyes.

He shook his head and smiled, “I’d lean down and kiss you, but I’d rather keep you like this.” He grinned, shooting you a wink and puckering his lips to send you a kiss.

“Luckiest man alive.” He groaned pushing his wide cockhead farther back into your throat, his body shivering when you involuntarily swallowed around him and gagged.

“Gonna just… just need-“ he whined, his chin resting against his chest as he sucked in a breath, the muscles across his stomach tightening.

“God damn you.” Breathing out with his cheeks puffed out slightly he angled your head back and made the most angelic sobbing sound you’d ever heard.

“Just be still… be so fucking still m’kay?” His eyebrows raised into a swoop, his eyes closed, nose scrunched up and teeth clamped together with his top lip slightly raised.

“Perfect. Perfect.” He praised you, petting your hair to soothe you as he very, very lightly wrapped his other hand around your throat so he could feel himself there.

“Take a breath.” He told you quietly, you complied, breathing deeply through your nose as your eyes watered heavily. “God… good girl, again.”

“Hold it,” he choked out as he slid oh so slowly farther into your throat, the burning sensation was foreign to you, but it wasn’t wholly bad, it sent a little *zap* of electricity straight to your core.

“Just a little more. Doin’ s-so,” his face scrunched up tightly as he fought to keep control and not just ram his entire length into you like he wanted to. “So good sweetheart. So good.”

“Gotta train this tight throat to take me hmm?” He nodded as if you answer for you. “Yeah? Good.”

“Fuck, f-fuck okay…” he panted, “going deep as I can alright?”

He pushed in until your eyes were so blurry with tears that you could hardly see his cherubic face turn strawberry pink. You swallowed, gagging loudly and triggering Anakin to let out a pained whine.

“God-fuckin’ damn…” he trailed off into a whimper, “shit I could cum… I could fuckin’ oh shit.”

You moaned at the thought of having done practically nothing but listen to instructions and doing it so well that he could cum just from stuffing himself in your mouth. You were *so* glad that you did.

“Baby… baby no, no-” he cried out and hiccuped loudly, thrusting ever so slightly, oh so shallow, “no… no!” He tried to remove his cock slowly but you weren’t having it.

You’d felt him twitch, you felt his muscles tighten and his grip on you had changed, so you braved the last bit and pushed your nose into his groin and nuzzled into his coarse and curly hairs, breathing in his musk before completely cutting off your air supply.

“Fuck!” He grunted, thrusting in tight controlled movements as he shot his hot and salty cum down your throat. “Fuck baby, no… I didn’t-“

“Ah, ah-“ he was a stuttering mess as he slowly extricated himself from your throat. “Don’t you dare… fucking swallow that yet.” He panted.

“Wanna see it.” He moaned, slipping his thumb into your mouth to hold you jaw in place as he watched it ooze down the back of your reddened throat.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He whispered before catching you completely off guard and letting himself drool over your open mouth, the string of saliva dripped down to join his cum and he quickly shut your mouth. Holding your jaw in a tight grip with one hand.

“Now you can swallow.” His free hand brushing away the tears from all your hard work. “Good job. You did so good.”

“Except for the part where you didn’t listen to me.” He said, raising his eyebrows but breaking out into a smile when he saw the prideful grin on your face.

“Tasted good.” You rasped, your throat feeling sore already as you stuck out your tongue to prove you’d swallowed every drop.

“Hmph.” He snickered. “Knew you’d like it.”

He tapped the head of his cock on your tongue just for good measure before he lowered you onto your back. His hand creeping down your tummy and back home between your slicked folds.

“You hear that sweetheart?” He chuckled, pushing his fingers back inside your warm, gummy walls. “So wet you’re squelching baby.”

“Ani…” you shied away, hiding your face.

“Ah-ah, no ma’am.” He softly chided, peeling your fingers back while his other hand stayed between your thighs. “Be proud of it.”

“All this is f’me isn’t it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Uh huh.” You nodded embarrassedly.

“That’s right.” He nodded along with you. “Be proud of it,” he scissored his fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, “my favorite sound.” He smirked.

“But I think I’ll have a new favorite soon, yeah?” He smiled, removing his fingers and licking them clean before giving his cock a few quick strokes while he pushed your legs up and to the sides of your torso.

“What’re you doing?” You panted, still trying to catch your breath.

“Never done it like this?” He asked, his mouth quirking into a smile when you shook your head no.

“Oh well you’re gonna love it.” He snickered. “M’hold your knees to the bed like this.” He demonstrated, locking you into place beneath him while your cunt was on full display.

“Then I’ll just,” he sighed as he thrust slowly to drag the tip of his cock back and forth through your folds until it caught in the dip of your soaked hole. “Push into this pretty little pussy.”

He sucked in a deep breath and looked at you for permission which you eagerly gave. His cockhead gently entering your cunt despite the dull heated pain that followed his gentle descent. You whined at the stretch, the position you were in only making it worse.

“Shh, I know doll. I know I’m sorry.” He whispered, “you can do it baby. You can take me.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a sharp intake of breath following his short shallow thrusts to ease you into it. His cock was only half way, but the way he had you folded made you feel so, so full.

“Rub your clit f’me huh?” He instructed, “there, that’s it. Good girl.”

“Little circles hmm? That feels good?”

“F-feels good Ani.” You nodded, a breathy moan leaving you.

“Mmm.” He mumbled, slowly sheathing himself to the hilt.

“Fuck… oh you feel so deep.” You gasped.

“M’deep alright.” He chuckled, “like it?”

He circled his hips paired with short strokes that left you breathless. You couldn’t speak, you could only grip the head board and watch him slide in and out as you made wet, lewd, slapping noises each time he hit home.

“Yeah, you like it huh?” He teased, shifting you slightly, instead of his hands in the crook of your knees he slid them beneath you and gripped your shoulders.

“Relax okay?” He said softly, lowering himself down to rest lightly on your chest. “Good, just like that. Wrap those sexy little legs around me.”

“Better?” He hummed, the new angle was less intense but equally pleasurable, he’d only done that to show off. *shithead*

“Better.” You nodded, your hands exploring his toned back, lightly scratching along his shoulder blades.

“How do you want it princess?” He asked, “however you want it, I’ll give it to you.”

“Deep n’ slow.” You mewled, feeling every ridge and vein in your slick heat.

“Mmm of course you do.” He chuckled, “wanna be filled don’t you baby?” He nibbled on your earlobe, thrusting hard and dragging himself back out slowly, a delicious combination that had your head spinning.

You could only imagine what it would feel like if he’d left his jewelry in. It might be too much, he was already bullying your sweet spot with each plunge of his rolling hips. He’d render you useless if he added much more…

Of course, he did.

He slurped and lapped and your already raw and red nipples, having your cunt contracting around him rhythmically.

“Ani- Anakin please.” You begged, not really knowing what for.

“Words baby.” He grunted, pulling the sensitive bud with his teeth, releasing it slowly so that it rolled against teeth and lips on its way back to its natural position.

“T-too much.” You hiccuped.

“Need me to stop?” He asked, slowing down.

“N-no!” You shook your head frantically, “no don’t.”

“Then what do you need sweetheart?” He cooed.

“Cum… need to-“ you keened, your forehead resting in the crook of his neck.

“Oh I see.” He chuckled, “reach back down there for me m’kay? Pinch your poor puffy clit.”

“This?“ you slurred out.

“Does it feel good?” He grinned.

“Uh huh.” You whimpered.

“Then do it just like that.” He smirked. “Poor thing.”

“Got you all stupid don’t I?” He snickered.

“Nngh.” You tried to protest but unfortunately he silenced you with his tongue, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it.

He shushed you playfully and started to drill into you at steady pace, his cockhead kissing the deepest part of your core each and every time.

As strange as it is to say: his cock felt at home when it was buried inside you. Like all you’d been missing your whole life was this.

“C’mon doll, you can do it.” He mumbled, his forehead pressed to yours. “Cum for me pretty girl. Let me hear it.”

All you could do was try your best to breathe as your nails dug into his skin. He hissed in pain but it only made his wicked smile wider.

“That’s right princess, tear me to pieces if you need to.” He grinned. “I’ll wear ‘em proud, yeah? Show off those pretty marks.”

You nodded, biting your lip, “Ani.” You whispered, “m’so close.”

“I know baby” He said, kissing your nose gently. “Can feel you gripping me.”

“Where do you want it?” He panted, “want me to paint you with it?”

“Gods… m-my pussy.” You nodded, “cum on me.”

“Filthy minx.” He laughed. “You got it.” He clicked his tongue and slightly changed his angle to really drive the nail into the coffin that would trap you.

He’d killed your need for anyone else. No body. Absolutely no one, could wreck you like Anakin had. You were right.

You were so right.

Your body had been screaming for him all this time because it knew. It knew that he was meant to be yours. Now that he was, you’d never let him go.

So you held on tightly as you sunk your teeth into the meaty corded muscle of the curve of his neck and fought to keep yourself from drowning as he fucked you into oblivion. The fire had burnt so brightly that it blinded you in an instant, hot flames licking at your insides as your body stiffened to escape the sizzling sensation that enveloped your entire being, body and soul.

The come down was slow, like the natural transition from inferno to lukewarm coals.

You were semi-aware of Anakin pulling out and stroking himself wildly over your spent and quivering pussy until his hot seed splattered across the soon to be sore apex of your thighs.

He crooned, pulling you to his chest and holding you tightly as though we were afraid you’d drift away.

You stayed like that until morning when you awoke to find him cooking breakfast, in just his boxers and socks.

Diary Entry

Baby. I knew you needed me. I knew you loved me. I knew you’d be perfect for me.

Never been so fucking proud of you. Taking me so well, letting me stretch out that pretty pink pussy. Gods it was just…

Listen. I already knew you were divine, I knew you held the elixir of life. The nectar of the gods. I knew that. I’d felt it, tasted it.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was the way you were so warm and welcoming, you just fit me so well. You were made for me, nothing could ever describe how truly perfect last night was. Nothing.

Then… then when you were trying your hardest, working that tight virgin throat to take me… I’d almost forgotten that I’d uncovered the lens on your camera.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I caught our first time on camera and lord have mercy I have watched it an unhealthy amount of times since I got back home.

You just look so fucking sexy.

I’d dreamed it. Imagined it. Even made it happen. But seeing it in person, up close, consensually? I’d never in my wildest dreams thought it could be that good. I’m amazed I lasted long enough to get past your tongue.

Diary Entry: August 3rd

Now I just need my little doe to love Ghost too.

I’ve been thinking about it. I even considered abandoning the idea all together because I was so thrilled I’d finally got you. But I realized, you’d be disappointed.

You’ve come to enjoy Ghost I think. Whether you admit it or not.

I’ve seen your face when you come home and find a flower or some candy. I always put it in the kitchen so I can see you clearly. It’s adorable.

You pop your head around the door when you come home like you’re expecting me to be standing there with a hatchet. I can see the fear in your eyes. Then you’ll see a little note from me and you smile. Then scan the room for those cameras you’ve become semi-aware of after wiping that happy expression from your face.

Or maybe I’m just really selfish. Because I don’t want to give up this game just yet. I need you to love both sides of me. Maybe it’s just too much fun. I’ve really been getting a kick out of it.

I see you when you scan the area while walking around with me, I feel you inch alittle closer, hold my hand alittle tighter, everytime we walk past someone dressed in all black. Nobody in their right mind would walk out in broad daylight in a Ghostface mask baby. Don’t be ridiculous.

But maybe he’d walk around like that at night? Maybe snatch you up on a Friday night after a fun outing with your friends? Drag you into an alley and fuck you senseless? I bet you’d like it. I know you’d like it.

But I’ll ease you into it. I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to accept that you want Ghost to do those nasty things to you.

BOT IS READY!! Let me know if he’s good, I tried. Apparently stalkers are difficult for AI

PART NINE

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot t @hopesworlld @lonaah @t8Izw @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin x you #sw anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #james kelly #starwars fandom #star wars x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #anakin #anakin skywalker x you #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader

[cactuswaterscactusfields]

Him.

I wrote this instead of sleeping. I have no regrets. Reader is femme coded and 18+.

OR

When you find yourself accidentally walking in your Master, Anakin Skywalker, you're affected more than you think. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, so was he.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff (just the tiniest bit tho), this is filthy, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Bathroom Sex, dirty thoughts, Force Mind Reading, Breaking the Jedi Code (fuck the Jedi code), Hand and Finger King (squint and you'll see it), Sex Pollen, Muscles, and an Alien planet.

crossposted here on ao3

Thank you to Rio and Cilantro for inspiring this and also being there as I wrote it. You guys are the best!

All you can think about is him. Him. With those water beads running down that sinfully muscular bare chest, that tiny white towel covering his waist, just barely disguising the girth of his member, those muscular legs that could crush you in bed..maker, what is wrong with you? You quickly turn to leave the fresher, of course, you didn’t mean to walk in on him. You’re just his padawan, you’re just his student. You’re nothing more. You can’t have feelings, you’re a Jedi. What would the other padawans think? What would they think of you, having these thoughts about your master, the Anakin Skywalker, about the man supposed to be training you? You look around as you push the door of the fresher open, the pink sky of some alien planet other than Coruscant gleaming above. You pause.

Sweet. Like flowers. Like warmth, straight to your core, you can feel your heartbeat in your center, pounding away. God, your panties are so slick they’re borderline soaked. There’s some kind of pollen in the air, and you lift your hand towards it. The gentle green grains settle on your palm, bright against the sky, vibrant against your skin. Is this some plant’s pollen? Your inner academic calls to you, ask your master! He’d know–

That’s right. Your naked master, with his massive muscles, bare less than ten feet from you, you could turn at any moment and see him again, surely it wouldn’t hurt, right? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him fresh out of a hot, steamy shower, drying that delicious sandy blonde hair of his, removing that towel from his waist to change, that rippling scar against his perfect face, surely it wouldn’t…

No.

You’re a jedi. You’re soon to be a knight. Your whole life, you have studied and prepared, prepared to fight for the Republic, prepared to die for the cause you were born with. You cannot lose your way. The code is life. No attachments, the code reads out, clearer than a Nabooian summer day. No attachments. Not to your master, not to your life, not to the things you find..so deliciously attractive. 

You shake your head, trying to clear it again, and continue walking..before a warm, strong, perfectly tanned hand wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards, further, further, and you’re suddenly in the fresher, the door sliding shut silently in front of you, and you’re pressed into the wall, steel and ice cold against your cheek, and the hand around your middle begins to fiddle with the wraps holding your robe together. “You should really keep your thoughts to yourself, padawan.” His voice is so perfectly baritone, so perfectly deep against your ear, the hot breath of his voice whispering past your ear and sending earthquakes to your core. You can see out of the corner of your eye, more of that strange green pollen filtering in through the air vents, and his other hand presses your face further into the wall, icey and so, so hot, the perfect juxtaposition that rocks your mind.

 “Fuck the code.” He finally finishes pulling the straps of your robes apart, sliding them down your shoulders, revealing more and more of your skin until all that is left is your chest wrap and underwear. His hand slides up from pinning your head, and it coils itself into your hair before twisting and gripping and pulling. Maker, his blue eyes burn themselves into your retinas, filled with a fire you’ve never seen before, filled with a light that you never imagined you’d be able to experience. It’s feral. Inhuman, with darkness and desire in his eyes, with those slightly pointed canines of his glinting in the light, as he runs his tongue across his lips. 

“Maker, you’re gorgeous. You have no kriffing idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He runs his hand up your chest, before running his thumb along your bottom lip and pushing. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, and you immediately begin to wet them with your tongue. They taste like warmth, gunsmoke, like a thousand memories left unsaid, like a thousand salty tears caught. Maker, he tastes absolutely divine.

He pulls them out, a slight string of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips, and he looks down before growling at the sight of your still-covered core. He flicks his hand, and the underwear rips to shreds.

The back of your mind laments at the loss of a nice pair of undergarments, but it’s quickly replaced with a blazing hot need as he lowers his fingers, closer, closer, Maker they’re right there, and..he stops. 

“Padawan..we shouldn’t do this.” His voice, no longer animal and rumbling, less a tsunami and more a gentle entering tide, moves away from your ear.

“Master, I…” Your voice, reduced to the tiniest little whine, sounds strangely far from your ears. 

“It’s the pollen. My master, Obi-Wan, had told me about pollens on certain planets that could negatively affect how a soldier performs, and even affect us Jedi, but...I didn’t know this would be what he meant.” His hands start to slide away from you, but before you think, your hands secure themselves around his, keeping him pressed against you, wrapped around you.

“P-please. Don’t-don’t..don’t let go..” You whimper out, and he growls, deep in his chest and throat. You can see that green pollen swirling in the air again, and it flows into your nose, down your throat, into your lungs before you can even think. Maker, you’re so hot. You’re burning up, like someone tossed you into a volcano and the only escape is your master absolutely ruining you. It doesn’t look like it’s affecting him any less, you can feel something absolutely rock hard pressing into your back, right into the triangle bone below your spine, just above your ass.

“P-Padawan. We-we really..fuck…oh, fuck the code..” He snarls into your ear, re-coiling his hand into your hair, pulling back, and his fingers quickly find your entrance before pushing.

Oh maker, you’re so full. The stretch of his thick fingers is almost painful, and he pushes further, further, you’re so full, you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, oh maker. And then he begins to rub, his thumb pressing right on your clit.

You feel like you’re out of the galaxy. His fingers are pressing right against the spot that makes you cry, that makes you sob with need, that makes you moan his name as if it’s a prayer to the only maker you’ve ever needed to believe in. Maker, his fingers are too big, there’s no way they’re going to fit, you feel so tight. 

And then it spreads. The tingling, flickering like fire all over your body, down to the tips of your fingers, up your hands, up your arms, closer and closer to your core, you feel like you’re running toward a cliff edge, sprinting closer, closer, closer, the band in your stomach tightening, tightening, and then you jump.

Maker, it’s like you’re flying, for a moment, and then you explode.

Like electricity soaring out from an arc tower, like a volcano erupting across a massive landscape, fusion at the seismic level, the white-hot pleasure races through your body, crackling and rushing, like a massive hurricane smashing into the dams and barriers of your Jedi core. Falling, falling, falling for what feels like an eternity, as wave after wave after wave breaks through you, crushing you, shockwaves out across the room, the base, the planet, the whole universe. You’re alive. Like the whole of the force flows through you, you’re alive. So, so, beautifully present, like the whole of the Jedi Council could burst in at any moment and it wouldn’t affect how happy you are. The pleasure is indescribable, spreading from his fingers through you, to the whole world. Your heart beats to the drum of your shocks, loving and so, so aware yet unaware. His fingers slow, you can tell from somewhere, and the volcano finally starts to cool. 

You finally feel yourself starting to return to your body, your whole body cooling, breathing, maker, you’ve never felt so alive.

“That was gorgeous. You have no idea how beautiful your force signature was, Padawan.” He purrs into your ear, and you feel your cheeks redden impossibly further. He removes his fingers, and they’re covered in your clear, salty juices. He brings them up to his lips, before licking. He licks his fingers clean, before smiling and pulling you back from the wall, twisting you to face him, and finally releasing you

Jellylegged, you collapse into the wall, sliding down, and you look up at him. Maker, he’s so perfect. Rock hard, his member is huge. He crouches down to eye level, before running his thumb softly across your cheek.

“My padawan. Meet me tonight in the bunks. Don’t be seen.” He smiles that fanged smile, sending another shock to your blissfully used core. 

“Y-y..yes, master.” You giggle out, and he shakes his head chuckling.

“Just one orgasm, and you’re already reduced to a blubbering mess? What will I ever do with you, beautiful?” He presses his lips to your forehead, and for the first time in decades, you feel loved.

He starts to pull your robes back around you, affixing them and tying their straps, before helping you slowly stand. He runs his hand through his hand, and aside from the occasional green pollenite specks, he looks..normal. He pulls his robes and armor on, already back to the honorable and powerful Jedi Knight that padawans and separatists alike fear.

You, on the other hand, are nowhere near that. Your hair is everywhere, your face flushed, your clothes still messy and lopsided, and your eyes are…so glassy. 

“Clean yourself up, Padawan. I need to go make sure Jesse hasn’t killed someone yet.” He turns to leave, before looking back at you one last time, those gorgeous blue eyes leaving you so, so hungry for more.

#anakin fanfiction #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #smut #star wars smut #star wars x reader #star wars fanfic #sw fanfic #star wars #the clone wars #star wars clone wars

[suguruspit]

"Have you earnt it?"

Vampire!Gojo uses you to feed and he won't stop until he's full.

MDNI! / 18+ Gojo/Reader, vampire au, smidge of fluff mostly smut

Tags: overstimulation, dirty talk, squirting, cockstuffing, dominant tones, breeding kink, mentions of blood (it's a vampire fic), oral sex, f!reader, begging

"I said to sit still," Gojo mumbles into your neck, adjusting your hips on his lap. You were sat facing him, his cock being kept warm inside. "Or did you forget how to take orders?"

You whimpered into his neck, you desperately needed to adjust the angle, your hips were aching. He was nestled right against your g-spot, making it a painful pleasure the entire time you sat still, you'd already been poised for fifteen minutes whilst Gojo just admired his view.

" 'toru, please" You whisper, tears thick on your lashes as he hums and kisses your neck, scraping his fangs lightly against your pulse point making you gasp and grind your hips down on reflex. "Please"

"Please what?" Satoru teases, a grin plastered on his face as he trails a hand down your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples to elicit those sweet, soft moans from you. "You need to tell me what you want, I'm perfectly content to stay buried in this sweet pussy all night."

You huff at that, you both knew he wouldn't last another fifteen minutes like this without moving, his impulsivity was one of the things you loved deeply about him, and in this situation it works in your favour.

Pulling back to look in Satoru's face, you pout and brush a lock of white hair away from his eyes.

"Baby," You trace a finger along his lips, a fingertip brushing against sore fangs lightly dimpling his lips. His body shudders, and the hands on your hips tighten. "Don't you need to feed? I bet you're feeling so hungry."

You finish your sentence with a roll of your hips, biting your lip as he groans and thrusts up, the both of you moaning at the change of pace.

"Fuck," He mumbles, he spins the both of you to lay you down beneath him, you squeal as he starts pressing hungry kisses down your chest. "You're so fuckin' perfect babe, 'course I need to feed, need to taste you so bad".

You moaned at the feeling of his mouth on your hipbones, squirming as he nips the height of the bone, and trails his tongue down to your thighs, sucking little bruises as he goes.

Feeling dizzy from pleasure, you glance down and your eyes almost roll back at the sight below you. Satoru looks sex-drunk, his cheeks and nose pink from arousal, spit glistening his lips as a string of spit connects him to your thigh. His icey-blue eyes are blown wide and are a stark contrast to the messy white hair that you currently have your hands buried in. You didn't know how you got so lucky, but you'd never complain about life again as long as you got fucked by a god tonight.

"Satoru," You whine pathetically at the lack of contact to your arousal, you can feel the slick cooling on your thighs and your cheeks redden.

"Lemme taste you first," Satoru mumbles into your thigh, nipping again just to see the blood rush to your skin, inhaling your scent.

"I thought vampires go for the neck?" You tease, hips canting down as his breath ghosts over your pussy, causing it to flutter with anticipation.

Satoru laughs, kissing your pussy sweetly. He glances up at you, and oh, his eyes have darkened.

"I do what I want," is all the warning you get as he dives in, sucking at your clit like a starving man, making you arch your back off the bed and claw at his hair.

He started slow at first, sucking and flicking his tongue against it gently as if to get you prepared for what comes next. You feel a smile against you, and then two fingers shoved roughly into your hole.

You scream, shoving a hand in your mouth as Satoru groans and starts pumping his fingers in and out fast, your slick gathering on them and glistening. He's still swirling a tongue around your sensitive bud, fangs catching occasionally and making you shudder with the overstimulation.

"Fuck, fuck, Satoru," You chant, shoving your hips down as you try to ride his face and meet his hands with the thrusts. He was hitting your g-spot with curled fingers and you could feel your orgasm building quickly.

"Come," Satoru demands, his mouth leaving your cunt as he turns hungry eyes to you. "Do as your told."

Your eyes roll back as you feel your orgasm wash over you, Satoru's fingers quickening and you feel your pussy tightening as you come and come, sobbing as you feel yourself get oversensitive to the constant assault on your clit from the inside.

"S-stop," You beg, tears falling down your face, your hips still moving to follow his movements despite your begging. " 's too much,"

Satoru laughs, moving his free hand to press down on your stomach lightly, his arm angling upwards as his fingers continue, the wet sounds encompassing the room have you screwing your eyes shut.

"No," He replies, his tone bored. His eyes have got a red shine to them, fangs glistening with your cum as he grins viciously at you. "Want you to squirt, before I feed. Need you at your sweetest."

You stare incredulously at him, tits bouncing as he adds a third digit, swirling it around your clit first to gather spit and cum as lube. You haven't been able to that since the first time it happened, you didn't even know if you could do it on command.

"Satoru, I don't know if I can," You confess, moaning as he starts circling your already abused clit with his tongue once again. He doesn't even answer you, just nods at your pointedly and doubles his efforts.

You didn't have the time to second guess yourself, because Satoru sucks your clit once before moving to bite your thigh hard, and you feel something in you snap as an orgasm crashes over you unexpectedly, wetness gushing out of you as you squirt all over his hand as he praises you. Your jaw is slack as you let out something between a sob and a scream.

"Good girl," Satoru praises softly, kissing your thighs as he helps you ride out the aftershocks. "So good for me, baby"

He cleans your mess with his tongue, suckling gently at your folds and making sure to get every last drop. You feel him move up, arms either side of you as he frames you.

He kisses your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself on him, biting his lip as he pulls away, making him laugh. He uses his thumb to part your lips, brushing away the drool that had gathered in the corners.

"Look at you, already fucked dumb and we aren't even slightly done."

He lines himself up with your pussy, slapping his dick against your puffy clit a couple of times, gathering the remnants of your come as that was the only lube he was going to grant you.

You feel the head of his dick push into you, you muffle your scream into his shoulder, your hands gripping his back for dear life as you feel him bottom out.

"Fuck," Satoru swears, dropping his head to your shoulder. "So fucking tight, I could fuck you all night, stuff you full and you'd still feel like this."

You just nod and sob at everything he says, you can't focus as he starts moving, his hips thrusting sharply and making you so full. You could feel him in your throat, he was so big it bordered on painful, and you felt drool leak out of your mouth.

" 'toru, 'toru," You chant, babbling out nonsense, craning your neck to the side, the drool and sweat settling messily in your collarbone like a work of art. "Bite me. Please, want it, baby, please"

Satoru laughs shortly, slamming his hips into yours as he moves a hand up to grip you lightly at the throat causing your pussy to flutter around him. He presses your head to the side as he leans in, warm breath on your pulse.

"Should I?" He laughs, trailing his tongue around your pulse point, adding pressure as he feels it throb underneath him. "I don't know, have you earned it?"

"Yes!" You sob, fingernails digging into his back hard enough to break skin, your heels digging into the small of his back as he keeps pounding. You can feel your third orgasm of the night building, your slick leaking out around his dick to form a creamy ring. "Please, I can't, I wanna come, want to feel you"

Satoru groans, his hips stuttering. He never could deny you.

"Fuck, fuck," He huffs, his pace speeding up and becoming unsteady as he feels himself getting closer "Fuck, baby, you want me to bite you?"

"Yes!" You can feel the familiar dam from before swirling in your gut, your pussy tightening and your thighs warming.

It was instant, his fangs pierced your neck, your gasp getting lost in his groan as he sucks and sucks, the warmth of your blood filling his mouth and you feel his jaw tighten, the bite deepen, as he starts to come.

His hips keep pumping, his seed filling you up and spilling out from the sides of his dick from the sheer amount and you feel your vision black out as you come hard, squirting around him for a second time. You feel him detach, licking the wound as he slows his pace, rocking his hips to help you through your orgasm gently.

It seems to last forever, and you're thoroughly fucked, but you still whine as he pulls out and presses apologetic kisses to your shoulder, trailing his fingers down to plug your pussy, stopping to gather the come that had leaked out, pushing it back in.

He drops next to you, peppering your face with kisses as you laugh and playfully push his face away from you, wincing as it pulls at the fresh bite-wound on your neck.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, blue eyes full of concern, his forehead rested against yours.

You hum.

"Just the right amount," You soothe him, your hands carding through his hair. Fuck, you could see both slick and blood on his fangs. "Did you get enough?"

Satoru grins, letting his fangs hang out completely.

"Oh not nearly enough," He assures, the fingers in you slowly starting to move again as your eyes widen in surprise.

"Satoru," You breathe.

"I told you, I'm fucking you all night. I've not taken my fill yet, princess.".

//

please let me know if you enjoyed! first time writing reader for jjk but I have both choso and toji drafts ^^

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #fem reader #female reader #gojo smut

[xreaderanonaccount]

HIII!!!! is it ok if i can request some smut with Dottore? :33 the webtoon verison specifically pls. And i would like it to be fem reader if ur comfortable with that!! if not i understand.

Synopsis: Webttore needs to remind you who you belong to after a certain Red hair tavern owner had the audacity to talk to you. Especially when you wear such a pretty dress.

Tags: NSFW MINORS DNI, Afab Reader, Jealousy, rough sex, semi-public, orgasam denial, light choking, grinding,

A/N: YES FINALLY AN EXCUSE TO WRITE FOR WEBTTORE, I have loved this man since the very beginning.

Words : 1.6K

You were just idly chatting with the owner of the Dawn Winery. You’ve heard about him before as Lord Regrator was talking, well more like ranting, about the owner. He was a handsome man you must admit but you can’t help but to wander your gaze over to your dear lover who was glaring at the two of you. 

“I’m still in awe that you are in love with Lord Dottore.” Diluc’s voice snapped you back into your conversation. 

“Why yes, he is everything I love in a man.” You felt your cheeks heat a bit as you talked about Dottore a bit. Diluc just nodded his head in politeness as he sipped on his drink. The party seemed to be going nowhere and you were just bored out of your mind. Luckily Diluc seemed to be in the same boat so you two chatted it up. You wanted to know more about this Lord Ragnvirdr of the Dawn Winery, just in case you can have some leverage against Lord Regrator. As you two continue a random conversation a white haired man approaches you two. 

“Lord Ragnvirdr, master Alberich is here to see you.” The white haired man spoke. Diluc nodded his head as he handed his glass to a random butler.

“It was nice talking with you madam, hope you enjoy the night.” Diluc smiled gently, taking your hand in his, he was about to plant a kiss on your knuckles before you were ripped away from his grasp. You gasped as you were dragged away from Diluc who he and the white haired man looked confused. You turn to see your assailant and spot the icey blue hair bouncing with each step. You knew who it was, very well. 

“D-Dottore!” You stammered as you were continued to be pulled away. Dottore’s grip was harsh on your wrist as he pulled you through the twist in turns of the Cathedrals till you two were in a very secluded part of the Cathedral. Dottore shoved you against the wall entrapping you within his arms. His ruby red eyes stared straight to your core. His shark-like teeth catching a glint of the moonlight. 

“Dottore?” You whispered, you wanted to say something else but the thought was quickly thrown out as Dottore slammed his lips onto yours. His lips were rough and chapped as he was passionate about taking the air out of your lungs. You felt as his hand dragged down to the slit of your dress trailing up your exposed skin. You gasp as Dottore gives a harsh slap onto your thigh giving Dottore access to your mouth. He plunged his tongue down your throat, you tried to pull out but Dottore used his free hand to take hold on your throat. Giving it a light squeeze. When he finally decided to part you were taking deep breaths trying to catch your breath. You watched curiously as he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“How dare he. '' You barely hear him whisper, you let out a curious what before yelping in pain as Dottore bites down hard on your exposed shoulder. He continued biting your shoulder going up and down. You were moaning in a mix of pleasure and pain as his shark teeth sank down on your shoulder, drawing blood. When he finally finished his ruthless attack on your shoulder he pulled back giving a soft cackle as he admired his handiwork. 

“What would he think, hm?” He smirked as he was only inches from your face.

“Who?” That answer seemed to piss Dottore off as he flipped you around pressing your chest against the stone wall, the cold biting into your skin. You felt his hand snake around your throat again and the other slipping your dress slowly over your hips exposing your now soaked panties. You shivered as you felt his hand tracing slowly up till it was resting on your rear end. He pressed himself against you, feeling his hard on against your ass. 

“Do you know what you do to me?” Dottore started as he started to slowly grind against your ass, “What this does to me?” Moans kept falling out of your mouth as he teased you. The hand that was around your throat slowly trailed down till he was cupping your breast. Kneading it and pinching your nipples through your dress. 

“P-please, I need you.” You whimpered pushing yourself against him. 

“Oh so you want me now? How about when he was talking to you?” Dottore sneered at the mere mention of him. Him? Who was he talking about- oh… the Dawn Winery owner, Diluc.You tried to protest but Dottore slammed his lips back on you gnawing on your lips. Finally, finally Dottore gave you the grace of touching you. You felt his hand push your panties aside, giving your vagina a slight tease, spreading your juice around before plunging three digits straight into your vagina. You moaned loudly into his lips as he set a rough pace, pistoning his fingers in and out. The sinful sound of your juices echo across the empty hall. Dottore removed his hand trailing his fingers down to your clit giving it slow uneven circles. You pulled away from Dottore’s kiss giving a pornographic moan, throwing your head against his shoulder. You pushed your hips back meeting Dottore’s fingers midway, setting your own pace. 

“Please, please, please” You were breathless chanting, hoping for Dottore to give you that sweet release. Your walls clenched around his fingers, the coil in your stomach ready to snap but was ripped away as Dottore pulled his fingers out of your soaking vagina. You let out a high pitch whine from the empty space inside you. You were roughly turned around, your legs instinctively wrapping around Dottore’s waist. You stare as you watch Dottore unbuckle his slacks only allowing for his dick to spring free. Dottore chuckled as he gave a teasing couple of thrust, his dick giving your clit some stimulation. You panted as you watched Dottore pull away a bit, lining up his dick to your hole. You couldn’t watch Dottore plunge his dick into you as he captured your attention again by muffling your moans with his lips. His pace was brutal as he slammed himself deep into you, pulling away till he was almost out and slamming back in. The once quiet hallway was now filled with sin. As the slapping of his balls against your ass and your muffled moans echoed in the hallways. He continued his brutal pace, he pulled his mouth away from yours allowing his soft moans to fall on your ears.

“You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.” He cackled as he smiled watching his dick disappear into your soaking vagina. You walls are sucking him in more and more, greedily taking his dick like it was the last dick on Teyvat. 

“Look at how good I make you feel darling. You're practically sucking me in.” He smirked as he started to draw circles against your clit. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back from all the stimulation that he was giving you. You can feel your coil winding up again, you chanted Dottore’s name like he was Barbatos himself.

“Yes, keep saying my name. Let him hear you. Let everyone here in this god forsaken country that you're mine. Mine.” He snarled as he picked up his already brutal pace. The stimulation overwhelming you the coil kept winding and winding.

“C-cum, please let me cum.” You were able to get out in between moans. 

Dottore snickered, “You want to come? Sure then, but scream my name, yell it to the Tsaritsa herself. Let everyone know who you belong to.” Obliging with his request you shouted his name to the stars. 

“Dottore. Dottore. Dottore!” You moaned loudly practically chasing your high, which Dottore gracefully allowed. You clamped down hard against Dottore’s dick cumming down hard on him. You gave a final shout of his name before you slouch against the wall. Dottore continued fucking you through your high, cumming a few moments later. You felt his thick seed filling you up and spilling out as he pulled out. You both were panting as Dottore fished something inside his pocket. You tried to get up but was pushed back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” You softly asked, watching as he kneeled before you pulling an object out of his pocket. You shivered as you watched him trace his finger scooping up his cum and shoving it back inside your vagina before plunging something teardrop shape into your vagina. You yelped at the foreign sensation. Dottore chuckled as he got up pulling your dress down. 

“Don’t want any of that falling out.” He gave a wicked smile, as he took a couple steps back. You pushed off the wall soothing down your dress and hair, fishing in your purse for your compact comb. 

“Come now darling, let’s head home. This part is a bore.” He offered jerking his head towards the exit. You nodded as you took a step forward. But you suddenly dropped to the floor, your knees giving out. Dottore was already a few steps ahead before he heard your fall. He turned his head and saw you trying to get up. He cackled as he walked up to you.

“You look like a newborn deer trying to get up.”  You cursed him as you tried to straighten up but your knees were not giving you the strength. 

“Hmph, come now dear. Can’t have you looking like this.” He smirked as he looped his arm around yours guiding you out to the exit. 

“I’m going to have marks all over my neck.” You muttered as you two left the cathedral, the night wind blowing against you. 

“Now people will know who you belong to.” He sneered as he strong armed you towards the Goth Grand Hotel in where Lord Regrator rented out the hotel. You rolled your eyes as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“And who said I’m going to hide it?” Dottore gave a hearty laugh as you two continued your nighttime stroll to the Hotel. 

A/N: divider credits: cafekitsune

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin smut #dottore x female reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore #dottore #genshin x reader smut

[berriblossom]

Wriothesley x Fem reader!|@sparklycupcake56

It was a late evening within the fortress of Meropide. The small sounds of water dripping down the pipes, the echoes of random clinks, and clacks within the large halls of the metal prison.

However, within the warm and not often cozy office of the warden, the formidable and somewhat cold Duke of the hollow fortress.

Was light jazz. And soft piano? What could be going on?

Giggles and chuckles of laughter circle around the room as Wriothesley held your warm hand in his calloused and rougher one, your head leaning onto his strong chest, and his head resting a top if yours.

The Duke often held these warm and tender moments whenever he knows no one will interrupt or ruin the moment. However today he happily accepted your request to dance with him.

"Pleeeassse! You've been sitting down all day! One itty bitty dance won't kill you!" You whined beside him as he calmly drank his leftover tea. From the outside it looks frankly like he is flat out ignoring you, but behind the rim of the teacup he held, a small smile adorned his face. Wriothesley would never admit how cute you were when you nagged him about taking breaks, no matter how creative the method to get him away from his work for even 5 minutes you'll take it.

"And what dance did you have to think of darling? I think for how ling you've mnow me [name] I'm not a huge fan of dancing, especially somehwere like here." Not that anyone woukd interrupt the Duke and his beloved, but Wriothesley still didn't want to run such a risk. [Not like he hasn't before]

However after a few more minutes of begging him to get up from that possibly uncomfortable chair, he finally gave in and joined you in a small slow waltz for a moment. The somberness of the music and the gentle way he held you close to him.

Wriothesley pressed soft and tender kisses to your hair, his other hand holding your waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumb against the cloth of your uniform.

"I'm so lucky to have you darling, so lucky." You glanced uo to see his eyes, icey blue eyes that held nothing but warmth within them. The music softly quieted and came to a close. But Wriothesley still held onto you, swaying with you in a rhythm only in his head. Slow deep hums vibrate out of his chest, feeling his lips curl into s smile against your forehead. He pressed soft kisses onto your face, giggles and laughter sounded through the room.

After you little slow dance, You sat on the couch with Wrio, having a cup of tea as he rested his head on your plump thighs, his hands squeezing the plush of your thights a little as he laid against them. Even when you beg him to stop due to your ticklish nature, he only kept at it by placing small ghost-like kisses and tapping his fingers away at the soft skin on your legs.

Even though you couldn't really see the stars from Meropide, Wriothesley was okay with just staring at you for now. No matter the time, its always a perfect site.

"Ahaha! Okay! Okay! I'll let you back to work or I'll tell Miss Sigewinne to make you a special milkshake!"

This was supposed to go out last week however, i had school, work and had to attend a ceremony for a family friend! Sorry for y lateness hopefully my time blindness will widdle away soon!

#xoxokuki💜 #xokuki blog #xokuki writes #xoxokuki #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #kuki's writing #kukiloves💜 #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin wriothesley #fontaine

[sarahsartistportfolio]

Knight X Princess AU with Albedo

wc: 3,926

Ok so many many months ago I had made this post and the lovely @witch-hazels-musings decided to pick it up and turn it into a series. Back then I had little interest in actually writing fanfic but now I'm dipping my toes in it. And I have the inspiration for knight Albedo so I tried to write. And it ended up pretty long lol

Um there are some author's notes at the end. And Hazel if you end up reading this, your writing is truly such an inspiration. You completely have my blessing if you wanna use anything I wrote here in your own knight series❤

Once upon a time, you’re the youngest princess of Mondstadt.

At the tender age of seven a strange woman approaches your father with a proposal. You watch secretly behind the grey stone wall as this foreign woman talks to your father, the king. The woman’s hands are resting on the shoulders of a child beside her, a little golden-haired boy about your age. You're too young to make out any sense of the conversation they're having. And it isn't until your older brother spots you, and rushes you away that that little boy looks behind him to catch a glimpse of you.

 This mysterious woman not only convinced your father to take this young boy in but also that he will be your future personal knight. 

Your father stands behind tiny you as he introduces you.

“ Y/N, this is Kreideprinz, he’ll be training with the knights of Favonius. You’ll be spending a lot of time together when you're older.”

Albedo’s piercing icey blue eyes seem to look right through. He barely moves, only taking a low formal bow with “Princess.” as his introduction.

You extend a curtsy back towards him(or at least try to, your sister has been desperately teaching you how to perform one right)

Your gruff father’s voice cuts through

“His mentor told me he’s developed a skill for the arts at such a young age. Just like you Y/N.”

This moment marks the start of a fond habit the two of you will share in the many years to come. Given parchment and colorful pastels by your father you and Albedo draw together out in the open courtyard. And although he doesn't say much and you’re a bit too nervous to say anything towards him, you make a small attempt. 

“Kreidepr-”

“Albedo.” he cuts you off with an unchanging neutral expression.

“Please call me Albedo, your highness.”

From that moment forward you two become a familiar presence in each other’s lives. When you weren’t being taught your sixth lesson by your governess and when he was done with training with the order of the knights, you two played together. He would show off his newly learned sword stance or a raw material he was gifted by his teacher in his alchemy lesson. You quickly learned he was a curious child. Not afraid to pick up the creepiest of bugs or tornest of plants.(You even watched him eat a spider much to your shock.) He would tell you random facts about the stars, the weather or flowers that grew on the castle’s grounds. You rarely saw him smile, his expression always remaining so indifferent. It was like he hadn’t learned how to smile yet. 

Meanwhile you shared with Albedo the juicy gossip you overheard from the visiting diplomats or a map you stole from your father’s collection of newly discovered lands from outside your kingdom. You two developed a love of drawing together whenever you both could escape the pressures of the adults. It's peaceful, drawing together on a large piece of paper. Of what you hoped your futures to look like, what countries you’d like to visit, what new foods you’d like to try.

When you’re about 15 years old it's when he officially becomes your guard. You’ve noticed as you’ve grown older Albedo seems to keep his distance from people. Except you, as he’s quite forced to be your shadow. It really feels like nothing has changed at all except now he wears the royal uniform and he’s the first face you see when you wake up and the last before you retire for bed.

You don't quite understand his love for science but you indulge in his hobby nonetheless. You listen to him ramble about experiments and data that just go right over your head. But you really do try to pay attention! Because you consider him your friend now. Plus his voice is so calming, you could listen to him talk about anything for hours. 

On the occasions you are able to, if you find a rare preserved bug or rock said to have fallen from the sky, you gift it to Albedo. (Even if on occasion he says a bit sheepishly “I already have one of these in my collection” he still accepts it from you regardless).

You’re the first one he shares that he’s been gifted a vision. He tells you way too calmly for having been blessed with such a powerful item but you get excited for him.

A few more years pass and Albedo could actually count on one hand how many times he’s actually had to defend you. He’s grateful really, that’s it's been so little, that his job is relatively boring. He’s thankful that so far your life has been safe. 

He does remember although, the first time he ever saw you truly fearful. A few years back when you two were still teenagers. A siege from a neighboring kingdom, one who wanted more power, marched right up to the city’s gates. You and your siblings were barricaded in an enforced room deep within the castle. “If the enemy starts to breach the outer room of these walls, I want you to take my sister and run, escape from here through the underground passage.” Your older brother had told Albedo secretly earlier.

Albedo had never seen you genuinely afraid before that day. As the sounds of screams and combat can be heard from within this room's thick walls. Your clammy and tight grip on his hand never leaves him as your other hand clenched at the fabric of your dress. 

The sound of cannon fire shaking the walls has made you jump in surprise and even has shaken Albedo’s usual calm demeanor.

“We’ll be alright.” He reassures you although his slightly nervous tone betrays his words. He squeezes your hand “I promise we’ll survive this.” 

And it's through your closest friend’s unwavering certainty that you find it in yourself to give him a weak smile and nod. 

And as if the gods hold true to Albedo’s word, the battle never reaches inside the castle. Your loyal army causes the enemy to retreat. Its safe again at last. But when your siblings start to exit the room, You find yourself breaking down. You were trying desperately to hold it together in front of your family but now just in the presence of Albedo tears being to fall. He stops and moves right in front of you, his hand now resting on your shoulder as he tries to brush the tears from your cheeks. A rare look of concern and worry on his face as he quietly calls your name. 

“I’m sorry.” you sniffle and try to regain some composure in your voice. “I’m sorry. Look at me crying while everyone else is relieved. I should be stronger than this. A royal should be stronger than this.” 

As he glances back at the doorway waiting til it's just the two of you left in this room, he embraces you, in this brief quiet moment he holds you close. 

Yes so far you’ve been kept safe. Even skillfully dogaging a marriage proposal or two. 

That is…until the curse catches up to you.

You see there’s been a long past down story that your family will one day suffer from a curse. But that’s all this is right? A story? A story of some ancestor of yours angring a deity or magical creature and getting cursed that one day your royal bloodline will die out. But that’s just a fairy tale right?

It starts with your father the king. But he’s already old and frail so his death, while heartbreaking, is not all too unexpected. Albedo is still there at your side as you lie a flower down on your father’s tomb. 

Now your oldest brother inherits the throne. You’re happy to see him in power, your family has been very close. He’s only about seven years older than you and healthy for his age. 

So two months after his coronation, when he falls ill. It's a shock to you and your two other siblings. The royal doctor has no answer, you call for healers outside your borders, offering huge payments in return. But within a week, your dear brother is gone. 

Albedo watches as you try to put on a strong facade for your sister and brother. But he can see the trembling in your hands. This isn’t normal, this shouldn’t be happening. Let alone to someone as undeserving as you. 

Now Albedo is no doctor but there must be something he can do, some way he can help. He scours the castle library for every book on rare illnesses and even dips into your family’s genealogy. When nothing there serves his pursuit he ventures out into the city, even to the outskirts of Mondstadt for any scrap of information that could help him. 

And within this short time Albedo is searching, your older sister takes the throne and a month later she is dead. 

Albedo watches as you attempt to reassure your last remaining family member. “It's the curse isn’t it?” your brother replies with paranoia. 

But it can’t be. Albedo tries to convince himself. He has studied magic extensively, curses aren’t unheard of but. To think this tragedy would touch you? The only person in his life he considers a friend? 

Albedo is a man of science, of tangible proof that you can hold in your hand. A curse that was placed on your family for some unknown reason, generations ago by most likely some being or person that’s long since passed? He thinks back to when he was 15, glancing to his side as he kneels before the king to take his vow, to see you trying to hold back a gleeful smile as you watch him take his oath to serve by your side till his last dying breath. 

A curse? He will not just bend it but break it completely. 

He neglects you a bit again during this time. So into his research as he has been many times in the past. He reassures you this time it's to help you. Your brother only makes it two weeks before he’s caught a fever. Albedo closes his book, leaves his lab, and returns to your side as you say your last goodbyes to your brother. 

The young man feels as if the world is crumbling beneath his very feet with how fast both of your lives have changed in such a short amount of time. He wants to return to those carefree days of when you two drew together out in the courtyard, not to now where he has to watch the joy leave your eyes, not one where he has to watch you bury your family, where he’ll have to watch you be-

No no no he can’t think like that. Not now. Not when there’s still time to change the future. But he just can’t bring himself to leave your side right now. Not now when your skin is growing pale, you're losing your appetite and your eyes grow tired. You two are friends. He understands this, you taught him what friendship is, what it looks like, feels like. But recently with this suffering that has fallen to you, he can’t feel but feel a new emotion, one he can’t comprehend. Recently he’s had such a strong desire to embrace you more often. Hold your hand. And when you're standing too close caressing his cheek, kiss you. But is this love? Could something that’s not even human grasp such a raw emotion?

“Albedo…” you weakly beckon him closer, offering a piece of charcoal in your hand. He knows why you're doing this. But it won't be the last time, he swears to himself. 

“Remember when we were kids,” you start with your horse voice “I drew us climbing to the top of Dragonspire, that’s what I saw in our future.” you smile nostalgically as you brush off loose charcoal off your paper. 

“We can still do that.” He says unwaveringly. “When your strength returns to you I’ll take you up there. As I’ve done myself many times in the past.” His vibrant blue eyes hold a conviction that you admire so much about him. It's surely one of the reasons you’ve fallen in love with him. All you can do is smile a bit pitfully back at him “Keep your promise.” 

Once you become bedridden he can not will his legs to leave your side. Only once the inconvenient pain of hunger or sleep pulls him away from your side. Although he can not bear to be in the room with you as you dictate your will and last testament to your royal advisor. 

The next morning as he just barely got enough sleep, as he’s making his way to your bedroom he hears faint crying and fear just takes hold of his heart. His trembling knees almost give out at the sight of you lifeless on the bed, your attendants weeping besides you. His mouth dry, eyes wide with dread.

 “She’s alive but she’s asleep…” the priest standing over your bedside says. “Nothing we do will wake her.”

 Albedo stays by your side attentively the next few days. It's true nothing he does or gives to your body will wake you. There’s only the steady rise and fall of your chest and quiet breathing. The image of the princess’s most loyal guard resting at his knees beside your bed with his hand in yours, this image is forever stuck with the servants and remaining court who catch a glimpse of it behind your door. 

“Are you sure about this Albedo?” Jean questions him with concern as she hands him his last supply bag. Albedo sits on top a sturdy horse, at the city’s gate, early in the morning when the sky is still a mix of orange and purple. The sun illuminating the back of the castle, casting a large shadow over the city. It could be the last time he ever sees his home, the last time he ever sees you. “Absolutely.” he answers the grand master. 

This is not an aimless journey for Albedo. He has leads, names, places of interest that have ties to your family’s name. In the beginning he felt immensely guilty. You could have passed away one, two days after he left Mondstadt. He doesn't know how long he’ll be away from your side. He could return to a kingdom in disarray, a power vacuum left by your passing, he could return to see your name on the family tomb. He travels farther and farther. Past the neighboring kingdom Liyue. On a boat to Inazuma, where he watches the leaves fall and snow dust the ground. He’s quiet during this time and single track minded. He rarely interacts with the people living in the lands. Except for when he overhears your name or family's name spoken in a conversation. Then he stops said person and with an impassive expression demands they tell him more. 

On a boat to Sumeru is where his next hunch takes him. As he counts the consolations in the night sky on the rocking ship, he finds his mind drifting back to you. When he sees a woman with your same hair color out of the corner of his eye, he thinks of you. When he sits at his campfire late at night, bathed in an orange glow and sketches, he thinks of you drawing at his side. When, with just the little tools and materials he carries on him, he’s able to transform one element to the next, he thinks of your face of innocent amazement as you applaud him for what he believes is a simple feat. Archons he misses the sound of your voice. 

With nothing to show for his efforts in Sumeru he treks through the sweltering hot desert for Fontaine. Catching a small boat to the port he recalls a memory from your shared childhood. He remembers as children you two would talk about traveling to vast unknown lands when you were older. Now he has slain so many alien beasts, came face to face with ancient deities that have been around since the stars formed, he’s walked through lands that didn't even feel real, like he was walking through a dream. There’s now a deep white scar from his wrist to his elbow. He wonders if, no when, you see it will you scold him for being so reckless. He imagines you tenderly tracing the raised skin as you tell him to “please don't be so reckless for my sake”. He smiles. The only time he smiles is when he thinks of home or you. 

He silently promises you that he’ll recount every adventure and monster slain to you when you’re awake. 

By the time he reaches Snezhnaya the usual snow has melted, breathing spring into the once fridgen landscape. Outworldly Albedo looks defeated. His eyes are so tired. And he just misses you so much. He never thought his pursuit to awaken you from your endless sleep would take him so far from the city of freedom. He used to think himself so smart and capable. But even in Snezhnaya every written or spoken word of your family’s curse brings him no closer to the truth. No matter what god he begs to or monster he strikes down he still gets no answers. He recalls the court alchemist telling him “You’re a curious student Albedo. Your perseverance for the truth will lead you far in life.” 

But now as Albedo sits at the far end of a dimly lit tavern, he feels like such a disappointment to you, to the one his heart yearns for. He should have told you he loved you. He should have told you so many months back. But at that time he was still coming to terms with what “love” really felt like. 

If Albedo wasn’t so lost in thought he would have picked up how the tavern’s bard is singing an all too familiar song. Lyrics about a mysterious and silent knight who is on a quest to bring his beloved lover back to life. But Albedo’s mind is ruminating about the past. 

It's only after the music has stopped and the boisterous tavern has quieted down does Albedo take his leave. Although once outside to the oddly soundless streets he hears a voice. 

“You should return home loyal knight.” It's the bard that was singing inside the tavern. His dress and accent oddly Mondstadtan. “This act of love is enough to save her. I felt your devotion long before you arrived here.” 

Yes…maybe it is time to return home.

His journey back home is heavy. As the spring turns into the hot and humid days of summer. But he is returning home empty handed. No real world proof that this curse is even real. I have failed the only person who has mattered to me the most. At this point Albedo desires nothing more than to let his dreary eyes close as he rests at your side, so he can at least tell you he loves you in your dream. 

He’s grateful to see that Mondstadt still looks the same. The castle still stands in the distance. And as he nears the city he overhears the townsfolk speak of you as if you’re still asleep. So all my effort?...All my research?...What good was the pursuit of knowledge if it could not return to him the one he holds dear to his heart. 

At least he can see you one last time. 

As he arrives inside the castle's walls he sees a cluster of favonius knights huddled together, discussing something with vigor. And when a familiar face notices Albedo’s tired and weary figure, they spirit over to him. 

The pure astonishment on his colleague's face is the only thing Albedo’s mind registers as the person word dumps onto him.

All Albedo catches through his hazy thoughts are 

“It's you! You’ve really returned Kreideprinz.-”

“We thought you were-”

“-amazing! Just an hour ago-”

“-she asked for you. First word she said-”

And that’s all Albedo can hear as his feet move on their own to your room. Where all the castle’s attendants are congregating outside your bedroom door, weeping joyfully and thanking Barbados. 

He pushes his way past the crowd and despite his disheveled appearance he’s recognized and allowed to enter. 

He feels like he just stepped into a dream. A beautiful, idealized dream. There you, awake, standing, walking. Talking to one of your ladies before your eyes meet his. So much time has passed. What if you don't recognize him? What if you don’t remember him at all? His own voice caught in his throat as he watches you bring your hand over your mouth. And with pure disbelief in your voice “Albedo?” and that’s all he needed. 

It's as if he’s moving through the haze of a romanticized storybook page, he runs toward you and takes you into his arms. He holds you like you might slip through his fingers at any moment. It's a dream, it must be. Maybe some ghastly creature killed him some time ago and this is celestia. He would happily embrace it.

“Albedo.” you call his name through a broken sob. It's tender, and it's all he wants to hear for the rest of his life, as hot tears roll down his cheek and disappear into your hair. 

And for you? It's like walking straight into heaven, back into your knight’s arms. You’ve missed the touch of his blonde hair and the smell of his clothes. You dreamt about him, over and over again. Even through the endless darkness of your nightmare. Your heart clung to every precious memory with Albedo as if absolutely refusing to forget him. 

He lets out a deep sigh as you can hear the smile in his quiet voice “This is a dream, I’m dreaming.” it’s whispered against your neck. 

You let out a laugh and not even angels above could compare to the sound. 

“I’m real Albedo. I’m right here.” You run your fingers through the loose strands of his hair. “I’m right here.” You prop your chin on his shoulder so he can hear you clearly. “And I love you.”

Ah you beat him to it

All throughout his life you’ve been a consist. You’ve remained by his side even when he’s pushed others away or neglected them. 

Under normal circumstances Albedo would never be this brash but with your warm body under his fingertips he can’t think rationally anymore. 

His lips find yours, and it's all passion and yearning. And a little clumsy, as it's both of your’s first kiss. 

“I love you.” He can finally tell you as you are awake to repeat it back. 

…..

Now, up on top Dragonspire peak, there lies a piece of paper, held down by four rocks on each corner. On the paper is a child’s drawing, depicting a girl wearing a crown and a boy wearing the royal guard seal. They are holding hands, standing triumphantly on top a mountain. 

….

….

Oh and now instead of Mondstadtians telling stories of your family’s curse. Every mother tucking their children into bed, every old storyteller over a bonfire, is now recounting the story of a devoted silent knight, braving the seven corners of Teyvat, all to save his true love.

A/N: So when thinking of what situation to throw knight Albedo and princess reader in, I thought of childhood friends to lovers because it felt so natural. I don’t know, I could totally see Albedo falling for his childhood friend where one day when he’s older he just realizes “oh my god its you. Its always been you.” Thoma would make a great childhood friends to lovers now that I think about it lol. Also thinking about what foil to pit him against. I was thinking ok he’s a scientist. Let me pit him against something he can’t understand, something that can’t be solved with equations or facts, but only by the arbitrary logic of some ancient deity that casted a curse on you. And as a lover of Grimms and Anderson’s fairy tales this was fun to write.

#my writing #genshin impact #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact fanfics #genshin albedo #albedo #genshin impact x you #reader insert #genshin x reader #female reader #knight x princess #childhood friends to lovers #genshin impact au #genshin fic #sfw fanfic #knight x princess au #knightxprincess #genshin x y/n #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo x y/n #genshin x you

[ultralightpoe]

Final Girl Part 2 - Eddie Munson

Authors Note: Clearing out drafts.

Warning: Slasher, cursing, trauma

Word Count:3843

Part One Here

Enjoy!

“THAT WAS AMAZING!” Dustin cries coming out of the theater with wild eyes that make Eddie debate if it was a good idea to get the kid an icey. But at the same time he could not judge his friends excitement because he was just as amazed as the boy, his blood pumping under his skin. 

“I mean the chase scene was insane, when she has to climb through the window of the van?” 

“You just like that her panties flashed.” Eddie laughs, thoughts going back to the lead actress in the tiny slip dress they had put her in, and the way the camera just blatantly showed her ass in the shot. Not that he minded. “Which was an amazing shot.”

“I can’t believe they were upstairs screwing while her best friend was getting her throat slashed. Poor Mila, the main character *knockoff of your name k/y/n* was a shit friend.”

“Exactly! You knew people were dying and you still went to a party to get laid?! I would never leave you behind Dustin.” Eddie smiles, “Okay well maybe for 10 minutes.”

“All it would take you was 2.” Dustin scoffs and Eddie’s eyes widen. 

“Where do you learn to say these things? It’s that Wheeler dweeb isn’t it? Don’t listen to him because I can guarantee he has never even touched 10’s boo-”

“Eleven.”

“Yeah yeah.” Eddie smiles, hand subconsciously moving up to rub at his side from the memory of the girl, flashes of black and red smoke before bats teeth all coming at him at once. The breath gets caught in his lungs as he tries to blink the memories away while Dustin slurps down the rest of the blue icey. 

“You okay?” His curly haired friend asks, blinking slowly. 

“Yeah man,” Eddie forces a smile on his face as he shrugs, forcing his hand away from his side even though he could still feel the stinging. A giggle could be heard closer to the popcorn stand which made Eddie whip around as if there was a chance you would be there. 

This was not your scene, he knew that, and thinking back on it he couldn’t remember ever seeing you in a crowded place before. He didn’t ever see you with…anyone. 

But you had admitted yourself that you liked being alone and he could get that. He hated being alone but it was very easy to find all the loners of the world and form an easy alliance. 

“Munson!” Someone calls, snapping his and Dustin's attention over to where Paul was coming through the theater doors, mohawk and all. “Hey man. Rock on.”

“You here to see ‘Slashed’?” Eddie asks, a smile spreading across his face slowly as the punk rocker smiles himself. 

“You know it, man.” He laughs, bringing his tattooed hands up to hold a mask just like the one from the movie to his face. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Dustin laughs quickly, drawing Pauls eyes to him. They begin a conversation as Eddie takes a sharp breath in, excusing himself to the bathroom for a moment. 

The second he gets to the stall he lifts his shirt to rub his palm against the scarred flesh, feeling a bit of bone through the thin skin at his ribcage. A pained gasp tears from him as his eyes water a bit, blinking away the images of the bats attacking him. 

It’s not real. It’s not real it’s not real-

His forehead hits the nasty wall of the bathroom stall as he thinks of happy thoughts. Your kiss, dnd, his band, his uncle. 

His Uncle. Damn. When was the last time he called his uncle. 

- 

“Get your ass right back in that bed.” Wayne snaps, coming into the hospital room with a newspaper under his arm and a steaming cup of coffee, the bags under his eyes prominent and the red puffy eyes just as noticeable. “Before I take my belt and-”

Before he can finish his sentence Eddie is climbing back into the bed, eyes wide as he ignores the pain in his side and lays back down. 

“Don’t forget the mask.” His uncle snaps, taking a quick seat on the only open chair, a chair that Eddie was sure was entirely uncomfortable. 

They were at a weird stage. Wayne was pissed, pissed that everything happened and he still wasn’t getting straight answers. Pissed that his nephew, son, had been found near their trailer with half his skin torn off and practically bleeding out. Pissed that everyone had blamed him for Chrissy Cunningham. 

Pissed that his boy was keeping something from him. 

Meanwhile Eddie was scared. Scared that Wayne would become involved and scared that if he spoke the truth then Wayne would take the fall for some of it. 

They had gotten so lucky that Jason Carver was able to take the fall…..if anyone could find him. 

“Edward. Put the damn mask on.” Wayne grunts, watching the boy roll his eyes. 

“I am so bored.” Eddie whines. They had put him in a room with no windows or tv, keeping him from the outside world. The government was doing their best to keep everything under wraps. 

Wayne scoffs, folding up half the newspaper and chucking it at his face, it smacks Eddie’s cheek and his uncle gives him a small smile. A slight olive branch in this moment that Eddie takes greedily, smiling at his uncle and putting the mask on his face before reading his half of the paper. 

“Teenage Massacre at a lakehouse.” The main headline read, talking about a small town where it happened. 

4 survivors, 15 dead. That was absolutely insane. 

- 

It takes him a couple minutes to get the pain under control before he heads back out to the snack area where Dustin is buying another Icey.

“What’s going on?” He asks, looking to where Paul is walking back up. 

“Alright, three movie tickets to slashed on me. Let’s go boys.” 

“Again?” Eddie scoffs, watching Dustin take a slurp from his icey, this time red. He can see the sugar in the kids eyes and already knows the answer. “Alright. I’m in.”

- 

You spent the weekend in your blankets, ignoring the phone and ignoring the mean looks your roommate gave you going in and out. 

You didn’t want to know what the world outside was saying and if you moved then you might see them. You would not last it. 

By the time Monday rolled around you barely dragged yourself to the shower, sobbing under the water before trudging your way to class, keeping your head down as people ran around you. 

“RAHHHH!” Someone shouts right next to your shoulder, making you scream out and flinch, looking to the masked jock that was currently cracking up. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Fuck off.” You snap, your knife wounds freezing under all your layers. 

“Woah, no need to be a frigid-”

“I do not recommend finishing that sentence.” The deep honey voice you know all too well sounds from behind you before you feel a warmth on your shoulder telling you that Eddie was standing right behind you. “She’s got a heavy book in your hand that I will gladly watch her shatter your nose with.”

“I’ll do it.” You nod, your stomach unclenching and your fists unraveling now that Eddie is near. 

The jock rolls his eyes, tearing the mask off his face and moving back to his friend group, something lodging in his throat when you catch a glimpse of Maya standing with them. She wasn’t talking to them, merely looking at you, smiling softly at you. 

She smiled at you. 

Sure you had seen them smile, but your friends never really looked at you, the only ones that looked to your eyes were….. 

“How was your weekend?” Eddie asks nervously, catching your attention easily as you turn around. “I tried calling your room yesterday and-”

“Sorry, I was extremely busy with classwork.” You lie, walking side by side with him. “I…. I am sorry if I seemed really off the other night-”

“Hey, woah woah.” He blushes, hands shooting out to stop you. “No need to apologize, if the kiss made you uncomfortable-”

“It didn’t.” You rush out, “I really liked it-”

“Good because I would love to do it again sometime.” He smiles, his rings glinting in the fresh morning sunlight as he fixes his leather jacket nervously. “My friend Dustin is doing a tour tonight with some of his friends from camp and maybe we can get some food tonight-”

“I can’t tonight.” I have plans for a dreadful call with my parents. “But how about lunch after class tomorrow?”

“Sounds awesome.” He smiles, holding out his hand for you which you take softly and walk to class with him. When you enter your eyes immediately go to your classmate Paul, who had dyed his mohawk a bright pink and lime. He lights up when he sees Eddie, holding up a rock sign and sticking out his tongue. 

Eddie does the same, and you catch him rubbing his side softly but don’t think too much on it. So instead you smile at Paul when he waves to you, but all you could see was Dylan. Dylan who had handed you your first beer of the night, Dylan who had yelled at you to run. 

Dylan who used to copy off your paper in math, then would complain when you got most of the answers wrong. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, sitting down slowly. 

“Yeah. Just trying to remember if we had homework.” You smile and he raises an eyebrow. 

“You can always see if we had an assignment by checking the box where our professor writes them down.” He smiles, and you can’t fight your own smile as you sit down. 

-

“It will pass.” You snap, pacing back and forth in your dorm as you struggle with the phone chord. “This whole-”

“Y/n, they named a character k/y/n. You know how close that is to Y/n?” Randy scoffs.

“Considering my name is Y/n yes-”

“They named me Randall. And Maya is Mila and Dylan is-”

“What did they call……” You can’t say the names, even saying them out loud might make everything come back. 

“They kept their original names.” Everyone knows. Everyone is laughing at you. 

“This will blow over. The movie will lose it’s appeal and-” “They showed a kill in the first five minutes. People are already claiming it a cult classic.” 

“Randy.” You snap, rolling your eyes as you turn around to look out the window, drawing back when you see them standing there, smiling slowly at you. “Igottago.”

“Y/n, no please-” You hand up quickly, breath coming out ragged and uneven as you turn to your closet. A scream tears out when you come chest to chest with Billy. 

Not real. Notrealnotrealnotreal

A knock sounds off at the door, and Billy is gone. So you move to the door, taking a moment to breathe in and open it slowly. 

Eddie is standing there, holding a bag with a small smile on his face. 

“I brought you dinner because I figured you would be held up with our assignment tonight.” He says happily and a smile breaks out on your face as your shoulders ease up. But then his eyes slipped down your body, catching on the large scar that covered most of your right thigh. And just like that you were tense again, a panic coursing through your veins as you tried to smile. 

“J-just give me a moment to get dressed.” You rush out and he nods easily, hand rubbing at his side while you slam the door. 

He doesn’t mention the scars for the rest of the night while you joke around, sitting on the floor as he imitates your shared professor, barely able to breathe from all the laughing. 

“You gotta stop.” You laugh, rubbing at your eyes softly to stop the tears brought on by your laugh. 

“Am I wrong?” He laughs, coming to sit by you once more, tripping over his shoe as he hits the floor. You gasp out, laughing as your hands move to rub his arm and make sure he is okay from the fall while he throws his head back to cackle. 

The hellfire shirt he wore rides up a little, and you see a small glimpse of scarred flesh on his side that has your eyes widening, looking away before he could see you looking.

“Why did you choose this school?” You blurt, watching him pull himself and sit side by side. 

“Scholarship.” He sighs, giving you a side smile that screams lie lie lie. 

“Why did you really choose this school?”

“The government sent me here to get rid of me.” He sighs, eyes twinkling in amusement. And though you laugh at his joke there is something real in the answer. 

“They catch you stealing an alien?”

“How did you know?!” He laughs and you find yourself giggling. “What about you?”

You consider lying, but you never really wanted to lie and Eddie seems like the one person on this earth that you wouldn’t have to. So you found a good medium for both. 

“I figured no one would recognize me here.” You shrug. 

“Oh, secret rockstar are we?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.” And just like that you both were back to laughing, noses pressed to each other as you got closer and closer. Until finally your lips met, softly at first, slow and gentle. His lips were smooth and his hand was warm when it came up to rest on your jaw. 

Then it turned to something more, gentle became obsessed and before you knew it you were both making out on the floor, your hands in his hair and his own on your jaw. 

You felt free, and this was your first kiss since it had all happened, and you were extremely pleased to note that you weren’t nervous. You weren’t scared or nervous. 

You were yourself with Eddie, and you were absolutely obsessed with this. 

In a quick moment of bravery you move to lift the shirt you had been wearing, Eddie’s eyes going wide with excitement as his lips move in an ‘o’ shape, lips puffy. 

His eyes survey you, that o shape never moving as he reaches a hand up slowly to touch your collarbone every gently, eyes catching on the scar held on your arm and the longer one across your stomach. 

“H-how did you get-” Before he could keep asking the door opens and you rush for your shirt with his help, scrambling apart as your roommate comes in. Her annoyed look transforms into one of surprise at a boy in your room, a gasp tearing from her throat as Eddie scrambles up and snatches his shoes. 

“I should get going. Dustins tour will end soon.” He rushes out, turning to you. You don’t know what to say and he seems to be at a loss for words himself, and finally he leans forward and gives you a kiss, resting his forehead against your own before wishing you a goodnight. 

The second the door shuts behind him she turns to you and lets out a gentle laugh. “And here I thought you would be wallowing again.”

Bitch. 

- 

“God, your roommate is a drag.” Eddie groans two months later, laughing when you slap him with a pillow, tickling the bottom of your foot which makes you draw your legs away from him quickly. 

Two months had passed since the faithful day you exposed yourself to him, something you hadn’t done since. You had panicked here and there on whether he would get annoyed by this, by the lack of sex in your relationship but you were extremely pleased to see that he did not mind it. 

You never got to see his scars but he never really pressured you for an answer on your own since.

Today you found yourself sitting with him on your bed as you both caught up on your reading. Your roommate had left a mere couple minutes ago after spending most the afternoon gabbing with her friends on the phone while you and Eddie tried to concentrate. 

“Did you hear baby, Olivia is like soooooo pregnant..” Eddie imitates your roommate, rolling his eyes as he crawls up to lay side by side with you. 

“I heard it was with Mitchell from her chemistry class.” You whisper, matching the energy. 

“I heard it was Simon from chemistry class.”

“Oh no. She might have to get a paternity test.” You giggle, nose pressing against his. 

“I would recommend it. Otherwise we will see Simon and Mitchell fighting in the courtyard any day now.” He smiles, leaning in to kiss you quickly before moving to look at his book. 

“I did not read.”

“It’s because you were listening to gossip girl over there.”

“What page are you on?” 

“210.”

“Jesus, baby how do you read-”

“You’re a massive dork.” You scoff before looking over to the time. “It’s 3.” 

“Shit.” Eddie sighs, sitting up. “I have to get to work. Meet for dinner later? You can help me study since I didn’t read.”

“Meet you at 9?” You smile, allowing him to kiss your forehead before grabbing his jacket and standing. 

“Make it 8.”

- 

The shop had been too busy for Eddie tonight, and by the time he left his shirt was smudged with grease, and he had been forced to change into the backup clothes he kept in his locker. Ignoring the shocked look he got from his boss when his scars were exposed and pulling the black tee over his head. 

It was a plain black tee with the mask from the movie slashed over it, something Dustin had sent him as a gift with a firm reminder that Eddie was going to be hosting the movie marathon this christmas break and Slashed would be the main premiere of it. 

He had laughed at it but hadn’t worn the shirt out yet and was shocked to find that it still smelled new as he tried brushing his hair down. 

It had been two months since the movie came out, and two months since he began dating you. Things had been going great. 

Except for the fact that he couldn't work up the nerve to ask you about your scars. 

He never wanted you to ask about him, which was one of the biggest reasons he never asked. But there was something in his chest everytime he thought about yours, who had hurt you? How could he help? 

Who could he kill?

His scars, that you had yet to see, could be hidden by a quick ‘it was an animal attack’. But yours were from a weapon and he remembered the girl from slashed screaming in pain and pictured you in that role and rage built through him. 

But he never asked, and he never pushed you for an answer. Instead he chose to enjoy his time with you, and he was desperate to enjoy his time with you tonight after a stressful day at work. 

He drove back to campus, choosing to park his car by his dorm and walk to the pizza place, teeth chattering from the cold as he did his best not to slip on ice. 

He found that the further into winter he got the less people walked, but tonight? Tonight was packed.  There were whispers, and Eddie already knew that there must have been a great deal of gossip, a smile making it’s way across his lips as he thinks about telling you, probably would make a snide comment on ‘Olivias’ behalf. Take a guess who the father would be. 

“Yeahhhh, what’s your favorite scary movie?!” Someone cheers, shaking their newspaper at Eddie before pointing to his shirt, which confuses Eddie to no end. 

The shirt and comment Eddie understood, but the newspaper truly lost him. 

But he ignores it, coming up to the door of the pizza place and spotting you through the window. But something was wrong, you seemed to be looking everywhere and nowhere at once, and everyone seemed to be whispering about you. 

He rushes to the table, blowing hot hair in his palms as he sits across from you while you stare. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” You try to smile, reaching forward to help warm his hands. “Of course. But there is definitely something going on right now.”

But there was something off with you, he couldn’t read it but he could see that you were upset about something. Tellmetellmetellme.. 

“I’m saying it now. Olivia must have shown a baby bump.” He jokes, before getting a little serious. “Hey, I was wondering if we could talk about something…”

“What’s wrong?” You ask. 

“I… so that day in your room-” He blanches a bit, clearing his throat before nodding slowly. “I wanted to ask about your scars.”

He takes his jacket off, watching you slowly as your eyes widen and you fall deathly pale. Shit, I shouldn’t have asked. 

“Onlyifyouwanttotalkaboutitofcourse.”He rushes out, watching you blink slowly at him. “It’s just  that…. I…. I just want you to be okay and I want to make sure that I never make you uncomfortable-”

A sting hits his cheek quickly and a slap sounds out in the air, filling him with confusion and shock. His ringed hand comes up to cover his cheek as everyone gasps in shock, he makes eye contact with you and sees tears spilling from your eyes freely. 

“I am sorry for asking-” He rushes out, only for you to interrupt him. 

“Stay the fuck away from me you freak.” What the hell?

His chest tightens at the name as you rush out into the winter air, and it takes him a moment to catch up before he stands quickly and dashes to follow you. “Y/N!”

You ignore him, shaking your head as you try to dash off. Eddie tries to catch up, running into someone who is taking a picture of you with a camera and a protective flare fills him as he glares. 

“What the…”

“It’s her. Oh my god it’s the final girl.” Someone else whispers and Eddie can do nothing but watch as more people recognize you while you pass. 

You cast him one more look before running, and someone shoves at his chest. 

“She deserves privacy.” A hippie looking girl asks, shaking her head. “You are all disgusting-”

“What the hell is going on?” He blurts before someone in a mask comes up. 

“Fuck yeah man.”

Eddie was lost, he had absolutely no clue what was happening right now and his cheek stung in the night air. He couldn’t catch his breath and his side hurt, he was in pain and there were so many people around and- 

A newspaper is shoved in his face, your name catching his attention. 

‘Final Girl Revealed.’

Holy……shit……

Part three here

(There is no SCREAM without Jenna and Melissa.)

TAGLIST ::::::

@fried-peaches00

#eddie munson imagines #eddie stranger things #eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smu #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanart #stranger things fan #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things angst #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things anst #scream #scream franchise #scream x reader #scream melissa barerra

[officidrewstarkey]

This is my work don't take it.

My first.

Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: Virgin!reader, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, profanity, adult content, 16+. Mentions of Drugs, Alcohol, Abuse.

Around 2k words?

Au: I haven't wrote in a super long time so this will proabbl6 suck, so please don't leave hate and if you don't like it, leave.

-------------------------------------------------------

You were just enjoying yourself hanging with Sarah and Kiara and one of toppers kook parties.

"Y/n I can believe your still single. You've rejected so many people recently.." Sarah spoke our of the blue

"I know and I just haven't found the one yet.."

You sipped the drink you were given, and you swallowed the burning liquid that almost made you choke.

"Slowww it down y/n." Kiara protested as you downed your drink faster than you planned to.

You felt the alcohol start to go to your head. Your tolerance was high but you could help but feel it still. More than usual..

The heat must have been playing a part on this, it was really hot and you couldn't get in the pool, it was full of kooks and there touron dates they ended up with for the night.

You found yourself staring when you noticed an icey pair of blue eyes staring right back at you chilling your body.

Rafe Cameron, the kook king himself, Sarah's older brother as well. None of your friends liked him, infact they hated him with a burning passion. You, on the other hand, didn't talk to him that much.

This being said, you had no reason to hate him, other that the fact you've heard rumors.

To be completely honest, you found Rafe Quite Attractive, his slicked back hair resting in its usual position loose strands falling over his forehead, cold blue eyes that send shivers down your spine, built body, and his face... there was something about it that you couldn't look away from.

"Y/N!" Sarah yelled for the fifth time, shaking you out of your moment. "Who are you looking at?" She spoke, scanning the crowd until she realized. Fuck you thought. You knew the earful you were about to receive from Sarah.

"Rafe." She said with a cold tone as she realized that's who you had your eyes on. "No!" You tried to deny it, but it was too late. "You like Rafe Cameron?!" Kiara said as she stood up obviously, not liking this idea.

You sigh as you nod slowly and barely, noticeable as you had no other choice.. to many people heard her.

"My BROTHER?" Sarah raised her tone.

You nod again as Sarah continues to rant about this situation that you had currently evoked from her and Kiara.

You quickly walked away from the scene you walked and looked behind you right before you smashed into rafe, his drink flying everywhere, soaking the both of you.

He turned around Anger in his eyes as he turned to face your terrified form.

"Hey what the fuck?" He spoke loud and clearly and he turned straight to you and towered straight above you.

He grabbed your shirt as quick as he let go.

"Y/n. Your lucky I'm already leaving.."

He quickly walked off, leaving you there. You as well leave and drive home for the night feeling tipsy. In the morning Sarah texts you:

Sarah: Come over at ten.

Y/n: ok?

-------------------------------------------------------

You get ready to go over to the Cameron house or Tannyhill, you go to your bathroom to get your look started. You pick up your makeup brush and apply your foundation and concealer. You next grab your blusher stick and blend it out. You highlight and put lip gloss on making your best look as you finish with mascara.

You need to look perfect. You know Rafe will be there and you want to look good after what you did. Maybe he won't hate you as much.

It's a shit shot idea but you think it might work.

You pick a hoodie and short jean shorts, nike socks, and white Hightop Converse.

Quickly, you grab your phone and keys and walk to your car.

You sit in the driver's seat as you change it to your favorite playlist. And drive to Sarah's house to see what she needs.

Your car comes to a stop in the driveway as you walk yourself to the front door, knocking on it a few times as the sound echos throughout the large home.

You see a figure pass by the not so clear glass when it suddenly opens. Rafe... "Hi Y/n." He says seeming.. Excited?

"Sarah wasn't the one who texted you.... I was"

"Rafe why did you have her phone?! Where's Sarah?"

"Is she ok??" You quickly exclaimed, scared for your best friend.

"She's fine. Jesus Christ shut up." He spoke as you quickly shut your self up at his obviously annoyed expression.

"I just wanted to talk to you." He calmly spoke, arousing suspicion to you.

"About what?"You quietly questioned him.

"You." He blurted out extremely bluntly. "You ok? You. Every time I see you You always look so fucking sexy in those god damn dresses." He quickly exclaimed and your eyes widen in complete shock at what you had just heard.

"Rafe..." You muttered under your breath.

"I can barely contain myself from taking you right then and there." You looked up at him while he had a un readable facial expression.

He snapped his arm out grabbing your hand and pulling you upstairs with him.

The though of Him inside you made your panties start to pool with arousal.

"I'm getting straight to the point. I want you. Now." He quickly said "I want you to rafe.." you agreed to him. He smirked and locked the door behind you and he pushed you onto his bed.

His lips crashed into yours, small moans slipping into his mouth and he groaned, his lips were so soft..

He sucked on your bottom lip and kissed you right under your jawline.

"Rafe.. Hurry up." You rushed him, but he didn't mind as he wanted it just as bad as you did.

"I don't know if it matters to you, but.. I am a virgin.. and you're about to be my first person to ever sleep wi-" "it's fine. I'll start off gentle he cut you off.

He slipped your shirt over your head as well as his. His fingers slid under the waist band of your shorts sliding them off with your soaked panties.

"Your so fucking wet already.. I've barely touched you yet.. good." He spoke deeply into you ear.

He worked to unbutton and unzip his shorts.

He pushed them down and his boxers went with them. His hardened cock sprung up from the confinements hitting into his abs.... fuck he was.. Huge.. he was shaved completely no hair in sight. You almost caught yourself drooling at the view.

He pumped himself a few times and you noticed the bead of precum already forming on his tip and you were litteraly dripping, your arousal dripping down to your ass.

He reached down to move it in as he swiped in up and down a couple of times to tease you and collect your wetness on his cock.

"Are you ready y/n." He questioned with concern. You nodded in response feeling him as he slowed pushed into you.

You cried out in pain as the stretch was extremely painful. "Shhh" He quieted you as he stopped pushing into your pussy. He waited a minute to let you adjust as you signaled for him to finish pushing his length into your throbbing core.

"Fuck." Your words slurred in ecstasy and he quickly snapped his hips his cock slamming into you at a quick pace. You moaned as the the pain turned into pleasure. "Fuck you feel so good... Good girl taking all this cock." He exclaimed as he didn't falter his pace.

He continued to roll his hips into your wet core. You griped up over his shoulders pulling him into a sloppy kiss as he groaned.

You felt a coiled up feeling inside your abdomen.. "Rafe, I'm gonna come.." He said as he picked up his face and the coil snapped and you came on his cock moaning his name. "Fuck are you on the pill.." you nod as his pace becomes sloppy and slows down slightly.

"I'm gonna cum all in your fucking pussy... gonna fill you up baby." He groaned as his seed spurred out in ropes. And he collapsed onto you out of breath.

"Fuck.." He breathed out.

"Rafe... I love you..."

"I love you to.'' He replied to your affection.

"Your my first.. and my best.."

#outer banks imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x female reader #obx imagine #outerbanks rafe #smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe smut

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Let’s Be Somethin’ Else: Bo Sinclair x f!reader

Warnings: abusive parents, crying, sobbing, mental and physical abuse, 3 year age gap, (Bo is 21, you’re 18.), smoking, reader has long hair then short hair. if I missed anything tell me

A/N: Y’all I started this shit over a month or two ago. Finally finished it. Also haven’t written for Bo in a minute but yeah :)

“Bo…” You croak into the phone, your hands shake as you continue to mess with your tar covered hair.

“What’s wrong?” He sounds panicked, you don’t mean to freak him out but you don’t know who else to call or talk to.

“Th-they put tar in my… my HAIR! Please come over, I’m begging you. Bo Please!” You sob into the receiver.

“Shh, shh, okay. I’m coming over. Just give me a minute.”

You can’t help but nod as if Bo is already in front of out then put the phone back on the stand and sink to the ground touching where they put it. You tried everything and nothing worked. Your family was gone before you even got up. Your pillow was ruined and so was your hair.

Bo busts into the house what feels like moments later and comes over to you quickly. Looking at your long sticky hair he frowns. Your breath shakes. He pulls you up and you go into the upstairs bathroom.

“They ruined it. My parents ruined my hair. They told me to stop talkin’ to you and I told them I wouldn’t cause you mean too much to me and now my hair is fucked!” You blubber, he takes your face and shushes you lightly, wiping your tears away. “You have to cut it Bo, I know I-I can’t cause, I’ll fuck it up more!”

You body moves away from him and you dig through the bathroom drawers trying to find the shears your mom uses to cut your siblings hair.

You find them and hand them to Bo then face towards the mirror. You watch carefully as Bo hesitates and let’s put a deep breath before takes a chunk of hair and chops it off. A sob escapes your mouth and Bo shushes you gently, he takes more and more hair off until all of the tar covered hair is in a small pile.

His fingers run through the short hair. “I ain’t good at styling it but I’m gonna try. Do you have a razor?”

You nod and go to the same drawer you got the shears from, you take out the clippers and he plugs it in, turning it on.

“I do Lester’s hair, and mine but you can see it ain’t that good.” Bo laughs gently and runs his hands through his curly hair. You shake your head smiling at him always having a way to make you feel better. Tears stain your cheeks but you try and brush them away.

“No, no it’s beautiful Bo. I love your hair.” You whisper, your fingers run through it before quickly pulling away out of shyness. You’d had a crush on Bo for the longest time. Honestly you’d have to pat yourself on the back for hiding it so well around him. One wrong move could ruin the friendship between you two.

You turn around and face the mirror again. Bo turns the clippers on with the longest shield your dad had and shaves parts of your hair to get it more even. He goes over your ears and chuckles lightly when you shiver. He turns the razor off and wipes the remaining hair off your shoulders. His icey blue eyes look at you through the mirror but you look down trying to avoid getting too flustered.

“You look beautiful.” He mumbles. You feel his fingertips graze your skin and your breath hitches.

“Thank you Bo. You’re a really good friend.”

His hand quickly movies away as if he burnt it against your skin. “Of course.”

You look at the hair on the floor. “Should probably get this cleaned.”

You leave Bo in the bathroom to get the broom and dustpan.

He sighs and puts away the scissors and razor. He then pulls out the bathroom trash can and you come back with the broom and dustpan. He takes the broom from you and you crouch down with the pan.

Bo sweeps up the hair and you tap it into the trash. You take the broom from him and walk back downstairs, he follows you.

“Do you want somethin’ to eat? I can make you somethin’.”

“No, I’m good.”

You nod your head. “Okay, did you wanna do somethin’ then? I mean you’re free to leave whenever I don’t wanna keep you. Sorry for having you come over I-“

“Let’s go to the back.” Bo cuts you off, he takes the lead and grabs your hand taking you to the tire swing that hangs from the large tree in your backyard. You sit opposite of him and hold your feet up while he kicks you two off.

For just a second you feel nine years old again. You and Bo used to run and hide in your backyard when the other kids became too much for one of you. Then you’d spend your time playing back there until your mom or dad yelled at Bo to get away from you.

God you hate how they hate Bo. Bo is everything to you. He’s an amazing friend even if he was troubled. One second he could be charismatic and charming, wooing any girl he pleases, the next, hot-headed, screaming and throwing a fist into someone’s face.

Sometimes he got pissed at you, he never touched you during these fits of rage though. Afterwards he wouldn’t verbally apologize but he’d take your hand and squeeze it a few times in apology. Then he’d look at you and you’d look at him and smile and the conversation would shift.

He told you one night when he was drunk that it wasn’t your fault, you just do something to him and he doesn’t know what it is, it hurts and it pisses him off.

You never told him it was probably love. Why would you? That’s hopeful thinking first of all and second of all he’ll shake it off and your fantasy of being with him will die.

“I think you should come live with us.”

You shake out of your daydream and look at Bo like he’s crazy.

“What?!” You almost laugh, his face scrunches and reddens, specifically his ears and nose.

“I said, I think you should move in with us. I don’ like you stayin’ here. ‘Specially since you’re grown now. Deserve to be respected. You already know Vincent and Lester respect you. I do too.”

You shake your head. “My dad will come with a shotgun to your house and shoot you right… there.” You say, extending your index finger to between his brows. “We wouldn’t want that Bo.”

“I’d shoot him first and you know it.”

You snort and shrug your shoulders. “Still, it’s not that easy ya know. I’m scared of them. I bet they’d do somethin’ so much worse than shootin’ you in the head or puttin’ tar in my hair.”

Bo purses his lips, then you hear the phone ring from inside the house. You almost stumble while getting up and fast walk to the phone in the kitchen to see who it is.

“What took you so long?” Your mother’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard when you pick up.

“I’m sorry, I was-“

“Don’t make excuses. I don’t wanna hear it. Your siblings, daddy, and I are stayin’ at your grandma’s for the weekend. Don’t fuck up the house or you’ll get worse than that damn tar in your hair.”

“Yes ma’am.” You mumble, the phone hangs up, anxiety piercing through your hands like a thousand needles. Bo is standing at the entrance of the back door. You turn and smile slightly.

“Do you wanna sleep over? Parents said they’re at my grandparents for the weekend.”

Bo nods his head, “Course I do.”

-

Somehow the day got caught up with you two as you went on a walk to the creek and played down in the water together, skipping stones, splashing and diving into the water took up most of the day.

The sun sets as you and Bo head back up to your house. His hand is holding yours, this makes your chest tighten and face heat up.

He’s not staring at you, but you’re staring at the side of his face. There’s almost no emotion, his lips are at a frown and eyes are focused on the pathway ahead.

Crickets chirp and a slight breeze comes through the trees.

You focus so roughly on Bo and the silence between you two that you don’t notice the rock Bo so clearly avoids, your wet shoe hits it and you fall bringing your crush down with you.

“Gahd damnit!” Bo shouts, you flinch.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry I should’ve- I should’ve watched where I was goin’ I’m sorry!” Your body trembles and you sniffle, trying so hard to hold in your tears. Bo looks at you.

“Ah shit, I’m sorry baby- just shocked me s’all. Don’t cry, please it ain’t your fault.”

Bo wipes the dirt off his jeans and helps you up.

He takes his flannel and wipes your hands off gently, you still shake and he looks at you.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. C’mere.”

You fall into his arms and he kisses your head. “I’ll protect ya. I always will don’t ever think I won’t. I’ll never hurt you.”

“Okay- okay. I’m so sorry. Should’ve watched myself.” You whisper, he shakes his head and you two let go and finish your walk back to your house in a comfortable silence. Bo lightly caressing your hand.

-

Bo pulls out a pack of cigarettes and sticks one in his mouth as you two watch a movie in the living room. You look over at him about to light it and snatch it from his mouth.

“Not in my house!” You gasp, Bo pulls out another one and smirks. You hate that he smokes.

“They ain’t gonna know, come on.” Bo says lighting it. “‘Specially since your father seems to smoke right in this very room.” Bo comments after taking a drag. You huff at him and play with the stick in your hand, contemplating lighting one yourself. It’s bad but it’s not like you don’t wanna try it at least once.

“Picked up a bad habit from your Ma, Bo. I don’t like it.” You frown and squish the cigarette. Bo takes it from your hands.

“Vincent got her art skills, I got her cigarette habits. Wonder what Lester got.” Bo jokes, flicking some ash into the tray. You smack his knee.

“That’s not funny… but, if you picked it up from your mom, then I picked it up from my dad, so lemme try.” Your fingers reach to grab the half burnt cigarette. Bo takes it easily in his other hand and stretches far it out of your reach

“Ah ah ah, bad for your health sweetheart.” Bo blows smoke from the corner of his mouth. Your heart swells up. Why does he have to look so attractive like this?

“Well then you shouldn’t be doin’ it.” You frown. Bo smiles.

“Care about your health not mine, honey.”

Your hands sweat at the newest pet name he gave you. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“What? Honey? Why not? Suits you.” Bo takes another drag from his cigarette before ashing it out.

“Cause then it’ll make it seem like we’re somethin’ else.”

You’re on your knees, with your hands folded in your lap. Bo is relaxed into the couch. He smirks. “Maybe I want us to be somethin’ else, honey.” He licks his bottom lip. Your heart feels as though it’ll burst from your chest. You shake your head shyly before joking,

“You say that again and I’ll have to kiss you.”

Bo sits up slow and takes your face in his hand, he leans in real close, your noses practically touching.

“Maybe I want us to be somethin’ else, honey.” His voice is raspy, practically a whisper, your stomach jumps up and the two of you lean in. You kiss his mouth and taste the tobacco and menthol on his lips. His other hand comes up to fully cradle your face. You grab onto his and deepen it.

You let go and look at Bo. His face is flushed. “So let’s be somethin’ else.”

“Sounds good to me. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since we are boyfriend and girlfriend now. I think our first priority is goin’ up to your bedroom.”

“Bo Sinclair!” You push him playfully as the two of you laugh.

“I meant.. nah you know how I meant it but if you just wanna lay together we can.” Bo offers. You nod and the two of you stand up, completely forgetting about the movie.

Bo slides off his flannel and jeans making you flustered.

“Oh come on we grew up together.” Bo puts his hands in his hips. You bite your lip.

“Yeah but.. I dunno.” Bo walks slowly up to you and pulls off your shirt. He takes your bra off and pulls your pants off too. Then he walks over to your drawers and looks around trying to find a top for you to wear.

You cover yourself trying to keep your modesty in some way.

Bo smiles as he comes back over. “Come on honey. It’s okay.” He kisses your forehead and pulls the top over your head. You finish putting it on and the two of you lay down under your covers. Your pillow case had been replaced and thrown away along with you hair.

Bo takes you in his arms and kisses your head. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbles.

You smile up at him.

“And you’re handsome.”

He smiles back at you. “Your family ain’t ever gonna hurt you again okay?” Bo’s grip tightens slightly. You furrow your brows but nod. Not bothering to question his change of tone.

“Okay, Bo.”

#bo sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x reader

[lokisrealpurpous]

hiii ‼️‼️ i was wondering if i could request these two prompts:

“your eyes are really pretty up close.” and “you’re not okay, you’re shaking. what can i do? please, let me help you.” for loki ?

you absolutely don’t have to do both and can just take ur pick from the two also :)

ty 🫶🫶 !!

all I need is you

loki x female!reader

warnings: none really, fluff, reader gets ill from being out in a snowstorm

description

(y/n) and her todler, "Aroura Lokisdottir" go to the shop during a snow storm to get dinner and some snacks for a Christmas movie marathon. When they come out, the car has broke from being out in the frostbitten weathers leaving the only choice but for the two to walk home. Aroura was lucky to have her fathers Jotun genes however (y/n) wasn't as fortunate.

prompts:

"your eyes are really pretty up close"

"you're not okay, you're shaking. what can I do? please let me help you."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Loki had been at the compound all day leaving you with your little girl at home. The harsh winds gushed outside and the scene from the window was as white as a canvas, the heating was failing you as you sat huddled in blankets, 3 hot water bottles by your sides. Your jaw ached from chattering and goosebumps painted your pale, frozen skin.

"mama what's for dinner?"

a soft voice broke through the room.

"and remember it's movie night!"

aroura squealed as she ran up to my side, frantic hands attempting to climb the sofa that loomed over her tiny frame. You grabbed her from under her arms and she crawled onto your lap, kissing your foread as she giggled childishly.

"mama you's cold!"

she grabbed more blankets of the floor and chucked them onto the chair, then started to scrunch her nose

"a...achoo!"

as she sneezed her small character pained blue, her crimson eyes glowing in the dark room. It wasn't long before this first happened. You and loki has figured that as the weather grew colder every cough and sneeze switched Aroura into her frostgiant form, you found it absoloutly adorable having a mini ice cube running around the house from time to time. Loki worried of it, but loved his little Jotun to pieces.

You sat slowly up on the chair and then walked over to your daughter, lifting her onto your shoulders and using your magic to wrap her in a hat, scarf, coat and gloves, as some for yourself, and grabbed the keys before leaving the house. Aroura clung onto your hair as she giggled on your shoulders before you lifted her into her baby seat in the car, strapping her in securely then walking to get in the front.

The car faulted as you twisted the keys, but you shrugged it of, driving across the icey roads to the shop a few streets down.

Once you got out you were quick to get Aroura back on your shoulders, she was getting tired as she rested her head against the top of yours, her small hands wrapped around your hair and neck gently. She picked out her favourite snacks and threw them in the basket, and chose pizza and star chips for her dinner, which was the best dinner for an evening like this. (y/n) brought some lemon sip for her aching throat and stuffed nose and then walked to the till, placing aroura on the bench next to the bagging area.

She was eager to grab all the items, begging you to let her scan the doritos, which you did in the end give in to, then she helped take the bags to the car, in the end needing you to take it as she dragged the items across the frost coated floors.

When you were both finally settled in the car you let out a sigh of relief, but as you turned the keys to hear a screeching, unpleasant sound from the engine your head fell onto the horn.

"Mama what are you doing!"

Aroura shouted over the loud beeping noise, her fathers attitude twisted in her voice. However grew worried as she watched her mother run her hands through her hair anxiously, muttering as she kicked and hit the car.

"Blasted weather!"

You groaned, opening the door and getting attacked once again by the deadly weather that penetrated you to your bones.

"Come on angel, we gotta walk home"

you say in a gentle however exhausted tone, holding onto your daughters small hand in one hand and 3 bags of shopping in the other.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You slammed the door behind you, your little girl clinging onto your arm. The freezing wind had taken its toll on your body, but you mustered a smile for your daughter's sake. As you entered the warmth of home, your legs trembled with exhaustion. You tried to hide your growing weakness, not wanting to worry your precious girl. She giggled and kicked off her snow-covered boots, completely oblivious to your struggle.

You watched as she ran off to play, her laughter filling the room with joy. However, as you started preparing dinner, you couldn't ignore the worsening fever and flu symptoms that were taking a toll on your body. Your head throbbed, and a chill ran through your weakened frame. You glanced at the clock, hoping that your husband Loki would arrive soon, wanting to hold him tight and snuggle up to him in the warmth of your bed. You continued chopping vegetables, pushing through the discomfort, it was just a bit of cold.

As you continued to prepare dinner, a throbbing headache began to intensify, adding to your already weakened state. Just as you were starting to feel overwhelmed, you heard the familiar jingle of keys and the creaking of the front door. Relief washed over you as Loki entered the house, bringing in a gust of cold air. The chill served as a reminder of the harsh winter outside, but it also brought a sense of comfort knowing he was home.

"Hey there, sweetheart!"

Loki called out, his voice filled with warmth and affection. Aroura, who had been waiting eagerly for her fathers return, rushed into the hallway, her arms wrapping around his legs as he chuckled deeply

Loki made his way to the kitchen, his eyes full of concern as he noticed the fatigue etched on your face. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, knowing how much comfort you seemed from his embrace.

"I'm here, love. How was your day?"

he asked, his voice gently as he rocked your frozen body side to side, gently kissing your neck as you hummed in his arms.

"m.. the car broke at the shop.. m. me and aroura had to walk home and... c..cold."

You took a moment to lean into his comforting presence, grateful for his understanding.

"It's been a long day lo."

you replied, feeling a sense of solace in his arms.

Together, you and Loki finished preparing dinner, the aroma of the meal filling the house. As you all gathered around the table to enjoy the delicious food, you couldn't help but notice Loki's caring gaze on you, he looked worried yet loving, just wanting to make sure you were okay, in his own sweet way.

But in the midst of his gaze, our daughter couldn't resist having some fun. She started playing with her food, making silly faces and creating a mess. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight, trying to balance Loki's watchful eye on me while also keeping an eye on our mischievous little one.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Aroura had gone of to her room to read as you and loki tidied, you went to go wash the cutlery until some playful hands stoped you in your tracks, resting on you tense shoulders.

"Go prepare the movies pumpkin, I'll clean up."

loki hummed as he wrapped your in his jumper, going of to begin cleaning.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The clock next to the bed wrote "22:20" and you rested your head against the tall stack of pillows behind you. Loki had just gone to put Aroura into her crib who had just fallen asleep during the 4th movie, throughout the hours your body grew weaker and colder, loki rubbing you thigh with every sniffle and shiver thay escaped your ill form.

After Aroura was huddled up in blankets loki came back into our room and lifted your cold body, resting you in between his legs and kissing you forehead, wiping you teary eyes as he began to braid a few strands of your hair. You looked up at his gentle eyes.

"you're eyes are so pretty up close"

he whispered as he gazed back at you. Loki has always admired your eyes, a beautiful rainbow of pastels.

He couldn't do much to help your shivering state, being a frost giant, however he piled you in blankets and hot water bottles and had made you a lemon sip which sat on the beside table, he stroked you hair as your bead rested against his chest, every shake his heart ached.

"my love are you truly well"

he asked knowing the answer

you simply hummed in response, till shaking in his strong arms.

"you're not okay, you're shaking. what can I do? please let me help you."

he practically begged as he drowned you in affection and kisses.

"all I need is you"

you whispered, turning as you wrapped your arms around his waist, a hand on his chest beside you head, tangled around your lovers form.

"you'll always have me my darling.."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#loki #loki x reader #aesthetic #bbcsherlock #benedict cumberbatch #fanfic #tom hiddleston #lokis daughter #loki x y/n #loki x reader fluff #loki x you #fluff #baby fever #christmas #writing promps #christmas fic #bbc sherlock x reader #writer #loki of asgard #loki odinson #thor odinson #Lokisdottir #loki season 2 #loki thor 2011 #this took way too long #art #loki as a father #reader is female #reader is a mother #reader is a witch

[lala1267]

~Don't tell~

Summary: The new teacher, Mr Presley, has caught an eye on a lucky girl and so has she.

Warnings: Age gap. Kissing?

Just an ordinary high-school girl. Golden blonde hair in two braids, baby angel curls escaping at the sides. Her lips, the shape of a heart, her eyes like a haze of love. Carly, she was called. As she spoke, it would sound like a choir of fallen angels, rising up to the shining sun once again.

The warm sunrays bled through the window, illuminating the classroom that was made up of wooden desks and chairs. The summer breeze blew past the curtains and into Carly's hair. She looked like a heavenly angel of some sort.

Mr Presley stood tall in front of the class next to the chalkboard that was scribbled with complicated equations. His jet-black hair hung in front of his forehead. He wore navy blue trousers and a white T-shirt, which he left the first few buttons open to show his chest hair that was peaking out. His icey blue eyes looked into Carly's. She sat there, pretending to understand what he was saying. But in reality, she was just thinking about how amazing it would be to spend the rest of her lifetime with Mr. Presley, imagining him sliding a diamond ring on her finger.

But that was obviously not going to happen, he was old enough to be her father.

Her eyes moved from his, down to his pink plush lips, then down to his chest, until...

"Carly, pay attention, please."

Mr Presley said in a stern voice that echoed around the room. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her coldly. Carly quickly snapped out of her lustful haze and looked up at him. Her brows furrowed slightly as she felt her cheeks turn a hint of pink. She couldn't get a word out, just a nod.

"That's better. Now, as I was saying..."

Mr. Presley said before trailing off to whatever he was saying. Carly let out a sigh of relief. If he had carried on telling her off, she would have been as red as a beetroot.

After a long hour of staring and admiring her teacher, Carly finally stood up and packed her stuff as the bell rang. The other students chatted away and began to leave. Carly's eyes shifted to the door, and so did her feet, but Mr. Presley quickly stopped her.

"Carly, I'm gonna need you to stay after class. Just for a little chat."

His deep voice sent shivers down her spine and a light into her beady eyes. She turned around to look at him. He sat back in his chair, his legs manspread, and his hand tapping the glazed wooden desk in front of him.

"Okay."

She replied. His long finger, which had an expensive looking ring on it, pointed to a nearby seat. She nodded, her golden curls bouncing as she did so. She took a few steps towards him before sitting down in the seat he pointed towards. Her bambi eyes met with his, and a slight smirk played up on his lips.

"Now, what do ya think I've made you stay behind for?"

He asked in a stern yet playful voice. She looked at his face. Her eyes wandered to his lips but quickly made their way back up to his eyes.

"I dunno. What am I here for?"

She asked with genuine curiosity. Her head tilted to one side as she awaited his answer.

"Well, ya weren't very focused in class. Tell me, why weren't ya focused?"

She felt a knot form in her throat after his words lingered and echoed throughout her ears. She raised her brows and looked away as she thought of an excuse to use. Her finger made its way to the end of one of her braids. She twisted the luscious golden strands of hair around her finger a few times before she managed to regurgitate some words.

"Well...uhh...I was just getting distracted. Sorry."

Her voice was soft and delicate but far from believable. Mr Presley's smirk grew wider, and he leant closer to her, getting a good look at her pretty face.

"What were you getting distracted by, sweetheart?"

He asked in a slightly cocky but flirty tone. She looked into his eyes and then down his hand that was playing with a pen. She looked at the outlines of veins and his nuckles. His hands were a turn-on for her.

"I...I...I dunno. Somethin'."

She said, her voice growing quieter the more she spoke on this subject. His blue eyes stared into the depths of her soul as she sat there. She tried her best to avoid eyecontact, but she was drawn to him. He was like a drug. A drug to feed her fantasies.

"Nuh uh. Tell me. What were you distracted by?"

He asked in a more demanding and stern voice. His words flowed smoothly, a hint of annoyance in between them. His fingers let go of the pen he was holding, and his eyes narrowed. He looked at her through his long dark lashes.

Carly knew that it would be impossible for her to make up any more excuses without Mr. Presley shouting at her or something. Her bambi eyes drooped and looked down at the ground. She let out a faint sigh before speaking.

"You."

She said in a defeated way. The smirk on Mr Presley's face disappeared before playing up again, even more prominent. Carly still had her head down so that Mr. Presley was blind to her embarrassment and denial. Mr Presley's hand travelled down to her chin. He placed the tip of his long finger and the pad of his thumb on her chin so that he was holding it in a way. He gently but dominantly lifted her chin up so that her head was in line with his. He gazed lustfully into her beady eyes. Their eyes locked, like a padlock interlaced with love and affection.

"You were distracted by me? Well, I can fix that for ya, hun."

He said confidently. His southern drawl, his touch, his eyes all made Carly's world stop, and her heart beat faster. She looked at him in confusion.

"How?"

She asked curiously. His fingers were still holding her head up to look at him. He gradually leant closer. His eyes made their way down to her cupids' bow lips. Suddenly, the room had a rise in temperature (for Carly). It felt as if it was a sauna. He stopped once his nose was only centimetres away from hers.

"Like this."

He said, his voice hushed and breathy.

Before Carly could actually register what was going on, she suddenly felt his lips meet with hers. They both knew that this was so wrong on so many levels, but they were already too far gone. Carly didn't pull away. Their lips played together before she felt his tongue slip between her lips. Their tongues interlaced and danced around eachovers. Carly felt her heart bounce with joy and gleam with a pink tint. Her world was fulfilled, and so were her fantasies. She could have just folded right there, just for him. Just for her teacher.

But their little lovey dovey moment was stopped by the sound of echoing footsteps that quickly grew louder. Mr Presley pulled away quickly and sat back in his chair as if nothing had happened. Carly looked at him and then at the door that was opening. Another male staff member walked in with a smile.

Mr Presley plastered a kind smile on his handsome face.

"Mr Presley, there is some paperwork to be filled out in the office. Whenever you're free, you could perhaps work on it."

The staff member said with the casual white American smile. Mr Presley nodded.

"Alrighty, no problem."

Mr Presley said in a respectful voice. Soon enough, the staff member left. Carly's eyes shifted to Mr Presley's. They stared at eachover for a moment. Thinking about the way that they almost got caught kissing. They way that a teacher almost got caught kissing a student!

Carly let out a giggle, which was followed by laughter from Mr. Presley.

"Well, that just happened."

Carly said, still giggling. Mr Presley looked into her eyes once more, as if he was thinking about something.

"Well, why don't I take ya out for dinner one time. I mean, we could kiss without my job on the line."

He said. After his last few words, he let out a monotoned laugh. Carly looked into his icey blue eyes that let a radiance of love escape. He was so captivating and alluring. She felt a weakness grow in her knees.

"I would love to. But what should I wear? Im not the best when it comes to things like that."

She said, followed by a nervous laugh. But it was true, she wasn't rich like Mr Presley, so what could she possibly wear?

"Oh, that's fine. Tell ya what? I'll buy a pretty dress just for you."

He said with a smirk and a few hand gestures. Carly looked at him and shook her head side to side.

"No, you can't do that. I don't want you spending unnecessary money on me."

She said in the kindest way possible. She was quickly stopped by Mr Presley's finger on her plush lips. He stared down at her.

"Nuh uh. I'll spend how much money I want on you. I'd give you the world if I could."

He finished his sentence with a chuckle. Carly smiled slightly and looked at him once more. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop him.

"Fine."

She giggled softly. Her giggle was like music to Mr Presley's ears. So innocent and angelic, almost like a melody.

♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡

It was a Sunday afternoon. Mr Presley sat opposite Carly in a local restaurant. They ate and chatted. They had a lot of chemistry for a student and teacher duo. They laughed and smiled. It was like a yellow aura radiated from the both of them. Sending radioactive waves of love and happiness to others around them.

The way Carly's hair bounced and coiled when she moved, the way her giggle would echoe around, to the way her eyes looked when she spoke, all made Mr Presley weak to his knees. On his knees, holding a diamond ring out in front of her.

"Y'know, I really like you. Alot."

Carly said before taking a bite of her food. Mr Presley looked up from his plate and into her bambi eyes. He chuckled slightly before replying.

"Well, I think I know that, hun. But what can I say, I think I'm fallin' for you too."

He chuckled nearing the end of his statement. His laugh sounded like hiccups, making him appear somewhat "cute," even though he was a fully grown man who was rather strict. His jet back hair bounced against his forehead as he laughed.

Carly smiled and felt a slight blush arise on her soft pillowy cheeks.

"Aww, am i making my baby blush?"

He asked in a baby voice. He seemed so caring and nurturing, almost fatherly. Just him calling her his "baby" would make her knees buckle, and her eyelashes flutter. She giggled softly.

"Maybe."

She stated in a playful tone. Her eyes were locking with his, and her heart melted. She was like his blooming flower, and he was like her prince in shining armour. He took hold of her hand. The pad of his thumb caressed her soft skin.

"Well, I would rather make you blush than any other girl. I'll tell ya that."

He said with a heartwarming smile. Carly smiled back. They were just bound to fall in love.

♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡

As time passed, their relationship bloomed like a wildflower in a wildfire. They would call and text all the time. Whether it was a sweet loving text with red roses at the end, to a private, more flirty text in the middle of class. He would check his phone, and his eyes would read along the lines of Carly's text. She loved watching his priceless reaction. The way he would smirk and chuckle. She would text him, telling him almost the things she would do to him when he got home. She would text him about the things he brought her to the things he fed her.

She knew it was true love because her heart would bounce and skip around, beating against her ribcage softly.

♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡°•°♡

Have this gif, my babies. xoxo

#elvis presley #elvis the pelvis #fanfic #fan fic writing #70s elvis #70s vintage #60s elvis #singers #please follow me #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x oc #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #teacher x student #older man younger woman #tumblr fyp #elvis fans #oldermen #you can be my daddy #lana coded #lana del rey vinyl

[redelliavalentinos]

Whispers

Playing with multiple things here. The icey blues, the ghostly whispy effect, the lichtenberg scars, make those glow, long flowy hair, thigh high socks and oversized off-shoulder sweater, all the comfy stuff.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Edit: Moodswing AU

#ibis paint x #danny phantom #danny fenton #black #blue #danny phantom art #dp #dp art #df art #xmas 2023 #merry christmas #merry xmas #danny fenton art #dp danny fenton #dp danny phantom #dp danny #danny phantom thigh high socks #danny fantom #dp au #dp au art #danny phantom moodswing au #dp moodswing au

[kurokoros]

into open flames | (s.h.)

Rated: M (future smut, descriptions of blood/injury)

Words: 15.2K

Pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: There’s a storm raging, winds howling and snow beating against the cabin walls. Outside a monster shrieks his name in an awful and warbled voice that sounds like you. And it shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked.

You and Steve are almost something. Almost lovers. And it feels almost like hell; almost romantic.

OR: A blackout snowstorm and a monster force you and Steve to take shelter in Hopper’s old cabin. From there, everything starts slotting into place.

AN: oops! this took longer to write than expected and now it’s being posted in three parts because I didn’t have it in me to try and write another 10K+ before posting. the third part will include smut!

Warnings: horror elements (the monster is modeled after the official illustration of the “bagman” from dnd). descriptions of blood and gore. non-sexual nudity. reader implied to be shorter than steve. reader is a hopper but there’s no mention of blood relation. cop!steve but it’s for monster hunting reasons. S3 and S4 never happened in this universe alteration, but upside down shenanigans have still been happening post-S2

Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Steve’s head is throbbing.

That’s the first thing he registers. Consciousness creeps over him slowly. Languid. The ringing in his ears drags him back. It’s dark and his head feels swollen and ready to pop under the pressure thrumming through his skull. Stuffed with cotton. Or shoved too deep underwater. Not a hangover, he knows that much. He’s had enough to know the difference. Wherever he is, it’s cold and wet. The exposed parts of his skin feel damp under burning numbness. And he hurts. The pressure beneath his skull. The right side of his chest and arm burn. His hands sting.

Beneath the ringing in his ears there’s something else, something muffled. Icey fingers touch his cheek.

Slowly, his head lolls to the side. His eyes are closed, he realizes belatedly. It takes more effort than it should to get them to open, his eyelids sticky like glue. When they do open, he can’t see anything. For a horrifying second, he thinks he’s been struck blind. Then, his vision starts to readjust. Acclimating to the darkness.

Everything is a hazy shade of blue.

For a second, he’s back in high school. Sprawled across the Byers’ couch after getting the shit beaten out of him by Billy Hargrove. Bloody. Mottled black and blue bruises spattered across his face and chest like a sick watercolor painting, the colors all blending together. It hurt to move. Hurt to breathe. Something in his chest rattled whenever he did. His ears wouldn’t stop ringing. The queasy feeling in his stomach only got worse as shapes and shadows moved around the room, voices shouting over each other until the bile surged up his throat and he vomited all over the Byers’ floor.

A concussion.

There’s a shadow leaning over him, and he thinks of you, stroking back his hair and whispering to him that night, telling him everything would be okay. That he was okay. Now, he can’t make out the words.

A sluggish blink and suddenly everything looks sharper.

The sky is black. So black, he can’t see the stars behind the clouds rolling overhead. Only a sliver of the moon peeks through, waning, but enough to dimly light the space where he’s lying. Steve’s head lolls sideways. His cheek presses against ice. Snow. There’s snow surrounding him. Turned blue in the shadow of a distant light. And trees. The shape of them is silhouetted and dark. Spindly oak trees. Branches bare and snapped off in some places. Blood in the snow. Smeared across one of the trees in a color that’s almost black. Streaked across the sleeve of a jacket he distantly realizes is his.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The shadow leans over him again.

It takes another second for the pieces to snap back into place.

His fingers clench. He lunges. Pain ripples through his shoulder as he wrenches around in the snow, gun in his hand, aimed in a brutal swing towards the figure hovering over his chest. Milky eyes. No face. Too long limbs. Too tight skin. Claws. Claws. Claws.

Steve doesn’t brain the creature like he hopes to. His arm is forced back into the snow by a solid grip on his wrist. The push and pull tears at the lacerations on his right arm. A pained hiss slips from between his teeth; the gun slips from between his numb fingers. Hands hold him down. Hot breath washes over his face and he thinks of that trilling, gurgling growl he hears in his nightmares. Panic, white-hot and sharp, digs into the spaces between his ribs and rips at his insides.

Before he can swing again, the pressure on his arm releases. Hands grab his face and wrench his head to the side.

“Shh,” a familiar voice whispers. “Shh, Steve, it’s me. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re okay.” The words come out in a rush, strung together frantically. It sounds like white noise until the ringing fades.

The shadow over him takes physical form. Wild eyes. Frazzled hair. A pretty face that haunts his waking hours. Just as pretty as he last saw this morning.

Your name tumbles from his lips, slurred around a numb tongue and a mouthful of blood.

Your hands are shaking where they’re pressed to his cheeks. Cold. Afraid. Both. When clarity sinks into his hazel eyes, you smile, but it’s strained. Your bottom lip wobbles. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Your face is wet. “It’s me,” you tell him again. “It’s just me.” One of your knees nudges against the side of his chest and he groans as it sends pain shooting along his ribs. “I’m sorry. Please, you have to—you have to stay quiet. Okay? You’re okay.”

One of your hands slides from his cheek down to his chest, slipping under his open jacket to rest over his rapidly beating heart. Your palm rubs against the fabric of his uniform shirt, your thumb sweeping back and forth idly until his pulse starts to slow.

You’re alive. It slams into his chest with the gentle touch of your hand, your open palm on his heart. Fuck, you’re alive. A strange, shuddering breath rattles in his chest and claws out of his mouth around the sudden tightness in his throat. The lingering panic from when he couldn’t find you seeps from his muscles and leaves him lying there limply underneath you as one of your hands sweeps the damp hair away from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut. Just for a moment. Until he remembers where he is. Remembers the thing that attacked him. A monster.

A tree branch snaps. Your red and swollen eyes wrench away from his to scan the shadowy spaces between the spindly trees. Nothing calls out to you or Steve from the darkness.

“What happened?” Steve asks around a cottony mouth. He shifts his weight until he can sit up on his elbows, hissing as his shoulder burns in protest. The hand on his chest tries to ease him back down. He doesn’t let you. With his good arm, he grasps just above your elbow, needing to feel you under his hands. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. Cold fingers stroke down his cheek to cup his jaw and force him to meet your eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t—I don’t know what happened. I was coming back from the cabin and it was just there. I thought—I heard someone. I thought it was a kid or something, but…” Briefly, you trail off, gaze far away before you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. “And I ran. It followed me, and I couldn’t—I tried to go back to the road. I left the radio in the car. I thought if I could get there and call you, maybe…”

There’s a tightness in his chest that won’t loosen. “It didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him, “no, Steve, I’m fine. Look at me. I’m okay.” His hand strokes down your arm from elbow to wrist, grounding you both as he does what you say and looks at you. His eyes dart around wildly, unfocused, but desperate to make sure you’re really okay.

“There was a space down by the creek,” you tell him as he looks you over carefully. His good hand drops down to your waist, automatically burrowing under your jacket to hold you closer. “It must have been somewhere a deer was nesting. I hid there for a while. It couldn’t find me.” You wet you lips, rushing through your explanation without allowing him time to question any of it. “I came out when I heard the gunshot.”

Steve squeezes your side gently, fingers digging into your sweater enough for you to feel the heat of his hand. “Jesus Christ.” He breathes through his nose, closing his eyes tightly as his head throbs. “Tommy Mulligan thought he saw a wild man in the woods last night,” he says when you brush his hair away from his face again. “And I—I thought I heard you screaming last night.”

It’s a quiet admission, one he doesn’t mean to make. He hates telling you about his nightmares. The panic attacks. The headaches that won’t go away. They make you worry. The concern that pinches the space between your brows makes guilt swirl in his stomach. Vulnerability still doesn’t come easy to him, even with you.

Steve swallows his pride. “I thought it…” he trails off, but you already know. He thought it was a nightmare. One where he saw you disappear in front of him while he couldn’t do shit to protect you. When he has night terrors like that, he never comes out of them quickly. They linger. Itch at his skin until the soft murmur of your voice and gentle hands manage to soothe the raw nerves once more, like a balm. “But, Will heard it, too. I didn’t. I didn’t want to—”

Scare you. Watch that faraway look cloud over your eyes as you were sucked back into something horrible, lost in your own head. Didn’t want to believe it, because that would make it real, and fuck Steve’s tired of all of this. He’s so damn tired of watching everything fall apart—watching you fall apart.

You chew your bottom lip. “The gates?”

Steve closes his eyes. “Closed,” he says. “They’re still closed. Owens said they haven’t been active in months.” Which means a new gate. Or maybe this thing has been living in Hawkins for years without any of them noticing. Hiding. Watching.

The thought makes him sick.

You’re still chewing on your bottom lip when he looks at you again. Like he feared, that faraway look is back in your eyes, panic at the edges of your pupils, like you’re remembering something awful. “It can throw its voice,” you blurt before Steve can ask you what’s wrong.

He blinks. A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “What?”

His voice rouses you from the confines of your own head. Your eyes snap up to meet his. “You know in some cartoons? Like, like old episodes of Scooby Doo? You remember—you remember when we used to watch them?” you ask, the beginning of a ramble on the tip of your tongue. “Some characters could throw their voices. Or, or ventriloquists, I guess.” Steve isn’t following, you can tell by the confused tilt of his head, and you force yourself to take a breath and gather yourself. When you speak again, you sound more sure. “It can make it sound like it’s somewhere it isn’t,” you explain, as simple as you can. “When I was… hiding, it sounded like it was everywhere at the same time. It would be in front of me, then behind me the next second. Or, or close and then further away. Like it was trying to make me think it was somewhere it wasn’t. Or trying to disorient me.”

It felt like it was screwing with you. Taunting you for reasons you couldn’t understand. It didn’t feel like you were being hunted, not in the same way as the Demogorgon made you feel, or that pack of monstrous, canine-like creatures. Stalked, but not hunted.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve says under his breath. “That’s how it got me. Thought there was a second one coming from the side.” With your help, he sits up fully, grabbing his gun from where it sunk into the snow and pulling his wounded arm close to his chest.

The blood oozing from his open wounds makes your stomach churn. The flashlight, half-buried beneath mounting flakes illuminates the area just enough for you to see the gore staining the fresh snow.

“It’s smart,” you say, forcing your eyes away from the bloodstains. “It got me to leave the path because I thought I heard someone crying. Like a little kid. And all I could think was—”

“Will,” he finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you agree, voice small. “Like it, like it knew that I’d stop because of that. And it, it could have just attacked me. It probably could have killed me before I even knew it was there. I didn’t have anything to protect me. But it didn’t. It was trying to lure me somewhere and ambush me, or something. I don’t—” Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Don’t understand.

He sighs. “The Mulligans said it ran away when they fired a warning shot.”

“Right.” You wet your lips. “And you must have scared it, too. It knocked you out. It could have killed you while you were unconscious if it wanted food, or just wanted to hunt. So, why didn’t it?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you, and the silence blanketing the woods is unnerving. Wind whistles through the trees, growing shrill, and you shiver as the cold air wraps around you, blowing your hair into your face.

“We can’t stay here,” you tell Steve, lowering your voice and leaning closer to him, for comfort or warmth, he isn’t sure. “I don’t know how well it can hear, and we can’t stay out here all night. The snow is already getting worse.”

A blizzard is what your dad called it. Unlike any storm Hawkins has seen in years. The kind you can’t survive outdoors. Enough snow that he and Joyce couldn’t risk driving home. Enough to bury you and Steve in the woods until spring thaws your frostbitten skin, or the animals find you.

He makes a face like he knows what you’re thinking. “You know how to get to the road from here?”

You nod. “But it’s not close. A mile walk. Maybe more than that.” You try to do the calculations in your head, but between your cold fingers and the exhaustion pulling at your weary muscles, you can’t figure out exactly where you are. “I don’t… I don’t know how far out we are right now. The cabin’s closer. And you… Steve, you’re hurt,” you tell him, finally acknowledging the gore splattered across the snow, his sleeve, the trees. Thick and red and still leaking down from a gruesome wound on his arm.

“We can’t call for help from the cabin,” he tries to argue.

“We can’t call from the car, either,” you snap. “We’d have to go back to the trailer.”

He groans. “And if it follows us, we’d lead it right to the kids. Fuck.”

There’s a part of him that wants to risk going to the car and getting the hell out of here, but it’s gone before he can dwell on it. He won’t risk the kids’ safety. And you’re cold. And his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly.

You look at him like you’d follow him anywhere, and he won’t risk you.

“Fuck,” he says again.

It’s a long hike to the cabin. Normally a twenty-minute walk, the growing storm makes it hard to see. The snow is thick. Neither of you can see more than two dozen feet ahead, and with the snow up to your knees in places, it isn’t easy to cut between the trees.

Blood drips down Steve’s sleeve onto the snow, leaving a faint trail behind you that you pray is lost under the snow and wind. He’s leaning against you heavily, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders and keeping you pressed up against his side. The gun in his hand is cocked and ready, the safety clicked off. It isn’t safe, and it goes against everything he’s been taught, but if that thing comes back, he’s not letting it touch you.

The forest is quiet until suddenly it isn’t.

Far off to the North, a creature bays. Howling and screeching over the wind, he can’t make out the words it says, but you shrink into his side. Both of your steps come to a halt.

Another call comes from the direction you came from, echoing the first.

Like you said, the calls seem to circle the two of you, and Steve swears under his breath, unable to pinpoint where they’re coming from. His grip around you tightens, and he drags you forward on long legs that have you struggling to keep up. The two of you stumble through the snow, steps hurried even as the snow grabs hold of your legs and sucks you in, unwilling to let go.

You don’t make it more than a dozen feet before a sound like lightning rips through the woods, a loud crack that makes his heart jump into his throat. A tree branch snapping in two.

Steve pulls you tight to his chest and drags you to the nearest tree, your back flush to his front. Bark from the tree behind him scrapes against his shoulders through his jacket as he presses closer to the large oak tree, one with a trunk large enough to span the width of his shoulders. The gun is heavy in his right hand, his finger already hovering over the trigger as another branch snaps in the distance. Both of your hands clutch at the arm braced over your collarbone, your fingers digging into his forearm as snow crunches somewhere behind you, barely audible beneath the wind. He squeezes your shoulder, grounding you both as the footsteps grow closer.

A shadow moves across the snow, barely visible in the faint moonlight streaking between the trees.

There are sixteen bullets left in the magazine. This morning, when he counted them, there were seventeen. It only took a single shot to scare the damn thing off before. That might not be enough this time. Fuck, they should have gone for the car. At least you would have gotten a head start. A way out. Steve, he can hold it back for a while, maybe even kill it, if he gets lucky. But you? You’re unarmed. And if this thing follows you straight to the cabin, then what? You wait there, stranded? Trapped inside until it gets bored, or it gives up? Or the door gives in?, a nasty part of his brain offers.

“Hello?”

The taste of iron coats his tongue with every shuddering breath he takes, his cheek split open where he bit down when the monster knocked him to the ground. The cold air stings his lungs. Blood roars in his ears, so loud he thinks it’s that thing at first, growling and clicking like other monsters from the other side of reality. Red drips down his arm, blood soaking his mangled sleeve, and Steve wonders if the creature stalking them can smell it. If it knows exactly where they are and it’s just toying with them.

“Steve?”

His grip on the gun falters.

It’s using your voice again. The creature cries out his name, a tremor to its tone, like it’s going to cry. He’s heard that same tone in your own voice: in his nightmares and in his memory.

You shake in his arms, a testament to just how fucking petrified you are after what you’ve been through today. Steve’s seen you stare down monsters before with no regard for your own life. He’s never seen you timid like this, and it only makes him angrier.

Maybe he can surprise it. It’s behind him. Somewhere to the right. If he’s fast enough, he can get a handful of shots off before it even knows you and Steve are there. He’d have to get lucky with the angle, though. And he might not be able to see it through the snow.

He’s about to slip out from behind you when you let go of his arm and place your hand over his on the gun, stilling him before he can raise it. You don’t dare say a word, even as the creature wanders through the trees, calling out in a voice it stole from you.

You hold him there, keeping the gun pointed at the ground and him pressed against your back as the monster’s cries fade into the distance.

Neither of you move for a while.

By the time the cabin comes into view, there are black spots in Steve’s vision.

His grip hasn’t loosened on the gun since that thing almost caught them. And he hasn’t let go of you, either. Left arm looped around your shoulder. Your right slung around his waist, letting him lean some of his weight onto you. His legs are fine, but he still feels sluggish. Waves of dizziness wash over him at random moments, infrequent, but still somewhat alarming. At first, you’d let him be, trusting him to keep himself upright, but after the third time he started to sway you slipped your arm around him and haven’t let go since.

Pressed against him like this, Steve can feel every shiver that wracks your body. They’ve been getting worse in the time the two of you have been walking. The clothes you wore today are already soaked through and stiff with frost and a thin sheen of ice. There’s ice in your hair, too, where the fresh torrent of snow is starting to layer and melt. It’s starting to make him nervous, if he’s being honest. With the temperature dropping and the storm getting worse, he’s worried about hypothermia setting in.

You seem to be doing all right, for now, but he needs to warm you up.

The porch stairs are climbed in a pair of unsteady steps. Steve leans more of his weight onto you than he’d like, an old injury to his knee starting to ache with the cold, but you only squeeze your arm around him tighter.

With your free hand, you fumble with the door. It takes a few tries for you to get a grasp on the knob and jiggle it open, your hands have started shaking so badly. As quick as you get it open, your hand retreats back into your sleeve, a vain attempt to shield your fingers from the cold.

He kicks the door open with his foot. It doesn’t open more than a crack. It’s dark inside. The lights are off, and he can’t remember if you mentioned there being any power or not. Regardless, it’s safe. Safer than being outside, anyway.

Gently, he shifts his arm from around your shoulders, pressing his hand to your lower back and nudging you forward. You glance up at him, searching his face, and you must find whatever you’re looking for, because you slip through the crack in the door without a word.

Steve only places his handgun back into its holster after you disappear into the darkened room.

Before he follows you, Steve turns half-way around, glancing across the short yard towards the edge of the tree line from where you came. For a moment, he waits, listening for cries or calls of his name coming from the woods. Nothing. It’s silent. The snow is too thick to see more than a dozen feet away.

There’s an itch under his skin. A crawling feeling, like he’s being watched. If the monster is out there, stalking them, it keeps its distance for now. He can only hope that lasts.

“Steve?”

He flinches. He only turns when he realizes the call came from behind him. You’re standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself as you wait for him to follow you inside. You look small, shivering there in one of his old jackets, with your hands tucked into the sleeves and your hair a mess from the wind and snow.

Casting one last look over his shoulder, Steve follows you inside. He kicks the door shut again, pressing his back against the wood to keep it closed. The two of you are plunged into darkness. Neither of you move for a moment, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. You’re not even two feet from him, but you’re only a silhouette in the shadows. Intangible. Like he could reach to touch you, but pass right through. Close enough for him to smell the last lingering wisps of your perfume, fruity or floral, he can’t quite tell. But it’s you. It’s home.

Eventually, he forces himself to turn the deadbolt on the door. Tries not to think about how easy it would be to break it down anyway.

“Where’s your lighter?” you ask as Steve reaches for the flashlight on his belt. The beam is weak, and it flickers, but he keeps it aimed at the floor anyway.

The question makes his brows furrow, a frown tugging at his mouth. “What?”

You sigh, a note of frustration creeping in, perhaps unfairly. “Your lighter,” you repeat, a little louder, taking a half-step closer to him. “The power’s out. I—I don’t think anything really works here anymore. There’s no heat or water, so we need to, we need to light the fireplace or we’re just going to end up freezing in here.” You stumble over the explanation, still trembling even without the wind beating down on you.

The slight slur to your words makes his frown deepen.

You mistake his silence for concern over something else. “And don’t bullshit me. I know you still smoke sometimes when you’re stressed. I can smell it on you when you come to bed after.” You sniff, shuffling from one foot to the other, wincing at the pins and needles stabbing at your feet, the numbness starting to catch up to you now that you’re inside and have a moment to breathe. “So, where’s your lighter?”

“Left pocket,” he admits, a little ashamed that you know he still keeps it on him. He’s been trying to stop, for you. Thought he did, for a while, until all of this shit started up again last summer.

There’s no disappointment in your tone though, only impatience. “Jacket?”

“Yeah.”

Your hand peeks from your sleeve and slips into his pocket without a word. The lighter is buried deep, and your fingers are numb, and for several frustrating seconds you can’t find it until Steve lifts his arm and places his hand on your side, holding you together with a single touch. It takes another second for your hands to stop shaking long enough for you to wrap your fingers around the piece of metal. Steve’s thumb moves over your jacket in slow strokes until you step back again, the lighter clenched in your fist.

You’re slower to move entirely out of his space.

Though you were here only hours ago, the layout of the room is unfamiliar. Dark, save for the weak flicker of the flashlight in Steve’s hand, there are strange shadows cast along the walls. Furniture is distorted. Elongated. Twisted into hunched figures with gangly limbs and gnarled claws. At once, you feel like a child again. Scared of the dark and what lurks there.

Except, you already know the answer to that. And the real monsters, not the ones that used to hide under the bed, are more horrific than anything you could have imagined.

You take a few shuffling steps into the living room, dragging your feet to feel for the furniture. The fireplace is on the far wall. You can’t remember what lies between.

As you cross the room, Steve turns around and starts sliding the locks into place. Three, besides the deadbolt. Each snap into place with a loud click that makes your breath catch and your heart seize.

Dim light illuminates the room. The coffee table is inches from your shin.

“Hey?” Steve calls across the room. You can’t see him behind the flashlight beam. He lowers the light, crossing the distance to you in a few long strides. He wets his lips before dipping his chin to speak softly into your ear. “Stay here, okay?” he asks, reaching out to take your elbow into his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m going to go check the backdoor. Make sure everything’s locked up tight.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it. “We need to look at your arm,” you remind him, glancing down at the mess of dark blood and torn skin hidden beneath his ripped clothes. The sight makes your eyes itchy and wet, and you have to blink back the tears threatening to spill over.

“After,” Steve says, squeezing your arm. “It won’t take long.” He keeps a firm grip on your elbow until you nod, and even then, he’s reluctant to leave you standing here alone. His palm slips an inch down your arm, his grip loosening as he starts to pull away, but then he stops. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he presses his lips to your temple, lingering with his eyes squeezed shut until he hears you take a slow, shallow breath and your shoulders relax. “I’ll be right back.”

Both of you feel colder after he takes a step back.

He leaves the flashlight on the coffee table. The weak beam flickers in and out. By now, the battery is nearly drained, and the only replacements are crammed into the glovebox of Hopper’s truck. Still, it’s just enough to keep you from being plunged into the darkness completely. A welcome respite until the fire is lit.

His chest tightens when he crosses the room. The flashlight is just enough to let him see your figure against the shadows on the walls. It’s not until he rounds a wall that you’re out of sight, leaving an open pit in his stomach. Beneath the creaking floorboards, the cabin is too quiet. Too still. It’s unnerving. He moves quickly through the small space, uncaring of the way he slams his knees and shins into furniture in the dark. The noise helps. In the living room, it reminds you that he’s still here. Out of sight, but here. For Steve, the bang of his knees colliding with a half-collapsed table drowns out the faint ringing in his ears.

In the darkness, his hands fumble for the door. Fingers crawl blindly across the wall, catching on slivers and cracks in the wood until he finds the weathered door. It takes a moment of groping to find the knob and twist. The door doesn’t budge. Steve throws his weight against it, his good shoulder banging against the solid wood. It stays firmly shut. Again, his hand wanders over the wall near the door, fingers running over one, two, three more locks running along the height of the doorway. He loops his fingers around each chain one by one, yanking on them roughly to be sure the metal won’t give.

They don’t, and he only hopes that fucking thing in the woods isn’t smart enough to open them from outside.

It takes more stumbling through the dark and stubbing his fingers against walls and cabinets to find the windows. Like the door, they’re all locked tightly. Curtains are pulled shut over most of them, keeping anyone from looking outside—or looking in. He doesn’t know if that thing can see. Its eyes were pale, milky white, like his grandfather’s were after the cataracts got so bad he couldn’t see anything anymore. He doesn’t know if it, like the Demogorgon, doesn’t need to see. If it can track them down in other ways. Hearing. It can mimic voices, so it has to hear well enough.

Or smell, he thinks with a grimace, shoulder aching and blood dripping down his arm.

Stomach churning, he leaves the curtains closed. He leaves the backroom quickly, checking the bedrooms and closing the curtains there as well, casting glances at you as he moves from room to room. You stay crouched by the unlit fireplace, barely moving.

When Steve steps back into the living room to close the curtains there, he realizes you’re trembling. Your hands, mostly, the tremors vibrating along your arms until your entire body is quivering.

“Come on,” you murmur around teeth that are starting to chatter, thumb scraping against the flint. The lighter clicks, sparking, but the flame doesn’t catch. The next flick of your thumb ends the same. Your hands are too shaky. Too numb. “Come on. Fuck. Come on. Please.” There’s a sharp pressure behind your eyes and in your throat, frustration choking you until you can’t breathe right. You ignore the stinging in your eyes, continuing to drag your finger against the spark wheel desperately.

Steve’s footsteps are loud, the wood floors still creaking underfoot, but you barely notice him there until he lowers himself to one knee beside you. His right hand sweeps up your back, smoothing over your damp jacket. You gasp, stiffening under his touch until his knee knocks against yours, familiar and firm. He leaves his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, the heat from his palm sinking into you through the layers of your clothes. The warmth almost makes you whimper.

“Hey,” he starts, voice low against your ear. The hand that isn’t anchored to your back reaches towards the lighter you’re still trying to start. “Let me—”

“I’ve got it.” It comes out in a rush, barely audible. Your hands are shaking worse, and you don’t spare him a look, forcing yourself to concentrate.

He sighs, rubbing your back gently. “Seriously, come on. Just let me—”

“I’ve got it, Steve,” you snap at him, pinning him with a harsh look before your stare returns to the unlit logs. Expression almost manic, there’s nothing you can do to hide the raw panic in your gaze. All of your bravado seems to have melted away in the long minutes he left you alone, rationality giving way to fear. You’ve been doing so, so well holding yourself together so far, but the cracks in your façade are starting to spread. One more chip in the glass and you might just splinter apart. Shatter.

And it makes his heart sink into the pit of his stomach to think about. Because you were alone. For hours, you were alone in the woods. And you were scared. Exhaustion is clear in the way you’re curled into yourself, shivering and weary. Seeing you like this scares him. You’ve always been a rock. Always kept him grounded when he needed it. And he would do anything to make you feel safe. Anything. He’d burn this world to the ground if that’s what it took.

“Hey,” he says softly, practically cooing as he reaches out and tilts your chin towards him, coaxing you to look at him again. Your eyes slide right past his face, dropping lower to the blood soaked into his sleeve. The gray fabric is stained from shoulder to elbow, darker around the edges and in tatters where sharp claws sliced through. He presses his fingers into your jaw a little harder, squeezing gently until you finally meet his eyes. “I’m okay. You’re okay. All right?” He chews the inside of his cheek, thumb idly sweeping across your jaw. “I’m not… I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Okay? We just have to get the fire started and wait it out, remember? We just need to wait it out.”

Your fingers are wrapped around his lighter so tightly that the metal is digging into your palm, leaving harsh lines. It takes several long seconds for his words to sink in, but the soothing motion of his thumb across your jaw makes the tension in your frame release. Eventually, you nod, your eyes squeezing shut briefly.

His fingers leave your chin. Slowly, he lowers his hand to hover over yours, his fingertips grazing your knuckles. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the lighter still clenched in your fist.

You nod again. “Yeah,” you say, voice cracking at the end. You wet your lips and try again. “Yes. Sorry.”

Steve hushes you as you start to murmur apologies under your breath. You’re still trembling, and he slips his palm around your wrist, thumb rubbing circles over the thin skin covering your rapid pulse. The two of you sit like that for a minute, until your iron grip starts to loosen and you fall quiet again. Slowly, his big hand slides down, engulfing yours as he pries your fingers away from the metal, careful with your stiff digits.

“Fuck, honey,” he says as your grip slackens enough for the lighter to slip to the floor with a clatter. Neither of you move to pick it up and light the fire. Instead, Steve wraps his hand around yours, his thumb rubbing over the bumps of your knuckles. Lips downturned, his brows knit together. “Your hands are freezing.”

The heat that envelops your fingers makes you shudder. Too hot. Too much. Too fast. A sound akin to a whimper slips out on your exhale, shaky and painfully soft.

“Does that hurt?” He loosens his grip slightly, thumb still working circles into your knuckles. Alarm buzzes through him at the iciness where your skin meets his. The drastic difference opens a pit in his stomach. Your hands have always been colder than his, but never like this. This isn’t your chilly toes bumping playfully against his legs at night to startle him into a yelp. This cold is bone deep, the kind that burns when they start to thaw, stiff and painful to the touch.

You grimace as he starts to uncurl your fingers more. There’s a sob crawling up the back of your throat at the sharp, stabbing pain in your hands, but you swallow it down before it can slip from between your teeth. “A little,” you admit, downplaying as much as he’ll let you get away with. Unable to stop yourself, your gaze slips down to the blood and torn fabric and torn skin—

“I left my gloves on the counter,” you tell him sheepishly, offering a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. Tone more bitter than you mean it to be, you add, “Guess I should have been more careful, huh?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just lifts your hand to his mouth and presses his lips to your knuckles, trying to soothe the ache spreading through your fingers as warmth slowly seeps back into them. For a while, he leaves his lips there, parted slightly as he breathes through his mouth. His thumb never stops moving, and the friction helps, even as the burning grows intense. Pins and needles stab at your flesh, and you bite your bottom lip to distract from the sharp aches.

Eventually, his grip loosens. Reluctantly, he pulls your hand from his lips. “Better?” he asks, lowering your linked hands to your thigh before slipping his fingers out from between yours. His grip shifts to your leg, squeezing gently. The fabric is stiff and cold under his palm, and he flinches away instinctively.

“I fell,” you admit when his eyes jump back to yours in horror, though it takes longer than it should for you to realize why he’s so concerned. “I thought the creek was frozen over, but the ice wasn’t thick enough.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Then, he manages to choke out a soft, “When?” Careful to keep his tone even.

“I don’t—a couple hours, maybe?” Your brows pinch together in confusion. “I’m not sure. A while ago, I guess. I can’t really feel it, so I just—I… forgot.”

Forgot. You forgot that you fell into water. Forgot that you’ve been wearing freezing clothes for hours.

Hypothermic, he realizes with a jolt. You’re hypothermic. It takes a second for his thoughts to unscramble, for him to swallow back the initial surge of panic that rises up in his chest at the new information. You seemed so level-headed before that he didn’t even notice the stiffness of your jeans or the patches of ice clinging to your clothes and hair, his head still foggy from being slammed against the ground before you found him. Bitterly, he berates himself for not seeing it before. The signs are right there. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off your face, taking in the discolored hue of your lips and the slow way you’re blinking, the more noticeable slur to the way you’re speaking.

Your eyes widen. Alarm twists your expression as you come to the same conclusion as him moments later than you should. “Steve…”

“Okay,” he says. Nervously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Slowly, he lowers his hand again, hovering over your thigh briefly before he reaches for the lighter on the floor instead. Fire. He needs to light the damn fire. “It’s okay. Just let me…”

Where you fumbled with the lighter, Steve catches the flame first try. Logs are already piled in the fireplace from the cabin was still occupied, and there are more stacked in the corner from last summer, when Hopper coerced Steve and Jonathan into helping him chop down one of the old oaks nearby. It was Fourth of July weekend and Steve left with blisters on his hands and a bone-deep ache in his arms. There’s enough wood to survive the winter, more than enough to last for a few days out here, if you need to. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.

The kindling is still dry, thankfully. The flames spread quickly, the logs catching fire one after another until they’re burning steadily. He’ll have to keep an eye on it, make sure the flames don’t burn too low or burn out.

“There.” He clears his throat, sliding the lighter back into his pocket. The firelight casts a warm glow through the room, and for the first time tonight he gets a good look at you. In the light, the faint discoloration of your lips and skin is more prominent, and he can see how badly you’re trembling in your soaked clothes. “How’s that? Fire starting to help at all?” he asks, even though he knows it’s too early for your frozen limbs to thaw.

His heart sinks when you only give him a weak smile in return.

“Come on.” Steve taps your thigh, hooking one hand under your leg and tugging until your confusion melts into realization. Limbs stiff and numb, it takes a minute for you to stand like he wants, and once you’re on your feet you sway unsteadily, knees weak from being crouched in the same position for so long. He keeps you steady with his hand on your thigh, grip tight over an icy patch on your jeans. “We need to get you out of this,” he says, looking up at you as you place your hands on his shoulders delicately, a frown pulling at your pretty mouth.

“Your arm,” you start to argue, glancing at the sluggishly growing stain on his right sleeve.

“Can wait,” he tells you, firm. Your brows knit together, your lips pursing. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re freezing.” He sends you a pointed look as a shiver wracks your body, and you avert your gaze. “Your clothes are soaked,” he continues, rubbing his thumb back and forth against your inner thigh. “Baby, if we don’t warm you up…” He shakes his head. “And you were out there for hours. We need to get you out of these clothes. I’m not—I’m not gonna argue about this.”

You chew your bottom lip. “You’re bleeding,” you try anyway, fingers curling into his sleeve above the top laceration.

“I don’t care.” He squeezes your leg, pinning you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen. “Just… let me take care of you, okay? Will you please just let me take care of you first?” His eyes search yours. He finds them melancholy and heavy with guilt, and he hates that look more than anything. “And, this?” He shrugs his bad shoulder. “Doesn’t even hurt. Not even a little bit.”

“Liar,” you call him, just like you did this morning. And you’re right to. His shoulder is still throbbing, and the amount of blood soaked into his clothes is concerning, but he needs to take care of you first. Needs to make sure you’re going to be okay.

“I’m serious. It barely scratched me.” Besides, Steve’s suffered worse than a couple of cuts on his arm.

You’re still looking at him like you want to put up a fight, but it’s not long before you come to the conclusion that you’ll be no good to him like this—barely able to feel your fingers and toes, shaking so badly you couldn’t even light the fire without help.

“Okay,” you relent, giving in to the concern in his eyes and the gentle touch of his hand on your leg.

“Okay?”

You sniff, nodding. “Yeah.”

“All right.”

Steve lets you rest more of your weight on his shoulders as he shifts to a more comfortable position, his knees already starting to sting. Both of his hands slide up and down the outside of your thighs, soothing you more than trying to warm you up at this point. Friction won’t help anymore. Even if the ice melts, your clothes are still drenched. Staying in wet clothes will only make you sick, and that’s assuming you aren’t already, because it’s cold outside. Colder than cold, really, different from the kind of cold that November brings. This time of January, it’s the kind of cold that hurts when you breathe in too deep.

He squeezes your knee once before sliding his hand down your calf to where your pants are tucked into the top of your boot. It’s quick work, undoing the laces enough so that he can slip your shoes off without jostling you too much. You don’t make a sound as he keeps you balanced, chucking the shoes somewhere behind you without taking his eyes off your legs. He grimaces when he sees your socks are soaked through.

Soaked, but not frozen. It’s barely a respite, all things considered, but it’s better than the alternative, he supposes, already rolling the first damp sock down over the heel of your foot.

“Can you feel that?” he asks, glancing up as he runs his thumb over the top of your foot.

“Yeah.”

He lowers your foot to the floor, reaching for the other. “Both of them?”

This time you only nod.

Your fuzzy, purple socks join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and he grimaces when he sees the wet patches near the hem of your jacket. “This, too, honey,” he says, tugging at the edge.

Again, all you do is nod, too cold or too miserable or too tired to put up any more of a fight for the time being. One of your hands leaves his arms as you start to shrug the coat from your shoulders, movements stiff and slow. Steve helps you from his spot on the floor, tugging on the sleeve to help slip it off. The second arm comes faster, and soon the jacket is laying in a heap on the floor behind you.

The palm of Steve’s hand runs along your thigh over the wet, frozen patches there. You stiffen briefly as his fingers slide to the button of your jeans, and when you look down you find his eyes already on you, searching your expression for permission to keep going. It’s going to hurt, sliding the wet denim off your legs, and he doesn’t want to push too hard too fast.

And your pulse shouldn’t jump the way it does, seeing him on his knees in front of you, thick fingers fiddling with the button on your jeans. Not when you’re borderline hypothermic and the wound on his arm is still bleeding sluggishly. Not when there’s something out there in the woods stalking you both. But you’re still foggy from the cold, and it’s impossible not to think about the last time he was on his knees for you like this, big hands grabbing at your thighs and mouth hot on your skin, moans muffled behind the palm of your hand as he had you pressed back against a door.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

“Still doing okay? Do you want me to…” He swallows his tongue before he can ask if you want him to stop. You both know that right now he can’t. It’ll only make things harder.

“I’m okay.” You loosen your grip on one of his shoulders, finding the curve of his jaw instead and pressing the tips of your fingers to his cheek. You offer him a muted half-smile that only makes him feel worse and brush the hair from his face, hand stroking back the damp strands before falling back to his shoulder. “You can keep going.”

He wets his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, all right. Let me just…”

The button pops open with a deft move of his thumb and finger, easy in a way that only comes with familiarity. The click of your zipper sliding down is loud beneath the crackle of firewood, and it sends a shiver up your spine that you tell yourself is from the cold and nothing else.

Your fingernails bite into Steve’s shoulders as he loops his fingers around the waistband of your jeans and starts to tug them down. The material is soaked through and stiff, half-frozen where you slipped and went through the ice, damp everywhere else from the snow, and it’s a slow process, working the fabric down around your hips and thighs. Each inch might as well be a mile. He’s gentle as he rolls the waistband down, as gentle as he can be, anyway. At first, it isn’t bad. The fabric is stiff, sure, but being inside where it’s warmer has helped to soften the denim some. It’s worse on your right side. Where the left side slides down without too much trouble, the right sticks to your leg high on your thigh. Gentle pressure doesn’t inch the fabric loose, and his stomach drops when he sees the discolored skin peeking out from beneath.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he murmurs, the only warning he gives you before pulling harder.

You flinch and cry out when he has to peel your jeans away from your skin. It makes an awful, ripping noise, like it’s fused to your leg, and you nearly bite clear through your bottom lip in an effort not to scream. The slick sound of your skin peeling away from the fabric makes his stomach churn, and Steve slides his hand up your leg to your hip, squeezing gently as you let out a shuddering breath that dissolves into a wet sob.

He winces at every muffled whimper that slips between your lips, hating that he’s the one hurting you right now. Steve isn’t so self-loathing anymore to blame himself, but it still feels like he’s being sucker punched in the chest each time you cry out. When you do, he murmurs apologies. Reassurances. Nonsensical strings of words that he wishes made it hurt less. And maybe they do. You start to relax into his hold the more he talks, flinching and hiccupping less as he gets the fabric down to your knees. They slide down easier then, clinging less in the spots that are wet, not as tightly plastered to your calves where they were covered by your boots.

“How bad is it?” you ask, after he’s worked your jeans down to your ankles and helped you step out of the soaked denim. Your voice crackles over the words, wet and thick.

Steve stays on his knees in front of you, letting your shaking hands grip his shoulders too tight, your fingers digging in too close to the open wound on his arm. One of his big hands strokes up your leg from knee to hip, rubbing gently at the raw patches of skin. There are welts decorating your right leg, ruddy and dark like fresh bruises. Or burns. The sight of them makes him sick, but they aren’t nearly as bad as they could be, all things considered. Your left is relatively okay. You must have landed on your side when you fell.

You inhale sharply as he lingers over one for too long, and he whispers an apology that’s almost lost under the crackle of fire wood.

“Could be worse,” he tells you honestly. “It’s not pretty. And it’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a couple of days, but I don’t think we’ll have to amputate.”

You giggle. It’s startled and wet, but it’s a laugh, and he’ll take it.

His lips quirk upwards at the corners, and he almost leans in to kiss your hip, but stops himself, afraid to aggravate the sores on your legs any further.

“That’s probably for the best,” you say, easing your grip on his arms when he rubs circles into your hip with his thumb. There’s a touch of humor in your voice that makes the tension in his shoulders loosen. “I think you’d pass out if you had to cut my leg off. Then, we’d both be fucked.”

“You think I can’t handle a little blood?” he asks, scoffing. “I think my track record might prove otherwise.” Because he’s fought monsters before. Dozens of them. And they’ve ripped him to pieces before, but he’s always gotten right back up and kept swinging.

It would be different if it was you, though. Steve knows that. And you know it, too. The sight of your blood on Steve’s hands would make him sick. The idea of hurting you like that, even if it were necessary, makes him want to vomit.

He clears his throat and scrubs the thought away. His palm brushes against the welts forming on your leg again, careful not to hurt you. “Want me to look for something for these?” There might be some antibiotic ointment somewhere in here, but the best thing you can do for an ice burn is soak it in warm water, and that’s not going to be possible for a while unless one of you risks going outside to gather snow.

You follow a similar train of thought, more lucid now that the fire is warming you, and shake your head slowly. “No,” you say as he stands.

His breath hitches as sharp pain ripples through his right arm, and you frown up at him. Steve keeps his hands on your hips, his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater so he can feel your skin. Clammy and covered in goosebumps, but solid and alive under his touch, growing warm. You press your hand to his chest, just beneath the lacerations splitting open his shirt.

“Sit,” you tell him, gently pushing him away from you towards the couch.

He wets his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Steve cradles his injured arm to his side as he skirts around the coffee table, careful not to bang his shins against it this time. With his lingering adrenaline fading to nothing, the tenderness in his side is coming back in full force. Gingerly, he lowers himself onto the raggedy old couch, leans his head against the back, and watches you, backlit by the fire, as you gather your things.

You fold your jacket and leave it in a pile with your socks and shoes. The jeans you leave in a heap on the floor, too soaked to do much else with right now. Absentmindedly, your fingers brush against one of the welts resting high on your right leg, the same one Steve caressed. It must sting, because your hand flinches away and you wrap your arms around your torso instead, fingers clenched in the thick, knitted fabric. Feeling his gaze on you, you look up, silhouetted in shadows so he can’t see your expression.

Without a word, you come back to him.

The sweater you’re still wearing is damp instead of drenched, but you’re still shivering as you help him out of his own clothes, working in silence as you watch him with worried eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, biting it raw as you get a better look at the extent of the damage. His jacket and uniform top are ripped across the shoulder and soaked through with blood, beyond repair. You could try sewing the gashes shut, but you’d never be able to fully wash out the stains, an ugly reminder of tonight.

Steve is able to shrug the jacket off on his own, working the zipper down with his good arm and wriggling to slip the sleeve down his shoulder. The right sleeve is harder, and he winces as he bends his injured arm, expression screwing up in a way that has you reaching out to smooth a hand through his hair. Your palm comes to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing back and forth. He leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering shut briefly before he finally wrenches the heavy jacket from his arm.

He tosses it to the other end of the couch and wonders if he should burn it to mask the scent of blood.

The button up is harder. The blood makes the fabric stick to his skin, and he struggles with the buttons until you brush his fingers aside and replace them with your own. Nimbly, you pop them open, hands beginning to shake less as the numbness and pain retreat. He doesn’t complain, sighing and sinking back further against the couch, watching you through half-lidded eyes as your hand moves down his chest.

Once his shirt is hanging open, you pause, chewing your lip as you try to decide what to do next.

You wish you had a pair of scissors. Something to cut through his shirt and make it easier to remove. Less painful to remove. But you aren’t sure if there’s one left in the cabin, and you aren’t willing to leave him alone for long to look. With his jacket gone you can see just how much blood he’s already lost, and your stomach twists sickly at the red stains covering most of his right arm and the side of his chest.

Steve is patient, watching as your brows pinch together and your lips turn down. Your hand is on his chest, pressed to the lower part of his ribs where you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, reassuring you that he’s alive.

Slowly, your palm slides upwards, moving closer to the bloody gashes resting higher on his chest. You lower yourself onto the couch next to him, your knees pressed up against his right thigh. You’re half-sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning forward to get a better look at the mangled part of his arm without pressing up against him.

“What do you think, doc?” he asks, letting your touch move over his arm even though it hurts like a bitch. “Am I gonna lose the arm?”

He’s hoping for another smile, maybe even a laugh, if he’s lucky, but you only frown, brows pinched together. “I have to get your shirt off, Steve.”

There’s an apology beneath the statement, and he sighs, leaning into you more as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck in an effort to make him relax. “Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Do what you gotta do.”

“It’ll hurt,” you warn him, your free hand skimming the thin slices in his shirt, careful not to apply any pressure. ���Some of the blood is dry. Or, frozen. It’s not going to come off nicely.”

Steve thinks of the way he had to peel the jeans from your legs, how the tearing sound made him want to puke.

“Like ripping off a really fucking big band aid,” he mutters.

You nod, stroking his hair away from his face. “Yeah. A really fucking big band aid.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Let’s get this over with.”

Where Steve had been hesitant to work your jeans down your legs, you’re more certain in your actions as you grab the right side of his open shirt and pull the ripped strips of fabric away from his wounds. It’s not that you have less reservations about hurting him, you’ve simply been doing this for years, patching him up after every stupid fight he got into during high school, taking care of him after monsters would ravage Hawkins once per year, ruthless in your need to keep him alive.

“Son of a—fuck!” he groans, eyes screwing shut as he clenches his teeth so hard that they rattle, his jaw aching under the pressure. Whispered apologies soothe the hurt, but he can’t make out the words behind the burning sensation on his chest and the dull ringing in his ears.

Barely allowing him a break, you’re quick to turn your attention to the deeper cuts on his arm. The pale blue fabric is bunched sideways until it starts to pull on the wound, the fibers sticking to the raw, fleshy edges of the lacerations. Clots pull and crack, bleeding freely again as you start to dislodge the soiled remains of his shirt. Steve’s hands are clenched into fists at his side, white-knuckled and shaking with the effort to keep still.

He hisses in surprise when the blue fabric peels away from the top cut on his arm, the shallowest of the three. All are still bleeding, but it’s sluggish now, even as the clots and scabs start to come loose with the fibers you pull free. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not—if he was bleeding more, maybe this would hurt less.

One by one, you unstick his shirt from his arm, and once the remains of his shirt pull away from the blood crusting under the open wound on his bicep, you yank the soiled fabric down to his elbow, shoving it further to his wrist, and then off before you toss it onto the floor.

He’s breathing heavily through his nose when you glance at his face. A thin sheen of sweat mats his hair to his forehead, and you brush the unruly strands back, leaning down to press your lips to his temple.

The tips of your fingers brush against the skin above his elbow before sliding upwards, though you stop shy of the lacerations. There are three of them. Shallow across his chest; deeper through the flesh of his arm. The cuts across his pec have stopped bleeding again already, beginning to clot and crust over into thick, itchy scabs. His skin is a mess of flaking, frozen blood, smeared across his chest and arm in a way that looks like one big open wound. The warm air and sticky feeling make him wince.

“Oh, Steve,” you murmur, thumb brushing the underside of one of the cuts. Your finger comes away red and wet when you pull back. The somber, guilty lilt of your voice makes his jaw clench harder, but he keeps his mouth shut as you examine the wound the monster left behind.

None of this is your fault, and he’ll make sure you know that later, but you don’t need reassurance from him while he’s still bleeding and his head is throbbing from being cracked against the ground.

There’s a joke on the tip of his tongue when he gets his breathing back under control, something to lighten the mood, even just a little. His head feels foggy as he peels his eyes open, looking at you. As if you can feel his gaze, you lift your head. Your eyes meet his, and they’re red and watery, and whatever he was about to say gets stuck in his throat.

“These need stitches,” you tell him, grasping his bicep under the cuts. “I don’t… I don’t think they’re too bad, but just to be safe. In case…” In case it comes back, you think, but don’t say out loud. In case you have to run. In case you have to fight. “We’ll need to get you checked out by a doctor.”

Steve nods. Your sweater is bunched up under his hand, his palm pressed to the small of your back, but he doesn’t remember grabbing you. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to ground, you or him. “Coyote?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Bear,” you decide after several seconds of thinking. “We went for a walk before the snowstorm and didn’t see it until it was too late. It ran off after you took a shot at it.”

He leans his head back against the couch. “As close to the truth as possible, huh?” The smile he sends you is wry, and you offer one of your own, but it’s damp and wobbles at the edges. Steve rubs his hand against your lower back. “I’m okay, honey.”

“You’re not,” you correct him immediately, a little bite to your tone. “I’ll get the first aid kit. We left one in the bathroom.”

Without another word, you slip from Steve’s hold and get off of the couch, careful to avoid his eyes as you grab the flashlight off the coffee table. The floor creaks under your bare feet as you hurry from the room before he can call out to you, trying not to run as you b-line towards the tiny bathroom.

As soon as you step into the room, you click the flashlight on, shutting the door with your back and fumbling for the knob to lock the door behind you. The flashlight beam is even weaker than it was before, the flickering growing more frequent. Ignoring the erratic flickers, you shove away from the door and set the flashlight on the edge of the sink.

“Come on, come on,” you murmur to yourself, throwing open drawers and the medicine cabinet doors in search of the damn kit. It should have been in the cabinet. That’s where you left it last summer after—and you haven’t touched it since. It should still be here.

You slam one of the drawers closed.

The flashlight clatters to the ground and goes dark.

Throat tight, you lean over the sink, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Your pulse quickens. Blood is sticky between your fingers, your hands shaking so badly that you have to grip the edge of the sink so tightly that the porcelain digs into your palms until they hurt. It’s too dark. Too dark to see anything but shapes and shadows in the mirror. Behind you, a figure moves, looming over you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe the way your dad taught you.

You’d kept your explanation to Steve short. Five hours is too much to condense into a single sentence. Though, you hadn’t lied, mostly. You ran. You hid. That’s it. That’s the simplest way to put it, because thinking about the details has bile tickling at the back of your mouth. Acid burns your throat, acrid and choking. You lean over the sink and try not to gag.

That thing had chased you through the woods for what seemed like hours, driving you deeper into the woods until you weren’t sure where you were anymore. You couldn’t find the road. Or the cabin. For hours, it seemed like you were just running in circles. Lost. Terrified.

And then it caught you.

You fell into the creek. You fell, and your hip smashed through the layer of ice covering the running water. The cold knocked the breath out of your lungs. In the next blink, it was on top of you. Those sightless, milky eyes bored into yours. The matted hair around its face hung vertically. The wiry, greasy ends tickled your cheek. It crouched over your body, gangly limps jutting out, spiderlike, elbows and knees sharp and skin pulled taut.

“Hello?” it called to you in your own voice.

Clawed fingers reached out and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop the sob ripping from your throat or the tears leaking down your face. You flinched as a lone claw delicately slid down your cheek. A sick imitation of a caress.

“Hello? Steve?”

“Please,” you choked out.

And it repeated “please” and cocked its head to the side, asked, “Cold?” in Steve’s voice.

You only sobbed again.

For what felt like hours, you laid there, that thing leaning over you, repeating words back to you in your voice—in Steve’s voice. What made you sickest was when it said words you hadn’t said, still using your voice. No longer just mimicking.

And then it cocked its head to the other side. Once more, it ran a spindly finger down the side of your face. You closed your eyes tight enough to see spots, and when you opened them again it was gone.

The flashlight flickers on.

There’s nothing in the mirror behind you.

When you come back to the living room, you’re carrying the first aid kit, a pile of old towels, and a bottle of rum. Without a word, you plop down onto the coffee table across from Steve, your knee knocking gently against his. He doesn’t mention how long you were gone, or the redness of your eyes.

He eyes the bottle as you flick open the locks holding the old, plastic first aid kit shut. “Your old man’s gonna be pissed that the rum’s gone,” he says, squinting to read the label in the firelight and whistling when he recognizes the brand. “Damn, this is the good stuff. He’ll have a conniption or some shit. Jesus.”

“Let him,” you say, glancing up from the contents of the kit to meet his eyes. “We’ll get him something nice for the wedding.”

The edge of his mouth quirks upwards, but it’s weak. Now that you’re finally getting a chance to really look at him, you can see the exhaustion dragging down his features. His smile isn’t there, and his eyes are half-lidded. His focus keeps drifting when he isn’t talking, and you aren’t sure if you should be more worried about the blood loss or the probable concussion.

Queasy with the thought, you turn back to the first aid kit, biting your lip as you examine the meager supplies left over from whenever you last stocked it. It must have been sometime last summer, before the gate was breached. You patched Steve up that time, too. A bloody gash on the outside of his leg. And Lucas had a cut above his brow that wouldn’t stop bleeding no matter how long Max kept pressure on it. All that’s left now is a roll of gauze, half a bottle of peroxide, and an old suture kit you kept, just in case.

It’s not much, but you’ll have to make it work.

“Drink,” you say, pressing the rum into his hands.

Steve doesn’t argue. With a twist, he pops the glass stopper out of the top and brings the bottle to his lips, face screwing up as he swallows a mouthful of the amber liquid. It burns on the way down, taste distorted by the blood in his mouth. He takes another swig as you lay towels and your suture kit on the arm of the couch, the peroxide in your hand.

“Stay still for me,” you tell him.

There’s no good way to reach the lacerations on Steve’s shoulder and the top of his chest, so without hesitation, you swing one leg over his lap. He tenses when you straddle him, grasping your waist with one big hand to steady you as you settle on top of him. The heat of his hand sinks into your skin through your clothes and you can’t help the content sigh that accompanies his touch.

The bottle almost slips out of his grip as you pour peroxide on one of the towels and press the cloth to the cuts on his chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as you dab at the cuts, cleaning the dried blood off his skin. “Christ. Easier said than done. A little warning next time?”

You ignore him, wiping his skin clean with as gentle a touch as you can manage right now.

The two of you slip into a mindless rhythm, quiet as you clean him up with one hand, the other pressing a towel to the deeper wounds on his shoulder, hoping to stop the bleeding. Steve’s breathing becomes labored as you work, pained noises and curses muttered into the dimly lit room. You don’t do more than clean his skin and tape gauze over the shallow claw marks splitting open his skin.

A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps as the space between you continues to shrink, your hips flush with his, and it’s impossible not to notice how close you are, how good your weight feels on top of him. His grip on you tightens as your ministrations shift to his shoulder, his fingers digging into your side over your sweater until he craves contact enough to slip his hand under your clothes.

You’re gentle as you clean his wounds. As gentle as you can be, anyway. Once the blood is cleaned away from the wounds on his arm, you pause, one hand hovering over the suture kit as you bite your lip, worrying it raw. They need stitches. Desperately. Cleaned, they don’t look quite as bad as when his arm was a mess of blood and tissue, but now you can see just how deep they go, how long they are. Each cut is at least four inches long, probably longer. They aren’t as deep as you feared, but they need more than gauze and peroxide.

“How many?” he asks as your fingers trace the underside of one of the gashes. He pulls you tighter to his chest with the hand on your back as you look at him. “Stitches.” He wets his lips after clarifying. “How many stitches?”

Your hand wraps loosely around his bicep. “The cuts are pretty long, Steve,” you admit, lips downturned.

“Just tell me how many, honey.”

For several seconds, you’re silent, thumb rubbing against the inside of his arm soothingly. “Maybe twenty, twenty-five for each, to be safe,” you tell him. “You’ll have to get them redone as soon as we can get you to a hospital. Right now, I’m more worried about the bleeding than an infection.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding in understanding. He pulls his arm from your grasp as he raises the rum bottle to his lips and takes another long drink, then sets the bottle on the side table. “Yeah, okay—okay. Let’s, let’s get it over with.”

Your hands shake as you thread the medical suture through the end of the needle. Steve leans his head back against the couch, his eyes closed as he waits for you to start. His hand is twisted in your sweater again, gripping the damp fabric tightly to keep himself grounded to you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The first stitch is rough. He groans, long and low as you push the needle into his skin and pull it through to the other side. You keep your weight settled over his hips, holding him in place on the couch as he fights not to thrash against the white-hot, burning sensation lacing across his upper arm. You work quickly, tying off the thread and cutting it carefully.

Neither of you speak for a long time, the silence broken by the popping firewood and the hisses and groans that slip between Steve’s teeth as you stitch him shut, pausing every few minutes to wipe away the blood sluggishly leaking from his wounds.

Twenty-five. That’s how many stitches it takes to sew the first gash shut. Not professional by any means, but prettier than he could have done himself. There’s a fine layer of sweat covering him by the time you pause to look over your work, and his hair is matted to his forehead. You run your fingers through the strands, pushing them away from his eyes before letting your knuckles graze his cheek.

Steve breathes out, a shaky sound.

You make it halfway through the second gash before Steve speaks.

“You still have the car keys, right?”

You glance up, meeting his half-lidded gaze as you tie off a stitch. “Yeah. Why?”

The tips of his fingers press into your back subconsciously, holding you tighter to him. The weight of what he wants to say lays heavy on his chest, making it impossible to breathe. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him again, needle in hand and blood staining the skin around your fingernails.

“Listen,” he starts, hand dropping to your hip, “if that thing comes back—”

You tense over his lap, fingers digging into his arm below his open wounds. “No,” you shut him down.

Steve shakes his head, continuing as if you didn’t speak. “I want you to run.”

“Absolutely not,” you’re quick to argue. “I’m not—I’m not just going to leave you.”

He presses his palm to the base of your spine, keeping you close when you start to pull back. “No one’s leaving anybody.” He says it like it’s a promise, staring back at you with those big, hazel eyes. Sincere. Sober and exhausted, all the alcohol has done is loosen his tongue a little. He’s been mulling over this since he heard you crying in the bathroom, sobs muffled behind the door. “Look, if it gets inside… I want you to run for the car, okay? Just run. I’ll be right there behind you, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“No, you won’t,” you say, bitterness creeping into your tone. Because you know him. You know Steve better than you know yourself, and he’s an idiot with too big a heart and too little self-preservation. Because he doesn’t care what happens to him so long as everyone else makes it out alive, but you do. If Steve thought he could give you the chance to run—to stay behind and ensure you stay safe, you know he’d take it.

The bite in those three words makes him wince, but he pushes ahead anyway. “Get to the Byers’ new place. Your dad’s practically got an artillery in the shed. You’ll—you’ll have to protect the kids. Please, can you just—can you do that?”

The needle slips from between your fingers.

You reach up, cup Steve’s face in your bloodstained hands and force him to look at you. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” you tell him firmly, breaking midway through. You swallow back the lump in your throat, forced to speak around the tightness there. “If you think I am, then maybe you really are an idiot. Now shut up and let me work.”

You’re harsher than you mean to be, and you turn back to Steve’s arm before he can see the wetness gathered along your lash-line. The needle dangles against his bicep, but your hands are shaking too much to add another suture so soon, so you busy yourself by wetting a towel and dabbing at the fresh blood leaking around the wounds.

Steve taps an unrecognizable pattern against your spine, stroking over the small of your back like an apology.

It’s another minute before you grab the needle again. Neither of you speaks as you continue to sew him up; you stop whispering reassurances between sutures.

After you cut the last stitch, you dip your chin and press your lips to the top of his shoulder.

He draws you into his chest, ignoring the way his arm protests the movement, the stitches pulling awkwardly as his muscles flex beneath the thread.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his neck, muffled, but close enough for him to hear.  It’s a tight squeeze, an awkward angle, but you manage to wrap your arms around his back, pressing to him like a second skin. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Yelled at him. Called him an idiot. Dragged him into this bullshit because you messed up and couldn’t handle it yourself. He never should have been out here in the first place.

And he knows you so well. Well enough to know the way your thoughts are spiraling as fear and exhaustion sink deep into your bones. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, thumb pressed to your pulse. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t… don’t blame yourself, okay?” And God he wishes he was better with words. If he was, maybe he could do something other than sit here and hold you as you shake in his arms.

Your fingers curl against his back, searching for something to hold onto, but only finding skin.

“If I had just stayed home—”

“Don’t.”

“—and you got hurt because of me.”

His grip shifts to your jaw. Gently, he pulls you away from the curve of his neck, his hand on your chin coaxing you to look at him as he sweeps his thumb across your cheek. Your eyes are puffy, red and watery, and it breaks his heart. “This thing was already here, remember? Last night, I heard it. So did Will. And so did the Mulligans. It was already here,” he tells you again. “And it was hunting, or whatever the hell it’s out there doing. And we would have had to handle it anyway, like we always do. We just caught on a little faster this time.”

“Steve,” you say softly.

He slides his hand around to the back of your neck and pulls you down for a chaste kiss before you can say anything else. It doesn’t last for more than a moment. Just long enough to steal the words from your lips, the warm press of his mouth on yours a reminder that he’s here. That he’s alive. Your arms come unstuck from behind him, and your hands cup his cheeks as he pulls away, reluctant to let him go too far.

“I thought you were dead,” you murmur as he leans his forehead against yours. “I heard the gunshot, and I ran and… and you were just lying there. And there was blood everywhere. And you weren’t… you weren’t moving, Steve. You weren’t moving. I thought you weren’t—I thought—”

His mouth slots against yours once more, lingering longer, a little harder. His crooked nose bumps against yours, and it tastes like iron and salt as his mouth moves against your own, your lips parting under his like muscle memory. Ignoring the burn in his shoulder, Steve crushes you against his chest, holding you close and hoping you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

The fire crackles and snaps, and you watch as the new logs Steve placed into the hearth are consumed by the flames. The heat radiating from the fireplace warms your skin, but your sweater is still damp. The wet fabric is heavy on your frame, clinging in strange spots, and you haven’t stopped fidgeting uncomfortably since you finished the stitches in Steve’s arm, but you haven’t been able to will yourself to strip off the last of your clothes. Keeping them on will only make you sick, you know that, but the thought is shoved to the back of your mind as you stare into the flames, entranced.

Neither of you can make sense of the time.

Steve’s watch must have come loose in the snow, and you’ve never been inclined to wear one, so it was impossible to tell how late it was by the time you and Steve finally disentangled yourselves from each other. There was a bottle of pain medication in the first aid kit, and Steve swallowed two of them dry after you pressed the bottle into his hand. At some point, you started shivering again, far enough from the fire that your sweater refused to dry, and Steve gently slid you from his lap with a hand on your hip, nudging you towards the fireplace to warm up as he muttered about finding blankets for the two of you. It didn’t escape you how pale he looked, dark circles like bruises under his eyes, a clammy sheen to his skin.

You hadn’t realized just how physically exhausted you were until you stood and swayed on your feet. It couldn’t be any later than eight, maybe nine, by the time you finished closing the wound on Steve’s arm. Between mopping up the blood and forcing your hands to stop shaking after each suture, the process lasted longer than it should have.

There’s still blood crusted under and around your fingernails, dry and flaking off as you pick at the blotchy, ruddy stains. Each time you close your eyes you see teeth and gangly, grotesque limbs, sightless eyes staring down at you, your own voice calling out from a mouth that isn’t yours.

Outside, the wind shrieks, a shrill cry that you swear sounds like Steve’s name.

Shaking your head, you will the thought away. You shift your weight from one leg to the other as the cold registers again.

Your fingers tremble as you grasp the hem of your sweater and peel the thick fabric over your head. It squelches. Droplets splatter down your chest and back as your grip wrings water from the material. The sweater lands in a wet heap on the floor, and you wince at the loud, slick sound, more wet than damp like you thought it was.

With shaky, frozen fingers you fumble with the clasp of your bra for several seconds before you’re able to shrug the equally damp fabric down your arms. Immediately, the chilly air descends on your now bare skin. Goosebumps erupt across your chest, and you bite your lip to stifle a breathy whimper.

Steve hears you over the crackle of the fireplace. Glancing up from the makeshift nest of blankets he’s piled together, he can’t help the way his head snaps back up for a second look. Cold and shivering, you’re standing by the clothes rack he managed to dig out from one of the closets, angled in a way that leaves you in shadow, the silhouette of your bare breasts illuminated in the firelight. His breath catches, his heart lurching into his throat as your fingers slide over your hips and slip beneath the hem of your panties, dragging them down an inch.

“Don’t,” he says, louder and sharper than he means to. Gasping, your head snaps towards him, eyes wide. Steve clears his throat, looking away. “Don’t. If they’re dry, you should keep them on. You’ll be warmer that way.” The subtle innuendo makes him wince, but from the corner of his eye he sees your hands leave your panties, watches as your arms come up to cover your breasts instead.

You wet your lips. “Right.”

You glance at the fire again, arms crossed over your chest, the flames warming your bare skin and finally chasing away the chill that seeped into your bones and took root inside you, like you’d never know heat again. With your head turned to the side, you don’t see Steve’s eyes wander back to you, unable to help himself, but you can feel the weight of them tracing over your frame. Fire licks across your spine, and it has nothing to do with the flames in front of you.

This shouldn’t be awkward, Steve thinks. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked. Not even close. But this feels different. Intimate. Vulnerable. It’s not a clash of teeth and tongues, his hands grabbing your ass and hoisting you up against the nearest wall as you yank at his belt with impatient fingers because the world might as well be ending and you need to feel each other closer, at least once more, just in case. It’s not a tipsy kiss at a party neither of you want to be at, with his fingers slipping under your skirt as he bends you over a bathroom counter. Different from the risky quickies you’ve had in the front seat of his car, both of you pent up and desperate for release, your panties hooked to the side and his pants shoved down just enough for your hand to wrap around his cock.

Steve has seen you naked. He’s fucked you senseless, more than once. This is softer, somehow. Sweeter. No frantic hands. No desperation. In any other situation, it would be almost romantic.

Standing from his spot knelt next to the pile of blankets, Steve keeps his gaze firmly on the floor as he tugs at his belt, quickly slipping out of his wet and stained pants. His hands still as the floor creaks under your steps, his head tilting towards you as he sees you out of the corner of his eye.

Your arms are still crossed over your chest, loose enough for him to see the swell of your breasts. This close, he can see you’re wearing those lacy, royal blue panties that he likes. “Come warm me up?” you ask like you did last night, but there’s an implication there that wasn’t before. You want to forget tonight. You want to forget all of it, and Steve has always been good at making your thoughts grow quiet.

You’re close enough to touch. And he thinks about laying you out on the blankets, covering your body with his own and kissing you senseless until you’re moaning and writhing underneath him—your breathy cries sinking into him and drowning out the horrific screams still echoing in his head. You’d let him. There’s a look in your eyes, heady and dark, that tugs at the pit of his stomach and makes his skin feel hot.

Beneath that is something haunted.

Steve dips his chin and presses his lips to your temple instead.

“Come here, honey,” he murmurs against your skin. You shiver, eyes squeezing shut as he wraps his arm around your lower back, pulling you against him.

It isn’t long before the two of you make your way down against the blankets, burying beneath thick quilts and fuzzy throw blankets left behind during a hasty move. Steve kisses you again, soft and sweet, and you sigh into his mouth as his chest presses to yours, skin against skin. Just once, and then you slot into place against his side, head tucked under his chin and an arm slung over his stomach, your fingers sprawled beneath his navel.

You both lie there for a while, listening to the storm rage outside. You’re quick to drift, hours of being lost in the woods and hunted down leaving you unable to keep your eyes open once you’re pressed safe and warm to Steve’s side.

The rhythmic puffs of your breaths tickle his chest as Steve runs his hand along the curve of your hip and waist, pacifying himself as much as it soothes you. Exhaustion hits him hard, the last twenty-four hours catching up to him as your cold toes press against his legs. And for a moment he can pretend he’s home, with you.

There’s a tap against the window. Innocuous, but loud enough to rouse him from a doze.

“Steve?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, muffled and far-off, distorted even though you’re so close. He hums instead of answering, head lolling towards yours. You shift closer to him, your lips pressing against the dip of his collarbone. A content sigh heaves from your lungs.

“Steve?” you whisper again. Your mouth doesn’t move.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #st fic #stranger things fic #fic: into open flames