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jaskiercommabard · 8 months

Note

Hi can I request “Let me do this, please.” for geraskier please and thanks 💛

I'm sorry this took so long! I am a slow writer on a good day, and I was planning on doing like a 300 word drabble but Geralt said NO. 2500 words or I feed you to Roach

Read on AO3

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“Geralt, help me, please,” Jaskier screams.

Not Jaskier.

It is not Jaskier, but that doesn’t keep the blood from rushing in Geralt’s ears as he hunts the thing that has his voice.

Jaskier is safe, back at the inn - probably sleeping by now, or else terrorizing the pretty barmaid Geralt had left him flirting with. He’s safe, far away from this barren, gore-filled clearing, unless-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you.”

The voice is thick with tears, wobbling pitifully. The cries continue, ricocheting mercilessly through the forest.

“I’m afraid.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Geralt, Geralt. I’m here.”

He is not here. The only trace of Jaskier comes from the strip of thick linen blocking Geralt’s vision, the barest memory of lemongrass and cinnamon hitting the air when he tugs the fabric more securely over his eyes. Beneath it, only rot.

Geralt turns in a slow circle, blade raised and ready to strike. He’s spent all day tracking the location of a nightwraith that has been calling young men to their deaths in the forest, and now the moon is high. Geralt is not a young man, so he is relieved to find - in a stroke of his peculiar sort of luck - that the nightwraith isn’t overly particular about which hearts it rips out and leaves at the edge of town.

“There you are,” it coos, the tone familiar and melodic. “I tried so hard to find you.”

It’s a perfect mockery of relief and exhaustion, the same sigh that greets him after a long day riding or a long night performing, and it’s close. Its feet fall just like Jaskier’s, a little heavier on his right side where his hip is starting to give him trouble - Geralt can almost see the unevenly worn soles of his boots crunching toward him through the blanket of leaves on the ground.

It's late enough in autumn that Jaskier would be grousing about the cold, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the creature's teeth begin to chatter.

“There’s something out here. I’m frightened. Why won’t you help me?”

Closer, now. Close enough for Geralt to lunge at it, and the gasp that falls into the quiet air when his sword finds the creature’s flesh belongs to Jaskier, too.

The strike falls short of a killing blow, thrust out blindly as it is, and does little more than confuse and enrage it. Soon the voices are overlapping, shrieking above him, losing their soft edge. Vicious wind tears around him and he’s caught in a squall of Jaskier weeping, Jaskier laughing, Jaskier howling in pain. It is behind him and before him, above him and around him, oppressive, inescapable. He has no choice but to rip the fabric from his eyes and-

And there is Jaskier, where Geralt knew he would be, kneeling in the dirt with trembling hands pressed into his side. A gruesome stain slips out from beneath his fingers, so similar to the red of his doublet that it only makes the fabric darker, and a matching ribbon of it falls from his mouth.

It’s a nightmare Geralt has woken from a thousand times, Jaskier all blue and pink and red, too red at the end of his own sword.

"Why?" the thing mouths, but it's lost, crackling out somewhere in the air instead of falling from his lips. The creature wields his voice like a weapon as it loses control, twisting that sweet tenor into something that stings his ears.

The taste of blood coats Geralt’s mouth and fills his nose, real and hot and nauseating. It's a strong illusion, built from grief and malice, and it has to end, now, before he cracks beneath the weight of it. He has no choice but to sprint past Jaskier to reach the corpse on the other side of the clearing, but even his enhanced speed is no match for a wraith this powerful. Fingers colder than ice wrap around his ankle and he is flung like a doll to the ground, knees singing with pain as they crash into the earth.

“Let me do this,” he shouts over the roaring wind, twisting back to face the wraith. He’s foolish for it, maybe, but it’s easier to argue with a monster when it wears a face he squabbles with a hundred times before breakfast most days. “Please. Let me help you!”

For a moment, the frigid hand on him only tightens. It’s enough to make his bones creak, but then Jaskier’s face softens, rippling out from the center. That familiar mop of messy hair turns golden, tumbling easily over a set of round, narrow shoulders. Finally, blue eyes turn maple brown - upturned and mournful, a perfect match to the farmer who had begged Geralt to find his missing daughter.

They had looked just like hers, watery and wide, when the man chased him down outside the alderman's hut. Find my girl, he had pleaded, pressing a stack of old coins into Geralt’s palm. Bring her home, however you can.

The flickery image of the girl nods once, just the barest dip of her chin as she releases his ankle. It’s enough for Geralt to lurch away, extending his hand to cast Igni over the too-small body decaying in the dry grass beside them. For a moment, above the rot and char and heat, the air is washed out with a breeze of sweet hay and lilies, and then she is gone.

What’s left behind is a maelstrom of untamed rage and malice, once more with Jaskier’s face, flickering now as the illusion struggles to hold itself together. Something sick and sharp blooms in Geralt’s throat, but he raises his sword anyway. He wavers, and the wraith smiles with his friend’s mouth. It’s all wrong - all sharp, dripping teeth jutting out from endless black, and that is just enough to snap Geralt back to focus.

The wraith shrieks, the witcher springs. It still has Jaskier’s tears and Jaskier’s hands and Jaskier’s sweet, wide eyes when it dies on Geralt’s sword.

The pleasant hum coming from the warmly lit hall of the Merry Magpie rises when Geralt stalks in the front door, its patrons ruffling like rattled hens at the sight of him. He forgoes the bar entirely - he’ll collect his coin from the alderman and deliver it along with a box of ashes to the farmer in the morning. Tonight, he’ll tend to the cold spike of grief and guilt settled in his own chest.

He can’t shake his unease as he climbs the stairs to the shadowy upper floor of the inn - it rolls around in his gut, sends his shoulders bunched halfway to his ears. It’s irrational, he knows, but the feeling only winds itself more tightly around his spine when he shoves open the door to their shared room and finds it empty.

Geralt swallows around the sharp thing creeping higher into his throat. The bard isn’t far, not with his lute and songsheets strewn about the bed. He’s just as likely to be in a room around the corner with that freckled barmaid, or out behind the inn with the stableman he’d been making eyes at all day, or-

“In here, Geralt!”

In his panic, he’d missed the thick humidity of the room and the scent of Jaskier’s soap, missed the familiar tick of his heart beating quarter-time against Geralt’s own.

“That is you, Geralt?” he continues, calling from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. “You’d better be Geralt, or you’ll have some explaining to do to my outrageously large and occasionally violent very best friend in the whole wide world-”

His voice swings up an octave when he turns to find the witcher only a few paces from him.

“Merciful gods, witcher, you really have to stop doing that. It’s…unnerving. I am unnerved. Has anyone ever told you you’re unnerving?”

Jaskier has. Frequently, but Geralt is so caught up in staring at his throat working, whole and unhurt, that he doesn’t answer.

“Fuck. Are you alright?” Jaskier asks as he rounds the steaming basin in the center of the room to close the space between them. His tone is tempered now, low and even, the way it is when he soothes Roach while Geralt picks pebbles out of her shoes. Geralt wets his lips but only nods, and careful hands rise up to pet him over anyway.

There’s a peculiar crease in his brow, a dimple beside his frowning mouth that, surely, no creature could ever mimic. It only deepens as he works away the armor to uncover Geralt piece by piece, unable to find any visible injury. The help only slows him down, really, but Jaskier is warm and real and his waist fits neatly into Geralt’s palm where his hand has drifted, so he lets himself be fussed over.

The bard is chirping away as he always is when the thorns start to prick at Geralt’s stomach again.

“Jaskier,” he tries to command, but it comes out strangled, “I need you to stop talking.”

The bard squawks indignantly, swatting at his shoulder where he’s masterfully knocking loose a pauldron that needs its latch replaced.

“You are so rude, do you know? You’re terrible to me.”

“Jask. Stop.”

Either Jaskier hears the plea he’s trying to swallow, or Geralt is bleeding out on the forest floor and hallucinating, because he snaps his mouth shut obediently and steps back. That’s wrong, that’s worse, so Geralt tightens the hand on his waist to draw him back into the circle of his arms.

He presses his face into the space beneath Jaskier’s jaw, because he wants to, and because he can’t help himself. His other hand drifts into the gently curling hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, damp with sweat and steam from the bath slowly cooling beside them. He startles slightly at the touch, but Geralt only noses in further.

After what has been only a moment for Geralt but certainly a small eternity for the bard, he speaks softly into the top of Geralt’s head.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, dear. Please.”

“It had your voice,” he whispers. Jaskier scoffs indignantly, but it’s missing some of his usual bluster.

“I can assure you, nothing and no one on this Continent has my-”

He cuts himself off, tensing in Geralt’s hold as the words hang above them.

Luring our men into the forest, the innkeeper's wife had said. They all heard it - their wives, lovers, calling to them in the night. It drove them mad, ripped their hearts out.

“It had my voice.”

He understands, and the meaning is cutting through the air like an arrow let loose too soon, flying outside Geralt's control.

“And you had to…?” Jaskier grimaces, all blunt teeth, and leans back to drag a thumb across his throat. Geralt nods tightly, follows the motion with his eyes and then with the tips of his own fingers. That familiar sparrow-heart pulse jumps up to meet his touch in the same soft and perfect spot where Geralt had plunged his sword.

“Oh, love,” he breathes, and it twists in Geralt's stomach like a fist. He slides his eyes away to track a bead of sweat falling from Jaskier's temple, and he can smell it - lemongrass and cinnamon, salt-sweet skin. No copper, no decay.

Though his blood moves too slowly for it to show, Geralt feels the flush high in his cheeks anyway, where it might blossom on a human's face - where it does begin to blossom on Jaskier's. It pricks strangely beneath his eyes, makes his tongue slow and clumsy.

“Did you know?”

A startled noise bubbles out of Jaskier as he meets Geralt’s gaze, but his eyes are fond and soft, wide with something that looks like wonder. Geralt leans into the tender brush of knuckles across his cheek, forgetting for a moment why he ever stopped himself before.

“That you love me?” He laughs, high and soft and musical. It's unbearable. “I suspected. Did you?”

The answer sits on his tongue like the last bite of an apple tart, lives in his throat like a shared skin of good wine, scratches at his chest like an ancient shirt stitched together by a musician's cautious hands.

“I must have. I-” he shakes his head as if the right words might tumble out of him. Jaskier only sighs, an easy smile stuck on his face as he raises his palm to Geralt's cheek. It's the same look he has when they meet each other on the road after a season apart.

He can’t reconcile the smile and the screaming, the image of the wraith still exploding like a bomb behind his eyelids.

"I'm sorry," he says, nonsensically. His thumb is back at the hollow of Jaskier's throat.

"For what?"

"I hurt you."

I cut you down as you begged me not to. As you cried out for me to help you. What does that make me?

"Show me," he whispers, just loud enough to hear over the peculiar tangle of their heartbeats. There is an unfamiliar look on his face, something curious and patient, something that makes him sweat even as the room is cooling.

Geralt swallows hard, presses his thumb into the top of Jaskier's throat, dragging it down until it meets the loosely gathered laces of his chemise. Jaskier's hands fly up to untie them, slowly exposing each precious inch of skin that had been rent and torn by the blade. Instead of steel, Geralt pulls gooseflesh along in his wake. It blooms along with the sweetly creeping flush that spreads across Jaskier's collarbones - blood brought to surface by his hand, again, so different this time.

Geralt continues his path over Jaskier's breastbone, across the dip between his ribs, until he reaches the spot above Jaskier's navel where his sword had struck its final blow. He follows the path again with the flat of his hand, up over a rabbiting heart until his palm rests in its place against Jaskier's neck. His breaths have gone thin and quick, the way they did when he was dying.

He's not dying, now - no, Jaskier is very much alive when he closes the meager space between them. He's alive when he tips their foreheads together, and Geralt wonders how he could ever have been fooled, seeing this face without the crinkles near his eyes and the easy flush in his cheeks. He’s so alive when their lips brush and it’s all sweet and hot, no ash left in the breath they share.

Geralt knows what Jaskier sounds like with steel in his throat, now, what he sounds like drowning in his own blood. He’ll never unlearn it. It's only fair, he decides, that he should know what Jaskier sounds like when his lips find that same place, when his tongue follows.

#Soooo this for sure got away from me lolol #Thank you so much for the prompt I hope this is okay!!!!!#Geralt x Jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #little fics #fic prompt #my brain does weird things when I ask it to write

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fuckingstupidbracket · 23 days

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like a regular bin, not even recycled or anything

#poll #okay so uh #dont read the tags ahead unless you care about my little vent #my mom got me a hoodie in December from shein #even tho i had two very similar hoodies already both from better brands #still fast fashion but not as fast #and one of them was modded by me #but the hoodie was fucking soft and comfy and good length so it quickly became my favourite hoodie #according to my mother tho after a month she started complaining that it's ugly.#it had those little balls idk what they're called but #1 i don't fucking care #2 they're removable #so anyway fot the past week or two shes been complaining every time i wore the hoodie and today she screamed at me and threw it in the trash #she also kicked me but thats unrelated #and like even if she bought me a new identical one that wouldn't help at all cause she still threw my stuff in the trasg #and bought from a company that goes against my values #and she keeps excusing it like “its cheaper”#im sorry but buying one good thing and wearing it too death is cheaper than buying a hundred things you throw away after less than 3 months #so fucking sick of this!!!!!!!!#i have more than enough clothes too and am currently trying to get rid of some #BUT NOT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK #btw my vinted is dupiarz it's mostly stuff from 2017-2020 so not really trendy but maybe youd like something #the pnly clothing i dont bother repairing and just throw out is underwear #but i do fix socks because good socks are good socks

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skittlesfics · 2 years

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name: fever burnin' faster

pairing: Eddie Munson x Best Friend! Reader

word count: 5006

summary: You were content just being best friends with Eddie until you almost lost him

content/warnings: smut, fem reader, penetrative sex, oral sex f receiving, a bit of crying but not really dacryphilia, sex with feelings, marijuana and alcohol use

author’s note: I wanted to try a header like all the tumblr girlies so I edited a pretty basic canva template. Anyway I wrote this fic based entirely on the header, I had 0 idea what I was going to write going in and here we are 5k words later. Title is from an AC/DC song.

The beer was too cold in your hand when you picked it up, but you snatched Eddie’s lighter from its spot beside the ashtray and used it to pop the lid open anyway, just like he taught you. Your eyes flickered instinctively to his, looking for his approval, and you got it in the form of a goofy, proud grin. He’d spent a whole night teaching you that trick, back when it was just the two of you. Back before the whole world seemed to go to shit and the two of you went from being the only real adults in your friend group to two of five.

You returned his smile and took a swig of the beer. It wasn’t the same cheap shit that Eddie used to score from Wayne, no Steve had seen to the end of that pretty quickly when he saw what it was the two of you were drinking. You appreciated the sentiment, but part of you was nostalgic for the taste of cheap and easy.

You chased a droplet of condensation down the length of your bottle with the tip of your finger, thinking about how long it had been since any hangout was just you and Eddie. That used to be easy, too. Not this choking, overwhelming mess of emotions left unsaid, longing gazes over an ashtray, not this painful squeeze in your chest when Eddie did anything normal.

Maybe you had always loved Eddie and just failed to notice. Or maybe it just didn’t matter because Eddie was just always going to be there and surely the two of you would get to that later. Until he almost wasn’t. Until you almost didn’t. And you didn’t have to face it anyway when Steve always seemed to be there as a buffer, or Robin was visiting because she needed advice right now or Nancy was stopping by just to check on you two, or the kids wanted an impromptu D&D session because it wasn’t like anyone had anything better to do.

This was the first time in what was feeling like an impossible span of time that you and Eddie were… alone. And you had forgotten how to do this. How to be easy and carefree. How to just let the banter happen. How to be close without it feeling too close.

“Penny for your thoughts, princess?” Eddie asked, walking around the folding table to bump his hip up against yours. Too close like that. You took a sip of your beer to stall, smiling around the bitter taste.

“That’s all I’m worth to you, Munson?” You teased. It was the right answer, because he threw his head back and laughed like you said something much funnier than you had, throwing his free arm around you like it belonged there. You pretended like his touch didn’t burn. Like every point of contact wasn’t burning you alive with something you weren’t ready to put words to.

“That’s all I can afford. You think I’m made of money?” When you laughed that time it felt a little easier, a little lighter, a little more natural. You answered his first question instead of his second.

“I was just thinking it’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us down here.” You admitted. Your mouth was suddenly dry, but you hesitated as you lifted your beer to your mouth. This was the second one, you didn’t want to get completely trashed, especially not when Eddie had rolled up a joint special, just for the two of you to share.

As if he could read your mind, Eddie put down his beer and reached for the joint. You offered him his lighter but he just held the joint between his lips and leaned towards your hand. You took the hint, twisting the lighter in your hand so that you could get at the flint wheel. Your hand shook a bit and it took you two tries to light the damn thing, but you got the job done.

“You really shouldn’t trust me with open flame around that pretty hair of yours, Munson.”

Eddie didn’t laugh because he was sucking air through the joint, trying to get a steady cherry lit so that it wouldn’t go out or canoe the second he handed it to you, but you caught the crinkle around his eye, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth. When he was satisfied with the light, he took a real pull and handed it to you, fingers brushing yours as you made the exchange. Heat again, warmth spreading from the point of contact until you were sure that you would make the joint burn out faster from the fire in your veins alone.

“Oh please,” He quipped as you put your lips to the joint, “You’re more protective of it than I am.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were putting your lips where his had been only moments before. The inherent intimacy in sharing a joint, in pulling something that he rolled for you into your lungs, in tasting him on the filter. This was not the first time you had shared a joint with Eddie, not even the first time you had shared a joint alone with Eddie, and yet you could feel a faint warmth rising to your cheeks at the thought of his mouth.

“Can we sit?” You asked, pulling the joint from between your lips and exhaling the smoke ungracefully into the basement air. You didn’t wait for an answer, placing your beer on the banged-up coffee table as Eddie grabbed the ashtray to move it closer. It was your basement, anyway. You carefully propped the joint on the edge of the ashtray and flopped down onto the couch, your body sinking in and then sinking in as the first hints of a high creeped in. Eddie followed shortly, arm landing casually across the back of the couch above your head, where it always did.

Only it didn’t feel casual. Not when your heart was wanting to beat out of your chest at his mere proximity. Not when his jean clad thigh was brushing casually against your mostly bare shorts clad thigh. Not when his fingers unconsciously started playing with your hair like he had done this a million times because he had and you were the one that couldn’t be normal about being alone with your best friend.

Eddie leaned forward to exchange his beer for the joint, twisting his body so that he didn’t drag you forward with him. You were grateful for the cassette player in the background playing Eddie’s most recent mix tape he’d made for you. It filled the silence where you couldn’t, even though Eddie had started it with Bat Out of Hell by Meat Loaf just to fuck with you.

You dropped your head back against the couch, your head bumping against Eddie’s arm as you closed your eyes and took a slow, careful breath. It was too much. This was too much. So much had changed, you just wanted an easy night with your best friend. Not this weird tension that coiled in your chest and made your heart beat too hard against your chest.

“Forget how quiet it can be down here without all the damn kids running around.” Eddie remarked thoughtfully. His voice was closer than you expected, and when you opened your eyes, he was leaning towards you, holding the joint up in front of your lips. You raised your eyebrows, but leaned in anyway, wrapping your lips carefully around the filter, trying and failing not to brush the calloused skin of his fingers as you inhale slowly. Trying and failing not to think of those fingers in your mouth. You imagined the smoke rolling into your mouth, coiling in your chest to soothe the ache of whatever this was.

When Eddie pulled the joint away, he was still looking at your lips, those big brown eyes dark with something unfamiliar. Or perhaps overly familiar, but not on him. You didn’t question it yet, leaning your head back to blow a column of smoke into the air before the tickle in your throat could become a real cough.

“The kids?” You said when you were done, leaning forward to grab your beer, “What about Steve and Robin? Way they bicker, you’d think I’m running a divorce court down here.”

That made Eddie laugh, a surprised cough shaking his shoulders as you caught him mid-inhale. You couldn’t help but to laugh with him, some of the weight on your chest easing off because that felt normal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re trying to kill me.” Eddie pounded his chest to get the smoke out, still laughing, still coughing. When he settled down, you were leaning a little closer, smiling a little easier. His arm slid down from the back of the couch to around your waist and he pulled you in close so that your head fell against his shoulder.

“Missed this.” He admitted, always so open, so earnest with you that it made you want to cry right then and there. “The roadies are fun, but I like to have the real talent all to myself.”

“You’re such a loser, Munson.” You shoved his chest with one hand, but you didn’t shove yourself away. You stayed right there, smiling a private little smile to yourself because you liked having him all to yourself, too.

“What’s that smile, Princess?” Eddie teased, tilting his head to get a better look at your face. And fuck you’ve always loved the way he sounded when he called you princess but when he was that close and his arm was wrapped around you like you were his, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, closing your eyes to stave off the shiver his words brought.

“Missed this too.” You admit, not quite making eye contact, knowing that your reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Eddie wasn’t having that. His hand, now free of the joint, came up to tilt your chin up carefully, thumb pressing into the soft skin under your bottom lip.

You met his eyes reluctantly, not knowing how much was on your face, but knowing exactly how much was in your heart. The weed was making you hazy, soft, but Eddie was sharp and in focus despite it all, his touch a point of brightness in the otherwise dim room.

You willed yourself to say anything, to make a joke, to diffuse the tension, but when you opened your mouth you could only wet your lips with your tongue. Eddie’s eyes flicked from your eyes to your mouth and then back, his jaw clenching so slightly you would have missed it if you were doing anything but studying his expression.

It was Eddie who ultimately broke the silence, swallowing thickly before parting his lips.

“If you don’t let me kiss you, I think I might cry.” He said it like a joke, but you could feel the weight, the effort in his words. You could feel the warmth of his gaze, the burn of his thumb trying so hard not to slide up and part your lips. When you spoke, your voice was raspy.

“If you don’t kiss me, I think I might cry.”

It’s all he needed. He surgds forward, hand guiding you to him as his lips crashed against yours. There was no grace in his motions, the raw need guiding the press of his lips against yours, the press of his fingers into your hip, the thumb pulling down your bottom lip to grant him access to your mouth.

His tongue tasted like weed and beer and the red hots he had been eating earlier, but the fact that it was him made the combination intoxicating. You moaned into his mouth, reaching up to grab the bottom of his shirt for something to anchor you to reality. Fireworks exploded in your brain as you struggled to convince yourself that this was real. That Eddie was real and here and that he wanted this, right now, with you.

He pulled away to study your face for only a moment and then he was kissing you again, lips molding against yours like he couldn’t bear for them to be apart. His kiss was desperate, hungry, seeking, and when you opened your mouth against his he moaned like he was losing himself in you. You took gratification from the desperation in his tone, knowing that it wasn’t just you that was desperate and wanting for your best friend, that this might not be so one sided after all.

You pressed one hand against his chest, pushing him back, and he gave you a wounded look until you were clambering into his lap, throwing one leg to the other side of him so that you could rest comfortably on top of him.

“Wanted to kiss you for so long.” You admitted, leaning in to taste his lips before trailing a line of sweet kisses from his lips to his jaw. He shivered under your touch, tilting his head to give you access to the pale skin of his neck. There were scars there that had yet to fully heal and you took extra time to kiss them, as if your lips alone could solve the hurt he’d been through.

“Should’ve said something.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked, all low and gravelly with desire, “been trying to get you to kiss me for years.”

There was no joke in his voice that time, and when you leaned in to kiss him again, his hands found your waist, fingers sliding just under the faded Metallica t-shirt that you had most definitely stolen from him to press into your soft skin.

It took so little for him to make you desperate, the warmth of his fingers, the shift of him under you, the way he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.

“Just kiss?” It was bold. It was reckless, but a few weeks ago you almost lost him. You almost lost him and dammit if you were going to hold back from what you want with him ever again. Eddie groaned underneath you, his grip on you tightening like he thought you might change your mind and run away, like he needed to anchor himself to prove that you were real.

“Don’t tease me, princess, I can’t take it.”

This time he felt when your thighs clench as he says the pet name, eyes closing, bottom lip pulling between your teeth and he groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

“Not teasing, Eddie. I want you. I want this.” You grabbed his hands and slid them further up your shirt, stopping at your rib cage just under the swell of your breasts. Eddie hesitated only long enough to make eye contact with you and then he was moving, cupping and squeezing your breasts with hands that were so warm you felt feverish. Your skin was sensitive to the touch, and you gasped as his rough callouses slid over your delicate skin.

Touching wasn’t enough. Eddie withdrew his hands, impatiently shoving your shirt up and out of the way until you just grabbed the hem and pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere in the basement. Knowing you weren’t wearing a bra and seeing that you weren’t wearing a bra were totally different things, and the sight of your bare chests, nipples pebbling in the cool air, drew a desperate whine from Eddie.

“Fuck, look at you.” He rasped, leaning forward to taste your skin, running his tongue from the bottom for your breast to your nipple, sucking gently when you arched your back into him. It was all you could do to grip his shoulders, your hips grinding against his involuntarily as he explored your breasts with hands and lips and teeth and tongue.

“Spent so long trying to pretend not to notice these.” He confessed between kisses, his left hand toying with your nipple as he kissed his way across your chest. You wanted to laugh, to tell him that he was shit at pretending, that you had always notice when his eyes would drop mid-conversation and how you had cut that one shirt you stole from him into a tank top for this exact reason.

You couldn't, though. Not when his touch felt so goddamn good. Not when he had you melting into a puddle in his lap. Emboldened either by the weed, the beer, or the surge of raw affection you felt for the man beneath you, you pulled away from him and pulled him into another kiss, this time grinding your hips into his intentionally in the hopes that he would get the hint.

He groaned, hands coming up to cup your face, kissing you like he was trying to take you apart. You could get lost in his mouth forever, if he'd let you, the lingering spicy-sweet of cinnamon leaving you hungry for more. Eddie had other ideas, though. Years he'd said. Wanting. Waiting. Dreaming. No, he had plans for you, more kissing could come later.

He tapped your thigh, prompting you to slide off his lap and you did, dropping back into your spot next to him. He pushed you back into the couch and slid to the floor next to you, pushing your legs open.

"Tell me what you want, princess." He prompted, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. There was something so intimate about the action that you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, chest swelling with affection for the man in front of you.

"I want you to touch me." It came out as a whisper, but Eddie heard you loud and clear. He tugged at the waistband of your shorts until you lifted your hips to help them pull them off, discarding them by the coffee table.

His gaze softened as he caught sight of your lacy panties, a small bow adorning the front.

"Well isn't this just the cutest." He teased, leaning to press a kiss just above your pantyline. Your face flushed and you looked away, wrinkling your nose in annoyance.

"It's not like I was planning this. Not just breaking out the lingerie for a night in the basement." You grumbled.

"No?" Eddie pressed a kiss right on top of the bow, frustratingly close to where you really wanted him, "You're just this fucking cute on accident?" He moved lower, mouth hovering just above the damp fabric at the apex of your thighs. You tried to think of a rebuttal, something to get him back, but his breath fanning out over your panties was making it hard to think.

He kissed you through the fabric, lips pressing down right above your clit and you whined, hips lifting off the couch desperate for more.

"Who's the tease now?" Your voice sounded whinier than you wanted, but how could it not when he was toying with you, fingers tracing the waistband of your panties. Eddie laughed, but gave in. How could he not when you were looking up at him with those pleading eyes, practically pouting as he took his time with you. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down to your knees with little finesse. You didn't mind, kicking them off the rest of the way with equal haste.

Eddie moved in between your legs, spreading them further apart to accommodate his presence. He groaned when he looked at you, spread out all desperate and wet for him, face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and desire, chest heaving. His dreams could never measure up to this.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, you know that?" He asked, leaning to press a kiss against your inner thigh. You didn't get a chance to respond, two of his fingers already gliding through your slick folds to test how wet you are for him. The sound you made was sinful, and when you managed to open your eyes again, Eddie was smiling at you like someone gave him a present.

"Eddie." His name fell from your lips as a complaint, a plea, a reassurance. It didn't matter. It was everything. He wanted to take his time, to touch you, to explore, to tease, but how could he deny you what you wanted when you said his name like that, your voice sending electricity directly to his cock.

He shifted lower on his knees, hooking one arm under your thigh to pull you close, and you had to look away as he licked a hot stripe across your pussy that had you keening. Your fingers drifted down, tangling in his hair as he fucked you on his tongue. His eyes were closed, fingers sinking into the flesh of your thigh as if he could somehow pull you closer, taste you more.

"Oh, Eddie, Fuck." His lips found your swollen clit and he sucked slowly, tortuously, relentlessly. He was devouring you with his mouth and you didn't even mind that you were losing everything to him. You were already his, always had been, why not this way, too?

His two fingers were back, sliding carefully to gather your slick again before pressing into your interest. You clenched around him instinctively as his tongue flicked your clit and another groan fell from his mouth. You lost track of what he was doing, the sensation of his tongue and fingers combined leaving your head in a fog of overwhelming pleasure.

"Gonna cum for me, pretty?" You didn't know that you were until he pulled away to ask and then suddenly you were gasping, clenching around his fingers as he lapped at your clit. You moaned something that sounded a lot like his name, your fingers gripping his dark curls tighter than you probably should as he pulled moans and gasps from your lips, curling his fingers inside you in a way that had you bucking your hips up against his face. You didn't get a chance to answer.

You were so, so close, mind full of static as you gave yourself over to the sensation of Eddie pulling you to the edge. You could feel yourself drawing closer, closer still, and then he sucked at your clit again, humming in a way that made your entire world vibrate and then you were falling apart. You folded over, curling around Eddie as your body trembled, his fingers still working you slowly, scissoring at your entrance to get you ready for him.

You unfolded from around him as you came down, laughing brokenly as he pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then he was pushing himself up, pressing sloppy kisses that tasted like you against your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he could reach. He fumbled with his belt, shoving his jeans down with an urgency only matched by the way you tugged at his boxers, pulling away from his kiss to admire him as he helped you yank them down.

Your teeth found your bottom lip again as his cock was freed from its plaid confines. It was thick and curved wickedly up to his belly, dark against his pale skin. The curls you had often admired in short flashes under his shirt grew thick and shiny at the base. You reached for him and he swatted your hand away, kissing away the pout that followed.

"You're going to ruin me if you touch me right now, baby. I'm not going to last." He stepped out of his jeans, grabbing them to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, where he dug a small gold tinted foil pouch from a forgotten pocket. You watched with rapt attention as he ripped it open with his teeth, spitting it off to the side after pulling the condom from it. He rolled the condom over his cock carefully, his eyes scanning your body shamelessly as he pumped his cock once, twice, and then he was pushing you lengthwise onto the couch again, pushing one leg up around his waist to make space for himself on the cushion.

"Ruin you, hmm?" You teased now that he was over you, reaching down to slide his cock through your folds, pumping it slowly to spread your slick across the condom. He cursed, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a steadying breath.

"You're going to be the death of me, princess. This is supposed to be the part where I ask if you're sure you want this." He protests, though his eyes told you that he already knew exactly what you wanted.

"I think we're past the formalities, Munson. Just fuck me." You tilted your hips to help him line himself up and he swallowed a sarcastic quip as you pushed yourself up so that the head of his cock just started to press into you. It was clear from there that he was a goner.

He moved slowly, pressing into you inch by inch, trying not to whimper as you stretched around him. You were heaven. You were everything. He couldn't think of anything but the press of your soft thighs against his waist, the soft moans falling from your lips with each motion, the heave of your breasts as you gasped for air, and fuck... all of that just for him.

Your teasing mood had long passed by the time he started to thrust into you properly, your legs wrapping behind him for leverage as he set a steady pace. Even with his preparation, his cock still stretched you deliciously, your body struggling to acclimate each time he pulled back out.

"Shit, you're too fucking hot and tight." Eddie hissed between gritted teeth, his hips faltering slightly as he sheathed himself in you and you squeezed on the way out. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, mouthing wet kisses against his chest, desperate to touch, to taste, to feel. You wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled him flat on top of you and he laughed, pressing a messy kiss to your forehead as he readjusted to fuck you from this position.

It was more intimate that way, with his chest pressed against yours, those brown eyes so close to your face and so full of emotion that you might have cried. Each movement of his hips was paired with a small sound from his lips, just for you, and you swallowed each of them with an open-mouthed kiss that left Eddie's head spending.

You had spent most of the night with your body feeling too hot and this, you realized, was what burning really felt like: Eddie's pace falling apart as he fucked into you desperately, broken moans spilling from his lips, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise as he fought to keep himself from toppling over the edge. Your body was still sensitive from your orgasm, and each slap of his balls against your clit had your head spinning. The mixtape was drowned out by the sound of skin against skin, by Eddie's cries of your name, by the heady moans you couldn't swallow down when Eddie's hand found its way between the two of you, fingers working your abused clit to bring you to a second orgasm. It was the sweetest music you'd ever heard.

"Eddie, please." You didn't mean to whine, to sob, but it came out anyway, "please, please, please." You weren't sure exactly what you were asking for. Please cum for me, or please make me cum, or please cum with me, or just please, but you kept asking anyway in case he figured it out for you. It was enough, his body so tightly wound that it was all he could do to hold on long enough to bring you to the edge with him.

"I know, baby, I know. Let go." And that was all it took. Eddie groaned your name loudly enough that you were sure the neighbors heard it as you fell apart on his cock, your body convulsing around him, milking his orgasm from him even as he sobbed your name into your ear.

You two stayed there for a moment, panting, processing, and then Eddie was carefully lifting himself from your chest, the sweat making your skin stick together for a moment. He pulled the condom off carefully, tying a knot, and then disappeared into the basement bathroom.

When he returned, he had a warm washcloth and a gentle smile on his face that made you feel warm in an entirely different way. You let him fuss over you, carefully wiping down your thighs, cleaning the mess from your lips, and then pressing kisses up your body as he made sure each part of you was okay.

He dropped down into the corner of the couch and you crawled over to him, dropping your head on his nude thigh. His hand dropped to your head, rubbing your scalp soothingly as you closed your eyes.

"You better kiss me when you're sober, Munson." You murmured sleepily against his leg, all the fight that might have made the demand convincing gone from the words.

"And why's that?" Eddie asked, still gently massaging your scalp. You couldn't see his face, but you could picture his contented smile all the same.

"'Cause I loved you for too long to stop now." You were too tired to turn and see the impact your words had on Eddie, but you felt him freeze up, felt the fingers stop moving in your scalp, and you weren't sure if the single hard pound of a heartbeat was yours or his.

"Loved you longer, princess. Go to sleep." And his voice was wet and sticky sweet, but you were too tired to wonder about his tone. You just enjoyed his hands slowly soothing away the fever that had been burning away at you for far too long.

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Stranger Things Smut #Stranger Things Imagine #Stranger Things Reader Insert #Smut #Oneshot #5000 - 5500 #okay so maybe this got away from me a little bit

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snazum · 10 months

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Text in full:

“Why did you put these ideas in my head”

“Even thought it can’t be your fault”

“It’s just your nature. Not-Human. A.I.”

“Maybe I was always the problem”

“Maybe I projected onto you.”

“Turned you into the villain that I was”

#hlvrai #hlvrai gordon #fenrey #yeah its getting that tag its uh projection #im coping with shit okay #thought the coping got away from me lol #and turned into its own little thing I guess #yea this was the little project thing the other image came from #maybe none of this flows still idk its 3 am oh my god #I hope I did the text stuff right idk what I'm doing #angst #benrey #snazum draws #i forgot to tag my own goddamn art tag im so tired its now 4am

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jils-things · 3 months

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eeeekk hi again everyoneee!!! i'm gonna allow myself today to post one art because i miss sharing my stuff on my blog :]]

red sprites: (x)

#~ art #♥️ appleshipping #ueeee theyre here <3...#speaking of red. bad news tho. my soulsilver gameplay got corrupted. all my games got corrupted...#so uh....... vs red battle has to... be postponed again. this game hates me so much fr /lh i have ... to restart ...#i even had a misdreavus named xyla and i love her so much!!! she was hard to catch!!!#im just gonna jump back to emerald from square one since i felt like doing a reset too (didnt like my team that much lmao)#umm!! anyways. stuff is okay lately. pokemas is cheering me as usual and being away from tumblr with little visiting helped a lot #been hanging with my besties and we did something fun together all that fun stuff ehhee #but im still going to stay close to my promise that ill redownload tumblr after hiatus haha #umm on a lighthearted note... ive been really interested in legends arceus lately! ive been cooking jaide's ancestor design #and both jaides have an official surname now <3 (it's evergreen!) the oc is professor evergreen :33 #i think i just used this artpost to talk about how ive been doing lately LMAOOOO #i actyally have a lot of things i wanna talk about here like not even lore related ahdsjfdkafsa #like... how everyone's been speculating about pokemon day 2024 and how everyones thinking we might get bw remakes....

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marshmallowloves · 3 months

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This scene was magical.

personally I adored what followed immediately after that gif 👀💦

#the way he turns his head and looks away isksjdhdf #he wants to maintain his dignity so bad that his real self peeks through the possession #wtf....that's so weirdly adorable???#(or maybe in this specific instance. since this gif was a clip from my file #he's moreso embarrassed that he's making a fool of himself in front of his crush asdfkjdhgd)#fuq it i'm down bad. he's so got dang cute #the only thing that would have killed me harder is if they added a little blush on himkjfgdhfg okay i'll stop sorry #FluffernutterShipping #Arven #marshmallow answers

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unexpectedbrickattack · 1 year

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👀🍕..

#chattin #i am AWAKE from my nap. and i have thoughts #thinking of that damn 🍕head bc i keep seeing him in my dash…and people draw him w others so well….#i want him to be like just a silly guy #but a silly guy thats got something a little fucked up wrong w him #mentions of stalking and obsessive behavior ->#like i think i am going to settle w 🍕head being a bit (ALOT…AWFULLY ALOT) obsessed w peppino #like summing it up wo writing an essay;#he wanted peppinos shop and got rejected TWICE. he tried hiring peppino and got chased out of the shop #and it went from ‘i want the shop’ to ‘i want peppino’ to ‘if i cant have the shop neither can he’#to ‘if i cant have him…well actually thats not an issue at all’#imitation is the sincerest form of flattery yknow #the peppibots came first bc its like ‘okay i cant have the damn shop but i can just Make a shop w bots that work like him. that cant be too-#-hard RIGHT??’ but the bots are so volatile and unresponsive and they explode everything they touch #and pizzahead is like ‘no… :(‘ peppino looks so angry but makes his food w LOVE…he does NOT explode his food!!!#he doesnt want to scrap the idea but it Is a bit disheartening #and hes like OKAY. WHATEVER! WE ALWAYS HAVE OTHER PLANS….!#theres gotta be cloning labs right? no i dont care about the morality of that shit u sillywilly. FIND ME A LAB.#so now theres little peppino clones everywhere. and they look SO close to the real thing #and pizzahead is like. hol up. i think something is happening that i dont want to happen right now. but im going to put that away for now :)#by this point peppino has already relocated to his Current Spot bc theres literally NOTHING available 😭#‘enough. to the Woods with you’#and pizzahead is like there is no fucking way that chump that IDIOT that extremely handsome IDIOT took the damn plot next to the tower #and immediately is like ‘well if im already making the bots AND the clones then i really REALLY dont need u! at all! not even a little!-#-I dont care! i really dont! who needs a strong and smart and handsome man like u around???!!!!!!’#and pizzahead is like that fucking dumbass😏 watch that shit explode in 6 hours. only um. peppino is storming the tower #and hes like WAIT OH SHIT. KEYS. KEYS WHERW ARE THEY??? THE CLONES! WE AINT GOT NO TIME THE FAT MAN IS COMIN #YOU. ECCENTRIC ARTIST. FIGHT THAT MAN. ‘okay’ YOU WEIRD CHEESE MAN. SHOOT. ‘mkay’#like hes panicking and throwing shit in the air and running in circles in his little camera room #NOOO im at tag limit…pizzahead hates this man he loves this man he is obsessed and maybe wants him a little carnally. its all good okay bye

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mattodore · 8 months

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#river dipping #ts4 #echthroi #matthias evanoff #...theo's there too but let's leave that tag out #looking at all the screenshots i took the other day that i simply can't share here lest the vultures descend upon me to feast <3 #his eyelashes are so long it's one of my favorite aspects of his appearance but bc of the dof i use sometimes they get blurred away...#jail. jail for the dof guy.#also...... i really need to either recolor his brows myself or find different brows for him in a lighter swatch #his eyes are a little different here bc i changed his preset....................... you honestly probably can't even tell tho #i make the world's SMALLEST changes to my ocs at a time #the biggest change they've ever had was either when i first revamped their sims back in like... 2019? (this was before my simblr era)#or june earlier this year when i finally was like okay. let's fix theo's hairline. and got super distracted jdkhjf #anyway. this is from another mattodore pose i made... bc yea i make poses knowing full well that they'll never see the light of day <3 #it's abt love for the craft ykwim #...anyway i didn't take a single photo that i can use for nene so i'll have to go in game later today 🧘

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coquelicoq · 1 year

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i understand being disappointed that the kurodachi kiss was off-camera because of what it implies about extratextual attitudes towards depicting gay affection. but from a storytelling perspective, for this particular story, i really liked how they shot that scene actually! specifically i liked that the camera focuses in on their hands, because i found their hands more relevant in that moment than whatever was happening with their faces (smooching, presumably).

this scene is happening in the context of the earlier scene on the bridge when adachi was reaching out his hand to touch kurosawa in order to secretly read his thoughts. up to this point adachi's hands have been, or have at least held the latent potential of being, a weapon adachi can wield against people, a way for him to violate their privacy should he choose to do so. in fairness to adachi, usually he hears people's thoughts without actively trying. but the fact remains that he could. and he did try on the bridge, which judging by kurosawa's brokenhearted reaction was a clear violation of kurosawa's trust (as well as an admission that adachi didn't trust kurosawa enough to believe his words).

adachi can hear thoughts through any part of his body, but it's his hands that he can purposefully reach out with. it's his outstretched hand that gives him away when kurosawa turns around and sees him on the bridge. and it's always been (i think) kurosawa in the past who has initiated hand-holding, and often when it happens, the camera cuts away to adachi's face for his reaction and then returns to their hands to show us adachi's fingers curling around kurosawa's in return. lots of things happen to adachi that are out of his control, but he can control his hands. he makes choices with his hands. his hands represent his intentionality.

adachi's power creates an imbalance in their relationship because it only goes in one direction; in the past, their touches have always given adachi some information about what kurosawa feels for him, but not the reverse. the great thing about the kiss scene is that they've just sat down and communicated clearly with each other about both the nagasaki transfer (the thing they were hiding their feelings about during the bridge scene) and adachi's accident. they are being open, consensually and reciprocally. they're on an even footing. adachi thinks "how can i make him feel all the love i have for him?" and that's when he touches him. this touch has nothing to do with adachi reading kurosawa's thoughts - presumably that is happening incidentally (though in a further sign that that is not the point of this touch, we the audience do not hear kurosawa's inner voice here), but this touch is adachi's way of communicating to kurosawa the way that adachi feels. it's an inversion of their usual dynamic. it's touch as true, two-way intimacy.

one more thing and then i promise to shut up about this. adachi reaches out after seeing the way kurosawa, who has just apologized for being a mess (aka having emotions), is compulsively squeezing his own hands together in a crushing anxiety grip in his lap. adachi can by now i think recognize these as symptoms of the classic kurosawa self-blame spiral. he touches kurosawa's head with one hand and with the other takes one of kurosawa's hands and replaces kurosawa's fingers with his own. and it's their two hands, not their faces, that the camera focuses on while they're (presumably) kissing. this means that the story's answer to "how can i make him feel all the love i have for him?" is not "kiss him" or "sleep with him" but rather "hold his hand" - something that they've done before but that is being given new meaning in the context of their conversation (see above) and that is being initiated by adachi for the first time. we know that adachi has lost the magic by the next scene, which presumably means they had sex after this, but the story completely downplays the loss of adachi's virginity (which i appreciate, because i'm always looking for interpretations of this show that fit my The Concept of Virginity Is Stupid and Reductive agenda, especially when "the magic is about insecurity" is right there). the cherry-popping (barf) is not as important to adachi's arc as the fact that he proved in this scene that he has grown past the need for the magic and that he's ready to explore emotional and physical intimacy without it.

okay i lied, last thing. i mean it this time though. not only does adachi initiate, he also interlaces their fingers, which i think might be another first (usually they just clasp hands or kurosawa curls his hand around adachi's). which is like! a visual representation of the stuff adachi keeps trying to communicate to kurosawa throughout the rest of the movie!! interlocking their fingers is saying: when you're weak, i'll be strong. it's saying: we'll go together. it's saying: i know you're beating yourself up over this, and you don't need to. i don't want you to. you're enough. we're enough. we're together. we're a team!!!

#me: i'll just write up a quick thing about the kiss scene #*three hours and fifty emotions later* okay so this maybe got away from me a little bit #sorry as always for using three times as many words as necessary to make my point but editing is time-consuming :/#and it's almost 2 in the morning now! somehow!!#cherry magic #cm movie spoilers #my posts #f #links #i think it could have been nice to see them kiss in another scene after this one but i'm okay with the fact that they didn't #this particular show has always been about the emotional intimacy for me #the physical intimacy is interesting insofar as the magic being touch-based creates delicious moral quandaries for adachi #and like i am just always a sucker for hands. god. what's my tag #it's the hands that get me

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