#so they all have these gnarly scars

[mispronouncing-michaelangelo]

yunmech jiang or whatever

#mdzs #yunmeng siblings #yunmeng trio #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #pacrim au #look there is a lot to unpack in this au #but basically they are a 3 man drift #but it cannn run on 2 and it does for a while but the toll is really severe cause its not made for that #and eventually wwx loses his ability to go into the drift (golden core thing) #(i mean he sorta can but its wayyy more harmful and well get into that when i finally buckle in and draw wen ning and his ability to drift) #(cause his driftability is a fucking messssssss) #anyway their mech looks like a lotus and they love it and clean it and repair it and love it and love it and ya know love it #but every sect has different ways of interacting with mechs and going into the drift and the gear they wear #and yunmeng wear little patches that scar into their skin over time so they need to change the location every once in a while #or else the scar fucks with the ability to do it #so they all have these gnarly scars #they also dont wear their robes because their mech is always getting fucking wet and getting them wet cause ya know its a pier and all #anyway click for quality t-t

[mattodore]

they're the 🐺 and 🐇 emojis

#river dipping #ts4 #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #echthroi #GOD........... PUTTING THEIR CAS HEADSHOTS SIDE BY SIDE MAKES ME FEEL SO CRAZY. THEY JUST. THEY JUST LOOK LIKE THIS....... #NEVER NEEDED [REDACTED] SO BAD IN MY LIFE..... EMBARRASSINGGGGGG. LET'S GET A GRIP. #also i can't wait for when i get better at making scars and can make matthias's chin scar look how it's supposed to #it's meant to be gnarly. like. well there's a lot of real estate on that chin first of all 😭 #but his mother threw a very heavy decanter at his face so. thick glass. it was fleshy and bloody. #in my head the scar's more like a rough edged gouge than a thin line of scarred over skin. like his chin was torn open. #the skin is probably lighter there and raised. ik my glass scars are like that (tho they're from a window so it's different) #and i think i want the scar to be more vertical and kind of... reaching? like maybe it goes down underneath his chin too? #hmmm... #i wish i had a reference for the exact kind of scar but alas </3 #i do have a reference for the scars on his torso from the lung surgery he had in his teen years tho! #...typing ! at the end of that unthinkingly only to sober up like two seconds later bc like. and WHY did he need that surgery exactly? GOD. #matthias's character has so many scars but theo has zero... it really speaks to the different kinds of violence they faced #mirror images but the words are backwards yk....... #no one cared about appearances with matthias or worried about having to hide the evidence..... jesus. god............... well. #christ. #just sat here staring at my screen for two minutes. #well. i do think it's interesting the way the does vs. evanoffs treated their kids. the abuse was so different but it still connects them.. #and that isolating distance vs. suffocating closeness shaped both matthias and theo's personalities in such an obvious way #like you look at their character traits and it's like. well first off THAT'S a symptom! but also. jesus. it all traces back to the crib. #yeah... well let me stop here. bc i realize i'll hit tag limit if i keep talking to myself and i don't want to type something only for it #to delete itself after..... which has happened to me SO many times while rambling abt mattodore in the tags of so many posts 😭 #cw abuse mention

[glass-noodle]

What is Connor's worse scar so far?

Probably his tracker/monitor scar. He’s had several surgical incisions, but merpeople have an extremely fast rate of healing and regeneration (something that Kamski became particularly interested in after he’d caught Connor), so most of those scars have healed already, leaving only faint white lines if anything.

The scar on his temple, however, seems to be strangely persistent. It’s his most painful scar to date, and it’s also a constant reminder of everything that’s been done to him.

#lab merman au #hankcon #on one hand it would suck to have permanently gnarly scars as a physical reminder of all the trauma you’ve been through #but on the other hand Connor feels a weird disconnect between his body and his mind #he’s been through so much #and yet the only place it really shows is in his demeanor (and his gauntness) #his body is fresh for the scientists to make new incisions and marks each time #and he’s bitter about it

[zombieclieo]

"D'you think she cares?" His voice came across as a little worse for wear than it oughta. Death usually restored the body to peak order aside from a few scars, but here Martyn's throat was, scratchy and harder to parse than he woulda liked.

"What?" Came the reply. Scott shook his hand out, dirt particulates separating from his fingers as he did.

"Cleo, I mean. Obviously." Martyn laughed, leaning back against Scott's pretty little house, hand waving in a mockery of one of Scott's common gestures.

"Why would I know what Cleo thinks of you? We aren't teammates this go around." Scott turns back to his work, but it's still obvious how the previous victor felt about this game by how his voice catches at 'go around'.

Martyn winces, but he shakes it off within milliseconds. "You two are always allies! There hasn't been a go when you two haven't been conspiring. I'm asking because--"

"Martyn." Scott's voice was sharper than he meant, and it softens as he continues. "For one, I won't ask how you know more about mine and Cleo's relationship than either of us have told you. You and Grian get so clammy about that nonsense. For two, she hasn't mentioned you."

Martyn doesn't flinch, but Scott can tell that hurt him. Scott lived with him for a while, he knows. Martyn thinks himself infinitely cool and collected, but he isn't. He never has been and Scott's pretty sure he never will be. The blonde coughs. "Cool."

"Cool?" Scott laughs, looking up. Arcing underneath his hair from his right temple under his hair and around his throat is a lightning scar, and it glows slightly at the middle of his throat in a cool cyan. It aches. Martyn knows it aches, especially when Scott laughs. "Martyn, you were soulbound two goes ago. I know she's cool and all, but what's your hangup? Are you this hung up on Ren? Me?"

"What! Scott, you're having a giraffe. I don't get hung up on people."

There is a poignant silence. Martyn shifts uncomfortably. Scott rolls his eyes and returns to his work.

"Scott, I just wanna know how she is. If she ever thinks about me. I don't--I try not to think about it. The past, I mean. But it just... I may die but the soul lives on. Bones are buried but the soul is still here and it still feels that little string, y'know? We had the same soul, for a while. The same beating heart." Martyn finally moves from his ramrod straight stance, squatting beside Scott, a gloved hand extended.

The palm is cold. Ice fucking cold. The diamond shaped mark seems to give his flesh freezerburn as he nears the scar to any other living being. Any that are around, anyway. Martyn is cagey about it--Scott wasn't being mean. He has four of those diamonds across his body, though he supposes he's lucky that they're all... eh, relatively easy to hide. The one on his cheek, the back of his neck, and right over his heart were harder to conceal, though. That, and the massive ragged timepiece seemingly slashed across his back. The scar that never healed. The reminder to keep his ears open. To listen. To betray when it suits him. That one still pulses red, sore and obvious.

Scott doesn't know that a diamond burns for him as Martyn nears him. He doesn't know that it gets a little harder to breathe as the scalding diamond on the back of his neck makes itself very known. Bound, again and again, had he always found himself following after another? Hitching his soul into pieces again and again? Where would a diamond appear this time, for Jimmy? Where else would the cracks spread? Scott flicks his nose.

"You're absolutely doing that thing again where you just stare at me and look pensive. Fine, you want to know so bad what I think they think? Fine, if it'll get you to either go away or help me plant." Scott finally stands up fully and stretches his back out, then his arms high above his head. He reaches over to grasp Martyn's upper arm. "Cleo is a complicated person. They do care. They also don't. You aren't the center of her universe and that is fine. For both of you. Worrying about what they think won't make you less afraid of what comes next. Holding onto us--me, Cleo, the Ahaliance, Ren, that won't give you the peace you're looking for. You and Grian hold on tighter to the past than the rest of us. Let us go, Martyn, and let what joy you can have now happen."

The diamond hurts like hell. Like Martyn has slammed back into a pool of lava and it is eating him alive. It feels like dying when Scott holds his arm. He doesn't react. Scott doesn't know everything. "Alright, alright, I don't need an intervention here, mate! I'm genuinely just trying to see if she's mad at me, and you're talking different breeds and stronger memories. Bah. Maybe you're holding on to Cleo."

"Am I, then?" Scott snorts, and thankfully releases Martyn's arm. The burning subsides, somewhat.

"I think you are, honestly. I look away and suddenly you're gaslighting and gatekeeping and girlbossing! What about my gaslighting?" Martyn holds a hand to his chest as he fakes haughtiness.

"You're a bad liar, Littlewood." Scott kneels back in the dirt. "Now help me plant before you go back to our canary."

Martyn snorts, this time. "Our canary. Yeah, Scott, only me and Grian hold on." He does listen, though, and helps cover wheat seeds with dirt. As his right hand connects with the soil, it aches like a red winter, cold and bloody. He misses Ren. He misses Cleo, and Pearl, and Mumbo and everyone. He feels like there's a world where they could have been happy together, where they played games and laughed around Christmastime. As he looks at Scott, he wonders...

"Do you know what Christmas is?" His voice is more hesitant than he means for it to be.

"No, why?" Scott replies, shoving half a tuber deep into the earth.

"No reason. Just an old story." Then, that was the difference. He and Grian knew there was something beyond. No one else remembers what life extant a Watcher's game is like. He raises his head to watch the darkening horizon. Scott boxes his ear with a smile, and he shrugs. At least they have tonight to pretend like She wasn't watching. Like they were friends planting a field.

#dont ask me what this is. i dont know. anyway have some headcanons abt both martyn and the victors in gen #each victor gets a scar based on what killed them post everyone else dying <3 pearl has burn scars #grian has a fuck ton of scars from where bone moght have pierced skin when his bones Bropke #very gnarly #martyn and grian both have extra scars though from Things. #bigb and ren also have extra scars because i like them #most folks lose all scars they didnt have session 1 of season 1! ie scars scars were there originally so they stay and arent weird #n every time someone dies they also get a scar from that death that go away next season #soulbonds each get the same scars etc etc #inthelittlewood #i guess? #scott smajor #secret life smp spoilers #secret life smp #trafficblr #traffic smp

[rosykims]

im way too committed to ashara's lore :/ over here like a dumbass making every single armor/weapon modification about fire resistance and quite literally nothing else <3

#oc: ashara #a personal hc ive had for ages is that mages are resistant to their ''preferred'' element #or like the element that comes most naturally to them #and ashara's whole family are fire mages so. shes super resistant plus she developed a natural immunity over time #from fire casting so often #another hc i have is that magic is more powerful but less controlled when you cast without a staff/with ur hands #and ashara is unhinged so. she ditches the staff and uses her hands a LOT and her arms/hands are covered in gnarly burn scars to prove it #like. on of her more infamous combat moves is to just go full human torch and self immolate basically #then like. RUN into her enemies <3 JKFGDJKFDGFGDJK #anyways all this to say she could survive jumping in minecraft lava easy peasy

[uhhh-ghouls007]

Something I always thought was cool about the Frankenstein story is the details of Victor creating the creature, like he’s doing it just to prove he can- haphazardly stitching and stapling limbs of strangers together to create a bastardized monster. In every movie the creature is so gnarly because he’s not meant to loved, even by his creator, and he has scars and bolts stuck in his neck (sometimes) to show it

AND something I really love in Lisa Frankenstein is that while Lisa didn’t physically bring the creature to life she dedicates all of hers to protect and nurture him back to humanity. She loves him. And she’s a professional seamstresses so when she replaces his body parts—with those of people who have hurt her, ending their lives to further resurrect the creature so he can become the partner she longs for— it’s done delicately and purposefully and intimately and lovingly. Oh my god. In this essay I will

#I wrote this instead of my class assigned analysis essay. passion leads the hand idk what to tell you #lisa frankenstein #I miss being in the school newspaper so bad #horror #frankenstein's creature #frankenstein

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for writing and drawing amputee characters: Stump Scarring

This was something I had originally intended to mention in this post but felt it deserved its own separate post.

A lot of people, when drawing and designing amputee characters, draw their characters with these big, gnarly looking scars all over the stump. I get why people do this, but in reality, most amputees have stumps that look more like this:

The only scarring that is inherent to amputation (meaning most amputees have) is a very thin line right at the tip of the stump that comes from where the stump was sewn shut. After 5-10 years though, these thin incision scars will fade to be nearly invisible in most folks other than the indent it usually leaves in the skin.

Of course, there are exceptions! My own legs are covered in heavy scarring like the pictures below.

but typically, you only see this in amputees who lost their limb in ways that required them to also need skin grafts, such as from a burn (fire or acid), gangrene, some types of rapid-onset sepsis, or particularly brutal animal attacks.

For context, I used scars from meningococcal as reference here.

I think this is another reason a lot of people, particularly in 2D comics and animation, cover their amputee character's stumps, because they think all amputees have scars like the ones in the second image and I'll be honest, that's a lot to draw when you're drawing it over and over again, but unless your amputee also needed skin grafts bcuase of their injury/illness, their stumps will look more like the first images.

Fun fact: on particularly pale skin, scars can change colour depending on temperature. scars have less circulation and the blood vessels are closer to the skin, which means if you don't have a lot of melanin, your scars can turn a grey-ish purple colour like so:

This information is brought to you by an especially pasty white person in the southern hemisphere (where it's winter atm) who's scars haven't seen the sun since june lmao.

A quick final note: If you look up "burn scars" or any other similar type of large scarring on google a lot of what you get are fresh scars, so they're going to look different than the ones here. On pale skin, large scars like the ones above start out very dark red and will fade to look more like the images here. The same is true for dark skin, typically fresh scars will be much darker in colouration and will fade to be closer to the natural skin tone with time, though on both, they will always be very visible. Some types of scarring on darker skin tones can cause the skin to become lighter, but they don't usually turn entirely light pink like I've seen some folks draw. This is why it's so important to look up references of the type of scar your character has AND how that looks on their skin tone.

And as always, listen to POC and seek out the recourses specifically made by them, especially if you're drawing characters with darker skin tones. Their lived experience will always beat my "what I found through internet research and from talking to friends"

#Writing Disability with Cy Cyborg #ID in alt text #disabled artist #queer artist #my art #artists on tumblr #artists of tumblr #digital art #writing disability #disability #disabilities #disabled #actually disabled #writing advice #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #disability representation #authors of tumblr #disability aids #writing recourse #referance for writers #art tips #art resources #art help #art reference #art advice

[thecreelhouse]

pin back in the grenade

Paring: Steve Harrington x AFAB reader

Word count: 6k+

CW/tags: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, post s4, mentions of wounds/blood/etc., fluff, PiV unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), somno if you squint (tbh not really but just to be safe gonna add that one), light dirty talk. title is from ‘liar’ by paramore. MDNI

request from this post (that was supposed to be a blurb and I am so sorry): 🩹  tending to each other's wounds, 🍯  friends to lovers, 🔥  slow burn, 🛏 only one bed

also combining this with a request I got back after s4 part 2 dropped (to that anon, I am REALLY sorry lmao) for post s4 comfort sex w/ Steve. anyway, hope y’all enjoy <3

“Do you get a new freckle every day?”

Steve’s brows crinkle together while he laughs wearily. “Huh?”

You’re cleaning the wound around his neck and can’t help noticing just how many freckles and moles he has across his body. Or, from what you can see, at least. He has his shirt off while you’re tending to his injuries from the Upside Down and Vecna’s destruction across Hawkins.

Over the last several years, Steve’s normally vacant house became a safe haven for disasters like these, also a place where the kids could be together to just hang out on the quiet, normal days. He never said it, but he loved hearing the kids laughing and yelling, sometimes having movie nights, or playing DnD; it was a welcomed sound compared to the painful quiet he had grown used to for the majority of his life. 

Tonight, no inside jokes and endearing name calling echoed throughout the house. No fighting over which movie to play first, or what kind of pizza to order, or the shouting and cheering that usually came along with playing their favorite game. If anything, there were somber conversations, softly echoing through the house, with words and emotions no kid should have to be worried about. Sometimes there was crying, or complete silence, where the only thing Steve could hear was the faint, yet now permanent ringing in his ears he had gained over the last several years. Any which way a sound like these carried through the house, it broke his heart.

So, you try distracting him as the two of you clean one another’s wounds for yet another night. You keep things light where possible, but the both of you know it’s only a bandaid over a permanent emotional scar that is torn open time and time again. The physical wounds always heal, but the heartbreak you’ve all grown accustomed to is one that weighs so heavy on everyone’s hearts, and you can’t imagine it vanishing anytime soon.

“Yeah, I swear, it’s like you’re magically turning into a connect the dots picture, or something.” Steve smiles, laughing softly through his nose at your corny attempt to keep his mind off of the trauma.

“You think so? Maybe one of these days you should come up with a drawing out of ‘em.” Steve’s trying his hardest to keep things lighthearted, too, but sometimes it’s just easier to feel the pain instead of forcing any positivity.

“Jesus, this is gnarly.” You murmur, still amazed by the damage Steve took this time around as you’re softly swiping some kind of medicated ointment along the open wound. He hisses from the dull sting, but the substance begins to numb the ache and inflammation, bringing some sort of relief, if any at all. “Do you feel like a greasy slug when you use this stuff? Because I definitely feel like a greasy slug when I use it.”

Neither of you had figured out the best way to dress the wound around his neck, so Steve had been changing clean t-shirts like bandages every few hours. The others, at least, were relatively easy to clean and dress, but they seemed to be deeper; Steve probably needed stitches on some, but he refused to go to the hospital, insisting other people in town had worse injuries, and needed the medical attention more.

“I mean, I feel slimy… but not like a slug— Jesus, how much sleep did you get last night?” At first, you think he’s asking because of your silly remark, but then he’s cupping the side of your face, thumb gently rubbing along your cheekbone, getting a better look at the dark circles draped under your eyes. You push aside the butterflies in your stomach from his touch as you reach for his clean shirt, moving his arms out in front of you to roll the fabric down and over his arms and head. For a moment, you miss his touch, but it’s back on your face after he adjusts his shirt.

“Seriously, are you sleeping at all?” He asks softly, eyes filled with worry. Leave it to Steve to worry about everyone else before himself. 

You shrug as you look away, not wanting to make a big fuss. “Last night was just rough up here,” You poke at your temple. “That’s all. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep easily tonight with how tired I am.”

“Where’d you sleep last night?” He asks, knowing decent spots to sleep were limited now that the all of the kids were reunited again. Everyone, except Max who was at the hospital, and Lucas, who refused to leave her side. Still, there were only so many places to rest for the entire group, even in a roomy house like Steve’s.

“Um… well, some of the kids had the pullout couch, one took a recliner, Robin has the guest room, and Jonathan and Nancy have your parents’ room… so I slept on the floor in the living room.” You shrug, but you know that contributed to the lack of sleep, and extra aches in your back. How you ever easily slept on the floor as a kid during sleepovers, you’ll never understand.

Steve looks bothered by this, letting go of your face as you move to the faucet to wash your hands. “What? Why didn’t you say something? You could’ve had my bed.”

You scoff a laugh out, “Steve, you need a real bed after everything you’ve been through. I can handle the floor like a big kid.”

“Okay, well, tonight you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor, I don’t mind. Or I can sleep downstairs somewhere if you want sp—”

You shake your head wildly. “Don’t- I don’t wanna be alone again.” You maneuver around Steve as he slides off the counter, and you take his spot to let him tend to your wounds next. Finally, you confess, “I fell asleep once, and it was just one giant nightmare. I stayed up after that. Didn’t want to see that shit again.”

Steve washes his hands, lips pursed and brows furrowed as he keeps quiet for a moment, thinking. The two of you always trusted one another, always came to one another whenever you needed, so why the hell were you isolating yourself now?

“Next time, tell me. Wake me up. I don’t care.” Steve’s tone is firm, but he’s not upset with you. Just upset that you’re retreating into yourself when he just wants to help. 

He starts peeling off the butterfly bandages around the slit skimming vertically down your eye. It begins just above your eyebrow, running down to your brow bone, pausing across your eye before continuing just under your lash line, finishing off past your cheekbone. Instinctually, your eye begins to squint closed, but the action tugs at your skin, stinging along the edge of your wound. 

“Steve, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since high school. Why would I wake you up when you need the rest?” He starts cleaning the wound, sighing to pause himself, think carefully about what he wants to say next. You keep going. “I actually did come in last night, but you were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up, not when you need the rest.”

“Close your eye for a second.” You do, appearing as if you’re failing an attempt at winking. Steve’s gently patting the cut with some sort of medical disinfectant on a cotton ball, heart aching little by little as you whimper in pain. You try keeping quiet, knowing your wounds are nothing compared to his. “You can cry you know. Or curse. Or yell. Or whatever. Stop trying to hide it.”

“Mine are like… paper cuts compared to yours.” He pats the wound dry with a new piece of cotton, sighing again. “What?”

“You don’t have to hide your pain from me. I’m not sure if you’re worried its a burden to anyone, or whatever, but you never hid from me before. What happened?” Steve begins to apply clean butterfly bandages along the deep slit in your skin. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to your lips, and you have to remind yourself your other face wound is a split in your lip. “Gotta get that next.”

“I can do it.”

“Nope, if you’re gonna nurse all of my wounds, it’s only fair if I do that for you in return.”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“No, but I want to. You’re my best friend, and you’ve been patching up my wounds since we were reckless little shits on the playground. You care about me, let me care about you.” His thumb gently presses on the untouched side of your bottom lip, holding it steady so he can begin fixing that one up, too. You’re too aware of how the pad of his thumb feels against your lip, wondering what it’d be like to wrap your lips around it and take him into your mouth.

“See, this is why I gotta hold your lip, you’re so twitchy.” Steve teases, unaware of why your bottom lip trembles every now and then when he’s so close. Is he really that clueless? “After this, you’re sleeping in my bed. I’ll carry you and lock you in my room if it means you’re gonna sleep like a normal person tonight.”

Your skin prickles and hair stands on end at his words. He really has no idea what he does to you with silly comments like these.

“Okay, but like…. What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?”

Steve stops his movements, snorting as his eyes close while a smile graces his features. With a shrug, he simply answers, “Hold it.”

Your jaw drops, feigning offense. “That’s fucked up, Steven.”

“So is sleeping on the floor instead of a bed.”

“You need it more than me!”

“Will you shut up for like, ten seconds? I’m almost done with this.” He’s stifling his own laughter, before murmuring, “Not gonna lie, you’re gonna look so badass when these are healed.”

“Pfffft. Maybe, but no one’s gonna be attracted to this mess.” You’re only joking, but Steve frowns as he applies petroleum jelly to your lips, generous on your cut. 

“What? No fucking way. You’re still a babe.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve. No one’s gonna kiss me after this.” You chuckle, but notice the way his eyes flicker to your lips again, lingering longer than usual, then back to your eyes. His gaze is mesmerizing, with the warm brown color and hazel undertones, you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“I mean, I w—”

“Hey, St— oh,” Robin’s in the doorway of the bathroom, smirking at the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?” You lean back, fingers curled around the edge of the counter while Steve’s standing up straight, taking a step back from you as he clears his throat.

“N- no, we were just fixing each other up.” Steve nervously spits out, adding a shrug like everything’s cool. 

“Right. Sure you were.” Robin teases. You want to shrink into yourself and completely disappear on the spot. “Where’s the box of movies you stole from work?”

You quirk a brow at her question, then look back at Steve. “You did what?”

“Shut it— I didn’t— I borrowed them. Robin, stop spreading rumors about me.”

“Fine. Sure. You “borrowed” them,” She flashes air quotes with her fingers, and you laugh. “Where are they? The kids are driving me up a wall trying to find them.”

Steve looks puzzled, chuckling. “They’re literally right next to the damn TV. Dustin should know that by now.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh my god,” she turns out of the room yelling down the stairs, “Dustin! Get your shit together, man!” Before walking away, she glances at the two of you again with a smirk, “Have fun playing doctor, or whatever.”

“Leave.” Steve points out the door as Robin’s already leaving.

“Yeah, you showed her.” You tease Steve, trying to let go of what he was about to say before Robin barged in. You’re sliding off of the counter, and Steve playfully pushes your shoulders from behind, forcing you out of the bathroom.

“Alright, smart ass, let’s go.” He nudges you across the hall to his room, but you try turning away. Swiftly, he turns you back towards the door. “I wasn’t kidding, I’ll throw you over my shoulder if it means getting you to sleep in a bed.” He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders, pushing you through the doorway comically.

“Steve, if you wanted me in your bed so bad, all you have to do is ask nicely.” You’re not even trying to be coy or flirt, but it makes him choke on air. You spin around quickly, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I— wrong pipe.” He rasps out, clearing his throat. You don’t buy it, realizing your lazy joke was the reason for his coughing fit. Still, you let it go, not wanting to embarrass him. Steve continues clearing his throat as he pulls some old blankets out of his closet, and some pillows from his bed to lay out on the floor.

“Stay in your bed, I’ll take the floor, it’s fine.” You’re trying one more time, hoping he’ll stop being so stubborn and sleep in his fucking bed. 

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” He wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up off the floor slightly, carrying you a few feet over before dropping you into his bed. 

“I was just thinking the same about you.” You murmur, arms crossed as you look at the bed behind you. You realize how big it is, and have an idea. “If you won’t let me sleep on the floor, just sleep next to me. There’s plenty of room for the both of us anyway.”

“Sleep— sl— next to you? Same bed?” Steve’s voice cracks, pulling giggles out of you. 

“Yes, Steve. Same bed. Unless you’ve got another one hiding around here.” You’re surprised you’re even suggesting this when the idea makes you incredibly nervous, but you need sleep, and Steve needs sleep, and you’re out of any other ideas. “If you want it to yourself though, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No- I- stop it, I’m gonna sleep on the floor, and that’s final.” His hands are on his hips, his signature, go-to move when he’s scolding the kids, but you’ve qualified for its appearance tonight, too. You rise to your knees on the bed, hitting eye level with him while you mirror him, hands falling to your hips in the same pose he has. 

Steve isn’t having it, and before you can start verbally teasing him, he’s pushing you back into bed. You catch yourself on your hands as you stumble back onto the pillows. “I’m gonna superglue you to the bed.”

“Now you’re just being a child.”

“Me? You were just—” Steve sighs, hand dragging over his face. “Just go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to!” Your bottom lip is wobbling as your bloodshot eyes tear up ever so slightly; you’re doing all you can to hold them back, reminding yourself logically this isn’t that serious, but your emotions show otherwise.

If anyone else in any normal circumstances yelled this, they’d be deemed childish. You, on the other hand, you’re yelling this for perfectly valid reasons. And Steve knows what you’re feeling all too well. One more time, his heart breaks for you, watching the panic spread across your sleep deprived face.

“I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to watch you get hurt over and over again in my nightmares. I’ve seen that too many times in real life, it’s sickening watching you get beaten to death time and time again… and I just— fuck. Steve, just take the fucking bed. Please? I don’t want to sleep, and you need it more than me, I really don’t mind the fl—”

Steve sits next to you and pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly against him. That’s when the floodgates finally break. You grip onto his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists as you begin crying on his shoulder.

“M’not going anywhere. Promise. You’re safe, I’m safe, everyone’s okay.” You know that’s not completely truthful; Max is hanging on by a thread in the hospital, and Eddie’s gone. Steve knows this, but right now his concern is getting you to finally fall asleep. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you lay down.” You expect Steve to gently nudge you to the pillows alone, but he keeps his hold on you, carefully laying the both of you down. “You sure you’re okay with me staying in bed?” You nod against his shoulder, wrapping yourself around him as if that’ll anchor him here for good. 

“Don’t go,” You’re mumbling into the fabric of his shirt, wanting to tug yourself closer to him, hang onto him like a clingy koala, but you’re trying to stay mindful of his injuries. 

“Not going anywhere.” Steve whispers, kissing the top of your head before lingering for a moment. “Not going anywhere without you.” Neither of you untangle from one another, and Steve’s embrace is starting to calm you down to steadier breathing and shaky hiccups instead of heavy crying filled with anxiety and dread. With your body desperate for rest and the security you feel with Steve, it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull you in. Steve’s snoring softly shortly after you fall asleep.

———

At some point in the night, the two of you untangle, rolling to opposite sides of the bed. Steve’s woken up by movement, strange shifting in the bed next to him, and an airy whimper, just loud enough for him to hear. He rubs his eyes, turning over and sees your figure, facing away from him, remembering that the two of you fell asleep in his bed. 

Steve’s not sure what time it is, nor does he really care, especially not after hearing another soft noise float from your parted lips. Trying to adjust to the dark surroundings, despite the weak glow from a night light plugged in, he stares at you, or what he can see, at least, worried you’re having another nightmare. He moves closer and leans over you, prepared to wake you up and give comfort if you need, but you don’t look scared. If anything, you look pained, frustrated; Steve’s eyes scan down your figure as you move again, noticing the way your hips roll forward against your own hand.

Holy shit.

Frozen, he can’t take his gaze off of you. He needs to. He should roll back over and force himself back to sleep, pretend he never heard anything, never saw you—

“Steve…” You murmur, languidly grinding against the heel of your palm, face buried into the pillow as you writhe under his imaginary touch. His mind starts spiraling.

That’s why you got nervous when he held your lip, or when you mentioned how with a lip scar inevitable in the near future, no one would want to kiss you, and the way the two of you couldn’t take your eyes off of one another. How you looked so mortified when Robin walked in, forcing the two of you apart. He begins to realize how this isn’t new, this has been going on for awhile, and he can’t believe how oblivious he’s been.

The signs have always been in your lingering touches, when you lock eyes with him and share knowing glances no one else would understand, the way you’ve always tried protecting him, or tending to his now routinely scheduled injuries whenever he’s caught up in anything related to the Upside Down. It’s always been in the way you’d give up your comfort for him, how you’d never complain if he woke you up from nightmares, calling at three in the morning. 

How it’s an unspoken pact between the two of you to share your fries with one another, or when one falls asleep early during movie nights, the other thoughtfully covers them in a blanket, letting them rest. How you always keep extra medical supplies in your car just for Steve’s clumsy ass. How he’s sneaking you video tapes for free whenever you visit him at work. How you insist on calling him exactly at midnight on his birthday. 

You’d drop everything in an instant for Steve, and he’d do the same for you without hesitation. Whenever he tries to put your needs first, you’re quick to point out that someone needs to care about him, too.

Steve can’t believe how clueless he’s been, and out of all the times he’s figuring this out, it’s now, while you’re having a wet dream about him. Because of fucking course it would hit him now.

While his thoughts ran in a million different directions at once, he wasn’t aware of how hard he became, hearing your cute little noises, and how he’s still pressed right against you from behind. Does he let you continue? Does he wake you up? If he does, what’s his excuse? Lie and say it was a nightmare? Or tell you the truth, risking ruining something before it could ever begin, embarrassing you on the spot?

Without warning, you turn over, still asleep as your arms slip around his torso loosely, as if you’re still trying to be careful with his wounds while knocked out. One of your legs slot between his, and Steve has to bite back a groan at the pressure against his bulge. As if that alone wasn’t threatening to make him fall apart, your hips begin moving lazily again against his leg, and he can feel your sticky heat on his skin through your sleep shorts. Steve’s about to lose his fucking mind.

“Stevie, wanna make y’feel good…” You’re still asleep as you murmur this. Steve knew you talked in your sleep, but never like this. He can’t take it anymore. One hand ends up on the hip facing away from the bed, while the other is drawn to your neck, curling to the back to hold you gently as his fingers slide up into your hair. 

“Wanna make you feel good too, angel.” He’s guiding you slowly along his thigh, tensing up underneath you; he’s not sure how to wake you up without startling you, and he doesn’t want the building desire to end so soon. 

In time with his thoughts, you begin to stir, eyes fluttering open. You blink a couple times, then Steve nudges against your core again, and you keen, throwing your head back into his hand already waiting for you.

“Oh- oh, fuck, oh my god…” You’re growing aware of the situation, realizing your dream is becoming reality so seamlessly. You’re embarrassed, you want to hide away and apologize, but Steve rubs himself against the leg you have pressed against him, releasing a throaty groan; the embarrassment falls away, fast. “St- Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s trying not to pant this soon, trying not to sound so breathy and needy already.

“M’sorry, I- I didn’t realize that I—”

Steve shushes you softly, bringing your face closer to his as he leans in, noses touching while you’re both making the sweetest noises together. “I can stop, if you want. I- I shouldn’t just assume you want this, maybe it was a silly dream—”

“No, it wasn’t… I really want you, Steve.” Your hands test the waters, sliding up his body, but only over his shirt, before holding his face; your gaze locks with his, and despite the dim glow in the room, you can see the lust ridden look he’s giving you while nodding wordlessly to give his consent. You lean in to kiss him, lips touching ever so slightly; you freeze as self doubt sets in, but he senses it, and kisses you back fully, mindful of your split lip. 

It’s slow, almost too slow for you and how wound up you are from the dream, but you do your best to stay patient. Steve’s hand on your hip sneaks under your shirt, just enough that the tips of his fingers brush against your skin, just beneath the hem. The hand cradling the back of your head moves to your jaw, fingers splaying out to get a better hold on you when his lips part against yours. You make some kind of small noise, a muffled yelp that slips into Steve’s mouth when his tongue slips into yours. Distracted by the kiss, your hips stopped rolling, so Steve begins guiding you along his thigh again.

A moan shudders out of you as you pull back to catch your breath. Steve can’t take his eyes off of you as your eyes flutter shut, head falling back as another sweet moan leaves your lips, losing yourself in the pleasure from such a simple action.

You’re not sure when, but your hands made it to Steve’s back, fists bunched up with the fabric of his shirt, not wanting to touch any part of him that might hurt, but needing to grab something. 

“Does th- this happen a lot?” He manages to ask, and in his head, he’s rolling his eyes at himself, because he wanted that to sound so much sexier than it did. You’re in a whole different world, though, already blissed out when barely anything has happened yet.

“Mhm,” You open your eyes as you answer, the burning desire low in your body growing hotter as the two of you make eye contact again. “Can I- can we— take this stupid thing off.”

Steve laughs, realizing maybe sexy isn’t what either of you need right now; being best friends already, it only makes sense that the only time the two of you can’t form coherent thoughts laced with lust would be when you’re pressed up against one another for the first time.

Pulling his hands back, he gestures to his shirt in the goofiest way, like he’s Vanna fucking White, showing off a purchased vowel. “You can’t take this seriously, can you?” You’re not mad, in fact, you’re laughing with him, and something about the two of you nervously laughing makes you more comfortable being intimate with your best friend. 

“I’m just filling in the blanks for you, angel.” He’s smirking, but he’s also trying to stifle more laughter, so it just comes out as a product of a snicker and a snort. 

“Oh, that was real cute,” You tease, reaching for his waist. “Words, words are hard.” You’re grumbling, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, carefully pulling it over his head.

“Yeah, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

Whatever smart-ass retort you had ready to roll off your tongue disappears at the sight of Steve, now shirtless. It’s nothing new to you, you’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but in the moment, you’re hyper aware of how different this is. There’s no going back, but if you were being honest, there was no going back once you moaned his name in your sleep.

“What?” Steve asks, laughter dying down as he watches you reach out to his torso, tracing his scars, both old and the ones just beginning to form. 

“You’re so… pretty.”

Steve blushes, a rosy red shade blooms across his face, to the tips of his ears. “I— shut up.”

You scoff, “I’m being honest!” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt, waiting for your permission, but your hands hold his back, shaking your head. Shyly, you state the obvious, “I don’t have a bra on.” Of fucking course you don’t, you never sleep in bras. Even Steve knows that, forever impressed with how you could just unhook that damn thing with one hand so casually and slip out of it, pulling it out of your shirt without ever stripping. It’d take everything in him to hold his jaw from dropping, when you just wanted out of a ridiculously uncomfortable bra.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve reassures softly, only to follow it up with, “I don’t either.”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m going back to sleep,” You tease, beginning to roll back over, but Steve grabs you quickly to roll you on top of him instead. 

“Like hell you are,” He’s tugging at your shirt again, looking up at you with those sweet doe eyes, filled with wonder and curiosity over what his best friend looks like under everything. “Don’t feel pressured to say yes. We can st—”

You’re pulling your shirt off with a determined speed, like ripping off a bandaid, throwing it on the floor. “I do not look good with these bruises.” 

Steve sits up, all humor and admiration draining from his features as he takes in all of the severe bruising you have from a few days ago. “Wh… how— why didn’t you show me? Or tell me? Fuck, I probably made some of them worse—”

“Hey, Steve, it’s okay. Seriously. I’m okay. These are nothing compared to what you ended up with.”

He shakes his head, ghosting his fingers over some of the worst bruises, blooming in the darkest shades of purple and blue he’s ever seen on someone, including himself, and that says a lot. Some are beginning to grow into that sickly yellow, even greenish color. 

“What the hell do I have to do or say to convince you that you’re allowed to show me your pain too?” He’s not sure what he’s feeling, he just wishes you said something, wishes he knew so he could care for you properly.

“There’s not much you can do for bruises, Steve.” You shrug. “M’sorry, I just wanted to put you first. You’re always caring for everyone else before yourself, and I wish you’d let someone care for you, too. I want to give you the love and care you give everyone but yourself. These mean nothing to me, I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Disappointed? From what? How you look with these? Because I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re still a babe with your face wounds, and that applies here too. You have… no fucking idea how badly I want to get my hands all over you, but I think we should stop. I don’t want to make those more painful than they already are.”

“Steve, I can handle it. I bruise like a peach, anyway.” You’re mentioning it casually, but enjoy the way he blushes at your words, clearly thinking of better reasons to be bruised. You smirk, “Feel free to tuck that fun fact away for another day.”

“I— I’ll bring that back up later.” He murmurs, trying to focus. “Anyway… are you sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hands, bringing them to your tits roughly. “Does this answer your question?”

Enthusiastically, Steve nods, fingers already toying with your nipples, breathing out, “Fuck yeah it does.” You start giggling until he latches onto one of the sensitive nubs, fingers softly pinching at the other every so often, in between grabbing a handful of you. He groans into your skin, thinking about how long he’s wanted to touch you like this, but it’s better than he imagined. 

You’re arching your back as he switches sides, a thread of spit unraveling from his lips that’s still clinging to you;  your eyes to roll back as you grind down onto his lap from just the sight alone, fingers twisting into his locks, tugging softly as he sucks, bites, soothes with his tongue, then repeats.

“I need…” You’re gasping, head falling back; Steve takes advantage of your exposed neck, kissing up your chest before leaving small, soft love bites up to your jawline. 

“You need… what?” He kisses the corner of your mouth, but you can’t take it slow anymore, you need him now. You grab his face to kiss him, and it’s a little sloppy, a little clumsy, but he leans into it anyway. The two of you find a semi perfect rhythm, one that flows with the way you continue to grind onto him. You nip his bottom lip, tugging on it before letting go, and Steve moans into you. 

“Need you, need you right now.” You’re frantically murmuring against his lips.

“We don’t have to rush.” He pulls back, searching your features for any sign that something is off, but all he sees are your lust blown pupils. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but—”

You kiss him quickly before pushing him back against the pillows, shimmying down his body, kissing his scars with care along the way, continuing down until you reach the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Steve, quit being nice for, like, five minutes. Are you okay with this?”

With a gulp he nods, breathing heavily “I— I’m more than okay with this.”

“Thank fuck.” You tug his shorts down, almost drooling as you watch his length spring free, the rounded tip red with desire, leaking precum. “Steve, what the fuck.”

“You’re sending me so many mixed signals tonight, holy shit. Is that … is that good?”

You need to shut your mouth, mind too far in a cock-drunk daze to tease him with words. So, you run your tongue up the underside his cock, broadly, taking your time to reach the head, eyes on him the entire time. Steve yelps on contact, eyes screwing shut as his head falls against the pillow, but he pushes himself to look down at you, bucking against your tongue before you take him in completely.

“Jesus fucking Chri-iiiiiiiist,” He shudders out, hands tangling into your hair as you begin to bob up and down on him. “This… you… hhhhohmygod—”

You pull off with a pop that echoes off the walls, a sound Steve wishes he could’ve recorded to play when he gets off in the future, followed by the sight of you drooling onto his cock as it kicks with need.

“Tell me how you really feel, Steve,” You tease before taking him in again, but he holds your head in place, making you pout. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no, fuck no. Your mouth feels so fucking good, angel, but I need… I…”

“Take your time, babe, it’s okay.” You tease, making Steve groan, both with annoyance and a craving for you to get mouthy, just not now. 

“Fuck me, just need you to fuck me, please baby,” He’s babbling as he tugs you back up his body, hands on your hips as you hover above his cock. “Need to feel you, angel.”

You push your shorts down and throw them to the floor with your shirt. “Yeah?” You lightly rub your core against his cock, and he bucks with a desperate whine. 

“Yes, please, please—”

Words become nonexistent as you sink down onto him slowly, walls slowly stretching around him, adjusting to his size.

“Knew you w- were big, but not like… not like this.” You’re panting, overwhelmed by the slight pain from taking him to the hilt, but the pleasure is greater, rendering your brain useless. Not a damn thing on your mind except Steve and how fucking good he feels so deep inside of you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Steve gasps, grip digging into your hips roughly, knowing he’s just adding to your bruises, but he’ll apologize later. “You’re so— never felt a pussy tighter than yours, angel. M’god, don’t fucking move.”

You giggle, and he glares at you. “Don’t— do not do that either, just… fucking sit there for a second, okay? I’m really not trying to blow my load this early.” You’re doing your best to keep stoic, nodding as you fold your hands and wait patiently. “Oh my god, why are you like this?”

Shrugging, you begin to reply, “Why n— oh!” Steve pulls you down to him roughly, kissing you as he begins to move, fucking you slowly from below. He guides you by the hold on your hips, bouncing you on his cock, causing your eyes to roll back as he moves a hand to the back of your head. Holding you tightly against him, your forehead rests against his as the two of you gasp and pant lewdly onto each other’s lips. You’re riding him like no one else has, to the high fucking heavens, and he swears he’s gonna die a happy man right here, underneath you.

“How often have you dreamt about this?” You shamelessly ask, sitting up and leaning back as you roll your hips, grinding down so he hits your sweet spot just right. Steve’s speechless, flexing up into you, jaw slack as your walls flutter around him. “You’re so pussy-drunk right now, huh?”

A strained “Mhm,” leaves him; he’s not even going to hide how he’s putty in your hands, right now, and as long as you’ll have him. Finally, he rasps, “Fuck, wish we did this sooner.”

“We got all the time in the world to make up for it, Stevie.” Your legs twitch and shake, signaling you’re not far off from your high, but they’re also sore still from days ago, and right now, you’re just making them hurt more. Great cause, of course, but it doesn’t dull the pain, so you’re beginning to slow down. “Fuck, my legs hurt.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Steve pulls you back down arms wrapped around your back, one hand gripping around his other wrist, keeping you stable as he plants his feet against the bed, fucking up into you with everything he’s got. “It’s okay, angel, I’ve got ya’.” He grunts, hammering into you with so much force, you can’t help but moan loudly, almost screaming, but you bury your face into his shoulder, biting down to muffle your noises as you flutter around him. “Fuck, didn’t think you were so vocal.” At this point, you are screaming, but the noise barely leaves you as you keep your mouth on his skin.

Steve’s hips are starting to stutter, and his cock twitches, needy for release. “Good girl, don’t wanna wake up the whole house, right?” That’s the final push over the edge for you; grabbing Steve’s face, you kiss him deeply to keep quiet. The faint, metallic taste of blood works its way onto your tongue, and you realize your semi-treated split lip is split once again. You pull back, trying to keep as quiet as possible, frantically whispering, “I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you—” Following you into bliss, Steve pulls you back onto his lips as he cums, filling you shamelessly as you still squeeze him, milking him for all he’s got as he’s moaning into you.

When the two of you come down, covered in a sticky sheen of sweat and hearts ready to beat out of your chests, the shame hits fast as he pulls back enough to murmur, “Fuck. I didn’t even ask—”

“Birth control is a beautiful thing, babe.” You smile down at him, breathless. Steve sighs relief, thankful for whoever the fuck created the pill. His eyes fall to your lip before thumb swiping the mess away.

“Shit, m’sorry.”

“Worth it. So fucking worth it.” You giggle before he kisses you softly. 

Pulling back, Steve reaches out to cup the side of your face, and you lean into his touch, giddy and exhausted all at once.

He’s admiring the view of you above him, softly replying to your confession, “I love you, too.” 

The two of you are basking in the afterglow of one another, beaming and holding each other tight, unable to move just yet. Steve doesn’t mind taking a second to catch his breath, but then a loud bang against his bedroom door startles the both of you.

“About fucking time!” Robin shouts from the other side before walking away. Faintly you hear her huff, “Noisy assholes.” Steve locks eyes with you, both of you stunned and embarrassed before bursting into a fit of laughter together.

“Still worth it?” Steve teases, and you shrug playfully.

“Worth what, the impending shame fest they’re gonna put us through tomorrow morning?” You lean down to kiss him again before replying against his kiss-swollen lips, “Oh, fuck yeah.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #my fics #prompts #pin back in the grenade

[somnambulic-thing]

page 622 read on ao3

Eddie Munson x afab!reader E +18

summary: It's the middle of the night and you just can't find sleep. Eddie wants to help. He wants to help so bad.

Words: 3k

||reader has insomnia, smut, fluff, pinch of angst, LOTR references, domestic, nerds in love||

A/N: This is for all of us who haunt the nights. <3

Page 622 is graced with not one, but two dog ears.

That’s nothing unusual for the thick heavy paperback in your hands. A copy of The Lord of the Rings, all three parts united in one book and littered with battle scars like a gnarly old Orc of Mordor.

It belongs to both of you, bought on that whimsical fleamarket by the side of the road with spare change collected from the nooks and crannies of the van. It hadn’t mattered that you already owned a box set each, it had been clear that this book wanted to go home with you. Once integrated into your shared collection, it became the copy that was pulled out when Eddie and you had an argument about the most minuscule details to settle. It wasn’t a rare occasion that someone got tackled before they could claim victory over the matter. That brave book had been ripped from victorious hands more times than you could count and flung over shoulders, into corners or behind furniture.

It was also the copy Eddie used to ponder ideas. When he was writing a campaign and the atmosphere he was eager to create didn’t feel quite right, he would go down into the Mines of Moria or deep into the thicket of Fangorn forest and seek inspiration between the lines. There he left marks with the heavy tip of his pencil, elbows catching on the edges of pages as he reached for his notebook, creating new dogears, sometimes small tears.

You loved those marks and never grew tired of discovering fresh traces of his adventures. They kept you company on those days you wouldn’t get tired at all.

The world between the worn covers was familiar, the motions of the adventures committed to memory in many places, the adventurers friends that comforted you on restless nights.

You chose this copy over the others you own because it’s an intimate object, because you could trust it to catch you should you fall asleep on its pages, trust it to be more beautiful in the morning with more kinks and wrinkles.

But there were days when even the unhastiness of Treebeard wouldn’t do the trick to coax you into slumber. Today was such a day; stuck on the sofa on a dark, restless sea and no sleep in sight.

You hadn’t heard him coming.

“Just flopped around the mattress like a fish out of water looking for you.”

Eddie’s voice is deep and raspy and a little cranky around the edges. Your eyes shift from page 622 to where he stands in the doorframe, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes. There are lines on his right cheek, a shallow relief in the mirror image of his pillowcase. His boxers sit dangerously low on his hips and it tickles in your fingertips to follow the trail of soft hair and tuck them further down.

“That’s an amusing image,” you say with a smile as Eddie rubs one eye with his flat hand, nose scrunched up and wrinkly. “Can you demonstrate that to me?”

“Do not mock me. I awoke all cold and lonely…” he waves the other hand through the air. “Forsaken by my love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the mirth in your tone slipping just slightly, but Eddie catches it.

“How long have you been up?” he asks, banter put aside in exchange for worry and makes his way over to the nest of blankets and pillows you’d made on the sofa.

You frown, not sure you know the answer to that question, feeling like you’ve fallen out of the stream of time; trapped in endless night, doomed to read the same three sentences on page 622 again and again with nothing but your thoughts for company. Until now.

You turn to check the thin green digital numbers on the VHS recorder while Eddie lowers himself to the ground in front of you. “Almost two hours.”

“That’s no good,” he says softly and fumbles with the blanket draped over your legs in search of your skin, nudging the book off balance. It slides down your lap with a soft rustle. Dark, heavy eyes search your face for clues he knows you’re reluctant to give him and a warm palm finds your thigh moments later, an epicentre for violent goosebumps. You shiver and he smiles. “What can I do?”

“Nothing—“

“You underestimate my relaxing properties.” He places a kiss on your knee. “It’s pretty annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “Don’t want to keep you up—“

“Want me to take over the reading? You just rest and listen—” He lowers his voice to a soft rumble. “—let me hypnotize you.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“Shhh… would you please just let me help?” Without waiting for an answer, Eddie slides the blanket off your thigh and covers it in soft, slow kisses.

“Can’t—“ kiss “go—“ kiss “back to sleep—“ kiss kiss “knowing—“ kiss “you’re out here alone. Suffering.”

His hair is soft between your fingers. You loosen a few small knots while you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Eddie… I…”

It’s exhausting being a ghost, to haunt the wee hours of the night unable to find rest. It was also lonely. There was a hazy barrier isolating you from the people around you. From the man whose company you craved so much but struggled to accept in this circle of hell.

Eddie has had his fair share of sleepless nights, had done plenty of haunting himself; but not like this, not without a trackable cause that offered some degree of sense. And you’d never wish this on him no matter how lonely you get, but sometimes, you find yourself envying him for the way he just falls asleep on any surface most days and with the envy, there comes resentment. The disconnect between resentment and longing a rope binding your hands behind your back, keeping you from reaching out.

Dark eyes are staring holes into your body as Eddie is waiting for you to continue, to give him something.

“You what, sweetheart?” He’s rubbing circles into your skin. “You want me to leave? Like, actually?”

“I don’t want to take my mood out on you…”

“Why not?” he grins. “We could make it fun. Tire you out, air out some of that—“ his hands leave your legs to gesture wildly through the air. The cold creeping in where his warm palms had just rested feels unbearably cruel. You don’t want him to leave. “— some of that pent-up… whatever it is.”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s brows vanish under tousled bangs. “Okay? Shit, I had this whole speech planned about how we’re a team and that you’re being so stubborn is a waste of time—”

“You complaining?”

“No… no…” he smiles and runs his hands up your thighs. “So, you wanna be a little… mean to me?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Don’t want that.”

He hums and nods, leans down and licks your skin; from your knee right up to the hem of your shorts. It’s the slightest touch, just the tip of his tongue, but the sensation sinks into your body like warm summer rain falling onto dry and dusty ground.

“Let me love you,” he mumbles against your thigh, running the tip of his nose along the border of fabric you hide behind. “I hate it when you feel lonely while I’m right here and fucking crazy about you…”

“You’re right here,” you repeat like in a trance. Eddie looks up at you, so soft and wild at the same time and so sincere and you feel the last layer of resistance melt as if it had never existed.

“Right fucking here.”

“Fuck me.”

Warm gentle hands begin to free your legs from the tangle of blankets and you marvel at how much of Eddie’s essence resides in his touch; soft but rough around the edges where his fingertips have put on tough skin over the years. There’s so much love, so much passion lingering in those points where you end and he begins.

Accompanied by the soft rustling of fabric, Eddie runs those storytelling hands up and down your thighs, from the inside to the outside and up to the round of your ass where he ever so slightly puts his nails against your skin and runs them down down down to the back of your knees where he holds on and pulls you further down the cushion. You yelp a little and then you both laugh a little and you lift your hips to aid him rid you of your shorts and underwear.

“M’ gonna try a thing,” he says and spreads your legs just wide enough to fit in between.

“Try w-what?” you ask around a hitching breath as you watch Eddie slide two fingers into his mouth. They glisten with spit when he pulls them out and you can hear a few drops hit the floor as he lowers himself down.

“You know how I sometimes take ice-cold showers to shock spiralling thoughts out of my mind?”

“I… what? AH!”

One long finger enters you swiftly, moves in-out-in-out and is joined by the other. Heat expands like a shockwave through your pelvis as all the blood rushes to greet the pads of Eddie’s fingers. He moves with precision in quick pulsing motions against that soft erogenous spot deep inside you, watching you closely.

“Good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Not too much?”

“No,” you grit out as your hips start to twitch.

There is no smug little smile, no told-you-so grin, only deep concentration and a bright red blush high on his cheeks and you desperately wish he’d kiss you. That thought is gone and forgotten as that penetrating pulse quickens, deepens and Eddie’s mouth inches closer and closer to your clit. There’s a sharp tingling in your cunt, not quite a sting, not quite pain and it’s hot and delicious and as it spreads out into every corner of your body, the world gets smaller and smaller, shrinks countless miles each second until this sofa is the only place left in the universe.

“Holy shit, holy shit, those noises, sweetheart.”

You can’t hear a thing over the rush in your ears and as Eddie’s lips close around your confused, prickling clit, your eyes roll up and close.

And for an infinite moment, there’s nothing left but ecstasy.

When time starts up again, you’re re-entering the world shaking and gasping. Eddie is quick on his knees. One hand closing around your wrist and the other pressed into your back he pulls you into an embrace that you collapse into like a dying star.

“I love you I love you I love you…” he whispers into your hair and holds you holds you holds you until you feel solid again. “You good?”

You nod and hum.

Hands find your face and guide you up and you remember how badly you need a kiss when Eddie’s lips form pretty words so close to yours. “Now, let me take you to bed and—“ You interrupt him, pressing your mouth to his with desperate, sloppy urgency. He chuckles softly, catching your lower lip with his teeth for a gentle tug before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Really wanna continue this.”

“Can’t move… you broke me.”

“Oh, well, pretty sure you broke my fingers with your pussy so we’re even. Get up.”

You laugh and reach for the hand cupping your left cheek; you kiss the palm, run your tongue along his fingers and kiss the tips. “Better?”

Eddie’s brows shoot up and he takes a sharp breath. “Bedroom!”

He scrambles to his feet and pulls you with him. In motion like that, you can feel drowsiness settling in, slowly taking hold of your muscles. Your legs still feel shaky, almost heavy, and Eddie wraps an arm around your waist for the moment it takes you to steady yourself.

“Looks like it’s working,” he says softly.

“Feels like it, too.”

Finally, there is the smug smile you have been waiting for. “And it took me less than two minutes. ”

“You… checked the time?”

“For science,” he says proudly and the smile turns into a grin.

“Ah, science. Alright, Doc,” you reach down, hook a finger into the waistband of his boxers and let it snap. “I’m ready for the next experiment.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrows his sleepy eyes and hums. You can hear the cogs in his mind take up speed and then he sidesteps you and begins to rummage through the mess of blankets and pillows on the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a sec, you gave me an idea— ha!” He whirls around and shoves The Lord Of The Rings into your hands. Your reaction is tardy and you feel the cover catch on your thumb and bend in a way that probably leaves a crease but you have not time to check because Eddie is quickly maneuvring you to the bedroom.

He sits you down on the bed and swiftly pulls your shirt over your head and you have no choice but to let go of the book. It drops somewhere on the mattress and out of your mind when Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and strips out of his boxers.

“Never gets old”, you marvel at the sight of him, pale and lean but soft and the smile you just conjured with those words seems nothing short of diabolical with the way the light catches his features from below.

You recede onto the mattress and he follows you like you’re magnetic, crawling after you until he’s back between your legs, kissing his way up your body, taking his time to caress your breasts with his hands and lips. Only when you yawn he stops and comes up to face you, to kiss you and you drink in the sigh of relief that he places inside your mouth as he slides his hard cock against your folds, you hold on to goosebump-covered shoulders as he pushes inside you.

“Never gets old,” he moans as he rolls his hips against you in deep, slow thrusts and kisses your nose when you have to giggle.

You’re not chasing ecstasy now, but wholeness, you’re not searching for a high, but for refuge. All your thoughts slow down while Eddie occupies all your senses.

“How do you feel?” he asks into the soft spot below your ear.

“Good… Sleepy.”

“M’ not saying I told you so—“

A chuckle tickles your skin and suddenly, a bolt of guilt and fear flashes through you. “But we can’t do this every time—“

“Hey!” He lifts his head to look at you, presses a finger to your lips. “Shhh… Don’t go there,” he says and puts his forehead to yours. “Come back… come back to me. I got you.”

“I’m here.”

“You just have to let me in…” He kisses you like he’s sacred you could vanish from beneath him and you swear you can feel his heartbeat reach out for yours, swear you can feel it pound against your chest like it’s begging for entry.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper and sling your arms around his shoulders. “I’m trying.”

And then he moves, slowly pulling his cock from inside you—

“Eddie?”

and stretches long across the bed to grab the book right off the edge.

“On your side,” he instructs and manhandles you into position before you can comply on your own and slides back into your cunt before you can process what’s happening.

“Fuck… oh fuck…” you moan as quick deep thrusts hit just the right spot over and over. You can hear the rustling of pages behind you and Eddie’s chest retreats from your back. “W-what are y- ah you…?”

‘It was not much more than a tall man’s height now…’  he reads the first line from page 622. You try to turn to look at him but he pushes you back. “Nu-uh, relax. M’ going to read to you and I’m going to fuck you till you pass out and maybe then you’ll think of waking me sooner the next time you pick up this book in the dead of night.”

You moan and laugh and there are tears in the corner of your eyes. “You trying to condition me?”

There’s no answer, he just keeps reading; shakily, punctuated in the quick rhythm of his thrusts and laced with moans of his own. You just close your eyes and let go and soon enough you’re close to the edge again.

’We are famisshed, yes famisshed we are, precious,…” he croaks in a toned down, breathy Gollum impression that’s highly confusing and you clutch the sheet, pulling it loose.

“Shit… you gonna make me come…”

After a few more lines he stops reading and you hear the book drop. Eddie presses close to you, softly bites your shoulder while a hand wanders down between your legs to play with your clit.

‘Yess, yess, nice water,’ said Gollum,’ he continues from memory.

“Oh, you asshole,” you groan.

‘Drink it, drink it, while we can! But what is it they’ve got, precious? Is it crunchable? Is it… tasty?’

One strangled moan falls from your mouth and then your insides tense violently. Eddie mercilessly fucks you through it and beyond and doesn’t slow down until he coaxes another orgasm out of you. He follows you this time. You feel him pulse and twitch deep inside of you, feel his hot breath on your shoulder and neck and one stray tear escape the corner of your eye. It runs down the side of your nose while you listen to both your mismatched breathing slow down again.

“I fucking love you,” you babble groggily. “So much… so much…”

Eddie places a kiss on the back of your head and picks the book back up, resuming where he left off. He stays inside you while he softens until he slips out. The distinction between characters fades, the gaps between words grow longer but you barely register it; it’s the sound of his voice that pulls you under into the depths of Morpheus’ realm and you’re finally ready to descend completely…

‘Look here!’ Sam whispered to Frodo, not too softly: he did not really care whether Gollum heard him or not. ‘We’ve got to get some Sleep—' Eddie pauses. “Precious? You asleep?”

Your slow, even breathing is all the answer he gets. He carefully reaches over you and drops the book on the mattress before he turns off the light and wraps his arm around you.

“Gonna find you in my dreams,” he whispers into your shoulder and follows you into sleep.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fanfic #my fic

[snzhrchy]

Hi hru 👋🏾

I have a request for Wednesday on Netflix maybe you could write xavier and the reader having a fight and then he suddenly kisses the reader. Only if you want

— ☆ THOSE FEW DAYS !

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

synopsis; you’re just concerned about your boyfriend’s issues but it leads to a terrible argument between you two yet you both still long for eachother.

warnings; none :)

taglist; lmk if u wanna be on it !

Ever since the arrival of Wednesday Addams in Nevermore and the unfortunate expulsion of Rowan, your boyfriend, Xavier Thorpe had been acting rather, unusual, to say the least.

Yes, he did lose his roommate and he was being tormented by frequent nightmares of a creature — it was enough to make one lose their sanity. Yet today, in particular, he was acting odd.

You noticed that today, he was feeling uncomfortable, bothered by the slightest conversation, as if he were scared. He also was making an attempt to cover his neck either with his collar or hands. You observed that the reason as to why he was hiding his neck was due to the large red scars that were planted on it — worst of all, they were fresh. They looked as if a creature had attacked his neck as it appeared that maybe claws were the cause of it.

You overheard him informing Wednesday that the scars were due to fencing class yet you knew him better than anyone — he wasn’t that careless to get injured so terribly in fencing. It was probably due to another cause.

Eventhough, deep down you knew you shouldn't inquire him about his latest injury something had urged you to question him about it. You wanted to know why he looked and felt so terrified. After all, you were his girlfriend, shouldn't you have a right to know?

Reluctantly, you made your way to his art studio which was an old shed he had cleaned out. You knew he was in it due to the slow hum of the music you could hear from the outside and the small light rays that penetrated out of the shed's windows.

Xavier would visit the shed whenever he was in distress. Lately, he'd been visiting it quite often as he was tortured by all his horrifying dreams and the events occurring in Jericho. The rumours of the creature in the woods weren't helping either.

One, two, three. You knocked thrice onto the door, patiently waiting for the man inside to let you in. After a few moments on waiting, the door finally opened to reveal an anger-stricken Xavier, who leaned against the doorway of the shed.

His palms were coloured in different shades of blue and red, indicating that he was painting. Whereas his eyes were both avoidant of your gaze. He kept glancing at his shoes, not even bothering to greet you — other times, he'd let you in, showing off anything new he had painted.

You broke off the awkward silence with a small cough, 'can I come in?' you lightly asked as you attempted to smile at him. Still not meeting your eyes, he replied with a simple 'sure,' and moved out of the way so that you could enter.

You looked around and were horrified at the sight of the inside of the shed. Nearly every corner was filled with sketches, drawings and paintings of the creature - some scribbled messily while others were decorated in detail. You now knew that his nightmares were only getting worse even with his multiple therapy sessions, he still wasn't getting any better.

'So what do you want?' Xavier asked with no emotion. You turned to look at him after finally tearing your eyes away from the gnarly pictures he had drawn. 'I just wanted to check up on you, see how you're feeling,' you replied, 'I noticed your scars and I wanted to ask you...' you trailed off, unsure of how to continue since you noticed that his expression hardened.

'Why? So you could blame me for all the murders?' he snapped. You had no idea what Xavier could possibly mean by that statement. Did someone blame him? Was that he was feeling so sour?

'No, I don't blame you at all and you know that. I was just here to check up on you and-' before you could finish, you were cut off by Xavier: 'well, I don't need you checking up on me, I'm perfectly fine. Stop pretending like you ever actually cared,' he shouted.

All the worry you had about him left you immediately, you yelled back at him as he yelled at you. You both were shouting back and forth, throwing cruel words at eachother. Until, you had had enough. Your eyes and cheeks were now stained with tears, your lips were bleeding due to you biting them aggressively and you wanted nothing more than to leave.

His harsh words were enough for you to finally leave his shed, filled with rage and sadness. Clearly, he was not feeling alright and took out his anger on you. You were just trying to check up on him, what could've caused him to feel like this?

To be honest, you were angry at him, terribly angry. You stormed into your room, trying to block off any thoughts you had about him. Yet you couldn't since no matter how foolish he acted, you still liked him.

Rave'N was suppose to be a fun and eventful night for any outcast. Well, any outcast except for you. Ever since your argument with Xavier, you didn't bother talking to him, even when he attempted to apologise to you.

You went with your friend and roommate, Yoko and instead of moping over Xavier, you decided to actually enjoy yourself. It was a party after all, you were suppose to enjoy yourself here. The drinks and loud music were finally making you forget all about Xavier.

After a couple of drinks and a few dances with Yoko, you were finally exhausting yourself. Tearing away from Yoko and the dance floor, you finally sat down on a table you presumed to be empty to rest a bit before going back.

'I see you're enjoying yourself here,' a familiar yet unexpecting voice called — the last voice you wanted to hear right now. Sighing, you turned to look at the unwelcomed face of Xavier. You raised your brow, 'So? It's a party,' you replied, not even bothering to pay attention to him.

'Hey listen...' he began as he sat himself next to you. You knew what to expect, for the past few days, Xavier had been attempting to apologise to you for his harsh words yet you didn't bother listening to any of his apologies; most of the time, Yoko would just tell him to leave.

You sighed and turned to look at him, 'you've told me that same apology multiple times but you have to realise that I was really hurt by your words... I was just worried.' This was probably the longest conversation you both had this entire week.

'Xavier, I understand you were hurting back then but I just kinda wished you ta—‘ before you could finish your statement, you got interrupted by a pair of lips on yours.

It was a surprised gesture but you reciprocated it almost immediately; you missed this so much. You’d never admit it but you really did miss Xavier loads. Just by kissing him, all the events of the past few days were lost; you just wanted to be with him.

Once you two pulled apart, Xavier looked at his shoes, avoiding your gaze again — it looked as if he was embarrassed of his actions.

‘I’m really sorry about that, y/n. I shouldn’t have done that,’ he stated apologetically. Deep down, Xavier longed for things to go back to the way they were. He felt upset and he missed you so much.

‘Hey, it’s alright. I’m kinda over it besides, you were just on edge back then; we both said things that we regretted. I understand,’ you gently spoke. Xavier looked at you with hopeful eyes yet he didn’t utter a single word.

The last thing Xavier expected you to do was stand up and offer your hand to his, inviting him onto the dance floor.

‘Come on,’ you said as you happily dragged him to the dance floor.

#wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagines #wednesday series #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier imagines #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagines

[emchant3d]

the aftermath of Steve downplaying his injuries from the bats, a steddie thread 🧵 (also on twt here)

Eddie didn’t get it at first.

Sure, he’d seen Steve after the bat attack. He’d been bloody and a little loopy and bruised to hell, but they’d had priorities.

And Eddie was a little preoccupied, what with the whole being wanted for murder thing. Sue him if he was too self-involved to worry about Harrington’s injuries past shoving the gay panic down when he watched him bite a bat and then rend it in half with his bare hands.

And then he’d known nothing but pain, and then he hadn’t known anything at all, until he’d finally woken in the hospital, his name cleared, his nipple gone, and Steve Harrington sleeping at his bedside.

Several people - Robin most of all, pushy and panicked - tried to get Steve to let the doctors look him over, but he shrugged them all off each time. According to him they’d cleaned him up on the way in, disinfected the bites and slapped some stitches in place.

He insisted that since he hadn’t been admitted, he was fine - shook the orange bottle of antibiotics he’d been prescribed and everything. “Guys, come on,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. “Eddie just got out of a coma. Let’s focus on people who actually need medical attention, yeah?” 

It had worked. Everyone had swarmed around Eddie to fawn over him instead, and while Eddie had glared at Steve tiredly at the time, he’d admit that he’d enjoyed it.

 It was nice to be worried over. Stifling, sure, and he felt a bit guilty, but mostly he was just happy to be fucking alive and happy to have other people also be happy about it. 

So he’ll confess - he let himself be used as a distraction. He let Steve deflect. In his defense, it worked on him too. He had no idea how bad Steve’s injuries had really been. Had no context at the time to guess how much Steve would downplay them.

So yeah, Eddie didn’t get it at first. But now, months later, now that they’ve saved the world and they’ve gotten closer and they’re friends, they’re more, he’s starting to understand.

Steve is self-sacrificing. Thank fuck it’s small-scale stuff now, watching him bitch but still drop everything to be there for the kids in a heartbeat, hearing the phone ring and Steve answer with a low “hey, Robbie–” and knowing he’s lost him for the rest of the day.

But then they’re hanging out one day, just the two of them, and it’s late and they're going to bed and they don't discuss it first just like they never do, but they're sharing the bed. 

Somehow Steve's avoided changing in front of Eddie, not that Eddie's been waiting for it - he just realizes it when he turns and sees that Steve's dropped his pants.

It's funny. They've held one another and whispered back and forth and traded soft, careful kisses that they don't talk about much, but he's never seen Steve bare. It's an odd thing to realize. 

Then Steve pulls his shirt off, and Eddie's stomach lurches.

“Holy fuck,” he says, strangled, unable to hold it back, and Steve looks over at him, immediately on edge.

“What?” he asks, dropping his shirt, hand twitching to the side like he’s going to grab the nearest blunt object - the nail bat is below the bed, Eddie sees Steve’s eyes dart towards it - to use as a weapon. Eddie ignores him, walking instead to him and grabbing his shoulders.

“Stevie,” he says, soft, bodily turning Steve so he can see his back.

The scars are fucking brutal. The skin is rough and discolored, pockmarked with pinkish new flesh that doesn’t blend in with the tan freckled expanse. They stretch down the length of his back on both sides, gnarly and uneven. Eddie swallows hard.

“Honey,” he says, and watches the spine in front of him stiffen. “What the fuck happened here?” He knows it has to be some sort of upside down bullshit, and he tries to fit it in with the horror stories he’s heard, but he’s coming up blank.

Steve is silent. His shoulders hunch a little, making his back bend, stretching the taut skin tighter. Eddie raises a hand and lays the gentlest touch he can to the scars. Steve still flinches. Eddie stills, but he doesn’t pull away.

He lets the quiet sit for a few beats, then steps a little closer, free hand fitting around the jut of Steve’s hip bone to pull his back to his chest. He ducks his head and brushes his lips in the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. Feels the edges of the scars with his mouth.

It’s more intimate than they’ve ever been, but something in Eddie is pulling at his heart, telling him it’s okay. That he doesn’t need to be scared of it, not here. Not now. 

Steve has trouble talking sometimes. Eddie’s getting better about waiting him out. It’s always worth it and now is no exception. “Do you remember–” he starts, halting and quiet, then cuts himself off. “Of course you remember, sorry - the bats - my bats, not - not yours.”

Eddie just nods. “I remember,” he says. He rubs at Steve’s hip with his thumb, a soft, repetitive motion, the same kind of touch he likes to give the nape of Steve’s neck when the other boy curls up on his chest at night. 

It soothes them both, and some tension leaves Steve. “Before, uh. Before you guys got down there - well, you saw them grab me and, uh, pull me down. They kinda…dragged me.” Eddie frowns. 

“Dragged you,” he says, soft, and Steve nods. Eddie leans back just enough to see the scars again. They look like fucking road rash - and that’s essentially what they are, Eddie realizes, thinking of the dried-up lakebed, the stone and debris Steve would have been raked over. 

He thinks of the distance between the gate and where they found Steve, tries to imagine how far Steve was dragged, and he feels a little sick. “Sweetheart,” he says, soft, and Steve makes a small, pained noise. 

Eddie shifts closer again, wraps both arms tight around Steve’s middle, pulls him in close and tucks his nose into his throat. “Musta hurt like a bitch,” he says quietly, and Steve gives a tiny shrug. He lays his arms over Eddie’s, hands over hands, fingers lacing together. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve just shakes his head. 

“Too much was going on. We barely had time to wrap up the bites, I wasn’t gonna stop us just to patch up the rest.” Eddie gives a frustrated sound.

“We could have spared a few minutes–” Steve interrupts him before he can get a good rant going. 

“We couldn’t. You know we couldn’t.” Eddie grits his teeth.

“Fine. Fine, but what about after? When we saved the world and you were sooo adamant you didn’t need a doctor?”

“Other people needed it more than me. You, Max, fuck - Eddie the whole town was in pieces.” Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about the whole town. Never has. Especially doesn’t now, knowing Steve never got the care he really needed. 

He’s gearing up for a whole rant about it, but Steve keeps talking. “Besides,” he says, “I didn’t want anyone to worry.” And oh.

Suddenly, Eddie understands with perfect clarity and hates that he kind of wishes he still didn’t get it.

This was Steve at his self-sacrificing best - or worst. This was the aftermath of Steve putting himself last. Sure, these days it means he’s a little worn out from looking after the kids, or he’s drained from allowing Robin to change their plans on a dime.

But not long ago, the aftermath was this. Bruises, aches and pains and injuries that still bother him now, will bother him for the rest of his life. Repeated concussions and head trauma. Chronic migraines. Blurry vision and weak hearing on his left side.

And scars. Scars that he downplays and hides and does his best to not acknowledge. Something close to rage coils in Eddie, but he tamps it down. There’s nothing to rage against here. There’s only a beautiful boy in his arms who has seen enough anger to last a lifetime.

Eddie takes a deep breath, then turns his head to brush a kiss to the jagged silvery band wrapped around Steve’s throat and gets to feel and hear the soft, surprised sound he makes.

“I hate to break it to you, Stevie,” Eddie says, soft and gentle against his neck, “but people are gonna worry regardless.”

“But–”

“I’m gonna worry regardless,” he interrupts, kisses his neck again, and pulls a hand free to skate his fingertips along Steve’s bare stomach to feel the way he trembles beneath his touch.

“Eds,” Steve whispers, and Eddie hums quietly.

“D’you know why?” Eddie asks him. Steve gives a shaky little sigh.

“...Why?” he croaks, and Eddie can’t help it - he smiles, a little sad, a little fond, and so, so in love. 

“Because I care about you, sweetheart,” he tells him, and Steve squeezes his hand so hard it hurts.

“Eddie–”

“I care about you,” he says again. “I worry because I care. And I’m always going to care, so I’m always going to worry.

So if you ever downplay an injury like this again, if you ever hide a hurt like this just because you don’t want someone to worry - well. We’re gonna need to have words, honey.” Steve manages a weak laugh.

“That a threat, Munson?” he asks, and Eddie hums. He moves his hands quick as lightning, grabbing Steve’s hips and spinning him around until he’s facing him, letting him brace himself on his chest so he doesn’t lose his balance.

It startles a laugh from Steve, and the heavy tension surrounding them gives way to something softer, gentler. Steve meets his gaze, teeth sinking into that pretty lower lip, and Eddie just barely manages to keep from getting distracted.

“Oh yeah,” he confirms, grinning softly at the look on Steve’s face, cautious and reluctant but so, so hopeful. “Don’t you know I’m dangerous, Harrington? I’m definitely capable of threatening and following through.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and slides his hands up until he can lay his arms over Eddie’s shoulders. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he says, and it’s the fondest insult Eddie’s ever gotten. 

“Maybe,” Eddie allows, and he walks backward, pulling Steve along with him toward the bed.

“We can discuss how scary and threatening I am in the morning, huh?” They climb into the bed together and curl up tight. Eddie’s hand finds the nape of Steve’s neck, and Steve’s hands find Eddie’s chest, fingertips picking out the familiar patterns of Eddie's own scars.

They lay in silence for long enough that Eddie thinks Steve may have fallen asleep before he hears him speak again.

“I care about you too,” Steve says, and Eddie’s breath catches.

“Yeah?” Steve hums, nodding where his head’s resting on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and Eddie looks down to find dark eyes already fixed on his face. He’s got this intense look to him, and he leans in, pressing their lips together.

It’s not their first kiss, but it feels special all the same. It feels significant, feels charged, slow and deep with Steve’s tongue swiping at Eddie’s mouth until he allows him entrance, teeth giving gentle nips and tugs.

Steve’s hand comes up to rest on Eddie’s scarred chest. Eddie’s touch slips down, traces over the scars along his back. 

They’re like wings, he thinks a little deliriously. Like someone took this sweet boy and ripped his wings from him.

“Angel,” Eddie breathes when they finally break apart, lips spit-slick and kiss-swollen. Steve flushes at the name. He tilts his head and presses his mouth soft and sweet to the marred skin that snakes along Eddie’s jaw and cheek.

“Just for you,” he whispers into the kiss, and Eddie swears he feels his heart grow larger, trying to contain all the love he feels for this impossible creature. 

In the morning, they’ll talk. They’ll define things. But for now, they have this, the soft, gentle exploration of each other, slow movements that drag even slower as sleep comes to claim them.

#steddie #steve/edde #steve x eddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #my fic

[cumikering]

Ex bf John Price x reader 2

2.6k | soft smut, angst, comfort Your closure (part 1)

You fiddled with the simple gold band. You hadn’t expected to see John, especially not there of all places. You didn’t know why you even said anything. You should have walked past.

But you remembered how you shook that afternoon in Hereford, gripping the edge of your seat and how you broke down as the train departed. You didn’t care what you looked like. How could you when you’d just ripped your heart out.

For days you holed up in your childhood bedroom, where you’d taken him into countless times. Your bed didn’t dip the same way without his weight. When you unwittingly pulled out one of his shirts from your wardrobe, you sobbed into it. You lived out of your luggage until you got your own place.

Perhaps you were desperate, or just silly, that you wore his gift as a wedding ring. That way maybe you could rationalise the hole in your life was from losing your husband, not just a boyfriend because dear God, he was so much more than that. As a sick vow that you’d never want to lose him to war, so you’d never crawl back. You had wanted to so many times.

You wrote John letters the nights you couldn’t sleep. Some mornings in the haze of slumber, you’d wake up to your empty bed thinking he’d left for the day. It took another second for it to dawn on you that he was never there. You took 10 more minutes to get up.

Sometimes you grabbed plates, one too many, and cooked four eggs instead of two. At the supermarket you’d reach for his favourite crisps before realising you didn’t have to anymore. Some nights you left the door unlocked out of habit.

The sun promised yet another day. The tears grew fewer and further between. Spring came and you found the box of letters you wrote. You counted - there were 56.

You’d never forgotten about him, even that the memory had loosened its claws on you. Despite the gnarly scar, the wound had dried.

But that day, after not speaking to each other for years, something crumbled in you. Was it his tired eyes? The way he stood, his weary smile? His beanie?

John Mother Fucking Price.

Did he hold onto the memories like you did too after all?

That evening, you laughed at yourself as you drove to his parents’. Knuckles white over the steering wheel, you stared at the front door as your heart raced. You rested your forehead against the wheel with a heavy sigh.

Why did you even come? What were you going to say? Did he even want to hear whatever it was you had to say?

You heart almost stopped when there was a tap on the passenger’s window.

It was John. Of course it was.

You unlocked the car with a shaky breath. He slipped right in and shut the door, rubbing his hands together and blew into them. The distant streetlight casted a soft glow on his face as he held your gaze.

“You alright?” he rasped, breaking the long silence.

You gave him a crooked smile, shaking your head. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” you muttered, more to yourself.

His eyes flicked to your hand. “I think you do.”

“It’s from you, John.” You held it up to him. “The last one.”

His breath caught, blue eyes searching yours. “Tell me you hate me before I do something stupid.”

You wrapped your arms around him over the console. He took a frantic breath of your hair, and you almost whimpered at the way your face still fitted so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He smelt the exact same.

“I can’t hate you,” you sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

You told yourself if you shut your eyes tight enough, the tears wouldn’t spill. They did anyway when you heard the choked sob from him. His beard tickled and it didn’t take long for his tears to dampen your neck.

“Love, I’ve- Fuck. Nothing has ever hurt this much.”

Your fingers ran through his soft hair, right above the nape of his neck the way he liked it.

“If call it quits… If I give up everything, would you have me back?”

“You wouldn’t,” you whispered. The truth still tasted bitter despite the years.

He gripped your shoulders. “Each time I come knocking with someone’s tags, a part of me dies too. I never want it to be you. I’ll never let it be you breaking down at our door.”

“Don’t do this to me, John.” Your face twisted. “Don’t… Don’t say all these things when-“

“You gave up your life for me. It’s my turn to do the same.” His thumb caressed your cheek. “I’d follow you anywhere. You just have to ask.”

You sobbed. He stroked your hair, your face pressed onto his shoulder, leaving dark patches on his sweater. His cheeks were still wet when you cradled his face.

In his steady arms, you could never be safer. As the windows fogged up, you wished the night was as endless as your kisses.

The streets of Liverpool had settled when John closed the door to your apartment. His eyes remained a little puffy, but his smile was brighter than when they were dry.

You’d missed that. The way his warm eyes crinkled, how his lips curved.

He tentatively pulled you by the waist, pressing your body against his. You never thought you’d feel those sturdy hands on you again.

You led him to your bed and flicked the bedside lamp on before pulling him on top of you. He stilled over you, the warm light illuminated the lines of his face. You traced the shape of him, his lower lip, his faint freckles, his tired eyes. He shut them with a shaky sigh. He was perfect.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much I miss you,” he rasped, grasping your waist as his lips closed over yours.

He licked along your lower lip, nipping on it. The small gasp you let out allowed his tongue to slip past your lips, brushing against your own. When you arched your back, his hand slid under your top, kneading your hip.

“John,” you breathed against his lips, tugging on his shirt.

With you between his hard thighs, you watched with lidded eyes as he pulled his shirt off. His muscles weren’t as defined as they once were, but the same strength under was evident in the way his chest and arms flexed. You wasted no time running your hands over him, from his happy trail, partly hidden under the low hanging waistband, up to the darker fuzz of his chest. His abdomen rippled under your touch, bulge forming in his sweats.

He leaned back down and you palmed over the stretch of his back. There were raises you swore weren’t there last time. As you ran your fingertips over the scars, his lips didn’t relent against yours. Your tongues swirled between the nibbling and sucking. It surprised you how you were still in sync, not missing a beat despite the years.

He was still yours.

“Want you, John.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He helped you out of your clothes before himself. Kneeling before you, he parted your thighs and settled between them.

He exhaled, a rough hand trailed from your knee along your inner thigh. Your skin pulled as he squeezed the flesh at the thickest part, giving him a peek of your slick. He licked his lip.

His eyes flicked up to you, watching as you bit your lip, chest rising and falling, your nipples at attention. He climbed over you, licking a stripe up your breast before his hot tongue flicked over your nipple, rolling the other between his fingers.

Your fingers ran through his hair, clutching his roots. You hummed in pleasure when his mouth switched with his hand, teeth playfully grazing against your hardened nipple. Your back arched, yearning for more and more of him.

He sat back on his haunches, wet lips parted. Your hips bucked when his thumb swiped over your needy clit. The motion continued as his fingertips trailed from your waist down to your knee. His eyes transfixed on you as you shut your eyes, your breath shallow.

You gave a small nod when his finger circled over your opening. He barely had to push before slipping right in. He curled his finger, building his pace as he leaned over, planting kisses across your chest up your neck and jaw before meeting your lips again. The noises filled the dim room.

Your hand ran down his side, to his fuzzy pelvis and heavy balls. Your fingertips traced along his length and he twitched when you got to his leaking tip. You stroked his desperate cock, spreading the wetness it over him. You moaned into his mouth when he added another finger.

His pumped faster as he licked along your neck, his tongue grazing the cuff of your ear. Your arm slung over his neck, your nails digging into his flexed bicep as he held his weight up, clinging onto him.

“Always so good for me, love,” he breathed, his warm breath making you shiver.

Your back arched to meet him, hips rolling. His long, thick fingers grew urgent, thumb rubbing your swollen clit. The squelching merged with the sounds of the wet kisses your neck.

The familiar pressure settled in your core. Your breathing quickened, your moans shallow as he relentlessly hit the right spot.

“John- ah- Don’t stop, John,” you whined.

“Wanna make you feel good.” He nipped at your lobe. “Let me hear you.”

You unravelled with a moan, your head thrown back. Your trembling thighs closed around him.

“That’s it. Such a good girl for me.” He sucked on your exposed throat as his pumping slowed down to deep, long strokes, stretching the rest of your high.

He lied on his side facing you, rubbing your thigh as you caught your breath. He sucked his fingers clean with a deep sigh, eyes closed.

“John,” you began when you realised. “I don’t have any condoms.”

You tasted yourself on him as he leaned over to kiss you, his cock still hard and wet against your thigh. “We don’t have to. It’s all you tonight.”

“Has there…” It was irrational but jealousy crept up. “Have you been w-“

“Never.” He shook his head. “No one else since you.”

You felt like crying. “Please,” you whispered against his lips, cupping his face. “Need you.”

He kissed you once more, kneading your hip up to your breast before crawling between your legs. His eyes lidded, breathing shallow like he was delirious. He stroked himself a few times, as if his aching cock wasn’t ready enough.

A hand on your waist, he rubbed himself along your glistening slit, biting his lip as he watched. His tip circled around your opening. “Ready, love?” His eyes met yours.

When you nodded, he eased the first inch in with a groan, making you moan with the delicious stretch. He held your gaze, taking his time pushing further and further before he stopped with a teasing smile.

“John,” you whined, legs hooking around him.

He lifted your hips off the mattress and slid his last inches into your sopping pussy. The sensation of him bottoming out in you always intoxicated you. Your breath hitched as he grinded deep against you. Nothing ever felt a good as him.

His grip tightened before his hips moved. He reached to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb, making you whimper. He always knew how tilt his hips the right way, to reach that deep and undo you. The way he fucked you, sometimes you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You fisted the pillow under your head, jaw slack. His eyes flicked to your tits as they bounced with each thrust.

“Fuck, it’s been forever,” he grunted.

He leaned onto his forearms to kiss you as his fingers laced with yours above your head. His body flush against yours, his breath warm. His scent carried a touch of smoke as always.

His thrusts were deep and languid, pulling out all the way until only the head of his thick cock remained before burying himself to the hilt again in smooth strokes. He fucked you into the mattress like he wanted you to remember every drag, ever curve of him. Only he could make you feel this way – nothing ever came close. It was your sentence for stealing his soul.

“Want to make you come again, love.”

You weren’t sure it was muscle memory or what, but the intensity of his gaze, the way he rocked against you and the way he surrounded you made the heat pool deep in your belly again.

He tilted your face away with his nose, allowing him access to suck on the base of your neck. The way you tightened around him was his que to pick up his pace. He pounded into you, his balls smacking against your ass. He groaned, his breath searing against your skin. Each thrust pushed a huff of breath out of you.

Your fingers squeezed his. He knew what it meant.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he panted against your ear. “Oh God, never leave me again, sweetheart.” His voice cracked.

His wet eyes bored onto yours. You couldn’t help the tear that slipped.

“I promise, John. I promise I won’t.”

He lifted your waist, angling himself to reach even deeper. Your moans grew louder, your fingers pulling on his hair.

“Come for me,” he said with urgency. “Let me make you feel good, love.”

You moaned, legs tightening around his waist as your second orgasm washed over you. He thrusted faster into your fluttering pussy, his breath heavy against your ear. He kissed you again, tongue dragging against yours.

In a swift motion, he pulled out and came on your stomach, moaning into your mouth. You reached down, milking the rest of him, his hot come ran between your fingers.

He peppered kisses all along your jaw as his breath evened out before cleaning you up. You wiped away his tears with your thumb, giving him a peck on the lips. With a grunt, he lied on his back as he pulled you against him. He clasped his hand over yours, resting it in the middle of his chest, pressing kisses on your forehead.

“Love, can we have a bath?” There was a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “My joints hurt when it gets too cold sometimes.”

Your heart wrenched. He’d made you feel so good despite the pain. When he followed you off the bed, you shook your head.

Moments later, you led him to the hot bath you’d prepared. You knelt by the tub and as he hunched over his bent knees, you helped him wash his hair and body. In the light, the scars he’d acquired since were clear, but it wasn’t what caught your attention.

For your last anniversary, he got a tattoo of your favourite flower on his back. After an array of art, it was easy for one to be just another piece, but this... He never covered it up.

Your finger traced over it. “You’re beautiful, John.”

He let out a deep sigh.

His head tipped back against the tiles as he soaked. Your arms folded over the edge of the tub, your head resting on your forearm. With a soft smile and lidded eyes, he gave your hand a squeeze.

The dark didn’t have to be endless tonight. Because there was going to be a tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

You believed him this time.

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @shadofireshinobi @tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @rainybubbles @erinfern0 @devcica @sacr3dm1lk @esthervalea @katz-chow @captainjamster @aethelwyneleigh27 @thatgoblin @rennroo

#codholiday2023 #call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #john price #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #call of duty x you #cod smut #call of duty smut #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price x you

[space-invading-pigeon]

Eddie is a curious soul, so really, no one can blame him.

It's not his fault. It really, really isn't, especially when Steve apparently refuses to bring anybody from his hometown, and never talks about his life from before. All Eddie knows is that Steve has Kids™ he would fight gods for, a best friend named Robin who is either a lesbian or more hopeless with women than Eddie's gay little ass (or both? Steve is never too clear on anything), and was mostly-adopted by his town's sheriff and his OTHER adopted child. But Steve is so- so- Eddie doesn't have a word for it, but he's obsessed with the other man.

Steve refuses to watch Back to the Future because "bad memories," but has casually mentioned that he's had nine fucking concussions like he's commenting on the weather. He wears a hearing aid in his left ear, and glasses when he's at home, but refuses to even acknowledge that he needs either. Steve wears the shortest shorts known to mankind around the house without blinking, but keeps everything from his waist up carefully covered; he even puts make-up on his neck to cover this gnarly, jagged pink scar on his neck. He carries himself like he's wounded, favoring his left side and limping when the weather is cold, but doesn't hesitate to volunteer for the more manual tasks both at work and around the apartment. Steve had even convinced Wayne to take a break and let him fix the issue with the radiator in Eddie's van while Eddie slept upstairs.

THE POINT IS that Steve is an enigma wrapped in a secret like some sort of riddle burrito. Secrets don't last around Eddie; he has to know, it eats away at him.

****

It takes Eddie years to be blessed with the information he so desperately wants. He doesn't push, no matter how badly he wants to, and he's careful to always come across as a willing shoulder for Steve to cry on; a few weeks into their cohabitation, he'd even stopped Steve from talking about whatever it was that gave him such awful night terrors ("I want you to tell me because you trust me, Stevie, not because you feel bad that I'm here," he had said. It was the right thing to do but gods did Eddie want to throttle his past self.).

Stevie had finally relaxed in their home, and it was beautiful. For about four months, Eddie satisfies himself with the knowledge that Steve was fully aware of their dynamic, that he can hug and kiss and flirt all he wants without freaking out his boyfriend (NOT roommate; boyfriend).

But then Hop visits, and Steve holes up in his bedroom with the man. Eddie feels like he should feel concerned, but Steve has already mentioned that Hop is the father he wishes he had, so all Eddie really feels is curious over what could be so important and secret that he can't know.

When they finally open the door, almost two hours later, Hopper looks angrier than usual and Steve looks downright terrified. "Eddie," he says softly, fumbling with the sleeve of his Bad Day sweater. "I, uh, I gotta tell you something. It's not just about me, so I had to clear it with Hop- and Dr. Owens."

"Are you okay, honey?" Eddie said carefully, already trying to find a way to place himself between Hop and Steve. It would be easier if Steve didn't shift back into Hop, like Eddie was the threat.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine! I just. If I tell you it has to be secret. Like, no one can ever know I told you and you could be detained for knowing, secret." Steve shifts, and his long pajama bottoms make Eddie cringe. Steve is not wearing his usual Bad Day Clothes, and it freaks Eddie out.

"Okay..." He says slowly. Steve leads him to the couch, followed closely by Hop, who takes Eddie's favorite armchair (like he did every visit).

Situated finally, Steve heaves a heavy breath. "So it all started when one of my kids, Will, disappeared on his way home..."

#steddie #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #eddie munson #eddie and steve #roommates au #the party #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #will byers #max mayfield #el hopper #jim hopper #joyce byers #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #wayne munson

[wombywoo]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you would be willing to share how you go about finding the references for the injuries you depict in your work? Your pieces where the CoD boys are sporting injuries, fresh and old, are always so lifelike and to my untrained eye seem entirely medically correct.

I have been trying my hand at drawing the boys retired and resting as well, but I’m finding it difficult to decide what work injuries to add and how to find the respective references.

How do you decide what injuries to portray? And how do you go about finding the reference material?

Your huge fan, amustikas

Oooh ok ok! I'm gonna post my answer publically because I think others would find this interesting too!

To preface, I am definitely NOT a medical professional, and as such, a lot of the stuff I choose to depict in my art is not so much..ah, medically accurate as it is....aesthetically pleasing 🤭

I'll start with scars, as a lot of us enjoy slashing up Simon's face with them, lol. Generally, I'll do a cursory google image search for the type of scar I'm looking for (be warned, these can be graphic) with searches like 'burn scar' 'surgery scar' etc. But I find that for things like cuts and lacerations, real-life scars are a bit innocuous and lame 🤷‍♀️ Unfortunately not everyone's skin wants to retain that perfect slash look™️😔

So what I usually end up referencing are costume prosthetic scars ✨

As you can see, they're pretty gnarly:

And you definitely don't have to go this intense, but I find that the dramatic, carved-like appearance of these translate better to art than a realistically healed wound 🤙

The other thing to consider is the prevalence of injuries in the military. From what I've gathered, the most common will be back/shoulder/limb injuries, just a general fucking up of the whole musculoskeletal system in general due to constant overuse 🤕 Hearing loss, shrapnel/blast/burn injuries are also common, as well as all the negative psychological effects :') goooood times (not)

I think it's neat to look up real-life examples of these things, but it can get a bit intense if you're squeamish...

SafeSearch is OFF, the horrors are REal 😳

So yeah...I tend to tone things down, all things considered...😅

For this particular piece:

I researched broken humerus injuries and treatment 👍 Poor boy 🥺(Yes, I am aware that I consumed entire articles and did a shit ton of research about this just to go ahead and put a female's x-ray in this fucking picture sdfghjkl rip💀😭)

But here you can see the actual process for applying the brace for this particular injury:

Neat, eh?

When I draw Johnny with a knee brace, it's usually a real authentic one you can buy on amazon:

Product placement blast!!!💥✨ Bezos, where is my cut?? 🫰

As for ones like this:

I tend to just...scatter some wounds around and patch them up accordingly, lol. Bruising around the eyes is common with any head injury, and surgical stitching will offer a nice puckered skin effect mmm 👌 (I swear I'm normal abt this)

I'm sure the medical malpractice lawsuits are stacking up for me now, but again--it's usually more about the ✨visuals✨

My parting advice would be--go nuts! Feel free to maim and mutilate and mangle to your heart's content 🥰

Thank you for the question, Amustikas! I love your art as well 💗🫶

#asks #there's something...pleasing...about drawing wounds.... #no I will not be reflecting on this 😤 #tw injuries

[writtenbymoonflower]

smut requests, you say😏

well, how about fem reader with tasm!peter where he's feeling insecure about himself (we rarely get to see our boys insecure) and reader wants to make him feel good about himself and see how amazing he is in a more... physical way

sorry, i don't send in a lot of smut requests, though I love to read them!

-🔮

aww i love this! Thanks so much hunny! fem!reader x tasm!Peter Parker

cw: smut and suggestive material. mentions of insecurity, scars

673 words

You felt Peter tense under your fingertips as you trailed your hand up his torso. It wasn’t a pleasured shiver, but rather a pained wince, he had exhaled sharply and pulled away. You stopped kissing him, sitting back on his lap and inspecting him. 

“Did I do something?” You asked him, eyes wide and searching. Glossy at the thought of hurting him. 

“No, baby. You’re okay, just didn’t expect it. He stroked the back of your head, pulling you close to capture you in a long kiss. You let out a little gasp of surprise that he swallowed readily and braced your hands on his bare thigh, letting your fingers slip under the hem of his boxers. He tensed and shrunk again, pulling your hand up to wrap it around his arm. You stilled, pulling away again and curling your hands into yourself. 

“I did it again, you made that same sound.” 

“You didn’t do anything, I just-” He looked like he didn’t want to admit it. But it seemed like his want to reassure you and his flusteredness won out. “I just don’t like people touching me there.” He reached up to stroke your hair cajolingly again. 

“Why?” You asked, searching and sorrowful.

“I just don’t like people looking or feeling there. I got minced up pretty bad in some fights. Left some parts of me lookin’ kinda weird.” He explained, wincing. 

“It’s not weird, nothing on you is.” You looked so dejected it broke Peter’s heart. “You’re so pretty, Pete.” You muttered. 

“Baby,” He scoffed out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” 

“But I want to.” You said quickly, leaving no room for argument. “Can I see, please?” It was clear he was somewhat hesitant, but he unfurled himself enough for you to inspect his body. His lack of clothes from your planned activity made it easy to see the roughened and scarred skin covering his body in certain areas. It was varying colors and shapes, but they were all pretty in their own way. Knit skin reflected and shone, flashing and pulling. It was mesmerizing. 

“Pretty gnarly, I know.” He joked. 

“I like them,” You shuffled down his lap, leaning into his inner thigh to kiss the scars there. He inhaled sharply, shivering from the contact. You kept going, gently moving your lips over the healed skin, knowing it was probably extra-sensitive. “They’re pretty.” You looked up at him, all doe-eyed. He could feel himself stiffening, the love and contact and kissing all too much for his body as you gently trailed your fingers over the tent in his boxers, making him shudder. 

“Fuck, babe.” He groaned. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.” He smoothed his palm over your hair and neck as you kissed up his torso, brushing your lips against the scars on his ribs, moving up his neck until you were facing him. 

“I love you, Peter. So, so much. I love every part of you.” You said earnestly. His eyes crinkled with fondness. Ne was no longer thinking about his scars or skin or whatever else. All he could focus on was how soft your touch was and how sweetly you were looking at him. It made his heart ache and his dick twitch. 

“Love you so much, sweet thing.” He said before grabbing your face and smashing your lips against his. You tried to kiss him sweetly, but he quickly roughened, hot tongue licking into your mouth greedily. A horrible sound was pulled from the back of your throat as he pulled you into his lap, your core dragging over his hard bulge. You pulled away and he whined, trying to grab at you. 

“Peter,” You pleaded. “Let me love on you, please.” He quickly caught your meaning as you slid off the bed onto your knees. He wasn’t about to deny, especially when you were looking at him like that. 

“Fuck, sweetness” He groaned as he tugged off his boxers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x you #the amazing spider man #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter smut #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker drabble #peter parker hurt/comfort #peter parker #smut #peter parker smut #drabble #anon ask #anon request

[starry-eyedblog]

Request for a prnaddict!reader x ghost? You two just became pretty good friends, sharing things about yourselves. Simon shares his recent addiction to cigarettes when you just casually drop that you have a prnaddiction.

side note: Just left a function and its 2am. overheard this scenario unraveling in a balcony earlier. Am too tired to be horny so i left and now leaving this for u if you'd like to :3 goodniiiiiight~

oooo this is such a juicy idea!! also disclaimer, i ken that this probs wouldnae happen in the military where they restrict other soldiers on personal things like smoking but this is FICTION so i dinnae care :3

warnings/tags: simon x gn reader, smoking addictions, porn addiction, smut

it's a friday night, and the bar you are sat at is bustling with bodies. it was starting to get too much so you decided to step out for some air and a tipsy smoke. as you push the heavy door out, the nippy air sweeps in and instantly cools your flushed skin.

a soft sigh leaves you as you step around the corner and pull out your packet of cigs, sliding one out and holding it between your lips as you search for your lighter. once you feel it in your back pocket, you fish it out and spark it up. as the flame lights up your face, this is when you notice the mammoth of a man stood next to you, desperately trying to flicker his lighter to life.

he curses quietly and you look away, lighting up your own fag before silently passing over the lighter to him. he looks up, a black surgical mask hooked beneath his jawline and showing off a pretty gnarly scar across his face. "cheers, love." he grumbles, taking the lighter from you.

you nod silently with a soft smile before taking a long drag from your fag, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling. you watch the smoke dance up into in the air for a moment before turning to the man next to you who's chuckling softly.

"like an angel sent from heaven, don't know what i would've done if i couldn't find a lighter." he mumbles as he brings the fag to his lips and inhales. you laugh quietly at his words, taking the lighter back from him.

"no big deal, glad to be of service." you joke with a smile, gently tapping the ash off your fag with your fingers. "i'd be the same if my vibe charger died." you mumble out, but the mysterious man hears you.

"that so?" he questions, and you blush as he turns to you with the fag hanging from his lips. "uh, uhm yeah. all got our own sin or poison, or whatever the saying is." you say, taking a long drag from the fag. he asks for your name, which you give him before asking the same.

once the two of you exchange names, you prompt him about his smoking. "so, addicted to nicotine huh?" you ask, watching him take a long drag from his fag. he nods silently, looking over at you as he slowly exhales the smoke.

"calms my mind and gives me something to do," he shrugs, watching the way you look away from his eyes. "and what about you? can't get enough of a wank?" simon teases and you snort.

"guess you could say that, is it a crime to love porn?" you question with a flushed face, unable to meet his eyes as the two of you smoke outside of the bar together and chat about your addictions.

simon looks back up at he night sky, staring at the bright stars before responding. "didn't say that love," he mumbles before continuing. "each to their own."

months down the line and the two of you are helping each other out - in reality you are only helping the other further aid their addictions.

simon is unable to bring fags now when he gets deployed as they pat him down and confiscate them. a mark now on his file from price to not let him smoke since he's been caught out on his addiction.

so to help, you'll send parcels with fag packets in bulk that he can hide in his room. he has a few secret smoking spots on base where he is sure to be alone and left like that for hours.

when he's back, you'll have him over and fuck him while watching porn together. he indulges in you, sometimes picks out videos that he likes and wants to show you which rots your brain even further.

oh and he fucks you so well, one of the best fuck buddies you've ever had. makes you cum multiple times before he's even got his cock stuffed into you. he likes to grab your jaw and force you to keep your eyes open while watching video after video.

it's a perfect little transaction almost that the both of you have, and no one bothers you about your addictions now. both of you realise that it's unhealthy and if others found out, they'd be disappointed but screw them.

#anon ask #thanks anon! #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #gn reader #gn reader smut #tw nicotine #tw addiction