#hopefully this time next year things will look completely different | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nouearth · 15 days

Text

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal.

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited.

“Thanks—”

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in.

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed.

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket.

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other.

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late.

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.”

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen.

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus.

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it.

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat.

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit.

Something commanded you to let those words slip out.

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace.

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold.

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.”

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed.

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help.

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you.

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated.

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed.

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes.

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost.

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on.

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower.

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling.

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having.

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure.

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough.

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest; it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you.

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you.

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper.

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place.

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself.

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer.

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about.

“Never.”

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now.

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him? His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

721 notes · View notes

percyluvr · 2 months

Note

Omg hi can you do a Percy x child of Nike!reader? maybe like something hurt/comfort and lots of touch bc I am hanging on by a thread. Thank you

percy jackson x child of nike!reader summary: you've been overworking yourself preparing for capture the flag and something your boyfriend says finally sends you over the edge wc: 676

You'd always known yourself to be quite a rational thinker. Even as a child of Nike, you usually knew when to stop and take a break so you didn't overwork yourself, but this time you'd finally crossed the line into concerning territory.

Ever since your first loss in capture the flag since you'd arrived at camp, you'd been training every day to get better. While you knew that training for 7+ hours a day every single day would take a toll on you, you just didn't expect for it to have this big an effect on you. Every day, you could be seen tiredly getting your breakfast, falling asleep at lunch, and nearly passing out during sword fighting.

At first, Percy had been concerned, but didn't want to voice it, as you'd always known when to rest before, but this time it was different. He knew you hated to lose, but when his team beat yours in capture the flag last month, he didn't know it would affect you this much. He wanted to talk to you, but he could never find you when it wasn't meal time, and you were always asleep in addition to the not being able to sit at other cabins' tables rule that he so graciously followed.

Days passed, and he noticed that the natural glow that you and your siblings typically had was completely gone. The glow of the Nike kids came from small victories day to day that most people wouldn't really consider victories, but the Nike kids cared about all of them. However, the fact that yours was completely gone and you were looking paler than ever just proved the fact that you were overworking yourself and not paying attention to the smaller things, mainly being your health.

This observation brought him to one conclusion: he was going to have to talk you into resting, which would prove to be a very difficult endeavor because everyone at camp knew how hard it was to get a Nike kid to do anything but obsess over winning.

That night, he found you practicing your swordsmanship. He saw the way that you tiredly swung the sword, nearly dropping it numerous times.

"Hey, what are you doing? It's almost curfew," he says, breaking your already waning focus.

"Oh, Perce," you say tiredly, "just practicing for capture the flag."

"Baby, you need to rest, you've been overworking yourself like crazy."

"Listen, I get that you're worried about me, but you don't get it. I've never lost a game of capture the flag. Not in the 4 years I've been at this camp, Percy. You may think it's silly because your team won and you probably think it's just some stupid camp game, but it matters to me, okay? It's a way for me to prove that I'm good enough, Percy," you snapped.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry, okay. I don't think that at all. If it's important to you, it's important to me, but your health is what matters most to me," he gently takes your hand in his. "C'mon let's sit down, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, your tiredness now fully caught up with you.

"Y'know I wasn't trying to upset you, I'm just worried about you. I love you and I care about you," he whispered in your ear, strong arms wrapped around you. Him saying this was what finally broke you, and you started crying.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't cry, okay? You're the most important thing in my life and I hate seeing you like this. All burnt out and crying, you don't deserve this. But you have to rest if you're going to win next time, okay?" He brings you into his lap and puts his head on your shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," you sniffled, leaning into him. He gave you a soft kiss, and the two of you sat there cuddled up, and when you inevitably fell asleep, he carried you back to his cabin and the two of you cuddled up and slept through the night, keeping each other warm.

a/n: hopefully this was at least somewhat what u were hoping for! i had a lot of fun writing this saur i hope u like it !

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo #pjo series #percy jackson fic #pjo x reader #pjo x you #book percy jackson #percy jackson #percy jackson imagine #I LOVE HIM!!!

324 notes · View notes

jo-writes-fanfic · 2 months

Text

Love & Mischief

Loki x Female!Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Warnings: There's nothing explicit, some allusions to sex, probably language, violence, and heavy descriptions of grief and loss, although there is somewhat of a happy ending.

Word count: About 2.9k

Synopsis: You're Asgard's goddess of love and loyalty, but you've lost your god of mischief, how do you move forward?

Author’s note: This is set in Thor Love and Thunder. Also if you've ever seen the last scene of the show Reign, it has an inspiration in this fic too. I've had a lot of grief and loss in my life lately and this felt very therapeutic to write. I've tried writing for Loki a couple of times but always chickened out, so I really hope y'all enjoy this and hopefully there will be more to come!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

“And what are you the goddess of?”

The words resounded in your head again and again and again.

When Hela said those words to you, years ago, you had fired back, so sure of yourself and your role in Asgard, your role in your life, your role in his life.

But now…

What was a goddess of loyalty and love who no longer had love? Who no longer believed in such things as fate and security in love?

Your powers should have died when he did.

It was an odd pairing to many, you knew. But it worked perfectly, your strengths and weaknesses worked in tandem and created a love worth fighting for.

But the fight was gone.

The god of mischief (and betrayal- some would argue) and the goddess of loyalty and love were a match made in Valhalla.

Until he was gone, ripped from you so violently that you still woke up screaming from nightmares regularly.

You sat next to your king in New Asgard during another security council meeting.

You were completely zoned out, thinking of bright blue-green eyes, dark curls, and a blade-thin smile. Valkyrie nudged you. “Hey, tone it down, you're bumming out the whole room,” she whispered.

You sighed and blinked out of your reverie, and finally noticed that the mood of the room, despite the recent good news that had been received (you can’t remember what it was - honestly, you forgot to pay attention, these meetings were very dull and tended to drone on) was altogether glum.

“Sorry,” you whispered back and reigned your mood in.

Normally, your powers were extremely helpful; tightening the bonds of loyalty in those around you, increasing love in both romantic and familial bonds, reading others moods - often influencing them, and sometimes even manipulating loyalties. But currently, drowning in grief as you had been the past several years, your powers were more of a burden than anything.

The heaviness in the room instantly lightened, and the conversation flowed in a more productive direction once more.

“We need to talk about these moods of yours,” Val said once she was satisfied that the meeting was going better.

“No thanks,” you grumbled, and promptly zoned out once more. You really preferred it when Thor was also a mess, before he got his shit together, and you weren’t the only one that hadn’t moved on from the repercussions of the war with Thanos. But you know what they say, misery loves company. And back then, no one nagged you as much to get your shit together.

“A little help here?” the king asked you, irritation in her tone.

Another disagreement had broken out, this time a fist fight. Honestly, you found it amusing and were inclined to let it go on for a while, but when Val glared at you, you stood up and clapped once.

Everyone stopped their movements immediately and looked up at you.

“Enough,” you said sternly. “Asgard, though we may have differing opinions, we all fight for the same thing, the prospering of New Asgard. Remember that,” you ordered, infusing the room with compliance, reminding them of their bonds of loyalty.

Everyone looked sheepish and sat back down.

You flourished a hand to Val and said, “My king,” giving her the floor.

She gave them all a rousing speech, it was honestly quite good, some of her best work, and then ended the dreadful meeting early, much to your relief.

“Good job, boss. Well, I’m off-”

“Not so fast,” she said as she caught your arm.

You sighed once again.

“Do we need to talk about this? About Lo-”

“Don’t say his name,” you hissed and the tension in the room raised significantly as your anger and grief filled the space, making the large room feel claustrophobic.

She sighed and took your hand.

“Look, I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through and what you’ve lost. We can all feel it from time to time and I know it’s an incredibly heavy burden. I’m just concerned for you and want to help you,” she said.

With tears in your eyes, you nodded.

“I’m concerned about me too,” you mumbled.

“What can I do to help? Tell me. Anything,” she practically begged.

“Nothing, unless you can drag him back from Valhalla,” you muttered and brushed past her.

And life continued to trudge forward. As a goddess, never had such a short amount of years felt so long, an eternity really.

You felt as if you were stuck in a time loop and every day was close to the same.

You woke up and for a split second forgot he was gone and reached across your bed to find it cold. Then, a wave of grief hit you that was so heavy, each and every time, that you forgot how to breathe.

Eventually you forced yourself out of bed, shoved some food in your mouth as you rushed out the door and met Valkyrie for early morning training. Then you usually sat by the sea and stared as the sun rose in the sky, thinking of him but trying so hard not to. And again, you forced yourself on.

You completed your daily tasks as the King’s right hand goddess; meetings, meetings, and more meetings usually. Most nights you sat at the bar, watched Valkyrie drink an ungodly amount, then when you got bored enough you walked through New Asgard.

You walked and walked, thinking if you moved enough, if you stayed ahead of your sadness, maybe it wouldn’t catch you in the morning.

It always did.

Rinse and repeat.

There were differences of course, sometimes, you had to leave New Asgard to do the whole ambassador thing. Occasionally Thor came to visit and brought along his various cohorts and problems.

Today was one of those days. You were improving in your hand to hand combat skills, according to your King, through your daily rigorous training sessions, which pleased you since you spent most days feeling like you wanted to fight the whole nine realms. And then, following your routine, you sat on the cliffside and stared at the sea.

You never even got to give him a proper funeral, you thought, which then made you think of Frigga and the beautiful funeral service for her that you had watched through tears.

A voice called your name, you looked back and for a moment, a blink and you miss it moment, you saw him. A flash of green-blue eyes and inky black hair, your heart skipped a beat and the vision was gone.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear it, honestly these flashes of him you’ve been having lately should be concerning, but instead you clung to them, desperate for any connection to him that you could get.

Although the true sight before you was one that made you smile, as Thor came up and wrapped you in a bear hug.

You wheezed and when he finally put you down he chuckled heartily.

“How are you?” he asked and you gave him a look like he should know the answer to that question.

“Well I have something that should cheer you right up,” he said as he steered you back towards the town.

“Does it involve needing my help to fight another dangerous life-threatening bad guy?” you asked wryly.

“Perhaps….” he said.

You huffed a laugh and said, “I’m in.”

The threat you were fighting turned out to be a whole lot more dangerous and life-threatening than you anticipated.

Which is how you found yourself on a ship with Thor, Jane, Valkyrie, and Korg on an unfortunate adventure to confront the God Butcher.

Watching Thor and Jane fall back in love was not doing much for your mood. Val handed you another drink and you downed it.

“Hey, hey, you’re totally bringing down the vibe, mate. This is supposed to be about love,” Korg said to you. You huffed and rolled your eyes.

You made an effort to lessen the dark cloud you’d brought on the ship.

“Do you think you’ll ever find love again?” Val asked you, after she confessed that she’d avoided any serious relationships for decades.

“No,” you said, like it was final.

“Really?” Korg asked. “Shouldn’t the goddess of love fall in love easily?”

You shot him a glare.

“I love. I love a great many people. But true love, like soulmates and shit, that only comes once in a lifetime. And after you’ve had it, you’re pretty much ruined for anything less. So no, I don’t think I’ll ever truly find love again,” you said with a sigh.

“Heavy,” he replied and you cracked up.

You laughed so hard you snorted, and at first your friends looked at you in shock, then joined you in laughter, and the room filled with love once again, the love of friendship, and you realized you’ve been overlooking the amount of love you actually had in your life due to your grief.

You grabbed Val’s hand and patted Korg’s disembodied head, and watched Thor and Jane reignite their flame of love.

“I love you all and am grateful for all the support you’ve given me,” you said.

“No final confessions,” Valkyrie said, “this is not the end for any of us.”

You nodded and then the ship reached its destination. The shadow realm yawned open in front of your vision and you gulped.

You had this horrible feeling, like dread, in the pit of your stomach, and you saw him again. That flash you’ve seen so many times recently, but more and more frequently since this misadventure started and that dread molted in your stomach into resolve.

You were certain and you were ready.

Of course the plan went immediately sideways. You crossed swords with Gorr the God Butcher and your heart threatened to pound out of your chest.

Yes, your sword fighting skills had improved, but not enough to be a good match for a seasoned warrior and god killer.

“What are you the Goddess of? Are you even worth my sword?” he growled out.

You gritted your teeth and went on the attack. Your rage filled the space as you dodged, slashed, and pushed him as hard as you could.

You could hear your friends yelling, but you couldn’t lose your focus even for a moment as he pushed back and fought with skill beyond your own.

And you realized you’d been doing this all wrong. You were fighting without your biggest asset, your own natural gifts and abilities. The powers that made you a goddess of Asgard.

He didn’t notice your impact on his mood because your rage didn’t even touch the deep well of his own, he didn’t feel your rage due to the mountain that was his own.

No, rage wouldn’t work, you thought, and as your swords crossed again you used your other hand to grab his.

Your power was more potent when you were skin to skin.

You poured love and loyalty into your enemy, thinking only of happiness and good memories, trying to lessen his rage. Trying to decrease his fight, hoping to convince him to put down his sword.

Your breath caught into a gasp as his emotions infected your own. His love and loyalty were intertwined with an ocean of grief. Just like your own.

And you were drowning.

His emotions, his rage at the injustice and unfairness and unending sadness felt so close to your own emotions that you were thrown back into a memory.

Your worst memory, actually, the day you lost him for good. And you knew your enemy was in his worst memory as well. The origin of his grief.

Just like you watched the origin of your grief as it unfolded in front of you once more. The reason for your nightmares, the reason you woke up screaming, you stepped back and gasped as the memory overcame you.

And Gorr did the same.

You think the sound might be the worst part. Loki’s choking. Or maybe it was the snapping sound, like a branch, a snap that ended everything for him. And for you.

And then there’s the sight. You couldn’t even describe it, it was too awful to explain. You’ve never spoken about it, even in the therapy sessions your King forced you to attend.

He thudded to the ground and you gasped as the vision cleared.

You were drowning in your own grief and it was clear Gorr was more accustomed to drowning than you.

He recovered one second quicker, and your battlefield reflexes were not quite up to par.

You slashed your sword up but all it did was clang against his where it was embedded in your stomach.

All the air whooshed from your lungs.

“You are not a god that deserves death, are you?” he said as he cocked his head. “But you lost faith in yourself, in what you stand for.”

You weren’t even sure you felt the pain. Maybe the shock inhibited your ability to feel any pain. You’d been injured before, sure, but you always felt the sharpness of it. But of course you’ve never been hurt this severely.

You tried to speak, but it came out as a groan.

“I am sorry,” he said and slowly slid the sword from your abdomen and you fell to your knees. Blood gushed and you saw that flash again.

“Beautiful,” you mumbled as you saw the flash of a wry smirk, eyes full of love, and a hand outstretched towards you. Beckoning you.

Finally, you thought.

The last thing you heard was Thor roaring and your king calling your name as she caught you before your body hit the ground.

There was darkness, utter darkness, and then a solid weight beneath you.

You realized you were laying down. You were laying on the most comfortable bed you’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping on.

Sleeping? Are you sleeping? Wasn’t there something…something painful? You couldn’t remember.

You blinked your eyes open and let out all the air in your lungs.

Your eyes filled with tears, this time happy tears. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you cried happy tears.

Loki laid beside you, close enough for you to touch, staring at you with such love in his eyes that tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Oh,” you gasped.

He reached out and cupped your cheek, wiping the tears away.

You sobbed, and he shushed you even as he pulled you closer. You buried your face in his bare chest and he crushed you against him, so tight, tight enough that you were sure he would never let you go again.

He ran his hand up and down your back, and with a start you realized you were void of clothes as well.

You awoke in the afterlife just as you would have every day of the best years of your life with him; naked in his bed after a night of making love with adoration in his eyes as he watched you sleep.

You took a shuddering breath and pulled back to look at him in the eyes once more, your hands never leaving his body, you ran them up his chest, across his face, twirled your fingers in his hair.

“This is Valhalla, isn’t it?” you asked.

“Yes, my love,” he said, and kissed the fresh tears on your cheeks away.

Then he kissed your lips. It was a delicate thing at first, but then it molted and grew until it felt exactly like it used to. The kiss cemented you to him, secured you right where you should be, where he had been waiting for you.

And all of the pain you experienced before that kiss didn’t even matter anymore. Because you loved him and he loved you, and that’s all.

His lips moved against yours and your tears mixed with his and it was perfect. You loved him, that’s all.

You weren’t angry at him for dying and leaving you alone. You weren’t drowning in heavy emotions anymore. You held no grudges or hard feelings over anyone or anything anymore, not now that you were in the arms of your greatest love once more.

“It’s been so long,” you gasped out when he pulled back and smiled.

“I know,” he said with a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“I am as well,” he replied, simply and sweetly.

You felt light as a feather. You felt released from your pain and anguish. You were with him again, and that’s all that mattered.

“Isn’t the introduction to Valhalla traditionally supposed to be much different?” you asked.

He smirked and mischief twinkled in his eyes, “It is possible I managed to bend some rules for you.”

You huffed a laugh and pulled him into another kiss. One that could’ve lasted seconds or could’ve lasted a lifetime. It didn’t really matter. You had eternity in the hall of warriors with your Loki, and you were secure knowing you died fighting for the ones you loved.

“Would you like me to give you the grand tour?” he whispered in your ear as he pulled back from your lips and began kissing his way across your skin.

“Maybe later,” you said as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him atop of you.

“We have an eternity,” he promised and kissed you, slow and deep.

Tagging those who showed interest in this fic (thanks for the support!) : @thespiralstaircasewriter @bellaisasleep @elly-hiddlesherloki @izhunny @drachenkinder @spacefloosie

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki angst

234 notes · View notes

seakicker · 1 year

Text

☆ My Next-Door Neighbor is an Annoying Older Woman Who Constantly Bothers Me

☆ between: college au!scaramouche x milf!reader

☆ synopsis: scaramouche insists he doesn’t want to fuck the milf living next door, but all his friends think he doth protest too much.

☆ word count: 10.5K words

☆ a/n: like with my venti x milf!reader fic over on ao3, this is supposed to give a sort of doujinshi vibe, hence the embarrassing title and the lunacy of some ideas like milf!reader going outside in a super sheer shirt. hopefully you feel the doujinshi vibe i was going for as i have a lot of fun trying to replicate the style, themes, and flow of doujinshis using only text!

☆ contents: fem + plus-sized reader (reader is explicitly described as chubby, busty, and taller than scaramouche), age gap obviously; scaramouche is a senior in college and reader is in her early 40s, degradation, a couple insults (such as scaramouche calling you a hag/loose/etc.), degradation, exhibitionism (scaramouche fucks you in front of a glass sliding door), sexual frustration, and unprotected sex + scaramouche pulls out

also posted to ao3 with the same title and under the same username!

Scaramouche has a problem.

Well, a problem slightly more irritating than the approximately nine hundred other problems he deals with on a daily basis. These issues include, but are not limited to, the consistent problems he has with the hot water heater in his apartment, his obnoxious group project teammate Ajax who insisted upon being the group’s leader despite his complete and utter lack of intellect, his annoying circle of friends that always seem to find ways to poke their noses into Scaramouche’s business, his frustratingly-dull history professor that always goes off on tangents completely unrelated to the class’ subject matter… and so on and so forth. It’s one issue after another; there’s always something when it comes to Scaramouche.

A matter more pressing than all of those other nine hundred issues put together, however, comes in the form of his next-door neighbor— you.

You’re a divorced woman in your early forties who lives by herself, works during the daytime while Scaramouche is on campus, and always seems to leave and return home at the same times he does. He moved in next door to you a few months ago at the start of his junior year, but you’ve never really gotten the chance to get to know him beyond the curt responses he gives you when you ask how he’s doing or what he did over the weekend. His coldness towards you doesn’t make too much sense— have you somehow offended him without knowing? You like to consider yourself a good neighbor: you don’t party (like a woman your age would ever do such a thing), you don’t blast loud music long into the night (or at all), you take good care of your things and avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche or your other neighbors, and you’re very, very tidy. When you’re in the mood to brag a little, you’ll say that you have the nicest balcony in the entire apartment complex.

…Avoid causing trouble for Scaramouche, huh? He’d beg to differ.

If Scaramouche has nine hundred problems in his life, then maybe it’d be more accurate to claim that you’re the cause of at least seven hundred of those problems rather than claiming that you’re one single, self-contained issue separate from all of those other problems. Maybe it’s the way you insist upon butting your way into his life and, in what must be your way of expressing it, “taking care” of him that irritates him more than anything else. Really, if he had to sum up your advances in one word, he’d have to go with aggravating.

At first, he bitterly wondered if you’re just some senile old hag using him as a replacement for your son, who’s surely moved out by now given your age. All you are is a woman looking to cure her empty nest syndrome by doting on someone her son’s age according to Scaramouche— he viewed your kindness as underhanded and delusional because he can take care of himself, you know. He’s an adult man living on his own; he knows how to navigate the trials and tribulations of young adulthood without some old lady insisting upon knocking on his door and gifting him home-cooked meals, bringing up his mail from the first-floor mailroom, or helping him with chores where you can. It’s not like Scaramouche would ever let you into his apartment, but that hasn’t stopped you from finding ways to help outside by sweeping outside his front door or washing the outside of his front window while he’s not home.

Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy to wash your neighbor’s windows without him asking you to help out, but it’s not like he’s going to do it. You would know— you had once waited a week to see if he’d clean up a spilled drink stain on the walkway in front of his door. As you expected, he never got around to it, so you happily cleaned it up on his behalf. Cleaning up for him doesn’t really put you out of your way either— whenever you sweep his doorway, it’s because you were already outside tidying up in front of your place; why not help out your neighbor in the process?

When you bring him meals you prepared yourself, it’s out of the goodness of your heart and because you can’t help but worry about a college boy’s diet— fast food, pizza, frozen microwave meals, and instant ramen don’t have all the nutrients a hardworking man needs. When you bring him his mail, it’s because he has a tendency to forget about it until his mailbox is, quite literally, overflowing. Whereas you check your mailbox every single day, Scaramouche seems to forget about his until the end of the week, which is certainly no way to live— what if he misses an important bill or notice? As a result, you took it upon yourself to check his mailbox for him whenever you go to retrieve your own mail.

Again, maybe it’s a little creepy to gather your neighbor’s mail, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone, right? You certainly don’t root through his mail or open any of it. Even though Scaramouche rolls his eyes and mumbles a halfhearted little “thanks” every time you hand him his mail, he doesn’t really seem to mind. Despite his initial reluctance to accept any of it, he still eats the food you prepare for him if the empty containers he returns to you a few days later are any indication of that fact. You figure maybe he’s just a little shy or tired from his long day on campus— it does your heart well to know that he’s working so very hard.

On the flip side of things, Scaramouche considers your… activities a total inconvenience. He’ll admit that your meals taste very good— though he’d never say it to your face— but he doesn’t like feeling indebted to you or thinking that he owes you something even though you’ve told him multiple times that your favors don’t need any payback. You’re just happy to cook for someone other than yourself, you had told him once, confirming Scaramouche’s suspicion that you live alone. It’s not his fault you’re bored enough to make food for someone you barely know, so do you have to rope him into your wiles? He already has groceries and though he doesn’t really know how to cook, what’s wrong with having a bowl of cereal for dinner? It’s none of your business, is it?

Between your constant insistence on involving yourself in his life and the fact that he’s never seen anyone else leaving or entering your apartment, Scaramouche was able to correctly guess that you live alone… a realization that can’t help but annoy him. He figures that if you had someone, anyone else in your life like a spouse or another child living with you, you’d stop pestering him and stick to involving yourself in the lives of your family instead of your neighbor.

Would a pet do? Should he find some stray kitten and leave it on your doorstep? Is that what it’d take to make you mind your own business?

“Hey, Kuni, tell me about your little neighbor lady again,” Venti coos, accidentally knocking over his—thankfully— empty beer bottle when he leans forward to grab his phone. He’s drunk, but that barely makes a difference; he’d still make this request sober.

Glowering around the mouth of his own bottle, Scaramouche rolls his eyes in Venti’s general direction. “Why? If you want to know that hag so badly, go talk to her yourself.”

Venti busts out laughing, an action that his drunken body clearly can’t handle seeing as he falls sideways into Aether’s shoulder, making the latter grimace in response. Venti’s already a handful sober, but when he drinks… it takes the entire friend group to get him home and/or in bed safely. “Don’t threaten me with that, ‘cuz I really will do it— I’ll go steal your hot older girlfriend.”

Glaring up at him from his spot on the rug, Scaramouche has half a mind to shove that empty beer bottle into Venti’s eye for suggesting such a thing. Hey, wait a minute— why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor when this is his damn apartment?

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he barks, turning to direct his glare at Kazuha too when he hears him chuckle.

“The more you deny it, the less convincing you are— you talk about her all the time, so I’m inclined to believe you really are dating,” Venti chirps, reaching for a bottle of beer that is most certainly not his.

“That’s mine,” Aether protests, watching as Venti takes a sip from his bottle anyways.

“Oops, my bad.” He doesn’t sound sincere.

“Well… get me another whenever you stand up.”

Venti waves his hand dismissively before redirecting his attention back to the more important matter at hand— Scaramouche’s complete and utter inability to just admit that he has the hots for his hot MILF of a neighbor and that any protest otherwise is a feeble attempt at hiding the truth.

“They say you’re attracted to things that make you mad,” Venti says. “…Cuteness aggression. Yeah. I saw a video about it once.”

“That’s not what cuteness aggression is, and ‘they’ say that you attract the things you fear,” Kazuha corrects him from his spot in the nearby armchair— again, why is Scaramouche the one sitting on the floor?— before he goes to take another hit off his blunt.

Venti repeats what Kazuha said in a nasally voice in an attempt to mock him, but the gesture only makes Kazuha chuckle again. It’ll be hard to draw any response more eloquent than a single laugh or a sigh out of him for the rest of the night— it’s a very, very stark difference from how he usually is.

“Why the fuck do I ever invite any of you over here?” Scaramouche sighs, taking a long swig from his own bottle. He doesn’t even really like the taste; it’s something Venti found on sale and decided to bring over, but Scaramouche has decided it’s better than spending his Friday night sober. Besides, it’ll take at least four more of these to deal with the impending conversation that he’s been trying so hard to pivot away from since Venti first brought it up.

“Because we’re best friends forever, next question. Why do you deny how much you wanna fuck your sexy neighbor, Kuni?” Venti asks again, pouting when Aether snatches the bottle Venti stole from him. “It’s super obvious. Xiao and Heizou agree with me, and I’m not just saying that because they’re not here tonight and can’t contest me on it. It’s true.”

Kazuha nods, and Aether simply shrugs. Christ alive, do they all think the same thing?

“And why on Earth do I— in theory— want to fuck her? She’s probably loose or something,” Scaramouche argues.

Venti busts out laughing again.

“It’s the opposite, really,” he starts, glancing between Aether and Kazuha when neither of them laugh along with him. “What, have you guys seriously never been with an older lady? They’re the best; the reason I know Kuni wants to get with that lady next door is because I got with the lady next door to me a couple months ago. It takes one to know one, or something. Trust me, Kuni, I know what you’re going through and we are seriously gonna get through this together.” Why is he making it sound like a relative died or something?

“They’re experienced,” Venti sighs longingly, blindly reaching out again for the bottle Aether’s holding, who moves it further away and out of Venti’s reach. “They feel really, really good. They actually know what they’re doing… sometimes the girls—and guys, mind you, I’ve gotten with plenty of both— our age clearly don’t know they’re supposed to be doing, but getting with somebody’s mom…”

“You’re gross!” Aether gasps, though his pink cheeks tell a different story.

“Not as gross as the guy who’s told us the same story about seeing his neighbor lady braless like four times now,” Venti replies, glancing over at Scaramouche with a grin. “Really left an impression on you, huh, Kuni?”

Just like that, Scaramouche finds himself instantly reminded of, well, the time he saw you braless first thing in the morning. A few months ago on some random Saturday morning, Scaramouche was out smoking a cigarette on his porch when you stepped outside to water the plants you keep on your balcony. There were so many of them: a small tomato plant, a pot overflowing with basil that you took to trimming after you finished watering everything, a couple of hanging baskets field with flowers, and a few other vegetable plants and potted succulents. More glaringly obvious than the abundance of plants occupying your balcony was your complete and utter shamelessness— even a quick glance in your direction was enough to draw Scaramouche’s attention to the distractingly sheer fabric of your white camisole.

It’s not like Scaramouche was actively staring at your tits— really, he wasn’t, he swears— because anyone would notice something that egregious. The low, low sweep of your camisole around your ample bust, your nipples beading up against the thin fabric, the constant fucking movement of the top as you shifted and bent over to water the plants sitting on the ground, moved, and walked, all of it. He complained to his friends about your complete and utter shamelessness— What kind of woman steps outside practically naked? he spat, much to the amusement of Venti, who had said that wearing a thin shirt does not, in fact, make one naked.

Worst of all, you had actually fucking caught Scaramouche staring, an action that made you grin wickedly and run your hands down the sides of your soft, plump body as if to try and draw his eyes down along with your hands. Instead, Scaramouche had only whipped his head to the other side, busying himself with tapping the ash off his cigarette as if it were the most important task he’d ever complete in his life. Jesus Christ, he was only staring because he couldn’t believe you’d be so shameless as to wear something like that outside, not because he was genuinely aroused by how low your camisole sat on your chest, how big your tits are, how soft they look…

He thinks he shuddered then, and he insisted to his friends that it was because of a sudden chilly breeze and absolutely nothing more. It was either that or because he was just so shocked by your display that a shiver went down his spine— he can’t even remember the exact reason he gave anymore.

Either way, none of them really believed him.

“Ah, he seems distracted,” Kazuha notes simply, raising a hand to point at Scaramouche before grinning. His words pull Scaramouche from his little daydream, and he groans at the realization that, yes, he spaced out remembering yet another instance of your abhorrent shamelessness and perversion.

“Spaced out thinking about cute MILF boobs, I get it,” Venti affirms, nodding. “Nobody gets that more than me. Not only that, but you’ve also, uh, ‘complained’ to us about seeing her in her swimsuit. Really, Kuni, it’s like you’re biding your time and waiting for her to take her clothes off so you can tell us about it.”

…That’s a story for another time. Scaramouche has had enough of thinking about you for one day; it’s bad enough that you brought him his mail today just mere moments before Venti, Kazuha, and Aether arrived to hang out— what if they saw you?— but to be reminded of the image of your tits underneath that pathetic excuse for a top…

He shakes his head and takes a long, long sip from his bottle.

“And they’re so soft, Kuni,” Venti says, slumping over further into Aether for support. “They feel like absolutely nothing else. I feel like firmness or perkiness or whatever is really, really overrated— the softness of a cute MILF’s boobs is unrivaled!”

“Can you not say things like that right into my ear?” Aether mumbles bashfully, making Venti laugh.

“Why? Am I gonna put the mental image of MILF boobs in your brain, too? Are we gonna become an entire friend group full of MILF chasers? That’d be hilarous. I already know about Xiao’s little crush on his English professor.”

Jesus, Scaramouche has got to steer this conversation somewhere else or he’ll go mad. “Anyways,” he beings, “Where is that pizza you ordered ages ago?”

“I thought Kazuha was taking care of it,” Aether remarks, glancing over at him. Kazuha goes to reply, but nothing comes out— yep, he’s gone for the night. He won’t be able to get out any more than four words max until morning.

As if the universe heard their request, the doorbell rings to signify the arrival of dinner. Before Scaramouche can go to pull himself up off the floor—he really should make Venti move; it’s his couch in his apartment— Venti’s already in the process of skipping towards the door. Aether takes the opportunity to kick his feet up over the other couch cushion, making Scaramouche wonder if the three of them formed some secret pact to ensure that he stays on the floor the entire evening.

However, what stands on the other side of the door is not, in fact, the pizza delivery boy. It’s you, aluminum foil-covered glass casserole dish in hand, leading Scaramouche to believe that while the universe did hear their request for food, the devil answered by sending you to his doorstep while he has three of his friends over.

“Oh! You’re not the pizza guy,” Venti beams, putting on his best ‘polite’ voice possible. Scaramouche groans and looks over towards his other two friends just so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with you, but neither Aether nor Kazuha look back at him. They’re looking at you.

Christ, he’ll never live this down. Not only do they know who you are, they now know what you look like.

“I’m not,” you giggle. “I live next door; I bring food to Scaramouche sometimes whenever I get a little too excited in the kitchen and make too much. I can’t eat the leftovers fast enough before they go bad, and I would hate to waste food, you know?”

“You can call him Kuni,” Venti offers. “We all do. It’s less of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

Scaramouche decides that Venti will be leaving his apartment in a body bag tonight.

His cheeks burn with equal parts humiliation and anger, and the realization that his friends’ teasing is only about to get worse now that they know who you are and what you look like more than motivates Scaramouche to devise a plot to kill the three of them.

After introducing yourself to Venti, he smiles and replies that “the pleasure is all his” when you tell him it’s nice to meet some of Scaramouche’s friends. Venti has half a mind to invite you inside for a moment, but he decides that’d be unnecessary— he figures he’s already done more than enough to inspire Scaramouche into action. If Scaramouche won’t act on his feelings himself, then maybe a little shove from his friends will help him along.

“That’s sweet of you!” Venti praises, taking the dish from your hands. “I’m glad Kuni’s eating properly these days. One time, he told us that the only thing he survived off of during finals week was a sleeve of Saltines and some peanut butter. You’re so kind, miss.”

You giggle sheepishly, a sound that Scaramouche would like to claim grates his ears. Miss? Can’t Venti see that you’re, well, old? “Well, I’m glad that he has such kind friends to support him. You all take care, okay? You too, Scara— Kuni!” You call out past Venti’s shoulder, making both Aether and Kazuha chuckle.

After bidding farewell to the four in what has to be the most mortifying moment of Scaramouche’s entire life, you leave, allowing Venti to close the door behind you and make his way back to the others. “Those boobs are huge,” he sighs dreamily, looking up at the ceiling. “If I got suffocated between those, I would die a fully satisfied man.”

“Then go die,” Scaramouche mutters in agreement, cheeks still burning with humiliation. Why does the universe insist upon tormenting him so?

Eyeing the dish in Venti’s hands, Aether pipes up too “She cooks for you? Kuni, you have it so good.”

Scaramouche is amazed that, after all this time, his friends still find it in them to be jealous of him despite all of his attempts at framing you as annoying, invasive, and overbearing. Can’t they see that you’re doing this on purpose?! Scaramouche has half a mind to wonder if you’re psychic— what other explanation is there for your obnoxiously perfect timing? He asks about food and suddenly you appear on his doorstep, dish in hand as if you had heard him through the walls. There’s no way they’re that thin, are they?

Venti moves to set the dish down on the kitchen countertop before turning around to look Scaramouche square in the eye. “Kuni, I’m saying this because I respect you as my longtime friend,” he asserts, tone and gaze both deathly serious in a way that’s genuinely almost out of character for someone as flippant and carefree as Venti. “But you better fuck that lady the first chance you get because, if you don’t, I’m taking her for myself.” That should do it.

Scowling in response, Scaramouche crosses his arms over his chest and sighs bitterly. “Why would I stop you? I don’t care what you do with her. For the last fucking time, I’m not into her.” Despite his words, Scaramouche can’t deny that there’s something… unsettling about the idea of Venti getting with you. Does he really want to watch his friend take four A.M. booty calls in order to fuck the woman living right next door to him? Can Scaramouche truly stomach the idea of his friend fucking the brains out of someone just a few walls away from where he lives? It’s hard to put his finger on why, but something about Venti getting with Scaramouche’s neighbor, despite his insistence that there truly is nothing between the two of them, really, really irks him.

Well, it’s probably just because a lot of Venti’s behavior tends to irritate Scaramouche in the first place, right? Yeah, it’s probably just that. He doesn’t need to hear every last gritty detail of his friend’s sexual trysts.

That characteristically smug grin of his finds its way back to Venti’s face as he reaches over Aether’s shoulder and snatches his beer bottle again. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. How about we forget the pizza and eat what she brought over?”

“Oh, I see now,” Kazuha interjects after having been silent for the past twenty minutes. He turns his phone around to show Scaramouche, Venti, and Aether the check-out screen on the pizza chain’s website. “It seems I failed actually submit the order; it was still waiting for me to pay.”

Scaramouche doesn’t have a hangover the next morning, a blessing he owes to the fact that he only ended up drinking two beers last night. He probably would’ve consumed more if he had the chance to, but Venti blew through the rest of the box quicker than the other three could try to stop him. It took both Kazuha and Aether supporting Venti’s hardly-conscious body to get him down the stairs to the parking lot so they can drive him home— there’s no way Venti would be able to safely get himself home amidst such an awful hangover.

As he pokes through his apartment scooping up empty beer bottles and stained paper plates to toss into a trash bag, the glass casserole dish sitting out on the kitchen counter catches Scaramouche’s eye. Save for a few scraps shoved into the rounded corners of the pan, it’s practically been picked clean— the four boys tore through it easily with Venti, Kazuha, and Aether all fawning over just how good a home-cooked meal tastes after months of campus cafeteria food, fast food, and instant ramen. Venti mentioned that there’s just something about a MILF’s cooking that makes it so much better, leading to a conversation about how, in Venti’s educated opinion, older women just do everything better: sex, cooking, cleaning, caretaking, all of it.

Scaramouche scoffs at the memory. “She’s nothing special,” he mutters to himself, still failing to understand Venti’s obsession with somebody he’s never even met until last night. Scaramouche is the one who’s actually been living next door to her for months now— as his friends know by now, he has plenty more to say about her than Venti does.

Shouldn’t he be the one to comment on things like the size of your bust, the softness of your legs, the plumpness of your ass and belly, and the flavor of your cooking? He’s the one who’s actually seen you lounging in tiny string bikinis by the apartment complex’s pool, watering the plants out on your balcony in a pair of shorts that certainly break publicly decency laws, and retrieving your mail in a shirt so thin he can make out the little bumps of your nipples up against the fabric.

“Christ, what am I thinking?” Scaramouche stops himself and second-guesses whether or not he’s actually hungover. There’s no way his sober mind would drift to thoughts of you, right? Clearly something must be wrong with him— he blames Venti for putting all these thoughts in his head with his never-ending discussion of what makes older women so utterly sexy.

He’s then reminded of what Venti told him right before they all sat down to eat your cooking: that if Scaramouche won’t hurry up and fuck his neighbor, Venti will do it for him. Even now, the idea still bothers him for reasons he just can’t quite put his finger on— Venti’s been with tons and tons of people; why does he want Scaramouche’s neighbor too? Can’t Venti see how awkward that would be?

Setting the trash bag down on the floor, Scaramouche takes to the sink to wash out the casserole dish you brought over for them last night. His mind concocts disgustingly vivid images of you as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn piece of dried cheese, and maybe he’d be shocked by how little effort he’s putting into warding those thoughts away if he weren’t so utterly immersed in them. His mind conjures up the image of you in that tiny black bikini he saw you wearing by the pool while he was out smoking on his balcony— he remembers the little number being so small that you had to readjust it every single time you simply sat up or lied down because every last motion was enough to threaten a nipslip. It makes him wonder if you dress like that on purpose or because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that clothes and swimsuits you used to wear still fit you despite clear evidence otherwise— are you actively vying for the attention of any man who’ll give it to you, or are you brainless enough to throw something on without caring about how poorly or not it fits?

It’s probably a mix of both; you’re just that shameless.

Scaramouche grits his teeth at the mental image of you straddling him while adorned in that tiny little bikini that seems to only get tinier and tinier the longer he allows his imagination to run wild. Of all the fucking things to imagine you doing…

He pictures what you’d look like with your thick, plump thighs enveloping either side of his hips as you run your hands up and down your ample chest and soft stomach. God, he can see it all now: the little bumps of your nipples beading up against the thin fabric of your swimsuit, the soft hang of your tummy spilling over the tiny, flimsy string keeping your bottoms secured around your wide hips, the way your tits would bounce as you ride him…

“Something’s wrong with me,” he grumbles, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. The clump of cheese he’d been scraping at finally separates from the pan, and he realizes that if he wants to rid you from his mind for good, he should take matters into his own hands before Venti does.

No, wait, this has nothing to do with Venti— this isn’t about staking claim over you before any of his friends can, this is solely about him finding ways to release the grip you have on him as if you’re some kind of wicked succubus. Scaramouche glances downwards after setting the dish aside to dry and, much to his chagrin, finds that the mere thought of you was enough to fucking get him hard. The eager press of his cock against the confines of his briefs moritifies him solely because of the very reason why he’s like this in the first place; how the fuck did the thought of you in a bikini so tiny your areolas peek around the sides reduce him to such a state? He’d like to believe that he’s only this hard because it’s been a while since he’s jerked off, but that would be an excuse less believable than any of the ones he’s ever given his friends.

He knows that he’s too dignified to jerk off to the thought of you— if he’s feeling horny, then surely he can find things more deserving of his attention than some hag next door. He refuses to give you that kind of satisfaction (despite the fact that you’d never even know unless he told you, so how could you be smug about it?), so he decides that an ice-cold shower is in order before venturing out to settle things with you.

After a shower so cold Scaramouche swears he saw his fingers begin to turn purple, he dries off, gets dressed in something other than the clothes he fell asleep in last night, grabs your clean casserole dish, and leaves to go to the one place he wouldn’t have ever imagined himself stepping foot in— your apartment. If this is what it takes to sever the connection between you and his mind…

God, this is going to be annoying, Scaramouche thinks as he knocks on your door using his foot, casserole dish supported safely by both of his hands. He feels the need to steel himself because he just knows you’ll answer the door in something sheer, skimpy, or some combination of the two and he needs to be ready for that.

Why? Are you hoping for that to happen, Kuni? Venti’s voice whispers from the back of Scaramouche’s mind.

He really is losing it.

“Good morning— oh, Kuni! This is a surprise,” you greet him upon opening the door, flashing him a smile so bright it nearly makes him cringe. Can you spare him the pleasantries so he can just get to the point?

Fucking Venti— why teach her that nickname? Turning his head to look at a faraway bird instead of you, Scaramouche scoffs. “I need to talk to you.” Straight to the point, emotionless, and rude, it’s all so in-character for your neighbor that you can’t help but giggle.

You grin wider. “Of course. Come in; I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

Scaramouche waits until you’re a good few steps ahead of him before following you inside, glancing around the living room of your apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen table. Your apartment’s clean, impeccably so at that— every book on your bookshelf faces the same direction, the blanket draped over the back of your couch doesn’t have a single crease, and he can’t see even an ounce of dust on any inch of your tables and countertops.

He snorts a little. Rather than viewing the cleanliness as impressive or inspiring, he bitterly interprets it as a testament to your overabundance of free time and lack of other hobbies or pastimes.

“I’m not sure how strong you like your coffee, so I’ll just make it how I normally do,” you pipe up from the kitchen, pulling Scaramouche away from scrutinizing the titles of the books on your shelf. Restless Summer Nights? The Devil’s Mistress? They all sound like bargain bin erotica novels.

It was a mistake to direct his attention away from your novels and to you instead, he figures, because only now does he get a look at what you’re wearing— if one could even call that clothing. You’re dressed in something he wants to call a workout outfit, but anyone leaving the house in an outfit like that surely has goals other than simply exercising— they want to attract attention. A sports bra that sits so low on your chest that a single bounce on an exercise ball would expose you combines with a pair of spandex leggings so tight they reveal the lines of your panties to comprise your “workout outfit,” and to say that Scaramouche is mortified would be an understatement. He can’t help but find the combination of your manner of dress and your collection of novels completely pathetic.

And despite his apparent disgust… he’s been staring at you long enough to pick up the most minute details about your outfit. The indifferent passerby likely wouldn’t notice your pantylines— a certain amount of staring is required to actually notice them; they’re really not obvious from a quick glance. Actually, why can’t he stop looking at you? He writes it off as a simple morbid curiosity at how someone can be so completely and utterly shameless— one could almost liken his sick, cynical fascination with your ample curves and soft body to rubbernecking.

Scaramouche instead stares down into the cup of coffee you’ve set in front of him like it’s the most fascinating object in the entire world. He’s half-inclined to just close his eyes entirely, seeing as the slightest glimpse of your bust still occupies the uppermost part of his peripheral eyesight when you sit down in the chair opposite of him.

“So,” you start, sliding a porcelain dish with a small bowl of sugar cubes and a saucer of creamer his way. “What can I help you with? It’s rare for you to talk to me first, Kuni.”

He adds “drop that nickname” to his mental list of topics to bring up with you. Scaramouche plucks a few sugar cubes from the bowl before him and drops them into his coffee before absentmindedly stirring the liquid with a serving spoon.

“Last night,” He clears his throat. “Why did you come over to talk to V— to my friends?” Why are you always in my business? he really wants to ask, but he feels like you’ll start crying if he presses you too firmly.

And that’d just be obnoxious.

You giggle. “That makes it sound like I came over on purpose because I knew you had people over, and that’s not true. Haven’t we been in the habit of food delivery and acceptance for months now?” Scaramouche’s eyes follow yours to the squeaky-clean casserole dish he placed on your counter.

“I’m glad your friends seemed to enjoy the food just as much as you do,” you add sweetly, pursing your lips and blowing on your coffee to help it cool down.

“It was humiliating,” Scaramouche counters, a statement that prompts you to look up from your coffee and make eye contact with him. “They wouldn’t— they wouldn’t stop fucking talking about you after you left.”

Wait, that’s not the point here, is it? Surely Scaramouche’s main complaint isn’t that Venti practically sweet-talked you right into his bed, it’s that Scaramouche is tired of you invading his business and his space, right? He doesn’t care about Venti’s comments about your soft tits or your wide hips, he doesn’t care about Aether’s bashful confession that he exclusively jerks off to older women, he doesn’t care that he has competition because there’s nothing to compete over and he’s really, actually, truly angry that you always find a way to worm your way into his days and his mind and his free time and his wet dreams and his—

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you reply simply, sipping your coffee and smiling around the rim of the cup. “They’re such nice boys. I’m glad you have such sweet friends, dear.”

What’s warmer: the tips of Scaramouche’s ears or his untouched cup of coffee?

“That’s not— what? That’s not the point I’m making and you know that,” he grimaces, clearing his throat again. “My friends shouldn’t have to put up with a shameless old hag the way I have to.”

You set your cup down. “That’s not very nice. I look good for my age— that charming boy down at the corner mart always asks for my ID whenever I pick up some wine!”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “That’s his job. Anyways, I’m telling you to mind your own business.”

“Oh, is that all? Of course I can do that for you.” Your reply comes without a single skipped beat.

“I mean it, that means don’t touch my mail and— what?” Wait, there’s no way you’re making this this easy. A shameless, conniving, lustful, lewd seductress of a woman like you agreeing to just… fuck off at the first request? Scaramouche doesn’t buy it— this is just another phase of your plan to throw him off guard and pull the rug out from under him so you can sink your claws deeper and deeper into him.

“I like cooking for you and cleaning for you, and I was very happy to meet your friends yesterday, but if you want me to stop, of course I will,” you explain. “I wonder who’ll help me eat my leftovers now… your friend from last night gave me his phone number; does he like potato soup? I’m making that tonight.”

Scaramouche almost, almost feels a shiver tear down his spine. He’s starting to believe that Venti’s just as much an antagonist in this situation as you are.

“Why the fuck did you accept his number? Delete it,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring over at you. His coffee’s surely gone cold by now, but that’s alright— he was never much of a coffee drinker anyways.

You shrug, a sly smile forming on your lips. “Oh, I don’t know. He was so sweet I didn’t want to say no… it’d give me someone new to talk to, if nothing else.” Why do you need to talk to Venti when he barely knows you and I’m right fucking here?

“It’s not like you talk to me much despite all my best efforts, Kuni,” you offer him the subtlest of pouts, an action that would look out of place on the face of a woman your age if you weren’t so… if you weren’t so…

Forget it, he’s not saying anything about you that could be interpreted as a compliment. “…Especially now that you and I have agreed to leave each other alone.”

Oh, Scaramouche doesn’t like this feeling. He hates feeling like a situation has spun out of his control, and that’s, unfortunately, exactly what he feels is happening here. You’ve agreed to his terms and you’ve promised to stay out of his way, so why does he feel so… angry?

Yeah, you must have some underhanded motive here. Why else would you be making this so… easy? That’s not like you at all— he was expecting you to fan your eyelashes, pout your lips, push your tits forward, and whimper that you’re sorry and that you’d love to keep talking to him, so will he please give you a second chance?

I’ll do anything, he was sure you’d say.

You clear your throat. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to discuss now? If not, I’ll get back to my yoga. It’s good to be active, right?”

What the hell? You’re ending the conversation? No way, no how— this ends on Scaramouche’s terms, not yours. Who do you think you are?

“No, that’s not it, actually,” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Staying out of my business means staying away from Venti— from any of my friends. Don’t talk to them, don’t text them, don’t— I don’t know. Don’t be around them.”

You smile a little wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Kuni.”

He scoffs, staring you directly in the eye as if to challenge you. “Seriously? Shit joke.”

Of all the adjectives you could have picked to describe him… “It’s just that the thought of you getting with Venti is nauseating, alright?”

You hum. “And why him specifically, hm? You had other friends over last night— are they single?” Jesus Christ, what is this, an interrogation? And where the hell are these sorts of questions coming from— did you already send Venti an invitation to hook up?

Sneering so hard his nose scrunches up, Scaramouche can’t help but feel appalled. “Did you decide I’m not good enough or something? Who do you think you are?”

You go silent.

Scaramouche, somehow, goes even quieter than silent when the weight of his words finally sets in. There it is— the culmination of your grand plan to humiliate, embarrass, and utterly demean him in your own home. You had this outcome planned from the start, didn’t you?

“I didn’t say that,” you stammer, attempting to correct yourself. “Why do you think I’ve been vying for your attention all this time? Of course I like you, Kuni.”

God, how you piss him off. Who do you think you are— some bashful schoolgirl confessing to her first crush?

“I know that I’m just an old woman and that you could certainly find a cute, young, perky college girl whenever you’d like to, but if you’d ever like me…”

Of course Scaramouche could get someone his age from one of his classes— he doesn’t need to settle for some loose old hag— and yet… the thought of you getting with anyone else, Venti or not, pisses him off in a way he can’t quite describe. Maybe he views himself as some kind of hero protecting everyone else from your shamelessness, maybe he views himself as the only one worthy of your attention as the one who has to put up with you the most, maybe he views you as someone actually, genuinely worth being with…

He sits up a little straighter. “You have no idea how obnoxious you are,” he mutters. “Taking up my time and attention even when you’re not around.”

“What a forked tongue,” you reply, leaning forward and, much to Scaramouche’s chagrin, pushing your breasts together with your hands. “You know that’s why I like you, right? Mean boys have always been my favorite— ever since high school.”

“You’re not worth the time,” he spits. So fucking annoying. So fucking shameless. What kind of woman your age behaves this way, anyway? So obnoxious, so pathetic, so intoxicating, so impossible-to-keep-out-of-his-mind—

“Venti sure seems to think I am,” you offer with a smug, self-satisfied smile as you rise from your seat. Hooking your thumbs up under the straps of your sports bra, you quickly snap the elastic fabric back against your shoulders to give your tits a little bounce, an action that, of course, does not go unnoticed. Slapping his hands down flat against the perfectly-ironed lacy tablecloth covering your dining room table and standing up so quickly he nearly knocks his knees against the table’s hardwood underside, Scaramouche laughs.

What a time to finally, finally accept that he has the hots for his neighbor— the same neighbor who’s supposedly the cause of so many of his bad days and sour moods. You’ve prompted many a disdainful mutter from Scaramouche after catching a glimpse of you through your drawn curtains, you’ve been the subject of many a snide comment made in the presence of his friends, and, most frustratingly of all, you’ve inspired countless, countless inappropriate thoughts that he cannot believe you’ve been the subject of.

And all it took was one of his friends hitting on you for him to realize that.

“Constantly flaunting a body like this,” he chides in a way that he wants to come off as insulting and condescending rather than sadistically flattering, but the little grin you offer in response gives him reason to believe you interpreted it as the latter. Seriously?

“Other boys your age seem to enjoy the flaunting,” you counter, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your spandex leggings. As if to tease the act of pulling them all the way down your legs, you flip the fabric of your waistband over its seam to expose the majority of your soft lower belly.

Anger burns hot behind his pale cheeks. “Is this some kind of pathetic hobby of yours? Fucking guys half your age?”

“I like to consider it a lifestyle,” you reply, shimmying your leggings further and further down your thick thighs until your thong’s completely exposed. A black lace thong— how becoming of a nymphomanic like yourself. “I’m fine with trading experience for virility and stamina; do you know how many men my age finish in thirty seconds and call it there because they’re ‘just so tired’? College boys either go until they can’t hold themselves upright or until they have nothing left to pump into me.”

There’s that vulgar nature that’s both irritated and (subconciously) aroused him for months. He wants to believe that your disgusting nature doesn’t make his cock twitch, but the time for pretending has clearly passed. You don’t believe he finds you ugly or unappealing and neither does he anymore.

“And do you find this… lifestyle fulfilling?” Scaramouche challenges, grimacing at the pressure building in the frontside of his tight jeans.

You laugh. “Is that your way of saying you don’t? Are you a virgin, sweetheart?”

“Of course not. Just because some of us don’t fuck everything with two legs and a pulse doesn’t mean we’re virgins.” His clumsy escapades are none of your business— his high school girlfriend and that guy from the concert Venti dragged him to over the summer don’t concern you.

Bending forward to push your leggings down to your knees, you gaze up at Scaramouche through your eyelashes and giggle. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t savor every last cock or strap I ride. You could put every last one of them in front of me and I’d be able to tell you who they belong to with my eyes shut.”

Venti mentioned something about experience, didn’t he? What a sanitized way of calling older women complete and total whores.

The inferiority complex in Scaramouche wants to prove that he’s the best thing a whore like you will ever experience, that he can make you feel better than any of the other bumbling college morons he probably knows can, and that you’ll give up your ways of fucking everyone that looks at you in order to devote yourself to him and him alone. That’d be some nice payback for all the pain and humiliation you’ve subjected him to these past couple of months, right?

No, he has a better idea.

“If you want to show yourself off that badly,” Scaramouche huffs, doing his damndest to ignore the nearly-painful throbbing in his jeans. “Then I’m sure you’d be fine with doing it in front of that glass door, right?”

With your hands still bunched in the fabric of your leggings, you look back at the glass sliding door that leads to your balcony and bite your lip. It’s not likely anyone would actually see you— you and Scaramouche live on the third floor— but it’s still a possibility and an exciting thought nonetheless. Maybe you could give that nice redheaded quarterback boy you fucked a few months ago a nice show; he lives just across the parking lot in the building parallel to yours.

“Now who’s the deviant one? I’ve never fucked anywhere more public than a nightclub’s bathroom stall,” you tease, finally pushing your leggings all the way down and off your legs. He doesn’t believe you, but Christ, those thighs of yours look soft…

You accept his offer nonetheless and make your way over to the balcony door, your thong riding high on your wide hips and your hardened nipples pressing into the flimsy fabric of your pathetic excuse of a sports bra. “You’re helping me wipe off all the fingerprints afterwards,” you scold, inviting him over with a wiggle of your hips and a glance back over your shoulder.

Now, rationally, Scaramouche would never propose the idea of fucking in a place as public as right in front of an apartment complex parking lot. He’s never considered himself an exhbitionist and he’s always been somewhat obsessed with his image, and people who care about their image generally don’t have sex in the potential presence of others. Additionally, there’s probably something to be said about him potentially getting caught fucking the same woman he’s spent the better half of this past year complaining about, but the current irrational, horny, angry Scaramouche wouldn’t listen to better judgement or rationality anyways.

The relief that comes with unbuttoning his jeans and giving his almost painfully-hard cock room to breathe is so euphoric he can’t help but sigh, the throbbing in his crotch more aggravating than any pounding headache he’s ever experienced after an evening drinking with his friends.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he laughs, incredulous. “To think the hag living next door to me is the reason I’m like this.” Jamming the weight of his bulge into the plumpness of your soft ass, Scaramouche seizes hold of your hips in both of his hands and gives the fat of your love handles a painful squeeze just to hear you suck the air in through your teeth.

“I thought you’d never come around, you know,” you breathe, beyond eager at the prospect of finally, finally getting to fuck the neighbor boy you’ve been actively working at breaking for months upon months now. A guy this mean, this arrogant, and this demeaning doesn’t come around that often, especially when so many of the guys you get with take the polite route by calling you “ma’am” and complimenting you over and over again— which certainly isn’t a bad thing, but cruel has always satisfied you in ways that kind cannot.

The height difference between the two of you means that Scaramouche has to stand up a little straighter than he normally does in order to press his hips against yours, a realization that’s only slightly humiliating. Granted, it could never compare to how humiliating it was for you to show up at his apartment in front of all his friends.

God, does it feel good to put you in your place.

“Spread,” Scaramouche mutters, knocking one of his feet against both of your ankles. He doesn’t tell you that he needs you to spread your legs so your hips will lower a bit, allowing him to reach them a little more easily since you’re a bit taller than he is.

You would tease him for skipping the foreplay and just jamming himself right into you, but you know that you’ve been plenty wet enough ever since your discussion with him first wandered to sex and masturbation. Well, that, and if you had to wait another minute to get the cock you’ve been so desperate for for so long now, you very well may go crazy. It’s taken months, but you can already tell that it was all so, so worth it.

Running his knuckles down the center of your thong, Scaramouche relishes in the smug satisfaction that comes with realizing that you’re wet. It’s equal parts arousing and equal parts pathetic— just how desperate are you for any cock you can get your hands on?

“You’ve already kept me waiting for months,” you say with a pout cast back at him from over your shoulder. “Why make me wait even longer when I’m right here?”

“Shameless and impatient,” he remarks with a frustrated huff. “Can’t you do something good with your life or yourself for once and just be quiet?”

As tempting as it is to make a teasing quip in return to only further rile up your angsty neighbor boy, a frenzied giggle is the only sound you can muster up when you feel the firm press of a cock against your clothed pussy. Even through your flimsy thong, you can tell that he’s hard, which is a reward in its own right. It’s what you’ve wanted to achieve since the very first time he caught you half-naked watering plants on your balcony— is it so wrong for you to want to rile up the cutie next door?

Scaramouche roughly yanks your thong down to hang around your lower thighs, leaving you entirely on display for him when you follow suit by tugging your sports bra up to your collarbone. The cool, smooth glass against your bare tits is an unfamiliar sensation, but it’s certainly not an unwelcome one— especially when you remember that anyone could look up from across the parking lot and get an eyeful of your bare tits squished up against the glass door.

“I wish I could watch you sink it in for the first time,” you hum, reaching down between your legs to part the outer lips of your cunt for him a little wider. “In front of a mirror or something maybe. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you’re the spitting image of the romantic type.” There’s no way you consider him the romantic type, is there? He’s not going to hold your hands and whisper in your ear about how cute you are, you know.

Damn it, you’ve got him actually wanting you more than he’s ever wanted you before— this makes all his filthy fantasies about taking you bent over your kitchen counter or being underneath you while you ride him into oblivion look like a cheap, budget porno from a video rental store. His desire has always been real—albeit subconscious, sure—but it feels so much more genuine now that it’s been realized.

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” he mumbles in a brief moment of humiliation, biting into his bottom lip as he finally, finally sinks the full length of his cock into you.

Jesus Christ, if there’s anything Venti’s ever been right about, it’s how good a mature pussy feels. You’re soaked all the way down to your inner thighs, you’re so warm Scaramouche nearly feels his knees give out from underneath him, and you squeeze him so well he can feel your pussy gripping the sensitive underside of his tip.

“Why not? I can invite your friend next time,” you propose, squealing with delight when Scaramouche slaps a hand down against the side of your ass. “Venti, right? It’d feel so good to have my ass used while you—“

“Just shut up,” he hisses bitterly, glaring at you hard enough to give himself a stress headache. “Don’t talk about other guys right now. Especially not ones I know.”

“You’re right, it’s rude to talk about other men when I have such a good one right here with me already,” you feign sympathy, pushing your hips back flat against the front of his thighs. “Oh, Kuni.”

There’s that damn nickname again. As much as he hates the idea of you using it to tease him or fluster him, he can’t deny the way his dick twitches whenever you coo it in that soft, sultry tone of yours. It’s like you were custom-made to gobble men up or something— just how many of his classmates have you fucked?

Oh, it doesn’t matter. Not when he knows he can establish himself as the best of the whole damn lot of them. Not when he knows that he gets the privilege of seeing you every single day and nobody, nobody else does. Not when he’s seen your cute nipples peeking at him through that tiny, flimsy pajama top he caught you in all those months ago. Not when he gets to peruse on over to your apartment whenever he wants because you’re right fucking there and nobody, nobody is physically closer to you than he is.

Jesus, this is all starting to sound like some kind of crush.

“How’s that?” Scaramouche taunts, slapping his hips against you so wildly the sound of skin smacking on skin almost drowns out his voice. He’d like to claim that this sort of pace is supposed to be punishing, and he’d be right if he were to say that, but he wants it hard and rough just as much as you surely do. He couldn’t stop his hips even if he wanted to because he knows there’s nothing he’s wanted to do more than fuck your brains out for months upon months now.

You don’t answer him, too preoccupied with relishing in the feeling of his cock pounding into you with everything he’s got. How befitting of Scaramouche to fuck you like he’s angry at you— if he could even claim to be mad anymore. The combined sensations of his hips hammering against yours, his fingernails digging into your soft, plump love handles, and his balls slapping against your ass on each thrust are all far too overwhelming to even attempt a reply.

“Seriously? You run your mouth for ages and now you shut up when I ask you a question?” You’re doing this on purpose— Jesus, you’re insatiable.

Your back arches when Scaramouche digs the tip of his cock into a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, a broken whine leaving your lips instead when you attempt to reply with a dirty quip. He laughs when he realizes what’s just happened— that’s certainly one way to get you to shut that filthy mouth of yours.

“I hope somebody’s watching you, actually,” he admits despite all the jealousy even a single mention of his friend stirred up in him. “That way they can see you’re not worth their time because you don’t value yourself whatsoever. Why would anyone want someone who’s happy to just give themselves away like this and get fucked in a place so public?”

Maybe that’s just a weird, roundabout way of saying I want someone to watch me fuck you so they know a whore like you has been whipped into shape and that you only want me now. Who’s to say?

“You don’t care about getting caught yourself?” You finally pipe up with a grin.

Scaramouche snorts. “Getting caught with the likes of you? I’d transfer universities.”

You pout. “Would I still get to see you?”

For whatever reason, the question catches him off guard. How many times does he need to remind you that you’re not his girlfriend, that you’re not some sweetheart with an innocent crush, that you’re just his fucking neighbor who just so happens to have a hot body and just so happens to feel so, so good around him like this and just so happens to be the subject of his wet dreams and fantasies and—

He’s only able to spit out one word. “Obnoxious.”

His hands reclaim a firm grasp on your ample hips before he takes to fucking into you at a whole new angle— one that’ll surely hit that spot that got you to shut the fuck up moments ago. Your hands clamor for anything you could possibly grab onto to steel yourself, but there’s nothing except for the cool, flat glass beneath your palms.

“Kuni,” you rasp in a broken voice, beyond impressed with his ability to have found your most sensitive spot and target it specially. Call it sheer dumb luck or a testament to how perfectly compatible your bodies are, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let up on it until you’ve collapsed— maybe it’ll be a nice change of pace from your partners being the ones to collapse after an evening with you.

With the task of finding something to hold onto having proven fruitless, you instead slip a hand back between your legs to rub at your clit. Scaramouche snickers at your apparent desperation to orgasm, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“What a pathetic display,” he remarks, pounding into you so quickly you can barely register the full length of his cock before he’s pulling it all the way out of you again. With your legs trembling and your knees buckling, the possibility of actually collapsing underneath him is becoming increasingly likely— these wild, frenzied thrusts of his prove exactly why you’re so into college guys.

Looking down from the fuzzy reflection of your face in the glass, Scaramouche watches each sink of his cock into your tight, dripping cunt with all the intensity and attention of a virgin. It may as well be his first time— you feel so fucking good he’s starting to lose his train of thought. You take him all the way to the hilt on each thrust so easily that he’d absolutely call you a common whore if he were able to form even a single word.

Despite his inability to form a coherent sentence, Scaramouche finds that he has just enough rationality left to pull out mere seconds before coming all over the swell of your ass, his cock twitching in his hand as he bites back moans. Here he is, coming all over the soft ass of his obnoxious older neighbor lady after spending so many months convincing his friends that he does not, in fact, want to fuck her.

You laugh breathlessly, the hand between your legs still rubbing frantic circles over your clit as you attempt to reach your own orgasm as well. “What’s wrong with coming inside? I’m hurt.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. That’d be irresponsible.

“Well, that’s alright,” you chirp, standing upright and turning around to face him. “I can always wring it out of you myself, right?”

“You’re insatiable,” he replies, inching backwards towards the couch as you step forward in time with his footsteps.

“Pot, kettle. You’re still hard, Kuni.”

With the realization that he’ll need some kind of excuse to offer his friends when he inevitably returns to a slew of unread messages a few hours from now, he falls backwards onto the couch just before you make yourself comfortable in his lap.

Well, not that any of them have ever believed any vague, half-baked excuse Scaramouche gives.

#hiiiii #juju bakery #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x y/n #kunikuzushi smut #fem reader

2K notes · View notes

jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka · 2 months

Text

𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Pairings: Josh Kiszka X Fem reader

Warnings: this is pure filth! 18+ only!!, sex tapes, slight angst and insecurities, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, slight cum play

Like I said basically no plot here. All you need to know is in the tags above 😅

Word count: 2.5k

It had started out as a simple complaint, not much of a complaint really just a grumble about only having a few more days together until Josh had to get on the road again to finish the tour.

This was commonstance by now over your years of dating. You would get a few beautiful months with him at home then things would start getting chaotically busy, a tour would be announced, or new dates would be released, and he’d be gone.

A handful of times you were able to go with him, live in his shoes for a while and it was glamorous, but also tiresome and draining all the same. This time around you had to stay home. Though you loved watching him and his brothers perform, you just had too much on your plate right now to take nearly six months off to travel across the globe and attend another show or festival at each turn.

“We will get through this. We do every time” Josh assured you as he folded his hands around yours and kissed your cheek.

“I know,” you replied weakly, not wanting to make much of a deal about him leaving and instead spend more energy enjoying the time with your company you still had left. A dull ache between your legs persisted though. It never failed, every time Josh left you he always gave you one good night to hopefully hold each other over until the next time you could be together again. You knew this time wouldn’t be any different, and as the days counted down you found yourself wanting him more and more, the anticipation of your inevitable last night together constantly clouding up your mind.

“But what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“Get some rest, go out with your friends, start a project” he listed off suggestions to keep yourself busy, especially since half the time he would be gone he’d be in completely different time zones, making staying in communication often somewhat difficult.

His concern for your wellbeing was sweet, but that’s not what you’d meant. You couldn’t wait any longer to have him. Today, tomorrow, and the day after, you didn’t mind if you hit the sheets every night this week and maybe then your craving for him would be satisfied.

“No Josh” you peeped, pulling your hands from his gentle grip and sliding your palms up the tops of his thighs. “I mean what am I supposed to do without you?” You repeated, emphasizing your words so that way he knew you were trying to drop a hint.

“Oh” a smile spread across his face, revealing the tiny tooth gap you loved to see. “About that. I did have an idea”.

His grand gesture, you thought, he always had something up his sleeve. “I’m listening” you replied, nearly one hundred percent sure that anything Josh suggested you would be up for.

“Well I thought maybe you’d want to have something to use while I’m gone if you needed to. We could preserve this night, only if you’re comfortable with it of course”.

You were not following him, and he could tell by the confused look on your face, but instead of coming right out with it he took your hand in his again and led you into the bedroom. Josh sat you on the edge of the bed and turned his back to open the top drawer of the dresser, rummaging around to the bottom of it until he found what he’d stashed inside. He turned back around slowly, keeping the item in his hands hidden behind his back. You could tell he looked excited, his round cheeks filling with color as he gathered up the courage to show you what he had in mind.

“What is it?” You finally begged him to reveal what he had, craning your neck to try and get a peak. Josh approached you slowly, his smile fading as he looked into your eyes. He pulled an empty hand out from around his back and used it to grip your chin with his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up slightly. “Only if you’re comfortable with it darling okay?”

You nod your head in understanding when he dropped his hand then he moved his other arm from behind his back. You were almost unsure of what it was at first, but then it became blatantly obvious that the device he held in his hand was a fancy new video camera.

This was unexpected, not that Josh had bought a camera he had a collection of those, but what you knew he was suggesting. Something for you to use while I’m gone. A sex tape?

“Okay” you answered him before he even had to ask, though he could tell there was a little bit of hesitance in your voice.

“I think it will be fun, don’t you?” He questioned instead, moving to sit next to you and show you a little bit about how it worked.

You watched him go through the settings, heard him talk about the specs and quality comparisons, but your head filled with little doubts. The first of which was what if it got out? You pushed that thought aside quickly, Josh was very private about his personal life and you were thankful for that. When he was on stage others could ogle at him and he could flaunt his shit like his brother had put it, but when he was home you were greedy and wanted him all to yourself. You trusted Josh to keep this safe just like he kept the rest of your life mostly under wraps.

After that internal debate your mind quickly moved onto the next concern. He’d insinuated this was supposed to be for you, but you were unsure you’d ever want to watch yourself like that. Josh had sent sexy videos before while away and you’d long gotten over your reservations with phone sex, but even now you still felt slightly awkward about sending back videos of yourself. There was no real reason why. You knew Josh loved you and your body, but the little voice in your head was always still there no matter how worshiped Josh made you feel.

“How about I set the mood a little bit?” Josh interrupted your thoughts, discarding the camera onto the bed behind him to focus back on you for a moment.

“Yeah, that could help” you agreed, looking around the bedroom briefly to see if there was anything you could think of doing to help.

“I’m going to go get the candles, why don’t you put something sexy on?” Josh asked delicately, still leaving room for you to change your mind.

A smile started to reappear to your face at the thought. You loved dressing up for him and just the image of watching his face light up when you stepped out in one of your lingerie sets made the fuzzy feeling in your stomach return. “I can do that”.

It came down to two pieces when you were trying to decide what to wear. You’d taken the two with you into the bathroom to freshen up while Josh continued to set up the bedroom. After brushing your teeth again and applying some mild lotion all that was left was to change.

Both laid out on the bathroom counter, on the right was a simple sheer babydoll style dress with a matching lacy thong adorned with little bows. To the left was a more complicated corset style top with detachable garter straps and stockings. The latter was definitely sexier, and you knew Josh got wild when you came out in that, but then you remembered this was supposed to be for you and ultimately put on your first choice opting instead for comfort.

When you came out of the bathroom Josh was just finishing up lighting the candles. He’d kept the bedside lamp on as well, but the corners of the room flickered with a warm glow all around you and the familiar scent of the candles you’d spent nearly half an hour picking out together filled your body with a sense of relaxation.

“Where do you want me?” You got his attention as you leaned against the door frame and popped your hip out trying to look the part of lead actress in your little home movie.

“Right over here gorgeous” he motioned for you to sit back down on the edge of the bed again and you followed his command without question. He was the director afterall. “God you’re so sexy” he admired you as you crawled onto the bed and sat up on your knees, spreading them wide so you could make some contact with your aching center.

He’d changed as well, into a silk robe you’d gifted him nearly a year ago, but underneath the overlapped fabric at his waist you could see a bulge already appear. Josh caught you staring at it while he collected the camera again, turning it back on and getting it ready to start filming.

“Is my girl ready for my cock already?” He smirked, reaching down to palm himself.

“Please Josh, I’m so wet” you begged just above a whisper. You mirrored his actions, letting your hand run down your body and between your legs.

“C’mere” he groaned, slipping his hand past your ear and gripping the hair at the base of your neck to pull you into a deep kiss. “Why don’t you turn around for me?” He asked against your lips.

Again you did as he said, moving your knees to the edge of the bed where he stood and leaning over onto your elbows with your ass in the air.

A tiny yelp escaped you when Josh unexpectedly leaned over and mouthed at your center, kissing and licking over the barely there fabric of your thong until your entrance was throbbing for him to enter you with whatever he would give you. His tongue, his finger, his cock, you’d take any relief at this point.

“Sorry, just had to taste you real quick” he chuckled as he felt you trying to clench around nothing, but pulled back and untied his robe. “I’m gonna start filming now okay?”

“Go ahead Josh, I’m ready” you pushed your hips back, feeling his fully hardened length poking against the back of your thigh.

In one of his many voices that always made you giggle he responded, “well in that case action darling, action!”

You cried out as he used his free hand to hook his thumb around your underwear and pulled it to the side, pushing into you and immediately going in balls deep to hit deep inside you.

“God baby you’re going to love this view” he commented from behind as he pounded into you, angling his camera to get a good shot of his length sliding in and out.

“You feel so good” you moaned, resting your cheek against the bed as you balled the blanket around you up into your fists as you started to grind back onto him.

“And you feel devine” he sighed, letting his head fall back for a moment to revel in the sensation of your ass bouncing off him knowing full well he’d have the opportunity to watch back what he’d missed later. “Look at you so eager to have me get you there. I can feel you soaking me”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he took over again, starting to pound into you at an even faster pace. It felt mind numbingly good to the point you almost forgot he was filming behind you and you lifted your body enough to get your arm underneath so you could get your fingers on your clit.

“That’s it, touch yourself baby. Cum all over my cock nice and pretty”.

You realized then when his voice sent another surge of arousal to you that if there was a time you couldn’t get a hold of Josh and you needed him, then you would have this video with his seductive fucked out voice all over it telling you to cum for him. That was all you needed to send you over the edge now, crying out again as your knees started to quiver and slip.

Onehandedly Josh held you up by your hip and continued his thrusts, though they were starting to become uneven. “Gonna cum too. Want to fill my girl up and make her feel whole”.

“Please Josh cum in me” you begged, knowing that would give him plenty of nights worth of jack off material.

You felt him release inside you after he delivered one final blow, his grip on you tightening as his body shivered until he came down. He pulled out slowly, making sure to crouch down and record the way you dripped with both your releases running down your thighs before putting your underwear back in place.

“That was really hot” you grinned as you rolled over onto your back.

“I knew it would be” Josh chuckled as he safely turned the camera off and placed it onto the dresser.

“No like, really hot, like I’m still horny”. Your body felt weak, and your head still spun from your first orgasm, but the throbbing and tingling in your core hadn’t gone away yet.

Josh crawled onto the bed and laid down on his side next to you, kissing your shoulder and playing with the bows on your sheer dress. “Do you want me to make you cum again?” He asked dutifully. There was no way he was about to leave his girl unsatisfied.

You turned your head to look over at him, a silent plea in your eyes as your lips quivered. He leaned over and kissed you on the mouth this time, slipping his tongue inside which only got you more worked up. “I have always wanted to do this” he began, his hand trailing down your body until he was pulling your dress up.

He moved to sit up, pulling your underwear off and spreading your legs back open for him as he slipped two fingers inside you. You let out a sigh, wiggling your hips down to settle onto his hand.

“Want to finger my cum back into you” he groaned, no longer semi focused on holding the camera and now fully involved in giving you another orgasm.

His fingers slipped out coated in your slick, and he gathered up his release that had spilled out earlier then pushed back into you, curling them up to that spot he knew would have you unraveling soon.

Just before you could gather up the coherence to touch yourself again his mouth was back on you, tongue circling your clit.

“Josh fuck” you moaned sinfully, feeling his head nodding vigorously to show you he knew you were close.

Within seconds you were coming undone, this wave of pleasure crashing into you and taking you completely under until you had to come up for air.

“Thank you baby” you smiled dopily as he emerged from between you legs looking absolutely wrecked.

“So, if you liked it does this mean we can make more?”

#Greta van fleet #Greta van smut #Josh Kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #Greta van fic

165 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 2 months

Text

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 2: Out of Character

Previous Chapter: Alternate Universe

Summary: Things are starting to get weird in Hawkins. Weird for Eddie, especially. (AKA Eddie Munson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week)

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, mention of virginity, Smut (male masturbation), sexual fantasies, brief Breeding Kink mention (I SWEAR IT WILL MAKE SENSE bear with me), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Lovesick Eddie, jealousy, satire, a Monkey’s Paw type situation, Cliffhanger, Meta Fiction, Eddie acts a little OOC—it’s in the title

Note: Hey everyone, we're back with hopefully some more regularly posted chapters now that my baby SMVerse is complete. Very sorry for how long this chapter is, the next one is admittedly planned to be shorter. There was just a lot of dough to knead here. Thank you to @dr-aculaaa @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for their contribution to some details of the chapter. IYKYK. And they know. Especially how much it means to me.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It goes without saying that your newfound independence had led to the most fun you’d ever had.

You weren’t afraid to be by yourself; on the contrary, it was almost like you were by yourself for the first time in your life.

That was the thing about living in a small town, everyone knew everyone else and your friends and neighbors always popped in unannounced, usually to a lot of fanfare and excitement.

There was never a dull moment with your friends.

But every aspect of your life in Port Geneva hinged around them, and now you could really focus on you. Realize that you were worth more than what you did to enrich someone else's life. Now you could enrich your own.

You listened to music you'd never heard before. What music had you even listened to before?

You ate foods you'd never eaten before. If you really thought about it, what had you ever eaten but short stacks with strawberries and sandwiches from the deli and cafeteria pizza?

You saw the world; sketched buildings and landscapes that were so different from the ones you were used to. Had you ever seen a house that didn't look like the ones in your cookie-cutter suburb? Or seen grass that wasn't perfectly manicured?

Who knew that wildflowers existed outside of storybooks?

Sometimes you stayed for a while; got a little room at a motel in a town that reminded you a lot of home and nothing like home at all. Too homesick to keep jumping around but not homesick enough to go back. You'd get a job for a few weeks--always lucking out on an opening for a waitressing or babysitting gig or something--pad your pockets, fall in love with the town and sometimes with the people there.

Then the need to leave simmered in your bones once again and you were forced back onto the road.

There was one town you were almost loath to leave. A midwest town and a goofy guy named Ed who made you laugh and called you sweetheart and kissed you shyly; he really understood you, understood the need to march to the beat of your own drum, because his big dream was to get out of his hometown too and make a name of himself.

Which is why he wasn't mad when it was time for you to go.

You'd always remember Stuckeyville.

But it was no matter; the world was yours for the taking. You'd keep going, on and on to the next destination, until you couldn't anymore.

Then one day, a year-or-so into your trip, it happened.

You'd been driving, thinking of the postcards that were burning a hole in your backpack to be sent back home. It was late, and you were tired and ready to make it to your next destination.

That's when you crashed.

December 1985

"Ed..."

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotta get up."

"Five more minutes."

"You're lying on my arm." He could feel the slight movement of something beneath him. "God, you and your big fat head, my hand is numb!"

Eddie groaned as you pushed at him and before long, your finger--cold and wet with spit--slid into his ear, rendering him fully awake and squirming to get away from you.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he hopped off his bed and tried to rid himself of the phantom feeling of your invasion. "Gah, ugh, gross!"

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," you grinned and got up from the bed to stretch. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him playfully. "Especially when she's gonna be late. You should know how Bev is better than anybody."

Violation quickly forgotten, Eddie watched you run back and forth around his room; a satisfied feeling settled in his chest as you picked bits of clothing up to layer back on, fixed your hair, swept the fingers over the corners of your eyes to wipe the sleep from them as you got ready for your shift at the Hideout.

It was a feeling that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

How many weeks had you been dating now?

Not enough to satisfy his rapidly increasing dependence on you.

Dating.

You even called him your boyfriend. God it still seemed like such a dream to him. One he never wanted to wake up from. But it was real. You had dates and you took naps together and talked on the phone; sure it was just easier to cross Forest Hills and sit on one of your porches to chat until it was past midnight and you were dozing off, but as the cold weather rolled in, the phone was the easier bet.

Racked up a bit of a phone bill but who was he to complain?

He always paid Wayne back.

It was worth it.

More often than not he started the call with the obligatory “what are you wearing” despite having most likely seen you earlier in the night. But you, not one to leave a man hanging, would always come up with a comical response: astronaut suit, Princess Leia’s bikini and a clown nose, pajamas made out of the hide of Big Bird himself.

It was ridiculous and nothing less than Eddie expected from his favorite tv character and the one true love of his life.

Thankfully, the two of you decided that sickeningly sweet was not your style. Not like some couples. There was no you hang up first or schmoopsie pet names. More often than not he just called you sweetheart; it rolled off the tongue. And you? Called him your idiot.

Yours.

He'd worried with Paige once upon a time that he didn't know how to be someone's boyfriend. Turned out, he just had to find someone to be a friend first, then the rest just...fell into place.

And aside from some of the nerves he'd had when you first showed up in town, and the ever-present question of just how you came to be in Hawkins--

There was a knock on the door to his bedroom.

"'Right Ed, I'm heading off to work," Wayne said through the door.

"Wait up," you called out to him as you hopped to pull your boots on. "I'm about to leave too."

You stopped briefly to give Eddie a tender kiss, and he chased after you when you tried to pull away. His lips refused to part from yours, his hands found your waist to tug you closer, and his heart soared when you sighed and gave into him a little longer.

--Everything was perfect.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you pulled away, one that quickly turned into a feral grin.

"I'm gonna be late," you whispered conspiratorially. "And the old man is gonna question whether your innocence is still intact or not if we take any more time."

Eddie froze.

Well. Almost perfect.

You took the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him and reached up to honk the tip of his nose, before you bolted from the room to leave.

Once the door to the trailer slammed shut and Eddie was alone, he fell back onto the bed with his hands over his face; his head spun as he wondered how the fuck he'd gotten here. To this point. This moment in time.

Because somehow...some way...you thought he was still a virgin.

"Somehow," he grumbled to himself after a second. "You're the one who told her you were, you idiot!"

And he had.

It was a funny story; it always was with Eddie.

Except this was anything but funny.

It has been the third date and there was just…a natural progression of things on your sofa after a day out at StarCourt. Music was playing, hands were wandering; he’d gotten a bit excited and rocked his hips against you creating a delicious crescendo of moans from both of you.

Then for some reason, Eddie thought back to Port Geneva.

Besides a few sweet kisses you shared with douchebag Mark Fisher, you never engaged in any…physical show of affection. No one did, actually. There had never been anything heavier than hand holding and kissing—maybe the occasional make out—shown on screen. Which, in hindsight he should have rationalized as being obvious; it was a family show on television, after all.

Instead he’d opened his big mouth and asked “hang on, are you a virgin?”

Rather than answer, you got bashful all of a sudden; you turned the question back on him, stuttering all the while.

“Eddie…a-are you a-a virgin?”

What could he say looking into your big wide eyes and kiss-bruised lips, thinking you were nervous and wanting to fix his gaff—especially considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock—but yes?

Next thing he knew you were cuddling him, coddling him, and telling him that you could proceed with whatever next step he wanted, whenever he was ready.

In that moment how could he admit that it was all a lie? That he was an idiot and a liar trying to make you feel better? That he was no bumbling, blushing virgin; he was only saying it because he thought you were.

He knew if he tried to backtrack, you’d either believe he was a jerk or that he tried to lie again to feel less embarrassed.

So he let it slide.

Whatever. Virginity was a bullshit concept anyway.

The truth would come out eventually. It just made everything a little more complicated in the mean time.

“As if everything isn’t complicated enough anyway,” Eddie huffed.

Speaking of complicated, between napping in your comfortable embrace, your kiss, and thinking of the events that led up to the unfortunate virginity confession, he was in a bit of a situation.

Stiff and aching in his jeans, he did what he always did: Eddie took care of himself.

He unbuckled his belt and quickly rid himself of the barriers of denim and flannel, then scrambled to find the bottle of lotion that he unceremoniously shoved into the drawer of the bedside table. Just like all of the other things he tried to hide whenever you came over.

Other things...including the poster of you that he'd cut out of the TV Guide.

There was a spark of desire in him—of need—at the sight of it. Of you.

"I shouldn't," he muttered as his fingers hovered at the edge of the drawer, ready to close it. He'd already found what he needed. Best just close the drawer and crank one out and be a happy camper til the next time the need arose.

"It's just...not right...right?" he tried to convince himself as you stared up at him from inside the drawer.

He weighed the pros and cons, tried to convince himself that it was a normal thing. How many other times had he jacked off to pictures in magazines, or crushes from school. Shit, he'd even done it to the fantasy of you.

But now you were real and his girlfriend. Wasn’t that some kind of moral dilemma?

On the other hand, he would just be using a picture of his girlfriend to get off. That was normal, right?

Except...well...it was you, but not you you. Rosemary Glass you. The real you just left for work. The you in real life and the you in the TV Guide were not the same. You were full of life and energy and affection and not an ultra posed picture on a page.

There was another beat of debate before Eddie made a decision.

"Fuck it," he groaned and grabbed the flimsy magazine page and then slammed the back of his hand against the drawer to shut it. If he spent any more time weighing the moral implications here, he'd lose out on the opportunity.

So, poster in one hand, lotion well-coating the other, Eddie immediately sought out his hard cock and groaned with the brief sense of relief.

"Yeah," he sighed. His tongue traced the seam of his lips and he locked eyes with yours in the poster. "That's it."

Internal debate forgotten, he lost himself to his imagination with every stroke and squeeze and twist.

You kissed on him and your hand replaced his. No, your mouth instead of your hand. His mouth on you? He knew what your mouth tasted like; what about the rest of you? It was a delicious fantasy to explore.

His eyes roamed over the dips and curves of your body; he focused on the way your legs looked in that skirt as he squeezed the base of his cock and moaned.

What he wouldn't give to rip that skirt off of you. No, wait. You deserved better than that. He would undress you carefully, show how much you meant to him, then skink into your warmth. How would you feel? Like Heaven, he was sure.

His hand moved faster now, his toes curled, as he imagined this scenario and that one. What if he fucked you in the backseat of your car? Or shit, what about if he bent you over it? Take a drive out to the quarry and have his way with you.

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned and stilled for a second, savoring the intense build of feelings, before he bucked up into his fist repeatedly. "Yeah sweetheart just like that."

He focused on that sly smile, that tilt of your head.

Would you smile up at him like that when he was buried deep inside you, finding all the ways he could make you whine and keen for him. Shit, finding all the ways he would whine for you, just like he was now. Would you ask him for more?

"I'll give it to you baby," he muttered and bit his lip as the wave of his pleasure began to crest. He closed his eyes again to savor it. Savor the fantasy of you there with him, rocking and riding the wave with him. He couldn't wait for the day. "All of it. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

Would you let him cum inside? You'd beg for it. Beg for his cum.

"Yeah? You'd let me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please, please," you'd whine.

"Uh-huh? Yeah?"

"Please." You'd scrunch your eyes tightly, pull him in as deep as he could go. "Put a baby inside of me Eddie."

Eddie's eyes shot open and he choked on air. He let go of the now-crumpled magazine and his throbbing cock with a shout.

Panic gripped him.

"W-what the fuck?" he panted, rapidly coming down from his high like a man plummeting to the earth with a parachute that simply wouldn't open. "What the fuck? Why?"

His mind raced.

How had he thought of that? Where did it come from? He wasn't...he didn't...he'd never fantasized about something like that before. With anyone. Ever. Not alone either. Shit, he'd even accidentally checked out a porno from Family Video once that had a pregnant...

"Blagh," he gagged at the memory and fully lost the edge of his erection. The need to come was now gone; in fact, he suddenly never wanted to come again. Not if it meant that he was going to think thoughts like that?

With intense clarity, he tried to retrace his metaphorical steps. Tried to remember what exactly got him to those thoughts, to that...well, he could hardly call it a fantasy now could he? Nightmare. But he simply couldn't fathom how it had cropped up.

"Fuck," he groaned and looked down at himself. At his softening cock slick with lotion, at the crumpled picture of you with the sparkling eyes and smile. And he was reminded of the moral dilemma that he'd encountered a short while ago.

"No," he shook his head. "Not her. Rosemary Glass. That's all it is. I just...fucked myself up fantasizing about Rosemary Glass and my mind punished me. Haha Eddie, jokes on you, got the girl of your dreams and you'd prefer a picture. That's it."

Yeah, that's all it was.

All it had to be.

Otherwise...what the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with Eddie Munson?

That seemed to be the question of the day, every day, for the rest of the week.

Well, that was what everyone seemed to ask Eddie; friends, teachers, bullies. To Eddie, though, it seemed like everything else was wrong.

It all started in O'Donnell's history class the following day after the, uh...fantasy incident.

He was excited to show up to class.

No, that wasn't why things were wrong. He'd been passing History, working hard ever since that first study date, excited to show up and succeed and actually graduate. And that day they were due to get a test back, one that he actually studied and prepared for.

So yes, he was excited.

Imagine his surprise when Mrs. O'Donnell placed the packet face-down on his desk and shook her head at him.

"I don't know what went wrong here Edward," she tutted. "You were making some real improvements. Such a disappointment."

Eddie frowned as she walked away, and he quickly flipped his packet over to the oh-so-familiar sea of red pen scribbles and a big fat F at the top of the page.

Not just an F. A zero.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

He might not have been a star student but he’s never outright tanked a test before. Especially not one he’s studied for.

He went over every question again and every answer, wracked his brain for the responses he knew to be true—he had several B’s and C’s on quizzes to prove it—and then read the wrong answers on the test for all of them. Written in his obvious chicken scratch with doodles in the margins just like he remembered drawing when he took the test. So it's not like someone just wrote his name on their test.

O’Donnell took pity on him at the end of class and said he could sit for the test again during his study hall, especially since he’d been making some improvement. He’d practically kissed her.

Only for him to fail again.

He burned with self-hatred at first, and then simply turned his rage on O'Donnell, because he knew all of the answers. She must have just been a picky grader.

That was it, right? She just had it in for him.

But then other things just got worse.

Jason Carver might have been a tool bag and an antagonistic bully but he’d never been outright hostile before. Not like some of his predecessors.

Not like Tommy…Tommy H.

On an unrelated note, that bothered Eddie too. He couldn’t remember Tommy’s last name. Tommy who bullied him and his friends viciously. Tommy H…Tommy Hayes? Tommy Hagan? Both existed in his mind. And yeah normally he wouldn't give a shit but what the hell? First the History test and now Tommy H?

Regardless, Jason had been especially brutal lately.

Overly antagonistic, even calling Edde a freak in the middle of class. He and the rest of the basketball team had even begun their physical assault on him and his friends openly. The jocks pushed them into lockers, spit on them, and threw things. Gareth even got a black eye when they "ran into" the jocks after gym on Thursday.

Eddie knew he wasn't well-liked, but it burned him deep inside that no one spoke up, students and teachers alike. It was all out in the open, where everyone could see or report to the faculty. Even his friends kept their mouths shut and endured the abuse.

No one seemed to be bothered though; they kept to the status quo. And Eddie wasn’t gonna try his luck with Higgins on his own.

Cowards.

Friday morning, Eddie thought he had the answer; Chrissy Cunningham—Queen of Hawkins High and Jason’s girlfriend—spoke to him in homeroom. Not only spoke to him, but made moon eyes at him in every class they shared and in the hall between the classes that they didn't.

And it was getting annoying.

“Dude, Chrissy keeps looking over here,” Jeff whispered at lunch.

“I know!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table, startling the others. He took a calming breath and repeated himself, softer, to Jeff.

“What’s her deal? Does she wanna join Hellfire or something?”

“I dunno man, something strange is happening,” he shook his head and picked at his food. “I don’t know if she’s in some…argument with Jason and is trying to make him jealous. Or if she’s just bored and is enjoying his torment of the village idiots or something.”

“Maybe she wants to buy some weed,” Gareth piped up. “Slumber party with the rest of the cheer squad. She is the Captain. It’s her job to score.”

“Nah man,” Dave chortled. “I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to score in a different way. Get Eddie to fall in love with her or something and make a fool out of him.”

The guys all started laughing and making kissy noises, much to Eddie’s growing annoyance. Every puckering noise grated something deep within him. And it only pissed him offs more when the freshman started to get in on the fun, with Mike and Lucas singing about Eddie and Chrissy sitting in a tree—

“K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shut up!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table and shouted, voice echoing across the cafeteria, practically silencing everyone at the intrusion.

His shoulders heaved as he glared over at the jock’s table, where a certain someone with a bouncing strawberry ponytail waved hello, even as she sat with her boyfriend’s arm comfortably around her. And said boyfriend was glaring knives at him; if looks could kill, Eddie would be done for.

His thoughts spiraled and his ears started to ring.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone trying to fuck with him now? Why was everything suddenly out of control in such a short period of time? Was this karma? He got one thing he desperately needed so everything else was going to shit?

Suddenly he had an out of body experience, or at least…that’s what it felt like. He watched it all happen, felt all the movements and the words fly out of his mouth but he wasn’t in control.

One moment he was sitting at the head of his table, hands tented in front of his face as he contemplated life, and the next he was standing. Standing on top of the table, actually, and while that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it’s what he did up there that was.

“Hey Carver, you have a fucking problem with me?” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Why don’t you step into my office and file a complaint!”

His arms swept outwards of their own volition and he bowed over to gesture to the table and to his friends.

“Pretty sure my associates have a few choice words for you too.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Jason was on his feet immediately, with Patrick and Andy quick to follow.

“What’s your damage freak?” He chuckled sardonically through gritted teeth. “Trying to have your own little David and Goliath moment? Prepare to get toppled.”

“Wait, do you think you’re David right now? You think you’re a hero?”Jeff scoffed and got to his feet, spurning the rest of Corroded Coffin to do the same, sending jeers and taunts across the room. The jocks did much of the same, name calling and shouting vicious threats.

“I’m gonna kick your ass Emerson!”

“Kick? How about kiss! Just like your mom likes to do!”

It kept going until Eddie took a few steps down the table, leant down, and scooped his fingers through Mike’s gloopy mashed potatoes, ready to fling a handful towards the enemies.

He was prepared for the worst as he witnessed it all from inside his own body, as he felt the gravy slip down his hand and into the sleeve of his jacket. An all out war, the need to protect his friends again—worse this time with the Freshman—the dread of listening to Gareth’s fingers breaking once more…it would all start once the first shot was fired.

If there was a God—or some fate writing this in the books of the universe who was just really bad at writing a fight sequence—now would be the time for them to make themselves known.

“Munson!”

Eddie inhaled the air greedily as he regained control of himself, and he marveled at Higgins' sudden appearance: standing in the doorway to the cafeteria with Coach Palmer and Nancy Wheeler standing behind him.

He’d never been so happy to see them in his life.

“Munson,” Higgins shouted at him. “Get down from there!”

Jeff, knowing what was good for them all, pulled Eddie down from the table and he stumbled on legs made weak from the rapid loss of adrenaline. Lucas passed a handful of paper napkins for him to clean off his hands as Higgins and Coach crossed the cafeteria, Coach to take care of his little minions, and Higgins to take care of him.

Despite their tenuous truce, Higgins grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him towards the cafeteria doors.

“Detention,” he hissed in Eddie’s face.

“My fucking pleasure,” Eddie replied desperately, suddenly a devout believer in whatever deity he had evoked.

Man, this was getting to be a habit.

As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, Eddie vaguely heard Dustin over the din of classmate whispers.

“Guys, that was weird. What’s wrong with Eddie?”

“What do you mean?” Gareth answered blithely. “He’s always like that.”

"I can't believe you got detention."

"I mean, Higgins could have expelled me. Or tried to get me to drop out again."

"I really fucking hate that guy," you muttered and reached out to grab a box from the shelf. "How about this one?"

"Seen it, fake blood is obviously fake."

"You're such a horror snob."

"Don't deny it," he whispered in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "That's your favorite thing about me."

You put the movie back on the shelf in a huff and then the two of you shuffled forward down the aisle.

Saturdays were made to be spent together; Saturday mornings specifically. Eddie would take as much time with you as he could, but Hawkins was Hawkins and there was only so much to do. So you designated Saturdays as mornings out before you went to work and Eddie made the rounds to whatever parties he could safely show his face at and make some quick cash.

You traded off on whoever made plans, and today he had pathetically suggested a movie, snacks, and cuddling on the couch, needing to find a respite in your arms after the abject chaos of his week.

He already felt worlds better, more like himself, because you listened and understood.

He ranted and cursed during the drive and you hung onto every word, only interjecting to offer gentle encouragement. You didn't pity him or blame him--well, you blamed him for almost starting a food fight and since he couldn't explain what overcame him in that moment, he accepted it--but you made sure he knew that you had been in his shoes and understood exactly how he felt.

His dependence on you made itself known when you got into the store. As much as you protested his arms latching around you immediately, he knew you secretly enjoyed the proximity and the sweetness that he lavished you with.

Hobbling down the aisles with him practically attached to you; whispered stories, jokes, and terms of endearment; and an occasional raspberry on your neck if and when you had differing opinions about a movie.

Eddie thought The Outsiders was a good movie. You preferred the book. Which was fine. You tried to tell him Rob Lowe was cute, though; that earned you some punishment.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never had a crush on a celebrity," you snorted and squealed and tried to free yourself from his grasp. Which you did successfully as your words made him freeze. "Or like...a character from a tv show or something."

You didn't know how close to the truth you were.

He felt his world tilt on its axis as you kept browsing and spouting off names and laughing, and with each celebrity or character you named, the more he thought of Port Geneva with intense clarity.

He could hear the theme song, see the neon text of the closing card, and feel his heart skip a beat when you'd show up on screen and greet your friends "Hey guys!"

"Hey guys!" your same voice rang from the other side of the partition of tapes, same emphasis and volume and cheer as you would on tv, as you greeted Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. "Are those new?"

"Mmhmm," Robin affirmed. "Technically they were supposed to go out yesterday for the weekend, but someone was too busy flirting with Melanie Hartford."

Steve's embarrassed trip-up over a response was overshadowed as you called out.

"Hey Eddie, come here, I think they're putting out some new movies."

Eddie took a breath to compose himself, carefully placed the mask of cool and adoring boyfriend back on, and then rounded the corner to join you.

"If it's Death Wish 3 on tape, it wasn't that goo--" Eddie trailed off as he stopped in his tracks.

He understood why Steve sounded so embarrassed.

Eddie mainly steered clear of Steve Harrington over the years; yeah he was a shithead and a bit of a bully, but especially since the Freshman insisted that Steve was a nice guy, he'd tried to put it all in the past. Best not think of King Steve and all of the opportunities and advantages that he'd gotten, no matter how good of a guy they claimed he was.

Knowing Harrington's reputation and then fall from grace over the past few months though, he wondered if Steve had ever had some unreciprocated crush before.

Because he was certainly acting like he had a crush in front of you.

A crush on you.

Eddie knew what it looked like when someone had a crush; shit, he'd felt that way plenty of times over the years. The shifting eyes, the nervous stuttering. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding it, being able to put on the cool guy front. But Steve was doing it all out in the open.

Steve watched as you and Robin passed tapes back and forth--watched you more than Robin, actually--threw a comment in every now and again. When he cracked a joke, his eyes slid directly to you, and when you laughed, he beamed brightly.

And Eddie didn't know what he was more grateful for: the fact that you seemed oblivious to it all, or that he was there to witness it and put an end to it.

He tamped down the fire that built up inside of him and closed the distance; he threw an arm over your shoulder with a cool greeting to Robin and Steve.

"I've never even heard of some of these movies, have you?" Robin asked with some bewilderment.

"I don't know, this one sounds familiar," you hummed thoughtfully.

"See that's what I told Rob," Steve interjected and Eddie grit his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Robin scoffed.

"Isn't this the girl from Legend?" You held up a video box to Eddie to show him. He couldn't be bothered to really notice the titles of the movies on display--Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Lost Boys, Lethal Weapon--and instead he chose to press a kiss to the side of your head and continue glaring at Steve.

You turned back to Robin.

"Do you guys have Legend? I saw it when it came out but it'd be nice to see it again."

"I can show you!" Steve jumped at the chance, but Robin rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I've got this dingus," she waved at the tapes on the counter. "If you could finish processing these like you should've done yesterday?"

Steve huffed as you and Robin walked away, but Eddie stayed behind. He leaned over the counter, elbows resting against the edge.

"How've things been Harrington?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Uhh," Steve shrugged but pointedly ignored Eddie's eyes. "Good, fine."

"Did I overhear Buckley right? Going on dates? You finally over Nancy Wheeler," Eddie's voice got progressively louder.

"What the--listen keep your voice down, Jesus," Steve laughed nervously, gaze shifting in the direction that you and Robin had disappeared. "A guy's gotta move on. Can't be lovesick over Nance forever."

Eddie plastered a fake smile on his face and laughed heartily.

"Yeah? Gotta find someone else to obsess over?" The smile dropped almost immediately and he became dead-eyed. "Stop making goo-goo eyes at my girlfriend."

"Hey, Munson, I'm sorry--" Steve held his hands out innocently. "She just came in one day and I thought she was cute; I didn't know that you were--"

"I'm sorry," Eddie mimicked Steve, standing stiff and straight with shaking hands. "I didn't know the freak could have a girlfriend."

He reached across the counter and grabbed Steve by the vest and pulled him forward, close enough so he could get in his face.

"Don't look at her again, don't talk to her again," he hissed. "You can have literally any other girl in Hawkins, King Steve. So you better get over your crush fast."

Yeah, it was harsh, and in hindsight he should have been a little nicer about it. But after everything had compounded on him all week, it was nice to just be a raging asshole like everyone expected him to be.

Unfortunately, you had never experienced Eddie The Villain Munson.

"Eddie, what the hell!" you exclaimed as you appeared in his peripheral vision.

Until right that second.

"Let him go, what are you doing?" you rushed forward and slapped at his hands to get him to release Steve. He did, but continued to glare as he backed away and took several calming breaths.

"Hey, in all honesty," Robin laughed nervously as she returned to the counter. "Dudley Do-Right here probably said something dumb and deserved it."

"What's going on?" you ignored her and whispered to Eddie. "I thought we were just gonna have a relaxing day. You were fine two seconds ago. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he deflected. "Don't worry about it."

"We can just go home and hang out like you wanted; you said Wayne has some Bonanza reruns on tape. We can laugh at Hoss and Little Joe and--"

His eyes went wide; the Bonanza tapes were by the TV, mixed up with the Port Geneva tapes.

"No!" he shouted aggressively...defensively; it startled you. "No Bonanza!"

"Oh...kay."

Then your whole demeanor changed.

You crossed your arms in front of you and your eyes went cold and distant; you frowned, deep enough to create lines on your forehead and around your mouth. You suddenly looked a lot older than you were, aged by disappointment and...guilt maybe? He didn't know. He'd never seen you like that before, and he suddenly felt bad.

"Let's uhh...let's just go," you offered quickly, then apologized to Steve and Robin for taking their time.

"Hey wait, I'm sorry," he tried to apologize. "We can still get a movie and hang out. I just...I don't know...I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"No, I...I forgot Bev said she might need some extra help today. Making some changes, I don't know. I need to go in. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart wait!" he called out as you walked out of the store and towards your car. He looked back at Robin and Steve, who pointedly avoided looking at him, and then huffed a sigh and followed you.

The ride back to Forest Hills was tense and silent.

Eddie knew he fucked up, knew he hurt you, but didn't know what to say or how to fix it.

"What the fuck is wrong with Eddie Munson?"

That was the question of the week, and now even Eddie was asking it of himself. Especially since he couldn't even control himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you when you parked in front of his place. "I don't know...I'm just sorry."

"It's ok," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie, don't worry about it. You just had a bad week. I need to go to work. We'll hang out another time."

"I'll call you tonight," he promised. "After work."

"Sure," you offered a tight-lipped smile. "Just rest today ok? And feel better."

"Yeah."

"Everything's gonna be ok."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave you a kiss and there was something about the way that you kissed him...that made his heart ache, and he didn't know why.

Eddie watched as you drove away, off to the Hideout to help Bev, or whatever else you could do if it ended up being a lie so you could just get away from him.

He'd fix it; he had to. He just got his wish, got you; he couldn't lose you. It would be the last straw.

He climbed up the porch steps, lost in his own thoughts, but when he opened the door--

"What the fuck?"

--all of his worries were forgotten, because the trailer was trashed.

Wayne was blissfully asleep on the fold-out bed, but there were piles of laundry on the couch, dirty dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen. Empty, crushed beer and soda cans littered the floor; honestly, there was just trash everywhere.

Eddie had only left an hour or two ago, and the trailer...well it might have had some clutter but at least it was tidy. It looked like an atomic bomb of trash had exploded in here.

If he had just been wondering what was wrong with him, he was suddenly wondering what was wrong with the universe again.

"What the fuck?"

The rest of the weekend had been spent cleaning.

Not tidying, literally cleaning.

He'd tried to ask Wayne about it all--maybe some weird trash bandit had come or kids trying to pull a prank, it wasn't like they really locked their doors--but what was even more suspicious was that Wayne didn't blink an eye at the mess.

"I work, you have school," he shook his head and tried to go back to sleep. "Chores pile up kid. That's the way it's always been. We'll get ahead of it again eventually."

And that just made Eddie feel bad; had it actually been this bad all along and he never realized it? Had Wayne done all this cleaning and housework on his own and now the weariness and the years just started to catch up? It must've only gotten worse now that Eddie lived with him.

So Eddie kept his head down and his mouth shut and tried to make it all better.

He cleaned and cleaned, and it seemed that no matter how much he cleaned, everything only got worse. The laundry on the sofa had been put away--more laundry than Eddie or Wayne really even had clothes to be honest. The fridge was somehow both empty--even though he'd just remembered to do a little grocery shopping...or had that been the other day--and full of rotten food at the same time. There was plenty of beer though. The dishes were all cleaned and spotless, only for him to come home from school on Monday afternoon to find them all to be right back again. Has they even used real dishes? Not that he could recall.

Fuck.

He complained to you on the phone late Saturday night--

"I don't know how it happened. It's like suddenly out of the blue it all just...appeared."

"Wayne didn't hold a secret party while we were out?" you asked, although your voice seemed stiff...distant.

"He just rolled right over and went back to sleep."

--but aside from some sympathy, you didn't seem to think anything was weird.

Hell, even his friends didn't seem suspicious.

"The trailer is always dirty," Gareth scoffed at practice on Monday night. "Like...no offense man, it's a trailer park, what do you expect."

It took everything in Eddie not to knock his buddy out right then and there; how many times had he told them how awful and stereotypical that kind of idea was. How hurtful people were when they found out he'd moved in with Wayne. Only for Gare to come back and spit it back at him again?

Instead he put that hateful energy into coming up with some kind of way to make you...forgive him...or love him again or something. He'd floated the idea of a ballad or some kind of love song to the guys at practice, ready to wow you on Tuesday night at the Hideout.

They hemmed and hawed but after he promised they'd all roll with advantage during the following Friday's session, they agreed and even suggested songs to get him back in your good graces.

Now it was Tuesday night. Time had passed by in a flash and he was standing at the door to the Hideout, ready to knock your socks off.

The guys were inside already, setting up, but he'd needed a moment to think of what to say to you.

He paced in the gravel, thought about his apology, thought about the song that he'd picked. The last song of the set, one he'd dedicate to you.

It would be perfect.

He mustered up the courage and walked inside, only to be hit by shock once again.

How many times could someone utter the words "what the fuck" in one week? Eddie had to be going for a world record.

When Eddie had suggested the Hideout when you mentioned looking for jobs, he'd warned you that Bev was a curmudgeon but the nicest curmudgeon you'd meet, and that the bar itself was, affectionately, a shithole. A house turned into a bar on the side of the highway, with a bunch of plywood in the corner that doubled as a stage, a makeshift bartop that was probably older than his uncle, and chipped glasses.

Now, it was almost...nice?

With an actual small, raised stage and a few spotlights hanging from the ceiling, neon signs boasting brands like Old Style and Coors--something Bev had always said was just the glitter and not the gold--and a sleek black bar with a marble top and comfortable-looking barstools. And it all had Eddie wondering if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

That was it right? That had to be it. He'd stepped into the Twilight Zone the minute you'd showed up outside of his trailer and he hadn't returned to the real world since.

"Hey, there you are," you approached him from behind the bar with a tense smile. "The guys were wondering when you'd come in. I got them all cherry cokes to shut them up."

"You didn't have to buy them drinks," Eddie shook his head. "They don't deserve it."

"On the house," you reassured him.

"I'm sorry," he choked on air. "On the...on the house? On the house meaning...Bev's treating? Bev who must've secretly won the lottery or something? Look at all of this." He gestured around the bar and then lifted his feet. "The floors aren't even sticky."

"I told you that she was making changes," you shrugged, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Changes, not...a full renovation, wow." He looked around in awe, then squinted when he saw something on one of the tables. "She even sprung for printed napkins too."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "Guess she did. It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. You, uh, better get the guys before they cause too much trouble."

"Yeah I should," he nodded slowly, but grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. "I know I've said it a million times sweetheart but I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't Ed, I promise," you tried to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Can we talk maybe? After the set? Like really talk? I'll even wipe the tables off for you." You hesitated but nodded, and he gave you the briefest peck on the cheek before running down the back hallway to the little smokers exit to find the guys.

Only to find them in a legitimate green room in what he was sure used to be the storage room where Bev kept the kegs. His friends were all laid out along leather couches that sat along the perimeter of the room, sipping their cherry cokes and chatting. There was a coffee table right in the center laden with snacks and magazines.

"Man," he commented with a whistle, alerting the guys to his presence. "Can you guys believe this?"

"I know," Jeff giggled maniacally and then reached out to grab a bag of peanut M&M's. "Brand name snacks, and not the generic kind we usually get."

"Makes me feel like we're about to hit it big," Dave agreed.

Eddie tripped over his words for a second, not entirely sure that they were as astounded by the Hideout's transformation as he was, but he shook off the bewilderment to tell them it was time to go perform.

They raced back down the hall to the stage, and although the bar had just been empty when he walked in--save for you and some of the regulars slumped in their seats--there was definitely a crowd. Or the beginnings of one. A couple canoodling at a table, a few college-aged people ordering beers, and a group for a bachelorette party or something at the large booth that had been installed in the corner by the door.

"Wow," Eddie breathed out, nerves suddenly overtaking him. They'd never played a crowd like this before. "Hope they like metal."

And they did. They were head banging and once they were familiar enough with the lyrics a few people were singing along.

It was invigorating. Refreshing. Aside from the handful of people who'd been involved in the whole...record label fiasco, he'd really never experienced this many people who were excited for his sound. Their sound.

He wasn't gonna betray his friends, his band, like that again.

There were a few songs that Jeff and Gareth suggested that weren't originally on their setlist, and they really weren't metal technically, but they all knew the songs and the crowd was excited for them, so he couldn't complain.

Towards the end of the set, he felt his stomach churn with nerves again. Worse now, because it was time.

"Uh," he stepped up to the microphone, a little too close as it squeaked with feedback. "Hey guys, thanks for uh...thanks for coming out. Make sure you...tip your bartender...and her lovely assistant." He gestured over to you and a grumpy-looking Bev at the bar.

The audience clapped, even the handful of drunk regulars.

"Now uh, speaking of the lovely assistant, I...um..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his guitar. "I might have messed some stuff up with her the other day, and I know she's still a little mad at me. So sweetheart, without further ado, this one's for you. Corroded Coffin's rendition of..."

He paused. Froze.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue: All Through The Night.

They'd practiced it for hours, really making the cover theirs. They added all sorts of guitar riffs and a sick solo that ended with him sending a kiss across the bar to you. It was supposed to be perfect.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Corroded Coffin's All..." He shook, struggled to get the words out. "All...All My Only Dreams. Enjoy."

What the fuck? What the fuck?

He felt that out of body experience again, just like he had in the cafeteria, as his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar and Gareth and Dave set a slow beat.

It felt like some bad knockoff song from the 60's. Maybe something he heard on one of his mom's records. But he couldn't place it.

What was this song? How did the guys know it? Why had he said that? What was All My Only Dreams?

It was certainly not metal. Certainly not music.

"Every night I pray, I'll have you here someday," he felt himself sing. "I'll count the stars tonight, and hope with all my might..."

He stared at you across the bar as the song continued, out of his control; the couple stood from their table and began swaying back and forth and you stood there behind the bar, wide-eyed with a hand covering your mouth. In shock or disbelief or pain he couldn't quite tell.

"Every waking hour it seems, I only have you in my dreams."

All he knew was, this song kept going and going and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. Couldn't stop himself from playing or singing, couldn't stop Jeff from harmonizing with him on certain verses.

Until the song was over.

"If I could have just one request, stay with me girl I'll confess, all my only dreams."

He strummed the last few notes, and as soon as the audience started clapping, he felt whatever puppet strings get cut, felt himself in control again.

Eddie panicked. He didn't even wait for the applause to be over, didn't thank the crowd like he usually would. He just swung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the stage with the guys hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Gareth hollered after him.

"Yeah Ed, where are you going?" Jeff caught up to him and tried to put a hand out to stop him, but Eddie just shrugged him away.

"That was our best performance ever," Dave insisted. "And applause on an original song to boot."

Eddie froze as he reached the green room, and then turned on his friends, hackles raised.

"Original song." He parroted. "Original song? That wasn't an original song!"

"Yeah it was," Jeff nodded. "All My Only Dreams. You made us practice it all night last night so it was perfect."

"We practiced All Through the Night," he laughed dryly. "Are you high right now Jeff? Fuck, am I high right now?"

"Are you?" Gareth exclaimed. "Because I didn't just learn that song so you could make it up to your girlfriend just so you could act crazy like this man."

Jeff walked over to the pile of their stuff in the corner of the room, and fished a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his backpack.

"Here I'll prove it to you," he grumbled and unfolded it. "All My Only Dreams. By Eddie Munson."

He shoved the paper into Eddie's hands and Eddie stared at it in disbelief. His handwriting, again, with words that he didn't remember writing. A little heart in the corner with your name scribbled inside of it, just like he did in his school notebook sometimes.

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself, and then looked up at his friends, suddenly lightheaded and sick.

He felt angry, he felt like crying, he felt like...like everything in the world was turning upside down on him and it was some kind of cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

He opened his mouth to start yelling, when your head appeared behind the guys.

"Hey, 'scuse me guys," you announced your presence and Dave, Jeff, and Gareth all parted so Eddie had a full view of you.

You looked just as sick as he felt. Your face was crumpled in a terrible pensive frown, hands wrung together in front of you.

"Can you give me and Eddie a few minutes alone? While you all break down your stuff?" you asked softly, and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as the others left.

You closed the door to the green room behind you and then took a few deep breaths.

This was it.

You were gonna break up with him.

The universe was cruel to let Eddie have you, only to play these games and lose you in such a short amount of time.

He was so caught up in the panic of possibly losing you that he didn't notice you talking until you were right in front of him. Your hands cradled his face and you stared into his eyes, your own full of worry.

"Eddie, Eddie are you ok?" you asked, voice edged with panic.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry...I was..."

"It's ok, don't worry," you reassured him. "It's...fuck...it's ok."

"Did you like the song?" he questioned, dumbly.

You let out a snort of laughter and then squished his face between your hands for a second.

"We need to talk," you whispered. "It's gonna be a lot. And it's not gonna be easy to hear, and I know you're gonna have a lot of questions, and I don't...I...fuck Ed...I'm so sorry."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I..." You looked lost for a second. "Eddie, I don't know how to answer that question. No...not really."

"Not really isn't no."

"Alright smartass," you scoffed. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. But that doesn't mean...doesn't mean that this thing we've got going on now isn't over. It's...what I'm gonna tell you right now is gonna change everything."

You helped him to sit down on one of the leather couches and then you paced back and forth, nervously chewing your thumbnail and looking for a way to start.

"This..." you began tentatively. "This isn't...real."

"So I am dreaming," he looked around for a moment. "Makes sense."

"No...you're not dreaming. It's just...well, ok, Ed. It's gonna be really hard to understand. But I'm gonna need you to tap into that big imagination of yours. Ok? Because God damn, if there was anyone I could get to understand, it's honestly you. Making up all sorts of stories and fantasies for Dungeons and Dragons.

“I’m sure you’ve started noticing things happening? Weird things, uncanny things, impossible things. And it’s making you go a little cross-eyed, a little crazy, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind because the only person who notices the changes…well it’s you. But it isn’t only you.

"This..." you waved around. "It's all real. It's a real world and we live in it. I'm real, you're real. I can touch you, kiss you. But it isn't. Not really."

He suddenly felt like you were talking down to him, and felt that irrational anger start to build again. You’d made sense up to a point. This was real, but it wasn't real, but it was real enough so he could kiss you? But somehow not real enough because you were bringing up stories he created for DnD, like it was all part of his imagination. But somehow he was also crazy?

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Eddie," you took a breath and closed your eyes for a second. "This right now? Everything you see? This room, that song, me, and you?"

"Yeah."

"We're all fictional. We're all...in a fan fiction."

Next Chapter: Lore Dump

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #stff updates #stranger things fic

146 notes · View notes

sevenseassevenhundredletters · 1 month

Text

Imagine nanami working out in the gym to get that muscular body. And as he retired from being a sorceror his body begin to return to his natural form.

Married reader x Nanami Kento

These are reader’s thought and feelings about the Changes that They observed watching Nanami’s body change as the years goes by while they are married and living with him.

Au where he didn’t die and retired peacefully 😢.

———————————————————————

When he’s at his prime he’s at his buffest

When he retires his muscle mass gradually decreases and his slim figure slowly regains itself like in his teenage years.

you watch him still work out time to time in the gym even though he doesn’t have to bc he knows you are obsessed with his muscles and would be slightly sad to watch them go.

You assured him there’s no need for him to workout if he doesn’t feel like it. It’s his body and he doesn’t need force himself to do it just for you.You like him regardless. Lean or buff, it’s still nanami.

Living tgt with Nanami has made you realised how much effort he put into his work.He was way slimmer and small framed compared to how he was when he’s still a sorceror. Almost completely different from when you first met him.You never really did know how slim he actually is. ( almost a little jealous as how slim he is without trying.)

As 2 to 3 years passed by, other than a few fine lines appearing on his forehead and a pair of much sunken cheekbones he pretty much still have the same physique in his late twenties.he barely showed any signs of a beer belly, talk about blessed with DNA. Maybe it’s bc of his hard training during his sorceror days, it kept him fit and more resistant to ageing than of that an average person.( do sorcerers age slower and better than most ppl?🤔

Girls of teen and middle age would steal glances at him down the streets just to catch a glimpse of his handsome angular face as he chats with you while you both window shopped. He’s that one charismatic Middle Aged mature man that woman of all ages would fawn over ( and he doesn’t realise how overwhelmingly hot he is.) . You find it funny ( and a little ego booting ) when woman would fangirl over him whenever he passes by only to be disappointed when they saw his long arm hooked around yours.

As time went on further. his muscle mass completely disappeared . Revealing an androgynous look to his features. his legs look like a runway model’s leg .His calves are eccentuated each time he crosses his legs. That one hot summer night when he decides to wear a pair of boxes ( which he never does.)you finally get how men feel when looking at girls legs. It felt like looking at a pair of virgin legs.And you have to stop yourself from running your hands down his soft thighs bc it’s a weeknight and you both have work the next day. ( pity. Bc he never wore those boxes again 😤 he can’t help his shy conservative nature.)

You feel so lucky to wake up to this man everyday in your life. Seeing his body change over the years and studying his figure as he does every little mundane thing is a very interesting hobby you picked up over the years and you plan to keep doing it ( forever most likely) Ageing is an inevitable thing but It doesn’t change how much you view him and his body.even if He doesn’t look the same as he did , even if the years have worn off his beauty, you’d still love him because its him.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Note I am so tired of writing bc I lost most of the details I wrote as somehow tumblr decided to restart itself when I re opened the app.F*ck you tumblr app. I might rewrite this again bc I’m not satisfied with it and there so many details I couldn’t rmb ( hopefully I eventually do.)

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #七海建人 #nanamin

128 notes · View notes

thebestofoneshots · 10 months

Text

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 4.3K Warnings: none Prompt: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure.

Chapter 1: Summer Breeze

2 years ago - Summer 1974

Every summer holiday, your parents would take you on some elaborate vacation to a different place. This summer was no different from that, except that they’d contacted some of their old friends in England to plan a trip together. Your father was set on making you more fluent in English and had the brilliant idea to force you onto making some English friends.

While you weren’t too excited about spending your summer with a pure-blood family, since your mom had not-wizarding grandparents, you decided you were not going to be a snob and actually try to make some friends. Your parents never told you that the Blacks didn’t know about your mom’s ancestry though, especially after your great-grandmother made a huge effort to hide that side of the family when the racist stuff started getting worse. It wasn’t a secret to you, only to the rest of the world.

“Are you ready sweetheart?” Your mom asked, looking stunning in her white beach dress.

You closed your suitcase and nodded, walking towards her and your dad in the centre of your living room. You stood in a circle and in the blink of an eye apparated in a completely different place. You were in the middle of a giant Lobby, looking straight toward the front desk. It was an open space, there were fountains in the centre and large logs of wood holding a stunning ceiling with floating balls of some wood-like fibre, you could hear the waves crashing onto the shore somewhere in the distance. It looked elegant yet rustic at the same time. On the side of the Lobby, a metal plate spelled

Mayan Occultum Hotel The #1 Hotel for Witches and Wizards in the Caribbean: Costa Maya

Followed by 5 shining golden stars that spun around every couple of seconds. Your father had his head up and looked around to try and find his old friends.

Sirius had been dragged to this. While to anyone a vacation in the Caribbean might sound like a dream, to him it was no other than an absolute nightmare, not because he disliked the beach, in fact, he quite fancied the idea of spending some time relaxing under the sun after the finals, the issue here was that he wasn’t going with his friends, no James, No Mooney, no Wormtail. No, he was on a FAMILY vacation, which meant he’d have to spend like 2 weeks locked up in a hotel in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of people that hated him. He threw in as many muggle-like clothing items he’d gotten from Andromeda into his suitcase, just to spite his parents and hopefully keep the other wizard family, the one that had the brilliant idea to invite his family to the hotel to come along with them, at bay. He was not interested in making new friends, he was not interested in talking to any that were of his parents at all. After all, they probably would be no other than a bunch of Slytherin snobs.

By the time his mother called him down to the chimney to travel through the floo network, he’d even made sure to add in a pair of Doc Martens to his suitcase, the most punk thing he had gotten his hands on thus far, all thanks to Moony who’d showed him how to order things from a catalogue. He was wearing a leather jacket, ripped black jeans and a pair of Converse shoes, not a very beachy outfit, was it?

When his mom saw him she almost ordered him to go back upstairs to change but Orion said they were late and basically pushed Sirius onto the chimney. He was the first to arrive, Regulus was next, with a very suitable wizard attire, his parents had come soon after.

Once your dad spotted Orion among the crowds he went straight to greet him, your mom followed alongside him and you lagged behind just a bit.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Orion, you look as dashing as the last time we met,” your father said.

Orion chuckled lightly “I could say the same about you Silas! This must be Avis,” he said as he turned into your mother “I remember as if it was yesterday when you wrote me that you’d found the love of your life.”

Now it was your father who chucked “Walburga,” He nodded towards her, she set her hand out and he gave a courteous kiss. Had they forgotten to tell you were meeting royalty or something? Your parents were rarely this formal with his friends.

Regardless of the odd formalities, you stayed behind them as they caught up, “These are my children,” Orion said pushing forwards two boys, one dressed as a wizard and one with very muggle-like clothes, “This is Sirius,” He pointed at the taller boy, “and this is Regulus,” he said pointing at the smaller one.

Up until then Sirius had maintained a disagreeable face but had been polite enough to your parents so as not to seem like an ass, at least they weren’t overly dressed, they looked like a normal family on vacation, not like they were going to the queen’s wedding at the beach. But his expression changed when your mom moved to the side and he saw you for the first time.

“This is my daughter, (Y/N),” Your father said, placing a hand on your back and pushing you just slightly forward.

“You’ve got yourself a beautiful young lady, Silas, why have you been hiding her behind you?”

“Our (Y/N) is a bit shy,” Your mom excused.

“Just like our son,” Walburga said as she placed a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, with a huge suspicious smile growing on her face. You would’ve taken a step back had it not been for your father’s hand still on your back, Sirius noticed. He’d straightened his back right after you appeared in his field of view, he almost felt self-conscious, of his outfit (probably because of how hot it was), of his hair, he hated feeling that way, but there was something about you, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Curiosity, it had to be that. He was curious about you.

You responded with an awkward smile, by then your father was already pulling Orion toward the front desk to check in.

“So (Y/N), What year are you in?” Walburga asked, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, in a dangerous sort of way, sharp features, a smile that even if it looked kind, hid something behind it. Like a mermaid luring you in before she drowns you, you thought.

“I’m starting my 4th,” You replied politely, trying to hide how intimidated you felt while talking to her.

“Oh,” she said, sounding almost a little disappointed “Like Sirius.” Had she said her child’s name with disdain or was it just your imagination? Perhaps it had something to do with the way the boy dressed.

“I’m sure they’ll become great friends,” your mom said looking at you, then at Sirius and then back at you.

Walburga nodded but did not look very happy with the idea of you making friends with her older son. Regardless, you’d been interested in talking to the boy the moment you spotted him from the distance, he looked like the vocalist of a rock band. If it had not been for the fact that your parents introduced you to him, you might have lived on assuming he was some sort of celebrity.

In the midst of the awkward silence your father and Orion came back. Your father smiled towards you, almost apologetically “Sweetheart there is an event for couples on the other side of the hotel, Orion and I thought it would be good to spend some time there to catch up, would you mind exploring the rest of the hotel with the boys?”

Well, there goes your family vacation, makes sense after all, your father had been looking for an excuse to move back to England for a while, maybe he’d talk to Orion about the ministry jobs available, Orion did have the politician look going for him. You forced a smile “Not at all Dad, it’ll be fantastic to get to know them,” you hoped that did not come out as ironic as you meant it. Although Sirius' snicker from behind gave you the impression it was not like that.

Your dad handed you and the boys a map each “We’ve enhanced them, that way we can always find you.”

Your smile only tightened but you kept it until they were out of sight. Once you made sure they were far enough you pulled your wand out and murmured “incendio,” causing your map to slowly burn itself, you let it drop once the fire was too close to your hand.

“Did you just use magic? Aren’t you 14?” Regulus asked with a frown.

You turned to him with a smile “There are many qualified wizards around us,” you responded opening your arms to gesture at the amount of people surrounding you “Besides, this hotel is part of the Occultum line, anyone that has studied at least until year 2 is permitted to use magic–” After hearing this words Sirius used incendio to burn his map as well, you raised your eyebrows towards him and then continued “–that’s why my parents picked it, they wanted me to spend some time practising spells for the next year.”

Regulus only settled his map on a nearby suitcase that was soon sent flying away, presumably towards its own room, proving how unnecessary the magic you’d both used had been “I heard there was an orchestra at noon, maybe we can go there?” He suggested.

“Sure, I guess…” You said before grabbing a pamphlet that mentioned all the activities the hotel had going on that day, but one seemed a tad more interesting “What about his one tho?” You said pointing at something written on the paper.

“A muggle movie screening?” Regulus asked with a grimace, Sirius, on the other hand, seemed a lot more interested in it.

“Let’s do that! Sounds fun!” Sirius decided, took the pamphlet from your hands in an action that would’ve been rude had he not done it with such grace, and started walking towards the direction the pamphlet indicated.

“Not sure Mom and Dad would like that,” Regulus argued as the two of you followed, lagging behind Sirius only slightly.

“Of course, they wouldn’t,” You agreed with him, but caught up with Sirius soon after “Regardless, dear Reg, is not like they’re going to know, we all got rid of our maps.”

His frown didn’t leave his face even after he caught up with you, walking by your side, instead of his brother’s. Weird, you thought.

“And don’t even think about telling dear mommy and daddy about it Reggie!” Sirius warned.

Regulus didn’t fancy how quick you’d gotten comfortable with giving him a nickname, regardless he decided to go with it, it was probably better to stick to Sirius to make sure he didn’t cause some mischief that would have the three of you grounded for the rest of the summer, or your lives, whichever came first.

The three of you arrived at the “cinema” area quickly enough. “Well, even if the movie is bad, the experience will be authentic.”

“You’ve been to a cinema?” Asked Sirius impressed.

“Last summer while I was in New York,” you explained, “very similar to this one, ‘bit more run down.”

“And your parents allowed you?” Asked Regulus, almost judging.

“Perhaps they would’ve If they’d known,” you replied with a mischievous smile.

The three of you walked to the stall and asked the lady attending to give you 1 large bowl of popcorn and three butter beers. The lady grabbed a large bucket and threw some kernels inside it, followed by a block of butter and a sprinkle of salt, she then murmured “calidium.” Hot air started coming from her wand, heating the kernels and having them pop in front of your eyes.

You leaned in closer to Regulus and whispered “They didn’t have that in the cinema I went to.”

The lady continued with her task and started serving the butter beers when Sirius decided to speak up.

“What’s the sorting hat popcorn?”

“You spin the thing, and a block of candy will come out, we add that to the corn before popping and when it does, it becomes sweetened popcorn with the colour of your house, it’s inspired by the Hogwarts sorting hat,” She explained.

He nudged you, “You should try it, see which house you’d be in if you studied with us,” He said with a smile.

“That’s ridiculous, random candy cannot be as wise as the sorting hat,” Regulus complained.

You shrugged “Seems like a fun deal,” You said, walking towards the fun-looking machine and spinning the wheel. A dark block of candy came out and you handed it to the lady. After she performed the same spell as last time, minus the salt, the popcorn started to pop, turning into different shades of grey, gold, green and silver. You turned to the boys “Which house is that?”

“Seems like you’re in between,” the lady replied. “The popcorn is not as accurate as the sorting hat I’m afraid.”

“In between what?”

“Slytherin–“ started Regulus.

“–And Gryffindor.“ finished Sirius, the air seemed to tense up in that minute and you just had to do something, so you threw your fist inside the bucket and grabbed a couple of them, popping them in your mouth.

“Who cares? I highly doubt I’ll ever be in Hogwarts anyway,” You said as you grabbed one of the buckets and your mug of butter beer. “Can I also have some of those?” You said pointing toward the every flavour beans, the lady nodded and handed you a box.

“The movie starts in 15 minutes,” said Regulus after looking at the time in the giant magical clock.

“Excuse me, what’s a magic projection?” You asked the clerk near the door.

“It’s the movie, but with special magical effects, like things that come out of the screen and several other effects, it’s immersive,” he explained and you nodded, definitely not like the muggle cinema you’d been to before.

“I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

“It’s a program in development, a very talented new-maj called Drey started bewitching films just 2 years ago, they became very popular in the industry, and this is one of her newest projects.”

Before Regulus could open his mouth Sirius spoke “That sounds fantastic! Can we walk in already?” He asked with the most charming smile you had ever seen and after the clerk nodded he dragged you both inside.

“I’m still not fascinated by this idea,” Regulus complained.

“Don’t be such a party popper Reg,” You said, throwing a popcorn at him. He brushed it off his coat and started looking at the ads on the screen.

You then threw one in the air and caught it with your mouth, it’s something you’d seen muggles do in the theatre you had been to last year.

“Shoot one,” Sirius said, you shot a popcorn and he’d easily caught it, he then winked and motioned for you to send another one. You did, but the third time you grabbed an every flavour bean instead, he also caught it and bit on it with ease, grimacing right after.

“Treason!” He said after forcing it to go down his throat “I demand her head!” he added while exaggerating his expressions in a very Alice in WonderLand Queen of Hearts-like attitude, then he relaxed again “That was awful, and no warning either!” You just laughed in return, “no wonder the popcorn wanted you in Slytherin” he said, Regulus rolled his eyes.

“What flavour was it anyway?” You asked, to drive the conversation away from the house topic, which clearly was a sensible one.

“Your mom’s,” he replied. After understanding the implication of his answer you gasped and playfully hit him on the arm “Sorry, sorry, It was something like sewer water or something, one of the worst I’ve had in my life.”

Regulus looked at the box and then at you “You want one too?” You asked politely, while there seemed to be some kind of tension between the two boys, neither of them seemed particularly evil, or mean, if anything Regulus was rather shy compared to his loud brother, almost like he did not want to get on the bad side of his parents, something Sirius didn’t really seem to care much about. He quietly nodded to respond to your question and you shot one towards his face, it unfortunately didn’t land on his mouth and fell to the side. He was about to call it off but you didn’t let him. “It’s ok if you don’t get it the worst I’ve had in my life.”

“Peaches,” he replied with a smile.

“Unfair,” Sirus said as he crossed his arms and took the box from you “It’s your turn.”

“I’m terrible at catching with my mouth,” you warned, but he threw one at your face anyway. It landed on your eye, thankfully you closed it first.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” He said, grabbing your face with his two hands to check if you were ok. Did he not know about personal space? “You OK?” He was so close you could smell his breath, it was minty and fresh, despite having had popcorn already.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, shaking him off and picking the jelly bean from your shirt, where it’d fallen after attacking you “Got fast reflexes,” you said before popping it in your mouth, you grimaced.

“What was it?” Regulus asked.

“Lime I think, it was very sour,” you said, turning towards him “Guess you’re the lucky one between the three of us.” Regulus smiled awkwardly as a reply and then the screen turned on.

A lady showed up on the screen “Welcome, witches and wizards, this is the newest rendition of the magical cinema series. Welcome to this incredible adventure in which you will face a terrible creature, the dangers of the sea and the world as told from a muggle perspective. There will be a lot of water, hope you brought your bathing suits.” She disappeared shortly after and then the titles started rolling in.

It was actually a beach movie, funny when you remembered that the beach was just a minute's walk away from where you stood. And it was definitely NOT like an ordinary muggle film, there were splashes of water in your face, things crawling on your seat, smoke, smell and even the shark would get out of the screen and swim all over the room. It was thrilling, to say the least.

When the move was over the three of you were soaked, the boys had their fluffy hair clinging onto their faces as you walked out of the theatre. But they also looked happy, Sirius was thrilled, unsurprisingly, but even Reg seemed at ease, even if he had gone to a “muggle thing”.

“We should go see the beach now,” Sirius said.

“Just hope Larry Vaughn is not the mayor here,” you responded and cracked a laugh from the two brothers.

The three of you then walked towards the beach area, there were lounge chairs with umbrellas on top, some beach beds and a stand where you could ask the house elves to bring you different special drinks. As you were sitting down in one of the chairs you overheard some wizards passing by. And you couldn’t help but to be enthralled by their conversation. Regulus was sitting by the end of the bed, looking wearily at the sea and Sirius was taking off his jacket and laying it on the back of the bed for it to dry with the wind, he was rocking a David Bowie shirt underneath. “Hey (Y/N) do you want anything from the–“

“–Shhhh,” you said as you gestured for him to listen to the conversation as well.

“Yeah, the ziplines were amazing, it’s fantastic the hotel counts with muggle transportation all the way to the parks,” one of the wizards said.

“Do you think we should go again,” asked the other one.

“No, Mom said we’d go to the ruins tomorrow, something about magical vestiges or whatever.”

That’s when you stood up “Hey!” You said with a smile “Sorry, we kinda overheard you talking about the… what did you call them? Zip lines? We were wondering what park you were referring to.” You really could be charming when you wanted to.

“It’s Xplore,” one of the boys replied.

The other grabbed his backpack and handed you a brochure “I took this one from the park, maybe it helps,” he said with a bright smile as well.

“Thank you, you’re a darling,” you said before going back to your beach bed, sitting on the side, next to Sirius, Reg was still sitting on the end of the bed, but he clearly did not like where the conversation was going.

“You even got them to give you a brochure?” Sirius mused.

You shrugged and set it on the centre of the bed, opening it up just to realise it was in Spanish.

“Reg speaks some Italian,” Sirius said motioning towards his brother.

“I’m not translating any muggle propaganda.”

“It’s NOT propaganda,” you argued, “regardless I came prepared,” you said as you took out your wand, waved it and whispered “tradussere.” The letters of the page started changing and soon enough it was all in English.

“I thought you needed to speak the language to be able to do that,” Reg said.

“You do, and I can only manage to make it last a couple of minutes, so we better hurry,” you replied.

XPLORE Jungle adventure park with zip lines, amphibious vehicles, whitewater rafting and underground rivers. Prices start at $1500 MXN Experience a true adventure on your trip to Mexico by flinging through ZIP lines, swimming on underground sacred rivers and riding amphibious vehicles in the Mayan rainforests.

On the brochure, there were also photos with people wearing climbing gear and helmets. People swimming in dark but beautiful cabins, it really looked like an adventure-filled experience.

You and Sirius gave each other a look after reading “WE HAVE TO GO,” you said to each other at the same time.

“No, we don’t HAVE to do anything,” said Reg “In fact, we CAN’T.”

“Come on Reggie, it sounds super fun,” you argued, trying to convince him.

“Mom and Dad would kill us before letting us go,” he reasoned with Sirius “You don’t need to make things worse between you and them.”

“I do, especially if they act like racist bastards,” Sirius bit back defensively.

“Sirius,” Reg said with pain in his eyes, clearly he cared about his brother, but Sirius seemed to be too pissed off to even consider that.

“I…” you thought about it for a second “They don’t have to find out…”

“What?” Reg asked, turning his face to you.

“We just have to pick a day that’ll be very busy for them and go then, one with many activities. Besides I’m sure my father and yours are just so eager to catch up that we won’t see them much this summer…”

“I’m not gonna do it,” Regulus said with conviction “It’s a terrible idea, you shouldn’t do it either,” You were far too excited to notice the fear in Regulus' eyes, had you been more observant, maybe the mess you’d get into later could’ve been avoided.

“Clam down Reggie, it’ll be in and out, they’ll never find out,” Sirius reasoned, “We need to be perfect in picking the day,” he said turning towards you.

Regulus denied with his head and pulled a book out of his bag as you and Sirius continued planning your escapade.

You’d be in charge of the money exchange process since you already had done it before and knew how the entire process worked, Sirius would make fake muggle passports for the two of you, so you could get rid of the parental signs and age requirements they ask for in the park, Regulus, as he’d said before, would stay, but he’d make sure to cover for you in case you parents started looking for the two, he was still against it, but you had convinced to at least do that for you.

After days of careful planning, the opportunity finally presented itself, your parents would have a very busy schedule with some magical presentations happening at the hotel and the three of you would have the day to yourselves.

“So… tomorrow, we have everything?” You asked Sirius.

He nodded “Fake passports, the money, the bus that’ll take us there. We’ll depart at 7, the park opens at 11 because it’s a Tuesday, but we’ll be dropped off at the city and from there, we have to take a taxi or something to get to the park.”

“Perfect.”

“You know, you can still call it off,” said Regulus, peering from his book, “At least consider it tonight.”

The two of you turned towards him, every time the subject came up, Regulus would say something similar “It’ll be ok Reg, just promise you’ll cover for us,” you pleaded.

He took a deep breath but turned his face towards you and nodded unconvinced “Just be very careful, you don’t know how angry our parents can get.”

You took that as an exaggeration, after all, Sirius had played it as such for the longest time. You couldn’t have been more mistaken. You should’ve listened. But the idea of a day full of adventure next to Sirius was just too intoxicating for you to pay attention to the alarm system activating in your head, after all, the minute you’d met Walburga you’d known something was wrong with her.

“We’ll be fine, Reg, stop acting like a chicken,” Sirius said, diverting your attention again.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Leve a comment if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

Want to support me? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi <3 or just reblogging this post

Raead more Marauders Fiction

A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

453 notes · View notes

royalsunshinehotel · 7 months

Text

a weaker woman (Sergei Kravinoff x Reader, 18+)

A/N: First of a hopefully productive kinktober. Breeding/lactation kink I guess, reader is kind of a captive on purpose (beauty and the beast)

Since coming to know Sergei Kravinoff, you had been the happiest you’d ever been. As his sweetheart, his mate, you’d wanted for nothing, and that included all of him.

Of course, it wasn’t always like this.

Here you sat, comfortably in your shared bed, having fallen asleep waiting for Kraven to come home. You’d expected him in the late afternoon, and here you were, at 10pm, alone.

It wasn’t just that he was late, it was the ache, deep in your heart. The only kind of pain you felt whenever Sergei was away.

It was nothing that couldn’t be managed with time with your son, or time alone with your hands, but pain would still be pain.

The air in your bedroom felt too hot. Combined with the hormones from your latest pregnancy, you didn’t wear many clothes anymore.

He’s in the corner, staring at you while you doze, while he did prefer you comfortable, it did nothing to stop him from salivating at your exposed form.

If he had a thousand years, he could never articulate how flawlessly and appetizing you looked. Your hair had grown long, your belly round, your tits fat. You could barely get up from a chair without help, and by some stroke of good fortune, you were all his.

By good fortune, he meant his father, but not entirely all things for him.

You were here, calm, and about to become the mother of his second child, and he owed all of it to a shoddy revenge plot.

A scientist, hired to distract him, had somehow worked out wonderfully well. Your eldest, almost one year, was across the hall, and your second, a little girl, was due within the next month. Timing was truly everything.

While he did fancy himself a reasonable man, after your true motives had been revealed, he thought he’d keep you as his whore. He’d already gotten you pregnant, and he’d intended to take the baby away, to punish you. As if any of this was your fault.

And, despite the betrayal, despite the distraction he’d wrought on his won mansion, you’d wanted for nothing. In ‘captivity’, you’d given birth at home, in the company of the best medical team he could buy…for his son, he’d told himself.

Sergei wanted to laugh, standing in the dark. He really thought he could keep you as a toy, something to breed to keep away the boredom.

You smelled like heaven when he filled you with him.

From the first moment Kraven watched your wide eyes roll, and struggle to stay open while he stretched you around him, he knew he simply wouldn’t be able to give you up. Breeding his father’s spy hadn’t been an accident. He’d gone and fallen in love.

Unfortunately for you, you’d felt this way almost since the beginning. Sergei hadn’t believed you when you came clean about your connection to his father, and your pregnancy, so you had decided to wait it out.

Maybe, if you were lucky, he could mourn the person he thought you were, and realize reality and fiction weren’t that different.

“The payoff would be worth it,” is something you’d whisper to yourself whenever the doubt crept in.

Sergei and his temper, making grand threats he’d never be able to complete, while you stayed by his side. He’d never actually wanted someone before, and he’d never had someone stay.

Sergei loved you too, this is what made your time in ‘captivity’ bearable. He could call you his whore, as long as he kept coming back to you.

The feeling of having such an angelic, ferocious man wake you in the night, to warm his cock while he sucked on your breasts, would make a weaker woman’s head spin.

He could hurl as many insults as he liked, have a tantrum if he wanted, but you wouldn’t budge. Though you were technically a captive, you love him, and you won’t move.

The payoff would be worth it.

Sergei was right there with you the day your son was born, and from that day, you knew it was only a matter of time before he’d bred you again properly.

God knows he would try.

You’d agree to marry him in the days after, and he’d fuck you full of him. You wouldn’t be a “whore” or a “pet”, you’d be his wife.

Sergei would treat you as such, in most ways at least.

You’d both come so far in such a short amount of time…

Gently pulling a strand of hair from your cheek, he pulls you from your rest. Taking a moment to admire your body, he pulls the blanket down to reveal more softness.

“Sergei?” You question, reaching in the dark.

“Yes my love, I'm here.”

His weight bends the mattress, hanging over you. He keeps most of his weight off to not distress your condition. You hum happily at his warmth, and Sergei sees fit to trace his sharp nose around your nipple, with a sharp inhale.

From the day your son was born, the tantalizing scent of your milk had brought Kraven back from the edge. He had been addicted to you the whole damn time. Yet, he perfectly balanced it with love, just as someone should.

It’s a sweet gesture, somehow, shoving his face into your breasts. It’s sweet, and just like your pussy, he uses his teeth.

You moan, almost a plea, as your husband holds you.

A chaste kiss to your lips, and you squirm. You’re still half-asleep when Sergei traces large, warm hands down your belly, right to where you need attention.

Long fingers tease your entrance, and you move your hips as best you could into him.

It’s just been too hard without him, and damn near ridiculous.

He’s made you stupid. All those years of school, all that work, and you were about to give birth to your second child in two years.

You have a PhD for fuck’s sake.

Sergei loves that he’s made you stupid. He swirls his tongue around your areola kneading as he pleased.

Your milk had come in, with plenty to spare, and he was taking his fill freely, in the way he usually would.

His mouth, god you loved his mouth, but “Cock! I wan’ cock!” You struggle to get words out, but you’re smiling. He always makes sure you’re smiling.

It’s not that complicated. You just want to feel him deep inside you, scraping against parts you never knew about. You could make as many children as he wanted as long as he never left.

As long as he kept touching you like this.

Sergei pulls off your breast, earning a whimper, your wide eyes make his hair stand on end, and he has to ask, “I want more,” he growls, “Will you give them to me?”

“Yes”

A/N: I can’t lie, not as kinky and graphic as I had hoped, but this is heavily based on conversations with @false-girl-prophet about her OC, Grace. I guess we’ll see Daddy Kraven next August

#sergei kravinoff #kraven #kraven the hunter #kraven x reader #kraven x you #kraven smut #aaron taylor johnson #smut #kinktober #ugh

397 notes · View notes

gallavichsreddie1128 · 11 days

Text

Forget (Homelander)

Description: Homelander losses his memory and becomes a completely different person until Vought wants him back.

Warning: Some Smut

Word Count:4,828k

She sat in the hospital holding his hand as he laid on the bed in what was almost a coma. He was beat up pretty bad, not that he didn’t deserve it but she still saw the good in him. He was her husband after all. She couldn’t blame The Boys for what they did even though they almost killed him. She still had deep hatred for them but it was understandable. Homelander was a dark man but to her he was nice and caring. To an extent that is.

He didn’t know how to do the most basic of things like making mac and cheese and doing laundry. She was the one who did that and bought groceries. He simply didn’t know how to do anything like that. She understood that he had a different life than most so she wasn’t upset by this. She was really upset that she had been told that even though he is a Supe he probably wouldn’t have a lot of memory or any at all. Tears were in her eyes as she stared at him. She wished he would just wake up and assure her that he’s okay.

It wouldn’t be till 2 days later that he would wake up. He groaned and let his eyes adjust to the bright light of the hospital room. He looked around and saw a woman in the chair next to him who was asleep. He didn’t recognize her at all. “Where am I?” He groaned. She opened her eyes and jumped up at the sound of his voice. “You’re okay!” She said and grabbed his hand. He looked at her confused. Why was she holding his hand? “Who are you?” He asked her. Her face dropped and she wanted to cry. “I’m your wife.” She told him. “And you are a superhero called Homelander.” “Who?” He asked.

Homelander would hate this guy. She pulled out her phone and pulled up pictures of them and him as Homelander. He looked at the photos and didn’t remember anything. He looked at her. “That’s me?” He asked. She nodded and gave him a small smile. “Yup. And here is our wedding photo.” She said, handing him the frame. He looked at the photo and smiled a little. “You look so beautiful.” He said. “That was the only time I could get you out of your suit.” She said with tears in her eyes. She smiled at the memory.

“Will you please just wear this?” Y/N begged him. He didn’t want to wear anything but his suit. His all american dream suit. He rolled his eyes and took the suit. She smiled and he looked at it. He then looked at her. “Only because you want me too.” He groaned. She had been begging him for months, since they got engaged. He refused until this point that she had the suit in her hand.

“Why would I never take off the suit?” He asked her. She shrugged. “You loved it and it made you feel secure.” He looked down thinking that sounded ridiculous. “Sounds a bit extreme.” He said and that made her giggle. Hearing her giggle made him smile. “You wouldn’t have ever said anything like that. That’s good to hear.” She said and took the frame from him. “Do you remember anything at all?” She asked, softly. He shook his head. “Your name is John. John Gillman.” “What’s yours?” He asked her. “Y/N Gillman.” He smiled at that. “How long have we been married?” “4 years.” She said. “When do we get to go home?” He asked her. “Hopefully soon.” She said to him.

They walked into his penthouse and he looked around it. He was in awe at how big it was and how amazing it looked. Y/N smiled as she noticed his amazement. “Pretty cool, right?” She asked. “Yeah.” He breathed out. It was odd for her to see him in regular clothes. She thought he looked so handsome and down to earth like that. They walked to the bedroom and she opened the door. He stepped inside like it was his first time.

He walked to his side of the bed and saw a picture of them on the desk beside the bed. He picked it up. It was a pic of him in his suit and her in a beautiful red dress. “That’s actually one of my favorite pictures.” She said, walking up to him. “You look so happy. And not fake for the camera, happy, actually happy.” She said. “Did I not like the cameras and the attention?” He asked. She shook her head. “You loved the attention but not the cameras and having to act like you liked everyone.” She chuckled a bit.

He set the photo back on the desk and looked around some more. “What was I like?” He asked her. “Well to me you were sweet and caring but you had an ego. You loved to scream to the world at any given moment that you were the Homelander and that you could do whatever you wanted.” “I sound like a dick.” Her eyes widened at his statement. She never would have thought that he would ever say anything like that. “Yeah, I guess.” She said. “I’m so hungry.” He said after checking out the bedroom. “What would you like?” She asked. “What did I eat?” “Well you ate a lot of things but you love Milk.” He chuckled. “Milk?” She nodded.

They walked to the kitchen and she opened the fridge and showed her 4 cartons of Milk. “What the fuck?” He asked and laughed. She laughed as well. “Yeah you loved your milk.” He closed the fridge and they chuckled. “I can make you mac and cheese?” She asked, pulling out the box. “Let me help.” He said. She looked at him shocked. “What?” He asked, taking the box out of her hands. “You just never made food, like ever.” “Wait what? You did all of the cooking?” He asked. She nodded. “You never knew how to.” His jaw dropped at her words. “So I didn’t help you?” “Well if you count standing over my shoulder while I cook, helping.” He laughed and shook his head. “For once, Let me make this.” She nodded and let him make it.

He sat the bowls on the table and she took a bite. For Mac and Cheese it was amazing. He looked at her waiting for her to say something. “This is pretty good.” She said and took another bite. He chuckled and shrugged. “It was pretty easy.” He said and started eating. It was amazing, It was like he was a whole new person but still himself. He didn’t seem to be into the Homelander persona which she never thought was possible.

“Do you wanna try it on?” She asked him as he stared at the suit. It was folded on the bed with the cape and gloves. The boots on the floor next to the bed. “I guess I can.” He said. He took off his clothes and she admired his body. The beautiful body he had that she never really got to see, thanks to that suit. As he was putting it on she got nervous that he wouldn’t wanna take it off again. It took him some time but he got the suit on. She let out a breath she was holding as she looked at him. He looked like Homelander again. “Do you wanna see yourself in it?” She asked. He went to the full size mirror on the back of the door. He looked at himself and wanted to laugh. I mean he didn’t think he looked bad but it wasn’t something to wear all the time. Suddenly his mind flashed with him giving a speech to a group of people. “I’m not like the rest of you, I’m better, I’m bigger, I am better!” His head started hurting and he hissed.

She ran over to him and helped him sit down on the bed. “John, are you okay?” She asked, worried. “Yeah, that was weird.” He said. “What was?” He stood up and began taking it off. “I need to get this thing off.” He said almost destroying the suit. She stood up and helped him take it off. As she was helping him they ended up making eye contact. He dropped the shirt on the ground and she held her breath. He leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was soft and slow. A kiss that Homelander never could do. It was nice.

“Annie, it’s like he’s a completely different person. He doesn’t have the ego or same personality. I mean he thinks this Homelander persona is laughable.” She explained as they ate. “Has he tried on the suit?” Annie asked. Y/N nodded and shrugged. “He wanted to get it off right away.” She smiled at her friend but then frowned. “Billy is still after him. The Boys are still after him.” Annie told her. “Well, can’t we just explain that John has no memory of anything?” Annie shrugged. “Maybe. But what about Vought?” Y/N didn’t even think about Vought. “I wasn’t even thinking about them.” Annie grabbed her hands. “I will take you to the boys and you can explain to them and then we will worry about Vought.” Y/N nodded.

Annie sighed and opened the door to their apartment. Y/N had never been here before or even knew much about The Boys, other than the fact that they wanted her husband dead. They walked in and saw them at the kitchen table. “Guys, this is Homelander’s wife. Y/N.” Annie introduced her. Y/N waved at them holding back the part of her that wanted to rip them apart. “If ya here for an apology ya can just leave out the door ya came in.” Billy told her. “I’m not here for that.” She said. “Then why are you here?” Hughie asked her. She sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. “When you guys almost killed my husband he lost his memories. He doesn’t remember anything about being Homelander or you guys.” Y/N explained. They all looked at her confused and shocked.

“Ya mean to tell me that cunt doesn't remember all he’s done?” Billy asked after processing it. She nodded and looked at her hands. “Have you explained to him?” Frenchie asked. “He knows that Homelander was an egotistical asshole but I didn’t tell him anything about you guys.” She said, looking at them. “What if he gets his memories back?” MM asked her. “What if he doesn’t?” Billy chuckled. “He’s a Supe, luv. He will, it just might take longer.” “I mean maybe he won’t.” Annie said. “He doesn’t even like the suit. He wanted it off moments after getting it on.” Y/N told them. Billy shook his head.

“Why ya telling us this?” “You guys don’t have to go after him anymore.” Billy laughed, an actually laugh. “You think just because ya husband lost memories means he shouldn’t suffer for what he did?” “He did suffer. You guys almost killed him!” She exclaimed. “Good. That fucker should be dead. Sorry that he’s ya husband but that was a choice you made.” Billy stood up. “You’re going after someone that mentally didn’t do that stuff. That isn’t fair.” She growled. “Him killing my wife wasn’t fair!” Billy yelled. Everyone went silent and she glared at him. “Revenge has gotten you nowhere but being a miserable old cunt.” she said and stood up. Billy glared at her as she left.

She looked at John as he came out of the bathroom in PJ pants and a white shirt. She never saw him like this before but it was nice. A good nice. He got into bed with her and kissed her. “You okay?” He asked. She nodded and cupped his face. “It’s just weird to see you in regular clothes.” She said. “Well better get used to it cuz I’m never putting on that suit again.” He tells her and pulls her to his chest. “I like the sound of that.” She mumbles against his chest.

“Vought wants to speak to him.” Annie told her. She sighed and put her head in her hands. She was worried that they were gonna manipulate him. “Do we have a choice?” She asked. Annie shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Vought wants to speak to you. I’m gonna take you there tomorrow.” Y/N told him as they ate dinner. “The place that made me Homelander?” He asked. She nodded. “Yes.” “Why?” She sighed. “They wanna see if they can bring your memories of Homelander back.” “I’ve watched videos of who I was before and I don’t wanna go back to that.” He told her. “I understand. I don’t want you to either. That place manipulated you.” She told him. “Then why am I going there?” “Because John they are powerful and we aren’t.” She told him.

“You want him to put on the suit and act like he’s okay?” Y/N asked in disgust. “John has his own voice. He can speak for himself.” Stan Edgar said. John sat next to his wife as they bickered unimpressed with the conversation. “I don’t wanna act like this guy. That’s not me.” John said to the man. “It is you and you will be.” He growled.

John stared at the suit as it laid out on the couch in the dressing room. He was supposed to put it on and act like Homelander. Vought didn’t want the world knowing that their best “Hero” lost his memory. Y/N entered his dressing room. “I’m sorry you have to do this.” She said. He looked at her. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He said and kissed her head. “It felt weird having that thing on.” He told her. “Yeah, I bet.” She said. “Have you been practicing your powers?” She asked him. “Yeah but it’s not good enough to fly away from the scene yet.” He said. “I almost wanna go out there in regular clothes and tell the world the truth.” He told her. She smiled at that. “Would be nice. Wouldn’t it?” She asked. “Yeah. It would.” He sighed. “Homelander you’re on in 5.” Ashley yelled through the door. He looked at his wife. “It would be nice so that’s what i’m gonna do.” He told her.

“Where is your suit?” Ashley asked as they walked. “In the dressing room.” He told her. “Why isn’t it on?” “It’s not me.” He told her. “Please Welcome Homelander!” Starlight yelled into the mic. The crowd went wild and John walked on the stage. The Crowd was confused by his attire. Annie’s eyes widened. Y/N watched his nerves as he took the mic from Annie. “I assume you guys all came for a speech from Homelander. I’m sure that’s what you guys wanted. But uh that’s not gonna happen tonight. You see Homelander isn’t who I am. That’s not me anymore. What Vought doesn’t want you to know is that I lost my memory in a horrible accident.” The crowd gasped. “Vought wanted me to come out here and pretend that nothing happened to me but I won’t. I can’t. I have no more memory of this Homelander and that suit is too much. So I wanted to say that the last you saw of Homelander was before my accident. I have a wife that I love very much and that’s all that matters to me.” The crowd awes. Y/N has tears in her eyes.

He hands the mic back to Annie and walks off the stage. The crowd didn’t know how to react. Some cheering and some confused. “Well would ya look at that. That cunt really has no memory.” Billy says as they watch the TV. “He just told the entire world he’s not Homelander anymore.” Hughie said, staring at the screen. John walked over to his wife and took her hands. “I can’t believe you just did that.” She said. “Well believe it because I’m not doing whatever the hell this is.” He told her.

Stan Edgar watched the TV in his office in rage. The news was already covering it and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He had to get him back in that suit. Even if it was the last thing he did.

Y/N woke up to find that John wasn’t next to her. She looked around the room barely awake and sighed. She got up and stretched. She heard ruckus in the kitchen and went to check it out. The smell of Eggs filled the house as she saw him making some. She smiled and walked over to him. He was humming and jumped a little as he felt her arms wrap around him. “Morning sunshine.” He said. She mumbled a morning into his shirt. “I made you Eggs.” He said and put them on the plate. She pulled away and took the plate from him with a thank you.

She heard the toaster go off and she took out the toast. She went to the fridge and opened it to grab the butter. She saw the 4 cartons of Milk and laughed. “You ever gonna drink this milk?” She asked him. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Well you used to love it.” She said walking back over to her toast. “I used to love being a narcissistic asshole too.” He pointed out. She nodded as she put more toast in the toaster for him. “Fair point.” She said, taking her plate to the table. He followed not too long after and sat down across from her. “Thanks for making breakfast. It’s really good.” She said. “You’re welcome.” He said. “Are you getting used to everything around here?” She asked him.

“Yeah. Just not my powers, I don’t want them.” He told her. “I’m sorry.” She said with a frown. “It’s Vought’s fault.” He said. “We should sue them.” He suggested. She wanted to laugh at such a suggestion but thought against it. “Yeah I wish it were that simple.” She said. “The world knows about what they did and how there aren’t any born superheroes.” He told her. “I agree babe. But you were a lab experiment.” She said. “Yeah well I didn’t wanna be.” He got up and got a glass from the cabinet. He got out one of the gallons of Milk and poured himself a glass. He came back to the table and sat down. She smiled as she saw the full glass of Milk. He took a sip from the glass and moaned.

She covered her mouth as she tried not to laugh. She watched as he finished the glass. “That was so good.” He said. She burst out laughing and he chuckled. “Take it, that's how I acted before.” She shook her head. “You got aroused.” She giggled. He looked at her confused. “By Milk?” He asked. She nodded. “You told me you wanted to get me pregnant just so you could suck the milk out of my breasts.” He looked at her, weirdly. “Wow. I sound like a creep.” He said. “Honestly it was kinda hot.” She said. Her face red from the confession. He nodded. “Well, I guess I know what to say now to get you turned on.” He joked. “Me too.” She said, motioning towards the milk.

“You’re very close with Homelander’s wife…” Stan trailed off, not caring to remember her name. “Y/N.” Annie finished for him. He nodded. “Yes I am.” She said. “Good because I need you to get through to her for me.” She looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?” “She’s the obvious reason he doesn’t wanna be himself anymore. So I need you to get her to convince him to get back in the suit.” He tells Annie. “But he doesn’t wanna be in the suit.” She says. “I don’t care.” He growls. “He is our top Hero here, We need him back even if it’s fake. And if we don’t then we will make a villain out of him and kill his wife.”

“That’s what he said? He’s gonna kill me if I don’t get John back in the suit?” Y/N asked Annie. “Yeah, he said that even if he has to fake being himself.” Y/N shakes her head. “Annie, that’ll never work, he already told the world that he doesn’t wanna be Homelander anymore and that he doesn’t remember anything.” She says. Annie takes a sip of her coffee. “Well maybe you can talk him back into it.” She suggests. Y/N shook her head. “Annie, I don’t think you understand. He doesn’t want to put it back on. It hurt him and he’s seen the videos. He doesn’t wanna be that.” Annie nodded and felt guilty about the wire she was wearing. But she didn’t want Y/N to die. “Are you afraid that if he stays in the suit, he’ll get his memory back?” Annie asked her.

“Interesting.” Stan said as he listened to the recording over and over again. Annie sat in the seat with guilt. She knew that Homelander was a different guy and that Y/N was happy about that. But her life was at risk and Annie wasn’t going to let her die. “So, we get him in the suit and keep him in it.” Stan says like this was the greatest idea of all time. Annie didn’t say anything but knew that was the only way.

Y/N and John laid in their bed laughing. “I can’t believe we barely ever did this.” He said as they cuddled. “Yeah well you were always busy with Vought.” She said. He groaned at the name. “Yeah well that will be no more. Fuck that place honestly.” He said. Y/N turned around in his arms. She looked at him with love and smiled. Her fingers traced his face. He looked at her with love as well. “I love you.” He whispered. She smiled and said it back. She leaned in and kissed him. He kissed her back. They softly made out as his hands rubbed up and down her back. She was in one of his shirts. Her hands were cupping his face.

He pulled her on top of him as they kept kissing. Once they couldn’t breathe anymore, they pulled away panting. “John.” she whispered. “I uh, I think I want a baby.” He whispered against her hips. She bit her lip. “Not to drink Milk out of your boobs.” He said and she laughed. She leaned down and kissed him again. His hands moved to her ass and squeezed, making her gasp. He slipped his tongue in her mouth. As they made out he flipped her to the bottom and pulled his shirt off. She helped him pull his sweats down just enough for him to be able to get inside of her. He lifted the shirt so he could enter her, making them both gasp. “Fuck.” He groans. He doesn’t remember much about having sex with her but this was way better than he could imagine. Her hands gripped his back muscles as he thrusted in her. “John.” She whispered.

This is the worst thing that could ever happen. She didn’t know how they ended up in this situation. All she knew was that the second he got the suit back on, it would be over. He would change and not be the loving husband he’s been for a few months. She sobbed as she watched Stan give him the suit and tell him, “You put this on and go out there and act like you’re Homelander or your wife dies. It’s your choice.” Why couldn’t they just be happy? Why did he have to do this? John looked scared, for once in his life.

He looked at the man with fear and hatred. He didn’t want to put the suit back on. He didn’t wanna put on a face for millions of people. He just wanted to be John. He looked at Y/N with sorrow and mouthed an I’m sorry as he took the suit from Stan’s hands. She screamed and cried as he changed out of his regular clothes to put the suit on. Tears brimmed his eyes as he sighed and put on the suit.

“So what are you saying?” Y/N asked Annie. She sighed and looked at the couple. “Stan believes if you put back on the suit you will get your memory back and become your old self.” She said to them. John looked at Y/N. “But that can’t happen, right? That can’t be possible.” Y/N sighed. When he first put on the suit he held his head in pain and wanted the suit off as soon as possible. It would make sense. “I don’t know.” She whispered. “But he’s gonna try to get you to put it back on.” She tells him. “Well, I'm not going to.” He says and takes her hand. “John, he’s threatening Y/N’s life.” Annie told him. “I don’t know if you have a choice.”

He didn’t. He wasn’t gonna let Y/N die. Y/N couldn’t even look as her husband put back on the suit. Tears streamed down her face as she closed her eyes. She heard John yell in pain and collapse on the floor. He wanted the suit off so bad but fought against it. All the memories of him as Homelander came rushing to his brain. All the fake and awful things he said to the world, and did hit him like a truck. Until it stopped. The room fell silent and Y/N opened her eyes. She saw him get up and though he looked the same, something was off. “John?” She whispered. He looked over at her and she wanted to cry. He had that look in his eye. The Homelander look. “You’re on in 5, Homelander.” Stan said to him.

He looked away from his wife to look at Stan. “Keep an eye out on her, she looks like a mess.” He said before exiting the room. Y/N broke down in sobs again. “What did you do?” She cried. “I fixed him. He is what he is now. What he’s meant to be.” He said to her. “No. No he’s not. You ruined him, ever since he was a baby. He had a chance and you took that from him.” She yelled at Stan. He looked at her with no emotion on his face. “Y/N sooner or later you will realize that he is perfect just the way he is and you can’t change. You never could. You had your fun but it’s over now. Accept it.”

She sat in the penthouse and cried, cried her little heart out as she held the positive pregnancy test in her hand. Of course she wanted a baby, the planned it. But that was before he put the suit on and became his old self. What would he do? How would he react? She didn’t have time to really think as she heard him arrive. She started to panic and looked for a place to hide the test but he appeared all too fast. “What’s that in your hand?” He asked her. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes as she stuttered over her words. “A pregnancy test?” He asked. She nodded, unable to speak. He took it from her shaky hands and examined it. “So, you’re pregnant?” “Yes.” His face didn’t show any emotion, making her scared for her life.

He slowly broke into a smile and he hugged her. She was shocked but hugged him back. “This is perfect.” He sighed. She pulled back and looked up at him, confused. “Y-you want a baby?” She asked. He chuckled and cupped her face. “I mean sure. But I'm more excited about how your body is gonna look and how full your boobs will be.” He said, checking her out. “I can practically smell it.” She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry but didn’t show any emotion about what he said. “Now, how about you make us some dinner?” He asked but more so demanded.

She didn’t nod or say anything. She just walked into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. It all felt like a dream, all the good times they recently just had. None of it seemed to be real. Honestly, she wished that it wasn’t. Maybe if he didn’t lose his memory she wouldn’t know what he would be like then. That would have been for the better. Because at the end of day she realized as she grabbed the mac and cheese from the cabinet and started the water, she wasn’t in love with him anymore. She was just in love with the person he was for months. She was in love with the memory. She was in love with John.

#the boys #the boys imagine #the boys amazon #homelander #homelander smut #homelander imagine #homelander x reader #homelander x you #antony starr #x fem!reader

90 notes · View notes

gayerthanevertbh · 11 months

Text

pretty when you cry.

pairings: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

n.r masterlist | navigation | n.r one-shots masterlist

summary: you and nastaha were once a happy couple, until she became a whole different person.

warnings: extremely toxic!natasha, degrading, alcoholism, verbal abuse, cheating, pure angst - 18+ MINORS DNI.

author’s note: just did this anon request! hopefully you enjoy this!

Natasha was the ideal girlfriend. She was tenacious, loving, generous, and irresistibly romantic, among other qualities that are difficult to put into words. The redhead was everything through your mending heart during the first year of your relationship. She took you on daily dates, brought you flowers every week, took care of you whenever school got in the way, and would make love to you in your bed until the sun rose again. She took you to her favorite forest, where she had a small cabin in the middle of the woods, and you'd sometimes spend time alone with her there. You sighed at those happy memories, they were once good when she suddenly transforms into a completely different person.

"I'm going to the compound for a bit," Natasha murmured as she grabbed her coat and walked to the front door without looking over her shoulder or even kissing goodbye. "You don't need to cook dinner; Steve will do it anyway."

You only responded with a nod, knowing she wouldn't say anything else but leave the house. As soon as she was gone, you could feel your own tears streaming down your cheeks, not knowing when they would stop. The pain consumed you, the loneliness fed into your system, and the sense of betrayal lingered in your mind for a long time. One thing is certain: you're not sure if you still trust Natasha. Would you? She's been acting this way for nearly two years, so you're not sure if she's still faithful to you.

You'd like to believe she was still faithful.

When the sun goes down and the air becomes colder, you decide to go to bed early because you were expecting Natasha to be late. You were used to this routine because she was gone every night. She'd come home around midnight on occasion, but most of the time she'd return the next day but not sleep in the same bed as you. She'd either sleep in the other room or on the couch, drunk from the night before. Most of the time, she comes home and then goes out to drink with her friends. The Avengers were no longer her friends; they had turned against her because of everything she had done to you. You were constantly fighting, which caused the older woman to leave the house. And whenever you mentioned these fights to Sam, he'd always say, "I told you so, Y/n."

He was right, but you still had your hopes for your girlfriend.

Surprisingly, before you got to bed, Natasha came home early that night – not even intoxicated. She goes to the kitchen and pours herself some orange juice, while lighting a cigarette from her mouth. You leaned against the countertop and asked, “Why are you home early?”

The woman scoffed.

“Can I not be home early?”

“Of course you can,” you stated quietly under your breath, knowing that within the next few seconds she would be yelling at you. “I don’t know, it’s just that you are never home.”

“I got work, Y/n. I save people’s lives, I need a fucking break from all of this shit in my life.”

You are not saving our relationship.

Knowing that she was right for the whole time, you decided to end the conversation there by saying: “Okay, you’re right. I’m going to bed.”

But she didn’t stop there, she continued to speak.

“What have you been doing all day?” she asked, almost in a condescending tone. She swung the cigarette away from her lips, chuckling. “I bet you were just lying down in bed all day, expecting me to give you everything.”

“I work too, Nat,” you sighed, pressing your fingers onto your forehead. “I don’t want to fight, okay? Can't we just go to bed?”

“You’re avoiding this conversation.”

“That’s because I know what you’re going to say.”

“What do you want me to tell you, hm?” she takes a few steps closer to your frail body, looking down at you with so much power in her green eyes. You dared yourself not to gaze back at her, because if you did – you were doomed. “Look at me!”

“I can’t.” you whispered with a voice crack, causing her to groan.

"You're so difficult to talk to," she grumbled, hurling a glass against the wall, which splattered all over the floor, your body flinching at the harsh sound. She didn't bother to console you, and she was even moved by the sound of your whimper. "You little bitch, don't cry at me. You expect me to give you everything you fucking want?!"

“I don’t even ask for anything anymore, Natasha!” you yelled back at her, wiping the tears away using the back of your hand. “We barely talk! Do you expect me to ask something from you when we don’t even communicate?”

“But that’s what you are, a greedy bitch!”

You let out a painful sob as the sound of her voice and the use of her words made your knees weaken. She's been calling you these things lately. You tried your hardest to remain strong, but it eventually caught up with you. It really does.

"I-" you stammered, afraid to look into her angry eyes. She was breathing heavily through her nose, pleading with you to speak up. “I don’t want to fight, please.”

"You keep avoiding this type of shit," she said vaguely. "Whenever I called you out, you'd tell me to go to bed. Y/n, I'm not a fucking kid. "I'm an adult!"

“Then act like one!”

Natasha raises her hand to strike you as you close your eyes, but she stops. She looked at you for a moment before dropping her hand, noticing that she was completely unaware of what she was doing, despite the fact that she wasn't drunk. She sighed as she pinched her nose bridge, mumbling: “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

"Whatever," you replied, walking back to your room and closing the bedroom door behind you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, knowing that you would have to leave her at any moment.

What happened to us?

The next few days were crucial. You and Natasha never discussed that night, and she never intended to. You were fine with the idea because it was just another way to avoid a fight, but you also wanted your girlfriend back to the way she used to be. Despite your optimism, you were beginning to give up. You had a strong feeling she would never return. She'll stay this way forever.

For some ethical reason, you took a visit to the compound, finding out if Natasha was there or not. When Tony let you in, you were surprised that she wasn’t there. Huh, you thought. Where has she gone?

“She’s not here, Y/n,” said Tony from behind. “She uhm… left somewhere.”

You turned over your shoulder, giving him a frown. What did he mean by that exactly?

“Can you tell me where she is?”

"I'm not sure if I should," he admitted, his face flushed. He rested both of his hands on his waist, still debating whether or not to tell you. He continued, “I think you’ll be very angry if I–”

Steve speaks up, his arm crossed. “You should tell her, Tony. She is entitled to know.”

"But Natasha is our family," he said. Were you also not family? His words pierced your heart, as if a knife had been thrust through it. “She’ll be very upset.”

"We've been upset with your girlfriend for a long time," the old man sighed, leaning uncomfortably against the wall. You sat down on the stool, silently requesting that he continue. "She's been cold with us, and there's something you should know before it's too late."

"I'm sorry," Tony apologizes to you. You could tell he was sincere because his eyes weren't looking back at you, and you already knew where this was going. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, sweetheart."

“Tell me what’s going on.” you whispered in final, hearing Steve breathe deeply.

"Natasha has been flirting with one of our young recruits for the past year," Steve said, his head low. "But she's gone now because Natasha asked her to. We couldn't get a hold of her, but she had every right to leave. She had no idea Natasha had a girlfriend, which made her very upset. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be mad at the girl, but that’s what happened.”

You have known this from the very beginning; all you needed to do was stop wishing that Natasha would change into a better person. There was a mixture of anger and sadness in your throat, and you didn't care much if you cried in front of them.

"Oh," you murmured, unsure what to say next..

“I know this is very hard for you, and I’m sorry that you had to hear it this way. You deserve to know what she has been doing, Y/n.”

“Did they ever had sex?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not too sure about that, but maybe they have.”

"They probably did," Tony says. "Natasha is family, but we don't support her actions. We all know how much she loves you, but I don’t think she’s right for you.”

"That is certainly a wake-up call," you sniffled, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. "I had a feeling she'd do something like this, let alone fuck them. I'm not sure if there are any more girls. I just…”

I just want to love you again, but I don’t know how.

You were disgusted by the thought of Natasha fucking another girl. Were you not providing her with the satisfaction she required? Most importantly, what happened to you? You had a feeling you were the source of the problem, but you couldn't hurt Natasha in this way - it was too much.

All you know is that you wanted to leave her, you didn’t care if she cheated on you, you just wanted to stay away from her presence.

“I’m going home then,” you stood up from the stool as you walked towards the front door, giving them a small smile from your lips. “I’ll see you when I’m around.”

You quickly left the compound and returned home with a scream, throwing vases around the living room area as you reflected on the times Natasha had degraded you as a person, doing infidelity scenarios behind your back, doing the things you were supposed to do with her without your presence. You returned to your old bedroom with her as you packed your belongings, leaving the jewelry she had given you as well as the books she had also given you. You had enough of her horrible behavior; you were done being hers.

Natasha returned home a few hours later, with broken glasses all over the floor, ruined picture frames from the wall, and the bedroom thrashed with pure rage. When she looked at you, you were sitting on the ground, and she already knew what was going on - she was just too embarrassed to admit it.

You muttered to yourself, your eyes getting heavy, “You finally came home.”

She asked with a choking sound in her voice, “Did they tell you?”

“They told me everything.”

“Can we talk about it?” she asked, her voice becoming softer as she looked at you.

“If you're willing to change,” you said so bitterly that you didn't recognize yourself. “If you're willing to give up the girls you've been messaging.”

“I will,” she rushed onto her knees and embraced you, kissing your collarbone. But this did not seem to have much of an effect on you, as you continued to have a trusting nature toward the woman who has caused you god knows how many problems. “I promise I will, okay?" I'm sorry, baby. I'm truly sorry. I didn't intend for this to happen.”

You nodded, your nails digging through her jacket, wishing that you could die today without being hers. But if you didn't have her, then who were you to begin with?

“I know,” you patted her back as you felt her lips lightly brush against your skin. “I know, don’t worry.”

Natasha was only perfect for a week before returning to her old routine after convincing you to stay. She was out of the house once more, drinking until she passed out on the road, then texting a girl on her phone with no shame. You were sick of her by this point. You were tired of being her partner in everything, of being her individual. Heck, she never asked you to marry her, so you weren’t that serious for Natasha. You felt lonelier and lonelier, until you were consumed by the thought of being a bad person for leaving her again.

But you knew tonight was the night of leaving, and Natasha had to just take the fact about it.

The redhead came home around midnight – as expected – and sat down with you, surprisingly kissing your knuckles. But you pulled away instantly, disgusted by her. She frowned.

“What’s wrong? I’m trying to be affectionate here.”

“I saw you texting another girl.”

She laughed, scratching her nose. “I was texting Maria about the mission, that’s all.”

“Maria isn’t named Angela,” you pointed out with a dead pan look on your face. “You don’t talk sex with Maria, you also don’t text her about it. So why would Maria be in your favorites then?”

Natasha sighed, cupping her face as she could feel irritation boiling through her veins.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s always that,” you chuckled with sarcasm, standing up from the table as you picked up your duffel bag from the kitchen floor. Natasha raised her chin, noticing that you were holding two bags. She gulped and stood up slowly, trying to hold your face. “Don’t touch me, I’m leaving you.”

“I know I’m stupid, okay? And I'm sorry,” her voice was pleading, and you were sick of hearing it. She pulls you into a hug before shoving her away from your tired body, marching you to the front door until she blocks your path. “I love you, I’m still in love with you! Don’t leave me, please. Baby, don’t.”

“Move out my way, Romanoff.”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chanted, her cold hands meeting your arms and stroking your skin as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her pupils were bloodshot. “I’m just going through something right now, I’m sorry. Please, my love, stay. Don’t go, don’t leave…”

You sobbed loudly, stomping your foot on the ground pitifully. “God damn it, Natasha! You always do this! You only tell me you love me the minute I’m leaving you, and it makes me feel tired! I’m tired of you, don’t you understand that?”

“Sweetheart–”

“I’m tired of your mess, you picking up a fight, degrading me as if I’m stupid, and making me feel foolish too! I’m tired of you cheating on me, not spending time with me, choosing a girl over me, and everything else you have done! So please, spare me some remorse and let me leave you!”

“I can’t!” she screams, rubbing her eyes furiously. “I can’t, okay? I need you here with me! Through thick and thin, remember? I will move heaven and earth for you–”

“Do not even do that.”

"I love you so much," she said softly, pecking your lips. You let her kiss you because you knew it was the last time she'd kiss you. “I want everything from you, including your love. I promise to change, okay? I’ll stop drinking, I’ll stop it all! Just don’t leave me, baby… don’t leave.”

You pushed her chest away with all of your might, crying in front of her, feeling defeated once again. You looked at her for one last time before saying, “If I see you change, I will decide if I should take you back or not. But if you don’t, expect me to never see you again.”

You parted ways with her that evening, walking to the bus stop while simultaneously texting your mother to tell her that you'd soon be moving in with her after a separation of five painful years. During the night, Natasha let out all of her pent-up emotions, finally acknowledging the magnitude of what she had lost. She took a broken picture frame, memorizing your face as if it were the last time she looked at you. She smiled brokenly and kissed the picture, whispering for you to come back.

I’m sorry.

Are you?

TEN MONTHS LATER.

“So, when’s the baby shower?”

Your sister smiled happily at you as you rubbed her swollen stomach, amazed with the idea of a woman carrying a child. You sometimes thought about having one, but that was a long time ago. You continued to rub her rounded stomach, smiling fondly at it.

“Probably next week since James is still finding a crib for the baby,” she sighed, smiling down at you. “Are you excited to meet your niece?”

“Of course,” you responded with a grin. “Are you excited to be a mother?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You were washing the dishes while your sister, Alica, was sleeping in her bedroom because you both ate lunch. While your father was at work, your mother was at the farm. You enjoyed being at home again, finally leaving the city and returning to the rural town where you grew up. When you peeked out the window, you noticed an unusual car going to the gravel and abruptly stopping. At first, you couldn't believe what you saw.

Natasha stepped out of the car with sunglasses on and a leather jacket slung over her shoulder. You felt your breath hitch from the sight of her, unsure whether you should leave or not. But before you could, Natasha knocked on your front door.

Don’t open the door.

Oh, but you did.

Her eyes and her glowing face greeted you. She smiled warmly at you while lowering her head, scared to gaze further into your eyes.

"How did you find out about me?" you inquired, looking around to see if anyone else was nearby.

"I came to get you back again," she said confidently. "Y/n, I want you back. I'd like to get you back again."

You crossed your arms at her and asked, "Look me in the eyes and say it."

That she did. Natasha smiled as she took your hand in hers and brought it close to her lips. She stroked your skin gently, moving your hand into her hair. You sighed contentedly, knowing that this was the Natasha you remembered.

"I stopped drinking and left the compound," she admitted. "Right now, I live in an apartment; I sold the house we used to live in because I don't see the point in me staying there. But I saved our photos on my wall, as well as the mugs you gave me every month."

You laughed, recalling the times you used to give her odd mugs.

"And I, uh, brought a ring with me so that I could ask you to marry me."

Your eyes widen as she pulls a black box from her pocket, opening the cover to reveal a little diamond heart in the center of the ring, glittering beyond your vision. You looked up briefly at her, taken in by the situation.

"Natasha, what-"

"Marry me?" She breathes out, her forehead pressed against yours as she inhaled your scent. "Oh, God, marry me Y/n. Make me the happiest woman alive, and I swear I'm changed. I'm ready to be with you again and finish our story. Accept and adore me once more. Because, lovely girl, I can't live without you. I can't live without my girl."

You lifted her chin and smiled, tears on the brim of your eyelids as you closed your lips together. When she eventually kissed you again, you felt her tongue caressing your bottom lip, almost falling to the ground. You drew back, your thumb caressing her cheek, and nodded joyfully.

"Yes, I will marry you, Natasha Romanoff."

You moved back in with Natasha in New York, and lived with her with the happiest decision of your life.

A HAPPY ENDING?! YAAAY

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff angst #a's oneshots!

476 notes · View notes

samiswifey · 4 months

Text

Christmas With Her

Paring: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: set in the same universe as my Back To You au. It's your first Christmas back in the city and Sam decided to go all out for your short visit back

Getting the news that you were coming back for Christmas Sam quickly decided that she had to make this the best Christmas ever! She knew how important Christmas was to you and you coming back was a big deal that she started putting up decorations to make the apartment a little more festive for your arrival. She knew the Christmas before she left wasn't your best and she has always had it in the back of her mind that she wanted to make that up to you. Now was her chance.

"Sam, don't you think this is too much," Tara motioned to the decorations that covered the house. "She's only here for three days." She said pointedly.

The short time you were here made Sam frown but she covered it back with a smile. "Yes it's only three days but I still want those three days to be the best for her." She said. "Christmas hasn't always been easy for Y/N and I want to make this one the best."

Driving into the city you couldn't help but completely relax at the realization of finally being here. It wasn't a super long drive back but it was long enough for you to be tired and ready for a nap. However this also fueled your excitement for seeing Sam again. Yes you guys call and FaceTime but that's so much different from actually seeing her in person again. She's also the only reason why you're even excited about this holiday and that definitely has to count for something.

Driving for the last few hours you should have been exhausted but the minute you pulled into the parking lot of the familiar apartment complex you felt all the sleep exist your body and you just felt more awake then ever right now.

Stepping out of your car you held a two bags filled with gifts as you made your way up to the door and knocked twice. It wasn't even thirty seconds before the door opens and your pulled into a bear hug by Sam. She said nothing as she repeatedly kissed your face. You giggled but let her continue until she decided to stop on her own.

"Sam stop eating her face and let Y/N come in." Tara teased.

Sam giggled but let you go to walk inside. Your eyes grew wide when you saw how decorated the small apartment was. The decorations were super fancy but they were lovely and they reminded you of home before everything went bad. It was beautiful.

"Oh Sam the apartment looks beautiful! I wish I could have been here to decorate." You said awestruck.

Sam moves next to you and holds your hand. "Hopefully next year we'll be together and then we can decorate together." She said. You smiled at her when she said. "I would absolutely love that."

With this being the first time you guys have seen each other physically in two months you and Sam decided to enjoy each other's company to the fullest. You were both cuddled on the couch with your fingers locked together as you and Sam made small talk on the couch. The conversation wasn't deep but it was meaningful to you. You liked these kinds of conversations because it showed you a more fun side to Sam. She is usually so serious so when you two just got to cuddle and talk about random things you definitely cherished them.

"So what do you do on Christmas morning? Like what's your perfect day?" Sam asked.

You smiled as you thought about it. "We wake up early to make breakfast and we eat together while watching those cheesy Christmas movies," you laughed. "Then we open gifts! All while singing Christmas songs - you'll hate it at first but you'll soon find yourself loving it because you're having so much. Then we eat dinner together and spend the rest of the day just enjoying our time together." You told her. "It would be perfect."

Sam saw the look of excitement in your eyes and she knew that she was about to make this Christmas perfect for you. She, in her mind, still felt like she needs to make it up to you. Like she has to keep fixing what she broke all those years ago. She wants to show you that your relationship is serious to her and that she truly does love you. This relationship is not one sided and she hopes that making this the best Christmas ever can show you that. She has to make tomorrow perfect

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

Waking up very early Sam slowly climbed out of bed and tip toed to the kitchen to make sure she had everything she needs to make French toast. She knew it was your favorite when you were kids so she's really hoping that that's still true because she would feel horrible if she got it wrong. That would be a sucky way to start Christmas.

"Sam what are you doing up so early?" Tara asked as she steps into the kitchen.

Sam continued checking ingredients that she had. "Making sure I have everything to make French toast with." She muttered out. Tara was confused by that. "But you hate French toast." She comments. "Why would you want to make it for breakfast?" She asked.

Sam smiled to herself when she thought about you. "Y/N loves it and I want to start Christmas Day with her favorite breakfast. So I really need to make sure I have everything to make it the way she loves." She explains. "It has to be perfect."

Waking up you frowned when you noticed that Sam was not next to you. Sitting up you slowly got out of bed and made your way out of the room. The smell of French toast hit your nose and you smiled as you walked toward the kitchen. You didn't say anything as you watched Sam cook breakfast while singing to herself. You smiled when you remembered that she used to do that back when you were kids. You have always loved Sam's voice and that's something that will never change.

"Baby?"

Sam turns around to smile at you. "Baby I'm so glad you're up! Breakfast will be ready soon." She said. You walked up behind her and gently wrapped your arms around her as you watched her cook. This was something that you used to do a lot before Christina caught you and it forced you to stop showing affection to Sam in public because you didn't want Sam to face her mother's fury again. However now things are different and you can show her all the love and affection you want without being scolded.

"I never asked, but is French toast still your favorite?" Sam asked.

You nodded as you moved to stand next to her. "It's the only good memory I have from my childhood. Us eating French toast together on the weekend. Watching whatever random thing was on TV." You said. Sam laughed "remember when we came across that really bad shark movie! We both wanted to change the channel but it was so ridiculously bad that we kind of got stuck watching it to see how it ended." She said. You laughed loudly at the memory. "Yes! Oh it was so bad that I can't believe it went on to have five sequels!" You exclaimed. Sam shook her head. "They were so bad."

Once breakfast was done you and Sam sat at the table with Tara and the twins there bickering about some new horror movie that had come out. Neither you or Sam really cared for horror movies but you found the conversation interesting considering how heated debates between Tara and Mindy got.

"I don't agree that all B horror movies are bad movies. There are a lot of good ones out there." Tara said.

Mindy scoffs "yeah, like a handful! Most of them are poorly written torture films with little to no plot to keep the film interesting." She argues. This caused them to argue over which movies were actually good and which ones were just had great kills but a terrible story. This conversation was never ending.

The afternoon came fast and you were all sitting around getting ready to open presents. The gifts you got from Tara and the twins were amazing. Yes Mindy gave you joke socks but you absolutely loved them. Chad gave you a coffee maker since yours broke last month and Tara got you three new journals because she knows how much you love to write. The gifts were amazing and you were happy that they loved everything you got them.

Sam sat a little off to the side with one gift in her hand because it was the only one she had to save up for. Her heart was beating fast in her chest as she slowly moves closer to you. "It's not much but I saw it one day when I was out and it reminded me of you so I saved up and was finally able to get it last week." She said quickly. "I really hope you like it."

You smiled as you took her gift and slowly unwrapped it. You gasped when you saw the raindrop diamond that you had when you were younger. Your grandma gave you hers and you absolutely loved it. You wore it everyday until your mom stole it from you and pawned it for money to give to her boyfriend. It was nearly identical to your original one.

"Baby... I love it. It's so beautiful." You said as you leaned in to kiss her. "Thank you."

Sam smiles as she helps you put it on. She was so happy that you liked it because she was extremely worried that you'd hate it, but you didn't and that made her completely relax.

"I hope you guys don't mind but I went all out on getting you guys gifts. I wanted our first Christmas together to be special." You said softly.

Everyone pulled you into a group hug and told you that it would have been perfect no matter what. You being here with them was what was making it special and that had you smiling like a fool at that. It really warmed your heart at how welcoming everyone was. It was amazing.

Spending the last few hours cooking you have never laughed as much in your life as you did today. The last few years you were completely dreading the holiday but this year, spending it with them, had you excited to see what next year bought you.

"Baby do you remember that recipe for that cake you used to love?" Sam asked. "Tara wanted to make it because we have everything here but she just needs the recipe," she adds.

You thought for a moment as you tried to remember everything that your grandma used to put in. It was a fairly simple cake but she did things a certain way and that's what you needed to remember.

"I know everything but she did things a certain way and that's what makes this cake so special." You said as you walked away with Tara behind you.

Sitting on the couch you and Tara looked through one of your notebooks with recipes from your grandma. They were everything you used to love eating that she would make for you. It was bringing back memories of you with your grandma in the kitchen cooking some meal that she thought up. It was always an incredible time when you were with her and just the thoughts alone made you smile.

It made Sam smile at how easily you could make everyone around you happy. It was the thing she loves the most about you because whenever she's been upset you were always there to make her smile and just cheer her up. Even when things fell apart you were there making her laugh and forget for just a moment. She'll never be able to repay you for everything you did for her. She is forever grateful for you.

Sitting around the table there was nothing but happiness and laughter as you and the core four shared stories. Yes some were embarrassing but that's what made them the more fun to share. Dinner was delicious and very well made. Sam kept glancing at you and smiling as she kept your hands locked together.

You could tell that Sam was the most happy she's been in a while and it was an honor to you that you were able to be apart of why she was so happy right now. It made your heart swell to see Sam happy and you would do anything to keep her smiling forever.

With the night winding down you and Sam snuck off to the bedroom for some alone time together. You both sat on her bed as she held another small gift in her hands.

"I wanted to wait until we were alone to give this one to you." She said softly. "It's something that only you and I will know the meaning behind."

You kissed her softly before pulling away to open the gift. Your eyes grew wide when you saw the silver bracelet with your name and Sam's name on it. "Did you recreate our friendship bracelets from when we were kids?" You asked. "Sam that is so sweet!"

You leaned forward and kissed Sam again. This kiss was deeper and much more passionate then the last few you've shared today. Sam could feel the love you were pouring into the kiss and she gave you back the same amount. It was a kiss that told you both everything you needed to know. Your love was real and you both were excited to see where the future takes you. Today was perfect and filled with memories that neither of you could wait to share with your future family. Although Sam was very nervous things turned out way better than she could have hoped for and it filled her heart with happiness to know that your first Christmas with her was absolutely perfect. It was incredible.

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

167 notes · View notes

whmp · 6 months

Text

hey, it's me! i'm still alive, somehow, though just barely. this semester has been pretty tough so far and will probably remain that way until spring. despite this, i managed to add some fun new features. : ) ALSO i promise 100000% that if you sent me an ask i WILL answer it. i will. anyway, look at all those cool things! -> a system for cuts, bruises, tattoos, wounds and other decorations your whumpee's skin is an empty canvas. whether you fill it with scars and wounds or cutesy band aids is up to you!

the way this is set up is kind of like a bunch of stickers. so for example, if you decide to hurt the lil' guy with something sharp, he'll get a "stab wound" sticker in the spot you decided to target. over time, that sticker will change over to a "stab scar" one. it's a very flexible way to do things, but it still needs some work and a couple big changes, since it's very unfriendly to low-end computers. in terms of visuals though, it should look exactly the same as the decal-based "decorations" for your whumpee that you see above!

- a better way of getting that dude on camera the camera system is now a lot more immersive and will fit the story. the awkward developer cam that could clip into walls is no more.

you can drag around the view and zoom in and out by scrolling. as you progress, you'll get access to even more ways to invade your whumpee's privacy. : )

-> new ways to get horny in the last devlog post (around 1000 years ago) i said that you won't see any "horny accessories" in the upcoming updates. that was a complete lie, sorry! here's a preview of some cool new horns you can give to your whumpee.

the neat part is that the horns are customizable - other than just choosing the shape, you can modify their size and color gradient. -> other stuff + story i've made plenty of changes and additions to the back end. most of it is not flashy or super significant - most of the time and energy i could dedicate to the project went right into fueling the violent, bloody conflict between me and custom shader code. i've also made some updates to how time is simulated and fixed a bunch of bugs. there is now a sound system too! i'll look for some copyright-free sfx and music before the next update. oh, and there's some lore too!

i've been experimenting with different ways of delivering the main storyline. heavily stylized cutscene-like sequences were very fun to do! not sure if i'll stick with this style though. either way, i have the general outline of something that resembles a plot. >: ) that's it for now! again, sorry for the irregular update schedule. i've been following the "no progress for a long time, then one night you have all the energy and inspiration in the world and you zone the fuck out for an unhealthy amount of time just working on your thing then until realize that you're going to be asleep within the next 40 seconds" development strategy - hopefully, my brain will kindly allow me to switch to a more comfortable workflow. :' ) taglist below: (let me know if you want to be added OR LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT TO ADD YOU IM SO SORRY) @whumpinthepot @andithewhumper @pigeonwhumps @monarchthefirst @scp-1296 @whumpedydump @screenys-whump-corner @whumpshaped @bloodsweatandpotato @burning-and-remembering @thealmightyconeoftruth @whimpity-whumpity @catnykit @vietbluecoeur @rainythealias @cardboardarsonist @snakebites-and-ink @lthrboy @woo-lu-woo @wingsofadragonsstuff @wecoffphm @bayvel @pics-and-fanfics @dokidokisadness @generic-whumperz @lambetjenasus @aarika-merrill @hayaneakabane @moons-cozy-corner @brittaunfiltered09 @rule-masochism @reverie1234 @oddsconvert @wh-wh-whumpified @currentlyinthesprial @cupcakes-and-pain @heavenlyden @whumpsday @likeadeadbattery @stay-on-topic1 @cyborg0109 @kawhump @astrowhump

#whumpdev #whump community #whump art #whump game #whumblr #whump #this took forever SORRY #there's still so much more to do but i'm really excited to start implementing new stuff #i gotta get myself a trello board with features or something #or anything that resembles a plan tbh #planning is hard but you know what is even harder? sticking to a plan #and that difficulty SKYROCKETS if its a plan you made yourself #man idk i gotta check if i don't have adhd or something i feel like this might not be the way an adult brain should operate #ill do some research later if i don't forget??? i'm always so skeptical of thinking to myself “i might have this disorder”#cuz i feel like i'm super hardcore prone to some weird bias and i wouldn't trust my own brain to diagnose itself #i don't trust that fucker in general

267 notes · View notes

fushipurro · 6 months

Text

My Neighbor, Toji

☆ Synopsis: Moving to a new apartment brings all kinds of frustrations as things go inevitably wrong. Though in this case, the frustrations you hold are deeper than a misplaced box or broken A/C.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, some fluff, smut, dom/sub, creampie, foreplay, vaginal play, blowjobs, dacryphilia?, nipple foreplay, exhibitionism, biting, scratching, pet names

☆ Word Count: 2.4k

"Ugh, why'd I have jam so much into this stupid box."

It was your first day at your new apartment, and what an awful time of year to be doing this. It was mid summer and hot as hell, sweat practically pooling off the back of your neck even when your hair was tied up off of it. While the walk from your moving rental to the 2nd floor all the way to the end was not at all fun in this weather, the apartment was just how you liked it. Small, cozy, and even had a nice balcony you were excited to adorn with plants and string lights. Even better was that your apartment only had one neighbor next to you so hopefully that meant a better chance of peace and quiet.

"Need a hand?" a deep voice resounded from behind you, startling you as you failed to lift one of your heavier boxes. You turned to face a man that blocked out the sun with how tall and built he was. Practically squinting trying to get a good read on his face. Before you could respond, the man reached over and lifted the box with ease into one of his arms.

"Uh, thanks, you live here?" you said, hoping this wasn't some stranger about to make off with your stuff. In this heat you'd give up before even trying to get your stuff back.

"Yeah, I'm Toji. Couldn't help but notice you since it looks as though you're movin' in next to me."

"Nice to meet you, Toji, I'm y/n."

The two of you walked up to your apartment with a few boxes in hand and set them down in what will eventually become your living room/bedroom once you've had a chance to unpack and buy some furniture. Toji noticed how much it seemed you were trying to not pass out from the temperature and work and asked that you just stay inside to start unpacking as he brought the rest of your stuff in. Once it was over and the sun was finally setting, you offered him a glass to quench his thirst and a wet towel for the sweat.

"I don't know what I would've done without you, Toji. Definitely wouldn't have finished this fast."

"No trouble, y/n. I couldn't let a pretty girl such as your self struggle out there alone."

Jeez, as if the heat wasn't enough! you hadn't even replied yet but your blushing face was enough to get chuckle out of the man. Seeing him now under the golden hour sun was completely different without him blocking it like an eclipse. This man is hot, like REALLY hot. His hair was dark and his eyes were rich as they radiated warmth, the scar on your lip left much to think about. His body definitely built for the work he was doing and more. He was older than you by a bit for sure but took plenty care of himself.

The two of you simply looked each other over for what felt like days, while the look of you with sweat still dropping off the tips of your hair and body may not make you feel like a model, it certainly was doing wonders in his eyes. Not to mention your loose fitting clothes for the season. The appeal of him with a towel around his neck and all those muscles was definitely food for you, even if this was a stranger you only met earlier. After a bit of silence, he put his glass down and handed you back the towel.

"Well it's getting late so I oughta get back to my own place, but feel free to knock if you need anything else lifted."

For a moment you were still in your daze, but by now the golden sun had set and his baritone voice pulled you out. "Oh yeah, right, thanks for the help, Toji!" you smiled. You walked him to the door to see him out back to his. He turned to you as he opened his own door with a smile off the corner of his face.

"Welcome to the neighborhood, doll." and with that, the door shut and you returned to your own abode once more red in the face.

"God, that man is a flirt!"

The rest of your evening was spent unpacking some necessities and setting up your bed as your waited for the delivery pizza to arrive. Anything else would have to wait until you could feel your limbs again without pain. For now though, you were uses filled boxes as tables and nightstands like they were the main decor of the apartment. When you bathed that night, you held the towel Toji had used up to you, taking in his smell that resonated from it, enough to make you feel aroused to say the least.

Over the next week however, you managed to make some progress, really enjoying your time between work and sleeping to go nuts with decorating. Troublesome work though as one of your new apartment troubles was the nonfunctional A/C that you had to wait for your landlord to bother repairing when it suited them. This meant if you wanted cold air, the balcony door needed to be left open regardless of the city noises you were forced to hear or other neighbors. Toji occasionally chatted with you from across the balcony or on your way to and from work, the man still as much of a flirt as ever but keeping his hands to himself.

It was a Friday night then, later in the evening. Tired from work and freshly bathed, you laid there on your bed feeling the breeze from your balcony cool your wet skin. Toji seemed to be enjoying himself that night too as you were struck with the sounds of another woman moaning and the slight banging of your walls.

"Someone must've had a good date."

Didn't take long though before you found yourself moving your hands over your breasts, circling and pinching your bud as your other hand freely went down to your clit. Your thoughts were filled only with Toji and the way he had looked at you. Carefully listening to him through the walls as you pleasured yourself with your fingers until you could climax over and over for the duration of his own fun time opposite of the wall.

A few times more that week, the sounds continued and you were relishing yourself to the sounds of Toji and nothing else going on that night in your city. Come Friday night again, you heard nothing from his side but were so insatiable that you began your own session with nothing but the thoughts in your hand and your delicate fingers. A thump on your balcony alerted you as you shot up to see thinking maybe a plant had fallen. To your surprise, no, it wasn't a plant but the man you called a neighbor was standing at your opened door, smiling as he looked upon your exposed body.

"Toji! What are you doing here?" you flailed to pull up a blanket to cover yourself.

"If you didn't want me to hear the pretty noises you were making for me, then you shouldn't leave your door open, sweetheart. Your headboard is adjacent to mine as well, I see." He leaned up against the framing of your sliding door, never letting his smile or eyes drop away from you once. "You've been putting on quite a show since you moved in, did I make that much an impression?"

Your face was beyond flushed as you failed to maintain any eye contact with him.

"You're one to talk with how many dates you've been bringing over."

"Oh yeah? You wish they were you instead?"

Toji walked up to your bed and leaned down right in your face. His right hand cupped under your jaw forcing you to look directly at his moonlit body. Your lips parted against his own breath.

"...Maybe I do. Can't help it the way view you."

"Well you're a sight for sore eyes too, princess, but I can help you achieve your desire."

Your lips finally met one another, his tongue rubbing against yours all inside your mouth. You finally dropped the blanket shielding your body and Toji moved his knee in between your legs against your lower lips. You couldn't help but squirm your hips at the sensation, you hands gripping his nape.

"Aren't you a needy one?" he said, pushing you down against the sheets and kissing his way down your neck, onto your breasts, all the way down to your lower lips. His tongue thrusting over and inside, his large hands gripping at your thighs. You definitely were gonna be bruised there later. Your own hands clawing at your sheets as you bit your lower tongue, you pupils beginning to lose themselves at the shock coursing in your body.

Toji lifted his head up to look at you, with his experience, he knew you were close and wished to deny you.

"Don't be so impatient, doll, we have a whole night ahead of us."

"Fuck, Toji, I need you."

"I bet you do, princess." he said moving up to your face, his tongue against yours once more with the added taste of your own. Taking a step back, he removed his pants, revealing his twitching cock.

Holy fuck that's big. Your eyes looking back and forth wondering how it would ever fit inside your small body but you were so far gone that all you wanted was to be closer with him. He coaxed you up until your face met with his tip, a shiny residue leaking from the top. Like a mouth to a popsicle, you moved over it, now licking circles around as your delicate fingers stroked the rest of the length. Taking his heavy balls into one of your hands, Toji couldn't help but moan and bucked his hips deeper down your pretty little mouth.

"Careful, dear, I'm gonna need those to make you mine."

His hands gripping your hair, pulling them up into a ponytail like the one you had when you met him, he took control and quickend his pace against your cheeks as tears came over your eyes. Your free hands now playing with your own apex as you looked up at Toji with hearts for irises until your throat became lined in his essence. The two of you moaning and twitching with relief.

"Good girl, now swallow for me." which you did so easily making him rub the top of your head, smiling down at you with such lustful love.

Toji flipped you over so your face was against the sheets, playing with his tip at your entryway as you braced yourself for his girth.

"Please, Toji, I-I need you." With that, he pushed his way in, your body quivering as it adjusted to his size. High pitched moans escaping you against his, your nails feeling as though they'd tear the sheets apart with how much you were becoming feral.

"That's my good girl, you'll feel even better soon."

Moving here was the best decision you ever made, what luck to meet a man that was fulfilling you in more ways than one, better than anything you've ever felt before. He continued bucking his hips into you, leaning overtop to grab your breasts and suck on your neck as he pounded against your velvet walls. Before you could even reach your climax again, he flipped you over onto your back in a mating press position where he could be face to face and watch you react.

"Fuck, Toji, please fill me up!"

"I ain't stopping now, doll. Not when you, fuck, make me feel this good. Don't you dare look away now"

His pace ever quickening as he thrusted into your womb, drool falling from both your mouths as you continued to moan louder and louder. His girth twitched and suddenly your insides exploded with warmth that made you scream with joy.

"Fuck!" you both moaned together, Toji remained in you as you clamped down on him with your inner walls, tearing his back apart with your nails as you sucked him dry. He finally pulled out along with his sticky substance, overflowing onto the bed as he admired his work on your pussy.

"You were amazing, princess."

Still catching your breath, he pulled you up to kiss you some more, you limbs hardly able to move on your own from the good fucking you just got from the man next door.

"What a needy girl you are, but don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

"Oh, Toji, we're definitely doing this again."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, princess. You belong to me now and me alone."

He scooped in your arms and took you to the bathroom to clean off and bathe together in the tub. That is well, after you had a few more rounds in the bathroom and resisting the urge to ruin more of your sheets with your feral love as he locked you in his arms for the night to sleep.

This routine became practically a daily occurrence, wishing the two of you could just break down the walls between your apartments. Instead you opted to leave your balcony door unlocked so he could come over at any time.

☆ Notes: maybe i'll do another part of this later, do let me know if you guys would like any more or if you have an requests for this i can add ^^

#i love this man so much #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk toji #jjk #jjk smut #jjk au #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #toji x female reader #toji smut

165 notes · View notes