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cythiraeth · 5 months

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cupid's chokehold! - i. e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x al-haitham, cyno, xiao (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: the exact moment (or process which lead to it) when genshin men knew that they are head over heels in love with you!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, not proof-read, lighter (?) and more free form of the work this time!

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: ehe, long time no see! i'm back to life and posting, so to start i picked something that was easier to write and is slightly in a different form than my previous works, however, i hope you'll like it :> also, i'm still waiting for any work requests, so if you have any idea, feel free to messege me!!

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.5 k in total

al-haitham

seeing you in a pretty, elegant outfit, probably some kind of dress or suit, maybe showing your collarbones or it just being mesmerizing, it's up to you how you imagine a perfect fit ;) he is just PHYSICALLY UNABLE to take his eyes off you! the usually calm and collected al-haitham forgets how to use the ability to speak for a brief second.

the moment you left the room in which you were getting ready as he was waiting outside, he almost gasped out loud

i mean literally, this man's brain stopped working for a second

you two were supposed to attend tighnari's birthday party, and while he didn't consider it a occasion to wear something elegant, you did the opposite

that's why he was left so speechless. because he was caught by surprise! he thought you would wear your casual clothes just as he did…

but it happened, you wore one of your favorite outfits for special occasions, and he was flabbergasted

of course it's not like your look was the only reason he has fallen for you! he was definitely considering it many times before this happened, but he was living in denial.

"no, i don't actually have feelings for them. they make me feel comfortable, i crave hearing their voice or laugh and i care about them a lot, but no, we're just friends" - probably al-haitham to himself at some point in his life.

but this time, he couldn't explain his feelings in any rational way known to man. you were so stunning that his eyes shined uncontrollably when he laid them on you. he was so busy studying your silhouette, your face and your hair that he didn't even hear your first question, which was:

"and? how do i look?" you asked, opening the door but still keeping your hands on the doorframe and leaning on it. you were slightly blushed because it was quite embarrassing to let him see you like this, but if you were to be honest, you were also a little bit excited to see his reaction

so when he didn't even answer you and remained indifferent on the outside, the slightly raised corners of your mouth drooped

you just weren't aware of what he's been experiencing on the inside…

because his heart started pounding a little bit faster and he was ashamed of it but on the other hand you looked gorgeous and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about what would he do if you were in relationship

(he had such a strong urge to kiss your hand like a gentleman for some reason)

"what? do i really look that bad?" you asked after you have swallowed the bitterness of your first impression

"sorry?" he said, blinking, your words drawing him out of his reverie, "did you say something?"

you snorted, annoyed by his behavior, assuming that he probably couldn't care less about your look at the moment, but at least he should try to pretend he does

but oh, how wrong you were…

when you repeated the question he only murmured something under his breath in response, so you decided to let him be

you noticed he got sweaty all of sudden, it was probably too hot for him inside, you thought, so you took the last things and you two left the house.

in reality, he wasn't feeling hot because of the temperature of course, but he was just as surprised by his own actions as you were. surprised in a slightly different way though….

cyno

talking with tighnari... he found all his confidence to talk to him about his possible feelings for you, that he could not recognize and tighnari was left speechless because of how innocent and lost in his feeling cyno looked

he was probably hanging out with tighnari someday, maybe they went out for a dinner, and somehow the topic of conversation has come down to you

for a long time he was hesitant to talk about his feeling towards you out loud but today he decided he'd try discussing it with his friend

because if not tighnari then who would be a suitable person? surely not you

also, don't think that he was aware of what he's feeling. HAHA, no. he would never

"what in your opinion y/n thinks of me…?" was his first question. he tried to choose the words carefully and say it in his normal tone but even a small sign of arousal in his voice was enough for tighnari to notice that something is up

"and why are you asking?" he wanted to make sure that his interpretation is right

"no reason in particular," his answer was quick, those words escaped his lips uncontrollably, so he had to add something "i just consider them a close friend and i want to know if they do too."

tignari almost started laughing out loud, but he controlled himself.

close friend? oh man, he is so clueless…

"are you sure that they are a "close friend?"" he was actually having some fun but at the same time he just wanted to smack himself on the forehead, he couldn't decide

"well, definitely not a "distant friend""

that's it, that's the moment when tighnari smacked his forehead

"i'll pretend i didn't hear that," he tried to be serious, but it wasn't easy. "listen, you look at them like they are your entire world. that's the kind of look people give to their lovers, not close friends!" he finally said it out loud

cyno had to blink twice to process what was just said.

he. in love. with you?

maybe? i mean, he always cared about your opinion about his jokes the most and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with you… but he thought that it's normal for friends to feel this way. and to steal glances at you person when you aren't looking, and to read every book you recommend him…

"you say so?" he finally asked, resting his chin on his hands "then maybe you're right," he admitted out loud

"FINALLY" tighnari couldn't hold it any longer… he was SO relieved that his friend won't be acting like he is running around in the fog anymore… right?

"and why are you so emotional about it?" cyno was genuinely confused (pls help this man he is often so clueless)

"because by now even collei knew"

xiao

when you kept coming back after all of his attempts to push you away. he wanted to protect you, protect you from him, because for a human it would be better to stay away from his karmic debt, right? but when you remained determined to get closer to him no matter how many times he tried to disencourage you, he slowly realized that maybe, just maybe he can let you get closer to his heart than he ever let anyone to be.

in his case, there wasn't any particular situation that made him realize his feelings, it was rather a complex and long process (not really a chokehold then but shh…)

he knew you for several months despite of his numerous attempts of cutting any ties he had with you

it was just that… you were stubborn. but not in a regular way, no. your stubbornness was much less invasive and annoying, and it manifested in your constant willingness to get closer to him

however, you never imposed yourself nor did you try convincing him! you were just visiting wangshu inn regularly, maybe tried striking up a conversation a few times, even just sitting in silence was enough for you

and because of all those actions he never felt overwhelmed by your presence! actually, after some time, he just got used to it and secretly started liking it

however, there was always this silent voice in the back of his head that he shouldn't be doing this and that he's forgetting himself

so definitely, when he slowly started thinking of you in that way at the very beginning he was IN SUCH A BIG DENIAL that it's almost unbelievable

alright, he admitted it to himself, but swore to N E V E R talk to anyone about it, especially and above all, to you.

he just decided to act as if those feelings didn't exist, that's all. and it went like that for quite a long time unfortunately… (at least you can be sure that he keeps his promises at all costs!!)

and after some time, when he was surprised that they didn't just go away, a certain thought crossed his mind…

he started thinking about what ifs and imagining what could happen if he theoretically decided to tell you about his feelings

(he spent another few months on that though)

at some point he just couldn't look at you without seeing you both holding hands in his mind or stand next to you without the urge to put his hand on your shoulder (of course only in private, he would never do pda…)

but still, his karmic debt…

he was so torn between those two thoughts (there were two wolves inside of him)

but as you expect, after months of his internal struggling, and your consistency in getting closer to him and encouraging him to open up, he let his feelings win for once in his long life

(take good care of him because he deserves it)

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 23.11.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

#genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin scenarios #xiao x reader #alhaitham x reader #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #genshin xiao #al haitam x reader

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goosefruit · 5 months

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the sound of her voice

vanessa shelly x reader

tw: phone sex, sub!reader, sex toys (bullet vibrator & dildo), teasing, orgasm denial, masturbation, maybe exhibitionism (not really? vanessa is in a public space but alone), a lot of dirty talk

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You had always been a good girl for Vanessa.

Normally, on your days off, you’d wait patiently for her to come home, sometimes even dressing up to give her a pleasant little surprise. In return, she’d reward you with her tongue and fingers until the both of you were too tired to keep going.

Normally, you would never tease her while she was at work, aside from the occasional suggestive text.

Today, however, time felt unbearably slow. Every part of your body was aching to have Vanessa by your side, but it would be at least another 2 hours before she was home.

That was when a wicked idea came to your mind.

Getting off your living room couch, you made a trip to your bedroom closet to look for a couple of items. A blush crept up your cheeks as you thought about this brilliant plan that you were about to execute.

You laid down on the bed with a small but powerful bullet vibrator, as well as the dildo that was usually attached to Vanessa’s strap-on harness. The silicone cock was a whopping 8 inches long, in a dark shade of purple. Memories of your girlfriend bouncing you on it in the back of her cop car flashed through your mind, sending a wave of arousal down to your core.

To make the experience even more pleasurable, you decided to wear nothing but one of Vanessa’s hoodies. Wrapped up in her scent, you felt as if you could close your eyes and pretend that you were laying in her lap.

And so you turned on the vibrator and dialed her phone number.

“Y/N! What’s up, honey?” Her sweet voice sang out from the other end.

“Vanessa,” you slipped the toy under the hoodie, pressing it against your nipple. The sensitive peak became hard and erect at the contact, and you bit your lip to avoid making a noise. “Nothing’s going on today. I just reeaally wanted to hear your voice.”

Vanessa gave a light laugh. “Miss you too, babe. I just finished checking up on Freddy’s; thought there was a break-in, but it was just a raccoon who slipped in and broke some shit trying to get to a pizza that the new night guard left out."

“That’s absurd! Hope the little guy at least got a bite,” the vibrator began to move lower, now at your hip bone. “So, does this mean you’re still in the pizzeria’s parking lot, in that cop car of yours?”

“Mhm,”

“Alone?”

“Completely. You know no one visits this place other than me and the ever-changing night guards.”

“Great,” you smirked to yourself, drawing soft circles on your inner thigh with the vibrator. “Because I’m in bed right now, warming myself up for you when you get home.” You turned the vibrator up a setting so that it was loud enough for her to hear through the phone.

“Oh, are you now?”

The confidence in her voice almost made you rethink your decisions, but you pushed through and continued talking.

“And oh fuck, my pussy is so wet. It’s practically dripping for you, Vanessa.” Putting the phone on speaker, you set it down beside you so that you could run a finger through your slick folds while the other hand guided the toy closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, the things I want you to do to me, and the things I want to do to you. You drive me crazy, you know that? Fuck, I wish you were here with me.”

“Well, I can’t say that I’m not enjoying this newfound boldness, sweetheart.” There was a hint of raspiness in her voice. “But you know you could never touch yourself as good as I do.”

The vibrator finally completed its journey to your clit, and a loud moan escaped from between your lips.

“Mmm, fuck— and guess what, Nessa? I’m wearing nothing except for your hoodie…smells heavenly. Can almost pretend you’re here eating out my pussy. Ohh god— feels fucking a–amazing—”

You took the dildo and lined it up with your dripping wet hole, slowly pushing the tip in. The vibrator was still held in place on your clit, the double stimulation causing your eyes to roll back.

“I’ve got our favourite dildo here too. That huge one you love to destroy me with…better get it nice and lubed up for you when we have our fun later. It’s suuuch a shame you can’t see how well my pussy is taking it right now.” You pushed the entire length of the dildo in before pulling out to thrust it into your pussy. Keeping quiet was no longer a concern as curses and moans spewed out of you. “Ohh y–yeah— can you hear how wet my fuckhole is?”

“Yes baby, keep talking,” her heavy breathing was audible.

You pounded the toy into your pussy harder. “If you were fucking me, I would hook my legs over your shoulders so you can rail me so deep I can’t walk the next day. Doesn’t that sound nice? Just like t–that, baby— bruise my fucking insides. Make me cum, Van– mmm!” At this point, you were rambling, saying anything that came to mind. Your brain had already turned to mush the second she started speaking in that sultry fucking voice.

Vanessa let out a long groan, the same one you were used to hearing every time you made her cum. Did she just…?

“Fuck,” she panted, a quiet moan coming from her back of her throat.

The realization made you halt in your actions. “Vanessa, did you just have an orgasm!?”

“Oh honey, I told you the parking lot’s empty. What? You thought I wasn’t going to touch myself to my pretty girl’s voice?”

The thought of Vanessa in the driver’s seat of her car with a hand down her pants made your stomach tighten with excitement. You began to fuck yourself with the dildo again.

“V–Vanessa— I’m getting close too—” you pleaded, praying that she would let you cum from your own hands just this once.

“Not yet, sweet thing. You’re going to stay on call with me while I finish my patrol for today, but don’t you dare cum before I get home.”

You whined, not knowing whether you could last even 5 more minutes.

“But by all means, keep fucking yourself. My radio’s broken, so give me something satisfying to listen to.”

“Vanessa– I ca—’t—”

“You said you wanted me to make you cum, no? So be a good girl and hold on for me.”

Of course, you were her good girl. So even though your sensitive clit couldn’t possibly handle any more stimulation, you turned the vibrator up another setting.

“I’ll be home in an hour.”

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa monroe #vanessa shelly smut #wlw nsft #fnaf vanessa

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gruvu · 4 months

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Been dragging my feet on this and so here are with the last piece of 2023 that I did. WITH a small intro into the story.

To summarize this stardew valley au, my farmer Beau ends up with a alien child and very much is living a horror film narrative for a hot second. Regardless it's just found family. Now down below is the first chapter, you don't gotta read it but if you do I hope you enjoy.

Warning: Injury detail of burns and mentions of war. Just a heads up if you're uncomfortable.

A full year and yet the sounds of the cabin kept the man awake in his sagging bed. The deep moaning of the structure reminded him constantly how he should have asked Robin for an estimate on updating the supports. He had been so wrapped up in getting this farm together, he hadn’t bothered much in his living space. And now with another winter coming, he became aware how unprepared he had been the first time.

With a deep sigh he rolls onto his side, pulling the blankets over his head hoping to dampen the noise around him as the night moves on around him. The ticking of his clock began to finally lull him asleep only for the house to rattle then the rafters shook as something plowed through the top of the roof. A scream erupted from him as the sound of splinters erupted and could feel pieces of shingles falling upon him and the floor. Has the war reached the valley? No no, not possible! Regardless he scrambled out of bed, hurrying to his light and flicking it on as he looked up towards the rafters.

In the light dust was still sprinkling down from a circular cut though the top. As if someone had used a cookie cutter through the middle of his shingled roof. Almost perfectly carve out if only the wood hadn’t splintered. He could feel the cool fall breeze drift into his small farm house, making him hurry to grab his robe on the coat rack only to pause as he peers out the window. A soft pulsing blue light came from outside, coming from one of his recently cleared fields… “This is a horrible idea.” Beau mutters to himself, as he shoves his feet into his rubber boots before grabbing the club he had in the umbrella stand and leaving the safety of his home into the cool night full of strange dangers.

The leaves rustled as he steps down the creaking wooden stairs, the pulsing blue light allowing him to find the disturbed earth as something had slammed and skidded through his field. His mind is going to the worst places, but if he could see it and run really fast maybe he could warn the town if there was any danger. Surely this wouldn’t be like one of those horror movies where the stupid teenager goes towards the danger right? CRUNCH. He yelps looking down as he hops away from the piece of metal, giving off a spark causing the man to hesitate to move forward. Wait.. Maybe it was just a satellite? For tv! Nothing spooky about that. With denial and curiosity at his back, he moves towards the impact site. Finding himself staring into the steam at… “What the..” He murmurs, squinting through the bright glow, his club lowering as the farmer draws closer. Using his hand to wave away the steam he could see what had landed in his field. It was a cylinder in shape, and slightly bigger than the barrels he used to age his cheese in the shed. The capsule of some kind wasn’t glowing itself but what it held inside. A fizzy, bubbling glowing blue liquid that began to dim down revealing something in it. Beau had to move around to get a better view, sliding a bit in his boots nearly colliding with the strange alien object. Now closer, crouching down to see the capsule better he squints into the odd substance. “Huh.. There’s.. There’s something.. In there.” He murmurs, as he moves his hand to touch the glass, at first yanking back thinking it was horribly hot only for him to find it only warm to the touch. There was something fleshy in there bobbing in the liquid, but at this angle it was hard to tell what it was. It seemed all common sense of fear left him as he tossed the club away to move the capsule upright, one of the two green lights on the “lid” of the capsule turned orange, a garbled static voice spoke out and sudden searing pain came from his hand. Panic took over as the farmer tried to pull his hand away only for it to stay attached to the top of the lid.

“H-HELP! HELP! SOMEONE!” He yells trying to pull away, not paying attention to the fluid inside the capsule in his panic. If he had, he would notice drops of what might have been dye were put into the capsule. A small mechanical arm inside with a metal needle poked the strange fleshy object inside, making it twitch in response. Then the orange light turned blue and the farmer tumbled back with a startled yell.

Laying there in the dirt, he held his hand in pain. Unable to see the wound in this light but it felt like a burn or something… He was definitely going to have to talk to the doctor about this. Sitting up now he looks towards the source of his pain, the capsule’s fluid inside a sickly green and bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink. He didn’t know what to do now, no one would be up. He would need to talk to Gunther because this clearly was no missile or any war related object. It was something else entirely and he was deeply afraid.

Staring at it for hours, even as the sun began to rise up over the mountains around the town of Stardew Valley, the farmer watched the capsule. Only when something rubbed against his back did he snap out of his sentry-like state.

“AHH!” He whips around, only to see his large gray and white cat, letting out a chirp in response to his yell.

“I- oh.. It’s you Yogi.” He relaxes, reaching out to touch her only to hiss. Looking now at his hand it was red and… Yeah he needed to go see Harvey.

Moving up to his feet, finding himself stiff only for his back to crack and then his neck. He needed to take care of the animals and-

His dark eyes drift over to the capsule now lit up in the early sunrise, a soft hum over the bubbling noises reminding him of its presence pretty quickly.

He needed to get that thing somewhere locked up first. Then he could show Gunther, but with his hand. He would NOT be touching that thing again. Not without some kind of protection. The stiff farmer walked back to his cabin, his cat chirping at his heels along the way, cooling off his hand with some water and then wrapping it up in gauze bandage before getting properly dressed. He was trembling all the while, grabbing his large quilt to simply cover the capsule with it and dragging it into his shed and rolling it into a corner where it stayed glowing faintly. Beau tried to remain calm but all the while it stayed in the back of his mind as he fed his beloved barn animals. Thankfully he had to focus as he tried get milk only to struggle with the one hand, the pain did help keep his mind off things but it only made it clear that he had to also go to the doctor. Nine AM could not come fast enough.

~~~~~ “Beau the doctor will see you now.” “Thanks Maru.” He ducks into the back, wishing he could have grabbed some pickles or a cup of coffee for the doctor. Would soften the lecture that could be on his way. He knocks on the door and enters seeing Harvey check some notes only to glance up and smile at the farmer, sending Beau’s stomach into a fluttering of butterflies. “Good morning Beau. Maru tells me you hurt your hand. Why don’t I take a look.” He pats the table for him to sit on, all the while looking over the somewhat disheveled man. A slight frown of concern flickered for a moment before going to unwrap his hand tenderly. “Mmmgh.” He winces, pulling his hand back slightly. The doctor frowns, pausing his attempt. “Do you need me to stop?” “No no. I just.. It hurts.” “Well what did you do?” Harvey showed no judgment or disappointment as he continued to unwrap the hand. Truly expressing concern and worry for the man that had more than once ended up in his office with devastating wounds from the monsters in the mines. “...I burned it. I think?” Beau shrugs as his hand is exposed showing the bright pink skin, the entire flat of his hand was raw with his palm having a large burn in the shape of a neat square. The doctor looks down at it, his dark brows furrowed, having seen plenty of burns over his time here but it was odd. So clean and the area around the nasty burn was more or less fine. “What do you mean you think?” He raises a brow studying the burn. It wasn’t anything horrible but would need to be cleaned properly and ointment would be applied. “I.. I.. Don’t know what I burned it on. I couldn’t really see anything?” “Were you in the dark? Hit it on the stove top?” “I was in the dark.. Outside. There… There was this..” Beau wasn’t sure what to tell him, then again the doctor had treated him for flying lizards. “A thing. Like a mason jar but barrel size and it crashed and I touched it. And this happened.” “...You touched an unknown object that crashed?” “Yes! And it’s in my shed.” “In your shed...When did this happen exactly?” Harvey walks over to the desk door, poking his head out. “Maru, could you please get a bowl of warm saline and soap? Thank you.” He ducks back in to look at the farmer. Seeing his hair a mess, the trembling from the lack of breakfast and wide eyes. He was in distress and he came to the doctor for help. There would be no way Harvey would turn his back on him. “It.. It was early.. Early in the morning? One maybe two AM?”

“Have you been up since then?”

“Harvey I’ve had a consistent sleep schedule, I am not losing it over missing a couple hours.”

“You would be surprised with little sleep you would do to someone… Why don’t you take me to see this mason jar during my lunch break.”

“Yeah and I can grab Gunther too or maybe Demetris? Someone has got to know what it is…”

“I am sure we can figure this out, but in the meantime I’ll clean up that hand and wrap it in some fresh gauze. Then you can lay down in one of the beds for a bit. Catch up on some sleep.”

“That…That sounds really nice.” Beau smiles a bit, his shoulders relaxing as a weight comes off his shoulders. Maru knocks and comes in, bringing the bowl and soap. Harvey thanks her and gets to work.

Cleaning the hand with the utmost care and tenderness, being aware of how sensitive the burns were with even unwrapping. Drying the hand and putting ointment over the palm easing down the burns before dressed with dry clean gauze wraps.

“Reminds me of the first summer. When you had to rub aloe all over me.” Beau smiles trying to break the silence after watching Harvey tend to his hand. The doctor’s cheeks turned a soft pink as a smile appeared under the mustache.

“You were as red as a tomato. I told you to make sure you put plenty of sunscreen on.”

“I know I just got caught up with trying to clear out one part of the section.”

“Well we both know you could barely move the next day. I am just glad I had plenty of aloe for you.”

The two chuckle as the doctor finishes wrapping his hand. “Now I’ll get some painkillers and you can rest a bit.”

The farmer nods, as the doctor pats his shoulder. The two walk back and Harvey gets him to lay down. All the while the humming in the shed grew louder as the color of the boiling fluid turned slowly from green into a more sickly olive. The form inside twitched and grew.

#gruvu's art #gruvu's writing #Stardew valley #Stardew Valley au #starchild au #sdv #sdv farmer #stardew valley farmer

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peachy-posy · 7 months

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Ride This Out - Vash x Reader (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ MINORS DNI

A/N: Last chapter!!! It's literally pretty much all smut lmaoooo Thank you for reading along <3

Chapter Tags: Makeup Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Finger Riding, Mild Breeding Kink, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Inside

Word Count: 5.4k

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

When you wake up, the room is dark. Dim moonlight filters softly into the room, illuminating the small quarters.

You sink further into the warm mass you’re pressed against, trying to align your body to fit more snugly against his sleeping form.

Your lover has one arm snaking around your waist, hand splayed on your hip. Sensing your movements, he begins to stir softly, a quiet groan escaping his lips. His fingers twitch as he wakes, and he tightens his arm around you as he blinks open his turquoise eyes.

He smiles sleepily, free hand coming up to your face, brushing a loose strand of your bangs behind your ear. You smile back, leaning up to give him a sweet kiss. You feel him smile against your lips before drawing back.

“Sleep okay, love?” His voice is charmingly gravelly from just waking up.

A soft snort escapes you as you nod. He still sounds mostly asleep. “Not as good as you, I don’t think,” you joke.

A grin adorns his face as he nods in agreement, drawing you closer to his warm body.

You glance over to the window, a sigh escaping your lips. “We really overslept a bit, huh?”

Vash laughs, shrugging. “Ah, who cares. That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

You lie together comfortably, his fingers running through your hair, scratching your scalp. Despite the peaceful atmosphere of the room, your mind is racing, your earlier conversation situated at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you murmur against his chest.

“I know,” he replies quietly.

Biting the inside of your lip, you press forward. “I really am sorry… I never want you to be hurting alone.”

He says nothing for a moment, silence settling into the room like a thin layer of dust. Fear that you’ve somehow said the wrong thing begins forming in your chest, and you swallow thickly in an attempt to soothe it. Just as you’re about to start over explaining yourself, he speaks.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he remarks, a wistful smile on his lips. “I… I don’t deserve someone to share my hurt with.” He pauses, eyes somewhat glazed as he gets lost in his thoughts. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your chest twists painfully, his words causing you to feel ill. You refuse to allow him to keep thinking of himself this way. Hastily pushing yourself into an upright position, you turn to face him. His eyes are wide as you level him with an intense stare.

“I don’t want to hear you say that ever again, Vash! You deserve the world . I’ll try to give that to you for as long as I live.” You pause briefly, trying to shift your tone into something more tender. “I’ve never met anyone as selfless, and kind, and brave, and sma-“ your words die out, interrupted by him surging forward, lips capturing yours in a desperate, passionate kiss.

Initially, the shock of the kiss has you stiff, but you find yourself quickly melting into him.

He pulls back, ending the kiss as quickly as it started. You stare at him, a feeling of breathlessness in your chest.

“I love you. God, I love you so much.” The words fall from his lips so beautifully, and you waste no time in stealing another intense kiss. He reciprocates it immediately, hands raising to cup your jaw.

“I,” you gasp, managing to pull away for a moment before his hands draw you in again roughly. The kiss is wet and rushed, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You pull back again after a few seconds, lips close enough to still be grazing his, breathing out, “love you.” He surges forward, desperately seeking out your lips as if he needs them to survive.

Without interrupting your kiss, you swing your knee over his hips to straddle him. He leans back in a fluid motion, pulling you with him to the mattress. Using your knees and forearms to support you, you hover over his pelvis and lean over his chest, deepening the kiss. Your bodies rock together sensually as his tongue slips past your lips, drawing a soft moan from your chest.

His hands trail roughly down your body, possessive as he squeezes and claims you. They eventually come to rest on your hips, gripping them as his pelvis bucks slightly against you. The feeling is electrifying, and you grind your clothed sex down on him in response, drawing a groan from him. Heat rushes through your core as you feel his hardened member, aching with want.

Just as you’re about to see if he wants to go further, he draws back, letting his head rest on the mattress, cheeks flushed. The otherwise quiet, dusty bedroom is filled with the sounds of soft panting.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his eyes hooded with lust. “I’m being selfish… I wasn’t even considering the fact that you got injured today. You’re probably still sore, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

You gaze at him for several long moments, his thoughtfulness making you feel both touched and impatient. “Vash, I’m fine. What I am is extremely pent up, though, so I would really appreciate it if we could take care of that.” He blushes slightly, and you can’t stop the smirk that pulls at your lips. “In fact, I’m hoping I’ll be sore if I play my cards right.”

A giggle falls from your lips as he gapes at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. It’s not long before he too eventually snorts, giving into laughing along with you.

“Unbelievable!” He chides, giving you a playful poke to your side. “I was worried about you, and here you are, only one thing on your mind!”

You blush, grinning down at him. “Well, I’m not alone in thinking about it.” A purposeful shift of your body on his pelvis effectively proves your point, putting pressure on his hardened length. The sensation draws a pleasured groan from him, and your grin widens.

He swallows thickly. “I guess it has been a little while.”

That could be the biggest understatement of the year. Traveling in a group doesn’t exactly allow many opportunities for intimacy. Many nights have been spent under the stars in the desert, unable to do more than share chaste kisses and a sleeping bag.

“All right,” he sighs. “But you’re gonna have to keep it down for once, because these walls are pretty thin,” he warns teasingly.

You regard him with a playfully scandalized expression, mouth open, a smile threatening to betray your rouse. “ For once? You’re so full of it!”

He grins at you, snickering softly and murmuring a not-so-apologetic sounding apology. Cupping the base of your head, he pulls you down for a kiss. You smile against his lips, your fingers hastily working to remove his shirt.

Once it’s been slipped over his head and tossed aside, you sit back up, eyes shamelessly roving over his figure. He is a vision of beauty, his defined muscles lightly flexing as you graze your fingernails across his skin. The soft touch has him gasping, his own hands sliding up and down your sides.

When you two first got together, he was incredibly self conscious about his body. All intimacy involved his shirt remaining on, which was perfectly fine with you. You wanted him to be comfortable and to be able to fully enjoy himself, and were happy to build up his confidence slowly.

He finally showed you his shirtless form after months of gentle reassurances and confidence building, and you traced your fingers delicately over his scars with tears streaming down your cheeks, babbling that you couldn’t understand how so many could hurt him this way.

You’d felt terrible afterwards. He had to comfort you when he was in a very vulnerable state. You apologized profusely, vowing to him that you would take every bad and painful touch his body had ever been scarred with and replace it tenfold with a gentle and loving one.

And you spent as much time as you could fulfilling that promise.

You begin peppering kisses all over him, wanting to claim every inch of his skin with them. Keeping your touch featherlight, you graze every ridge and valley on his abdomen, absolutely relishing the pleasured sounds you’re able to pull from him. Your mouth works its way down his body, taking time to give every scar you can see attention with your lips and mouth. His breath catches when you give a few quick sucks to his nipples, teeth just barely scraping against them.

Your body is situated right atop his still covered cock, the pressure on it constantly fluctuating as you shift and move. The way he sounds as he’s panting and moaning lights a fire in you, smoldering and building with every passing moment. You find yourself struggling to not grind against him to soothe the tingling heat in your core.

You kiss and nip slowly down his stomach, your own body scooting down in between his legs, your head finally reaching his pants. Your eyes flick up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face goes directly to your cunt. He’s already wrecked and you’ve barely touched him—his chest is rising and falling in quick, uneven pants; beads of sweat are accumulating at his hairline, rolling slowly down his face; his cheeks are flushed with arousal.

His cock is painfully hard: you don’t need to remove anything to tell that much. You’re glad he’s wearing a pair of loose, gray sweatpants, because they’re much easier to remove than his normal clothes.

With nimble fingers, you slide his pants and underwear off, tossing them aside haphazardly, eyes trained on his thick length.

You glance at him through your lashes again. “So hard already, baby,” you murmur, lightly gripping his cock and giving it a slow stroke.

He moans deliciously, his head tilting back into the pillows. “You’re gonna kill me, Mayfly,” he mumbles, the back of his hand covering his eyes.

You grin, giving him a firmer stroke. The moan he lets out makes you squeeze your thighs together, seeking any relief for your aching, wet sex.

You go down on him eagerly, taking the tip of his thick cock into your mouth, moaning as you suck and lick the head and slit. A shaky, breathy moan escapes his lips as his hands grasp at the sheets, and you start pumping his shaft with your hands while focusing on the bulbous tip with your mouth and tongue.

You sneak an occasional glance at your lover while you suck him off, unable to keep your eyes off him for long. He has his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, his mouth open as quiet, lewd whimpers and groans spill from his lips. His hips twitch involuntarily as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth.

He begins to thrust up into you as his pants and moans become more noticeable, but you hold him down by the hips, removing your hands from his cock, rubbing placating circles against his hip bone. Just as he’s beginning to make noises of protest, you take him completely into your mouth, his tip touching the back of your throat. The strangled cry that leaves his throat spurs you on as you begin bobbing up and down in earnest, sucking and hollowing your cheeks.

He cries out your name, one of his hands covering his mouth to try and stifle his moans. His other hand is gripping the sheets, holding them so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Oh, f-fuck, yes, just like that baby,” he babbles, his words muffled around his hand. He starts jerking his hips into your mouth again, and you let him this time, swallowing around his cock as he fucks your mouth.

You begin to notice his body tense up periodically, and based on the noises of desperation falling from his covered mouth, you know he’s getting close.

Deciding to try and push him over the edge, you take him deeper into your throat, but he cries out once more, gasping, “Baby, baby, wait-wait!” As you register his words, you begin easing up, but he grabs your head urgently and pulls you off his throbbing cock, his hips jerking forward reflexively.

You look up, furrowing your brow, eyes watering and wet lips parted and swollen. He’s sitting up, hunched over, panting and trembling. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck and along his collarbone, and the sight of him this way makes you want to step back in and finish the job.

You scold yourself mentally for being distracted and horny, trying to reign it in to make sure he’s all right.

“Everything okay?” Your voice is slightly hoarse as you rub a hand soothingly along his thigh. You move to sit up on your knees, resting in between his parted legs.

He looks out of it, and it takes a moment for your question to register. With a reassuring nod, he runs a hand through his sweat slicked locks, putting his free hand over yours with a breathless chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, more than okay—I just don’t wanna cum yet, s’too soon,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

A delighted grin forms on your lips as you lunge forward and pepper kisses on his nose and cheekbones.

“Aw! Such a thoughtful partner I have!” You praise happily, somewhat teasing.

When he looks at you, his eyes darken, prompting you to swallow thickly as arousal tingles in your core.

A soft huff of laughter escapes him, and he murmurs, “Actually…” Leaning forward, his voice lowers as he speaks into your ear. “I only wanna cum inside you. It’d be such a waste going down your throat.”

You choke on air, anticipation swirling in your gut. You have no idea where that suddenly came from, but it would be a lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. You know your face is bright red, because when he leans back to look at you, he can’t hold back his laughter at your expression. Your face feels even hotter as you look away from him.

“Sorry, sorry… too much?” He finally manages, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Um… actually…” you bite your lip, eyes trained on anything other than him in the moonlit room, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

He absolutely glows with excitement.

“Mayfly!” He gasps, his tone playfully scandalized. “Did we just find a new kink?”

You hide your flaming cheeks with your hands, fingers spread across your eyes. In your embarrassment, all you can manage is a high pitched, “Mhm!”

He coos playfully, reaching for your wrists. “C’mon, don’t hide. It’s okay! It’s hot!”

Tugging your wrists away from your face, he plants little kisses on your cheekbones, ceasing only when you meet his eyes again.

A pleased grin is plastered on his face as he releases your wrists, drawing a huff of laughter from you. As he reaches forward to pull you in by the base of your neck for a soft kiss, you feel the tension melt from your body.

Feeling reassured that you’ve recovered from your slight embarrassment, his hands drift, grazing down to the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric to feel your heated, sweat-slicked skin. Reaching down after him, you lift your shirt off easily, tossing it aside. His hands slide up your body sensually, snaking around your back, seeking out the clasp of your bra. With practiced fingers, the clasp is freed, and you let the garment slide down your arms, flinging it haphazardly.

A moan spills from your lips as his calloused hands cup your breasts, fingers gently pinching your hardened nipples. You feel heady with lust and anticipation, your pussy throbbing.

You rest your forehead against his own, sharing his breaths, relaxing into him as you feel one of his hands ghost down your belly. Your eyelids flutter shut as his hand trails further down, slipping into your pants and underwear, prompting you to part your knees.

Vash’s lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh as his fingertips reach your soaking folds. A pleased groan rumbles from his chest as he feels your wetness, dipping into your cunt to spread the fluids towards your throbbing clit. A shaky, wanton moan tumbles from your lips, his touch electric on your aching sex.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your neck breathlessly, finger dipping back into your hole.

“Vash, please,” you whine, shifting to get his finger closer to your swollen clit.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, his finger finally sliding to where you want it. Your body jolts as he starts rubbing small circles into you, his movements somewhat restricted by your pants, but still effective in sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He curses under his breath as lewd whimpers escape you, pitched and desperate.

Hastily pulling your remaining clothes off, you shudder as he increases the pressure on your clit once he has more room. You’re so wound up you know you won’t last long like this, and he seems to know this too.

The sparking pleasure from his finger eases up gradually, leaving you breathlessly reeling. You feel his finger slide down your folds, dipping slowly into your cunt. You whine as he sinks it into you, resisting the impulse to squeeze your thighs together. The small intrusion of his finger feels like sweet relief, and you find yourself quaking when he’s knuckles deep.

You feel his long finger curl, pressing onto the plush walls of your pussy with a teasingly slow pace. Pleasure jolts in your core and you groan lasciviously, feeling his pulsing finger quicken its pace.

It’s not long before he is relentlessly fingering your g-spot, slipping another finger into your wet hole. You grind your clit into his palm, desperately seeking out friction.

Your body feels like a live wire, core thrumming with pleasure. Your breaths are coming in short pants, and your forehead has dropped down to rest in the crook of your lover’s shoulder, where he’s babbling praises into your ear.

‘So good for me, you’re taking me so well, so tight.’

Your hips start rolling, and you moan Vash’s name with tears in your eyes when his fingers hit just right.

“Right there?” He asks breathlessly.

You nod vigorously, gripping onto his bicep to ground yourself. He watches you with wide eyes, completely transfixed, and makes no move to stop you from taking your pleasure.

You let yourself get lost in the heat that’s buzzing deep inside you, head thrown back and eyes closed, riding your lover’s fingers with pitched moans. With every roll of your hips, Vash’s palm rubs into you, the friction sending jolts of ecstasy through your body.

Vash’s other hand creeps down his own body, and he starts to fuck his fist slowly as he watches you. He stares, entranced as your eyebrows furrow, and can feel your walls begin to tense sporadically on his fingers. He slips a third finger into your heat and you gasp in response, hips stuttering momentarily as you adjust.

The pleasure that has been steadily building is beginning to reach its breaking point. Every brush of his fingers against your g-spot sends you hurdling closer to your climax. As much as you’d like to have that release, you don’t mind to edge yourself a bit, wanting to reciprocate the thoughtfulness your partner showed you.

“Mmm, baby, ‘m close,” you mumble, huffing for breath as sweat rolls down every part of your body, hips steadily rolling to a stop. You lift yourself gingerly, beginning to scoot back to let Vash’s fingers slide out of your throbbing cunt, but cry out in surprise when you feel his hand grasp your hip, pushing you back down on his digits harshly. His fingers push hard against your g-spot, sending delicious sparks of ecstasy through you, teetering dangerously close to the edge once again. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to gain some control, trying to breathe through the orgasm that is threatening to overtake you.

You open your eyes to ask Vash what he’s doing, but the words die on your tongue when you see him. He’s watching you, completely captivated, panting and sweating, cock strained and hard. He has an intense look on his face.

“Who said you should stop?” His voice is low, and you swallow thickly. His fingers twitch in you, and you squirm slightly, swallowing a whimper. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

Before you have a chance to mumble out a reply, he curls his digits inside you, and you cry out in bliss. He fingers you roughly, sparks of hot pleasure shooting into your belly. You’re worked back to the edge swiftly, gasping desperately, walls tensing on his long fingers. He leans forward slightly, face close to your ear.

“C’mon Mayfly,” he breathes, giving you a wet kiss right under your jaw. You feel him suck and nip at your sensitive skin, shuddering from all of the sensations assaulting you. He shifts up, lips right on your ear. Fingers relentless inside of you, you feel tears prick at your eyes. He brings his palm closer to your heat, grinding it against your clit. “Come for me, you’re so close.”

That’s all you can take: you throw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as you are thrown over the edge with a strangled cry. Your orgasm is one of the most intense you’ve ever had, the unshed tears from earlier spilling over your lashes as your body goes rigid. He continues to fuck you through it, praising you as he feels your walls clamp down, fluttering sporadically, fluids gushing around his fingers. Your body is wracked by aftershocks of pleasure, and you gasp against him each time. Eventually, the waves begin to fizzle, and you slump against him as stray tears roll down your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the side of your head.

You whimper as he withdraws his slicked fingers, arms still wrapped around his neck to anchor yourself from the intense pleasure you’re still coming down from.

Despite the mind blowing orgasm he just gave you, that tingling, hot sensation of unadulterated want can still be felt in your core, and you know you could do another round.

His hand strokes up and down your spine, his touch brimming with love and care. A few moments pass before either of you speak again, allowing you to collect yourself.

“Can you keep going?” He asks softly, kissing that same spot on your head. Even though he hasn’t cum, there’s no pressure in his question. There never has been and there never will be. He only wants to continue if you do.

You smile weakly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “‘Course I can. What do you take me for?”

He chuckles softly, gently wiping the remnants of a tear off your cheek. “You’re insatiable.”

You blush, but laugh along with him, giving him a small, affectionate kiss on the nose. “Hey, I tried to stop. I think you’re just into it.”

He grins, and your heart skips a beat. “Guilty as charged.”

After giving you another few moments to recover, Vash guides you gently back onto his hips, laying down with his back on the mattress. You straddle him, and he places his large hands on your hips. You smile warmly, taking in his visage laying under you.

“You’re stunning,” you whisper, lovingly stroking his forearms at your sides.

He blushes, and your smile brightens. “I could say the same thing. I’ve got a pretty good view from here,” he replies, his thumbs stroking the plush flesh around your hips.

Lifting yourself onto your knees, Vash reaches down to guide himself into your sensitive heat.

It’s been a while for you both, so the stretch to accommodate his member straddles pleasure and pain. You balance yourself using his chest, slowly lowering yourself onto him. You’re half tempted to just throw caution to the wind and bottom out now, despite being oversensitive.

“Don’t - ah - don’t rush, Mayfly,” he chides, sensing your impatience.

“‘s taking too long,” you mumble back, closing your eyes as you concentrate. His grip tightens on your hips to control your descent, his breathing quick.

When you finally bottom out, you both let out a deep exhale, taking a moment to get adjusted. You feel so full, the burn from stretching not quite gone, but dissipating steadily.

After remaining seated for a few moments, you try an experimental roll of your hips, deciding both the sensitivity and stretch is bearable. Vash sucks in a sharp breath, and you take it as a cue to keep going.

You start at a steady, but slow pace, mostly grinding at this point. It’s not long, though, before you raise yourself up and sink back down, a breathy moan of Vash’s name on your tongue. Setting a languid pace, you bite your lip as he moans wantonly. His thick cock twitches inside you as you ride him, your walls clenching on him sporadically.

“Oh, god you’re tight. Fuck.”

Soon, the slow pace isn’t enough, and you begin bouncing on his hips, his cock spearing deep into you, sparks of pleasure shooting into your core. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs resting in the divet connecting your pelvis to your thighs, head tilting back into the pillows, eyes closed. His swollen lips part as soft groans and pants of your name spill from them.

“Like that, god yes,” he mutters, his hips starting to thrust in tune with your movements.

You throw your head back as his thrusts become more forceful, less controlled. You feel so deliciously full, the burn from the stretch completely gone. His grip on your thighs tightens, and he starts pulling you down harder, driving a pleasured cry from your mouth. Your eyes flit down to where you’re joined, watching as he snaps his hips upwards, his muscles flexing as he moves.

You are taken by surprise when Vash’s grip on your thighs moves abruptly to your waist, and he rolls you over, switching positions. Now looming over top of you, he thrusts his cock into you at a punishing pace. You gasp, the pleasure building in your core dizzying. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, your body folding as he fucks into you. The new angle has you seeing stars, each thrust hammering your g-spot and causing a wet squelching noise.

In an unfortunately timed moment of self-awareness breaking through your haze of lust, you realize just how loud you two have been this whole time: the lewd slapping of your sweat soaked bodies, the old bed creaking and scraping the floor, the wooden headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, the breathy ’ ah’ that spills from your lips with every thrust, the heavy panting and groaning from your lover. Your face turns beet red, but you can’t stop the keening noise you make at a particularly deep thrust.

“Oh my god,” you groan, mortified that half the inn probably knows what you’re doing.

“What’s wrong?” Vash manages, unrelenting in his pace.

“We, ah, I just realized, mm…” your words fail you for a moment, toes curling as he bends you further, trying to get closer to hear you better. “We’ve been so, ngh, loud,” you finally get out, face turning impossibly redder.

The smug look that overtakes his features makes you wish you’d kept your mouth shut.

“I warned you earlier,” he pants, but seems all too pleased about the noise. Biting your hand, you attempt to stifle the noises you’re making, though you know it’s far too late to care. He gets a mischievous kind of look in his eye, and before you know it, his hand snakes down between your rocking bodies, fingers deftly brushing against your oversensitive clit.

All hopes in preserving your dignity are out the window.

A cry of his name pours from your lips, lost in the intense sensations overtaking your body. Your walls clench down on him, causing him to groan loudly, hips stuttering for a moment.

“C-close, close, mmm! ” you babble desperately, gasping, feeling the pleasure in your core winding up tighter with every toe curling slap of his hips.

“M-me too, Mayfly,” he pants, his pistoning hips becoming more erratic. He increases the pressure on your clit, tightening the coil in your core.

His ministrations bring you to your climax, a strangled moan tearing from your throat, your whole body going taut as you peak. The aftershocks of pleasure follow, hitting you in waves, your tightening, fluttering walls sending Vash closer to the edge. You feel his thrusts stutter.

“In, cum inside, please,” you beg, voice pitched and desperate as you toss your head to the side.

He curses under his breath at your erotic display, sweat dripping down his body. He manages one final thrust, pushing his cock in as deep as he can with a stuttered groan as his seed spills into you. The warm feeling of it filling you up extends your orgasm slightly, your cunt milking his throbbing member as much as possible. Vash grinds his hips into you, chasing the last waves of his pleasure as the remainder of his seed spills into you.

The blonde collapses onto the mattress after letting your legs fall from his shoulders, trying to land mostly to your side.

You’re a mess of heaving, tangled limbs on a bed. Both of you pant heavily, sweat drenching your bodies, his softening cock still inside you as your combined fluids start trickling from your puffy, sensitive hole.

After several moments spent catching your breath, you curl into him, wrapping a leg around his own. You hear him huff a bit of laughter, pulling you closely against him. He presses a kiss into your hair, and you gently trace patterns with your fingernails on his back.

You break the comfortable silence.

“I think… that may have been the best sex we’ve ever had.”

He snorts, his hand coming up to scratch your scalp softly. “I think you’re right. Not sure why though.”

“We were extremely pent up,” you point out. He hums in agreement. “And I’ve heard makeup sex is better than regular sex.”

Your statement takes him by surprise, a snicker finally escaping him following a beat of silence. You grin against his chest, pressing a kiss to the sweat-covered skin in front of you.

“Are you saying we should argue more and have sex less?” He asks, teasing.

“Hey, if it works, it works.”

He chuckles, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. You sigh into it, feeling your body melt.

“I love you,” you murmur softly against his lips.

“I love you too, Mayfly,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss for good measure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The following morning, you and Vash walk alongside Wolfwood to a nearby restaurant, seeking out some breakfast before getting on the road.

You had been worried sick that everyone would shoot dirty looks at you and your partner following your late-night activities; Wolfwood especially, since you’ll be stuck with him and his teasing long-term. It seems as if you’re in the clear, though, because you haven’t heard a word all morning.

After sitting at a small table at the restaurant, Vash takes your hand, holding it softly. You shoot him a quick, tender gaze before Wolfwood clears his throat.

“Y’know guys, I’m just so glad you were able to make up. You had me worried.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to thank you!” Vash exclaims suddenly, glad to have remembered. “Thank you for being there for her yesterday. We really owe you,” he finishes, his voice earnest. You smile pleasantly, taking a sip of water.

Wolfwood waves him off. “Think nothing of it, friend. Always glad to help.”

A beat of silence follows, and he adds nonchalantly, “Y’know, I should be thanking you.”

You and Vash exchanged puzzled glances, before he asks, “What for?”

Wolfwood shrugs, plucking a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, lighting it swiftly. “It was just so thoughtful to loudly make sure everyone at the inn knew you guys made up. You two are just constantly thinking of others.”

#trigun #vash #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #vash x reader #trigun 98 #trigun stampede #vash x you #peachy writes!#fanfic #goodnight posting this makes me sooo nervous #first smut jitters? is that a thing? lmfao

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pendragonsclotpole · 7 months

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I need to preface this post with the fact that I’ve been aware of Supernatural for as long as I’ve known what the terms fanfiction and fandom mean. It’s one of those pop culture moments that’s existed on the periphery of my mind as something really beloved and bemoaned about by people on the internet, but it’s never been something I really cared about outside of some iconic memes.

For the past four days, I’ve been watching Supernatural non-stop in my free time. I think I sat through eight episodes straight on one of those days, and I just have to say, the show is phenomenal.

I don’t know where to start, I could make a dozen of these posts about various points throughout the first two seasons and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve now taken a break at episode one of season three, because now that it’s a weekday I have work and can’t dedicate the time I could on the weekend.

First, Jared Padalecki’s acting is so beautiful and poignant and emotional. He really makes Sam Winchester into the bleeding heart of the whole show, and the entire time he’s on screen I worry about Sam. His portrayal of Sam’s heartbreak and desperation at Dean’s impending death after the car crash, as well as Sam’s horror at the reveal of what John told Dean before dying held a tragic desperation and denial that really embodied what the character represented in the first two seasons. Even as a hunter and with his special abilities, Sam felt like a quasi self-insert for the audience. I don’t mean that in a bad or overly tropey way, but in the way that he felt robbed of a proper childhood in favor of his father’s crusade. Sam is the angry, indignant younger sibling who never bore the brunt of responsibility like the older sibling did and it shows. In some ways, it makes him more entitled—I don’t mean that Sam does not have the right to be angry with John Winchester. He does. Fuck John Winchester. I mean entitled in the unintentional, coincidental way that your little brother or sister always demands the things you never had or rebels against the authority of the parent without ever dealing with the consequences you did as the older sibling. It reveals the veneer of freedom he had and the protection he received by virtue of his place in the Winchester Family. For me, it made him unbearably real, and this feeling of realness was made worse by the genuine naivety and innocence he keeps even as he continually gets screwed over by the demons. There’s a steadfast belief in the goodness of others within Sam that often conflicts with the sense of goodness he believes he lacks.

Sam trusts so easily, but he understands people in ways that should be antithetical to his upbringing. It took me forever to reconcile why he seemed so familiar, until I realized that Sam Winchester, for all that he was one of John Winchester’s son, had received the unconditional love of an older sibling for his entire childhood.

I don’t mean the perfect, kind, healthy love that often exists between fictional siblings. Too often I’ve watched media that makes me wonder how siblings like that even exist, or conversely, made me glad my siblings weren’t so fucked up.

I mean the kind of platonic love that exists between siblings living in the liminal space of love and hate thanks to the single fucked up connection that draws them back together continuously out of some sense of duty or commiseration or the need to be understood.

I mean the kind of love between siblings that would wither away when in a perfect world that does not stake their survival on their codependence of each other, but that in an imperfect and real world is equated to familiarity. Sam and Dean against the world—against John Winchester.

Out of all of the episodes I’ve watched in the last day and a half, perhaps the one that struck me most was episode 20, Season 2. What is and What Should Never Be. Not only was the title a bit of emotional whiplash—the juxtaposition of Should and Never lending a finality or a sense of wrongness that can’t be replicated by the words “Could Never—but we see Dean and Sam in a world where their one connection, hunting, has completely vanished and at a high cost to all the people they’ve saved, but mostly to Sam and Dean themselves. They’re connection as ride or die brothers is gone, replaced by an ostensibly better, healthier, more normal future liberated from the expectations of the rest of the world.

Without the death of Mary Winchester, Dean and Sam are no longer Dean and Sam. They’re just two people, connected by the two people that raised them, and likely to drift apart after that connection dies—frayed ends of a tapestry pulling apart and unraveling. Dean gains a mom and a normal life, but metaphorically loses a brother and a sense of purpose. Who is Dean Winchester if he’s not a hunter and Sam’s brother? And the sad thing is, neither of these are traits Dean ever chose. They are conditions foisted upon him, perhaps not intentionally, such as in the case of Sam, but ultimately placed on his soul until they tethered themselves to the very core of what being Dean Winchester is supposed to mean. The end of the episode, and Dean’s choice to return to the real world, regardless of Sam waking him up, is Dean fully giving up his dream in order to save Sam and be a hunter. The fallacy of the episode is in the choice Dean makes, which the more I think about it, feels less like a choice and more of an inevitability but one compounded by Dean’s readiness and willingness to go with it.

This is where I get to the crux of my surprise with these first early seasons of Supernatural: Dean Motherfucking Winchester.

I don’t know what I was expecting from early seasons of Supernatural, especially with the context of the later seasons. Maybe an overly cheesy, early 2000s ode to roadtrip Americana with a self-reverential take on the classic gun slinging frontiersman of the Wild West and bad supernatural CGI. Not to say it isn’t that (shout out to Sam’s comment on Dean’s particular brand of butch), but what surprised me was how real the connection between the characters was manifested on screen and how much good will the show built up in the audience. There came a point where I sided with Dean so much in the events of the show that I felt like I was riding shotgun in the impala. I saw it with every compliant “yes, sir” he gave to John, with every teasing comment he threw at Sam, and with every act of selflessness he exhibited by protecting other people. This isn’t to say that Dean is perfect. Sometimes he doesn’t take things seriously enough, or he’s willing to sacrifice people for some misguided greater good, or he’s obsessed with saving Sam even when he wouldn’t be if it were anyone else, but Dean has a conviction so many people lack. He has the capacity to love at a great cost to himself, either because he believes himself unworthy of being loved or because he’s not used to anything else.

Jensen Ackles does such a good job at this portrayal and with such a different technique than Jared Padalecki. Ackles embodies the desperate need for self-assuredness that Dean breathes, as well as the genuine fear he has of being seen. I love laughing with Dean as much as I love screaming at him for how stupid he’s being. If Sam is the self-insert, then Dean is the tragic hero, although that comparison feels like a poor facsimile for what Dean Winchester truly is because I don’t particularly feel an overwhelming sense of pity at his state or at his hinted downfall with that demon deal. If anything, I feel a sense of indignation mixed with understanding and frustration that Dean can’t catch a break but at the end of it all, is just how he prefers it.

It shouldn’t be a shock to admit that even without knowing what happens from seasons 3 to 15, I know how Supernatural ends. Just thinking about the ending makes me wonder if I should even continue it past season 5, but that’s a decision for another time.

For now, there’s something unbearably tragic in seeing Dean Winchester so close to a chance of a normal life and apple pie happiness (something he really seems to desire no matter how much he denies it) and then having to give it up, not just because it’s not real, but because he believes it should never be real.

Dean Winchester deserves better.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 1 #supernatural season 2 #supernatural season 3 #dean winchester deserved better #dean winchester deserves better #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #character study

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f1letters · 1 year

Text

vigilante shit | pg10 x cl16

"you did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them"

summary: revenge is served cold and it tastes especially sweet when it involves his best friend

warning: angst, toxic relationship, toxic reader, revenge, suggestive language, swearing, no cheating (since they are not together), a little choking? (lol this took a turn)

pairing: pierre gasly x reader, charles leclerc x reader

word count: 3.4k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

french words used: mon ange = my angel; bébé = baby; ma chérie = my darling

we are officially back after last weekend! (please, let's NOT talk about it, I'm still in denial lol) 😂 I guess this story needs a shoutout to my toxic ex? thank you wherever you are in the world for the inspo! haha 😂 anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it as always!

masterlist

Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Sometimes I wonder which one'll be your last lie

They say looks can kill and I might try

A cat eye sharp enough to kill a man was the first step necessary to a killing night.

Y/N made sure her siren eyes were on point as she got ready for the party that night. It wasn't the first drivers' party she attended since she had become a frequent presence in the paddock for the last few months. But, boy, was it a special one.

This was her time to seek revenge.

Toxic? Perhaps. But the Machiavellian side of her didn't care. Her eyes were seeing red.

And red was her theme: her bright cherry-red lips, her long silk red dress, and the luscious red heels at the end of her smooth legs, which showed through the slit of her skirt.

She looked like a walking Ferrari prize, ready to be picked up by the winner.

Playing with me was the worst thing you've ever done, Pierre. You'll see, she thought, leaving the house.

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

It all started on an innocent, warm summer day when Y/N and a group of friends decided to take a boat on the gorgeous, fascinating Lake Como for some fun, swimming and sunbathing, while they were in the beautiful country of Italy.

Unknown to Y/N, in the same waters, another boat passed by hers, immediately catching the interest of all her friends. The young woman was completely distracted, tanning her back, when she began to hear flirty whispers and giggles coming from her group, swooning over some random guys.

Curious, the girl turned around until her eyes landed on the figures of two athletic, handsome men. God, it was unfair, couldn't she have both? A girl can dream.

She had always been a confident woman, but old-fashioned in a sense: she wasn't going to approach them. If they wanted to know her and her friends, they could address them. If not, their loss.

However... Life has a funny way of turning against you and when the group of friends was getting ready to leave the lake, their boat couldn't start. They tried and tried, but clearly none of them had the capacity to handle the situation. So they only had one option left: ask for help from the friendly, helpful guys on the next boat.

"Hey!" Y/N called out, in an attempt to get them to look. "Can you help us?"

"Hi! Is something wrong with your boat?" One of them, in blue shorts, questioned, curious.

"We can't start the engine. Can you help us?" She asked.

The two boys jumped out and swam to the girls' boat without hesitation. When they walked up the stairs, Y/N could almost hear her friends' jaws hitting the floor at the sight of their wet, muscled abs. But Y/N maintained his carefree demeanour, which only fascinated the two young men more.

The unreachable. The unknown. The treasure to be discovered. They lived for the adrenaline, for the adventure, for the challenge.

And she was a walking challenge.

"Thanks for your help. I'm Y/N." She introduced herself, extending her hand to greet them.

"Pierre." The boy in the orange shorts replied, half-closed eyes filled with interest.

"I'm Charles." The other replied, with a seductive smile plastered on his face.

How the girl would come to regret it when she thought back on that day. From that moment came the invitation for the young women to join the two drivers in their next GP in Emilia-Romagna, which they happily accepted.

And from there came more races, group dinners, parties, and much more. Everything got more complicated when what started as a group friendship ended up leading to a silent battle between the two friends for the confident girl's attention.

One of them, unfortunately, had to lose, and in this case, contrary to their races, Pierre came out victorious, much to Charles's unawareness. Although the Monegasque was an absolute Greek God on the outside and a sweetheart on the inside, Y/N couldn't help but initially let her tendency for complicated, toxic men lead her right to Pierre.

She fell for his charm right away. She didn't even have a chance to run. As soon as he made his first move on her when he pulled her into an empty room after a night of partying, he dominated the girl, body and soul, like he was poison burning right through the inside of her veins.

But like all poison, it's only a matter of time before you die without the antidote.

Secret nights, hidden moments, empty promises. He continued to feed off of what he wanted from her, while she sustained herself with the little crumbs left from the illusions she created in her own head.

He wasn't going to change, and she knew it. But it wasn't until she heard the words come out of his mouth that she realized really how she had been used all those months.

"I never wanted a serious relationship, mon ange," Pierre confessed, unconcerned with her feelings. "You knew from the start that this was just fun for the two of you."

"Fun for the two of you?" She echoed his words. "You've been saying for months that we're eventually going to be in a relationship. Don't lie now. Which one'll be your last lie?!"

She wasn't going to allow herself to cry in front of him. She kept her gaze directly on him, with a look that could kill.

"You know what? You're right." She replied, smiling at him through the pain she felt in her chest. The corners of her lips turned up, but her eyes didn't follow the gesture, leaving Pierre almost startled by the mixed signals. "Have a good life, Pierre. I'll see you around."

Oh, he was going to see her around...

If there was one thing Y/N liked better than a good boy toy, it was revenge.

And she was thirsty for some vigilante action.

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

She wasn't going to let herself be affected by a guy who didn't treat her as she deserved. That wasn't something that lined up with her strong, confident, determined personality.

Cry for him? Be heartbroken because of the shitty way she was treated by him? Why be sad when you can get even?

The perfect opportunity for payback just presented itself to her. Just like that: so tempting, so inviting, so alluring. In the form of a single text.

From: Charles Leclerc

hey! you're coming sunday night, right? need you at my victory party...

Y/N spent the whole time with her focus completely dedicated to Pierre when she had a caring, honest man in the palm of her hand... And she would be lying if she didn't say that the fact that he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous didn't help captivate her now that her heart was free.

However, part of her mind told her that, although she was attracted to Charles, it would be unfair to basically use him to provoke a reaction out of Pierre. The Monegasque didn't even dream of the affair his two friends had going on in the recent past. It was just wrong. After all, how could she do to him what the Frenchman had done to her?

With this, an internal debate was created within the young woman. There were two options: she could be the superior person and move on with her life without thinking about the past, or she could let her anger take over and play with fire a little.

Unfortunately for Pierre, Y/N was never very good at keeping the burning fire of revenge inside her, and she was determined to have a little fun with it.

She needed cold, hard proof, so I gave her some

She had the envelope, where you think she got it from?

Now she gets the house, gets the kids, gets the pride

Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

That Sunday, Y/N walked into the club like she owned the place. The white lights reflected off her as if she were the mirror ball in the centre of the dance floor: all eyes were on her as she outshined the rest of the world.

Two pairs of eyes averted in unison as she approached the group of drivers, both believing she was there for them.

Pierre, closest to the stairs she was going up to the VIP area, was the first to approach the girl, with an inquisitive look.

"Mon ange, I didn't expect you to be here." He confessed, convinced that Y/N was there with the intent of getting him back.

What he didn't expect was that her siren eyes wouldn't even meet his. She was a woman on a mission, and her eyes were on only one person: his best friend.

Without saying a single word to him, Y/N made her way over to the handsome winner of the race, who had his mesmerizing blue eyes already fixed on his shiny red prize.

"Wow, bébé!" He whistled, giving her his hand and making her take a turn to show off her look. "I love the red, it suits you well. Was that all for me?" Charles, more confident than usual from a couple of drinks already consumed, flirted with the girl, his eyes admiring her from head to toe.

"How did you guess?" She replied, in the same tone. Y/N couldn't deny that Charles looked incredibly appetizing. His baby blue shirt was slightly open, exposing the man's defined chest, his hair was tousled and wild, and his eyes were brighter than ever.

"Just a lucky guess. The red Ferrari was a given, though." He chuckled as he pulled her closer to him. "You look so pretty tonight, Y/N. Not that you don't always look stunning, but tonight... Damn, you look fucking incredible, ma chérie."

Charles, focused only on the woman in front of him, didn't even notice how his best friend was glued to the shocking image of the Monegasque clinging to his ex-lover, but Y/N could feel Pierre's eyes burning into the back of her neck.

The young woman couldn't help but let out a satisfied grin. Pierre thought he could play with her without having to deal with the consequences, but he forgot that karma has a way of always biting someone back.

Y/N let her hand flow along the shirt of the driver in front of her until she reached his collar. She approached him seductively until her red inviting lips approached his ear.

Letting her mouth graze against Charles' warm neck, she began her plan. "Do you want to dance, champ?" She asked, with a suggestive tone to her voice.

"Lead the way. I'm all yours tonight." Charles responded and placed his hands on the girl's waist in response.

Enjoy the show, Pierre. It's just getting started.

And she looks so pretty

Drivin' in your Benz

Lately, she's been dressin' for revenge

As the pair moved towards the centre of the club, Y/N swaying his hips gently to the music and Charles with his hands all over the girl's body, Pierre's gaze moved with them.

The Frenchman's muscles tensed up, something that didn't go unnoticed by his teammate Yuki, who was standing right beside him.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Tsunoda asked, worried. "You look... I don't know, upset."

"Everything is fine," Gasly replied, though not at all convincingly. "Everything is perfectly fine." He continued, not understanding whether he was trying to convince the Japanese driver or himself.

He broke up with her, okay, he knew that. He would've understood if she showed up with some random guy trying to tease him. But his best friend, someone he's known for decades?

Y/N was taking things too far.

Pierre unfastened two buttons of his shirt, in an attempt to catch his breath, now dominated by rage. If your plan was to make me jealous to prove me wrong, you've done it, he thought to himself. Now that's enough.

Now for Y/N, revenge was just beginning.

"I think the winner deserves something special." The young woman put her arms around Charles' neck, letting her fingers flow through his brown hair and giving him a provocative smirk. "Don't you agree, Leclerc?"

"Well, he tried really hard to win the race." He joked back, speaking of himself in the third person. The driver's hands threatened to slide further and further down her back towards her bottom. "I think at the very least he deserves a dance with the prettiest girl in this club."

"Perhaps if the winner behaves well during the night, he can find out if his prize is red under the dress too." She teased him, licking her lips as she looked down at his flawless mouth. "Do you think he would like that?"

"Oh, for sure." He answered, getting his face closer to hers.

Y/N felt her heart beat faster and more euphorically, something that caught her off guard. This all started with intentions to punish Pierre for what he did to her, but without her relationship with the Frenchman clouding her mind, Y/N couldn't help but see Charles in a different light for the first time.

Of course, she always thought he was hot and she noticed his attempts to get close to her. But at that moment, the young woman was looking at him and her body seemed to react automatically to the Monegasque's presence, trying to reduce the physical distance between the two as much as possible.

She don't start shit, but she can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

She don't dress for friends

Lately, she's been dressing for revenge

She let herself be carried away by the impulsiveness of the moment and, leaving her thirst for vengeance forgotten in the back of her head, Y/N pulled Charles towards her and let her cherry-red lips kiss his.

Leclerc instantly returned the kiss, with the same passion, the same determination, and the same hunger for each other.

At that moment, it was just her and him. It didn't matter the circumstances that led them there, but that there was indeed chemistry and desire for each other. She simply had enough of Pierre and his lies.

On the other hand, Pierre couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. The woman he used to call his between four walls. The man he called his brother. Kissing. Hands exploring their bodies. No shame, no concern for who saw them and the opinions of outsiders.

It was what Y/N wanted from me and I never gave it to her, he realised.

The couple broke the kiss and Charles ran his hand over the girl's forehead, pushing the loose hair behind her ear. Y/N giggled when she saw the image of the driver's lips now stained with her lipstick and tried to clean them by running her thumb lovingly over them.

Suddenly, she felt the side of her face burn and instantly she realized why: her ex's eyes were fixed on her. As soon as she turned her face towards him, their eyes met and she just imagined all the names he was calling her in his head. She gave him a smirk and turned back to Charles.

"I'm going to the bathroom and I'll be right back with you, okay?" She asked, knowing full well that Pierre was going to follow her.

"I'll meet Carlos and wait for you in the VIP area." He informed her, a hungry look on his face, giving her hand one last rub with his thumb. "But you better be back soon because I've been promised a prize that I can't wait to unravel."

Ladies always rise above

Ladies know what people want

Someone sweet and kind and fun

The lady simply had enough

Just as she predicted, Gasly followed as soon as he saw her heading towards the dark hallway to the bathrooms.

Along the way, and just when he thought his nightmare couldn't get any worse, the Frenchman bumped into Charles, who had a smile plastered to his face like a man who had just won the lottery. Pierre wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smirk out of his face.

"Mate, I finally got the woman of my dreams." Leclerc innocently admitted, unaware that he was pulling his friend's strings.

Pierre simply walked away, bumping into Charles's shoulder, who was left behind confused by what had just happened.

As soon as he reached the hallway, Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she was in the ladies' room, so he leaned against the wall beside the door as he waited for her to exit.

A few minutes (which seemed like hours to the impatient man) passed before she got out. As soon as Pierre saw her figure, he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her against the wall in an act of rage.

"Can you explain to me what the fuck is going on?" Gasly spat out the words, hot-headed, leaning his body completely over the young woman's. "Are you fucking kidding me? Charles? Of all people."

"I'm sorry, but since when do I owe you an explanation? If I remember correctly, you and I are nothing." She spoke, mirroring the same angry tone.

"Shut the fuck up." Pierre gripped her wrist tighter, letting her know that her plan was working exactly as planned. "You crossed the line."

"I just thought the winner of the race deserved a worthy prize." She smirked until the driver placed his hand on her throat and squeezed lightly, making the smile soon disappear from her face.

While he was doin' lines and crossin' all of mine

Someone told his white-collar crimes to the FBI

And I don't dress for villains

Or for innocents

I'm on my vigilante shit again

"You already got what you wanted. You had your fun, you got me fucked up." He confessed. "But that's enough. You're going to get out of here and go home immediately because I'm not about to take this shit."

Y/N laughed in his face. This man's audacity to try to boss her around after using her as his personal toy in his spare time.

The young woman was far from done with her plan. So, she gave him those puppy dog eyes he couldn't resist and he released her throat, his eyes softening at the image of her.

Y/N brought her face closer to his, half closing her eyes as their lips prepared to meet. Or so Pierre thought, who was caught off guard when the girl ducked her way towards his ear and whispered her last words.

"This is only the start. Enjoy my revenge like I'm going to enjoy my night."

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

With that, the young woman left the dark hall without looking back and walked confidently towards the gorgeous man who was waiting for her.

Charles smiled behind the glass he was drinking from as soon as he laid eyes on the girl in red, getting a pat on the back from his friend Carlos.

"Ay, ay, ay, my friend. You are completely head over heels for her." Sainz teased and walked away from them, leaving the couple alone.

Leclerc grabbed the girl by the hip and pulled her towards him, placing a soft kiss on her red lips.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Y/N asked, winking at the boy.

"Hmm, tempting..." For the first time that night, Charles made the risky move of placing his free hand over the girl's ass. "What did you have in mind, bébé?"

Y/N started her night dressed for revenge not knowing that she would end up with her body burning for the Monegasque, but maybe Charles Leclerc was just the antidote she needed in her life as she tried to get back to her past self.

"What about some undressing?"

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

taglist: @dan3avacado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

@idkiwantchocolatee @simpforsunwoo @kissatelier @xweirdxsceletton @micksmidnights @miniminescapist @inchidentwithmax @hopelesslyromantics-world @alwaysclassyeagle @indieclarke @capela-miranda @okokoksblog @pulpfixion @sins-only33 @sainzclerc @allisonxf1 @honethatty12 @amsofftrack @flannel-cures @junkiespromise @loudoperahumanoidpanda @honeyric3 @holy-macncheese-balls @ricciardosheart @pierreverstapkin @ravenqueen27 @majkaftorek @home-of-disaster @buendiabebeta @itgirlofnowhere @roses-of-eden @thewintersunset @rubychocolatechips

(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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celestiaras · 4 days

Text

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @cryingaboutit1514 ˚₊ ⊹

ft. luca kaneshiro, hex haywire (separate) x gn! reader — luxiem/xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ reacting to you biting back after getting teased┊1k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub luca/hex┊teasing but no dialouge, brat-taming (& bratting for hex), biting, blowjobs for luca & handjobs for hex, edging/orgasm denial, overuse of the word “tease”

➤ author's note: i hope this piece is okay, it doesn’t quite live up to my standards (also i lost the ask, it’s at the bottom lmao)

he’s been at it for about half an hour now, not letting up because he doesn’t think that he’ll ever get bored of teasing you! how could you expect him not to bully you when you just have the cutest reactions? the way you pout and glare at him just reminds him of an adorable little angry kitten and it makes him want to poke fun at you even more, holding back the urge to reach out and pinch your cheeks after ruffling through your hair as if you were a child. there wasn’t anything that you could really do to get him to quit it as all attempts to tease him back were only met with more ridicule, adding to his beaming smile with sparkles like he wasn’t making you go gray early,

you didn’t want to just storm off in the middle of it since it was all in good fun, but you needed to shut him down with a win for you. you needed to do something completely unpredictable if you wanted to get the upper hand, something that would throw him so off-guard that he wouldn’t be able to make any more snarky remarks. once the light bulb went off in your mind, you were quick to act, pushing him into back into the couch mid-sentence and sinking your teeth into the flesh of his neck. it wasn’t deep enough to draw blood or bruise, but enough to sting a little as a warning. when he found himself underneath you with wide eyes at the unexpected action, you knew that you were finally the one in charge now.

━━━ .°˖✧ luca kaneshiro ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ he’s also prone to biting on occasion as a form of affection, but for you to turn the tables and do it back as a form of a threat had him shocked with a goofy ass smile on his face, feeling confused yet turned on by your sudden assertion of dominance. now it was your turn to tease him, telling him that he shouldn’t have dished out what he couldn’t take and how it was so easy to one-up the heir to a mafia boss. he can never handle getting teased back and always ends up doubling down, quickly becoming redder than a beetroot, and regretting his poor decisions of messing with you.

it’s so cute how quickly you have him chanting “i’m sorry” over and over again, his arm tossed over his face in a poor attempt to cover his scarlet face from your ministrations. he was practically begging you to let him cum, but he also doesn’t want it to stop because the warmth of your mouth and your tongue licking long strokes on him felt absolutely heavenly. perhaps he doesn’t regret bullying you too much if he gets punished like this, but maybe you’ll have mercy on him and let him off with a slap on the wrist?

when you notice his pleading puppy eyes, you lifted your head with a pop when you let go of his cock and he whined at the loss of stimulation. should you really let him off? he does seem genuinely apologetic, even starting to bribe you with gifts of any price since he could afford an entire country if you really wanted it. you hummed out loud as if you were contemplating even though you already knew your decision, just to torment him a little more and to make him sit in anticipation with his twitching cock out. he was far past embarrassment at this point, so when you just shook your head with a smile, he couldn’t help but straighten up in excitement now that he had your forgiveness.

━━━ .°˖✧ hex haywire ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ he’s a bit surprised it took you so long to bite back and to do it so literally too had him cracking a chuckle, only putting up his hands in a mock surrender when you asked him what his deal was. clearly, he was still trying to get a raise out of you even though you had him pinned down with your hands pressing down on his board chest. he already made it this far by pushing your buttons, why not push you over the edge to elicit another response out of you? it wouldn’t be any fun if you just left him hanging without any punishment, so maybe he could sneak in just one more playful jest to see what else you’ll do to him…

“you got anything else you wanna say to me?” you asked rhetorically, running your thumb over his leaking tip and smirking when all that came out was a groan. his mind was too fuzzy to think of a witty response right now, on the cusp of climax that you were denying him of because of his previous actions. it almost made him feel sorry since he wanted to cum so badly right now, but it was worth it to provoke you and have you put him in his place— especially when you trail your fingers along his rock-hard length that had his eyes rolling back. knowing you, you were going to edge him for as long as he teased you, but was he willing to suffer through the pleasurable pain for thirty minutes?

“oh please,” he scoffed, “i could keep this up for an entire hour if i wanted to.” it was a bold statement and you were going to test it to his limits, making him gasp at the feeling of your pace suddenly speeding up before abruptly stopping and almost tearing up at the feeling fading away leaving his throbbing cock just aching for release. he wasn’t one to show his wavering strength turning to weakness so quickly, so you knew that you were going to win this in the end despite his stubbornness. he can be a winner with the mind-blowing orgasm that comes after being teased for so long too, but only if he admits an apology and if you feel nice enough to give it to him.

request was [ hi queen (literally is shaking from head to toe) may I pretty please have hex and luca's (separately if that's ok) reaction to you getting flustered and "angry" when they tease you? And when u bite back (quite literally) how would they respond? (hahaha smutty smut) help the amount of times I had to reread what I wrote bc it didnt make sense and I'm just like omg how do I ask a mutual stuff again ]

#📜. her works #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #luca kaneshiro smut #hex haywire #hex haywire x reader #hex haywire smut #luxiem #luxiem x reader #luxiem smut #xsoleil #xsoleil x reader #xsoleil smut #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut

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her-power · 4 months

Text

The End of All Things (Part Four: e.m. x fem reader)

TRIGGER WARNING & C/W: 18++++ MDNI!!! Sweet! Eddie, hurt/comfort, grief, talk of grief, fluff, heavy drug use, suicidal thoughts, talk of death/dying, lots of crying, lots of swearing, some smut, unprotected p+v, trauma

Part One: Denial Part Two: Anger Part Three: Bargaining

Summary: Relationships are tested, choices are made, words hurt, and you might end up kicking Eddie Munson's ass. Full plot summary is on part one of this series.

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: I also submitted an original sketch in this part. It's been years since I have drawn something so it's not great and I fucking forgot how hard it is to draw hands and draw a person lmao but I wanted to give you guys a little added bonus to this series.

A/N #2: This part was a bit rough for me to write, but also super healing in a way. I felt like I was looking into the eyes of all of my friends as I was writing this and just remembering things after so many years since losing my mom. Part Five will be released after the holidays, I need a bit of a break to be with my family and be prepared for the griefy feels. I love you all, thank you for giving me a platform to be creative and to heal. <3

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Eddie was pacing in the break room of the record store; inhaling deeply on his cigarette as he tried to gather his thoughts. The trip back home was uneventful, you had stayed at the Inn in Philadelphia for a night again. He had noticed a change in you after the cemetery. It was subtle changes; you would be unusually quiet, but then you would snap out of it and that big, beautiful smile he loved so much would appear. You were tired a lot; Eddie had noticed the bags under your eyes as the weeks went by. He knew you weren’t sleeping. Even when he would stay in the same bed as you, he knew you only pretended to be asleep. When you thought he was asleep, he would hear you rummage around in the kitchen, or go sit out on the porch, smoking a joint.

Then it hit the two-month mark, and you were starting to terrify him. Summer was almost over, you had lost interest in things you loved to do, like painting, singing, reading. You would go to work, come home, stay awake, sleep, and then go to work again.

Eddie would try to get you to talk to him, but you would shut down, blocking out anything and everything around you.

He plops on the chair, his leg bobbing nervously, cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He stood up and started pacing again, he couldn’t sit.

Eddie had called the realtor two weeks ago; she had a kind voice and gave him useful information and advice when it came to potentially buying a house. He was also curious why there weren’t any hits on the house, it had been on the market for a while and parts of it had been redone but no one was interested in buying it. She told him it was a mystery to her as well, there was nothing aesthetically wrong with the house, the foundation was perfect, the roof was brand new, but no one seemed to care for it. The owners had lowered their price five thousand dollars under the asking price, and there was still no jump.

He had been saving money here and there for a couple years; he would call it his emergency fund. But when he had saw how you looked at your childhood home, how your eyes lit up with nostalgia and joy, he knew what he had to do.

He was doing everything in his power to get enough money for the down payment on the house; he had mentioned the plan to your father. Eddie had thought he would think he was crazy, that neither one of you could afford to live in a house, let alone a mortgage. Instead, he asked Eddie how much he needed. Eddie didn’t want anything, he told him, just support. Your father then said something to him that he will never forget.

“I have two loves in my life: my wife, and my daughter. Some people aren’t lucky enough to have that happen to them. Some dad’s leave, some do stupid shit and some die. I love my daughter with all my heart, but I don’t want her to feel stuck here. I don’t want her to worry about me or worry about what my future holds. I don’t want her to stop her life because her mother died. I’m gonna be okay. I’m going through it, and I’m always going to, but I’m okay. I’m practically an old man, I lived my life, and it was beautiful. It’s still beautiful, but I’m not gonna fully rest until I know that my daughter will be okay. And if she stays here, she won’t be.” He swallows, taking off his glasses to clean the lenses. “Now, I’m asking you how much you need not as a charity. But as a man, looking at a kid I watched grow up to become a man and fall in love with my daughter, who has been by her side through all of this. Wiped her tears, fed her, laugh with her. My daughter loved that house, and the fact that you didn’t even hesitate to call the realtor speaks volumes just what kind of man you are. You want to see her happy, and you are a big part of her happiness. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to love my daughter. I know her mother would agree. So, you’re gonna tell me a number, and I’m gonna do my best to give it to you. Don’t fight me on this.”

Eddie had almost sobbed right there; it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him. He told him a number, and your father said to give him two weeks. Part of him still didn’t want to take it, but he knew if he didn’t, your father would give the whole thing to the realtor.

He had lit up another cigarette and blew his bangs out of his face. He had called you a few hours ago; you had the day off and planned on taking a nap. Eddie had told you he had found this certain type of acrylic paint you had needed and asked if he wanted to pick it up for you. You had thanked him but said no, and the rest of the phone call was uncomfortable silence.

“Munson!” Sully’s booming voice comes echoing into the break room.

Eddie sighs. “What?”

Sully peeks his head in, his large frame would intimidate most people, especially since he had an enormous throat tattoo, but Sully was a big teddy bear. He was a businessman second, and a father to two beautiful little girls first. “You good, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He inhales on his cigarette and puts it out in the ashtray.

“Any word from her?” Sully was asking about you, and Eddie had told him he spoke to you a while ago. “How’s the money saving going?”

Eddie had told Sully about his plans, and he was more than onboard with it. He said he was close to the owner of the record store on Newbury St in Boston, that he had put in a good word for him, and the owner was more than happy to welcome him into the store when he was ready. The record store in Boston was two floors, both floors had rows of records, and the bottom floor had a little sound stage where locals would perform for a monthly open mic night.

Eddie had gone back on the floor with a tote of jazz vinyls, he sat in the aisle and organized the records by artist. Robin had come to visit, had sat on the floor with him, passing him each artist he asked for.

“I’m worried about her.” Robin says suddenly, looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie glances at her and goes back to moving around the vinyls, swallowing hard.

“Me too.” Eddie says softly.

“Has she said anything? When I saw her at the Hideout last week, she looked like a walking zombie for Pete’s sake.” Robin looks up at him, he shook his head, staring at his hands, the skull ring on his middle finger. He fingers it gently. “Are you alright, man?”

“Not really.” He laughs tiredly and looks at her. “She won’t talk to me about how she’s feeling. She’ll talk to me about everything else but that.”

“What happened at the cemetery?” She asked gently.

Eddie shakes his head, running his hands over his face. “A breaking point, I think.”

“Jesus.” She mutters. “What do we do? Intervention? Get a priest? I don’t know how this shit works; I’ve never had someone close to me die before. Is there a rule book? Do we just not say anything and let her be stubborn and just slowly disappear until she’s whittled down to nothing, and we just glue her back together and tell her we love her but what if at that point it’s too late and we can’t—"

Eddie kneels in front of Robin, gently holding her face. “Hey, breathe, dude. Deep breaths.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to her.” Robin tells him quietly, her eyes filling with tears as she looks at her friend. “Why did this have to happen?”

Eddie caresses her head, gently patting her and pulls her in for a hug. “I don’t know.” He mutters. He was so tired of saying it, tired of saying he didn’t know, because it sounded so fucking simple, but it wasn’t.

“Why doesn’t she want to talk to us? We’re her friends, she shouldn’t have to suffer alone.” Robin looks up at him and he sighs, gently knocking her chin.

“I’m going over there after work. I don’t care if she hates me, I need to at least get an idea of what’s going on.” He leans back against the shelves, leaning his arms on his bent knees and Robin wipes her face.

“How are you holding up?” Eddie looks at her. “With all of this? Losing her too?”

Eddie gives her a sad smile. “Would you believe if I told you I was fine?”

“No.” She smirks at him.

“It’s a surreal feeling honestly.” He realizes he hasn’t spoken about this with anyone, even you. “The only time I ever experienced some sort of loss was when my dad went to prison, but fuck him, he can rot there for all I care. But he’s still alive, she’s not. I’m still trying to process how someone can be here one minute, living, breathing, and then just be…dead.” He shrugs, realizing he’s crying and quickly wipes his tears away, he almost laughs. “See? I don’t even notice I’m crying, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” Robin says, reaching over to squeeze his knee. “You’re going through it too.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I shouldn’t.” He sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “She wasn’t my mother.”

Robin gives him a sweet smile. “No, but she was the next best thing to you.”

He sighs, shaking his head, another tear falls down his cheek. “There’s just so much pain in her. I can feel it.”

He points to his heart, “I see how much pain she’s in and I want to take all of it, so she doesn’t have to, I’d rather suffer with it for the rest of my life, then watch someone like her go through that when she didn’t deserve it. Her mother didn’t deserve to die. I guess no one does, even the shitty ones.”

“Nah, the shitty ones deserve it.” Robin laughs and Eddie chuckles. “You really love her, huh?”

Eddie nods and he sighs, looking into her eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

Eddie tells her his entire plan, about the house, about your father helping him with some of the down payment. He told her about going to see your childhood home, how it’s been on the market since June, and no one is interested. He told her that if his plan works, he’s gonna ask you to marry him the first night you sleep in the house, and that was the first time he has said it out loud. Robin cried happy tears, followed by punching him in the arm.

“You guys are leaving me!”

“Ow!” Eddie laughs, rubbing his arm. “It’s not even set in stone yet.”

“Dude, you know it’s gonna be!” Robin smiles, pulling him in for a hug. “I’m happy for you, but I’m gonna fucking miss you, man.”

Eddie kisses the top of her head, rubbing her shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too.”

“Steve is gonna be devastated.”

“Nah he’ll be fine.” Eddie jokes. “Yeah, I know. His little boy is growing up.”

“That sounds so gross when you say it like that.”

***

Eddie had driven to your house after closing the store; your car was still in the driveway and the outside lights were on. Your father had gone to Jimmy’s for the weekend, and he had called Eddie at the store to make sure he planned on going over there. Your father didn’t say it, but he was worried about you too.

Eddie walks into the house, hearing the television playing in the living room. He peeks his head into the living and sees your form curled up on the couch, a knitted blanket over you with your hood over your head. It was freezing in the house, Eddie had saw you set the air conditioner to 60 degrees. The only source of light was from the television, it was nick at nite and I Love Lucy was playing. Eddie notices the three empty beer bottles on the coffee table, a half smoked joint, and a bottle of aspirin. He quietly clears the table, dumping out the remaining beer from the bottles in the sink and tossing them in the recycling. He washes his hands and heads back to the living room; he squats on the side of the couch where you were laying, leaning forward to kiss your cheeks softly and caress your head. You stir, opening your eyes, meeting Eddie’s and you smile softly.

“Hey baby.” Eddie says sweetly to you, rubbing your cheek.

“Hey.” Your voice is groggy, and you sit up a little, stretching. “What time is it?” You pull your hood down, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“A little after ten. Go back to sleep, I just wanted you to know I was here.” He kisses the top of your hand, and you lean into him to kiss his lips.

“No, it’s okay, I feel like I haven’t seen you.” You lay back on the couch pillow, reaching out your hand to cup his cheek. Eddie put his hand over yours, and scans your face, he hated how tired you looked. Your hair was in a messy braid over your shoulder, you looked like you had been crying for hours before he got there.

And your eyes.

Eddie inhales a shaky breath as he looks in your eyes and sees that the light that was once there, was gone. You notice his staring.

“What?” You ask with a smile.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, getting up and sitting next to you, lifting your legs to drape them over his lap. “I just missed you today.”

You smile, reaching over to entwine your fingers. Eddie leans his head back on the couch, gently rubbing massaging circles around your thighs as you both stare at the television.

Eddie feels you shudder under his touch, so he stops.

Apparently, you didn’t want him to stop, because the next thing that happens is you straddling him, pressing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He holds your waist tightly and groans when you grind yourself against his jeans. You pull off your hoodie, wearing only a lace bra and you deepen the kiss again.

Talk to her, idiot! Eddie is saying to himself, and he moans in response when your teeth graze his throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, she’s avoiding, she knows how she looks, stop kissing her and talk to her!

Eddie’s conscious screams at him but he continues to kiss you, continues to touch your skin. His skin prickles with goosebumps when your hand touches his stomach above his jeans. Your hand slides down into his pants, grasping his hard length in your hand and Eddie moans loudly.

You’re a stupid fuck! Snap out of it, dummy!

“Wait, wait, wait.” Eddie finally says breathlessly against your lips. “Stop, stop.”

You pull away from him, removing your hand as if it burned. You stare at him with confusion and concern that you may have hurt him. Eddie runs his hands over his face, leaning forward on his knees. “We need to talk.”

“Don’t like that.” You say softly, laughing a little, your heart was racing.

“No, it’s not that kind of talk.” Eddie gives you a sad smile, taking your hand in his and rubbing his thumb over your skin. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You pause, staring at his face. “What? What do you mean?”

Eddie looks at you, really looks at you. “You know what I mean.”

You pull your hand away from his and he sighs, he can already feel you pulling away, he can see it in your eyes too. “Eddie, I’m fine.”

Frustration rose in his chest, and he wants to laugh but he doesn’t, he scoffs instead. “Is that a lie you’re telling me or telling yourself? Do you really think you’re fine?”

She blinks, her eyes already widening with tears. “I’m not lying, Eddie.”

“When was the last time you ate? When was the last time you did something you actually enjoyed? Because for two months, you have been disappearing in front of my eyes.” His own tears were filling his eyes, and he blinks them away. “You need to talk to me.”

“And say what? What do you want me to say, Eddie?” You raise your voice.

“Fucking anything!” He gets up from the couch and paces. You watch him with sad eyes. “Jesus Christ; I know you’re hurting; I know you’re in pain, I can clearly see that but all I’m asking is for you to talk to me. I told you I’m here for you, but instead you’re pushing me away!”

“Okay. You want me to talk? Let’s talk.” Your bottom lip trembles as you look up at him and toss your hoodie back over your body. “Every single damn day I am praying that I don’t wake up in this life, and I wake up in the next because I am tired. I am so tired, Eddie. When I sleep, I don’t feel this fucking throbbing pain in my chest like I feel right now. When I sleep, I have dreams instead of nightmares now and I see her. I see her and she’s alive and I want to stay there. I physically cannot stand to look at myself in the mirror because of how fucked up I look. I don’t tell you these things because it’s not your fucking job to heal me, it’s no one’s job.”

Eddie stands there stunned, his fingers clench around his chest, a lump forms in his throat, and a breath escapes him. “You’re telling me, that every day you pray you don’t wake up? How the fuck do you think that makes me feel?!”

“You wanted to talk!” You snap at him. “You wanted the truth so I’m telling you!”

Tears form in his eyes as he stares at you. “Do you have any idea what that would do to me if I lost you? I mean, fuck, I feel like I’m almost there just by how you’ve been lately. It would destroy me if something happened to you. It would kill me. And you pray for that every day?”

You stand up from the couch, grabbing the joint from the table and lighting it quickly; you inhale and let the smoke billow from your nostrils. “I don’t want to die Eddie.”

“Then what the fuck are you saying to me?!” He yells, tears spilling from his eyes.

“I’m saying I don’t want to feel this pain anymore! If I could cut it out of me without bleeding out I would do it! If I could swallow a bunch of pills just to get rid of it and be okay, I would do it! I don’t want to die; I want to kill this part of me that feels all this pain and guilt and fucking grief and just be done with it!” You yell at him, hot tears stream down your face. “So yeah, I pray for it.”

Eddie runs his hands over his mouth, a small sob escaping him as he stares at you. “Why haven’t you told me this?” His voice is so full of pain, it kills you.

“Because it’s not your job to heal me.”

“It is if I want to spend the rest of my life with you!” He cries and your breath hitches. “Fuck! I want it all with you. I want you; I want the marriage, I want those babies with you, I want a fucking house in the suburbs with a damn dog! Hell, maybe even a cat. But I meant it when I said that when I look to the future, you’re in it. And right now; I feel like you’re telling me you don’t want any of that.”

“Of course, I do.” You say quietly, averting your eyes, wiping away your tears.

“I don’t think you do.” Eddie’s hand goes over his heart again, feeling it slowly break.

“You’re not inside my head, okay?” You snap at him and point to your temple. “It’s a fucking mess in here. Why would you want to be with someone for the rest of your life who can’t even take a shower? Who has a devil and angel on her shoulder, one telling her it’s okay to feel all this pain and the other telling her, grab those drugs from a few months ago! You won’t feel a goddamn thing!”

“Hold on a minute, you told me you didn’t have any left.” He was big mad; you could see it in his eyes.

“I lied.” You meet his eyes, and he lets out a laugh.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do and hate to break it to you, sweetheart. It’s not gonna work.” He wipes his eyes and his nose. “Did you do it?”

“No.” You whisper.

“Go get it then.” Eddie sneers and you look at him like he slapped you. “If you want to do it, numb your pain that way, fucking doit. I’ll do it with you. It will be a Kodak fucking moment.”

“No. Eddie what the fu—"

“Why? You want to kill that part of yourself, right? Why don’t you kill it slowly with the drugs? Better yet, I’ll go find the guy that supplied the shit that I had, and I’ll go on a fucking ride.” He heads towards the door, tears still running down his face, his eyes wild. You follow him and grab his arm.

“Eddie, stop it! That could fucking kill you!”

“Just a small part of me.” Eddie says, his tone cold.

You let go of his arm, eyes narrowing. “Oh, fuck you!”

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“What are you doing!? Why are you acting like this?!” You yell through your tears.

“Because you’re not the only one who lost her!” It’s out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Your eyes are wide, glistening with tears. He stares at you, rubbing his palm over his lips. “I cannot imagine the pain you feel right now. But I look at you and I can feel it radiate it from you, every single day. The light in your eyes is gone. And it’s because you choose to suffer with this grief alone.”

You step back from him, shaking your head as you stare at him. “You know what? You need to go. Get out.”

“You think I’m gonna leave after what you just told me? You’re out of your mind.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You are a fucking asshole!” Your eyes are wide, wild. You open the front door. “I don’t care if you sleep outside in your van, you need to get away from me!” Tears are pouring down your cheeks as you throw open the front door, you look up at him. “You promised me you wouldn’t push. You promised.”

“I guess we’re both liars then.” His big brown eyes match your same wild ones, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Please. Just go. Go away.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Eddie says through his gritted teeth.

“I want you to! I don’t want to see you! I don’t want to be in the same room as you! Get the fuck out of my house! Get out or I’m calling the fucking cops!”

He stares at you hard. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t? I’ll just say the magic words, town freak, right?”

His breath hitches and he felt his heart snap in two. Those words have haunted him for five years, and you used it as ammunition, you aimed, and fired. He looks out to his van and then back at you, his face turns from sadness to full on anger. “Fine. Go ahead and suffer alone.”

He walks away from you, you slam the door shut, and slide down to the floor. Your breathing accelerates and you sob into your hands. You did it, you actually did it. You just took the last ten years, wrapped it up in a ball and threw it in the dumpster.

Eddie hops into his van, not even bothering to put his seat belt on and peels out of your driveway. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, he just drives. His heart was pounding, behind his eyes stung, he felt like he had his entire body was vibrating. He passes the Leaving Hawkins sign and keeps driving until he’s on a dark stretch of road; he pulls over to the side and turns the car off. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel, his breathing picking up, his hands grip the wheel in a white-knuckle grip. He leans back, punching his dashboard not once, not twice, but three times, and he screams, the sound so guttural, so full of pain, full of anger. “Fuuuuuuck!!!!!!!”

He sobs, hard. His body trembling as every single emotion that he had bottled up these last few months finally made its way to the surface. He shouldn’t have pushed, he knows that, but he’s glad he did. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have known how bad you were hurting, but it didn’t matter now. You told him to go, so he did. He takes a cigarette out, lights it and inhales, his breath trembling as the smoke comes out. He didn’t want to feel like this anymore, he needed to feel something else other than this pain, and he felt like a goddamn hypocrite when he turns on the van, driving to Indianapolis to a spot where he knew he’d be able to get rid of his pain. It didn’t matter now, none of it mattered, he was just pulling the strings to his own destruction.

He completely disassociated on the ride to the city; he doesn’t even remember putting on music. He goes down a side street, trying to remember if he’s in the right spot, and when he sees the neon BEER sign, he knew he reached his destination. He only knew about this place because of his dad, he had brought him here when he was last out of prison. In every corner of the bar, someone was snorting something, drinking something, smoking something. He parks the van and gets out; as soon as he opens the door to the bar he is hit with aromas of weed, cigarette smoke, and stale beer. It wasn’t that crowded, and Eddie was glad. He sits on the stool at the bar, the bartender was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, with kind eyes and a sweet smile.

“What can I get you, honey?” She asks sweetly, placing a napkin in front of him.

“Whiskey, please, straight.” He hands her a twenty-dollar bill, which she hesitates to take, but does anyway.

She places the glass in front of him, and he brings the rim of the glass to his lips, knocking the whole thing back. He winces at the bitter taste and twirls his finger around asking for another. She refills his glass, and he nurses this one.

“You look like you’ve been trekking through a war zone there, sweetheart.” She tells him gently, leaning against the bar, shining a glass.

Eddie meets her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not gonna pry, I’m just not sure if you’ve come to the wrong place or the right place.” She gently pats his hand and goes down to the other side of the bar to talk to the other patrons. Eddie glances around the bar, and his eyes fix on a booth in the corner. There’s a man speaking to a woman with their heads bowed, she couldn’t have been much younger than Eddie, she was strikingly beautiful, but had very sad eyes, he notices the exchange. The man had put something in her hand, and she walks away from him, leaving the bar. The man notices Eddie staring and nods at him with a smile, Eddie nods back, looking away from him. He stares at his glass, twirling it in his fingers, the brown liquid moves side to side as he stares at the glass. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, the man was still there, quietly sipping his beer, looking up at the television that had some sort of sports game on.

Eddie knocks the rest of his second drink back and gets up from the stool. He feels the hair prickle on the back of his neck as he walks towards the man. The man looks at him and smiles, leaning back in his seat. He looked like a washed-up version of Robert DeNiro, a little intimidating, otherwise he seemed nice.

Eddie takes out his hand and the man takes it. “Hi, I’m Eddie.”

“Leon.” He sounded southern, Eddie thought. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know, what do you got?” Eddie asks, already feeling the effects of the drugs that he didn’t even take yet. That’s how much he loved it the first time he tried it, and that was by accident. Again, it didn’t matter anymore.

Puppet.

“Uppers, downers, china white—"

Pulling the strings.

“How much for the China white?”

Destruction.

Eddie had driven back to the county line outside of Hawkins and had parked in an abandoned fishing spot. The only source of light was from the moon reflecting off the pond, and he opens the square. Leon had told him that if he wasn’t going to shoot it, he’d have to go slow, a small bump. Eddie hated needles, despite having all his tattoos, he couldn’t understand how someone could willingly stick a needle in their arm.

You’re about to snort it, you stupid fuck. What’s the difference? It’s still heroin.

Eddie takes a cassette from under his seat, he didn’t even bother to look at who the artist was, he was gonna throw it out anyway. He sprinkles a little bit of powder on it, no bigger than his fingernail and takes a rolled-up dollar bill. With no hesitation, he’s snorting it into his air ways. He grunts, his nostrils stinging, and a wave of nausea hits him. The cassette tape falls out of his hands, and he feels the vomit hit the back of his throat. He pushes his door open with his shoulder, vomiting all over the ground. He leans his body onto the door panel, wiping his mouth, coughing a little and that’s when he feels it. His eyes flutter close, and he feels a smile grace his lips.

“Oh shit.” He whispers, feeling the euphoria coursing through his blood stream, his nervous system, everywhere. He tries to think of something, think of you, think of her, and he felt nothing. Puppet. Strings. Destruction. He practically drags himself into his driver seat and slams his door. He reaches for the bag of powder, blindly finds the dollar bill and snorts again. He laughs when he lifts his head up, it falls back onto the headrest. Before he knew it, it was all gone and he was smoking a cigarette, his eyes half lidded, his head nodding to the side. He would jump awake, inhale on the cigarette and nod out again. He was just resting his eyes, he told himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s in your driveway. He sits up straighter, seeing that it was still dark outside. How the fuck did I get here? He pushes the front door open and practically falls out. He holds his head, the sudden pressure from getting up too fast making him dizzy as he stumbles onto your front porch, pushing your door open. He calls your name, but you don’t answer. He notices the stillness as he stood there, noticing all the lights were off, there was no sound. He suddenly felt sober, and his feet take him to the center of your living room. The light from the bathroom came through the door that was ajar, and all he hears is the sound of his own breathing and his footfalls.

He pushes the door open slowly with his palm, the hinges squeaking, and he sees you lying there. You’re on your back, your head tilted to one side, arms splayed out, unmoving.

A groan escapes him, a sound that started from the very depths of his soul. His body falls against the door, and he falls to his knees. His body felt stiff as he crawled to you, hot, angry tears were pooling from his eyes.

“Nooo…” He groans, his hand shaking as he turns your face, your eyes in a fixed stare. He inhales deeply, cupping your face. You just have to kiss her, and she’ll wake up. That’s all, like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.

Eddie kisses your lips gently, his tears falling to your cheeks, and he lifts his head. You still lay there unmoving, no breath from your lips. His mouth falls open in a gasp as he looks at you, and his body shakes with sobs. He stares at your face, he couldn’t understand what was happening, why this was happening.

“Please come back to me, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything I said, please.” He cups your face, smoothing back your hair; you were so cold. “Just wake up now, and we can start over, that’s all. Just wake up…please!!!” He cries and cradles your limp body to him, trying to figure out something, anything that will get you to wake up. He kisses your cheeks, your hair, your forehead.

His head falls back, and a loud, guttural wail escapes his lungs. “Nooooooo!!!”

“Nooooo!” Eddie screams himself awake. The sun was beating down on him in the van as he catches his breath, looking around, panic and fright in his wide brown eyes. He was still parked at the pond. He feels bile rise in his throat and barely gets the door open before he’s violently vomiting on the ground. His vomit from the night before inches from where he stood. He wipes his mouth, his skin sweaty, damp. He squints in the sunlight and holds his stomach. He was still high, but functional, his logical part of his brain working faster than it did last night.

“Fucking idiot, Munson.” He says to himself, and then he remembers his dream. A breath is caught in his throat, and he scrambles himself back in the van, he starts it up, throwing it into reverse and speeds out of there. He was dry heaving on the way to your house, having to stop only once to pull over and vomit again.

He almost forgets to put the van into park when he screeches into your driveway. He almost falls out and scrambles up the steps, your door was unlocked. He doesn’t bother closing it when he runs in and shouts your name. His blood ran cold when he didn’t get a response from you, and he screams your name again. He runs into the living room, his breath caught when he sees that the bathroom door is ajar like in his dream. His heart pounded and he felt his hands shake: it was just a dream, it wasn’t real. Just a dream.

The door squeaks open, and you walk out, towel drying your hair from taking a long hot shower. A whimper escapes his lungs, and he startles you.

The towel falls from your hands as you stare at him and he stares at you, he’s looking at you like he’s seeing a ghost. You immediately notice his features, his pale face, his eyes wide with panic, almost black. He was sweaty, and your hand goes to your mouth to hold back your cry, you knew immediately what he had done and part of you felt responsible.

There was desperation on both of your faces, and the two of you crash into each other, sobbing and holding each other. Eddie holds your face in his hands, kissing you over and over, his tears mixing with yours.

“You’re here.” He kept saying and you weren’t sure why. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He cries holding your face and you shake your head, sputtering, you can feel your face flush as you caress his face, his hair, staring into his eyes.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had you leave. I didn’t do the rest of the drugs, I got rid of them, I flushed them. I didn’t do them, I swear.” Panic is in your voice, and he holds onto your waist tightly as you keep touching him, keeping him upright.

Eddie feels his heart split in two and feels the guilt bubbling up in his chest as his head falls to your shoulder and he sobs. You hold him there, rubbing the back of his head as you both sobbed. “I fucked up last night, I’m so sorry. But I needed to not feel anything. I thought it didn’t matter, I thought I lost you forever and I couldn’t…couldn’t handle losing another person, I couldn’t handle that pain. There’s so much of it and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

You pull away and hold his face, shaking your head as you give him a small smile. “We have to feel it, I realized that after you left last night. That’s one of the only ways that lets us know that she was real, that the pain is real; that our love is real.”

“How do you not hate me?” His lip trembles. “After everything I said, after what I did.”

“Because I love you. No matter what and that’s a hard fucking pill to swallow when you realize how much you love a person, even when you’re so fucking angry at them.”

You run your thumb along his lips, and he smiles softly. “When you left last night, I wanted to die. I was awful to you, I pushed you away because I thought your life would be a lot less chaotic without me in it. And then…” You inhale deeply, your voice shaking. “Then I felt her. I felt this warmth, this blanket of pure comfort and I just let it consume me. Everything poured out, I thought my guts were gonna shut down and I would be stuck in a loop of constant tears forever, but I let her in, and she stayed awhile.”

Eddie laughs a little as tears continue to fall from his eyes, he caresses your face, your hair and kisses you softly. “I love you.” He whispers to you.

“I know.” You smirk up at him, wiping away his tears.

He kisses you again, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief. You hold him tight, rubbing his back and arms.

He takes a shower soon afterwards; scrubbing the last night away until his skin felt raw, and he swore he rubbed off most of his chest tattoos. He finds you in your room, and he walks in with no shirt, and just his jeans. His wet curly hair stuck to his chest. You’re sitting upright, sketching in what looks like your mother's sketch pad.

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing down at the book. “You’re sketching?”

You look up at him and smile; you were just doodling. Some wildflowers, eye shapes, your hands. You didn’t feel ready to paint yet, and you forgot how much you loved to sketch. You couldn’t force yourself to be happy, but you could try to be a bit more human.

You feel his eyes on you and look up again. He’s smiling that sweet smile, his dimples large. He still looked a little high, but he was less sweaty, less jumpy. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to feel once it was completely out of his system. Would it hurt? He wondered. But he realized he didn’t care if it did, he deserved to feel that pain.

You close the sketch pad and put it on your nightstand, you scoot closer to him, you drape your legs on either side of him while he kneeled. His hand reaches up to caress your face, your lips, and you pull his mouth towards yours in a sweet kiss. You lay back, taking him with you, he cups your face, his other hand going to your leg to hook around his waist, the kiss deepening. His lips travel to your throat, leaving a soft trail of kisses there and to the center of your chest. You sigh lovingly at his touch, and he lifts up your shirt, leaving soft kisses on your tummy, around your navel and ribs. He feels you shudder at his touch, and he pulls you up, peeling your shirt over your head. You were naked underneath, and he kisses you again. The tips of his fingers glide up your arm, leaving goosebumps to prickle on your skin. You grip his forearm, and gently move your fingers up and down as he kisses your neck, slowly moving down, leaving soft kisses around your breasts, and taking your nipple into his mouth, gently sucking. Your back arches and you moan; he goes to your other breast, gently kissing and sucking. His hand travels down your belly while he teases your nipples, and he snaps the button of your jeans. He meets your lips passionately again, grunting softly as his hand slides down over your sex and fingers your clit generously. You arch your hips, and he pulls off your jeans and underwear. He hovers above you after taking off his own jeans and rubs your face. He leans down to kiss you, his lips soft. You let out a moan and he grunts when you feel him push himself inside you, your back arches at the feeling, a loving sigh escaping your lips. His mouth stays hovered above yours as he thrusts, and you look into his eyes. His fingertips dig gently into your thighs and a throaty moan escapes his lips. He caresses your face, kissing your lips softly, burying his face in your chest, licking around your nipple again. You grip his shoulders, moaning loud, the sensation of his gentleness, the grinding of his hips, was enough to get you to scream. Your orgasm was building in your lower belly, but you didn’t want this feeling to end. You held onto it, and flipped him onto his back, riding him gently, your palms on his chest. Your clit rubs against his pelvis, and your head falls back in a whimper. He holds your hips, his head arching back against the pillow. He sits up, holding him to you in the butterfly position, his arms tightly around your middle, his lips against your breast. The tingles in your belly grow, and you clench around him, your head falls back as you cry out in pleasure, your orgasm causing every part of your body to tremble, and tears spring to your eyes. He groans against you as he orgasms soon after you, he holds you to him, still catching up on your breathing and you look into his eyes. His hand caresses your cheek, and he kisses you gently. You push yourself off him so you’re sitting more in his lap, pressing your forehead against his and he hugs your waist.

Staring into his big brown eyes, you give him a soft smile, gently petting his face. “From now on, we need to be honest with each other. No more secrets.”

He shakes his head, smiling at you. “No more secrets.”

“I’m not okay, Eddie.” You tell him quietly, your eyes filling up with tears, he tightens his hold. “And I won’t be for a long time. When she died…I think, I think a part of me did too. That’s where that pain is.” You press your hand over your heart, and he gently kisses the center of your chest. “They say there’s stages of this grief, but I think they’re full of shit. I think you go through each stage, over and over and over again. It’s constant, like a running stream. And I know you’re not okay, either. You were right when you said that I’m not the only one who lost her—”

“Sweetheart, that was—”

“Let me finish.” You smile at him, kissing his nose and he stares into your eyes. “I’m not the only one that lost her. Yeah, I lost the bond that we formed as soon as I was born, I lost the late-night talks and getting my tears wiped away because she was my mother. You lost someone very special to you, someone who showed you love and comfort and a bond that can be so rare to find. I will never take that away from you. Your grief is your grief, not mine. But we can heal together. It's not gonna be easy, it’s gonna be really fucking hard but I plan on doing this with you for the rest of my life. I plan on feeling every single emotion that God or whoever the fuck throws at me, at us. I plan on you being by my side until we’re old, watching our grandchildren grow up, yelling at each other on how to figure out technology because let’s face it, this world is going to be run by machines soon. You are the best thing, the craziest thing, that has ever happened to me, and I’m gonna hold onto that until I can’t anymore.”

His eyes are filled with tears, and he smiles large, kissing you passionately. You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek before getting off his lap. He lights up a cigarette, inhaling it deeply and stretches. He looks at you with his arm draped over his shoulder, just watching you. He stands up to get dressed but you stop him.

“Wait.” You tell him, grabbing your sketch book. “Stay like that."

"What? Why?” He laughs.

“Shut up, don’t move.”

He smiles at you and stays still, and you begin to sketch out his form. Eddie suddenly felt shy as he hears your pencil hit the paper, this was such an intimate moment, and he didn’t want to mess it up. You concentrated so hard on what you were doing, and he felt his heart skip a few beats as he watches you, both nude, just the sounds of the creativity coming out of your brain.

You smiled when you were finished, and Eddie was able to move his limbs, feeling stiff all over. You wipe off the pencil dust and hand it to him. He smiles large, you had captured him so beautifully and he realizes it was true, you saw him for who he truly was.

Just Eddie.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Autumn had come out of nowhere, and you wrap your sweater tighter around you as another wave of nausea hits you. You had left work early; it seemed like every twenty minutes you were running to the bathroom to puke your guts out. You tried to think about what you had eaten the night before; was it the chicken? Was it the leftover meatloaf you had made for your father’s birthday? Eddie had been very cryptic lately, and it was starting to piss you off. He would ask you questions about what color paint you’d use to paint a kitchen, hardwood or carpet; you would overhear him talking to your father about stuff that had to do with finances, and your father had a glint in his eyes, and you tried to think of anything that could possibly make sense. The nausea hits you again and you run to the bathroom and vomit hard. You swore there was nothing left in your system to vomit but your body had other plans. You lean against the tub, the coolness of the porcelain an odd comfort against your skin.

Your eyes land on an unopened box of tampons, and a sudden thought occurred to you. Closing your eyes, you think back to when you last had your period; trying to figure out the math was like trying to figure out a formula with Einstein. Your eyes snap open; it had been over a month since your last period.

A month.

Nausea hits you again and you grip the porcelain, preparing for the worst but nothing comes. “There’s no way.” You say to yourself and lift yourself up on shaky legs.

Grabbing your keys, you rush out the door to your car, and go into a local pharmacy. You take the first test you see, and don’t make eye contact with the cashier as she rings you up. When you arrived home, you were grateful Eddie was still at work, and your father was finishing up a construction job in Ohio. You rip open the test, reading the directions.

“Pee on it? How the fuck…” Your eyes squint as you look at the small diagram drawing of how to get coat the test in urine. Groaning, you pull down your pants, and do your business, yelling comedically as you get urine all over your hand trying to match the test up with the stream. The directions said you had to wait three minutes for the results, and you sit on the toilet lid, your leg bopping up and down anxiously as you wait.

Once the three minutes was up, you don’t look right away. Your arm reaches the sink counter, and you take it, looking down at the tiny window. There were two lines, and you suddenly forgot what that meant. You scramble to dig the directions out of the trash, scanning the black ink until you reach the result section.

One line meant it was negative.

Two lines meant…

Your hands shake as you stare at the test in your hand, like it was a rare piece of art, and you were trying desperately to see if the picture would move.

No matter how you look at it, the result is gonna stay the same.

A smile creeps up on your lips, tears well in your eyes and you cover your mouth with your hand.

Something happens to you just now; it felt like the Earth shifted right at your feet. Before there was a constant tilt for so many months, now suddenly it was upright. Everything seemed brighter, you felt a dull ache in your chest, but it wasn’t pain, no, it was something different.

Something warm.

There was a human being growing inside you. Yours and Eddie’s baby. Your father’s grandchild, your mother’s grandchild. Yours. A being that had a part of you and a part of the man you loved. Your best friend, your lover, your confidant.

You were going to be parents.

You were going to be a mother.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fem!reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 6 months

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Bloody Pardon 4

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> Yourself and Lockwood finally return home and it's time for Violet and June to leave, but will you tell Lockwood before it's too late?

Disclaimer: Sorry if there are any plot holes, it's been a while since I've updated. Mostly fluff, mentions of blackmail and denial. This is the final part.

By the time you all arrived home, the smell of George’s cooking wafted through the kitchen.

He was home.

“Good, you’re back! Try this.”

Lockwood had just managed to help you get your coat off before George shoved his cooking spoon into your face and fed you the tasty, albeit burning hot soup.

“Does it need more Thyme? I think it needs more Thyme but I can’t find it on the shelves.”

“I’ll help you find it.”

Lockwood and George disappeared with Violet hot on their tail leaving just you and June alone in the hallway.

“That was very romantic.”

“June, please.”

“No, no. I’m not saying anything.” June held up her hands before walking away. “Just tell him.”

You sighed as she made her way into the kitchen, ready to follow her only to be greeted by Kipps at the living room door.

“Tell who what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no. Come on, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

“Is this about you and Lockwood?”

You whipped around to find Lucy stood behind you with a Digestive in her hand, half eaten.

“Oh my, god. It is.” Kipps replied, spotting the look on your face.

Fake denial.

“Please, can both of you just drop it?”

“Drop what?”

You whipped around again, this time facing the kitchen where Lockwood was now standing behind you.

“Oh, nothing Tony.” Kipps answered for you. “Just gossip, that’s all.”

“About what?”

Lockwood mainly tried to look to you for answers, but you weren’t for giving them up. Just like the night before.

You had the same look.

You were hiding something he desperately wanted to know, but he knew you well enough to know you’d just breeze past it and never mention it again.

And so you did.

“Is George almost finished? I’m famished.”

Breezing past Lockwood, you entered the kitchen where you found Violet trying to carry a stack of plates over to the table.

“Oh, here, let me do that.”

“Oh, please, dear. Let me help. You and my Anthony have been so kind. At least let me set the table. Or else, you’ll make me feel like an old woman. I can still do the Quickstep as quickly as I could when I was your age.”

“I’m sure you can, Aunt Vi.” Lockwood appeared by the door again.

“Don’t mock me, boy.”

“I never would.” Lockwood appeared genuine.

Dinner went smoothly and before you knew it, it was time for Violet and June to head home.

George said his ‘goodbye’ before he left to go to the Archives to search up for the next case and both Lucy and Kipps came with Lockwood and yourself to drop them off at the train station.

Of course, Aunt Vi hugged everyone telling them all to keep in touch and June made her own version of goodbye to everyone before she pulled you aside.

“Tell him. If not for yourself, then for him. That boy…every time he looks at you he looks like he’s about to explode. Tell him. Tell him before it’s too late and he tries to…i don’t know…’move on’. You and I both know, deep down, that wouldn’t work for either of you. You’d both be too miserable without one another.”

“June-”

“No.” June said, firmly. “No. You tell him, or I tell Vi the whole truth. In about a month, she’ll be expecting an update on your marriage. Now, that divorce lawyer is drawing up the papers for you to sign a week on Monday. That gives you two weeks to tell him the truth and I expect a letter and a real wedding photo from the both of you. If I don’t, I will go to Vi.”

“Isn’t that Blackmail?”

“Perhaps, but it’s for both of your wellbeing. And, besides, who’s gonna lock an old lady like me up. I’ll break out within a day. They wouldn’t find me until I wanted to be found.”

You couldn’t help but show a smile.

“Two weeks.” June warned you. “That’s all you’re getting. Now, go back to your husband and tell him how you really feel about him.”

You nodded, unsure on what else to do.

“Oh, here she is.” Violet hugged you so tight, you couldn’t do anything else but hug her back. It was the kind of hug you still felt after she let go.

“Oh, I’m just so happy for the both of you. Anthony, I haven’t seen you smile like this in ages.”

“What can I say? She makes me happy.”

“You suit one another. Don’t they, June? Don’t they just suit one another?”

“Like a bride and groom on top of a wedding cake.”

You felt a pang of guilt in your stomach as Lockwood placed an arm around your waist and held you closer to him.

Ten minutes later, they were both on the train headed home. Meanwhile, Kipps and Lucy had decided to go on a day out, picking a random time and getting on that train.

This meant you and Lockwood were left alone.

Together.

On the way back, you both remembered that it was food shopping day. George had given you both a list of things to pick up on your way back. So, hopping into his car, Lockwood drove to the main supermarket where you both grabbed all the items George said he needed, plus some extra before driving home.

As winter drew in, closer and closer, the sky got darker earlier and George called ahead. A family emergency had come up and he was heading home. In fact, he was already at the train station.

Then, twenty minutes later, Lucy called.

Herself and Kipps were going to stay the night and get the train back in the morning.

So you and Lockwood were left alone.

Together.

Again.

By 6 o’clock in the evening, you and Anthony had eaten dinner and you were preparing the fire as he finished up some research on the current case.

Only, as the fire started producing heat and warming up the house, you popped in a VHS tape of Christmas in Connecticut. It had been right at the very back of the collection - it probably hadn’t seen the light of day since it was first played.

The Title Credits began to roll just as Lockwood entered.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“About…the last couple of days.”

You went to speak as you stood up but Lockwood hurried forward to stand in front of you, in the hopes you would remain standing in your place and not leave the room.

“Please. Just…I feel like I’ve been going crazy. I understand this whole thing is completely unconventional. I mean, most people start out with a first date and we just jumped straight to the wedding.”

“You’re idea, might I add. Even that we didn’t do.”

Lockwood cracked a smile for a moment but he didn’t want you to try and divert what he was going to ask.

“I just…I want to ask you a question.”

“Okay.”

“And I want you to answer it. Truthfully.” Lockwood clarified. “And I don’t want you to divert or try to run away from me. At least for the next five minutes,” he added when he saw your eyes flick to the hallway.

“Okay,” you eventually agreed.

“The other night, you told me you could barely lie to yourself. What did you mean by that?”

“Tony…”

“Please.” The warmth of the fire reflected itself in Lockwood’s eyes as he pleaded with you. “Please…I just need to know.”

You tried your hardest to shut off the memories of June and her Blackmail.

Two Weeks.

Two weeks you had, to tell him the truth.

“You really don’t want to, Tony. Please, can we just forget I ever said it?”

“No.”

He surprised you. You knew he could be stubborn, but it was rare he pushed this hard on a subject with you.

“What Aunt Vi said before. What I said before, about being happy. I meant it. Every word. And everything I told Aunt Vi and June about watching George teach you to dance…I meant every word.” Lockwood told you before taking your hand in his.

You didn’t know what to say.

What would you say?

What could you say?

“If you meant it in the way I think…I hope you meant…please,” Lockwood said, adding your name. “I just need to know.”

“Tony.”

“Please.”

Taking a breath, you tried to find the courage to look at him, though your eyes seemed to dart elsewhere every now and again.

“I…what do you want me to say? That these last couple of days have confused me more than ever? That I can’t wrap my head around what’s real and what not? Tony, before I found out you and I are married, it was clear. Everything was clear. I knew what my feelings were for you, I knew what I could keep from everyone, including myself. But now…now I can’t even do that. I know I have feelings for you, Tony. But that doesn’t matter. Because not only are you my friend, but we also work together. Any feelings that I tried to convince myself aren’t real…they won’t stop feeling real.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

You went silent, looking to his hand that grasped onto yours.

“Because I’m in love with you and I need to know if you feel the same.”

Looking him in the eye, Anthony got the confirmation he needed.

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you dancing with George. And, even though the whole marriage thing was accidental, I can’t lie…it took everything in me to not go against calling the lawyer. And when I was dancing with you in the square…it was like everything I had wished for.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“We’ve stuck together this long, even before we got married.”

You cracked a smile and laughed, “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

Trying to hide his smile, Lockwood kept hold of your hand before lowering himself onto one knee.

Saying your full name, along with his surname, which sent butterflies-in-a-tornado all around your stomach, Anthony Lockwood asked you;

“Will you stay married to me for as long as you love me?”

You smiled, “Yes, Tony. I will remain married to you.”

With a grand smile, Tony stood and kissed you, pulling you in closer than ever.

After a moment, the back of your legs hit the sofa and he lowered you down carefully before quickly joining you, the kiss breaking just enough for the both of you to catch a breath.

A week later, June received a professional wedding photo of both you and Anthony in the back garden where Lucy had decorated the place in fairy lights and different whimsical pieces that made the entire day feel like it was plucked out of a book.

On that same morning of you preparing her letter, Lockwood came into the study, wrapping his arms around your shoulders before kissing your cheek and resting his head on yours.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending June confirmation that her Blackmail worked.”

“What?”

“She knew. She knew the whole thing was fake, well…kinda.”

“I beg your bloody pardon?”

You laughed a little at his reply before watching him pull up a seat to be next to you. “She knew. The second morning she was here, I found her in the kitchen. She knew about the whole thing. But she knew I loved you. And she knew you loved me.”

“And the blackmail?”

“I had two weeks to tell you the truth, or else she’d tell Violet.”

“Wow. I knew she could be tough but I’d have thought she would have drawn the line at blackmail.”

“And now I’m sending her confirmation.”

“Okay.” Lockwood kissed you twice before standing up. “Cup of tea and some toast.”

“Love some.”

“Okay.” Lockwood smiled before coming back and kissing you once again.

Tags:

@mischivana

@i-am-not-a-raccoon-anymore

@cassiopeiia24

@anathemaloren

@locknco

@wordsarelife

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peemanne · 13 days

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INFINITE WEALTH SPOILERS IN MINI RAMBLE AHEAD!!!!!!! YEAH!!!! LIKE FINAL CHAPTER SHENANIGANS!!!!! REALLY BAD!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!! (and also touching on y2 and y6 and gaiden i guess but come on)

YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!! IF YOU ARE NOW ON YOUR WAY OUT, SEE YOU LATER AND ALSO CHECK OUT THIS COOL PHOTO OF ZHAO I TOOK

Been mulling over IW's story since I beat it, and while there are still aspects I'm very much still mixed on, one thing I've surprisingly found to actually only be better after thinking about it even more was the final boss in Ebina. And yeah yeah he could have used a tad bit more screentime, but I think the stuff he does have and all the stuff he symbolizes are really well written. In Gaiden, we dealt with the manifestation of the yakuza itself, and now we face off against the manifestation of all the wrong the yakuza's done. Despite Kiryu's best efforts, there's so many lives he's endangered. So much death that follows him and those around him, and he's completely aware of this. Kiryu shows a lot of self-destructiveness throughout the series, like in Y2 where he gives himself up in a practically suicidal draw with Ryuji, or in Y6 where he so readily throws himself away at the first chance he gets. I still remember Haruka's line in that game: "Don't look so satisfied about this!". And especially in IW, knowing that cancer's got him that much closer to death's door, he's still so ready to throw himself away. But now that's he's forced to rely on his allies, now that he gets to really reflect on all the friends that he's made throughout the years, now that he has Ichiban telling him to really LIVE, he's done running. Kiryu sees a lot of himself in Ebina, because he knows the look of a man who's hellbent on throwing himself away.

Ebina knows he's fighting a losing battle. He leaves Sawashiro alive and he repeatedly begs for Kiryu to kill him at the end of the fight. Look at the demon on his back: he knows he's falling into hell, and he's intent on dragging the reason why he's falling down with him. And that's why it's so cathartic seeing Kiryu beg to him at the end. He's breaks down, seeing the personification of all of the sins the yakuza, and he cries out apologies. Because that's what this fight is about. Atonement, against a vengeful spirit. A breaking of the cycle, further hammered in by the choice to name Ebina's moves after chakra points ("Pierce the Muladhara, Cripple the Manipura, Wheel of Samsara"). The theme The End of Denial is such an amazing choice for this too, a much more sorrowful, reflective track than most of the other final boss themes. It's not just a cheeky bit of "look how far we've come" that they've included the original Yakuza's intro guitar in here, it's Kiryu directly reflecting on running away. Running away from the Fourth Chairman spot. Running away from Daigo and the clan. Running away from his family. Running away from all the wrongs he's done throughout the years. And now that Kiryu finally finds himself ready to confront it all, even if it's in his twilight years, there's not a chance in hell he's gonna let it slip past him, as he takes Ebina head-on. I couldn't disagree more with the notion that Ichiban should have been the one to fight him. Despite it being his half-brother, this just isn't his fight to take.

It's why this line means so much. Teary-eyed, he begs the man he just punched down for forgiveness for everything the yakuza has done, and he begs for him to LIVE, to not throw himself away the very same way Kiryu has. And this is how he breaks the cycle.

This is how Kazuma Kiryu finally gets to live again.

~ ~ ~

ok thing over! i've been thinking about a write-up on this game's finale ever since i beat it last march 30th and ebina's an aspect i really had to stew over, and i finally got to it in the same way i did with my gaiden mini ramble. by making a long text wall in a discord server and figuring that it'd fit well enough to be put here

i'd really like to shoutout @.FormerSoulKing on twitter and their post on IW's religious symbolism for inspiring this post. it's also just like, a really cool read.

additionally i'd also ramble about the ending scene with ichi carrying eiji out at the end and how it's like him "setting things right" and not letting what he watched happen to masato happen to another friend of his but honestly i just love that scene so much i don't think i could ever properly put it into words

#ryu ga gotoku #rgg #yakuza #like a dragon #SPOILERS!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!#infinite wealth #infinite wealth spoilers #yakuza 8 #yakuza 8 spoilers #kiryu kazuma #ramblings of the pee-man

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darsynia · 1 year

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They Show Their Truth (one single time) | Oneshot

gif from @marvelheroes

Summary: Steve's managed to keep how he feels about Natasha a secret, but the vision he saw in South Africa shook him.

Caring about Natasha Romanoff this much means that when there's a chance to heal her wounds by revealing his secret, Steve throws himself on the grenade, because of course he does.

Length/Warnings: 5,443 | Porn with plot, unrequited love. Minors DNI

Tags (please forgive me if this isn't your thing, feel free to ignore if so 💚): @ronearoundblindly @munstysmind @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starryeyes2000 @deepbatched @chibijusstuff @caplanreblogsfics

This was written as a request for my friend @salovie a while back!

They Show Their Truth (one single time)

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side.”

The worst part is that Stark would probably appreciate what Steve is struggling with. He might even trust Steve more because of it, and isn’t that just exactly the worst conclusion to draw, tonight?

Steve’s on his back on the floor in the Barton family room. He’d feel more comfortable if he could rest on his side with his back against the couch, second best to the wall, but every square foot of wall in this room is filled with shelving. Toys, books, puzzles; the accoutrements of a life he’ll never live, all stacked up with the chaotic order of an unexpected visit. The couch is ready for Natasha, with a sheet covering the cold, worn leather. He’s left her the handcrafted afghan and the better of the two pillows Clint’s wife had offered, and kept the sports fleece for himself.

It makes sense that they’ve put the two of them in here; whatever is going on between Bruce and Nat means it would be irresponsible to force them to share. Stark’s by himself on an air mattress in the laundry room instead of in the guest room with Bruce, because out of all of them, he’s the one most likely to accidentally set Banner off-- and just like Clint said, it’s not that they don’t trust Bruce. They don’t trust Tony.

Steve likes Laura Barton. It seems to him that she understands the purgatory they’re all putting themselves through, most of them, anyway. He sure as hell hopes she hasn’t caught on to his, but she couldn’t have.

If she had, she wouldn’t have put him in a room with Natasha.

He gets up and turns off the overhead light, using the chain, then flips off the switch. The ceiling fan’s breeze is just on the edge of too much, but if Nat wants it on, it’ll be set up so the light won’t disturb her. He walks over to the door and cracks it, listening. Laura and Natasha are still talking quietly in the kitchen. Steve pushes the door mostly shut again, and turns off the light that’s across the room from the couch, leaving just the one lamp directly next to it.

He winces. The room is now bathed in an orange-yellow glow that reminds him of the quality of light in the vision he’d seen in South Africa. The truth is that practically everything here reminds him of the vision.

The glint of the sun off of the axe had reminded him of the flashbulbs.

One of Barton’s kids had spilled juice, and its blood red color had been like the wine on the soldier’s chest.

A rare moment of collective laughter in the dining room with Nick Fury had pulled Steve out of the moment and thrust him, unwillingly, back into the vision.

He’d had to walk away, away from the mirth, away from her red hair as she faced away from him, so similar to the twice-damned vision where Peggy Carter had asked him to dance. As he’d turned to say yes, she’d spun away, dress flying off to reveal a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, the brown wig falling away to red, her familiar, beloved face morphing into Natasha Romanoff’s familiar, beloved face.

Because she is. Beloved. Despite everything. No amount of brutal training at the gym until his hands are numb and bruised, no amount of self-denial or self-recrimination has cured him of it. Hell, no monk has ever kept himself as pure for the sake of his God as Steve Rogers has, for fear of thinking of his teammate in a way that is definitely unholy.

The result has been the exact opposite of his intention; all roads lead to Natasha in his mind, because as ever, Steve Rogers aspires for that which cannot be. The only thing he’s learned from being chosen for the program, from rejecting orders and saving his best friend despite everything, from crashing the plane to save the world, from waking up after seventy years on ice, is that fate loves to give him what he wants.

And he wants her.

“Not this time,” Steve murmurs from his position on the floor, one knee up, arm behind his head.

“Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Natasha says in a sultry, teasing voice from the doorway.

Steve launches himself into a stand as if she’s the personification of an enemy, and in a way, she is.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Steve, but you’re a little edgy.”

“You and Clint are always telling me to rough it up a little, just trying to follow orders,” Steve jokes, backing up out of her way as she walks into the room.

“We were thinking more along the lines of getting you to watch some porn, grow some scruff,” she tells him. “So, you trying to be chivalrous, leaving me the couch and the best blanket?”

The tingling awareness he’s been fighting down for hours rears back to life at her provocative words, even more so when she immediately tempers them with a challenge about the couch. He knows her. Her behavior tells him that she thinks her words were reckless, that’s why she’s covering them. That means there was some truth to what she said, that they were revealing. If he were an enemy, it might be a trick to let him lower his guard, but she doesn’t know that he’s been fighting her in his mind for months. At least, he hopes to hell she doesn’t.

“Not at all,” Steve lies smoothly. “It’s pure math. I don’t fit.”

Nat turns her warm, impish gaze towards him and Steve feels a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire. Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t, he begs in his own head. She’s vulnerable, open, teasing, coy. Because she trusts him.

“Now, come on, soldier,” she says, sweetly mocking. “That’s boy scout math. Unimaginative math. I could probably fit the whole team on that couch if I had to. They might even enjoy it.”

He’s hardly ever seen her like this, but he knew she had it in reserve. “Well,” he says in his best regimental, Team Captain voice, hoping she won’t hear the regret he feels in pulling it out to dash water all over her lush, flirty flames. “That might be so, but that has nothing to do with sleeping.”

“Oh no, Steve,” she says, amused concern woven through the husk of her voice. “Turn it off, I absolutely cannot sleep with a Steve Rogers figurine in the room with me tonight!” Natasha comes over to him, her lips curved into a smile under furrowed eyebrows, and before he can fully understand what she’s doing, she’s got her hands on him, stroking along his back, and he’s hard, his heartbeat spiking, she’s going to know, fuck, fuck…

“Nat, what--” he chokes out, throwing his arms out wide in hopes that he can talk himself down before she walks back around.

“I’m looking for the pull cord,” she says, resting a hand on his arm so she can lean over and catch his eye. “For your sayings. You know, ‘It’s the American Way!’ and ‘Do it for your country!’”

Every single thing she says sounds like innuendo to him. To think that Tony fucking Stark thought he doesn’t have a dark side. He’s sworn more in silent frustration about this gorgeous, unattainable woman than Stark probably has in the whole year, on purpose, out loud.

“Lay back and think of Uncle Sam?” Steve suggests, forcing his limbs to move, walking toward the other side of the room as he pulls his arms out of the long-sleeved overshirt he’s wearing.

“I’ve actually done that, you know. Multiple times,” Nat tells him, chuckling.

“Are you going to sleep in that? Do you want me to leave the room while you change?” he forces himself to ask. She’s got her own dark, long-sleeved shirt on, over a soft, grey thing that clings to her curves in a wholesome, farmhouse way that doesn’t stop him from finding it sexy in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t have to even if I wasn’t,” she tells him in a voice that chastises him for even asking.

I don’t trust a man without a dark side, Tony’s voice repeats, in his mind.

He should have just confessed to Stark. ‘Some nights I’m so desperate for thoughts of Natasha that I’ve tied my hands to my own bedpost. Just enough resistance so I wake up if my hands drift down to touch myself. It’s her face in my erotic dreams, her body in my everpresent thoughts. Not Peggy’s. I’m not wholesome, Stark. I’m a sinner. A hypocrite.’

“The figurine comment was metaphorical, Steve,” Nat is saying. She’s inches away from him somehow, because once again he’s caught up in his thoughts. “You okay? Tony said you were unaffected, but--”

“He’s wrong. She got to me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes, looking up at him. “Me too.” Her eyes are troubled, hurt, practically anguished.

Steve’s resolve weakens, and he smiles down at her with a fraction of his feelings showing through as reassurance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nat looks up at the ceiling and does a little frustrated shiver. “Talk, no. I either need to--” she breaks off and looks at Steve, her eyes shining with repressed tears. “There’s something really wrong about punching Captain America in the face because I need a release of tension.”

He thinks he knows what her aborted sentence was. I either need to hit someone or fuck someone.

Steve says what he was thinking out loud. “People see me as standing for the way things ought to be. Fairness. Doing your duty. Things working out the way they’re supposed to.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Life doesn’t always happen that way, and reacting with frustration against that fact is very reasonable. If you need to, go ahead. Punch me.”

“She really did get to you,” Nat whispers.

“I mean it. You know I can take it, Natasha. Physically, I mean. I won’t take it personally.” He wants her to. If he can’t have her softness, he’ll take hardness over nothingness.

The regretful vulnerability is back on her face. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I need it.”

“They’re trying to tear us apart, Natasha. The best way not to tear is to reinforce the connections you already have.”

“It’s not about what I saw. At all. It’s about wanting someone and being rejected, not even because I’m not enough, but because he’s too broken.” She reels back in reaction to even saying the words, and impulsively, Steve reaches down and takes her wrists, shakes them until she responds by resisting his actions.

“You didn’t want to set him off in Clint’s house. You won’t set me off,” Steve lies. She already has, in exactly the wrong way. “Shove me, hit me, punish me. Get it out.” He pulls her hands, despite her resistance, until they’re flat on his chest. “He said he was too broken?”

Natasha’s lovely face crumples for a split second before her jaw tightens in anger. She shoves him; Steve was ready for it, doesn’t stop himself, lets the momentum carry him back a little.

“As if being broken is some kind of contagious!” she bites out, her voice angry but restrained. There are children sleeping in the house somewhere, after all. “As if I’m not a shattered teapot--” another shove. “--held together by the kind of toxic glue that builds up--” she punches his shoulder in a jab that does more than sting. “--in your system until I’ve killed you just by doing my job!”

For the word ‘job,’ Natasha drops back and her foot flies out, catching him in the chest. If they had been anywhere else, Steve would have let the full force of it knock him across the room, as intended, but he can’t risk the sound bringing someone who might see the heat he’s trying to repress. Instead, he takes the hit, his foot braced on the door, which shakes but doesn’t make much noise. Steve ends up on one knee, looking at Natasha, who is breathing heavily out of fury rather than exertion.

“Isn’t that just the perfect kind of symbolism,” she sighs, sounding defeated.

Steve raises his eyebrows, biting his cheek inside his mouth against the way his pants are pulled tight and uncomfortable against his arousal. That should be enough to kill it, but she’s walking toward him and all he can focus on are her hips, the way they sway. He wants to see what they look like with his hand gripping them, his thumb pressing against the thin, delicate skin that curves toward her inner thighs.

“You have my shoeprint on your chest, Rogers,” Nat says.

“What, it’s visible now?” he quips. The hold she’s got over him has been too close to the surface for too long.

“Now don’t go trying to make me feel better,” she says in that rich, amused voice of hers, tossing him a look before starting back toward the couch. It reminds him of the first time he ever wanted her; she’d said something in that tone and he’d found himself suddenly desperate to trace the origins of the sound with his lips and tongue against her neck.

“Any man who doesn’t want you is definitely broken,” Steve tells her, standing.

If she doesn’t recognize his confession, is that his fault?

“Even if that’s true, and I know it’s not, I’m just as easy to brush off,” she says, nodding at the way he’s wiping away the dust of her shoe so it doesn’t soil Laura Barton’s bedclothes. His hands still, not just because of what she’s said, but because Natasha’s rolling up the sheet and tossing it to the side, adding the pillow seconds later.

“What are you--” he starts, cutting himself off when she tugs the couch cushion off of the frame of the couch and sets it beside his makeshift bedroll. “Nat?”

He can’t sleep beside her. He can’t not sleep beside her, not after Bruce seems to have done his best to fracture her confidence into little pieces just so he could sweep her away more easily.

“You asked what you can do? You can do this.” Her words are short, choppy, defensive. “I can’t sleep next to Clint and take my confidence from him, not when he’s doing that for Laura right now. Unless you--”

“Here, my arms are longer,” Steve says, picking up the sheet and unfurling it over the cushions for her before she finishes that final, uncertain sentence.

“Thanks, Captain,” she tells him, her lips twitching up into a tiny, precious smile.

“At your service, Ma’am.”

He doesn’t let himself watch her wriggle into a comfortable sleeping position, choosing instead to walk over and turn out the light. He seeks out his own sparse sheet and too-short blanket in the fresh darkness, turning his back so his arms can’t seek her out in his sleep. Steve does scoot back far enough that he’s up against her cushions, the only concession he’ll allow himself to her nearness. He reminds himself sternly that it is just to give her the warmth and closeness she said she needed, nothing more.

Steve wakes to the feeling of a small hand worming its way under the tight shirt he’s wearing. He can feel Natasha’s body pressed up against his back, all softness and curves and forbidden sweetness.

Is she awake??

This is the stuff of his nightmares, dreams he’s forcibly categorized as such because of the moral implications. Her arm has snuck under his, so he lifts his arm, hoping the change of pressure will be enough to wake her up. Instead, this earns him a closer snuggle, one where he can identify her breasts along his back, the dip of her pelvis molding against his ass.

“Nat?” he whispers.

“Cold,” she says, her lips and nose nuzzling the word against his shoulder. Steve doesn’t know what to think. Her hand on his stomach is warm. In his sleep-fuzzed laxity, he decides to react the way he assumes he would if he didn’t have an attachment to her, which is to roll over and encourage her to curl up against him to warm herself up.

Steve rolls onto his back, the movement brushing his body against her in thrilling ways.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, chasing his heat as he carefully scoots over so that she can slot into the warmth of the place he’d been lying. Steve only succeeds in moving about three inches before Natasha throws her right leg out and twines it around his left leg as she slips down from the thick cushions toward him. Before he fully understands what’s happening, she’s mostly on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hot hand tucking ever so slightly into his waistband.

“Natasha, this can’t be what you do with Clint,” Steve hisses at her, desperate for her to stop moving before he shames himself with the speed of how fast he hardens for her. So far he’s controlling himself through sheer embarrassment on her behalf, but that won’t last much longer if she keeps squirming.

“Mmm, you’re right. He would have shoved me off by now, and we would have sparred about it or I’d have headed off to have a hot shower and a thorough conversation with my own hands,” she says, her voice wavering between an actual whisper and a tone husky with vocal fry.

Steve is nearly speechless. “Shower it is, then?” he suggests.

“Fresh out of hot water.” Natasha tells him, using a firm grip on his waistband to haul herself across his body to straddle him. Steve lifts both of his hands up over his head in self defense, but he’s essentially lost the battle. She’d removed her pants at some point in the night, and she’s sleep-mussed and gorgeous. Their enemies’ mental handiwork has done its job, led him right to what he’s always wanted, and it’ll be the end of them. She has to feel his reaction to her.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away. “I’m not going to fight you,” he says.

“That much is obvious,” she observes.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks between gritted teeth. “Put any man in this position and he’ll react the same.”

“Anything but that,” Natasha says in a small voice. Steve looks at her and sees pain in the angle of her head, the tightness around her eyes, the straightness of her back. She’s not putting all of her weight on him, he can tell, and just imagining the coiled strength that she’s exerting to rest so lightly and devastatingly against his thighs is undoing him.

She’s holding steady, but it feels like she’s pressing down thanks to his reaction to her. His body is gorging itself on a futile hope, and there’s no way that Natasha Romanoff doesn’t know this.

“I’m not Bruce,” he says, simply.

Her smile is a slice of pain. “Obviously,” she says, lowering herself fully and rocking her hips, pinning him with a challenging gaze.

Steve’s instinct is to stop her, but when he tries, his hands clutch naked skin and soft lace. The smile she offers him in response freezes him in place.

He shakes his head, delighted, miserable. “What are you looking for? Validation?”

“Goddamnit, Rogers, stop trying to fix everything,” she says, grinding against him again, making him gasp. “If the team’s fucked, the team’s fucked, so why not fuck the team, right? That’s what I’m trained for.”

The agony in her voice is all the worse because she doesn’t sound vulnerable anymore, and her eyes have lost the sheen of regret. She’s bitter, determined, and so broken in the process that Steve aches for her in a whole new, terrifying way. He reaches up to touch her face and she slaps at him before grabbing him, tearing open her shirt and clutching his hand to her breasts, fighting to keep him from fisting it.

Steve sits up, alarmed at her violence, and she tightens her thighs against him, rocking rhythmically.

“This is just sparring with different weapons, Nat, don’t do this,” he says.

“It’s all I have,” she snaps. “It’s my role. Tony would do it, you know he would.”

The jibe hits him in just the right way to be really painful, and Steve wrenches his hand away from her breast, trying to mitigate the way she’s ramping his desire up so skillfully with the drag of her body.

“Tony couldn’t, not in the way you want,” he says, his heart pounding, realizing that her plea for him not to fix it will have to be the one that will go unanswered. He knows exactly what she needs. Exactly. It’ll rip him apart to do this, in all of the best, soul-destroying ways, but it’s what she needs. Steve Rogers, throwing himself on the wire for his team.

“You and your stupid fucking rivalry--”

Steve interrupts her by arching his back, thrusting up against her, holding her gaze. “That’s not it.”

Natasha’s still hard-edged, scoffing. “I should have realized that would set you off. It must drive you crazy that his giant tower puts him ahead in your dick-measuring contest.”

“You think Tony wants you the way I want you? He doesn’t,” he says, blunt and honest. Her hips stutter in surprise, and Steve lets himself slide one hand up to the front clasp of her bra, flicking it open. “He’s known you longer, sure.” Natasha’s green eyes are wide, stunned. He takes advantage of her momentary stillness to hold her steady as he sits all the way up, sliding his other hand up to cup her face. “But would he throw away everything he has at the very thought of kissing you again, on purpose this time? No.”

“Steve?” she breathes, hesitant, haunted.

“Say the word and I’ll sleep on the porch and never mention this,” he tells her, hoping to hell she doesn’t.

“What even is ‘this?’” Natasha asks, tracing his face with doubtful eyes. “You trying to make up for Banner? I’m not a grenade, Rogers.” Her words are vulnerable but her voice isn’t. She’s using it as a weapon, pushing her sex appeal into the tone, sultry and challenging.

He watches himself push one of her wild curls back behind her ear, indulging a long-held desire that has nothing to do with the other ways he wants to touch her. “Seems like you’re trying to blow up like one. You just picked the exact wrong person to prove your point.” Steve makes eye contact with her. “Since when do I lie to you? About anything?”

“You want me,” she states dubiously, tossing her head, shaking it as she questions him, as if even saying it at all is too much to be believed.

“Very much.”

“I find it hard to believe this is anything more than a seventy-year--”

Steve buries his hand in the curls at the back of her head and kisses her, pouring all of his longing into the sweep of his lips, coaxing her to respond. For all the time he’s wanted this, he’d always thought if he got the chance again, it would be like the first time. Unexpected, unplanned, uncomplicated, unrepeatable. Not like this. Not with ardor, affection, adoration.

Natasha shifts toward him after a few seconds, letting out a small noise and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Her movement sparks the napalm in his blood, little explosions of pleasure that follow her hand as she grabs his shirt, dragging it up his back to bare it for her fingernails. Steve can’t help it, he thrusts up into the sweet heat of her thighs in his lap, even as she gasps her mouth open for him to taste her. Natasha pulls back and rips off her shirt.

“Touch me, please, Steve, touch me,” she begs, grabbing his hand from where he’s been gripping her hip like a lifeline.

“I--” he starts, completely forgetting what he was going to say as he watches her throw her head back as soon as he palms her breast, shifting his grip so he can trace his thumb across her nipple. “Ahhhh, fuck,” she groans. Steve dips his head to suck an open-mouthed kiss against her neck at the same time he uses both hands to circle his thumbs across her nipples again. The sound she makes in response is as resonant and aching as he’d always hoped it would be, from the outside.

“Do you believe me now?” he says, each word a kiss.

“I might need more proof. You could be very dedicated to my well-being,” she laughs. It’s throaty and sexual, and he surprises her and even himself by the way he abandons what he was doing to hold her down as he grinds his hardness against her yet again, blatant and demanding. “Yeah?” she encourages.

“Yeah,” he pants, screwing his eyes shut to settle the overpowering urge he has to wreck everything about himself and the team, rip off their clothing and rut with her. He wants to keep this, and to hell with Banner and his reticence.

“So, you’re saying…” she dangles, reaching down and unbuttoning his pants, taking down the zipper, and lifting herself up long enough for him to yank everything down in a frantic rush. Steve can barely believe what’s happening until it happens-- she takes him in her hand at the same time she curls her other hand around his neck to haul him down for a filthy kiss. Every single nerve ending in his body is a conductor for her electricity, and the two of them together prompt a chemical reaction that send his pleasure centers into overdrive.

With a herculean effort, Steve pulls back from the kiss, cupping her face with one hand, the other fisted in the fleece beneath them, channeling all of his excess energy and desperation. He’s not in control, and he knows he could hurt her by accident.

“Was supposed to be about you,” he manages to say between a gasp and a groan at the way she’s working him with expert movements.

“Are you kidding? You should see your face,” Nat says in that rich, sensuous voice of hers. “Very complimentary. But how did you keep this from me?”

Steve drops his head, overcome, when she leans over and tongues his nipple in a completely unexpected, devastating move. “S’wrong,” he slurs. “Ahhhhh, stop, stop, Natasha, you-- stop.” She stills her hand slowly, easing him into the loss of it, and it’s so thoughtful, so thorough, so Natasha, that the action cuts the last threads that held his heart back from its inevitable fall.

“Bet you never thought you’d try to stop me,” she whispers in his ear, hooking her chin over his shoulder for a second, her various movements inexplicable until suddenly they’re not, she’s naked and sinking onto him, and Steve’s gone, he’s gone, his back arching, hips chasing her heat and tightness.

“Shhh, shhh,” Nat reassures. Her hands smooth over his back, his arms, his face, and finally he can open his eyes and see her, sweat-touched and exquisite.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers, shaking his head. He has never felt so clumsy and imprecise in his life. “I wanted to make you see,” he tries to explain. She’s given him everything he’s wanted, freely, somehow, but his goal had been to tear apart her insecurities, not force her to support him in exposing his own.

“You did. You are,” she says, but he shakes his head, noses a caress onto her shoulder.

“We’re all a mess in so many ways, the team,” Steve tells her, groaning as she tightens around him, seeking out her lips to taste the groan when he strokes his fingertips over her nipple. “Most of our strengths are outside-in. Yours is inside-out. You’re made of steel, coated in silk.”

“You always fuck so poetic?” she teases, but her eyes are luminous.

“Gotta get it all out now,” Steve whispers, seeing his peak on the horizon and craving as well as dreading it.

“Steve,” she warns, and he shakes his head.

“You know I’m right.”

Natasha leans over, kisses his neck just under his ear, and whispers, “That why you haven’t really touched me?” she challenges.

“I’m inside you, that’s not enough?” he groans, knowing it’s not, feeling caught out, hating and loving the way she absolutely knows him. His avoidance had been subconscious, but she’s a master of that domain.

Oh my, is she.

Natasha sets a hand on his shoulder and caresses him all the way down to his hand, pulling him, unresisting, to just above where they’re joined.

“Touch me, Steve. Make it so every time I see your hands I remember this. If I can’t keep you, if this is it, if this is all I get, give me that to remember this by,” she whispers.

“Fuck, Natasha, you can’t just--” he groans, so close to coming his vision is whiting out, but she stills her hips.

“You kept this from me,” she says.

She’s right.

As penance goes, it’s appropriate.

Steve turns his hand, lightly probing and swirling his fingers exactly where she wants him to. Her reaction rattles him to the core; Natasha had always struck him as an inherently sensual person, even if she only let small glimpses of that show at any given time, and rightly so. But even a light graze of his fingers against that sensitive part of her takes her apart. It’s wrecking to watch, and he craves the chance to see it over and over, again and again, in any and every possible way, even as his orgasm approaches exactly like the tiny death the poets call it.

“God, Steve, yes. Yes, fuck, please, please,” she babbles, her mouth pressed against his shoulder to muffle the noises just enough for propriety, or so he hopes. “Please, sweet-- ahhhhh!”

Because fate loves to give Steve just what he wants, they come apart at the same time, the cloying, clenching, glorious pleasure bearing down on him just as the woman he cares so much about shakes and shudders and begs in his arms.

They hold still for long enough that each of them has to know it’s just to prolong the inevitable.

“Count of three?” Natasha finally whispers.

“No need,” Steve says, and they slowly pull apart, avoiding eye contact. He’s trying to decide which shirt to soil when she brings him a package of non alcoholic baby wipes.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Natasha says. It’s sincere, he realizes. No sarcasm, no innuendo, no amusement, just a sincere, heartfelt gratitude that feels simultaneously like a slap and a caress.

“You’re important to me,” he mutters, pulling his clothes back on.

“Right back at you, Cap,” Natasha tells him. It’s the transition, he can sense it. He settles back onto the sheet, facing her this time, a tiny concession to plausible deniability. She’s perceptive enough to catch it, of course, but they’ve got a shared secret, now, and that’s just the way things are. There’s just one more thing to do, one final rip through a single word written on a mostly torn piece of paper.

“Don’t give up on Banner,” Steve tells her, his tone as kind and matter-of-fact as he can make it, right now. “Today was probably the worst day of his life. People don’t make rational decisions on days like that.” The smile feels bitter and truthful on his lips.

Natasha’s lying on her side, lifted those few inches above him by the height of the cushions she’s resting on top of. Her expression had been sober, maybe even sad, but on hearing those words, a tiny fraction of lightness crosses her face. One corner of her lip turns up.

“Really?”

Steve’s paper metaphorically flutters to the floor, the bold block letters of the word landing imprecisely, but readable. UNRE QUITED, it reads. The meaning of the first four letters of the second half are not lost on him.

“Really.”

#steve rogers x natasha romanoff #steve rogers smut #natasha romanoff smut #romanogers #romanogers smut #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #angst #romance #smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #stevenat

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charleslee-valentine · 2 months

Text

Be My Valentime

Ship: Franknub

Word count: ~2,900

Warnings: Implied abuse

______

A piece of printer paper, some paint, and a box of crayons. Nubbins has his supplies laid all out on the table, making a craft very different from his usual string and bone art structures.

It’s for his friend, the next door neighbor. His very bestest friend.

The paper, a little stiff from being painted red, is decorated with little drawings and words that should be special for his friend. Only for him. It’s the kind Nubbins don’t want nobody else to see.

Every time one of his pesky brothers walks past, he lays all his weight on the table, hiding it under his chest and bent elbows. Problem is, he accidentally got too involved in the color of a certain sunflower drawing, he don’t even notice when his twin comes up behind him and peers over his shoulder.

Bobby speaks suddenly loud, right there in his ear, “W-Whatcha drawin’?”

Nubbins’ heart must jump halfway to the ceiling from how spooked he gets, but he don’t give up hiding it, “Nuthin.”

That only gets his brother's interest more. Bobby leans over him more, half his weight on Nubbins’ chair now, “Lemme see!”

Nubbins gnashes his teeth, trying to bite, and argues back, jus’ as loud and echoey in the high ceilinged dining room, “N-No!”

They gets a stern warning from big brother in the next room, “You boys cut that shit out or else I’ll..“

They don’t listen to the whole threat. A single, quiet-as-a-mouse moment passes ‘tween the Sawyer twins. Nubbins looks at Bobby, and Bobby at Nubbins, both of ‘em starin’ hard. It’s the latter that lunges first.

Bobby gets only one teeny corner of the card in his grabby fist ‘fore Nubbins yanks the rest back, crumbling up what he gets and tearing it ‘til it’s nothing but ribbons of colored paper.

A bold smile sits there proudly on his face. His twin though, he looks just kinda confused after watching Nubbins kill his own art piece like that.

“What was that f-for?”

“I-I didn’t want you to see.” Is a solid answer for Nubbins. All that needs said.

Only there’s something else even more simpler running through Bobby’s head. He looks side to side, a few times, ‘fore getting right close to whisper, “W-Was it a uh.. a dirty drawing?”

Nubbins’ face must turn pink as a summer sunset. First instinct that comes is to whack Bobby upside his smug, empty head.

“No! Sh-Shut up!”

Oh but that rotten thought has done planted itself firm, no amount of denial from Nubbins could change Bobbys mind. The asshole just laughs and laughs ‘til he’s turnin’ funny colors too, “It was! I-It was!!”

Makes him so mad he just wants to-

The twins end up in a tussle on the floor. Ain’t the place for it, there in the dining room, ‘cause it’s too close to being caught by Drayton. So’s they take it to the front of the house instead, crashin’ out past the heavy curtains they got hung up to keep the elements out, hot or cold.

Some time in all the chaos, Bubba’d come in to borrow the crayon tin. Really, it belonged to them anyhow, since they was the one t’ find it at the station, when it got left behind by some other little kid.

Their picture was of themself and their pet Missy chicken, with little hearts in their favoritest colors all around. Drayton done took it to place with pride on the wall in the living room, next to all the framed old pictures of the house and family members long since passed, and Bubba’s other art pieces.

That was how the boys got caught still wrastlin’.

Later on, Nubbins is snug in his bed with a bruise on his cheek.

Normally, he’d be grumpy, at least at first while the dumb thing had to settle inta his skin and heal. Not today. Today’s special, and this bruise is kinda funny actually.

Two little fingerprints by his jaw bone, ‘cept’n they don’t look like just that, these here come together and makes a purple-ish blue heart.

Nubbins presses down on it and thinks of all the hearts he’d drawn on his special piece of paper earlier. Of the friend he’d been dedicatin’ all his loves to. He decides he don’t just wanna lay here and think so much no more.

Careful as a mouse sniffin’ poison, he crawls outta his bed and sneaks his boots back on, tryin’ to be quiet so he won’t wake his brother.

Don’t work.

Bobby ain’t need much sleep, but when he’s out, he’s out hard, so he spooks bad. He sits bolt upright, them pale and foggy eyes of his struggling to make much out in a the pitch dark room with the curtains drawn and everything.

“W-Who’s there?”

Nubbins whispers back, lettin’ the first thing that comes to mind spill out, “Ain’t nobody.”

Bobby’s sleepy, equally bruised face scrunches up, “You sure?”

Even though his twin won’t be able to see it in the dark, Nubbins nods. “Ain’t n-nobody but the.. uh.. the dream fairy. Go to b-bed.”

“O-Okay.” Bobby agrees without a care and tosses back in bed, snoring like a damn bear in a cave ‘fore Nubbins even finished the laces on his next boot.

It’s funny, messin’ with him when he’s like that. Nubbins giggles about it under his breath, all quiet so nobody’ll hear and bust his butt again for what he’s ‘bout to do.

There’s a tree close to their window. The boys knows that well, but Drayton never found it out, so they never had to switch rooms. Now that he’s real tall, it’s easy just to open the window a bit and swing a leg out to the branches.

Every time, his stomach drops a little bit, but he’s yet to fall the whole height down. He’s just never successfully climbed the full way down neither. Maybe a quarter of the way there Nubbins tumbles ass first out the tree in a mess of arms and legs all a-flailin’ about.

No way old man would’ve missed a sound like all that, with them branches snapping and such.

Knowing his ass depends on it, Nubbins runs. Like a bat outta hell he runs straight to the neighboring property, finding the back like he always does, and calling up for his friend to invite him in ‘fore it’s too late.

“Hey! Fr-Franklin!”

After just a moment, the window and the shutters swings open. Franklin's head and his pretty, curly puff of hair appears in the opening, “Nubbins? That your little ass down there?”

“Y-Yeh, ‘s me. I-I made you a..a Valentimes.” Nubbins declares it proudly.

His card was for the special day that Franklin teached him all about. A holiday all’s about love and pretty things! ‘Course the first thing he wanted to do was make his best friend a special gift for it.

Franklin can’t accept it yet from all the way up high. He explains, “You gonna have to come up t’ me. I don’t got my chair.”

That’s all the more permission Nubbins needs to grab onto the ivy and scale the house. It’s easy work, after so long of nobody taking real good care of the property. The house is gettin’ better on the inside, but the outside sure is still ugly. Easy to climb on though!

Nubbins half tumbles into Franklin’s window, while he sorts out how to unfurl himself from one last twisted vine, asking up on the state of his missing wheels, “Where’s’d they g-go?”

Franklin smiles, but it’s not one of those weird ones that makes Nubbins feel silly for asking questions. It’s a happy smile.

He points to the discarded wheelchair off to the side of the room, “It’s here. Just c’ain’t get in ‘ere all by myself. Or roll my jolly green ass down the steps, now can I?”

Nubbins’ hands get happy, giggling just at the thought, “Y-You’d look like me, then.”

If Franklin hit his face on the way down, they could match, and have identical little heart shaped bruises. Maybe next beating, it would be a cut, and then Nubbins could toss Franklin down the steps, and they could have matching scars instead.

All of it makes him giggle and shake his hands about it.

But Franklin’s distinct smile has left his features behind. Now he looks concerned, “Damn it critter, who kicked your ass this time?”

“Oh, m-my brothers.” Nubbins explains, not seeing the issue, even less so when Franklin’s expression turns surprised. It’s not new that big brother gets mean. He never understands why Franklin don’t just get that it’s no big deal. So he explains again, “Well it was.. i-it was Bobby first, ‘n then I gots in trouble f-fer the noise a-and Drayton got me good too. S-So I wouldn’t do it again.”

“That’s no good, Nubbins… I wish they wouldn’t hurt ya like that.” Franklin argues anyways.

It’s not even that bad though. Ripping his heart out and stomping on it on Valentime’s is what hurts. Nubbins pouts a little, arms crossed and voice higher, “B-Bobby didn’t mean t’!”

A moment.

“And Drayton?”

Nubbins doesn’t wanna think about dumb old Drayton right now. He refuses to, even.

Silence. He won’t even look at his Franklin. His thoughts gets frantic trying to think of just somethin’ other than what Franklin wants to talk about, anythin’ but that. Then he remembers why he came over.

A tiny burst of happy comes back into Nubbins’ heart, as he shares, “Oh! I r..remembered! I g-got your Valentime!!”

“Let’s see it then- oh.” Franklin watches as the sprinkles of colorful paper are dumped into his open hand in a little pile.

His expression is unclear, so Nubbins feels compelled to explain, feels little tingles of nervous nipping at his spine.

“I-It used ta be one piece, but..but I had to rip it up c-cause Bobby was g-gonna look!”

Franklin looks down at the mess of a gift in his hands. Nubbins gets twitchy and anxious, shifting closer, tapping his fingers, craving a good answer so, so badly.

His best friend looks him in the eye, “Thank you, Nubbins. Really. It’s a good card.”

Nubbins can’t help that he gets excited. He raises his arms up and shakes them, letting out the tension that was building up in his bones. He points to the once-Valentime mess, “It said uh.. well I-I don’t really remember what it said but.. y-you like it?”

“Well sure!” Franklin agrees again, wearing something like pride in his face, mixed with happy.

Nubbins’ movements accidentally bump some of the paper scraps out of Franklin’s hands and onto the floor. He almost freezes, making messes is bad, liable to get his butt beat. But Franklin doesn’t get mad. He laughs, and warns, with nothing but playful in his tone, “Ope, ope, careful now!”

It’s all a lot to feel at once.

Nubbins gets as close as he can to Franklin like this, and lays his head on him, hidin’ from the big emotions behind a soft denim shirt and his own hair. Franklin doesn’t do anything but let him, which is fine and all, but Nubbins wants more. Impatient, he pulls for a second to pick up Franklin’s hand, dumping more paper pieces, and he guides it to his hair. He wants touches.

Franklin gets the hint eventually and pets his hair like Nubbins would pet a sad little roadside critter. Slowly, he eases back down and just lays all on his best friend. Part of him wants to bite the fabric of Franklin’s shirt, but last time he tried that he got a scolding. Instead, he chews on his own hair, focusing on doin’ something instead of feelin’ all the feelings.

It’s eventually Franklin who speaks up, never sermon’ to like the silence too much. “I like it when you visit me.”

That gives Nubbins an idea. Excitedly, he declares, “Y-You could l-live with me, a-and we could be visiting a-all the time!”

“I’m sorry, Nubbins but-“ That’s enough. His spirits already extinguished, his idea squashed. He cuts Franklin off.

Nubbins wouldn’t say he’s poutin’, but he ain’t smiling no more either. “D-Don’t be mean.”

“I won’t… I just… You know how it is. With your big brother.. I don’t really think I’d fit in there is all.” Franklin explains his side soft and quiet, trying not to poke the upset bear maybe.

Too bad. This bear is fully frustrated and ready to pounce, “Stop it. I-I don’t like you sayin’ that.”

That’s the end of it. Franklin does stop just like he asked. “Alright.”

Nubbins squeezes him tighter. He doesn’t like where that left off. Bad, bad thoughts start to replace the happy ones.

His Franklin, his bestest friend in the whole wide world of Texas, wouldn’t never hurt him the way big brother does. ‘Cept’n the worries is still there anyway.

Nubbins doesn’t lift his head, but he asks, “Is you m-mad at me?”

“Nope.” Franklin denies automatically.

Just in case that isn’t the end of it, Nubbins asks to clarify, knowing better than to assume anythin’ his stupid brain can’t comprehend. “Bu..But?”

Not even raisin’ his voice, Franklin just clarifies, “But nothin’, Nubbins. I ain’t mad. Not at you, not ever.”

That there is almost enough to lift his spirits. Nubbins at least is encouraged to switch the subject, “I-It’s still Valentimes, right?”

Franklin sort of shrugs, as much as he can with Nubbins’ weight on him, “I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

When the big feelings come this time, Nubbins don’t extinguish them all out, he puts it into one big action instead of the little ones in his body. Not for the first time, but maybe for the first where it meant something this special, Nubbins kisses Franklin.

It’s just quick, one tiny press of the lips more than anything else. He probably mostly misses Franklin’s too. Don't make it feel any less nice in his heart.

“That your real gift, huh?” Is what Franklin asks, pink in the face and soundin’ a little breathless. Nubbins doesn’t have words just yet. He nods, so Franklin shows his thanks with another kiss, though this one is to Nubbins’ cheek, “Well, thank you.”

Nubbins waits, for just a minute, but gets frustrated quick. Franklin isn’t doing what he’s supposed to.

“Where.. W-Where’s my present?”

“Go get that little box over there.”

Franklin points to the desk he’s got pushed up to the wall on the far side of the room. There’s a little white box no bigger than the palm of his hand with a burlap ribbon around it sits there.

Sneaky as a fox, even though he already got his permissions, Nubbins goes and snatches it up, givin’ it a little shake. It don’t make much noise, so he looks to Franklin, guessing with the limited number of clues what it could be in his head.

Understanding the silent conversation, Franklin allows him, “Go on. Open it up.”

Nubbins pulls the ribbon and sends it falling undone to the floor before either can blink. Maybe from excitement, or nerves, or just from the way he is, his hands shake so much it takes a few tries to retrieve the thin cord of a present from inside.

His face turns sort of blank instead of happy, showing his confusion, “Wha-What is it?”

“A new necklace. It’s some kind of leather so it won’t bust like your old one. Figured you could add your little charms and stuff.” Franklin explains it, but instead of the joy of clarity crossing Nubbins�� face, he only gets grumpier.

He crosses his legs and just sits, right there in the middle of the floor. Poutin’.

Franklin tries really, really hard not to let out a little laugh. This is serious business, even if Nubbins looks adorable like that, “What’s the matter?”

“My dumb old present was br-broke.” Nubbins huffs.

So he thinks a handwritten card don’t compare to a store bought gift just cause it was all ripped up. But he was so bouncy when he got here. Franklin don’t care none, expecting it to not be torn up would’ve honestly been the only thing more unfair’n Nubbins’ current self-depreciation.

“Hey now, it’s alright.” Franklin assures, and seeing Nubbins about to shake his head, only doubles down, “You could always make another!”

That grabs his interest again. “And th-then you’ll have two!!”

Franklin looks at the pile of scrap in his hands. There’s a piece with two little sunflowers on it still intact. He takes it and puts it in his shirt pocket, presses it down, then gives Nubbins his biggest, most loving smile.

“One for hangin’ up, and one for keepin’ close to my heart.”

Nubbins just bursts with big emotions, and good ones at that. His hands flutter like hummingbirds over sweetwater, and he wiggles side to side.

“This is my f-favorite Valentimes e-ever!”

It’s also his first, but that’s not really the point, so Franklin don’t say a word.

His heart’s gone soft for that boy. If he knew it weren't too much to feel at once, he’d tell him he loved him right then and there. Instead, he settles on agreeing about the holiday.

“Yeh. S’my favorite too.”

#franknub #franklin hardesty x nubbins sawyer #nubbins sawyer #franklin hardesty #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #drayton sawyer #bubba sawyer #my writing #yes. Valentine is spelled wrong on purpose. I promise

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