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farfromstrange · 6 months

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Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 15: Mask Kink

October 30th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt really loves to eat you out.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), black suit Matt supremacy, Dom!Matt, mask kink, unprotected p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, slight spanking, bondage (use of ropes), use of "good girl", praise, not proofread

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/n: This is dedicated to @sunaspotato because her mask kink made my mask kink worse. And since she’s on this hellsite too now and wanted to read this, here you go. (Also, I hope you can still look me in the eyes after this. If not, I sincerely apologize. It’s different when one of the people reading this is someone I know irl so I hope I didn’t disappoint with this.)

The air coming in through the half-open bedroom window brushes coldly against your heated skin.

You never thought you would end up in this position. So… vulnerable. Hunted like prey. It was never your intention. And yet, here you are now. Your wrists are tied to the bedpost with a harsh, greyish rope that isn’t yours, your sheer nightgown torn to shreds and discarded somewhere in the room.

You’re helpless. Hopeless, also. Your friends have told you time and time again that you trust too easily, and maybe that is true. You can be colorblind to the existence of red flags. When you look danger in the eyes, you tend to gravitate toward it and not away, which has put you in trouble more times than you can count. You have shit judgment, to say the least, so it should come as no surprise that you are in this position.

He has walked you home before. A few nights ago, a man tried to mug you after you missed the last bus of the night on your way home from work, and even though you cooperated, you had a bad feeling you weren’t going to make it out of this alive. He was about to steal all the money you had left in your purse, your phone, and everything else dear to you.

Out of nowhere though, a dark figure emerged. He wore a mask made out of some sort of used fabric, a little white peeking through where it kept his eyes hidden from the world. His lips caught your attention right away. They were curled up into a smirk. He looked as if he had no emotions left in him, he only saw red where you saw none, and he beat the man trying to steal from you to a bloody pulp right at your feet.

You should have been terrified, but the fear turned into a quick thrill, and it made you more careless than it made you careful.

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” he said to you.

Foolish of him to think he could tell you what to do, but he was right. He shouldn’t have been out there on your own.

Next thing you knew, he offered to walk you home. Him on the rooftops of the city, you below. And you felt safer. You agreed; you talked to him, and you let the danger right into your life.

From the second you first laid your wide eyes on the stranger, there has been something so forbiddingly arousing about the image in your head. His plump lips, his tongue, his sharp jawline, and the chiseled chest that he keeps hidden away underneath a tight, black shirt. Not to mention his thighs and the ass he is definitely not hiding in those pants.

It is so arousing, you have not uttered a word about it to anyone. If you told anyone the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saved your life and belongings a few nights ago and has walked you home from work every night since then, they would surely call you crazy. Perhaps you are, but you have no shame about it. You are ashamed that he does something to your neglected soul, something a stranger in a mask should not do, but you are not ashamed that you haven’t told him off. Maybe you should be, but you can’t possibly find an ounce in your that cares.

Even though it wasn’t planned and it took you off guard, you let him in when he knocked on your windows tonight, begging you to stitch him up. His panting and the way he groaned whenever the needle threaded through his skin didn’t help with this strange attraction you have been harboring.

He noticed. You’re not sure how, but he noticed that you were getting turned on by his presence, and it was only a question of time until he would snap. In the end, he did about half an hour into your putting bandages on his battle scars.

Now you’re tied to the bed, naked and vulnerable to the man in the mask at the foot of your bed, but your heart is not beating out of your chest out of fear. It’s the pulse between your legs that is the most prominent, and the danger only sends the pleasure you’re experiencing to new pinnacles.

He isn’t going to show you his face, he told you as much. Lucky for you, you do not want or need him to. The thought of getting fucked by a man you have no idea what he looks like is as arousing as it is exciting. The mask on his face only enhances the feeling of being completely exposed to the prying eyes of danger, and you don’t want to miss this feeling again for the world. If that makes you perverted or mentally deranged, you don’t have a problem with that. You’ve been told that your delusions will be the death of you one day, so maybe it’s time to live your truth.

The man paces around your bed. Eventually, he opens those plump lips again. He asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

“What I’m doing to you?” you question, your voice barely above a broken whisper. He’s got you right where he wants you.

“You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

You want to sit up, but the ropes keep you locked in place.

“You were supposed to run away,” he says. “But you didn’t.”

“I don’t scare easily,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Why he sounds so bitter all of a sudden, you’re not sure.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not scared of you,” you say, a lot surer this time.

The stranger bares his teeth for a moment, then closes his mouth again. God, those lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and somehow you already miss him.

“I can smell you, you know. I can smell how fucking wet you are for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to control myself when you’re so wet?” he says. It’s a rhetorical question. “You want me to fuck you so badly, and you don’t even know me.”

You blush beet red. You’re not sure how he can smell that you’re wet, even with your thighs clenched so tightly together. There are a lot of things you ask yourself, and for a second you wonder if you made a mistake, but if he knows that you are desperate to be touched by him, there is no chance in hell you will be able to lie your way out of this.

You want this. You want him. And there is no denying the obvious; he wants you, too.

His cock is straining against his pants. He is packed, you can tell. You wish you could see him, even just a small glimpse of skin, but he keeps himself hidden away. That’s how it’s going to be. He’s not going to give himself away, and you’re not going to protest, no matter how wrong this may be.

You want him to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you. There is only one way this is going to end.

The bed creaks. His gloved hand meets your bare thigh, and you shudder. Your mouth falls open. The rough texture hiding his fingertips rubs against the sensitive hairs on your body. It makes your toes curl.

“Don’t move away from me,” his mouth is suddenly so close to your ear.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you choke out. He has a chokehold on your lungs and the oxygen that is supposed to pass through them.

His teeth show when he chuckles this time. It’s a breathless chuckle that sends even more shivers down your spine until you can’t feel anything but him. His breath, his hand, his body—you are completely consumed by him.

“Matthew,” he whispers in your ear. “My name’s Matthew.”

He told you his name. Does he trust you enough not to ask questions? Not that you have it in you to do so, but it throws you off for a moment.

He told you his name. The masked stranger who refuses to even take his gloves off told you his name. Your mind reels. You’re interpreting too much into this, but how can you not? You are completely infatuated.

You’re infatuated with the devil.

The heavy leather of his gloves thuds to the ground next to the bed. When his bare fingers touch you, you’re almost halfway on your way to heaven.

You let out a soft moan that sends the heat to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pulsates in your ear. You can hear your blood rushing. Can he hear it too?

“Tell me it’s okay.”

You blink at his demand.

“Tell me it’s okay to touch you,” he says. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words elude you for a moment. “I–” You swallow as you look at his covered face. “Yes,” the consent rolls off your lips softly but surely. “I want you to…touch me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. This is the most human you have seen him. “Thank you,” he says.

You open your mouth again to respond, to tell him that he has nothing to thank you for, but he shuts you up by thrusting two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt all at once.

Your words turn into a loud moan that bounces off your apartment walls. You struggle against the restraints, wanting to wrap around his wrist, but you have nowhere to go. Your walls clench around the intrusion, but he pushes through, his fingertips brushing over that one sweet spot that has you seeing stars within seconds. And once he has found that spot, there is no going back.

The lewdest cacophony of wetness and heady moans turns into a crescendo. He is playing your keys so delicately, your entire body locks up. The wave keeps on building until it has turned into the size of a tsunami, ready to destroy whatever is in its path.

He moves his digits in and out of you, brushing against that spot every time he thrusts back in, and he pushes even deeper until he’s filled you up completely to the brim. He reaches parts of you that you never knew existed, and he does it over and over and over again until there is not much more you can take.

His free hand grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet the darkness of his mask. Somehow, that makes your walls clench ever harder around him. He smirks. Oh, that shit-eating smirk is going to be the death of you, you’re sure. At the same time though, you want to wipe it off his face.

“Look at me,” he says.

You have no choice but to comply, as ironic as it sounds.

“Good girl.”

The subtle praise makes your nails draw blood from your palms, the robe rubbing against the sensitive skin of your wrists and probably doing just the same. You’re going to be bloody and bruised tomorrow. You’re going to carry his marks.

You’re his now.

“Are you gonna come?” his breath tickles your ear.

All you can muster is a weak nod.

“Good,” he says. “Don’t.”

You must have misheard him. “What?!” you stammer. “But–”

“No.”

Fucking with danger is as hot as it is frustrating, it seems.

His fingers pull out of you suddenly, roughly—you are left with a gaping emptiness that makes your thighs clench, and your throat emits a whine that you are not used to hearing from yourself.

“Please,” you beg. You never beg. Not like this. “Please, Matthew, I… I’m sorry.”

What are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong. But he makes you feel like you did. He makes you feel like you deserve to feel so pathetic, and that he owns your orgasms.

He owns you.

Well, shit.

The ropes around your wrists disappear for a moment. A moment of mercy, you think, but he is quick to flip you onto your stomach. The bed creaks again. You catch a glimpse of his smirk again. His mask. His body. His cock. It looks like he touched himself while he fingered you, his cock pink and weeping as it stands tall against his stomach. You want to reach out and touch it, a rare beauty, a rare sight, but once again, you are disappointed.

He flips you over, and he ties your hands back to the headboard. You’re once again trapped.

A series of cries, “Please, please, please!” Passes your lips. You kick your feet, you say his name, and you moan when his lips travel down your exposed back. You would do anything for more, and you try to, but he won’t let up.

This is what you get for making foolish choices.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hand collides with your backside, and you cry out. The pain turns into the sweetest pleasure, making your clit throb in need. You can’t withstand him. “I’m far from done with you. You asked for this, remember?”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine.

When his thick cock penetrates your tight walls, forcing your legs to stay together as he pushes his way forward, you surrender. Your jaw slacks in a needy moan. He’s got you wrapped around his finger and his cock, and the feelings he elicits in you are so inhuman, you get addicted. He’s a drug. He’s dangerous.

But danger has never looked so fucking good before.

Besides, you brought this upon yourself when you let him into your bed. When you asked him to fuck you like no one has ever fucked you before. When you gave him consent to touch you. And when you let him take you like this, you surrendered yourself to him all over again. All of you. Your mind, body, and soul. You gave it all to him. You’re his now.

His. His. His. It keeps repeating in your mind as he pounds into you, and God, it is good. It is so good, you lose yourself, and you never want to go back.

The stranger in the mask is what you need. He is all you will ever need.

You asked for this.

You made a deal with the devil and now you have to pay your dues.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @ravenclaw617 @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #black suit supremacy #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #lizzi writes #charlie cox

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kiwiana-writes · 17 days

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Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

I said I wasn’t gonna share any more of the Anastasia AU considering how much I’ve shared already. Turns out I lied 😂 After publishing two fics in the last week, including the snippet y’all salivated over on Wednesday, I just straight up didn’t have any more new words in me this weekend. So have some slightly older—but I believe as yet unseen—words instead 😉

“Do you have any idea,” Alex starts, no greeting or acknowledgement that these are the first words they’ve exchanged in three years in sight as he runs a hand through his curls, “how many James Smiths there are in the DMV?”

“A great deal, I should imagine.” James’ eyes absolutely do not follow the way Alex’s fingers run through his hair before disappearing into the pocket of his chinos. He’s well aware that his name is nothing special; he’ll never know if the choice was a deliberate on, picked to ensure that he would be lost in a sea of anonymity.

“About 738, according to my friend Nora. It sure fucking felt like it when I was combing through social media profiles to find out where you worked.” He glances over at Tiff, whose gaze is flickering between the two of them; James can now more easily interpret the expression he couldn’t before. It’s something that’s half holy hell, he’s even more attractive in person and half what does the First Son want with you?

James can’t bring himself to disagree with either assertion.

Tagging @agame-writes @anincompletelist @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @jellibuns @junebugclaremontdiaz @leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @piratefalls @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

#six sentence sunday #kiwiana-writes #wip: years of dreams just can't be wrong

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 7 months

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A Brother for Cyril

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader, fluff

733 words; Alfie is tricked into getting you a new dog...and it's all Thomas Shelby's fault.

Warnings: Swearing.

“Now Tommy… what the hell is that?”

“It’s a dog Alfie. A very sweet dog that you will love.”

“You silly boy that is not a dog. That thing is a rat. Cyril, now that’s a dog yeah? That thing is smaller than my boot, and I can’t even see it’s rat face. There’s nothing there. It’s a ball of hair.”

“Well it is a puppy Alfie. And it isn’t a rat, they call it a shi tzu. All the finest ladies have one.”

“...Are you trying to tell me something Tommy?”

Tommy Shelby rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to give you the dog. Lizzie refused to take it and Polly doesn’t want animals in the house. So I thought, ‘Hey. Mrs. Solomons is a beautiful woman, and Alfie could probably use help spoiling his wife.’ You’re welcome Alfie.”

Alfie leaned forward, with an accusing finger twitching at Tommy, “Listen to me yeah? Don’t talk about my wife, in fact don’t even think about Mrs. Solomons alright? That woman is an angel, and there is nothing holy that goes around that twisted little mind of yours. Now, regarding the… thing. I can assure you that Mrs. Solomons will not want -”

“What won’t I want darling?”

Both men have their heads snap to you in the doorway, with a soft smile on your lips, and a curious twinkle in your eye. Alfie quickly looked at the clock, 2 p.m, he should have been home an hour ago for lunch with you. Despite Alfie’s insistence that you don’t come to the office on weekends, even when he was here, he knew that you would always disobey to come fetch him. Before Alfie could say anything to you about going back home with Ollie, Thomas Shelby beat him to the punch, “Alfie was just saying how you will not ever want to be parted with this… adorable little animal.” Thomas held up the small ball of fur, as little whimpers began to emanate from the puppy.

“Oh my goodness Alfie you shouldn’t have! Oh darling he is precious! What a sweet precious baby! Oh now Cyril will have a little brother won’t he! Alfie you spoil me so, thank you so much darling!” You immediately took the little dog into your arms, pressing kisses to the top of it’s head, and the dog nuzzled its small face into your chest, soon falling into comfortable sleep.

Alfie stared at you, mouth agape. For someone who could be so vicious with her words when the occasion called for it, you really babied the animals you came across. You walked behind the desk to kiss Alfie tenderly, “I was so upset that you didn’t come home for lunch, I’m so sorry my love, I didn’t realize that you were picking up such a darling little thing.”

As you kissed his cheek, Thomas Shelby smirked in the face of Alfie’s scowl. Once again, Thomas Shelby had manipulated the situation to his benefit, and now Alfie was left with this… dog. A happy wife too.. But also another dog that Cyril could eat. But how could he say no to you when you were so incandessently happy and kissing him the way you were? “That’s right my darling I was bringing you a gift, and you are most right, Cyril does need a brother to look after, earn his keep yeah? Now my dear, what do you think you’re going to name him?”

“Hmmm, he does look like a Bartholomew to me. And we can call him Barty for short.”

Thomas began to cover his mouth to smother his laughter, a ridiculous name for such a runt. But Alfie just scowled at him, if you gave the name it was perfect, “A wonderful name treacle. Now let’s get home and introduce the boys to each other yeah? Tommy? Get the fuck out, I’m taking my wife home. Ollie!? Get the car we’re going home.”

As Alfie wrapped his arm around you to lead you out with him, you turned your head to look over Alfie’s shoulder at Tommy, “Goodbye Mr. Shelby! See you soon! Give your Aunt Polly my love.”

Tommy tipped his hat with a smile, “Goodbye Mrs. Solomons, a pleasure as always. Enjoy Barty. See you Monday Alfie.”

Alfie just grunted and pulled you closer, wanting to get away from the thorn in his side.

#alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic

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incorrectly-quoting-murderdrones · 1 month

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Sky’s Episode 7 Review (now that she’s stopped screaming) ((kinda))

Spoilers under the cut

Never trust interns with anything

Also holy shit the animation has gone from amazing to absolutely jaw-dropping

N desperately clawing at the rocks to get back to V is heartbreaking

The fact that the Disassembly Drones were built to murder humans and not the workers is one hell of a reveal and not something I expected at all.

That’s probably why Nori kept making plans about the murder drones before they even arrived, she kept thinking they were after the drones, not remembering they were there for the humans.

Now that we know Tessa is was nothing but a skin puppet, are there any humans left? Are all of them dead?

ALSO WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE TESSA SKIN PUPPET?!

I thought maybe it was Cyn just puppeteering the spacesuit and making it seem bloody, but Jesus fucking Christ the skin suit was absolutely disturbing

Thad and Lizzy return!

Khan actually taking initiative? I do love the consistency of him being able to repair Uzi’s rail gun easily.

Also we’re not gonna talk about how Khan KEPT her rail gun?

Please for the love of god give Uzi a break. She really goes through it this episode.

Nori: “Bite me!”

Now we see where Uzi gets it from

N immediately screaming at the V hallucination and Uzi noping the fuck away from the wall of flesh was a great reverse on the usual horror tropes

So we’re just gonna gloss over how Nori is not only alive, but one of the weird little squid drones? If that affects drones with Absolute Solver, maybe Doll isn’t as dead as we think.

Just how much does J know? Is she even aware of Tessa being a puppet?

I love how in the fight between Uzi-Cyn and N, we get a callback to the Knife Dance!

“Nori! The truth is Uzi and I-“ and then he just writes “hang out”. They are really keeping the Nuzi fans in suspense, aren’t they.

“Your backups will forgive me” So there are clones of N? Did Cyn turn only N, J, and V into murder drones and then clone them a bunch?

Uzi drop kicked her own mother. This show is incredible.

N killed Tessa to save Uzi!

Elsie and Michael did an incredible job with the voice acting

Between the knife dance, hand holding, the “Hang out. Just hang out idk lol”, and the “We did NOT discuss being gross and stuff!”, I am getting so many mixed messages about N and Uzi’s relationship

I love that even though Nori’s head was scrambled when she married Khan and had Uzi, she actually thinks that Khan is a hunk in her normal mind.

Bit of a personal theory here, but with the way the show sets up both N and V having a crush on each other, and N and Uzi having a crush on each other, I think the show might actually have eNVUzi be canon rather than just Nuzi, Envy, or Vuzi, which I’d be totally down for

The way Uzi bites at the tentacle just so she can go down with a cool pose made me laugh

N just watched both of the girls he loves sacrifice themselves for him, learned that Tessa was fucking skinned and worn by Cyn like a puppet, learned that he himself has killed not just hundreds of worker drones but thousands of humans too, and is now alone in his quest to stop Cyn from destroying the universe.

He is going to need so much therapy if he survives this

Also AJ Dispirito coming through with another incredible soundtrack!

Nuzi’s theme playing during the “All I know is, I need you.” scene. (I think it’s the same leitmotif that plays during “Falling….for you?”)

Uzi’s theme (Solver Uzi) playing during her sacrifice

The music for the fight between Cyn and N?!?!?! Incredible!?!?!

#tw spoilers #Md spoilers #murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #envuzi #serial designation v #khan doorman #md lizzy #Md Thad #tessa james elliot #nori doorman #serial designation j #Cyn #absolute solver #that was a roller coaster from start to finish

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firenati0n · 4 months

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several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello :) happy sunday! thank you to @kiwiana-writes @getmehighonmagic @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @sherryvalli @dumbpeachjuice @littlemisskittentoes @ssmtskw @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @leojfitz @songliili @eusuntgratie @wordsofhoneydew @heybuddy-drabbles @happiness-of-the-pursuit @ninzied @bigassbowlingballhead @anincompletelist @rockyroadkylers for the tags (damn i am seriously behind) :) :) :)

here's a snip that is well over seven sentences from proposal au "the full spectrum of human emotion" because i CAN:

“Does ‘sweetheart’ do it for you? Any others I should know about?” Alex isn’t really all that surprised. Any time the pet name has slipped out in the past, he’s seen Henry’s face do a fun little pinch at the corner of his mouth. He tries to work the term of endearment in as much as possible, because he’s a messy bitch who lives for drama. Henry clears his throat. “Alexander. I beg of you to not.” Alex forges on, a man on a very important mission. “Honey? Fucking gross, nope. Sugar? That’s what my mother calls me, so hell no.” He clicks his tongue. “Let me noodle on this. Gotta nail you down.” Henry’s flush works its way down from his ears to the base of his neck. A few more and Alex might even get it to go down to his collarbones. How exciting. “Hmm. Bunny? Too cutesy. Boy toy? Well—” “I’m older than you! I’m certainly not your boy toy. If anything, due to not only my age, but also our power dynamic, you’re my boy toy,” Henry huffs. Alex tries not to feel a certain way about the words you’re my boy toy leaving Henry’s mouth in smooth, rounded vowels. He obviously fails. “I’d say boy toy feels age agnostic, but whatever you say, sweetheart.”

tags under the cut <3

no pressure tagging @inexplicablymine @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @sparklepocalypse @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @matherines @celeritas2997 @gayrootvegetable @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @msmarvelouswinchester @whimsymanaged @tintagel-or-cockleshells @zwiazdziarka @indomitable-love @cha-melodius @anchoredarchangel @theprinceandagcd @gay-flyboys @read-and-write- @benwvatt

and open tag for anyone else wishing to share (pls tag me so i can see and read and eat it up!) have fun :)

#roop writes #fic: tfsohe #rwrb #rwrb fic #fics #writing is ajsldfjals rn i am trying though

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themultifandomgal · 1 month

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Hey you! I just read that you take requests for peaky blinders and I’m wondering if you could maybe write something for John x reader? Like from s1 when he calls for a family meeting, that he wants to marry Lizzie. But reader is there maybe she works with Grace at the bar and has known John since they were young. She was in love with him but he married Martha, reader helped with their kids and her births and when his wife died she stayed around to help John. But he never thought she looked at him like anything more than a brother. But Polly knew and Tommy too, so when John asks them about Lizzie in front of you. They all tell him he’s blind to not see how reader loves him and his kids. She is really sad cause she thinks he’s going through with the wedding to Lizzie but when he gets home that night and she’s watching the kids he finally talks to her and asks her how she really feels. Like he would see her in such a loving way he couldn’t even consider she’d ever want a man like him. A real cute ending would be lovely

John Shelby- Tell Me The Truth Pt1

I just realised writing this how similar to my last request this one is so this time I’ve used actual dialogue from the season 1. Might make this one into a little series. Hope you enjoy.

Also trigger warnings- swearing, talking about vomit, violence, the usual peaky blinders stuff.

“Oh for fucks sake” YN groans as a man vomits at the bar “I gotta clean that up now, fucking twat go ‘ome to ya wife”

“Why d’ya think I’m ‘ere love” the chap wipes the vomit from his mouth making YN shudder a little. Rolling her eyes YN goes to get her mop and bucket while she leaves Freddie and Tommy to talk, although knowing it may end up in someone getting hurt

“Hi YN” Finn, the youngest Shelby sibling says smiling at her

“Hey Finn, why aren’t ya at school” the boy shrugs his shoulders

“Borin’”

“It may be borin’ but do ya wanna end up like ya brothers? an alcoholic, an other a deceiver, another married at 17 because he fucked some poor girl. Get yourself some juice then head back to school”

“Fine” the boy whines but does as he’s told, well kind off. YN doesn’t need to know that he’s took the juice and headed off home.

Walking back to the bar with a mop and bucket and some other cleaning supplies, she now sees Tommy and Freddie holding Danny up. Glass and chairs thrown everywhere

“Oh hell did I do it again?” he asks

“You did it again Danny”

“Miss YN I’m so sorry” Danny cries

“It’s ok Danny” YN says sympathising with him. She knows better than anyone how the war has changed so many people and families. She worked as a nurse to help the injured soldiers. Combat Fatigue, or shell shock is what they called it when men would return home, but they weren’t themselves. Unfortunately Danny, once a sweet caring man, now has moments where he forgets where he is. Just a noise could set him off. Knowing this YN knows that she shouldn’t be harsh on him. It’s not his fault

“Mr Shelby you have to do something about him”

“Damn right Harry. You pay the peaky blinders a lot of money for protection. Your the law around here now, aren’t ya Tommy?” Freddie say as Tommy takes a swig of whiskey

“And what would you suggest? Hm? Putting a bullet through his head? Kill an innocent man? Thought you would have done enough of that during the war”

“YN back to work” Harry says pointing at the girl

“Sorry ‘man’s business’ right? that’s a load of fucking bollocks and you know that”

“Harry get YN to drop the bill off at the betting shop. We’ll take care of this” Tommy says putting his cap back on and walking out of the bar

“I don’t know why you’re still involved with that lot” Harry mutters grabbing a broom. YN shrugs

“Grew up with John boy didn’t I. They’re family”

“Yet the man you love married another. I’d leave them before they break you” with that Harry gets to sweeping the floor. What Harry said hurt YN, not the part about them breaking her, no. They wouldn’t do that, the Shelby’s all treat YN as family. The part that hurt YN was that John married Martha, YN’s best friend. Tommy always said it was only because he got her pregnant and wanted to do the right thing, but YN always wondered if he hadn’t of got Martha pregnant would he have ever married her? Would’ve he and YN had a chance? Well it’s to late now. John married Martha and now is a widower with 4 children who YN had help Polly deliver.

Later that evening YN walks home, having to pass Johns house where she can hear the chaos that is bath and bed time. Going against her better judgement, YN finds her feet making their way to Johns house and knocking on the door. A disheveled John answers the door

“Oh thank god your here. I don’t know how Martha did this everyday” sighing YN gives him a weak smile entering his house

“Just get a glass of whiskey for me for when we’re done”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #john shelby #john shelby x wife #john shelby x y/n #john shelby x you #john shelby x oc #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine

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galatially · 4 months

Text

❝𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 "𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧" 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, exes, angst, smut, soft boi™ logan, exes to tentative lovers

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it is time to spread the agenda of logan howlett and his influence on my brain rot for most of my nerdy life. shout out to lizzy mcalpine for making "ceilings" and having me spiral over it for a year!

also also, y'all, i know. i'm horrible at deadlines. but it's what y'all love about me lol

also also first post of 2024!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into his skin, your fingers both light and firm.

“You have so many scars.” He grunted in response. “When you tell me, am I going to have to set a house on fire?”

Logan laughed. “And why would you do that, bubba?”

“To defend your honor, of course.” You laid across his back to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath making the hairs on his body erect. “Can’t have you being the hero all the time. My shoulders are strong, too.”

“…listening? Logan? Logan!”

He blinked, his vision focusing on Ororo’s concerned gaze.

“What’d you say?”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I asked where you were going.”

Logan hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Ororo hummed. “Would this have to do with a certain someone that lives in the Canadian mountainside?” He didn’t answer as he threw the bag in the back of his truck. “Do you think that’s the best thing for her right now?”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay, Munroe.”

“And then what?” Ororo crossed her arms. “What are you going to do when you see that she’s fine?”

He threw her a hard glare. “I just want to see her. Is that so fuckin’ wrong?”

Her features softened. “You had another dream about her.”

Logan turned back towards the garage. “What does it matter? I just need to see her, Munroe.”

She held her hands up. “I can’t stop you. I just worry that you’re about to uproot this woman’s life because you can’t let her go.”

He took in a sharp breath. She wasn’t wrong; he’d spent the better part of six years raking himself over the coals at how he ended things. If he allowed them, the memories of you screaming and your brown eyes red and puffy from crying haunted him more than any battle he’d ever been in.

“Look, if you’re so hellbent on going to see her, then go. You’re an adult and you have to live with your decisions.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Tell our fearless leader that I’m goin’ out of town and I’ll be back when I can.”

Ororo nodded and waved, a sad smile on her lips.

He shouldn’t fucking be here.

The second Logan crossed the border, he could think of nothing else but to get to you. Thirty-eight hours and he didn’t sleep for any of them. No, his mind’s eyes played memories of you: how soft your skin was, that fig and jasmine perfume you loved. The silken warmth of your cunt. He fucked his fist like a horny fourteen year old in that dingy hotel in BC. If he focused hard enough, he could get the tone of your voice just right — those breathy, pleading moans that you let out only for him. He could get lost in the memories, pretend that he was beside you in your bed, other people be damned.

But that was thirty-eight hours ago.

Now, here he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck until his knuckles went white, silently cursing himself for even showing up. He hadn’t seen you in, what? Six years? Who the hell was he to appear on your doorstep after the shit he pulled?

His eyes scanned the forest surrounding your home. He hated that you lived so far away from immediate civilization. It took you thirty minutes to get into the nearest town for work and you essentially lived off the grid. When he’d happened upon your home that fateful October evening, he was amazed that you had a working phone, let alone Wi-Fi. Whenever you crossed his mind, he thought the worst. He used to beg you to get an apartment in the city, but you always refused.

“I’m not ready to let get of this place just yet.” You looked up at him from drawing circles on his bare bicep. “Unless you want to give up city life and live out here with me?”

He didn’t answer; even back then, Logan knew that he was bound to hurt you. His refusal to give you more than idle pleasure was a point of contention for you both. Jean always said that he could be hard to talk to because if he wasn’t picking a fight, he was evading questions. But unlike Jean, you weren’t one to back down. When he’d divert or blatantly ignore your questions, you stood your ground. You didn’t give him the chance to distract you with sudden affection. You wanted to resolve issues as soon as they were made present.

It’s something Logan both loved and hated about you.

“Fuck this.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blew out a determined breath and opened his car door, his feet moving before he changed his mind. As he got closer to the house, he noticed the red “SOLD” sign on the lawn. His chest thrummed with…pain? Remorse? Fear?

What would he do if you left?

He was on your porch now, his heart hammering against his ribcage, fighting to get to you. He raised his hand to knock on the door as it was opening, being met with the face he’d been dreaming about for half a decade.

Your brows were furrowed in confusion. “James.”

His hazy memory didn’t do you justice; your eyes seemed more intense than the last time he’d seen you. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt — eerily familiar to an old Pink Floyd shirt he thought he’d lost years ago — and shorts barely peeking out from under the hem of the shirt. Your skin smooth and begging to be touched. Your dark coils were thrown into a bun, pieces falling out in various places. You weren’t outwardly upset but you could school your features better than anyone he knew. Your body was half-facing him and half-facing the tiny hall that led to the inside of the house. There was a solemnity to your face that he didn’t recognize.

A voice in the furthest part of his mind whispered that it was because of him.

“Y’know you’re the only person that still calls me James?”

Your features flattened. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just passin’ through Edmonton and ended up here .”

“You drove for three days on a whim?”

“I was on my way back from handlin’ somethin’,” he said, the familiar finality in his tone. His gaze went past your shoulders and into the darkness of your home. “Have you eaten yet?”

You blinked. “Not yet.”

He nodded, his blue eyes back on you. “Can I come in? I’ll make you somethin’.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve slammed the door in his face and went back to packing up the rest of your bedroom. But instead, you moved to the side and let Logan inside. He thanked you and walked inside, toeing off his shoes, and heading back towards the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever.

You looked out at his old, rusted truck one last time before closing the door and going to the kitchen. From the tiny hallway, you could hear him humming to himself; an old song his mother used to sing to him, he’d told you once. He’d put his hair up into a bun at the top of his head, a few strands falling to frame his face. His tan skin, the same skin that had scars that even his mutation couldn’t heal, glowed under the dull glow of your kitchen light. You used to always tell him beautiful he was, but he’d wave you off in that Logan way, telling you that no one was as beautiful as you.

You leaned up against the doorjamb. “Last I heard, you were living in New York. You teach at some fancy school?”

Logan chuckled, mincing up onions and garlic. “I wouldn’t say teach.”

“So, what, you get paid to hang out with fourteen year olds in upstate New York? Sounds kind of sketchy.”

“I teach hand to hand combat,” he glanced over at you, “the kids that I teach it to are like me. Mutants.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I never liked that word; mutants. They make you all sound like failed experiments.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “Far from it.”

Logan nodded, more to himself than your declaration, and moved to face the stove. He dumped his vegetables in a small pan to cook. He reached to the left of him — muscle memory, you reasoned — and grabbed a jar of maize. “You’d like it. New York.”

“You think?”

Logan lifted a shoulder. “Be better than livin’ all alone in the mountains.”

You let out a hum. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t know yet,” your eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t think that I’d be able to sell the house, actually.”

“Why did you? Sell?”

“You know why,” you said, your voice lowered to a whisper. “I held onto it for her and when she died, I didn’t want to stay.”

“‘M sorry I didn’t reach out. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

You made a bitter sound. “Yeah, well, you’re good at leaving when the wind blows.”

He pursed his lips, turning around to turn off the stove. “You got any plates or bowls left out?”

“James, I —”

“’S fine, Y/N. Bowls?”

You blew out a breath and walked over to the cupboard beside the stove and grabbed two plates, handing them over to Logan. Your knuckles brushed up against his but you kept your eyes on the oak wood of the cupboard.

“Thanks.”

You rushed out a hushed “you’re welcome” and moved back to stand in front of the sink. The air was tense and you had to fight the impulse to pull Logan to you and let him consume you, if only for tonight. You tightened your hands into fists, feeling the bite of your nails as they embossed your skin.

Logan handed you a plate and walked to your tiny kitchen table in the far corner of the room. He sat in his chair: close enough to the back door and facing towards you. Where before it was to smile and regard you with tenderness, now there was unease in his eyes.

You’d forgotten that you didn’t ask what he was making, so the spread in front of you gave you pause: it was your mother’s polenta recipe. “You remembered.” The words came out airy, surprised.

“You’re the last thing that I’d ever forget, bubba.”

“Don’t do this, Logan.” You set your spoon down. “Just…don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. You pushed your plate away and looked away from your former lover.

What were you doing? He showed up, out of the blue, making you dinner…to do what? The question had been clawing at you the entire visit. Why now? What could Logan possibly want from you after all of these years?

Logan leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking in protest against his broad frame. You kept wanting to speak, break the tense silence, but you couldn’t find the words. Looking at him, he seemed too still. Like a marble statue molded to the chair, anchoring him to this room with you.

“I fucked up, bubba.”

Your brows canted. “What do you mean?”

“That night…the last night that I was here, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. Made promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.” One of his large hands scrubbed down his face, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I told you that I’d leave everythin’ behind to stay.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You remembered; he’d come here that night more impassioned than usual. His hair wind-swept, his cheeks wind-whipped and red, he pulled you in for one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever had in your life. A clash of tongue and teeth against fleshy lips and curves of skin that left you a shaking mess beneath the thin sheets of your bed. You laid in his arms, running your fingers along the lines of his collarbone, when you’d asked if he’d stay. You weren’t begging, didn’t even lower your voice to a low hush to persuade him. You were as direct as you always were, determined to know where you stood in the universe that was Logan Howlett.

“You lied.”

His eyes, darkened with sorrow, finally found yours. “I lied.”

You blinked back tears. “Why? If you knew that you weren’t going to make space for me in your life, why make me believe you would? I uprooted my life for you, Logan! I was going to sell my mother’s house and ride off with you into the sunset! And for what? For you to leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t take you with me then, Y/N. Somethin’…came up.”

“I know, Ororo told me.” Logan shot forward, his eyes wide. “She came and found me two years ago. She said that there was an incident and that you almost died. Said that you kept murmuring my name, telling them to make sure that I was safe.”

He scoffed. “Always meddlin’, that woman.”

“At least she cared enough about you to come find me.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re walkin’ a thin line, bubba.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore, Logan.” You stood up from the table and opened the back door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out,” you hissed. “Thank you for making me dinner, but I want you to go.”

Logan crossed his arms, throwing you a hard look. “No.”

Your nostrils flared. “James, get —”

You’d forgotten how fast he was. He was out of the chair and in front of you in an instant, your next retort dying on your tongue. One of his large hands cupped your chin and the other slammed the door shut. His blue eyes roamed your face, searching for something.

Though he towered over you, hell, he overpowered you, you didn’t back down. “I want you to leave.”

“I’m not leavin’. Not until I say what I have to say.”

Your eyes brush along the seams of his lips, lingering, before meeting his smoldering gaze again. “Then say what you need to say and go. I’m done with this.”

Logan’s fingers gripped your chin harder, his gaze hard. “We’re not done talkin’, bubba.” There was an intensity to the nickname as it left his mouth that made your thighs clench together. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing up against yours.

You gripped the sleeve of his flannel, your pulse fluttering in your ears. The hand that had closed the door moved to the small of your back and pushed you into his pelvis. You gasped at his hardened erection against your thigh.

“You can yell at me, you can fuckin’ hit me if you need to.” He rested his forehead against yours. “But don’t tell me to leave. I don’t know where to go if I’m not with you.”

“You haven’t had me in years, James,” you said, roughly. You knew that he caught the desperation in your tone, your words. You tipped your head back and lifted up on tiptoe to press your lips to his. When you finally noticed that he hadn’t returned the kiss, you started to pull back, a pit growing in your stomach.

“I’m —”

His arm tightened around your middle to keep you still. His mouth molded against yours, hungry and desperate.

You pawed at his flannel, helping him shrug out of it. Logan cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sucked a bruise along the curve where his neck and collarbone meet, relishing in the hiss he let out.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He pulled back, his gaze intense. “I need to say this before anythin’ else happens between us.” Your brows creased. “I hurt you. I hurt you and it fuckin’ killed me, Y/N, and I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know Logan enough to know his favorite color or his mother’s name, but you knew enough about him to know that he didn’t apologize. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or right, he just didn’t. But the man before you wasn’t the man you knew six years ago. Now that you were looking at him, you could see it all: the dark circles, the stiffness of his body that only came from being nervous.

Despite your assertive nature, you didn’t hold grudges. Those types of feelings need to constantly be fed into and that was energy you couldn’t spare. Not even for men that you fell in love with too quickly.

You put your lips to his again. He mirrored your movements and carried you to your bedroom. He sucked a bruise onto the skin between your ear and shoulder, making you let out a whimper. You ground your hips against his hardened erection.

“Fuck, honey,” he hissed.

“I need you inside of me, James.” You nipped at his earlobe. “Please.”

He kissed you, long and hard, before helping you out of your thin shorts. His thick fingers glided through your puffy folds, a guttural groan leaving his throat.

“You this wet for me, Y/N?”

You mewled in response, your hips moving against his digits, begging for pressure on your swollen pearl.

He gulped, his eyes hungrily tracing over your lust-drunken expression. His cock was straining almost painfully against the denim of his jeans but he couldn’t stop staring at you. He drew the pad of his thumb along the curves of your parted lips, sucking a breath when the tip of your tongue barely swept against the skin.

He dipped the digit between your lips, watching with rapt pleasure as you suckled and moaned around it. He groaned and curved his free hand around the base of your throat. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You shuddered. “I can be.”

“Oh, yeah?” He suckled a love bite onto your skin. “You think you can be mine tonight?”

You nodded eagerly.

Logan chuckled and threw you over his shoulder, taking what seemed like three large steps into your bedroom and tossed you lightly onto the bed. He took hold of your face and slotted his lips over yours, licking deeply into your mouth.

You pawed and pulled at his flannel, clumsily helping him out of it while trying to keep kissing him. He hummed against your lips and worked your thin shorts down your thighs before ripping them down the middle. The cool air against your bare cunt gave you gooseflesh. Your hands moved to work at his belt buckle as his own pulled at the shirt you wore.

“Was wonderin’ where this went.”

You chuckled. “You barely wore it.” You made a triumphant noise upon getting his pants undone and to the floor, looking up at him from beneath your thick, dark lashes.

He wanted to devour you. One of his big paws cupped your face and he ground out, “Are you sure, bubba?”

You took his heavy cock in one of your hands, moving up and down the length of it. You smirked at his sharp breath as you eased down to your knees. Without breaking eye contact, you took him into your mouth, a low groan vibrating against your tongue.

“Jesus,” he gripped your curls into one fist and threw his head back, “just like that, sugar.”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the tip of your nose pressing against his pubic mound. The hand that wasn’t giving gentle squeezes to his thigh when to massage his heavy balls.

A low groan, bordering a growl, tumbled past Logan’s lips. “You have to move, baby. ‘M dyin’.”

You moved your hand from his balls to curl around the base of him, slowly working in tandem with your mouth. You moaned around his cock, spit dribbling down the sides of your mouth. You lightly scraped your teeth along the length of him. Logan hissed and gripped the sides of your face and started fucking your face. Your eyes were rimmed red, tears streaming down your face, and yet he looked at you with the reverence reserved for altars and gods.

“‘M cummin’…’m —”

He came in thick ropes into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he was coming down. His hands fell from the sides of your face to rest them on the tops of his thighs.

You pushed off of Logan with a faint “pop” and sat back against your calves. Your eyes trailed up and down Logan’s frame; you’d forgotten how big he was. Broad shoulders and back, large hands, thick, corded muscles. He could sometimes be as foreboding as he looked.

Then, post nut clarity smacked the shit out of you.

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too.”

“No. I mean, shit like we shouldn’t have done that.” You pushed yourself onto your feet. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You mean my shirt?”

You ignored his jibe and scanned the room for the garment. One of his hands shot out and pulled you onto his lap.

“I can smell ya, sweetheart.”

Your brows creased for a few seconds before you understood what he’d meant. You gulped, your chest rising and falling in hard pants. “Doesn’t matter, James. This was a mistake.”

His eyes — those intelligent, ever-searching eyes — darkened, a hunger in them that you hated that you missed. “Was it? What’s so wrong about two people findin’ each other again?” His thumb swept along your bottom lip. “‘M all yours to do whatever you need, baby.”

Your tongue darted out, barely pressing against his skin before his mouth claimed yours. He eased you onto your back as his hand traversed the expanse of your torso. His hands pawed and kneaded at your breasts, rubbing and twisting your nipples into stiff peaks. Your back canted towards his touch. His mouth suckled at your right nipple, his other hand still playing at the other.

“James,” you pleaded.

“What, bubba?” He chuckled darkly. “Use your words.”

Every word that flashed in your mind died in your throat. Only incoherent pants and groans left you. Logan switched to your left breast and one of his free hands cupped your mound. Your eyes screwed shut. The rough pad of his thumb brushed up against your clit, sticky with your slick.

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hips bucked and he rubbed the bundle of nerves again. Slow, tortuous swipes that sent shocks to your system and tightened your belly with need. Just before the coil snapped, his cock drove into you. Tears fell from your eyes and a choked gasp ballooned in your chest.

“Fuck, honey, s’good.” Logan’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He fucked into you like a man possessed; his big hands gripped your hips, surely leaving bruises behind. He moved one hand to curl at the base of your throat. Vignettes of memories past played in your mind’s eye and you let out a ragged keen, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. His name passed your lips. “Yeah, baby?”

You gripped one of his forearms. “‘M close.”

Rough skin swept across your clit. “Let go for me, bubba. C’mon.”

Your back canted as a guttural moan ripped from your throat. Logan pulled you into his chest, whispering my good girl and I’m here in your ear as you came down. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He’d never left you behind six years ago and this was just another evening for the two of you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you buried your face into his chest.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this,” your voice quivered, “I hate that you came back. I hate that I still — ” You shook your head. “We shouldn’t have done that, James.”

Logan cupped your face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anythin’ you ask me to, Y/N, you have to know that.”

“Do I?”

He pulled out of you and gathered you in his arms as he tucked you both into bed. His deep, even breaths reverberated up your spine. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I never meant to hurt you. Hurtin’ you was the last thing that I wanted to do and there’s nothin’ I could do to fix that.” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck. “Just…talk to me. Please.”

“You broke me, Logan, do you know that? I broke all of my rules for you and it broke me. I was already grieving my mother and you made me grieve you when I never had you to begin with.”

“I know,” he rasped.

“Do you?”

“When Storm came to visit you, she wasn’t jokin’. I almost fuckin’ died.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down your spine, his tone faraway. “I was slippin’ away, could barely focus on anythin’ in front of me for too long. Then suddenly, your face was the only thing I saw. I could picture you so clearly, down to the micro expressions that I didn’t even realize I’d paid attention to.” He rested his chin atop your head. “I’d made sure that I never thought of you too often or I’d leave everythin’ behind to come back to you.”

“And yet, here you are.” Your voice wobbled at the end. “You broke the one rule you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken. I don’t regret showing up. Even if this is the only thing I could get, I’d fuckin’ do it all over again just to see you, bubba.”

You turned over to face him, your brown eyes hard. “Yeah, but bodies weren’t, James. You shouldn’t have to nearly die to decide that I’m worth seeing again.”

“You really love half-listenin’, don’t you?” He held your chin between his fingers, lifting your eyes to his. “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left, Y/N. The only reason that I didn’t keep in touch was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me. Like you said, bodies weren’t meant to broken.”

“Neither were hearts,” you murmured.

He nodded. “And would yours consider lettin’ me back in? It’s selfish to ask, I know, but I don’t want to let you go again, bubba.”

You threaded your fingers between his. “I want to. But how will I know if you’ll stay this time, James? What’s changed in the last six years?”

Logan brought the back of your hand up to his lips. The warmth in his eyes, while not unfamiliar, made your breath catch. For a split second, you remembered that he could hear your heartbeat fluttering madly in your chest, your pulse against his forearm.

“When do you leave for New York?”

Your brows knitted together. “I should be done packing in a few days. Why?”

He pulled one of your legs over his hip, laughing when you sucked in a breath. “We’ll go into town tomorrow, pawn all the stuff you’re not usin’ anymore, and pack up the rest in the truck. We’ll make a trip out of it.”

“And where would we go after that? I’m not living in a boarding school.”

“I have a place of my own, thank you very much,” he said, smirking, “it’s not much but it’s mine. It could use a…softer touch, I think.”

You sat up on your elbow. “Yeah?”

“‘M gettin’ old, bubba. Like, obviously not so much physically, but mentally? I’ve seen wars, watched people that I care about die. Walked away when I should’ve stayed.” He threaded his fingers through your free hand. “I’m sayin’ all this to say that, if you’ll have me, I want to stay.”

You hummed, looking down at your joined hands. If tonight proved nothing else, you and Logan were tethered each other for better or worse. There would never be a moment where you wouldn’t think of each other and that scared you. But if you knew nothing else, you knew that you loved him. You loved James Howlett.

“Will you want to stay? I’m not about to uproot my life just for you to leave me again.”

He pulled you close, putting his forehead to yours. “The worst mistake I’ve ever done is leave you behind Y/N Y/L/N. I should’ve told you that I loved you five years ago.” You gasped. “I love you, bubba, and I regret everyday not that I never told you.”

“Say it again.”

He took your face in his hands and smiled, the peach hue of the sun warming his face. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve loved you for the past six years and I will never stop lovin’ you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. You wanted him to say these words, waited for them for over half a decade. But they were…heavier than you anticipated. Though your own confession sat on your tongue, too much clung to them; the last fight you had, your mother dying shortly after and how you resented him even more for leaving you alone at a time like that. More than anything you hated that you cared about him so quickly just for him to leave.

“You don’t have to say it back yet.” Logan smiled some. “Five years is a long time to grieve something.”

You put a hand to his cheek. “You know that I want to, though, don’t you?”

“I know,” he kissed you again, “and we’ll get you there. One day at a time.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — given the fact that i haven't written in literal months, y'all have no idea how happy i am to have churned this out. happy 2024!

#galatially #Annie's1KKittiesWritingChallenge #touch me like nobody else does #logan howlett #logan howlett x black!reader #wolverine #wolverine x black!reader

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joohanisms · 10 months

Note

hi lizzie! i already know you by your main, i wanted to ask you some oneshots/thoughts about sex with jealous jiseok?

MY MAIN ?@?@@? was it from the obnoxious amount of likes i leave on every single work on the xdh tags LMAO thank you so much for the request <33 hope you like it

jealous jiseok thoughts 💭💫

cw: jealousy obv, oral (fem receiving), possessive tones, unprotected sex (on birth control. don't be dumb), cum play slightly wc: 1,1k

minors dni

jiseok doesn't strike me to be the type to get jealous easily But! once he does... oh no

let's say you're out somewhere, like a party. and he's going about the looks people shoot you the usual way: smirking back at people, all smug, as if he's saying "this is Mine <3 look at me having someone you'll never have"

he did not expect your own friend to hit on you though

they were always a little touchy, and jiseok's not usually bothered (hell, he's not even in a place to be bothered. his friends are hanging off his shoulders half the time – if it doesn't bother you, it shouldn't bother him)

but tonight they were too affectionate

it started with them casually touching you while you talked, then they started playing with your fingers and fixing your hair and now jiseok's threat radar is beeping

when they lean in to talk into your ear, he draws the line. he's intervening

he gets closer and hears the "come on, leave with me. he doesn't have to know" in the air

oh no. oh nononono

he's PISSED. not only are they flirting with you in front of him, they're also blatantly asking you to cheat?

you can barely begin to indignantly refuse as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, ignores the so called friend and goes "hey, babe." before he presses a kiss that lasts a second too long to your lips

"do you want to go home? i think we'd have a better time there than here," pointedly looks at the person in front of you and pulls you closer, "plus i really want to find out what's the surprise you said you have for me back home."

there's no surprise. he's only making a point. you don't think you're even wearing matching underwear

he didn't even wait for your friend to say anything – as soon as you open your mouth to agree, he's whisking you away (he Does look back to see their face though)

when you're finally met with the fresh night air outside the building, jiseok pulls his phone out to call you both a cab and starts his angry rant

"are they out of their mind? doing that when i'm a few feet away? trying to get you to fuck them when they know damn well you're taken! we're not seeing that asshole ever again, they should feel lucky i didn't punch their teeth right off, if i was the slightest bit crazier i would've–"

"jiseokie," a hand to his cheek, "are you jealous?"

he looks up from his phone to find your playful gaze. he huffed, "of course i am! who do they think they are–" he's cut off by a searing kiss to his lips.

"it's kind of hot."

the way you were looking at him... hell he could fuck you right then and there and even hope your stupid friend catches you. unfortunately, the cab is here and the poor driver shouldn't be subjected to seeing that

the second you arrive at your apartment, he's holding your face with both his hands and kissing you downright filthily in your little entrance hall

you need to take your shoes off though... that's not a problem at all – you hear his chunky sneakers be tossed to the ground while he keeps kissing you the best he can, and you only separate as he crouches down to unlace your boots for you

you can barely appreciate the view of your boyfriend at your feet before your boots are off and he's on you again

his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nipping on the flesh while his hands sneak under your shirt

he has half a mind to bend you over the couch and fuck you stupid until your moans are engraved on the couch, but he ultimately decides on pulling you into your bedroom

before you even get to the bed, you're shirtless, jiseok's hands fumbling with the clasps of your bra while you work on his jeans

you don't get very far before your knees hit the bed and you're falling backwards

your hair fawning around your face, your cheeks flushed, your lips kiss-bitten, your bra half-off, your eyes nearly desperate... jiseok is so glad he's the only one who gets to see you like this

(and if it's up to him he'll be the only one to see you like this for the rest of time <3)

but for now he'll just push your skirt up and pull your underwear down <3

and eats you out sooooo good like legs over his shoulders his fingers spreading you

after you cum, you try to repay the favor but he grabs your hands and goes "wanna cum inside you, baby, please"

and who are you to deny him !! it's not common to have him cum in you even though you're on birth control... my guy likes the visual of his cum on your skin

and so in a second his pants and underwear are off, your legs are around his hips and he's ruining your neck again while he guides his cock to your entrance

he pushes in bit by bit, and only when he bottoms out he detaches from your neck and grins, pressing the pads of his fingers into what you assume are the hickeys he left

"you're mine", he softly says, looking into your eyes, before he starts thrusting into you

it gets really fast and rough really quick

you can't help but moan a little too loudly, the way his hips are slamming into your thighs feels divine. and when he presses his thumb to your clit...... you're seeing stars wtf

he's kissing you desperately, in a mix of panting and actually kissing you properly. your arms wind around his neck, needing him closer while you feel a familiar wave of pleasure starting to come over you

what really does it for you is his little rushed whisper of "mine, mine, mine, you're only mine right baby? mine to fuck you like this, mine to ruin, mine"

he keeps mumbling possessives and filth while he fucks you through your high

"'m yours, ji– only yours," you manage to say through the fog in your brain, and you feel his release fill your cunt

when he finally stops grinding into you, prolonging his orgasm as much as he could, he'll pull out slowly so he can watch his cum drip out of your hole

scoops a little bit of it with his fingers and smears it on your cheek, kissing you deeply afterwards

"my baby," he whispers between kisses, "only mine."

when both of you have finally caught your breaths, jiseok gets up to fetch a towel to wipe you down

when he comes back, he cleans you thoroughly - except the cum smeared on your cheek

"you forgot something." you point to your sticky cheek.

he grins devilishly, straddling you. "that's for you to wear, babe. so everyone knows you're mine."

bonus: when you're cuddling later, ready to sleep, you remember something: "... so what was the surprise i had for you back here?"

"shut up and go to sleep."

#xdinary heroes smut #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes imagine #xdh smut #xdh hard hours #xdh scenarios #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes fanfic #gaon x reader #gaon smut #my fics #xdinary heroes imagines #kwak jiseok imagine #kwak jiseok smut #kwak jiseok x reader #gaon imagine

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sea-owl · 4 days

Text

You know I was reading up on inheritance laws for different parts of the world back in older times and this thought kinda got into my head.

So we know the whole "boy moms" things and sons being heavily favored even in more progressive countries to this day. A part of me wonders if that is some sort of leftover survival instinct. (Bad word for it but it's the closest I can think of at this moment) It wasn't that long ago that a women couldn't really do anything or even have a bank account without her husband okaying. And even farther back, when it was extremely difficult for a woman to inheirt anything, if she could at all, they had pray for the mercy of their sons to take care of them after death of their husbands.

Jane Austen wrote about this issue in several of her works. In Sense and Sensibility Henry Dashwood made his son John Dashwood promise to take care of his sisters and stepmother after his death. John does promise this but then easily let's his wife Mrs. Dashwood talk him out of it and basically give his sisters the very bare minimum. The Dashwood sisters actually had to rely on a distant relative because their brother broke his promise. Now Mrs. Dashwood frames it to her husband like hey why would you take this money away from your son. A part of me wonders though if she was also trying to secure herself too for if she outlives her husband.

This issue also comes up again in Pride and Prejudice with Mrs. Bennett worrying for her daughters because Mr. Bennett has greatly shown he does not really care about the future after he's gone, hell he hasnt even bithered to look to who his estate will go to when he passes. He has of age daughters that he should he taking to London or higher populated areas to give them better odds of marrying and marrying well. But he doesn't like the city so they stay in the country and thankfully they got lucky that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy ended up rolling into town. I also don't remember exactly how this went but Mr. Bennett also was not really setting anything aside for his daughters dowieries and instead was relying on Mrs. Bennett's dowery for that. Mrs. Bennett's dowery wasn't much either when divided among all the girls especially considering she married up when she married Mr. Bennett. Compared to Mr. Darcy who is properly taking care of his female relatives and even Lizzie's. Mr. Darcy did more for the search for Lydia then Mr. Bennett, Lydia's father!

Another example is in Bridgerton. Lord and Lady Featherington are in my opinion Mr and Mrs. Bennett coded except now we are seeing what happens when Mr. Bennett/Lord Featherington dies and have done nothing to help his daughters. The whole Featherington family was stressed about the new lord because they had no idea of what he would do to them. He very easily could have kicked them out onto the street and left them with nothing. Then he turns out to be a scam artist who only cares for himself. I don't blame Portia for getting those fake documents, but back to the son thing even in those documents it is spefically stated that the firstborn grandson would become the new lord. Still putting the Featherington sisters and Portia herself at the mercy of a male relative. Because while women could inheirt, although a difficult process and often if she was married it would fall into her husband's hands until 1870, estates that were tied to a title had to be inherited by a male relative.

So that's kinda why I'm wondering if this is why the whole boy preference still exists because women's survival not too long ago very much relyed on the mercy of their male relatives.

#ignore me im rambling #jane austen #sense and sensibility #pride and prejudice #bridgerton

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farfromstrange · 6 months

Text

Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 13: Roleplay

October 28th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You and Matt sneak into the church for a little roleplay.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), religious imagery, blasphemy (like, this is blasphemous beyond compare), blowjob in a church, mentions of oral afab!receiving, mentions of body worship, roleplay (Matt plays a priest), hair pulling, face-fucking, wrong use of a confessional booth

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/n: I... I need holy water.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. But if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

It is filthy, perhaps even perverted, but you can’t help it.

You are doomed.

He is the apple and the snake that compelled Eve to break the most important rule in the Garden of Eden. He is the forbidden fruit and the devil himself. You weren’t supposed to have a bite of him, and still, you did because he was so convincing. He drew you in from the first word spoken between you. He compelled you to take the apple, and now you are doomed.

Matt is sitting in the confessional booth. There is not a single soul in sight other than your doomed person, on your knees in front of him. He doesn’t need the robe to appear like a priest. He’s dressed in all black, and his demeanor reminds you of the men you have so often seen giving sermons on TV.

What you are doing should guarantee you a place in hell, but right now, you couldn’t care less.

“What do you need to ask forgiveness for?” he asks you.

His hand rests on the back of your head, keeping your head close to his clothed crotch.

You swallow. The rain outside is hitting the church windows. You broke in, which is a crime, but kneeling before the man you love and asking for forgiveness is not. It can’t be.

You are not religious, far from it, and he is the only person in the world that could give you the salvation you need. It isn’t wrong, it is just right. And if you get caught, at least you had a good time.

His cock is straining against his very thin dress pants. This is his fantasy as much as it is yours, maybe even more so. You know he is ridden with guilt, but right now, he is blooming in his new role. There is no way you two would ever leave before he hasn’t finished what he started.

The floor is cold under your knees. They must be bruised by now, but you manage to tune out the pain. That is part of it. Part of life. Part of existence. And it is part of atoning for your sins.

“I have been a bad, bad girl,” you whisper into the dead of the night.

Matt shifts a bit. “How so?” he asks.

“I’ve been having… thoughts. About a man of God.”

“What kind of thoughts?” With every word, his voice grows thicker.

You blink through the fog of your arousal. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you say.

Your eyelids flutter. You look so innocent, and he can’t even see you. Only with his fingers on your face does he get an idea of what your features might look like right now. And you are hungry. Hungry for him. Hungry for more.

“I’ve been thinking about touching him–” Your palms rub his muscular thighs, “Touching him in places I should not think about touching a man of God.”

You can hear him suck in a sharp breath in the darkness of the booth. He shifts again. “And do you think God would forgive you for something like that?” he says. “Wanting a man of God to fuck you senseless? To touch you? To touch him?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer.

“Have you been thinking about him in church?”

“Yes.”

What terrifies you most about this is that if he were a priest, a real priest with a robe and responsibilities, you would still think about him bending you over the altar and worshipping you. You would dream about him taking you to the confessional booth, forcing you to atone for your sins. You would dream about his hands around your neck, choking you to the point you get dizzy, and repeatedly calling you a bad girl. Because that is what you are.

“You really have been bad,” Matt murmurs. He caresses the back of your head. “Luckily, your God is forgiving.”

You blink up at him. “He is?” you ask.

“Yeah. If you are willing to repent for your sins.”

When he shifts this time, his free hand goes to his belt. He unbuckles it, letting the leather fall to the floor. You don’t move. Not even when he opens the button, then his zipper, and then reaches into his boxers to take out his hard cock.

You drool, but you don’t move. It just so happens that the moon shines through the small window and shines a light on him in all his glory, with his cock out and his cheeks flushed.

Matt Murdock is an ethereal sight you can never get enough of, even when he is pretending to be a priest. For him, you will be as bad as you can be. You have no choice. You want to be.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper.

He takes his cock into his hand, giving it a few pumps before pulling your head closer. A moment of deafening silence follows. Thunder rumbles. The rain reminds you of the pool in your underwear, making it hard to stay still.

Matt lets out a shaky breath as he guides his cock to your lips. “Open,” he says. His voice wavers slightly.

You do as you’re told, but you look up at him, still awaiting an answer.

A smile finds its way to his lips, and it is as dark as the booth itself. He opens his mouth again. “Atone,” he says.

And in an instant, he has fucked his cock down your throat.

You choke around his girth. Tears spring to your eyes. The head meets the back of your throat, and you gag, but you don’t force him away. You keep your hands on his thighs and your head bowed low, and you let him fuck your mouth like there is no tomorrow.

He asked you to atone. To be forgiven for your sins, you need to do this. You are his to play with. You are his to own. Right now, at least. Right now, that is all you want to be. His fucktoy. His means to get rid of pent-up frustration. His way of living out his darkest fantasies.

You are so wet, you pray to God that you don’t leave a stain on the floor. But does it matter? He will fuck you over the altar later. He will spread your legs and bury his head between your thighs. He will let you pull his hair and fuck his mouth the same way he is doing to you because that is his way of repenting. Then it is his turn to atone, when he is no longer the priest but the disciple, and you are his goddess that he prays to.

“Hail, Mary, full of grace,” Matt chokes out between heavy thrusts into the tight confines of your mouth. He can’t even hear anything but the sound of yours and his breathing, and his needy moans that fill the air. “The Lord is with thee,” he continues, but he is having a hard time forming the words.

You have heard him pray before but during sex? While he is fucking your mouth like a madman? That is new. It makes your pussy clench around thin air, and your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs. The pain only makes him moan louder. It is heaven to your ears.

“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb–” He grits his teeth. “Jesus!”

You gag again, his cock now forced even deeper. You can’t breathe, not even through your nose. The lack of oxygen is making you feel all kinds of things, but certainly none of them bad.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,” he says, “Now and at the hour of our death.”

He thrusts and he thrusts, and with a harsh pull on your hair, he forces you off his cock. “Amen,” he almost cries out as his balls tighten, and he comes all over your face.

There is not an inch that is not covered by his seed, by the very essence of him. His cum slithers down your throat toward your breasts.

Another rumble of thunder strikes the church. The clock strikes midnight.

You look up at him through hooded eyes. He’s panting, his chest heaving, but for the first time in weeks, he looks content.

“Amen,” you whisper back.

So, you have finally atoned, and now, it is his turn.

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock imagines #smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #roleplay #charlie cox #lizzi writes #x reader

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simple-seranade · 1 year

Text

“Critter City has defenses, and once we rebuild-“

Jimmy laughs, a high sound tinged with slight hysteria. It makes Lizzie’s fur stand on end. “Rebuild? Rebuild? You only to have to rebuild a little bit of stone!”

He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the debris around him, the world, the universe, every single spark of existence that only seems to be against him. He can still hear the other’s voices ringing in his head, and it only makes him want to talk louder and louder and louder, because he will be heard for once, damnit.

“I have to rebuild my whole life!” Respect might as well be buried under bedrock or tossed into the void below with how far out of reach it is, and on top of it all he has nothing to even try to reach for it with. All of his things, all his tools, the results of hours of hard work of finally collecting some sort of payment for what he does around here, gone. Lost forever.

Just like he lost his deputy. His height. His humanity.

His sanity.

“My whole life and you’ve taken it away from me! MY WHOLE LIFE!” He isn’t just in Critter City now. He’s standing in his own railroad tracks as the people mock him, he’s coughing on the potion particles floating in the air as he shrinks, he’s covering his ears as he tries desperately not to make a sound and alert the wandering warden. He’s back on the bridge, Fwhip and Gem and Sausage laughing at him before the Princess of Peace slices a sword through his chest.

He’s reliving every moment of his life here, and it only makes him angrier.

“You lot think I’m the villain?” He isn’t. He just wants to help. He’s only ever wanted to help. He’s only ever wanted to be a person.

But they denied that of him.

They stripped him down to a joke, a punching bag, some little thing (not person, not human) to look at when life felt miserable to feel better about themselves. Called him corrupt for simply doing his job. Made his life a living hell.

“You’re the villain.” He spits out, and he’s not just talking to Lizzie now, he’s spelling it out for all the universe to see.

He’s the hero of this story.

And everyone knows heroes are always in the right.

(Now if only there was a single hero who was happy.)

#sera's stories #jimmy solidarity #jimmy solidarity fic #villain jimmy #sheriff jimmy #empires spoilers #empires #empires smp s2 #empires smp #empiresblr #empires smp fanfic #drabble #let him go insane please #he deserves it #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #here we have another episode of “sera takes a line and runs a marathon with it when it’s a 100M sprinter at best”

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frostandflamesfanfic · 1 year

Text

Crafting Our Family - Eddie Munson x Reader

Crafting Our Family (Rated G)

Pairing: Single Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: None, I'm feeling generous this thanksgiving and giving you all fluff for dinner and dessert.

Summary: Dedicated to my friend @mischief-and-mercy over on AO3. It's the day before Thanksgiving and Eddie is determined to make it the best one yet for you. Lucky for him, he has a little helper. Who knew it would take a little girl with his dark curls and a thing of googly eyes to realize just how much he has to be thankful this holiday?

Okay. This would be easy.

A piece of cake even.

He already had everything he needed: construction paper, scissors, those creepy-as-hell googly eyes, a sharpie… he even went to the craft store to pick up the special stickers Lizzie would like for decorating. Surely she would sit still long enough if she was promised she could use them later. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Oh, how wrong Eddie Munson would soon learn he was.

“Daddy,” the little girl sat in his lap asked with a tilt of her head, “what is this?”

“It’s a hand turkey, bug,” Eddie tried to explain to the curious six-year-old. He reached across the table for a pair of scissors he could use to cut out the handprint he just made on the brown construction paper. He was currently in the process of creating a reference for his daughter.

Elizabeth— or Lizzie— was settled in his lap, eyes wide and eager to watch her dad work his magic on whatever craft they were doing. She had waited patiently while he had set up the little station at the kitchen table, only politely asking for a juice box once he had finished. You had gone out to the grocery store to pick up some last minute items, so Eddie had seen this as the perfect opportunity to put together a little surprise.

The two of you had only been dating for two years, but this was the first time you would be celebrating Thanksgiving as a “family.” You had asked Eddie to move in with Lizzie in your place with you earlier in the year. He had been hesitant to accept your offer, not wanting to crowd your space. It had been hard to start dating again after taking care of his daughter on his own for so long and taking on two jobs at the record store and auto body shop. Anyone he saw not only needed to be Lizzie-approved, they needed to not break either of their hearts. Eddie knew he’d be okay; rejection had been somewhat of an old friend from his high school “freak” days. But Lizzie…

If anyone broke his girl’s heart, he would have no trouble going full Ozzy on them.

When the two of you started dating, Eddie was honestly worried about how quickly you and Lizzie connected. What if things didn’t work out? She would still ask to see you. She would want to know where you were once you left their lives, leaving the two of them to fend for themselves again. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened, especially if it was because of something he did. He couldn’t do that to his daughter. Fortunately though, he didn’t need to worry too much about it. Once the three of you moved in together, Eddie felt as though your bond grew stronger, if that was even possible. You were so good with Lizzie, making sure she was taken care of and comfortable before worrying about him or you. You made them both feel safe and Eddie found himself wondering more and more about your future together.

“Why does it look like poop?” Lizzie’s blunt question caught the metalhead off-guard and his blinked in response.

“What was that, bug?”

“Why does it look like poop?” Truth be told, Eddie was still shocked and concerned about the words that just escaped her.

“It’s brown construction paper,” he replied. “It’s not poop.”

The dark-haired tike shrugged her shoulders in a careless fashion. Her lip set in a downward line and she pointed to the cut-out paper hand. “It looks fat and poopy,” she remarked with a giggle.

Eddie frowned and looked at the object in question. He supposed he didn’t do the best job with the extraction process, but it didn’t look that bad. “What do you mean?” he asked, slightly offended. “It’s just my hand.”

Lizzie giggles. “Daddy has fat hand!” she explained with a gleeful expression on her face.

“All the better to TICKLE YOU WITH!” Eddie shouted as he tickled into her sides. With a squeal from her lips, he stood up with her in his arms and began to spin her around mid-tickle. He gave a playful cackle and blew a few raspberries against her stomach when he turned her in his arms. “Come on, let’s finish this up, yeah?” Lizzie giggled and nodded as he repositioned her against his chest. “Okay, Daddy!” she said, scooting into his lap. Her brown eyes were bright and big as a smile lingered across her features.

“Alright, now let’s see that hand of yours….” Eddie grinned in return and held up the sharpie. “Can you keep your hand super still for Daddy now? Don’t need you getting ink on you before dinner.”

--------*

“I’m home!” You called out into the hallway of your small house. It wasn’t much, but with your and Eddie’s combined salaries, it was just enough to have a comfortable home for your little family.

As you made your way into the kitchen, bags being carried from every available limb, you frowned to yourself. Where were Eddie and Lizzie? It was leading into a holiday, so Eddie had cashed in some vacation time to be there for Lizzie while you picked up some additional shifts at the diner. They were home when you left. Surely they didn’t leave? A quick check out the window showed you Eddie’s van was indeed still in the driveway. Then where were they?

Almost as if they were reading your mind, a light flashed on to your left. You were met by the colorful reflection of reds, greens, and yellows…and most importantly, the smiling faces of your missing persons.

“SURPRISE!” Lizzie cheered from her place on Eddie’s shoulders. She was wearing a black hat with a gold buckle, both fashioned from craft paper. It had to be Eddie’s handiwork.

“Welcome home, babe,” Eddie said with a smile. He gestured behind him to the display of colors. “We thought we’d do a little decorating to make this place a bit more…”

“Festive!!” Lizzie interrupted with a huge grin.

Eddie laughed. “I was going to say colorful, but that works too, bug.”

As you glanced around the room, you smiled at the decorations which had clearly been made by hand. Orange and red banners hung over the doorway and curtain rods, falling in a pattern of traced turkeys and cornucopias between the letters that spelled out HAPPY THANKSGIVING. At the center of the table was a centerpiece of wildflowers tied together by burlap ribbon, a beautiful arrangement of reds, oranges, and yellows. Their fragrance filled the room with the memory of days spent in the meadow down the road, where you and your little family had many a summer picnic.

To top it all off, each place setting was complete with a hand turkey roughly about the size of Lizzie’s munchkin handprint. Each turkey had its own plumage in a rainbow of color. Some boasted the traditional green, red, and orange, while others had more…unconventional hues of purple, blue, and pink. You supposed that was Lizzie’s doing. At the bottom of the turkey, beneath its sharpied beak, was each guest’s name written in wobbly print.

“It was all Liz’s doing,” Eddie explained as he noticed your stare at the settings. “She wrote the names and everything with barely any help.”

“Like a big girl!!” Lizzie interrupted once again, proud of her accomplishment.

The thought of Lizzie’s small hand clutched around the pen while cradles by Eddie’s much larger ring-laden one sent a warmth through your body. You could practically see her face leaning closer to the paper as she scribbled out everyone’s names. Her tongue would poke out in concentration and she would beam at every finished letter — especially Aunt Robin, who she affectionately named Auntie Bobbin (her place card turkey said as much).

“Oh, yeah?” you asked with a grin. “Well they look beautiful, pretty girl. Thank you!”

“You like it?!” Lizzie’s eyes grew wide alongside her smile. She toddled her way over to you and grabbed onto your leg for support. You soon sported a matching expression as you reached down to lift her into your arms with some added effort. She was getting so big now, but you loved her just the same.

“Oh, I love it, bug!” you said as you pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you so much!! We have to tell everyone who put this together. They’re gunna be so impressed!”

Eddie smiled to himself while he watched you walk around the room with Lizzie in your arms, making an extra effort to fawn over each decoration. There were a few times you would pause to fix her curls and pilgrim hat, which bounced around as she babbled on about each piece. He felt a flutter in his chest as he watched you press an excessive amount of kisses against her face and the small child in your arms squealed playfully in protest.

“Come on, bug,” you spoke. “Let’s go and cook ourselves a turkey for tomorrow. Maybe we can even have some cookies.”

The gasp that escaped Lizzie made Eddie’s heart melt. It was the sweetest sound he ever heard. She practically vibrated with excitement in your arms at the mention of a sugary treat. “Cookies?!” she asked with another squeal.

You and Eddie shared a laugh. “Yeah, baby,” you agreed. “Cookies.” You then risked a glance over your shoulder in his direction. “But only if Daddy comes to help us in the kitchen.”

“What?!” he squeaked out. “Oh, no, no, no. I’ve already done my bit. It’s your turn with the little gremlin. Don’t you remember what happens when she’s allowed in the kitchen?” He gave a dramatic shiver at the thought of the last time Lizzie was in charge of helping you with baking. “I still have flour in places I can’t reach.”

“That was ages ago,” you crawled out. “Besides, how hard can it be if we have both of us helping her. Come on!”

“YEAH, DADDY!” Lizzie gave a little pout. Damn those little dimples. She reached a small hand out and made a grabbing gesture in his direction. “Iz okay! Come help!”

Pretending to contemplate it for a moment, Eddie lifted a hand to cradle his chin. Like it was really a difficult decision. “Hm,” he hummed, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s in it for me?”

“Cookies!!” Lizzie said, quite adamantly.

“Just cookies?!” he teased, eyes flickering over to you.

“I think I have an idea…” Taking the hint, you crossed the room, Lizzie still in your arms. You reached up with your free hand and tilted his face down to allow you to capture his lips with your own. When he gave a hum, you whispered into his ear promises of what rewards would be to come that evening if he joined you both.

A sly grin snaked upon his lips as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh, really?” he said in a tone as smooth as honey. “Well then, let’s go make some cookies, shall we?”

As Lizzie cheered while the three of you entered the kitchen, Eddie glanced back over at the banner currently hanging in the doorway. For most of his life, Eddie had been the freak, the social outcast who was thought of as weird because he played a fantasy game — because he wasn’t afraid to use his imagination in a town of confinement. He would try to fill the void caused by loneliness with a cocky attitude and selling to the highest bidders. He let out his emotions in his music, sometimes breaking amps just to let the treble of his guitar strike him through his bones. He needed an escape— he needed to feel something.

Even after he met Dustin and the party, working to save Hawkins from a psychotic monster psychic, he still felt there was something missing. So he tried to find it. That’s when he met Lizzie’s mother, who apparently was much more interested in having a brief life with a rockstar instead of having a family. It wasn’t exactly something he saw himself wanting. But when little Lizzie was dropped into his life (quite literally), he wasn’t as lonely. She made every day brighter and worth living with every smile and incessant question. He was still afraid to let himself be seen by someone else, but all that mattered was that he still had his curious little ray of sunshine.

Now he spent his days with you and his little bug. Now he looked forward to family movie nights in the living room or surprising you with your favorite dinner if he got home early. You had lit up his life in the best way possible and turned the three of you into a family. One day, he hoped he could make that family more official with that little velvet box stashed in his coat, but for now, this was all he needed.

He had his little family and for that he couldn’t be more thankful.

===============

Author's Note: Surprise! This little gem of an idea popped into my head shortly after I finished the Steve fic, so I figured...what the hell? Why not indulge myself a little bit and try something different with two new fics, one being with a whole new character! Yep, this is my first Eddie x Reader fic, so I would really appreciate any and all feedback you lovely people may have.

If you liked this story and want to see more like it on my blog, be sure to comment and reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's the reblogs that really help spread the word about my writing and gives me motivation to keep this going. Once again, I hope you all have a lovely thanksgiving. If you don't live in the US or don't celebrate the holiday, I hope you have a very amazing day regardless (you deserve it!)!

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #gender neutral reader #dad!eddie munson #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagines #joe quinn #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfic #frostandflamesfanfic

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