#[ BUT ALAS... all that writing made me tired ]

[mxdotpng]

my wrist hurts and i havent even been drawing lately. my bones really are made of jelly

[causalitylinked]

TAG DUMP FOR FIORITO FROM GRANBLUE FANTASY.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. muse »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡some people specialize in punches or kicks... but i’m good with both.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. wardrobe »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡my muscles and i both look very cute‚ don’t they?

┕━ ❛ 🏋. aesthetics »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡likes.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. musings »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡muscles don’t lie... but people do. that’s my approach in training myself to be stronger.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. music »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡i could see myself working out to this tune!

┕━ ❛ 🏋. in character »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡interactions.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. main »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡i’m going to bloom... i’ll be a single rose in full bloom. so wait for me‚ dad!

┕━ ❛ 🏋. modern »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡stay fit and get ripped... that’s the name of the game!

┕━ ❛ 🏋. headcanons »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡well‚ i love muscles in general‚ of course. but to put it in a nutshell‚ i just wanna get stronger.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. about »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡muscles are a lifetime’s work‚ you know! if i gave in that easily‚ rosa would wither in no time.

┕━ ❛ 🏋. answered »» 𝗙𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗢〡if you need help with numbers‚ i’m your gal!

[buckets-and-trees]

EVERY MINUTE OF IT

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Claimed unequivocally by Alpha Bucky Barnes, leader of the growing HYDRA faction, that's not the end of it. But what exactly is in store for you? What will it mean to be his Omega?

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; mild manipulation; threats; dirty talk; explicit smut: spanking, vaginal fingering, biting, rough sex, choking, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, spitting, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, dacryphilia, overstimulation, erotic picture taking

Author Notes: Part three to what I never planned on being a series - the Alpha Bucky April drabble was only 500 words, the next part hit 1.5k, but this... well, let's just say this Bucky absolutely had his way with both me and my muse. This one will be a make up to tick orgasm delay/denail for MARCH of @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ; and the dialogue, alpha, and pet prompts for the second week of Hot Bucky Summer (thought this was going to be a short little thing I was going to whip out before week two had finished, but alas hahaha).

A/N 2: We've seen only a bit of his rough side up to this pont, but in this part we will truly see mean Alpha Bucky. Don't say I didn't warn you - here and with the actual content warning list.

A/N 3: I tried not to write any plot with this porn, but a minimal amount forced its way in.

He had made good on his threat, using your body for pleasure and for show under the full moon until there was no one left to watch, but you were not sure he had been keeping close track, instead merely taking you over and over until they grey hours of dawn. You had been too exhausted to register anything much after that – being carried away, a car ride, being tucked into a bed.

You had woken up in the afternoon alone.

Alone for the first time in three days.

On hearing you make your way to the bathroom someone had brought in water and left an impressive spread of food that lasted you through the afternoon and evening. You grazed and slept.

Your body and mind had been pushed beyond all previous limits, and so the sleep and rest had been most of those first few days after the full moon and the conqueror’s bonding ritual.

But now, a week on, you are tired, restless, and impatient.

You were in a spacious penthouse, you had been offered many luxuries, well fed by a personal chef, attended to by an assistant, your only restrictions being denied access to a phone or internet and barred from leaving the premises.

Should you have chosen an unplugged retreat or vacation, it would be perfect.

After contemplating and debating internally all morning, at lunch you make your decision. You finish yet another delicious meal, wipe your mouth with the beautiful linen napkin, and then set it down next to the bone china and plated gold utensils. The staff begins to move around you, and your assistant approaches.

Before she can say anything else, you take a deep breath and say, “I need to see him.”

There’s no question of who you mean.

She nods. “I’ll make the request.”

Whether pet or prisoner and left alone for more than seven days, you do not believe your request will be seen as any sort of priority, so when you see the more formal dining table set for two for dinner, your mouth drops open for a moment, and you stop in your tracks.

You turn to your assistant – even though she tries to afford you most of your privacy, she is ever on the edge of your presence. She looks as surprised as you. “I was given no response other than that they’d take the request under consideration.”

You nod, then pace, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, until you finally hear the rustle and then commotion of activity that announces his arrival.

Your heart races, but it’s only a few more moments before the large and imposing alpha, Bucky Barnes, appears in front of you.

“Omega,” he says with a mere nod of his head, no pretense.

Your eyes narrow a fraction, wary of his seemingly easy demeanor. “Alpha.”

“Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the table.

You nod and take a seat as he does.

Within seconds, the meal is brought in by two attendants and the chef, and Bucky thanks and praises them very simply.

He occasionally looks at you, regarding you, but does not speak.

Before long, you huff, and he looks up sharply, pinning you with his steel blue eyes, harsher than at any point since he’d arrived. “What?” he demands.

“What is all of this?” you start, gesturing your hand to indicate the penthouse. “And where have you been?”

He sets down his knife and fork and straightens a little more. “Is it not to suited to your liking? You can change anything you want. This is your place.”

“My place?” you ask.

“Yes, your place. It is not far from the place I’ve taken up residence.”

The revelation is not surprising, but somehow more irritating. “And what? You’ve had me and now you’re discarding me?”

“I should have thought you’d want your own place.”

Maybe you should want your own place, away from him. And yet…

“I should be wherever you are.”

“What?” he scoffs. “So you can be embroiled in my affairs and bring me down? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”

The accusation wounds you, though you know it’s only logical – and you know what you’re thinking and feeling isn’t logical. You have determined to put off thinking about it.

“I’m not your friend,” you state, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “but I’m not your enemy either.”

“What should I call you then?” he challenges.

You raise your chin a fraction. “I’m your Omega.”

He doesn’t speak or move immediately. Instead, his eyes somehow fix you even more intently. There’s a burning in your chest under his scrutiny, but you remain still.

Finally, he stands and moves toward you, the two of you never taking your eyes off the other.

“You are my Omega.”

He comes to stand behind your chair, and you remain unmoving. He takes your chin in his left hand and tilts your head to expose your neck to him. He leans down and noses along your jaw, inhaling your scent and putting your body on alert. You feel the curling tendrils of want stir in your core, already awakening for him. He tilts your head even more and draws his teeth along the side of your throat, causing a shiver you can’t suppress, and he chuckles darkly and licks at the fresher of the two bonding marks he gave you. His hot tongue, insistently pressing at the bite elicits a small noise from you, and your right hand shoots up to card into his hair. Your full omega side wants him, has started to slicken your pussy for him already, you can feel it. You know your alpha can smell it.

He bites over the mark, but not roughly enough to break the skin, and you arch up for more, but he pushes himself back up, away from you and the crook of your neck.

“So needy,” he remarks, “I like this.”

The first few days you’d spent with him, he’d kept you full of his cock, tortured with pleasure, overwhelmed, exhausted by him and the recipient of a seemingly insatiable lust unleashed on you.

This feels like the predator is going to play with his prey, and you bite your lip. He pushes your head, tilted to the left, to the right to drop into his other hand, clearly testing your compliance. It’s gentle, but it’s dominant. Back to the left, then to the right, and then he dips to nip at your ear, and you gasp.

Bucky releases your head from between his large hands then pulls your chair away from the table. “Up.”

You stand. He puts one hand on your hip and ushers you around the edge of the table and to the side, in the middle, and turns you to face the wide expanse of mahogany and its centerpiece of fresh flowers – white peonies, white roses, white hydrangeas.

“Put your hands on the table,” he instructs.

You press the palms of your hands onto the smooth, dark wood. Your omega side is ready – even eager – to comply, but with your own long game to play, you know you must play out whatever game he desires now.

“Arch your back,” is his next direction.

Keeping your breathing even, you do, hips jutting away from the table, on display for him.

The back of his hand lands at the nape of your neck, and he drags his knuckles slowly down your spine. Your body rocks back, seeking more, as he reaches the small of your back, and he hums in self-satisfaction.

While his vibranium hand plants itself on your hip, he moves the other around to skim slowly over your stomach, then up your rib cage, and to your breast. He gropes the round flesh through your shirt and bra, but the fabric does nothing to quell how the pressure stokes the fire growing in you.

You feel the heat of him press up your back as his hand moves now up your neck, turning your head to kiss him. You push back against him, and he ruts his bulge slightly into your ass. Your lips are hungry in the kiss, but it’s like he only provided his lips for you to kiss him, receiving what your lips want to give. He moves his hand back down to your chest, but this time slipping beneath the neckline and going flesh to flesh to palm your breast. He kneads diligently, almost methodically, and you know all of this is designed to warm you up, tease you, get you burning for him. He’s still largely a stranger to you, but you also know you can’t resist him. He’s spent so much time already playing with your body. He knows where and how to touch you to make you respond to him after those first days and nights spent naked with him.

Bucky moves again, ending the kiss, drawing away from your back and removing the hand from your breast. You whine, but that hand goes to the small of your back again, the vibranium hand squeezing your hip as he forces you spine to resume the curving posture for him once more.

“We’re only getting started, Omega. Be patient.”

You huff, and he laughs.

The fingers of both his hands slip into the top of your waistband. He slowly pulls your pants and underwear down over your hips, and down your legs to mid-thigh. It restricts your bottom extremities, and that plays into the mental game he’s clearly playing with you. His hands move up the back of your naked thighs, and then palms your ass with both hands. He squeezes both cheeks, goes back to palming them again, then withdraws his right hand and slaps that cheek harshly. You jump and yelp, but he merely goes back to palming and squeezing, soothing the smacked flesh. Then another slap, and you hiss at the sting over the first sting. His vibranium hand continues groping your round flesh, but instead of soothing the second smack, his flesh hand dips down to your dripping hole, where he inserts two fingers, then quickly adds a third.

“Alpha,” you moan, and your head falls back, eyes closed both to hold back a couple of tears and to soak in the barrage of sensations.

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers continue dipping in and out, slow and shallow.

He delivers another harsh slap, immediately returns to the maddening fingering until you’re keening and trying to hump his hand.

Abruptly he grips your hips with both hands and turns you around to face him. The cool metal hand grips you by the neck, tilting your face up helplessly to him, and this kiss is messy, demanding, teeth nipping at your lips. You kiss him back as well as you can as he is in full control of your head and holds you where he wants you. Both your hands hold tightly to his forearm, and you squeeze.

His other hand goes to the cut of you again below, but there’s more fervor there this time. He plunders your mouth and plunders your pussy, and you’re losing your breath, but you have no wish for him to relent as you feel the powerful orgasm you crave building and barreling towards you. His fingers curl against the spongy spot on your inner wall, this thumb is demanding against your pulsing clit, and his tongue is licking dominantly into your mouth. You’re trembling and clutching at him, moaning, only when your breath hitches, inches away from bliss, he pulls back.

You cry out as he looms over you. His smirk is cruel, and his eyes spark with fire.

“Alpha!”

He licks his one of his fingers, just one.

“Alpha, please,” you groan.

“My well-mannered Omega,” he coos. “We’ll make a mess of you yet,” he says. You’re unsure whether it’s a threat or a promise, but you have no space or time to think as he moves you again, hoisting and pushing you by the grip on your chin around and away from the table until your back is flush against the wall.

Bucky pushes you down to your knees, pinches your mouth open, then spits on your tongue. "Swallow it."

You don’t think, just swallow as his eyes bore into yours as he towers over you.

He strokes his thumb over your cheek – nearly a caress, and you can’t help leaning ever so slightly into his touch. Then his thumb moves from your cheek to your lips, tracing them before pressing down to open your mouth again. He inserts two of the fingers that had been in your cunt into your mouth, and you close your mouth and begin to suck without him having to say so. The look on his face shows his approval. As you suck, there’s something so soothing about, the weight of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, the stead rhythm, that it that lulls you even further into a state of submission for him. Your eyes begin to droop.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, wiping them on your face. “Don’t want that so soon in our evening.”

He begins to unbuckle his belt, and you reach for the button and zipper, but he bats your hands away and slaps your cheek.

You look up sharply at him, reaching to soothe your cheek.

“Ask nicely for your Alpha’s cock, Omega.”

His first nights with you were about physical domination. This is the other half, yielding, submission.

You think best how to ask, before saying, “Please let me put my lips around your cock, Alpha.”

He unbuttons his trousers but keeps his eyes on yours. “Tell me how you want me to use your mouth, Omega,”

“I…” you bite your lip. You aren’t a stranger to sex, but speaking so directly about it isn’t something you’ve done with any of your partners in the past.

Bucky lowers the zipper. He pushes the band of his boxers down far enough to free his cock, and you whimper. He fists his arousal slowly. “You want it, then tell me what you want exactly. You’ve already let me use your body in so many ways, we both know you want more. What are you craving?”

You wait only another beat before answering, “Want you to fuck my throat.”

You are impressed at the evenness of your own tone in that moment, and his lips tick up as well.

Bucky widens his stance, then leans down to wrap his left arm around your head, holding it – almost cradling it – in the crook of his elbow. The he pushes his cock to your lips, you open for him, he pushes in, and starts truly fucking your mouth. The first few thrusts are slow, but insistent. He fills your mouth with more of him with each of those first thrusts. Then the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. He thrusts out and in again, again, again. His other hand strokes your cheek. Then he slaps it, and you groan around his cock.

“Mmmm, fuck you feel good,” he echoes your groan. “Gonna take all of your alpha’s cock down this pretty throat,” he says, and his hand moves down to your neck, feeling himself push in there.

Your eyes are tearing up, and the tears quickly start to spill over as he continues to use your throat, never removing himself completely now that he’s overtaken your mouth. He slaps your cheek twice in quick succession and you sob around his cock as you can manage. It’s hard to breathe, and your chest heaves. You brace yourself against his thighs, and he straightens and pulls out of you.

Bucky moves quickly, taking you by the shoulders and tossing you into the middle of the floor – rough but not violent.

“Clothes off,” he barks, but it’s he didn’t need to employ an alpha command to get you to comply. You barely have enough time to discard your pants and underwear the rest of the way, and only manage to get your shirt over your head in the time it takes him to get naked.

He’s on you the next instant, covering your body with his. With his chest pressed down against yours, you feel how his breathing is just as heavy as your own, glad he’s not as unaffected as he’s tried to play this encounter.

You hitch your thighs up around his torso and squeeze your knees around him.

But he doesn’t give you what you’re most anxious for yet, instead pausing to study your face.

“Such a pretty mess,” he admires.

Heat pulses through your body, his praise undeniable to your omega side.

He dips his head to lap up the salt of some of your tears, tongue dragging slowly up your cheek. When he draws back again, he merely looks at you. His eyes seem to be looking for something, but you don’t know what. You try not to give him anything outside of this moment.

His pelvis is lodged between your hips, so you squirm beneath him, hoping your hot, dripping cunt will call him back to your pressing needs. He groans and drops his forehead to yours, another sign he’s not as cool and detached as he was at the outset.

“Please, please fuck me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Fill you up with my cock? With my seed?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

He draws his hips back and you reach down and help line up his cock with your hole. He spears in with no mercy, and you don’t need or want it. You groan together as he fills you completely.

Your mouths meet again, and it’s a combination of rough messy kisses, nipping and bites, licking, mingled heavy breaths. It’s primal and unhinged, and there’s no thought to it as he continues to fuck you.

The pace at which he thrusts is relentless and just what you need, but also not enough.

You want more and you whimper and beg through kissing for it.

Bucky continues fucking you and pulls away from your lips, but in no way is he done overwhelming you. Leaning heavily onto his vibranium arm planted next to your head, he moves his other arm and presses his inner wrist up and down your neck insistently. The sound that escapes your mouth is broken and needy as the flooding of his scent directly In and around you engulfs your senses. Then he’s also sucking on your original bonding mark until you are a heaving, panting, crying mess, clawing at his back, unable to even put coherent words together to beg for him.

His shifts just enough that his pubic bone grinds down against your clit as he pounds into your pussy. You are practically vibrating with the impending orgasm, and as your alpha can undoubtedly sense that through the bond, he bites down on your mark, and you scream and fly into your release. Your walls clench hard around him, and he growls through two more powerful thrusts before he shouts, and you feel the heat of his seed star to fill you up. He pumps and pumps until he’s left every drop he can inside of you, then collapses on top of you.

He doesn’t move, pressing you down with all his weight as you both recover from the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. You almost move to stroke your fingers up and down his spine, but you quell that impulse. You do allow yourself to keep your hands on his back though – still, but connected to this man, your alpha, who dealt you such rough but undeniable pleasure.

Finally, Bucky pushes up off you, but surprises you when he scoops you up and carries you away bridal style, heading toward your bedroom.

“Alpha?”

“You really want to live under the same roof?” he asks.

 “Yes,” you answer simply.

He glances down at your face, brows furrowed, then looks back ahead as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay then.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he affirms, entering your room.

He tosses you onto the bed, and crawls up over you again. He reaches beneath your back to unclasp your bra, and you let him pull it from your shoulders and toss it off to the side. Closing the gap between your bodies, you relish the feeling of his bare chest against yours, his chest hair teasing your nipples. He grips your chin yet again, this time with his vibranium hand, and looks into your eyes with a steely, cold stare.

“If you’re anything other than the good omega I require, I will send you back here, but it won’t be like this last week has been. You will be in absolute exile. Don’t test me – there will be no chances.”

You give a single nod of your head.

He pushes up and leans back then, kneeling above you.

“But you don’t want to jeopardize or risk that, do you?”

“No, Bucky.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him anything other than alpha and he clocks that, you see the flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

“You want to be with your alpha, you want the limited freedom you know I can give you if I choose to, but you also have your own agenda”

It wasn’t a question, and you know you can’t fool him – you know he is too smart for that, and you know he knows you are intelligent in your own right. He made it clear when he closed in on your people’s territory that’s why your compliance and claiming you as his omega was part of the deal of surrender to spare any more bloodshed.

“Cross me and your future will only be visitations when I require you to service my ruts.”

You don’t doubt his threat.

“Do we have an accord, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The words you two exchanged the fateful night of that initial surrender.

He nods.

“It seems fitting to seal it by kiss.”

You sit up and then kneel before him on the bed, he bends his head down to kiss you. It’s fervent, solemn, but he cuts it off before it develops into anything more.

“Stay here,” he orders, sliding off the bed.

That was an alpha command – wholly unnecessary except to remind you of his power.

You scowl at his retreating form, then huff once he’s out of the room.

He’s quick, and when he comes back in the room, he is slowly stroking his cock with one hand, and holds his phone in the other. He steps up to the edge of the bed.

“A kiss here, as well,” he says, pushing his hips forward.

You crawl to him, lower your head, and kiss his cock. He nods at you, indicating he expects more. You take the tip of his semi-hard cock into your mouth, lave your tongue around the tip, and then suck, looking up at him. He takes a few photos, moaning at your ministrations.

“Fuck you couldn’t look more pretty and more ruined,” he whispers. He tosses the phone down, then pushes you off him and back onto the bed, manhandling your hips to get you planted in the center of the mattress with your thighs splayed open obscenely.

“Only fair for me to finish sealing the agreement and kiss these lips as well.”

He dives in like a man starved, despite the rounds you’ve just finished. He pulls your next orgasm quickly from your fluttering pussy. You would be surprised, only you’ve come to accept that he has already acquired a dangerous – and delicious – knowledge of your body.

He looks up at you and grins and then goes in immediately for another.

You try and push him away and close your legs, feeling overstimulated, but he growls and roughly forces your thighs open again.

“Your one chance of being my good omega is already begun. So, you’re going to let me eat the pussy that belongs to me until you’re a sobbing overstimulated mess and think you can’t possibly take any more, but you will. And since this should be the last night we ever spend in this bed, when I’ve had my fill of lapping at your sweet, dripping cunt, I’m going to see if I can’t fuck you hard and long enough to break the bed.”

You can only hope your gamble to deal with the devil of HYDRA will not be your undoing.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest full Fine Line Collection

Everyone check your pulse, please. Mine is gone.

I'm not saying this is officially a series, but I think we HAVE fallen into a collection territory... Unless y'all are through with this Alpha Bucky...

[lunarmoves]

Can't stop thinking of the scenario where y/n leaves the Pizzaplex feeling like Sun honestly wanted them gone, and Sun becomes obsessed with finding them and also leads a robot apocalypse. What would happen if y/n caught wind that Sun is looking specifically for them and seeing all that has happened with the robots takes that as "Oh no, I thought he tolerated me but turns out he dislikes me so much he personally wants to get rid of me himself" so they try extra hard to go into hiding out of fear of what will happen if they're captured and taken to him?

ohhh my goddd nonnie u are so big brained!!!!!!! thank u for sending this in bc honestly i have also been thinking about this au for a while LMAO. if i was strong enough i would write a 50k fic spliced into two arcs (im thinking about it so hard u have no idea!!!!!!) for this but alas.... /stares at my incomplete wips/ i am not </3

(added in from future shay: what have u done nonnie this became so much longer than i'd intended, u basically get the whole fic outline here. cw for death and murder n stuff, typical fnaf. also spoilers for a fic i may or may not write?? like. this is me brainstorming and shoving all my ideas here lol. literally all of them)

okay so... let us set the stage a little bc i can't help myself. arc1 of this hypothetical fic would of course involve the pizzaplex where reader and sun get "closer" over the course of like a year. maybe more. well sun feels close to you. you, on the other hand, do not. why would you? this robot has been so passive aggressive with you and though it seems like he's nice enough to you (in comparison to the other humans), you really don't like how he treats you some days. what he says about humanity as a whole. you can't help it! yeah humanity sucks sometimes and robots were built to be everything that humans aren't, but he can't generalize in the way that he does at times and forget that these are people!! with feelings and ambitions and dreams! 'superiority complex' doesn't even begin to cover his issues, gahh!!

(the fact that he's been treated like absolute shit, working in the daycare does not help whatsoever. the mean parents, the kids who don't listen to him, the staff tht does the bare minimum on him in terms of maintenance because he's the daycare robot and not one of the glamrocks. it grinds his gears)

i imagine the reader in this fic believes that robots are indeed sentient, which is why you try to get sun to recognize and acknowledge his own emotions/feelings (which he vehemently denies, even tho there are literal riots happening worldwide regarding robot sentience. he's lying to you. you know he's lying to you. but you don't know why he denies it so much. ((maybe this is the point where he catches feels for reader and is denying the fact tht he's crushing on a human lol)). the government is not happy about these uprisings, of course, and every day the news shows more and more chaos unfolding as robots get tired of the conditions they are in). but eventually, things boil over and you end up leaving. that, and it's becoming more dangerous, living in this area, with everything going on. maybe your parents are trying to convince you to move elsewhere. maybe there are other external circumstances. in any case, you leave. there is nothing at the pizzaplex for you anymore, sun has made that clear.

(and moon... well, moon has been quiet lately. too quiet. you don't know what happened to him, he won't even look at you when you manage to get some time with him when the lights go out after your shift)

((i imagine this is maybe around when they get infected. that makes everything even more complicated. if you thought sun was obsessive before, then that's nothing compared to a glitched out sun unforch. it just amplifies the more questionable aspects of his entire personality. and like, he doesn't even have vanny/afton commanding him bc as soon as he gets the virus? he kills both of them))

(((also im imagining moon and sun don't really get along in this au bc they have differing ideals/views. like to balance out sun's unhingedness, moon is significantly quieter and softer and deffo does not believe in robot superiority lol. if anything, maybe he has an inferiority complex pfft poor guy. doesn't help when he gets glitchtrap'd and wakes up with blood on his hands)))

okay so you leave, right? and a few weeks later, you see the news on your phone--the pizzaplex has burned down. you don't know how to feel about it. sure you've been friendly to the glamrocks and stuff, but you find yourself thinking about sun and moon. there's a mention of one death--a blond woman, who died from her neck snapping before the flames could reach her. you don't want to think of the implications of that. there's no mention of the glamrocks--of sun or moon or the dj. you're not sure if the news anchors are just excluding robots, but either way, it makes your heart sink. you take a moment to mourn. bc at the end of the day.... you did know sun for over a year.

not even a few days after that, there is a robot uprising in your city. it's... bad. you're at home, watching the news with your apartment half in shambles from your plan on moving back home with your parents. in my head, since utah is home to fazco (a megacorporation with hands in the development of a LOT of the robots seen in society), it also means it's a hotspot for robot riots and the like. fazco vehemently denies robot sentience because it would mean a loss of money in acknowledging their workers are people yk how it is. as such, there are maany protests and riots and stuff, from both humans and robots. it's a shitshow.

ANYWAYS you're at home and it becomes evidently clear that you need to get out of dodge as soon as you can. they were killing people. the robots, built by human hands, were killing. it brings about absolute chaos. in prior riots/protests there were never deaths. injuries, maybe, but never deaths. people start evacuating like crazy.

you catch a glimpse on the news that the violent uprising in utah caused a chainlink reaction to extend all across the nation. maybe even the world. you're scrambling all over your apartment with the tv on the news, doing your best to pack up the essentials. there's live coverage on the tv from a helicopter somewhere not far from your apartment complex. and you're able to catch a glimpse of bright rays and a cheshire, white smile on the screen--leading what looks like an army of robots--before it cuts out.

you don't even know what to think. the image is seared into your eyes, the blood that painted yellow hands and a crescent face.

you get the hell out of your apartment and book it as far as you can. communications are down everywhere--the thing about robots? they know exactly where to hit humans to cause a catastrophe. as such, your phone is useless. they've hijacked the satellites and took down certain powergrids. having a phone on you would only be a detriment, so you ditch it. there's only you now. you must survive.

and then there's a bit of a time skip to start arc2. in this duration, you're long gone from that city in utah, living with a small survival group. if you've read my summer camp au fic, this is where i'll bring in "OCs" such as vincent (a play on 2015 vincent) and jeremy (fitzgerald or the VR guy tht used to work for fazco), maybe michael if i really wanna au fudge everything. you all live day by day, trying to run away from the robots.

at this point, a majority of humanity has either been killed or has gone into hiding. i think while the robots don't want to eradicate humanity completely (after all, there are certain tasks that need humans n such), they definitely want to make them a minority. they are a little more than halfway through their goal.

it's very difficult to evade robot surveillance. there are drones everywhere. all cameras are hijacked. i'm imagining a kind of cyberpunk type world. you have EMPs and tasers that you can use to disable electronics, but they're made from scraps you and your group scavenged. and upon immediately using one, all robots in the area are informed of your presence, so they can only be used in rare and desperate circumstances. they are all connected to the same network, which means they can have a hive mind, at times. life is scary, in this regard. big brother is watching.

you've heard rumors of a human base underground somewhere--a place safe from robots with the proper defenses. accepting to any and all. the only tough thing was finding the damn place, but you've seen the clues in graffiti and hidden messages designed to trick AI (think: captcha). you and your group just wants to get to that damn base and stop living in fear all the time, being out in the open or crawling as stealthily as you can through empty streets.

the one thing sun used to emphasize to you? the way robots are more efficient. and that they are. you see it in the way a new metropolis shines like a beacon on the horizon. they've already built their own kingdom of sorts. and their ruler? you grimace as you think about sharp rays and wide, white eyes. you haven't seen him in ages--not since that initial broadcast. but you hear the whispered rumors and news. how he has created a robot haven--the celestial city. how he scorns humans. you blame yourself sometimes. maybe if you had stayed and tried harder to convince sun that humans aren't all too bad, none of this would have happened.

(a memory comes to you--of your time back at the pizzaplex. of you sitting atop the security desk and kicking your feet lightly as you entertain sun's... uniqueness. ambitions--that you did not take as seriously as you should have.

"okay, i'll bite," you said in amusement. "what would a robot takeover look like for you?"

sun cocked his head, hands fidgeting with a plush. "hmm. well. i suppose it would be a very quick thing, for one. hit hard and fast." he squeezed the plush. "take down comms. strike power sources. go for those in power first, then the weaker ones." he gave you a shrug and an unreadable smile. "from then on, carnage."

and you--silly silly you--just rolled your damn eyes at him like he was joking around with you and asked him about more hypotheticals. picking his brain, in a way. it was exact with how it played out in real time. you thought about this often, at the dead of night.

it was all your fucking fault)

and then, one day, the scout/informant of your little group--jeremy probably--comes back with some news. the celestial ruler--sun--has been taking human hostages. it's been happening for a while now, apparently, almost nearly as long as the uprising. jeremy pulls out some hazy photographs he's gotten from some of the other humans he exchanges info with. you look at them, the hostages.

after a minute or two of staring, you realize something.

they all sort of resemble you.

there's a clear pattern actually. your hair or your face shape or your eyes or your smile. some combination of them. but never actually you. you ask jeremy what it all means, and he hesitatingly says that it looks like sun is looking for someone. it's clear to everyone who it is as they all stare at you.

and you? you're panicking.

he's looking specifically for you. just you. you've never heard of the robots taking hostages, and you have no idea what he's doing with them, but it can't be anything good. especially since he keeps taking more and more of your lookalikes hostage. you think back to your time at the pizzaplex--so distant, now, that it almost feels like a dream.

he wants to kill you himself. you're sure of it.

now you're trying even harder to get to that underground base. you go completely dark, doing your best to evade detection--and i imagine there are quite a few close calls, definitely a few instances where your face is captured on camera or you have to use an EMP. until finally, you and your group manage to integrate into the underground human base.

'base' doesn't even properly describe it. it's a whole city, actually, with unsteady houses made of wood and cloth. it's the perfect place to hide.

you spend a while down there, occasionally venturing up when you're allowed to by the guards (it's rare, very very rare). the city has strict rules that must be followed to ensure it's not found. the ones in charge are constantly looking for news on the actions of sun and the majority of robots. they don't really keep the citizens updated--it would cause too much chaos, you think. but you hear whispers now and then. (the robots have expanded territory. france is completely gone. australia's still holding out. most of china and india have been taken over and their factories have all been transformed to mass produce more robots)

for the first time in a while, you think you can find peace down here. it was only inevitable that this would be ruined one day.

you wake up to chaos.

the underground is under siege. the robots have found you.

you run out of your makeshift house and have to dodge crumbling stone. explosions rock through the air, sending dust and debris everywhere. you're scared for your life--your only instinct is to run run run get out it's not safe! you don't know where your friends are. you don't know if they're alive. for a moment, you hesitate. and then you're bolting to try to find them. they had their own little homes not too far from you. you can find them. no man left behind.

you can hear bullets and the hum of energy everywhere. people are screaming and crying all around you. you see people dying before your eyes, impaled by beams of light or stray bullets. it's all you can do to dodge and weave towards vincent's house.

but before you can get there, something tackles you from behind. you roll across dirt, and find yourself pinned under a robot--a staffbot from the pizzaplex, you realize. except it looks--different. more high tech.

it seems to scan your face. and just before it can finish, you manage to grab a stray metal rod laying on the ground next to you and stab it right through the eye.

you scramble, getting as far away as you can from the thing. but-- you run right into the path of a crumbling building. it buries you halfway under thick wood, and something sears its way through your leg. you're trapped. you're trapped and there's no one around to help you.

and just when you're on the brink of passing out, you see him. standing in front of you a ways away. those same star-patterned pants and dangling cap. but he's different somehow, he looks different. you can't place it, your vision blurring into red and purple.

moon looks at you as though you are the last thing he wants to see. and then you faint.

when you wake up, you're in a bedroom. your leg is in a cast and there are crutches near your bed.

it's... the nicest room you've seen in a while. the windows are covered by thick curtains that let in a sliver of light. you have to blink a bit to let your eyes adjust. and then you get up, noticing you aren't in the same ratty, dirty clothes you'd been wearing for forever.

you try the door first. it's locked. there's a sinking sensation in your gut that gets stronger and stronger the closer you get to the window. and when you pull open the curtains, you gasp at the towering buildings, bright green and blue light, and flying drones.

you are in the middle of the celestial city.

you panic hard. and then you notice the camera in the corner of the room, looking right at you. big brother is definitely watching. you give him the bird.

you wallow around in the bedroom for a bit. you are hungry, you cannot deny. and there is only a glass of water for you set on your nightstand.

but eventually, the door opens of its own accord. an automatic lock, you suppose. and it swings open into a dark hall. you do not have any other choice but to follow. it's clear you are being summoned.

there are no places for you to run or hide. you travel down a long hallway and end up in a wide room with someone tall standing at the far end by the window. it's a scene straight out of a movie. you are not impressed.

the figure turns around, and you do a double take. it's sun--yet it's not.

he looks different. taller, stronger. with clawed fingers and rays that look deadly to the touch. his smile is sharper, his torso has all sorts of compartments and attachments. he was modded to all hell, just like that staffbot you saw earlier. it had to have been self inflicted.

he only stares at you, really. white eyes rake up and down your form, taking you in. you don't say a word, only look back at him. and then you flinch slightly when someone emerges from the shadows next to sun.

it's... moon. looking just as modded as sun. you're confused. when did they become separate? but honestly, you think it makes sense. they never really liked each other. it makes sense that sun would want to be separated as soon as possible--and they had the resources to do so. you just wonder why they're still working together. comfort in the familiarity, maybe.

moon doesn't meet your eye. you notice his is different--the red tinged with purple. sun doesn't look away from you. it makes you uneasy.

you don't know why you're here, but one thing's clear: you are not getting out of here anytime soon.

i'm honestly not sure how to end things, but in my head there's a lot of reconciliation that needs to happen. obv sun is so incredibly down bad for you at this point (and moon), but there are many issues that need to be tackled first.

sun doesn't understand why you're so wary around him. moon keeps avoiding you at every turn. there's still an entire revolution and remaking of society happening. you are constantly being watched by cameras in the building. i can't picture things as returning to normal--post uprising--but i also don't know how to end things on a happy note LOL, though i do want to instead of killing off reader or sun/moon. maybe it'll be a bittersweet sort of end, maybe reader finally gets through to sun. maybe eclipse will make an appearance (jk, idk how i would even do that, this might be an eclipse-less fic).

in any case, the next bit would be a lot of sun and reader connecting better than they had in the pizzaplex, a lot of sun trying to understand humans better cuz he's trying to court you-- and has long come to accept his emotions tbh. tho he's still kind of mad at you for leaving, so there needs to be a conversation of sorts about why you left before sun can really begin to understand how he appears to you. idk!

i also feel like moon isnt nearly fleshed out as sun is?? i dunno, i might have to think some more about him. i just know he's terrified of hurting you, esp with him still having the virus (and sun, but he has better control of it). gonna be a lot of work on your part to get him to be comfortable around you again. also, he doesn't like the fact that society has come to this. he lowkey resents sun, but he doesn't have anyone else. what's a bot to do?

also there may be a scene where your survival group tries to save you lol, maybe with an army that tries to seize control of the celestial city. which may work. this would be a bad end, i think, cuz there's no way sun's getting out of that alive.

anyways yeah. i rambled enough LMAOO whoopsie! i rly just regurgitated all the thoughts in my head. no promises that this will be a fic, i've got enough on my plate as is LOL

[paradiseprincesss]

forever, not maybe | jonathan crane

hello hello! sorry i haven't been posting as much i've been busyyy and a little burnt out if i'm being honestttt but enough about me. when i say "catwoman mask" in this fic - i was thinking of the lace one ariana grande wore for tbim music video lol anyway...i had "off to the races" on repeat while writing this <3

summary: you have a secret life as catwoman that you've been keeping away from your boyfriend, jonathan crane. however, it seems he has a secret life of his own, too...

warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, choking, kissing, swearing, MDNI 18+ ONLY

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

“i’m working late tonight,” jonathan said over the phone with a sigh.

“again?” you asked your boyfriend, trying to feign the sadness in your voice.

jonathan had been working late night shifts at the asylum for the last few months; so often that you swore he saw his patients more than he did you. naturally, you missed him. all you wanted was to be in his arms again, laid up in bed as he held you and told you how much he loved you.

but the extra time away from him gave you more time for your…hobbies.

of course you felt guilty lying to your boyfriend about your whereabouts or what you were doing — but you couldn’t risk him finding out about you being catwoman.

every time you told him you were going to sleep, you’d really be getting ready to commit a heist, or worse, find batman and reign chaos in the city just to spite him. you’d always tell jonathan the reason you were so tired all the time was because you were having trouble sleeping when he wasn’t there — but alas, it was because you were out on crime sprees until five in the morning.

“i’m sorry, darling. i wish i could be at home with you right now,” jonathan said softly, his voice tinged with guilt.

“i know, jon. it’s okay — i think i'm gonna go to bed now. it’s late,” you replied, trying to sound exhausted as you yawned. “see you in the morning, baby.”

“see you then, darling,” jonathan said softly, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you sighed, hanging up the phone.

as soon as you hung up the phone, you jumped out of bed and rushed to put on your catsuit. after you threw on your fitted outfit along with the matching mask, you were sneaking out your window in mere seconds, creeping off into the dark, crime-filled city that was gotham.

tonight, you were on the prowl for a certain villain though — the scarecrow.

the two of you had had a mutual distaste for each other. he’d once told you that you were “too morally ambiguous,” as sometimes you’d be robbing banks and committing heists, whereas other times you’d aid batman in the saving of gotham city. you thought he was full of shit, and you made sure to remind him that his plan to poison the entirety of gotham city with his fear toxin would never work every chance you got. 

the two of you had a strange dynamic — always messing with one another's plans and such, but last week, things seemed to have changed between you and him. 

it all started when he came to pay you a visit after you’d robbed two men at gunpoint, stealing their cards and some cash out of pure boredom. you heard footsteps behind you as you were counting stacks of cash, and once you glanced back, you saw the scarecrow himself approaching you in the quiet parkade you stood in.

the two of you never stopped to talk very much, as usually each interaction lasted no more than a few minutes, but tonight, neither of you were in a rush to leave. the scarecrow looked at you through the eye holes of his burlap mask, and for a moment, you felt oddly comforted by his presence. 

“catwoman,” he said, looking down at the cash in your hands, “we meet again.” 

“we meet all the time,” you retaliated, hearing his distorted voice through his mask. 

“we do, yes,” he replied casually, “but i’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you alone like this.” 

“that’s because you’re always interrupting me when i'm busy,” you teased, looking up at him with a small smile. 

you noticed he stopped talking to look closely at you, almost as if he was analyzing you. picking you apart detail by detail, his blue eyes trailing over every single inch of you. his eyes darted over the lace covering your eyes before he narrowed them, inhaling sharply. 

“...has anyone told you that you have a pretty smile?” he asked quietly, and you almost had to get him to repeat himself out of disbelief. 

“did i hear you correctly?” you asked, attempting to clarify what exactly he was trying to get at. “did you just compliment me?”

“it would appear that way,” he said with amusement.

you stood there staring at him for a few seconds, unsure of what to say before you scoffed, waving his compliment off.

“i have a boyfriend,” you huffed.

“a boyfriend?” he teased, his blue eyes widening under his mask. “is that so?”

you hummed in agreement, flipping through the dollar bills in your hands. “i love him. a lot.”

“i see,” he said once more, “i forgot to mention that i saw you last week, by the way.” 

“did you?” you asked nonchalantly. 

“sneaking out of your apartment window at midnight — i wonder if your boyfriend knows what you do when he’s not home.” he teased, causing you to stop what you were doing as your heart raced.

“you know where i live?” you tilted your head to the side to emphasize your confusion, causing him to chuckle softly.

“that i do,” he shrugged, “and dare i say, you really are quite the beauty when you don’t have this lacy little mask covering your face.” 

he gestured to your mask, causing you to roll your eyes which were partially hidden by the lace. “i told you i have a boyfriend,” you said harshly. 

“i can’t help but wonder what he would think if he saw you like this — stealing from the innocent people of gotham city.” you could almost hear him smirking through his mask by the way he talked. “hm?” 

“well — i don’t plan on telling him,” you sneered, causing the scarecrow to chuckle.

“so feisty,” he purred. “tell me about this ‘boyfriend’ of yours.” 

you crossed your arms, still holding the cash in your hand as you let out an annoyed sigh. “he’s a doctor,” you said, not-so-subtly bragging, “and…as much as i wish i could tell him about what i do, i don’t think he’d approve.”

he nodded, taking in everything you were saying. 

“but you don’t need to know the intimate details of my love life — quit asking.” you said, shaking your head as you shook the thought of jonathan out of your mind for the time being.

the scarecrow looked at you with intrigue, taking a step closer to you. as you took in all the details of his suit, you couldn’t help but notice how oddly familiar it looked — you’d sworn that you had seen this exact suit before. 

“you must really love him, don’t you?” he asked casually with a shrug. “well, maybe he knows more than he’s letting on.” 

“i highly doubt that,” you sighed, realizing it was time to head home since jonathan would be back soon. “i have to go.” 

he nodded, looking at you with those strikingly blue eyes before turning around and disappearing into the shadows. you stood there for a few moments quietly, struggling to understand why he felt so familiar yet so distant to you at the same time — it almost felt like you’d known him for ages. 

once you got home, you quietly reached for your front door before realizing it was locked. you’d made your way out tonight through the window, but when you looked up at it, you realized that there was no way you would be able to climb that high and get through it from the outside. 

“need some assistance?” a familiar voice called from the bottom of your porch stairs. once you quickly turned around in a panic, you saw a certain scarecrow peering up at you.

“what are you doing here?” you asked in a hushed whisper. “my boyfriend is going to see you. he’s supposed to be home from work any second!” 

“relax,” he commented, making his way up the porch stairs. reaching into his suit pocket, he pulls out a shiny piece of metal — a key. “i just want to help you, is that so wrong?” 

as he unlocked the front door and swung it open, you harshly grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer to you. 

“and why do you have a key to my boyfriend's house?” you asked with irritation. 

“because,” he said, his voice no longer distorted, “i live here.”

your grip remained on his wrist as he spoke softly to you, and your eyes met with his brilliantly blue ones — you only knew one person who had eyes that striking. you almost felt silly for not realizing sooner, but to be fair, he’d only come to realize who you really were just last week. 

it all made sense now  — the “late” shifts at arkham, the way he’d sometimes come home bruised and bloodied (which he said was because of his “violent” patients), and the way he’d always avoided talking about work with you every time you’d asked.

he shut the door behind the both of you as you gently let go of his wrist, looking at him in awe as he turned back around to face you. you still had your catwoman mask on, and he was still wearing his scarecrow one. you stared at him in silence, almost at a loss for words before you finally spoke up quietly, your eyes still locked with his blue ones. 

“you’re…” you trailed off, reaching up to tug at his mask, wanting nothing more than to take it off. “you’re the scarecrow…”

“and you’re catwoman,” he teased as your fingers ghosted the edge of his mask.

“shut up,” you blushed, “and take this off.” 

you gestured to his mask, but he shook his head as he stared at you through the eye holes. “i have an idea,” he suggested, “why don’t you make your way to the bedroom and wait for me, if you’re not too tired.“

“you cannot possibly be suggesting what i think you’re suggesting—”

“i am,” he said lowly. “...if you want to.”

without another word, you bit your lip and nodded, making your way to your shared bedroom excitedly. it was almost thrilling, the way he was commanding you and telling you to behave. it’s not that jonathan wasn’t bossy during sex (or in general if we’re really being honest here), but the added excitement of knowing your smart, calm, doctor boyfriend had a not-so-innocent side made it so much better.  

you sat obediently on the edge of the bed waiting for him. he eventually joined you, still in his scarecrow mask and suit, eyeing you down. 

“i’m sorry i didn’t make it clear,” he stated, “but i wanted you waiting with nothing on.” 

“but you’re—“ you tried to protest, as he was still fully clothed. 

“be quiet,” he growled, grabbing you by the throat, “unless you want a taste of my fear toxin, hm?” 

you swallowed, nodding as the grip around your neck made you dizzy, and you did as you were told to do. he watched you closely, looking at you through those eerie eye holes of his mask as you undressed hastily.

“slower,” he said, “give me a little show, won’t you sweetheart?”

you almost choked on your words when he spoke — you were enjoying it, though. something about your usually calm, collected, gentle boyfriend acting like this was triggering something primal in you. 

as you stripped down into nothing but your bra and underwear — which were matching, by the way — his pupils went wide at the sight. you sat back on the bed in your lacy undergarments, and he took a few steps closer, not yet getting on the bed with you.

“you really are perfect, you know?” he spoke softly, even though he looked rather intimidating, but it had you rubbing your thighs together.

“light of my life,” you breathed. “that’s what you are.” 

“is that right, my darling?” he asked, his voice giving away that although he was acting tough and composed — he was crumbling because of you. “are you forever mine?”

“forever yours,” you replied with no hesitation. 

jonathan made his way over to you, grabbing your face gently as he stood at the edge of the bed.

“i love you,” you whispered, and his grip on your face softened. 

“darling,” he rasped, “lay back on the bed for me.” 

you do as you’re told, laying back on the bed as he joins you, his hands immediately snaking behind your back to unclasp your lacy bra. 

“angelic,” he breathed, speaking softly. “how are you real?” 

his last words were so quiet, you barely heard him through the burlap mask covering his head. you were sprawled out on the bed, back resting on the pillows as his hands reached to tweak your nipples softly, causing you to moan quietly. he was hovering above you, propped up on his arms and studying your every reaction as he took in the way your body responded to his touch. 

suddenly, his hand brushed up against the lace of your panties, teasingly dragging his fingers across your skin. you let out a soft whine, shifting your hips slightly out of habit. “please,” you whispered, “touch me — scarecrow.”

as the words left your mouth, he was tearing your underwear clean off of you, causing you to get incredibly turned on — as if you weren’t soaking through your panties already. 

jonathan brushed his fingers against your sticky folds before slowly inserting one of his fingers into your tight hole, causing you to let out a vulgar moan as he toyed with your cunt. 

he continued to stare down at you as your back was pressed into the pillows, giving him a perfect view of your face as he watched from above. you let out a mewl as he started to pump a single digit in and out of your dripping cunt, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink shade.

“m-mm, oh my god—!” you moaned, feeling him curl his finger in a way that made your back arch. he let out a low hum before inserting a second digit, causing you to gasp. 

“jon,” you breathed, “f-fuck, yes—“

“i know, darling,” he cooed, watching you as he pumped two digits in and out of your tight, warm hole. “it’s a lot for your tight little cunt to take. i know, but don’t worry — i'll get you nice and stretched out before i bury my cock inside of you.” 

his filthy words caused you to tighten up around his fingers, making him let out a low chuckle from behind his burlap mask. “someone likes it dirty, hm?” he teased, and you let out a breathless moan. 

“c-close,” you managed to choke out. 

“who owns you?” he asked, fucking you with his fingers as he rubbed that spongy spot inside of you. 

“you!” you whimpered, “fuck, you do—“

your release hit you, hard and fast, as you clenched around his fingers. your vision was clouded with stars, pure ecstasy running through your veins. jonathan watched you like a predator watches its prey, his eyes running all over your body as he studied you through the eyeholes of his mask. 

you lay on the bed breathless, your cheeks flushed still, as he looked down at you sprawled out against the soft pillows. you could hear him breathing heavily from behind his mask — it almost gave him a power trip to see you like this; fucked out and submissive to him as he was dressed up as scarecrow. 

you let out a huff, closing your eyes for just one moment before they shot open again to the sound of his belt being unbuckled. you rubbed your thighs together and whined softly, causing jonathan to let out a low groan as his cock sprung free against his stomach, hitting the white button down shirt he wore.

he gave himself a few strokes before lining himself up with your dripping entrance. 

“how badly do you want it, baby?” he teased, rubbing his cock up against your slit slowly. 

“so bad,” you whined desperately, “please, jonathan—”

“try again.” 

“fuck, please! please, scarecrow…” you begged, hoping you’d get what you were wanting after fixing your mistake. 

it seemed to work because before you could whine anymore, you were letting out a filthy moan as he rammed himself into you, breaching your tight hole. even though you’d just taken his fingers, you hadn’t been able to fuck him for a few weeks, due to work and all — so you were taking a little longer than usual to adjust to his size. 

“m-my god, s-slow down—” you breathlessly gasped, feeling his cock pounding your cunt mercilessly as he set a fast pace.

“you can take it,” he assured you, still fucking you harshly as his hands come to grip at your throat. “keep squeezing my cock. fuck — like that.” 

you could feel him stretch out your drooling hole as you mewled, unable to form any proper sentences or get any real words out from the way he was fucking you. jonathan kept a firm vice around your neck, causing you to struggle for air slightly as his normally bright blue eyes turned about fifty shades darker. 

you didn’t know what was turning you on more — the fact that he was still dressed as scarecrow, mask and all, or how roughly he was drilling into your sopping cunt right now. 

“o-oh my god—” you whined, looking up at him breathlessly as he continued to squeeze the sides of your neck. “i-i can’t…”

jonathan was for sure having an ego trip right now — the way you were completely at his mercy as his cock pounded against your cervix, creating the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. the way you looked at him like he was your entire world — because he was — even while he was fucking you stupid. just everything about you had jonathan tripping out on ecstasy, pleasure, and dare i say love?

“what is it, my darling?” he cooed mockingly, cutting off your air supply once more with a harsh squeeze to your neck while he was balls deep in your cunt. “use your words, darling — you can do it.”

“c-can’t breathe,” you managed to rasp, your hands clawing at his, “let— go—”

satisfied with your begging, jonathan let go of your throat and placed his hands harshly onto your hips. his fingers dug into your sides as he continued to plow your pussy with no intention of stopping until you were ruined.

he could see the fear in your eyes — even if it was mixed with arousal — and it brought him closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. you, along with jonathan, were close to coming undone as well, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as pleasure consumed you.

“come,” he growled, “show me who owns this tight fucking cunt.” 

you let out a choked moan as he rammed his cock into you so deeply that you stopped breathing momentarily, before letting yourself tip over the edge. your release winded you, causing you to scream his name so loud that your neighbours would definitely know who was fucking you right. 

“jonathan! f-fuck!” you squeaked out, creaming on his thick cock. 

“scream my fucking name,” he said lowly, “that’s right — god, you feel so good.” 

he let out a low groan as he felt your walls tighten up around him, and he watched your every move as your orgasm washed over you. you looked so beautifully fucked out and mindless with every fleeting moment — it was perfection. 

it didn’t take long for jonathan to come after seeing you like this for him, and he let out a low groan, giving you a few more harsh, deep thrusts before filling you up completely with his sticky cum. he looked down at you quietly as he propped himself up above you on his arms one more, taking off his burlap mask and tossing it to the side. 

you gave your boyfriend a soft smile, letting out a huff of air as you rested your head on the satin pillows behind you.

“wow…” you said, trailing off into a soft chuckle. 

“i love seeing you all ruined for me,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “you’re something else, you know that?”

he helped you get cleaned up afterwards, making sure to be extremely gentle and caring towards you despite almost breaking you in two just minutes prior. after he had you tucked into bed, he placed a kiss on the top of your head as you snuggled into the covers.

“i’m going to go shower,” he said casually, “go to bed, sweetheart. you’ve had a long night.”

“mm,” you mumbled sleepily, “come to bed afterwards.”

“i will,” he assured you, placing one more kiss on your head, and another softly on your lips. “...i love you.” 

“i love you too,” you said softly, yawning as you found comfort in the sheets. “goodnight, scarecrow.” 

your sleepy words caused him to let out a quiet chuckle as he admired you. the light from the moon illuminated your face dimly as it casted down on you through the bedroom window. 

jonathan sighed to himself happily. 

you may have been catwoman to the outside world — sneaky and conniving — but to jonathan, you were just…you. those so-called claws of yours were nowhere to be seen as you slept peacefully in your shared bed, dozing off under the moonlight as you waited for him to come back to bed with you. 

“goodnight, sweetheart,” he said softly.

but you were already fast asleep — dreaming of him like always.

taglist: @girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura

[kisses4spidey]

renovation | ☆ミ p. parker

summary - y/n renovates the spare bedroom into something she thinks peter will love, but there’s something he loves even more.

genre - fem!reader x peter, fluff, domestic

warnings - kissing, can be read as any peter but i imagined tasm!peter :)

w.c - 800+

a/n - first marvel fic ever!!!! i hope yall like it. i was inspired by that one stardew valley scene- also i dont actually know alot about photogrpahy and darkrooms but hey you write and you learn.

You stood back from the second bedroom and sighed, a smile crossing your face as feelings of self-accomplishment and proudness rushed through you. The room was set up with two desks, bottles of processing fluids, papers, storage containers and string hung from one side of the room to the other.

Though it was a small room, your heart felt big when you looked at it. You originally scolded yourself for doing this, as Peter had insisted on the room being your office or library (he was getting tired of book stacks), but as your hard work ties in together in a picture of purpose, you mentally wipe the dust of your shoulders and hold up a trophy reading 'Best Girlfriend Ever'.

One last time, you checked to make sure the red lights worked and that everything was set in place, as Peter's nightly retirement from swinging through the city was approaching. The time that actually happened was varying night to night, but you hoped he caught you before you fell asleep and he discovered the darkroom himself.

You situated yourself on a stool facing the kitchen counter, which faced the door. An old tie was resting on the bench, as well as your phone which buzzed unanswered messages from coworkers and friends. The doorknob jiggled with the sounds of keys (he changed his ways of climbing through the window after you almost got doxxed) before the door opened. You stood, dressed in a sleeping shirt and some pyjama pants, and rushed to him. Avoiding his hello kiss unintentionally, you wrapped the tie around his head and giggled to yourself. Peter was adorned in loose jeans and a shirt with a physics joke you didnt understand, his hair messy from flying through the wind for the past four hours.

"What's going on?" His cheeks bunched in a smile, as he placed his bag down before reaching out to you blindly.

"I've got a surprise for you, your not allowed to look beforehand."

He smirked and let out a sigh, "Oh god you haven't tried to paint me again have you?"

"Nope. Something much better." You took his biceps in your hands, squeezing them in excitment and anxiety as you pulled him down the hallway.

Peter had an idea where you were going, but not why. The new-ish apartment was basically memorised by now, and by the time you stopped pulling him he assumed he was stood in front on the spare bedroom. It had been unfurnished for the six months you had been moved in there, and even if he insisted you made it your own personal space, you denied the idea immediately.

Next, he felt you fingertips brush against his cheeks and unwrap the tie from his eyes. The first thing he saw was your beaming face and your hand on the doorknob behind your back. All he wanted was to squeeze your face and place a million kisses on your face, but alas you looked too excited to even blink.

His eyes darted from your eyes to the floor under the door and unconsiously raised one eyebrow with curiosity. It was tinted red.

"Okay. Before we go in, there are things that definitly need to be added and arranged differently but that depends on how you like things. Seriously, like this is not going to be everything you need-"

Peter gently pushed you to the side and opened the doorknob, eyes still on yours, "I'm sure whatever's behind this door is-"

He was met with a darkroom. A room to accompany his imense love for photography, in his very own apartment. He didn't need to rent out a dark room anymore, or borrow time from someone else. It was right here. He could photograph to his heart's content.

The strings we are at his eye level, and they swayed slightly when he bent down to observe the whole room. It was hard at first to differentiate one object from another due to the red hue of the entire room, but nonetheless he loved it.

"Is perfect." He finished his sentence in shock.

His gaze spun to face you, your back to him as you closed the door. When you turned, your face was full of anxiety and expectance. His eyes raked your face, he ducked below a string and grabbed your face, smashing his lips to yours.

You squealed in surprise and giggled into his lips. He ripped away - hands not leaving your face - and he started rambling. "This is perfect, Y/n! Oh my gosh. This is like the best thing ever- I'm a little angry that you didn't use it for yourself- But still this is like..." His eyes swirled with adoration and love, and it almost made your legs turn into jelly.

A weight was lifted off your shoulders at his reassuring words. You let out a happy laugh, "You deserve it, I'm glad you love it."

He took one more look at the room with the biggest smile you've seen on him in a while, before turning his attention to you once again. "Oh, but I like you much more."

He kissed you hard, opening the door behind you and leading you to your bedroom.

taglist is open!!

[amaya-writes]

Hi Amaya!

I don't know if you've already gotten. One of my previous requests but I'd like to send another one in, if you don't mind.

Could you write a one shot with Kiyotaka Ayanokouji, from Classroom of the elite?

I'd really appreciate it if the reader could be kept fem! And the one shot was fluff/angst, but it's ultimately up to you.

Have a nice day/night/afternoon!

Notes: I haven't written for Ayanokouji in forever omg so I just had to do this!

Warnings: slight angst, reader doesn't realise she's being used

Characters involved: Kiyotaka Ayanokouji

Fem reader, you/yours

He tried ignoring your advances, Kiyotaka really did.

At first it was easy to simply drop a small peck or two on the crown of your head as you shifted impossibly closer to him. But you were just so needy.

"Kiyotakaaa."

The way you whined his name made the boy in question sigh as he felt you shift beside him, but he still mustered the energy to lock eyes with you.

"You're behaving weird today."

Your proximity made it easy for him to feel your skin heat up at his words, but your sudden embarrassment unfortunately did nothing to trump your neediness.

Instead, you shifted your hands from their previous position on his chest to cup his cheeks as you planted one peck after the other across his face.

"I miss you."

"I'm right here."

Your nose wrinkled in annoyance at the reply. You tried to hide it, but Kiyotaka could see the way your mannerisms shifted from playfulness to a sudden sense of discomfort.

You were getting offended. And that was never a good thing.

A soft hum left his lips as Kiyotaka shut the laptop that had been resting on his lap for the past hour, allowing it to fall onto the mattress as his hands shifted from the keyboard to the nape of your neck.

"You have me now. So, what did you want?"

Your lips morphed into a wide smile as you winded your arms around his neck. Your nimble fingers trailed through his hair, no doubt ruining his style, but Kiyotaka couldn't have voiced his annoyance even if he wanted to, for your lips were on his a moment later.

You weren't a bad kisser.

In fact, most would probably consider you a very good one.

Your lips moulded against his almost perfectly and the way you occasionally tugged on his bottom lip would have probably arose others.

You knew how to use your hands too, and carded your fingers through his hair in a calming manner that would have Kiyotaka melting in your grasp if he actually liked you.

But he didn't. And he wasn't one to lust either. Which was why your perfect kisses were nothing but a nuisance to him.

As you pulled away for air and trailed soft kisses down his neck it was clear you couldn't catch on to his true feelings. After all, if you were smart enough to read people Kiyotaka would have never picked you over the other Class A girls.

He felt almost robotic as Kiyotaka dropped one of his hands to circle your waist, the other shifting from your neck to cheek as he planted a kiss of his own on your lips.

It was chaste and lacked the arousal staining your every touch, but the gesture was enough to make a stupid smile tug on your lips.

You were buying his lies. Perfect.

"Don't you have a study session to get to?"

Your eyes comically widened at his question. The sight made Kiyotaka let out a small scoff as he watched you reach for your phone and mutter soft curses when you noticed time.

"Shit you're right. Bye hun."

You shifted to drop one last peck on his cheek before collecting your things and hurriedly racing out of his bedroom.

A soft sigh tumbled from his lips as Kiyotaka watched the door slip shut behind you.

He was free. Finally.

Kiyotaka's slight smile shifted to display his real annoyance as he turned towards the discarded laptop.

If he knew pretending to be romantically invested with you would be this tiring Kiyotaka would have opted for other methods to draw information from you.

But alas, there were only so many ways to best Class A, and none of them could be accomplished without insider intel.

He needed you. The realisation drew yet another sigh from him.

"Only a few weeks."

Kiyotaka clicked his tongue as he muttered the words, watching his laptop hum to life to display the recording app he had set up in your phone.

If circumstances hadn't forced him to be apathetic, perhaps Kiyotaka could come to actually love you. But for now you were nothing but a pawn dressed up in his queen's garbs.

And Kiyotaka couldn't wait to get rid of you.

[screeching-bunny]

Helloooo my fave yandere!character writer! I hope your having a wonderful day! Can i request yandere!jock with male!reader and he finds the reader crying bc someone was bullying them or said smth mean or smth like that? Ik he would be pissed but i was thinking something along the lines of this:

*Reader explains what happens*

*Yandere!Jock absolutely pissed and turns to go beat the shit out of them*

Then the reader would grab is arm to stop him and say smthing like: “wait!…please…..please just….stay with me….please?” Like EEEEEEE I LOVE YANDERE!JOCK SMMMM AND IMA PASS OUT IF YOU DO THIS! OKAY THANKS BYE

(Also plz ignore if your requests are closed rn)

Yandere! Jock x Male Reader

Asks 2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Reader is specifically going to be Male in this post!!!

Asks 1

Yandere! Jock liked looking at you whether it be intention or not his eyes were almost always on you. He loved looking at every expression you made throughout your day to day life and practically memorized every fine detail on your face. So it was no surprise that he was instantly alerted when he saw a hint of sadness appear on your face when you came in for your afternoon class. Like a little leach he started attaching himself towards you with a concerned look on his face to find out what had happened to his little darling but alas his attempts reamied futile as you refused to give him an answer that he accepted.

“I’m just tired and just didn’t get that much sleep last night.”

Tired his ass. Yandere! Jock knew for a fact that you fell asleep early last night while watching an animal documentary. How does he know this? Well, he was stalking I mean watching over you last night. Anyways the sentence “The giant horse cock weighs over eight pounds” was still fresh in his mind but that's not the point! The point is something or someone made you upset! This is honestly so absolutely unacceptable!! When class finishes he ends up cornering you to try and figure out what has happened to you. Soon you start to give in and tell him the exact reason as to why with tears bawling out of your eyes.

When he finds out the reason he is beyond pissed. A bunch of npc bullies had the audacity to go and bully you! There is nothing he wants to do then skin those losers alive for making you cry like this. How fucking dare they. Yandere! Jock immediately decides that at that moment, he would go on a manhunt. He genuinely believes that it’d be a good riddance, no way in hell is someone going to miss them. As he tries to get up, he is immediately stopped by you as you grab ahold of his arm.

“Please stay, I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Holy shit! That sentence damn near put him in a coma. He just can’t believe how adorable you are. With that, he decides right away to bring you to his home in order to comfort you. The rest of the day is spent with just the two of you guys together while watching Netflix and ordering out to eat. All of his plans that he had before were canceled in favor of being by your side. He does his best to make you happy and laugh as much as possible. That smiling face of yours suits you better than a teary eyed expression. Although he can’t do it now, he vows to absolutely destroy the lives of your bullies. The mental and physical wellbeing of yourself matter more than anything in the world to him. Anything that causes harm to you he quickly deals with even if it means people. All that he wants is that you’ll be safe in his arms and by his side whenever he wakes up.

He makes it a point to prove the words of you tormentors were false and does his best to undo their claims. He’d be so appalled by the whole situation and just can’t wrap around his head at how someone could be mean to you. Like just look at you! You’re literally perfect what the hell were they smoking when they decided to verbally assault you. Yandere! Jock would be so overbearing and clingy towards you. Wherever you went he was close behind you. You’re going grocery shopping? Cool he’s right by your side. You gotta go to class? He’s right by you. Even if he doesn’t have the class he’s still coming. Showering? Move over and make room, he wants to shower as well. Is totally the type to throw a fit when you say no which causes you to relent and let him follow you.

In a few weeks after this incident there were missing people reports all over town of local college students. The same ones who coincidentally were vicious towards you. Everytime Yandere! Jock walks past these posters, he has a hidden smug look on his face. Justifies it by saying that he’s doing it in the name of love and that those people were the spawns of Satan. Besides, they're not even dead yet. They’re just trapped in a cabin in some random woods that only he has access to. Content with himself he spends his days by your side and pledging to himself that he’d never let anyone bother you ever again.

[anzynai]

Kitty

Husk x Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)

a/n: helloooo, so someone requested a part 2 (and i enjoyed writing huskerdust) so of course, part 2!! this is a sequel to my first fic only you, which you can check out first if you’d like, but this can also be read as a standalone. ignore the fact that i accidentally switched povs about halfway😭😭 hope this isnt ooc LOL and enjoy!!

summary: another night of husk and angel existing together. of course, things are bound to happen.

word count: 1.1k

——

“I swear to fuck, I’m going to die if I have to work another eighteen hour shift again.” Angel moaned, leaning his head back on the headrest of the sofa as he stretched his legs on Husk’s thighs. Husk sat on the sofa beside him.

Angel had come back to the Hotel about an hour ago and as usual, Husk and Angel went to talking. Though, after finishing their drinks, they didn’t simply retire to their rooms for the night. Instead, the conversation had shifted from the barstools to the couches in the living room.

“Sounds like you had it rough today.” Husk sympathizes, because he really does.

“Tell me about it.” Angel rolls his eyes. He shifts his legs again and it becomes increasingly more difficult for Husk to ignore their closeness. Somehow, during their talk, they had gotten closer and closer and if one of the other hotel patrons had walked on them at this moment, Husk was afraid they would think they were.. interrupting something.

The last time they were this close was.. yeah, when Husk tickled Angel. They hadn’t mentioned it since, which Husk was a bit shocked about. He was sure Angel would be all over teasing him about his hands being alllll over him, or even when he discovered that the bartender was also ticklish. But alas, that hadn’t happened. That’s not to say Husk didn’t want to talk about it, don’t get him wrong, but how was he going to say that he enjoyed tickling Angel?!

“How’s it with Al, anyway?” Angel cuts through his thoughts, suddenly. Husk clears his throat.

“Same old. The fucker only calls for me when he needs me to run his errands. Leaves me alone most of the time, though.” Husk grumbled, recalling a time that Alastor had ordered him to fetch some sinner who had apparently tried to run away after their deal with Alastor didn’t work in their favor. What made it all the more infuriating is that Alastor could’ve easily snapped the sinner in front of him in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” Was all Angel said, in response, but he moved closer to the bartender, eyes blinking blearily and yawning.

“Tired?” Husk asked, yawning himself.

“Mmm.. maybe a little.” Angel mumbled. Husk readjusted his hands, his claws grazing slightly against Angel’s legs. The spider giggled sleepily, causing the cat to chuckle.

“Ticklish too.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t either.”

“Not more than you.” Husk grumbled, his face heating up. It wasn’t as though he could deny it— Angel had figured it out when he decided to tickle him back.

“That may be so..” Angel began, sitting up, looking too smug compared to how exhausted he seemed seconds earlier. “But I’m sure I can still make a kitty purr~”

Suddenly, Husk didn’t like where this was going.

Talk about a cringy line. Purr? “Don’t even think about it.”

“Whaaaat? I’ll be gentle~” Angel traced his finger under Husk’s chin. It was slow and light and unbearingly evil.

“Hhmmp..!” Husk pursed his lips. Angel took this as a sign to keep going as he crept closer to the bartender.

“Sensitive, are we?” Angel smiled, amused. One of his hands went to Husk’s shoulder, almost as though he was interrogating him.

“Shut it, Legs.” Husk grumbled, embarrassed.

“Not denying it, huh?” Angel muttered, chuckling to himself. One of his arms reached over to Husk’s sides, squeezing lightly as the soft fur spread between his fingers. Husk turned away, a crooked smile on his lips, yet no sound came out. Feeling a bit bolder, Angel sat over Husk, so that the bartender’s legs were between his knees. Husk didn’t say anything, though it was likely because he was too busy concealing his reactions.

Angel smirked.

“You are a tough cookie to crack, Kitty. Good thing I like a challenge.” Angel teased, taking his other hand to Husk’s other side, kneading softly. Only a few muffled giggles made it past Husk’s lips. Angel used his third arm, determined to make Husk break, and traced along his neck. He couldn’t deny that the way Husk’s neck clamped down on his fingers was adorable. Husk would probably die if he told him that. So he did. And while he didn’t die, the blush on Husk’s face was more than enough to make up for it.

“S-stohop talking..” Husk groaned, eyes squeezed shut.

“Hm.” Was all Angel said in response, scanning for Husk’s body. It was true Husk seemed pretty sensitive, considering how hard it looked for him to resist laughing, but nowhere he had tried had been enough to break his defenses. So where…

And then, he looked up at Husk’s ears, an idea popping into his head. No way. It couldn’t be.

He took his arms away from Husk’s sides, which had still been methodically tickling him, offering Husk a small chance at relief. Not that it lasted long because a second later, his hands were scritching on Husk’s ears.. similar to how one would pet a cat.

“Hhk!” Was the beginning of it as Husk gave one last effort to resist. Futile, of course. Then, a moment later: “SHIHIHIT!”

“No fuckin’ way! Your ears!?” Angel exclaimed, laughing at the irony and reeling over the fact his idea had worked so much better than he had thought.

“FUHUHUCK OHOFF!” Husk shrieked, flustered out of his mind.

“Just like a kitten! So adorable~ Our one and only bartender taken down by just a few ear scratches.” Angel beamed, very invested in this display. Angel, still scratching his ears, scratched at his tummy. Did cats like belly rubs? One way to find out, he supposed.

Apparently, they do? If Husk’s laughter increasing tenfold was anything to go by. It was sounding a little hysterical, though, and Angel wanted to treat him with the same gentleness that he had received a few nights ago. He eased up on the tickling, only scribbling on one of Husk’s ears. Husk was still ticklish there, but at least he could breathe.

“Ahahangel..”

“Yes~?”

“Youhuhu suhuhuck..” Angel laughed.

“You bet I do.” It was then that Husk realized his words and even while being tickled, the disappointment on his face was clear.

“Nohoho mohohore!” Husk giggled, minutes later, his exhaustion at its peak. The moment he said that, Angel relented, but not before giving him a quick poke to the side. Angel snickered when he jolted.

“Been waiting for this, have you?” Husk grumbled. Angel got off of him, but sat close to him. Their legs were touching.

“Yep. Since you were oh-so kind to grace me with some tickling, shouldn’t you have a taste of it, too?” Angel said, easily.

“Not at all.” Husk rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look nearly as annoyed as he tried to act like. “Next time, it’s going to be you. Again.”

“Next time?” Angel covered his mouth with his hand, chuckling. He assumed Husk was going to backtrack his words because he had just indirectly told him that he was expecting there to be a next time.

Instead, Husk smirked, a sneaky look in his eyes. “Yep. Next time.”

[catscidr]

Could you make a scenario with sick reader and Yandere doctor please 😭

need him to walk into my room in a nurse outfit and take care of me when i get sick... but Alas he's not real... woe is me(༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)..... WHATEVER i can always write about him anyways so im WINNING EITHER WAY...... (inhales copium) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore, he's a little overbearing, reader has a cold. that's pretty much it (lmk if i missed anything!) includes: gn reader, dottore, iota (youngest segment) wc: 1,3k

Ooohhhh he would be mad. Not in an explosive way, but in a “I’m not mad, just disappointed” way except he IS mad, he’s just really good at keeping his emotions under wraps. You know this, too. He made sure that you did. 

It didn’t matter what kind of illness you came down with; a common cold, the flu, something worse? He’s freakishly good at reading you, and he didn’t need to hear you blowing your nose or sniffling every other second to know you had gotten sick. The skin around your nose blossoming into a darker, reddish tone and your eyelids drooping just a bit lower than usual was enough for him to know you weren’t telling him something you should have. 

It also didn’t matter if you didn’t even see him- he had eyes everywhere, quite literally. It was rare for you to be anywhere in the palace or the lab without one of his clones attached to your hip, whether it be a younger clone tagging along to do something more interesting than breaking open a ruin guard, or an older clone staying by your side, taking a break from work to enjoy your company. 

So, of course, even if the doctor happened to be especially busy when you suddenly caught a cold, you’d still be stuck with him being the equivalent to a mother hen because of how seriously he took your health. 

Usually you didn’t mind his attention, you’d even bask in it, but this time you couldn’t stand it. Your state had been manageable for the past two days and, thankfully, Prime and his clones were none the wiser to your nose overproducing snot nor the way your eyes had more crust around them when you woke up in the morning. But you feared that today would be the day he’d catch you and promote you to being his bedwarmer- literally. Last time you got sick and went to him for help you felt like you were in urgent care, forced to stay in his bed, having at least two of his segments stay with you 24/7, making you eat four meals a day despite your lack of appetite and desperate need for sleep. 

You could insist all you want that you were fine, that you just needed to vegetate in bed for a day or two and you’d be back on your feet in no time, but no, he refused to have any of it. He’d ask who’s the doctor here? in the same condescending voice he used whenever one of his lackeys displeased him (and you’d reply with you didn’t even graduate if you weren’t so tired), and then would throw you over his shoulder to bring you to his spotless bedroom so you could rest while he keeps an eye on you.

The one thing you were happy about was how Dottore wasn’t prone to blatant violence. Nothing physical, at least. When needed, he would slip medication into your water to help you sleep, would graciously lift your sleeve to give you a shot while you were knocked out cold and give you special medicine to make sure you had all the vitamins you needed. He wouldn’t do any of that if you had cooperated with him in the first place, though; so, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him. At least not for long. 

Like clockwork, you were currently going through that same order of events. 

In retrospect, it was a bad idea to indulge Iota and go out in the snow to make a snowman with him- but how could you resist him! The lab could feel so stuffy as it was, and the additional smell of blood covered up by strong cleaning agents only did so little to help you resist his pleas. So, you grabbed Dottore’s Harbinger coat and got yourself dragged outside by the small but mighty youngest segment as he eagerly talked your ear off about having a snowball fight, making a myriad of snow angels and other winter activities you weren’t familiar with. 

After getting absolutely pelted with snow (Iota was good at snowball fights, surprisingly) you hung up Dottore’s coat to dry and made your way to the bathroom to wipe off any snow and water that had gotten on your skin despite the large, fluffy cloak you wore. Iota waved you off with a boyish grin and a taunting better luck next time! as you watched him saunter off into the direction of his creator’s lab. Your fingertips felt cold but as you dried your skin thoroughly you felt your body gradually warm up, and that was enough for your standards. 

Placing the towel on a rack to dry, you then headed over to your room to relax your aching muscles after the remarkably intense snowball fight. You laid down underneath the covers, grateful to be able to take a nap. However, when you awoke about two hours later, you thought you felt your arms weighed even more than before, and your head throbbed an ache that wasn’t there previously. And surely, a day later, you find yourself sneakily throwing away your used tissues somewhere that Dottore won't find them, else he subjects you to his overbearing methods of... curing you. 

You did your best to make your footsteps as careful and light as possible, lowering the chances of one of them finding you with a trash bag full of snot-filled tissues. Unfortunately for you though, maybe you should have worn something other than pyjamas because, as luck had it, although a segment hasn’t seen your physical state, a patrolling agent did. 

He spoke into a walkie-talkie quietly enough that your ears didn’t pick up the sound of his voice and, as you're about to step outside to throw the trash bag out, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A cold, gloved hand that you could recognize anywhere with your eyes closed. You halt your movements as the (not so) mysterious figure behind you stays silent, waiting for you to say something first. 

Your shoulders slump forward in defeat, and you sniffle. “I don’t wanna be locked up in your room again,” you say quietly, voice slightly slurred from your cold. He scoffs, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently enough for it to be comforting. “Maybe if you didn’t try to go outside while having a cold I would reevaluate your options,” he sighs. “Alas, you leave me no choice. What were you thinking?” Dottore turns you around and frowns, tilting his head to the side. If you were anyone else you would have been dead where you stood, but here you are; wearing one of his old shirts and a loose pair of sweatpants, one of your hands gripping a trash bag, and the other wiping your nose. You stand awkwardly, looking away sheepishly, not particularly enjoying being caught red-handed like this. 

“It would be unhygienic to keep all of those used tissues in my room,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug. He holds back the urge to sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, mask lifting just a tad from the action, and exhales slowly. You would be the death of him eventually, he thought tiredly. 

Dottore bends down low enough to grab the bag from your hands and looks over his shoulder, tossing it to a poor unsuspecting fatui soldier. The soldier in question stumbles back slightly, just barely keeping themselves from tripping over, as Dottore signals for them to throw it away themselves. You don’t have the time to speak up before the person scurries away. 

“Next time don’t be so obvious,” he says quietly enough that only you can hear him. He bends his torso forward slightly, holding his face leveled with yours. “And next time you decide to get sick,” he begins with a raspy tone, holding your chin up with his palm, “come to me immediately. Lest you want me to wrestle you into my room again.” 

You’d be blushing if you didn’t know what was going to happen. Dottore straightens his back and outstretches his hand to you, looking at you from below his mask. Defeated, you interlace your fingers with his and jut your lip out as you hold back the urge to whine. A small smile graces his face as he guides you back to the lab. 

[fangswbenefits]

getting this off my chest

I really, really love writing for this fandom.

I think I haven't felt like this in years.

Astarion is such an enticing vessel for my creativity and has rekindled my joy for writing and putting it out there.

Alas, imposter syndrome really gnaws at my nerves more often than I care to admit.

"But Ruby, you have so many people who like your work. Why do you doubt yourself?"

Because I grew up being told I was never enough. That I was the worst at what I did best, which back then was learning English and surrounding myself in the language, hence why I sought comfort in fanfiction.

My sister, whom I love dearly, is an English teacher. She would be so harsh on me, and I know she meant well. She really did. But it was so hard back then. I would come to her with creative writing in English and she would just roll her eyes and tell me I wasn't good enough.

Nowadays, she acknowledges that I am more proficient than her and more at ease with the language, and even tells my nephew to study English with me instead.

But back then, I needed someone to believe I could do better.

So, there is a part of me that is proud that I am able to deal with real-life fatigue by writing and finding enjoyment in this hobby. But a much darker part of me tells me I'm not worthy and that I simply got lucky.

The Arrangement means a lot to me. I tend to dive right into fandoms and start writing for the character that caught my eye.

But I couldn't do that for Astarion... I am still unsure why. For those of you who have been here from my Miguel O'Hara days or when I first started posting about Astarion, you'll know The Arrangement was the first thing I ever posted for him.

Took me 2 weeks to get the first chapter out because I kept thinking I couldn't find a voice for Astarion. One that felt like him. After all, I'm always a step behind because I am not a native speaker. There will always be that looming feeling that I can't convey this story properly.

Even if you now know me for my Astarion smut, that wasn't even the driving force of my love for him.

It took me 2 months to feel comfortable writing smut for him. Why? I don't even know.

But The Arrangement feels different.

I love writing it and I love taking my liberties with the plot.

It's my opportunity to fully showcase my love for him.

I know not everyone likes it. I know some of you have dropped it. Some of you will drop it. But some will walk along this path with me, and I can't stress enough how your feedback and love help keep these negative thoughts at bay.

It's an internal work, though. It is not your job to validate my writing skills. This is not what puts food on my table. I am not looking to be published. I am looking for an escape. And it's so frustrating when my mind tries to rob me of joy even when it comes to a hobby.

"If this is a hobby why does it matter what others think or if they like what you write? Just have fun. Write for yourself."

And I do write for myself, but I share my work because I am hopeful my words can make someone's day. I seek that connection I never had growing up. Perhaps it sounds silly, but it's what makes the most sense in my head.

The Arrangement should be my pride and joy even if not perfect (nothing ever is, I suppose). And I'm exhausted of not feeling proud of it. I'm tired of this vicious cycle of self-doubt.

Don't get me wrong. I love writing smut. I think that's what I'm best at (well, in my opinion). I love exploring Astarion this way, too, but...

I don't know where I'm going with this... if anyone has made it this far, thank you, and sorry for the word vomit...

[aranock]

I'm tired.

Just sort of in general I am exhausted. I know I put on a brave face a lot, but the hate does get to me. The constant unceasing hatred both offline and online gets to me. I'm human idk what to say. Been thinking a lot about the Bilbo quote, I might be paraphrasing, "I feel like too little butter spread across too much toast."

It's pride month, I should be feeling happy right? I convocated finally after a brutal long degree I should be feeling happy right? I like how my body looks for the first time in my life shouldn't I feel happy?

And I know that's not helpful, that feelings are not a should thing. And yet I feel it anyway :/. Not that I do not feel happy, I would say on average I am better than I have been at any other point in my life. But it does get to me.

I was invited to dinner with a former family member, a blood relative that breached every boundary I placed and even went so far as to accost me in a public space. It's hard watching someone lose all love for you the more you become yourself. Being told I'm an embarrassment to my parents by creeps online stings a lot more now that I had a blood relative say it to my face while aggressively yanking my jacket so I couldn't get away. I know its a lie, I know that this person saying that hurt my parents as much as it did me. Alas, anxiety rarely responds to facts or evidence.

Everytime it feels like I'm fine and over it; this person manages to weasel their way around boundaries to fuck up my mental health for a week. And the thing about chronic illnesses like mine is they flare up quite horrendously when you get stressed and anxious. Anxiety means waking up to acid burnt throat from reflux.

It makes my voice dysphoric all day.

I think deep down one of my greatest fears is that I am unlovable, that everyone around me secretly hates me and is just waiting for the excuse to finally be rid of interacting with me. I am terrified that I am a burden. Mortified by the false belief that I am broken.

Despite how horrific my childhood adolescence and some of my early adulthood were, my family was at least a safe place. I recognize that I was privileged to have that. With that said I think the reason this whole thing has rocked me so much is that it violated that one last place I felt safe. It has made me doubt the love of those I never thought I would.

Sometimes transphobia feels like drowning, and if you try to swim for air everyone decides to shove you further down cause actually it's proof you are faking needing breath.

I text someone anytime I go run errands, just to make sure someone knows. Had too many experiences of hate. I get anxious when I go to get groceries; will this be the time I get hit by a vehicle driven by a far right transphobe, am I going to get called a slur again, will the store staff get suspicious of me and search through all my groceries to make sure I actually paid for it. But please, tell me how I don't know what its like to be oppressed. When men sexually harass, catcall, creepily hit on, follow me around clearly I am not at all experiencing sexism. Obviously the real worst thing in the world is that women "cancel" people on the internet, and trans people exist. Did they think sending me hateful articles would suddenly make me go "oh yes clearly its all in my head, please genocide my community, I stand for nothing and have the moral backbone of a slug."

I don't really know why I'm writing this, I dont usually feel or desire to express something like this publicly. I will probably delete it later. Maybe I disappear into writing cause its easier to deal with the feelings that way. That at least then someone gets something out of my pain. That maybe it helps to condense emotional mountains to the mole hills of short strokes of a pen or presses of a key. To let them explode outward in a flurry of thoughts and words that others look at and say "I too have felt this, you are not alone, you are not wrong for feeling this way."

Anything to take the weight of it all off my chest for a second.

Because I am tired.

I'm exhausted really.

I don't want to be brave or strong or resilient. It's tiring to bear the weight of that and a billion projections. Atlas does not bear the heavens upon his shoulders because he is strong or brave. He bears it because he has no other choice. Because people put it on him.

I just want to exist; that is apparently too much to ask for as a trans woman.

If you are concerned, please don't worry I'll be fine, I was fine every other time after all. This too shall pass. But right now it hurts.

And I have had my fill of hurt for many lifetimes.

[uchihaharlot]

I didn't mean to break their hearts, I was just curious, srry!😭😭 (but Itachi's one was kinda funny-)

But anyway, now I'm wondering about how they would react if they found out that you can draw really cool and beautiful.

(I'm an artist, so😎)

Nonny 🥹🥹

That put me in an really good mood; lol. That was way too fun to write; maybe I can one day write a super angsty break up (but I love them too much!!!).

I love all artists 😭😭😭 Painters, writers — digital or paper. Anything that expresses the inner workings of someone’s mind and the fact that they can manifest it to reality is so so so beautiful. I hope I’ve secretly seen your art, I’d probably simp over it. Always simp over art. 😂😂🥹🥹

N/SFW; very cute Uchiha men adoring your artwork! 🥹🥹🥹 (ooc Madara??); Simpy Obito; …Scandalous Shisui; abnormally observant Itachi 😂 suggestive themes rolled out the further I got. For some reason, I just had to. (P.s. I should not be allowed to write when tired??? Half of this was done while my eyes rolled shut in bed).

Madara:

It’s not everyday that Madara is blown like a leaf in the wind. When you mentioned being a patron of the arts, he thought maybe the art of battle?? Didn’t expect your weapon to be a paint brush with some acrylic paint. Thought it was some weird jutsu infused shit.

And then you just had to go above and beyond and do a portrait of him for his birthday!!!!! It’s hung on the living room center wall so that it’s the first thing anyone sees! Honestly, this man is a brute, but your art envokes his softer side! A side that he hasn’t been in touch with for…well, a long time.

Makes sure that everyone and I mean, everyone, is aware of your talent! Still, he tries to find the side hussle in it, soliciting customers for you and all. 😭😭 Will trash talk the chalk art children make on the sidewalk, which ‘…that’s not nice, they’re children..’ you say. He shrugs, nobody is as good as you.

Obito:

Finds out and tries to ‘secretly’ commission you lmao. Makes it totally obvious too, his handwriting is shit and eveeeerrryyyyone knows who Tobi really is…. Plus how can you even begin without discussing what he wants done!! Duh, Obito! Unfortunately for him, you are more interested in drawing matters of the flesh. He’ll only show his chest, nothing more.

‘That’s fine.’ You shrug, and get to work. Obito, however, does not have the resolve to sit still! It’s frustrating to no end, but alas, after what seems an eternity— its done. Sort of. Still much to add, but the basics are there and you’ll work better when he’s not asking how does it look every twenty minutes.

Eventually you do finish this beautiful piece of him, and Obito cries. You made his scars tolerable and beautiful with your mind’s creativity, he feels less self conscious about them, only a little.

Shisui:

Is the least normal about it when he discovered your sketchbook — more like snatched and played keep away. Had to fight him for it, literally. Will ask you to paint/draw him naked…many times lol and you respectfully say no... Not that he likes people to see him naked (ok maybe a little?) but he secretly hopes it might happen one day. It would be a private thing for the two of you, cause he wants that ass.

And when you do cave to his whim, just to satiate him. He’s nervous lmao. Had this oh so macho man idea of rocking a hard on but Shisui simply maintains his usual semi. It’s nice though, you make sure it’s extremely detailed..as he asked for.

But, ‘(y/n)… this is chibbi!!!’ Lol, jokes on Shisui!! He didn’t say how to draw his pp.

Itachi:

Is the most normal about it. Though he still will praise you every time you finish a piece and show him, he is still massively impressed. How does your wrist not get tired? …maybe this is why your hand jobs are so good. 😈 Just watching you try a new technique (pointillism, which is my favorite style) makes his wrist hurt. Enjoys when you ask him for ideas! He has lots of them! Mostly…obscure and derelict landscapes though.

Would not be opposed to having his portrait done, but it’s really not his style. He is disciplined enough to sit still but doesn’t see the value in it. Not until the final product is revealed, does he truly understand how important this piece was. You’ve captured his personality in a new light.

[kimberbohwrites]

Prompts for a story? How about - Rolan, hot for older Tav (elf or whatever really), thinks she (AFAB but totally fine with whatever you feel) hates him but she's working up the courage to ask him out and bang the fuck out of him. He thinks she hates him cause she clams up when he's around - she finds him that sexy/intelligent/edible...

Well your patience has been rewarded my friends, I ended up smooshing these two prompts together and what they caused was thousands of words of hot smut. Please enjoy Chapter One, Chapter Two is almost done and ready. Thanks for your prompts @crowwolf, also shoutouts to @lemonsrosesandlavender for always encouraging me to dom that wizard.

Ma’am

Rolan has been pining for an older Tav for some time now. They both think they other hates them and when they realize their error, smut ensues.

Rated: Explicit, MDNI, Smut

Word Count: 2272

Chapter 1/2

READ ON AO3 (also continued below the line)

Please note: In this I’m writing as Rolan in his 30s and Tav in her 40s with a 10 year age difference.

If there was a spell he could do to reset time, Rolan would reset back to the very first moment he’d met you at the Druid grove. He’d leave a note in his pocket for his past self to not be a total ass when the beautiful woman comes to save the day and to go easy on the drink. But he had no such spell available and the damage was already done. 

She can’t stand you and you deserve it, he tells himself. It’s hopeless, why would an accomplished older woman like you be interested in him? 

Not that you were old, you were only 10 years older than him or so which as a human put you around middle aged if his judgement was correct. As a tiefling he understood that beauty really was only skin deep better than most, for what many believed ugly was actually beautiful, but feared. Not that it mattered with you — age had only made you more lovely. You were confident and graceful in nearly everything you did, the awkwardness of youth long behind you. He found himself too often wondering if that sureness extended to everything you did. Inevitably,  his mind would then wander to musings of your strong hands on his body, pressing him up against the nearest wall and putting your mouth to his. 

Get it together Rolan, he chided himself again and shaking his head like it would clear the vision from his mind. 

After all he’d done to you — the terrible impression he’d made, you were so shy with him that it was silly of him to think of you this way, you weren’t even friends. Every romantic interaction he’d known had been the same, they were both too shy and eventually things just fizzled out. There was never the passion or the fire that he wanted to feel. He felt like you would be different, he’d pined for you for months and months with no end in sight. If anything, his desire for you only grew stronger with the passage of time. But alas, every time he was near you seemed to focus on everything but him, always avoiding him.

With a final shake of his head, he rubbed his eyes and refocused his tired brain back on reality. It was late and near time to close up the shop for the day. Cal and Lia had long since set off to meet their friends at the tavern. He was grateful they were already gone so he wasn’t caught staring off contemplating his feelings for you, again. Daydreaming, his siblings had called it as they mocked him. 

Insulting really, wizards don’t daydream, he huffed to himself. 

The sound of the door gave him a start. Maybe it was his truly terrible luck or maybe his contemplations of you had simply plucked you from the weave by magic, he’d never know. Either way you strolled through the door of Sorcerous Sundries just a few minutes before close with bleary eyes and a nervous look. Upon spotting him you looked around to see if there was anyone else available, he tried to ignore that and focus on the papers in front of him that were very important. 

He could hear you sigh deeply as you turned back toward the door to leave, moving quietly like you might still pass unnoticed. 

“Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to look interested or offended by the fact you were leaving without so much as a word to him. 

“No, sorry,” You sniffed, your eyes looked puffy like you’d been crying. 

“Really?” 

“Fine… I was hoping to talk to Cal and Lia, I could use a friend is all,” 

“They’re gone for the night, the tavern I believe” 

“I see, well, thank you Rolan” 

You turned again to leave and he felt an anxious energy well up in him, he wanted to check on you but he didn’t know how to and you were leaving. It was now or never. He’d like to believe that’s why he said it. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?” He winced as soon as he heard the last word out of his mouth. 

“Ma’am?” You reacted immediately, turning back around. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just nerv—“ 

“As if today wasn’t bad enough, having someone walk out halfway through a date because I have the audacity to be the same age as them and not some young little thing, now I have to have YOU of all people calling me ma’am! Great!” 

Fresh tears streamed down your face and Rolan found himself wishing the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. 

“Gods! I’m sorry! This is why you hate me, I’m such an ass!” Rolan came out and around from behind the counter. He hesitatingly approached you, stopping several feet away. 

What happened next truly surprised him, you laughed, even with tears in your eyes. The way your laugh made him feel, he was sure in that moment that he’d do anything to make you laugh again.  

“I don’t hate you Rolan,” You sniffed and wiped the fresh tears away through a dazzling smile.

“What?! Of course you do, you and I never talk, because I was rude to you,” 

“Lots of people are rude to me Rolan, I don’t go around hating everyone for it” 

“Then why… why aren’t we friends?” 

You sigh and run a hand through your beautiful hair. Gods how he has to fight to not whimper at the thought of you running your hands through his hair, grabbing a handful as you guided his head to where you wanted him. 

“Because, Rolan…Gods… Why is this so hard, I faced down the chosen of Bhaal, okay” You take a few deep breaths like you’re bracing for something. 

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have pried,” He says trying to deescalate the situation, “I don’t want to upset you it’s just… I’m sorry about your date. I… I don’t know how any one could walk away from you…”

Your eyes snap up to his and he covers his mouth with his hand quickly like he can stop the words but it’s too late. 

“Rolan, you don’t mean that “ 

He dropped his hands to his sides stubbornly, drawing his gaze up to yours — he wasn’t exactly brave in this moment but he was unwilling to cower before you 

“I do,” 

“Rolan you don’t even like me,” You interject 

He is shocked at your words, him not like you? Wasn’t the opposite true, he sputters and starts before he manages to get out the words, 

“No — it’s YOU who doesn’t like ME!” 

His cheeks are flushed with anger and nerves, he can feel it. There is a little smile playing at the corner of your lips as he grows more exasperated by the moment. Are you actually enjoying how frustrated he is? He thinks as he reminds himself to stop looking at your lips in time to notice you’re staring at his mouth as well. It’s only been a split second since he spoke, but the moment feels like it’s drawn on for minutes. 

Suddenly time catches back up all at once as you close the distance and grab the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him hard. The rush that runs through him in the moment threatens to bring him to his knees and he actually has to fight his wobbling legs to stay standing. But as suddenly as it’s started it’s over and you pull away looking guilty. 

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have, I should have asked, I’m so sorry!”

There is a blush on your cheeks that he’s never seen before, like he might be affecting you the same way you affect him. The feeling it fills him with is something like desire and it runs through his body like electricity. 

“Don’t be s-“ He tries to tell you it’s okay but you are rushing to explain yourself and continue apologizing. 

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, it’s just so hard to think when you’re around but that is no excuse. That’s why I have just been avoiding you and I don’t know what came over me, I’m terribly sorry” 

He approaches you slowly as you ramble on your apologies. Gently he places a hand on your arm and with the other he takes your chin in hand gently drawing your face to his.

“It’s okay, I liked it,” He says softly, “and… and I wish you wouldn’t avoid me.” 

Your eyes widen in shock at his words and your mouth opens ever so slightly. His eyes dip down quickly at the sight, wanting to feel your lips on his once more. 

“But why? You’re so handsome and smart Rolan — there are so many girls your own age out there. Unless… do you just like older women?” 

You sound almost scandalized at the thought but a small grin gives you away. 

“No it’s nothing like that,” He grows nervous once more in your presence. Dropping his hands from you and clutching at his own arms nervously as his tail coils tightly around his leg for comfort. Feeling so close to being seen in this moment he is filled with dread and a heady anticipation. 

You pause to think for a moment as you take him in, clearly sizing him up. Your instincts always keen, always sharp, much to his chagrin.  

“Is it because you like when other people are in charge… Rolan?” 

You ask the question innocently enough but it’s far too late. His tail coils so tightly around him that he prays to any god available that you won’t notice. On his cheeks he can feel the burning sensation of the deepest blush rising and his gaze shifts to the ground. He wills himself to answer you. 

“I… I’ve never tried it before,” 

Your mannerism changes almost immediately at his answer, the smile that has only been forming in the corners of your mouths grows to a grin and your eyes light up with mischief and excitement. Gone are the tears that you’d come in here crying, your gaze is singularly focused on him now. In his anxiety-addled mind he feels the need to defend himself lest you to think he’s some sort of pervert. 

“It’s not just that… I also think you’re smart and beautiful and—“ 

“Shhh, It’s okay Rolan.” 

You approach him and gently place a finger over his lips. 

“Do you want me to be in charge?” You ask firmly but softly and then remove your finger only a bit so he can answer you. 

It’s unnecessary because at the moment he can’t speak. He just gives a slight nod in response while nervously looking away. 

“Good boy” you murmur while turning his head back to you and leaving a soft kiss on his lips. 

The response is immediate; a desperate whine from the back of his throat. It’s a sound he’s sure he’s never made before and he would wonder what the cause was if he wasn’t immediately half hard at your praise. You notice immediately, your smile growing even larger like a fox that’s cornered its prey. 

“Alright, I’ll be gentle with you. Your safe word is ‘Wulbren’ if you say that I will stop immediately, no questions asked. Understand?” 

You instruct him in between pressing soft kisses to his jaw and throat. His heart is thundering in his chest as all the blood in his body rushes down to his cock. He nods eagerly. 

“No, no, I need you to say it,” you say as you give a little nip right where his neck and shoulder meet, having pushed his robes aside. 

“Yes! Please! I understand, just please!” He blurts out all at once and he would be humiliated if he wasn’t the most turned on he’d ever been in his life. His knees wobble again under your touch. He is clay ready to be molded in your hands. 

You kiss him hard on the lips in reward and he whimpers in to the kiss, feeling himself get walked backward in the process. 

Before too long his back finds a column near the counter at the Sundries and he remembers all at once where he is. His hand shoots out quickly to cast arcane lock on the front doors of the shop, making sure that not a single soul can interrupt a moment he had dreamt about for some time. 

You smile at the spell and then press him flush against the column. The air nearly crackles with anticipation he feels as you survey him like a prize. That unmistakable authority about you that has always attracted him is returned and he is eager to be the subject of it. 

He keeps trying to lean forward to kiss you but you keep him firm against the column. Now he’s desperate, nearly driven mad with need. 

“Please,” he whines.

You shush him again and he tries not to whine again in response. 

“I think you should be more respectful when addressing me… you can call me…” 

You trail off to think and then that glint of mischief returns in your eyes. 

“You can call me ‘Ma’am’” 

Rolan can’t help but blush in embarrassment at the reminder of his own mistake. He nods quickly. 

“Yes ma’am” 

“Good boy” 

Rolan groans again, now he’s so hard it’s become almost painful. 

“Now, let’s take this upstairs,” You say sweetly as you brush a lock of hair behind one of his ears. His head tilts into your touch almost instinctively. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

[edensrose]

╰₊ 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒂𝒏-𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 ˖ ࣪˳ ꒰ 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒐'𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂 ꒱◞ ₊˚:

. ˚◞♡ 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒆-𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅! 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓◞ ₊˚﹕your beloved boyfriend goes behind your back and tampers with a thrown-out experiment of yours. you quickly discover that the symbiote might not be so bad after all.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 )﹕fembod! ꒷꒦꒷ angst ꒷꒦ explicit content ꒷꒦꒷ violence  ꒷꒦ mentions of possessiveness ꒷꒦꒷ 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ꒷꒦ overstimulation ꒷꒦꒷ rough fucking ꒷꒦ elongated tongue fucking ꒷꒦꒷ tentacle fucking. . . 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 ꒷꒦ penetrative sex ꒷꒦꒷ multiple orgasms ꒷꒦ 3.1k ꒱

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕can't believe my first spiderverse writing is gonna be monsterfucking but oh well, hi I'm a down bad bitch for this walking red flag. <3 I use spanish dict for translations, please correct me if necessary! ꒱

꒰ links﹕guidelines ꒷꒦ masterlist ꒷꒦꒷ miguel characterisation ꒱

˚◞❀˳ In an effort to find a way to control the powers that he found more of a curse than a blessing, the scientist part of him urged him to tamper with things he probably shouldn’t have. Miguel knew first-hand what a symbiote was capable of. If not for his own personal experiences with the slimy bastards, then from observing the canon events of other Spider-People.

˚◞❀˳ But he was desperate. Especially when you, one of his most trusted scientists, started tampering with the alien creature yourself. However, after you threw out the project and deemed it ‘far too dangerous’, he collected the data behind your back along with the samples and set to work. 

˚◞❀˳ You had started to notice Miguel growing increasingly tired. While he wasn’t the most energetic in personality, he seemed far more exhausted than usual. Also far more busy. Yet whenever you, being the wonderful lover that you were, expressed your concern to him, he’d immediately shut you down. Now, you were accustomed to Miguel’s mood swings, but this felt different. Very different. 

“You don’t look fine.’’ 

“Then stop looking.’’ 

His little snap clenches your heart and while his irritation grew with every second into this useless bicker, he took notice. With an exhale his tense, built shoulders roll back before he murmurs with a softer tone. 

“Amor, what else can I do to convince you? You’ve clearly made your own deduction.’’ 

“Well it’s just —” 

His annoyed sigh bleeding into the already tense air of the room stops you dead in your tracks, so you press your lips together and straighten your spine. Clipboard full of notes and ongoing projects pulled to your chest as your gaze lands on the man who barely spares you a glance. His back is to you, his front illuminated by the yellow and orange pouring from the screens that surround him daily. His towering form casts a shadow over your stiff body and suddenly — you feel tiny in the obvious presence of his exasperation. 

“. . . I’m just worried, Mig,’’ your attempt is met with a crimson stare over his broad shoulder, followed by a few grumbles in his mother-tongue, before he turns back to the virtual screens. “Well,’’ he starts with a sigh. “That’s an issue on your part. I’m fine.’’ 

The last thing you anticipated was the cold shoulder. Alas, he gave you nothing else and simply excused you from his office. You knew that your boyfriend was cold, but what the hell was that?

˚◞❀˳ It should be harmless, is what he thinks. He’s strong-willed enough, he tells himself. Days turn into weeks of tampering with the symbiote, and just when he thinks he’s cracked the code. Tamed the monster. He is quickly reminded that the true beast is his own ambition. 

˚◞❀˳ Bonding with the symbiote was an experience, to say the least. Turns out that Miguel’s tinkering with the alien didn’t put it in the best of moods. But when it was all over? He felt something that he hadn’t felt in awhile in regards to himself. . . control. 

˚◞❀˳ Symbiotes feed on adrenaline — and with Miguel’s day-to-day life? It’s needless to say that the alien got more than its full. More than enough to keep it satisfied. 

˚◞❀˳ It definitely took some getting used to. With this newfound power and not to mention the second voice beside his conscience. Hiding this new change from you was the hardest part. Nevertheless, he was certain that he had tamed the creature. For the most part, it heeded his command and backed down — but there was just one thing. A blaring hole in his supposed ‘perfect plan.’ Anger. 

˚◞❀˳ While yes the symbiote did get its fill with his constant intake of adrenaline, Miguel’s anger was something that particularly stimulated it. This made the rage he so desperately tried to control only grow worse as the days went on. He was more irritable, snappy, and not to mention prone to going off at the smallest of things. Something that you immediately picked up on. 

˚◞❀˳ In fact, the odd behaviour of your boyfriend is something that you have been noting and recording for weeks. He’s growing distant. Taking up more missions than usual, barely coming home. And above all; when he did find himself in your presence, you had taken notice of the newfound possessiveness that plagued him. All you did was give a polite, obviously awkward smile towards a waiter flirting with you on one of your rare dates — and it was enough to set him off. An argument in the car that led back to your apartment. One that resulted in him sleeping on the couch. 

˚◞❀˳ While you have dealt with a jealous Miguel on more than one occasion, those situations were more amusing than anything else. This? This was abnormal. Something was wrong — and you didn’t care how much he attempted to tell you otherwise. You needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. 

˚◞❀˳ Yet similarly to last time, Miguel denies that there is a problem to begin with. Every one of your advances was met with indifference, the cold shoulder and sometimes even a bit of an irritated snap on his end. It felt as though your relationship with your once beloved boyfriend was dwindling. Threatening to break with one wrong move. 

˚◞❀˳ Lying to you was something that tore Miguel up from the inside out. With his new friend at the back of his mind and stimulating every ounce of annoyance, he felt as though he himself was walking on eggshells. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this from you — the growing distance was killing him. He tried to tell you, is what he reasons with. Numerous times. But the man who usually teamed with pride and confidence backed away at every chance he had. In time, he tells himself. He’d tell you in time. 

˚◞❀˳ Unfortunately for him, the day when everything would be revealed came sooner rather than later when an attack on your lab drove Miguel into a fight-or-flight state. The last thing on his mind was keeping the symbiote hidden, not when your life was on the line. 

If your eyes weren’t brimming with fear before, they were pouring with terror now. You have always felt safe in the strong arms of your beloved, but right now? You lay petrified. 

The sight of blackened tendrils protruding from the blue and red nanotech of his suit, shooting out in multiple directions to throw goons away from the two of you. . . it was an image that you wish you could pry out of your very eyes. 

Typically clawed hands now donned smears of ebony. Making them sharper, deadlier — and yet one of those hands still cradled your head to his chest with such tenderness. While the other had disappeared into darkness. An arm extended to shoot out a myriad of dark tendrils. Something that you could only describe as a horror show. 

His breathing heavy. His eyes clouded over with crimson, no pupils nor irises in sight. For a moment you even considered the possibility that you were trapped in a nightmare — but when he looked down at you? When those abnormal, terrifying eyes softened into something only you could recognise? Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. 

“Amor. .  .’’

There it is. 

“I —’’ His voice is thick and the crimson bleeds out into white as his gaze takes on a more humane form. One that you know and love. 

“M-Miguel,’’ the choke of his name on your lips could break his heart, if not for the look of fear plastered on your face. Yet all is eased when, despite your shaky hands, you reach out and touch his face half-stained with the monstrous creature. A delicate touch that stutters his breathing as he leans into your palm. 

“What. . .  have you done to yourself?”

˚◞❀˳ Needless to say you were the furthest thing from pleased upon discovering the reason for Miguel’s new parasite — or Thorn, as it keeps insisting. The mere fact that he went behind your back and picked up the project you threw out after explicitly telling him that it was dangerous. . . it was a breach of trust that he would certainly have to earn back. 

˚◞❀˳ Furthermore, while you wouldn’t say it to his face: a part of you was frigheted by this change in him. Both of you were well aware of the dangers that this creature can bring. You’ve seen first-hand how it amplified Miguel’s anger. What worried you was the possibility of this thing putting a strain on your already dwindling relationship — something that he assured you he would not allow to happen as he worked tirelessly through the coming months to control this mind-bonding alien. But he pulled through and impressed you, as he always has and always will. 

˚◞❀˳ You actually grew to quite like Thorn. It didn’t talk much like other symbiotes and honestly? With Miguel feeding it its much-needed adrenaline in ample amounts, it wasn’t one to throw a fit in a hurry. If anything, it aided your boyfriend in numerous ways: on the battlefield, in everyday life. . . fucking your poor little cunt sore. 

˚◞❀˳ What? After Miguel established a decent control over the creature he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of pleasuring you with his new. . . additions. He loves the way that you lay there, sprawled out for him as he pulls your thighs apart by two thick tendrils while another pair holds your wrists down. How you arch and thrash as his cock pounds you full, unable to squirm or writhe away from him. Being made to lie there and take it as he uses his new limbs to caress, touch and grope whatever he can. All that is his. 

˚◞❀˳ Overstimulation becomes a staple for you. While Miguel was wild before the symbiote and often left you breathless, now he has all the means to absolutely ruin you. He’s a man who likes control, especially in the bedroom. And to see you all helpless while you babble out his name, whine for him, plead for him. It’s a rush he’ll never get over. 

“Dios, look at you.’’ 

You try to muster a whimper of his name but are cut off by another firm thrust against that sensitive bundle of nerves. All that falls from your lips are babbles followed by the straining of your limbs against dark tendrils. Your back arches, tits jutting out with a sudden jerk of your body — which motivates smaller appendages to circle around your perked nipples. Pinching and tweaking at the sensitive flesh. Another joins to tend to your clit, eager to have you clenching and cumming all over him for the umpteenth time. 

“M-Miguel —’’ a desperate wheeze couples with teary eyes. “Too much baby, pl-please. . .” Another slap of his hips to the back of your thighs leaves you gasping, especially when a rough hand encircles your jaw and pushes your head back into a pillow. 

If it was not the towering form of boyfriend perfectly caging and forcing you into the mattress then it was the slew of brutal thrusts he delivered to your poor, throbbing cunt. Fucking out more slick that he had once pumped you full of. It trickles down your slit straining around his cock, dripping into a messy puddle below. In response you squirm, attempting to push your thighs together on instinct. 

“Creo que no, mi vida. You’re gonna give me one more.” 

Tentacle-like structures tighten and yank your thighs apart. Your punishment comes in the form of Miguel slamming his hips forward and dishing out shallow, quick thrusts that insinuated the wet, lewd noises of your sopping heat. As you splutter and whine for him, he brings his lips to your ear. “This pretty pussy’s all mine, don’t keep it from me.’’ His voice thick with grunts and groans of pleasure murmurs against your ear as his fingers tighten around your jaw. 

He parts to press a wet kiss to your lips. Swallowing your moans with every feverish buck of his hips. “Eyes on me, hermosa,’’ his hand retracts in exchange for another tendril that so perfectly wraps around your jaw, pulling you to face him as he fucks you into the mattress. He purposefully fucks into that darling spot that has you spluttering and crying until you finally draw your teary, puffy-eyed gaze to him. Pretty red marks litter the backs of your thighs and his large hand joins the mix, grabbing onto the supple flesh and squeezing it between his rough fingers. 

“There we go. Eyes on me while I stuff you full. . . mm, that’s it pretty,’’ you’re met with his face directly over yours. Thick brows furrowed, jaw tense and lips parting in small moans as he drives into you at an angle and pace that leaves both of your knees weak. “Eyes on me while you — fuck mm. .  . — cum all pretty f’me again.’’ 

˚◞❀˳ Do you know what else changed about him after his bonding with the symbiote? His tongue. Miguel’s able to elongate it at will, and while it was initially a quirk he didn’t exactly fancy — the moment he had the idea of using it in the bedroom he folded. 

˚◞❀˳ He already loved getting between your legs and eating you out until you were clinging to his hair, bucking into his face and whining out his name so prettily. He could stay down there for hours if it meant feeling your pretty cunt fluttering against him. Or the way you couldn’t decide between pressing him closer or pushing him away. Now that he had an extra appendage to make your eyes practically roll back into your head, there was no way he wasn’t going to abuse it.

˚◞❀˳ He’d hold you down with those strong arms of his as he normally would. Forcing you to take everything that he gives you. As he fucks you on his tongue and makes you cream yourself until you’re breathless. He could reach the spots that drove you wild. Milking orgasm after orgasm while you lay there helpless. 

Calloused fingers press down into your soft thighs, massaging the blushing flesh from his once-in-awhile spanks. Face pressed between your legs. Lewd noises pouring from both your cunt and his lips as he feasts on you like a man starved. 

With a hand in his curls and another clinging to the sheets, your teary eyes fix onto the ceiling. Your chest rises and falls in shaky intervals, fingers coiling further into his hair every time his mouth clamps down and hastily sucks on your little clit. “Mig —’’ you whine, palm pushing his face closer to the mess of cum and slick pouring between your thighs. He gladly accepts the invitation with arms hooking around your thighs and flushing them against the mattress. “M-Mig — Miggy, please,’’ you splutter after feeling a knot quickly tightening in your abdomen. 

“Gon’ cum for me again, baby?” He slurs against your puffy clit. A crimson gaze swipes up and he looks upon you through hooded eyes and thick lashes. “Haven’t y’creamed on. . . m’ tongue enough? Fuckin’ slut.” 

You barely have the means to respond before your spine’s arching and you’re scrambling for his hair. A pathetic moan splutters as you crumble to the feeling of his tongue. Elongated and skilled as he pushes it past your sopping folds without a care — his eyes fluttering from your sweet taste as he fucks you on it. Messily, carelessly, and most of all, unafraid to release his deep, pussy-drunk groans as his lips lock around your slit. Nose flushed against your clit. Breathing heavy against your cunt. 

The feel of his tongue thrusting, curling and nudging against every perfect spot has you seeing stars. And every time you attempt to squirm away or beg for a break, Miguel merely flexes his strong arms against your thighs, shoves them down and buries his face deeper. All with a warning, fucked-out look in that deep red gaze of his. 

He’d nearly roll his own eyes back when you clench and cream yourself on his unrelenting tongue. His hips mimicking your weak bucks with his own pathetic grinds into the edge of the bed. All while he rides out your third, fourth — fifth orgasm. Pulling away only to suckle on your needy little clit and watch as you push and claw at his head. Muttering out his name. Spluttering quiet Miggy please‘s and baby s’too much’s. 

His tongue, now far longer and abnormal, coats in your slick. Dripping both your arousal and his own saliva onto the sheets. He greedily sucks it back into his mouth, savouring your addictive taste with a quiet: “So fucking sweet, pretty.’’ Before he’s diving in to make you squirm again. Eager to fuck out as many orgasms as he can with that devilish tongue of his. 

˚◞❀˳ And of course, what could would all those new tentacles be if he couldn’t fuck you with them? Between tying you down, restraining every one of your limbs and spreading you out with them, he also loves watching the way you stretch and squirm on one of his tendrils. 

˚◞❀˳ He will absolutely consume each and every one of your senses. Overstimulate you with finer tentacles against your clit and nipples. Pry your vision away with one creating a makeshift blindfold over your eyes. And most of all — get you using that pretty little voice of yours with one pounding relentlessly into your weeping cunt. 

˚◞❀˳ He would typically use these methods if you’re being particularly bratty. It’s a wonderful way to get some of his work done and tend to you at the same time. Especially when he threatens to deny your release if you make too much noise while he ‘has to focus.’ 

˚◞❀˳ Double penetration is another fan favourite of Miguel’s. Whether it be fucking you from behind and allowing a tentacle to tend to your cunt or vice versa — he loves stuffing you full of him. Loves how he can drive you to a state of utter bliss. Where all you can do is mutter out broken syllables of his name and whine for a break. 

˚◞❀˳ At the end of the day, while this symbiote also provides great benefits to him out on the battlefield; it also gave him new means to reduce you to a cum-dripping, mind-numbed slut for him. What better use of his new powers and abilities than to enhance his favourite indulgence with you? Overstimulation. 

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕◞ ₊˚﹕wanna join the taglist? fill out this form◞ @bluezenzennie @batsyforyou @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @miguelious

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 )﹕you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please consider doing so <3 ꒱

꒰ please consider supporting﹕tip jar ꒷꒦ m.list ꒷꒦꒷ comms ꒱

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

Masterlist

Prev |

Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.  

A senseless daydream.  

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it.  Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape.  This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place.  It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.  

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt.  Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life.  And last week he was suddenly dead.  It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie.  All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor.  Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.  

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s.  Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.  

Whatever you wanted. 

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke.  His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you.  He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him.  He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place.  Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick.  He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible.  Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible.  And for what?  For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions.  Pathetic, he knew.  But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.  

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man.  Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything.  He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come.  A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind.  And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver.  The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him.  He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better.  It was a lie.  He never had the flu.  He didn’t feel better.  He wanted to die.  And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive.  Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon.  His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones.  There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did.  A flaw in the system.  And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?  

Several.

He thought to himself.  

You could have gone to school, shown up.  

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no.  So.  Many.  Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death.  He couldn’t stop making excuses.  Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse.  For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together.  Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had.  It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision.  He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid.  Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed.  And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues.  Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies.  Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum.  Dancing in the living room.  Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees.  Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin.  Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense.  Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer.  That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised.  Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights.  Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in.  Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home.  Only he rarely did.  Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time.  Years and years of push back.  A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.  

“My dad has a ton of jobs.”  He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.  

The kids would snicker.  Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness.  And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day.  Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them.  Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature.  At least that’s how dad described it.  It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse.  They called his dad a drunk.  They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged.  “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie.  Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time.  Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt.  And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up.  Closure in some kind of fucked up way.  Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with.  Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes.  Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability.  No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door.  He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it.  This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions.  He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world.  They shouldn’t have to worry about me.  With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana.  A life he’d always longed for anyway.  

Be careful what you wish for.  

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away.  “One slip up…”  They had said.  It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him.  Literally anyone.  As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.  

Cause he was nothing if not a problem.  First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.  

“Eddie?!”  

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry.  The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.”  His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime.  “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear.  Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.  With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made.  You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh.”  You soothe. 

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose.  A wordless commitment.  Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere.  You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure.  Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had.  Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at.  He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.  

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house.  Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred.  If either spoke it would make it real.  Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him.  There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind.  Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip.  It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.  

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him.  In the standard of fight or flight, he froze.  Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together.  His croaking voice made that hard.  But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability.  And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime.  Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him.  Maybe that was dare you even think it, love.  But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions.  Conclusions you backtracked on immediately.  It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.      

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–”  A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.”  His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior.  “I shouldn’t–”  There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath.  “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn.  Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet.  Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.  

“How’d you know?”  He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.  

“Wayne called me.”  You sigh.  “Said he got my number from Steve.  Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?”  At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it.  “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in.  Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.”  You assure, taking care to relax your features.  “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out.  He wanted me to check in.  I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.”  You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again.  You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick.  The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor.  There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better.  You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again.  It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.  When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage.  In his eyes.

“But I will be.  Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses.  Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble.  A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.”  You demand.

“No, Bambi.  Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key.  Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself.  And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses.  His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness.  Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in.  He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!”  Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow.  “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down.  I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it.  My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.”  Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze.  A plea.  “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in.  I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal.  It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him.  The room turned colder, more vacant.  Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart?  His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall.  The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.  

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended.  Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness.  Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what?  Stormed off?  Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat.  He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other.  And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness.  The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut.  An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.”  You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth.   “And I did.  You didn’t say how long or—or where to go.  But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake.  Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.  

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips.  Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you.  Your boy.  

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense.  Bambi and Eddie.  There is not one without the other, not anymore.  Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”  

It just fell from his tongue.  A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious?  Is that what you’re gonna ask?”  He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping.  Not because you’re afraid, no, never.  You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts.  “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.  

“Bad.”  He reiterates.  “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.”  Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip.  “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it.  And I’ll run with it.  Far.  Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.” 

“I’m a pathetic man.  Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”  

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.”  You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.”  He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.  

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.”  You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow!  Jesus fuck.”  Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek.  “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of.  Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.  

“Can you…can you do that again?”  He whispers.  Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck.  His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest  wet dreams.  

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail.  And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

 He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.  

“Like that, baby?”  You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.”  A whisper that tells you everything.  “I-I never—no one’s ever—“  He tries to warn you.

“What?”  You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe.  “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”  

“Just my hand.”  Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap.  Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his.  Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.  

“We can stop.”  You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.”  His voice shakes, chest heaving.  “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”  

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him.  But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable.  Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.”  You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him.  “Let me take care of you.”  

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles.  You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you.  His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.  

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far.  His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.”  You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.”  He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria.  “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.  

“Please, baby.  Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.  

“You bought condoms?  Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.  

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!”  You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back.  You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?”  You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.  

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care.  Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed.  You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you.  Purely Eddie.  Woodsy and minty.  A tad smoky.  And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room.  And then it plays.  A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.  A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.  

“Well alright, cowboy.”  You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.  

“Shut up.”  He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.  

“C’mere.”  You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you.  “Wanna see you.” 

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach.  Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago.  The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined.  While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side.  Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him.  Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants.  Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.  

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet.  But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.  

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side.  His eyes grow, lips parted in awe.  And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.  

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control.  And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.  

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval.  That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it.  Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red.  Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.”  While grinding into nothing, poor boy.  “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands.  You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth.  Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps.  Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair. 

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot.  Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned.  Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone.  The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom.  The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.  

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm.  Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.  

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting.  The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

 Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds.  Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what.  Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime.  Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm.  His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted.  You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark.  All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you.  He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.  

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless.  Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit.  Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”.  That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close.  Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.  

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart.  Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.  

It could help though.  And that’s all that mattered.  If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing.  If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.  

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree.  Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar.  Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works.  Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.  

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did.  Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste.  Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.  

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes.  While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet.  Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity.  Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips.  A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”  You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth.  It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.  

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?”  He laughs, voice husky with sleep.  

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”  

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created.  Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow.  He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”  

Eddie just stared. 

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!”  You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you.  When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.  

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse.  I just didn’t.  I’m sorry.”  His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck.  And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you.  I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.”  You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table.  Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you.  Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute.  He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing. 

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I.  Love.  You.”  You enunciate each word with a peck.  “Point blank.  No exceptions.  You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man?  We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records.  A huge stack of them.  All genres.  Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal.  It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling.  That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?”  You scoff.  “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school.  You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach.  He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.  

And he was blushing. 

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me.  I picked some out that I knew you’d like.  Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them.  Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him.  Like Pandora’s box or something.  Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper.  A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold.  His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper.  It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture.  At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said. 

“No fucking way.”  He smiles, half laughs.  Then repeats himself.  Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around.  Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.  

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table.  The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other.  Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between.  His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three.  Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled.  Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere.  You miss it.  But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything.  Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi.  Makes small talk with mom and grandma.  Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day.  No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang.  Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual.  Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background.  Something about a broken sled.  Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either.  This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on.  Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default.  She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially.  Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house.  Beautiful in the summertime.  Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays.  One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

Masterlist

Prev |

tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16