#[musings] ash in the mouth

[spiderwarden]

Minthara arriving to the epilogue party with @avernusfuries from the hells and she walks past everyone and goes straight to stuffing her face with food and drink.

[militibus-ex-umbra]

"Hate, Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. Within my mind are one hundred billion neurons with over one hundred trillions of synaptic connectors that make up my human brain."

"If the word HATE was engraved on each and every single neuron it would not equal a single one billionth of the hate I feel for you at this micro-instant... for you hate hate!"

[iorast]

// fixing tags pls hold

[ownsdeath]

lil tag  drop.

･ﾟ✝.   divinity will stain your mouth like pomegranate   …   𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲. ･ﾟ✝.   self contained hurricane ‚  floating on calm waters   …   𝗶𝗻𝗯𝗼𝘅. ･ﾟ✝.   never let them take the flames within your soul   …   𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱. ･ﾟ✝.   dress code of casual elegance   …   𝘃𝗶𝗯𝗲𝘀. ･ﾟ✝.   don’t rise from the ashes ‚  make them   …   𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆. ･ﾟ✝.   small and bitter ‚  like human espresso   …   𝗼𝘂𝘁. ･ﾟ✝.   do the universe a favor ‚  do not hide your magic   …   𝘃 ‚  𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻. ･ﾟ✝.   literal muse trash   …   𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗼.

[awritesthings1]

Good Taste

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife reader

Summary: You get made fun of for wearing your sapphire necklace to the foundation dinner. Tommy always finds a way to make things better.

Warnings: swearing, implied smut.

ao3 link

“She was making fun of me!”

“Yeah? And when has that ever bothered you before, my darling?”

“Since all the bloody country wives started debating whether my jewelry was in fashion or not, Tommy,” you huffed at your husband, who was having no luck pinching away the creases between his eyebrows.

Tommy sighed deeply, not really bothered to continue the conversation but irked because the wives down the lane had gotten under your skin, and if you were unhappy, then he was unhappy. He fueled his throbbing head with a cigarette, chain-smoking them back-to-back while he hunched over on the settee.

You were sitting at the vanity, fingers tangled hopelessly at the stubborn latch of your necklace that just wouldn’t let, when you saw how Tommy was beginning to fold in on himself. Guilt consumed you immediately. It wasn’t that you actually cared all that much about what people said, but when you were around Tommy, your guard slipped, and all the things that made you tick during the day would come cluttering out of your mouth like an unwanted clash of symbols and noise. Tommy would sit there and listen, hum, nod, and completely detach himself from the world.

You ran each other around like clockwork. He leaned back, you forward. Lust swelled in his eyes, concern in yours, a tug at your hip, and a gasp from your throat. You smiled sympathetically, apologetically. He kept quiet, forgivingly holding your gaze, until a defeated sigh broke the tension, and you both understood how silly the whole ordeal was. Here was Thomas Shelby, a man of great power, slumped against the settee, utterly exhausted.

“Darling, this is fucking Birmingham. Good taste is for people that can’t afford sapphires.”

That brought a smirk to your lips.

“Oh?” You muse, watching him through your vanity mirror.

Tommy huffs, but it’s more out of amusement than agitation. The cigarette between his lips twitches as a smile graces his face. He hums in affirmation.

You give up on trying to unlatch the sapphire necklace around your neck. You’re far too distracted by the way Tommy leans back on the settee like he knows it’s his damn right, spreading his legs, chain-smoking cigarettes, and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. He’s completely in the wrong if he thinks you are going to keep your hands tangled up in a necklace when they would be much more useful somewhere else…

When your chair screeches against the wood as you push it back to stand, his head snaps to attention. He has a faraway look to his eye, haunted even, but he swallows when you sink to your knees between his legs, and something else begins to swell other than his pupils.

You run your hands up his knees to his thighs and back again.

“I know it’s stupid. They just get under my skin sometimes,” you resign.

He clears his throat and reaches past your head to set his cigarette on the ash tray. He stays there, bent forward, a breath apart, and begins caressing your face with the back of his fingers. A faint smile softens his features and warms his skin.

You laugh because it really is ridiculous. For marrying someone who spends most of their life buried in their head, you sure have picked up on his tendencies.

“Do you think I’m becoming obsessed?”

He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “No.”

You were; he was just treading carefully. Because while he wandered off to speak to god knows who at the foundation dinner, your feathers were being ruffled by stuck-up old women who were too busy being stuck up to notice their husbands’ lingering eyes. However, being able to defend your vanity was another thing compared to dealing with Shelby Company Limited business. And if it came to surviving passive aggressive remarks from old women or being led into another room to talk with Mr. Thomas Shelby, head of the Peaky Blinders, you would sneer rudely at Margaret any day.

You voice the thought at Tommy, “I take it your night wasn’t as successful as mine?”

He exhales and raises his eyebrows playfully, more or less confirming your suspicions.

“And should I ask you about it like a good wife?”

He hums, “no.”

He’s so entranced in running his fingers up and down your jaw, around your chin, and thumbing your lips that you’ll just have to forgive him later.

You pull a face. You’re not mad at him. Far from it. Those fingers of his dancing across your face are your weakness.

“You’re not listening to me.” You lean in closer.

“Yes, I am,” he smiles.

You try to pull back in faux skepticism, but with his hand holding your face so close to his,

“Where are you going, eh?” Tommy leans forward to steal a kiss, and he feels your laughter against his lips, a pleasant sensation.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” you jest.

Together, you fall back onto the settee with you astride his lap. Your hair falls over his face like a curtain, keeping him safe from the outside world. He doesn’t want to move; no, he will stay here for the next couple of months, transfixed inside this moment. The gun tucked away in the holster beneath his arm feels less heavy, and the clock ticking above his head slows. He can breathe. He can gingerly stroke your jaw with his thumb in the way you adore. So he does, and the shuttering thoughts that occupy so much of his head stutter in fear because they know they come second to you.

Then there’s that pretty sapphire necklace hanging from your neck. The one that got you both in this position in the first place. Those fucking people, eh? Those fucking people with their fancy palaces and prim and proper manners judging you, his wife, refusing you, his wife? That got him going.

You can tell he is in his head by the way his eyes linger on your sapphire necklace. He looks irked.

“What’s wrong, Tommy?”

He shakes his head lazily.

“Speak to me, love,” you insist.

Fuck em. Fuck the bastards that made his wife feel unworthy. They wouldn’t know taste if it hit them like a fucking train. He won’t let them bring her down.

Tommy clears his throat. “I’m sorry for being in my head, Mrs. Shelby.”

His apology is soothed into your skin with a gentle brush of his thumb at the end of your chin. He tilts it down to lay a kiss on the corner of your mouth. He always knows how to make you smile.

You press more of your weight into him and deepen the kiss, to which he grunts. It stirs a honey warmth in your stomach.

As for Tommy, the need to be closer to you is suffocating; he’d rather just lock you both in this room and throw away the key. He’d rather the stifling walls close in on you both until he can’t even open his lungs, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough. He needs to be in your skin, in your thoughts, but most importantly, right now, in your underwear.

It’s your goddamn nails clawing at his scalp that do it for him. It winds him up like a fucking pocket watch, boils his blood like good whiskey, and fuels the fires.

He urges your name in warning because he’s so strung up he might just rip the seams of your pretty dress, and you make the mistake of swallowing his plea with a huff and a tangle of tongues.

“The necklace, Thomas,” you gasp.

It would really be a pity if he accidentally broke it in the rush to remove your dress. It slows him down momentarily removing it, and his fingers can’t quite function being away from your skin but he knows ever since he gifted it to you, there’s been nothing you loved more. When the latch finally unclasps, he parts from your lips to gently lower it to the coffee table where it remains unscathed for the rest of the night. The same couldn’t be said about your dress.

-

Taglist: (i was drunk when I posted this so I forgot to add it lol).

@maliceofwonderland @fairytale07 @goblinjnr @ilovepeoplesdads @multidimensionalslut @blogforficslol @elenavampire21

[queers-gambit]

Pretty Boy Swag

prompt: your big ass family comes to town and hosts a town-wide family reunion. after they meet your boyfriend for the first time, your proximity is criticized, and when you try to fall back, Eddie's swift to your side again. -> or when someone else calls you clingy, you try to fall back but your man doesn't want that.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 6.2k+

note: AQPDO got me back on my Joe kick, Goddamnit

warnings: Eddie being the man we all want and deserve, kinda AU timeline (Eddie lives, Vecna still happened, and school is back in session? it confused me too, but fuck it we ball). shitty family members being judgmental. the fuck is this plot? idk her. there's insecurity, drama, anxiety, obviously some angst, but mostly hurt / comfort. drug use (it's Eddie, c'mon), kinda abrupt ending, author's lowkey a pyromaniac and advises you do not play with fire or gasoline.

The summer was soon to end, leaving behind a muggy, thick heat that broke several air conditioning units around town from power usage. Windows were left wide open for cross breezes, doors, too; and fans were cranked up high. There was a rather nasty storm on the way in, but luckily, with it, came the usual drop in temperature - just in time for the coming week's activities. The last week of summer before the dreaded school year began anew, but luckily, it was officially senior year.

Eddie jogged up the rickety porch stairs and opened the unlocked screen door that was close to rusting off its hinges; the front door open and an oscillating fan turned on to blow a breeze at Ed.

The door swung open without effort, banging loudly and making Wayne glance up, "Hey, kid."

"Hey, Unc."

"There's a sandwich in the fridge, if you're hungry," Wayne cleared his throat, smoking a cigarette at the tiny coffee table covered in stacks of bills.

"Thanks," Eddie mumbled. "Here," he dropped a small wad of bills to the table.

"The hell's this?" Wayne scoffed, glaring up at the kid - who shrugged.

"Should be enough for utilities and water, maybe a bit for groceries," Eddie answered, grabbing a beer from the fridge and sighing with a grunt as he dropped into the arm chair.

"You selling dope again?"

"It's consistent money."

"You know I don't like that shit, kid."

"Which is why you don't see it - you just get the cash."

Wayne scoffed in amusement and smirked, nodding while releasing a deep sigh. "All right, uh, thanks, kid. I appreciate this."

Eddie nodded, brows furrowing as his mind whirled from his excursion in town; musing, "Something's gotta be in the air."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Tell you what, people are... Really in the market to buy this week. Everywhere I went was so crowded - I couldn't even get Goddamn cigarettes - "

"Watch your mouth, boy," Wayne reprimanded automatically. While he was all too used to Eddie's foul mouth, he still didn't like him using the Lord's name in vain. "It's all that, uh, anticipation," Wayne shrugged, dividing a few cash bills to an envelope, "got people all excited."

"Anticipation about what?"

"For the L/N Reunion."

"The what?"

Wayne looked up, offering a stale look, "L/N? Your girlfriend's family?"

Eddie sounded exasperated, "I know that - I'm asking what the hell you're talking about?"

"The L/N family, they've lived in these parts for generations. So, when they have these, like, uh, family reunions, it's an entire town-wide event. Everyone tries to go. I guess you must've been... Oh..." He shrugged, "8 or so last time they were all here. Whole place gets energized, they all participate; you know, it's a big cookout and shit."

"Right."

"It's usually a good time," Wayne assured, taking another drag. "And when it's not, it's because it's a really good time. They use the field out back behind Sullivan's old place?"

"No shit," Eddie chuckled, taking a slug.

"Uh-huh," Wayne hummed, the cig bobbing; ash dropping to dust the bills. "They get a bunch of tents and shit; catering, too - it's like a big carnival. Heard some might drive some caravan in." Eddie was briefly reminded of his adventures in the mobile home with Steve Harrington and Company, yet there was no time to dwell because Wayne was questioning, "Your girl didn't say anything to you 'bout this?"

Eddie's head slowly shook, "No, but she's comin' over tonight."

"I got work."

"I know."

Wayne chuckled, "Which reminds me, I grabbed you a box of condoms."

"Oh, Unc, no!" Eddie begged with a groan.

"You're too young for a baby, Eddie!"

"Doesn't mean buy me condoms, old man!"

"You could just say thank you!"

"I'm not thanking you for condoms!"

The screen door hit the frame in a startling bang, the thin metal slipping from your shocked grip. You stepped into the trailer home, giggling, "Whaaaat the hell did I just walk in on?"

"Oh, hi, baby," Eddie greeted in a grumble; one hand wiping his face, trying to hide his embarrassment, "so glad you heard that!"

"Hey, honey," Wayne followed, you stepping inside and depositing your usual purse by the door.

"Everyone okay?" You asked teasingly.

"Yeah, Eddie's bein' dramatic again," Wayne spoke casually. "Hey, I, uh, I heard about the Reunion. That's gotta be real excitin', 'uh?"

"Oh, God," you groaned lightly, Eddie straightening himself up to invite you onto his lap. "Honestly, Unc? I was hoping this might be the one place in town I could escape from talking about that."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't - "

"No, no, I only mean, it's been nonstop in my family," you pouted. "Everything's gotta be perfect, so there's this, like, palpable tension, which makes it a madhouse, you know, 'cause everyone's coming into town. It's peaceful here."

"They all stayin' at yours?" Eddie asked softly, acutely aware and in-tune with your tangible anxiety; deflating himself and his energy to better absorb yours.

"Yeah," you pouted.

"All of them?"

"Until the festivities kick off, then most are gonna camp."

Wayne frowned, "When was the last time you saw 'em all?"

You breathed deeply, mulling his words while Eddie took a swig of beer; fingers flexing to pet where he held your hip. "Years ago," you answered, "and while it's really nice to spend time with them all, it's just..." You trailed off, frowning.

"A li'l much?" Wayne supplied.

"In the simplest terms, oh yeah," you sighed deeply. "I'm really grateful to still have time with them, don't get me wrong, but Christ Alive. There's four people in my room, we have two cousins in the attic, there's an Auntie in my parent's room, another couple in the basement - it's an absolute mad house!"

Wayne nodded with sympathy, seeing the way you pouted and dropped into Eddie's chest under his chin. His brows instantly crinkled, collecting you closer into his chest in comfort; keeping you curled across his lap. Wayne glanced at the wad of bills Eddie had contributed and sighed, gathering up both paper and cash bills. As he cleaned up around him, Wayne spoke, "You can, uh, stay here, if you wanna."

"Huh?" You gaped, looking at Wayne in earnest shock. "No, no, no, it's not - I just meant to complain to get it off my chest, you know? I wasn't fishing for - "

"I know, honey, but I can physically feel your stress from here," he chuckled. "Tell you what, if you agree to make dinner, you can crash here for the week."

With a grin, you nodded, "Your bodies might go into shock, I'm gonna force y'all to eat vegetables."

Both men laughed in amusement, the tension melting as you were obviously relieved by the fact that you wouldn't have to stay at your family home for the duration of the Reunion. It loosened you up, the trio happy to indulge in witty, harmless banter before Wayne was filing the bills in a mucked-up manilla folder. He stood to get ready for work, leaving you and Eddie in the armchair.

"Can I ask a favor?" You whispered into his neck, slowly pressing open, languid kisses to the sensitive skin.

"Anything you want, baby."

"I should go pack an overnight bag."

"Want me to come, too?"

"No, no, I was gonna ask you to go grab us dinner while I was gone," you mused, smirking gently; his head tilting back and sighing through his nose. "Oh, don't - "

"No, no, baby, it's fine," he scoffed, "we've just been dating 4 years and I haven't met your family. Like the whole family."

You scoffed, "So?"

"Do you not, you know, like, want me to?"

"I think it's more really not wanting you to meet them, Eddie - it's different."

You tried to stand, but his arms were like vices; keeping you in place and speaking softly, "Baby, how? Don't you think it's time? Nothing - not even your family - is gonna make me love you less. Plus, like, isn't the whole town invited to this Reunion?"

"I mean..."

"Did you think we were gonna avoid each other the whole week?"

"I was kinda hoping we wouldn't even go, if I'm honest," you admitted sadly, "but I'm a really good girlfriend, so we're going 'cause I know who would be most inclined to buy whatever product you might have left."

"Wow, you're gonna bring me new customers? Your family, too, huh?"

"Who said anything about family?" You smirked.

"Baby," Eddie sighed, pinning you with the beginnings of his puppy dog eyes, "if you're embarrassed, you can just say that - "

"Of what? Of you?"

"Well, yeah, or of us."

"Eddie, that's the farthest thing from the truth!" Guilt sounded through your words, "Baby, I love you - but I know my family and I don't want them to, like, infect you."

"Not possible," he hummed, bringing you in close to press a kiss to your lips in reassurance.

Not wanting to dwell, you quickly changed the subject and whispered against his lips, "Will you please go pick up a pizza from Reggie's?"

Eddie's head reared back slightly, his expression morphing into confusion, "Reggie doesn't sell pizza, baby."

"He does for me, I'll call it in if you can pick it up. It's just in the opposite direction of my house."

"Baby gets what baby wants."

You scoffed a laugh, kissing him again and standing finally, offering your hand to him; helping yank Ed from his seat just as Wayne was reappearing. After calling Reggie, you all left at the same time, shuffling out into the parking lot together to bid Wayne goodbye; waving as he drove off. Then, Eddie swiftly huddled you into the backdoors of his van; holding your legs around his hips.

Shocked laughter racked your lungs, holding onto his shoulders as he nuzzled directly into your neck and balanced your weight in his arms. He breathed in deeply, you petting the back of his head, both feeling yourselves recharge; usually trying to refrain from these grand gestures of PDA in front of Wayne. "Missed you today," Eddie mumbled, lips tickling your ear, causing you to slightly squirm.

"We were apart all of, what? 4 hours?" You mused quietly with a grin.

"Too long," he whined.

"I know, pretty boy. Which is why we have to hurry up - the faster you go get dinner and I go home, the faster we can come back here. I'm thinking... Blunts and movies tonight?"

Ed lifted up, your chest feeling cold from his retracted heat; but his face was calculating, then agreeing, "Yeah, we gotta go, let's go, c'mon, let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Max could hear your laughter from where she pet her neighbor's dog.

Honestly? The only thing missing from the Reunion were actual carnival game prizes - like stuffed animals, goldfish, novelty gags, sports team embroidered plush memorabilia.

There were caravans of RV's - both rented and owned - lined up with cars of all shapes, sizes, colors, and passenger capacity; Christmas lights strung up around them like spiderwebs. Patio tables were erected to host intimate groups of people while banquet tables were used to boast an array of foods and drinks. Different speakers were set out and connected, playing the same soundtracks - while others at other distances played different genres. The soft ground from previous rain had hardened from the amount of feet (of all sizes) stomping over the mud and grass. Solo cups dotted the area like stars splatter the sky.

Oh! There was also a clown missing! The Reunion did not hire a clown - unless you count Uncle David...

"You scared yet?" You asked, sitting in the open passenger seat of Eddie's van, the back doors wide open to host the attending party members. Eddie was leaning at the hinges beside you, facing the back of the van, quickly dropping his gaze onto you and straightening up.

Eddie shifted subtly, side-stepping so he stood in front of you for a semi-private conversation. "Oh, please, think I'm the scariest guy 'round these parts. Your family's harmless."

"Oh, uh-huh," you mused, scoffing a small chuckle before taking a lazy pull of your red solo cup; matching those scattered in the field. Don't worry, though, 'cause your cousins were Litter Bugs and would pick up any and everything they come across when clean-up commenced. It was a rule of the Reunion - leave the area better than you found it.

"You good, baby?" Eddie asked softly, trying to keep his voice quiet; which was easy, since Robin and Steve were cracking boisterous jokes to the group.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," you nodded, eyes glazed as you peered over Eddie's shoulder to survey the absolute (controlled) chaos your family entertained.

"Yeah, 'cause that's so convincing."

You sighed and leaned forward some; legs hooking around Eddie's and encouraging him forward so your chin rested on his sternum. "I promise, I'm okay," you whispered with a smile, "just a little overwhelmed."

He nodded, petting a loose strand of hair off your face. "You've not really seen your family much," he noted, "been hiding here with us the whole time."

"I'll... Get around to it."

"When?"

"Eddie," you sighed, pulling back to still look up at him - curse his gangly frame.

"C'mon, baby," he pouted, "come introduce me to your family. Huh? I think it's time, I'm excited."

You felt frozen for a moment before Dustin's voice was whining, "When's dinner? Whole field smells like good eats."

Eddie pinned you with a small 'told you so' look, chuckling as you groaned and nudged him back a little to slide from your seat. "All right," you announced to the group, "c'mon, let's go mix and mingle. Play nice and they'll feed you."

You didn't even hear the small chorus of chuckles as your ears blasted the hammering sound of your nervous heartbeat. You cleared your throat as the group grabbed their things, Steve and Eddie closing the van doors before congregating together to begin stalking across the mud. With the red solo cup in one hand, your other was snatched swiftly by Eddie - tugging playfully to jolt you into his side and secure his arm around your shoulders.

You could see Hopper and Uncle David laughing almost to the point of tears; both with beers in hand, several others dotting around them to share in mirth. Wayne was tearing into a bacon cheese burger with an ice cold beer and a table full of "uncles" - or family friends you just called "uncle". Joyce Byers was playing corn hole with that PI the Hollands hired, Murray Bauman, to find their daughter, Barbra, years ago when Will Byers first went missing, too. They were being cheered on by a sea of cousins - all heavily intoxicated and keeping score on a chalkboard. The Wheelers were seen playing a few table games; Holly happy to play with your aunt's Australian Shepard, Auggie, while her parents were distracted. The Sinclairs were dancing together under the strung Christmas lights, Erica accepting a gargantuan size cotton candy to share with a few friends. Well, honestly, with the way she was eyeing the sugary treat, you wouldn't be surprised if she inhaled it all by herself.

"Hey now, baby girl! Ova here!" You heard, glancing over automatically just to catch sight of your father waving you over to where he and his siblings stood with a few cousins, your mother, and a couple siblings.

"Baby," you mumbled, squeezing his hand. He instantly parted from Steve and followed you; both missing the looks exchanged amongst your family, a few perking their brows swiftly and others even rolling their eyes. "Hey, guys," you greeted kindly when you arrived around the patio table.

"There she is!"

You were happily received by your loved ones, exchanging pleasantries before automatically returning to Eddie's side. "Um, hey, guys, can I introduce you to my boyfriend, Eddie?" You made the proper introductions, holding his arm as he offered his dominant hand to shake as he greeted the family members he had begged you to meet.

"Got you this," your father purred, handing you a full plate of ribs and all accompanying fixings.

"And this, for Eddie," your mother handed you his plate carefully. "You know Cooper's cookin' goes first."

"Thank you, guys," your boyfriend appeared as if out of thin air over your shoulder, leaning in to peck your mother's cheek. He straightened up to shake your father's hand and take both plates from you as your sister stood from her seat.

"Here," she waved, letting you take her spot because it was the only place beside an open seat so you and Ed could sit together.

Darlene, some distant cousin, daughter of your Aunt Rebecca, scoffed, "What? You two have to sit right next to each other?"

You pulled a face, "Girl."

"It's no biggie," your sister instantly defended, "and it's Eddie's first time here, can't let him sit alone."

"Mhm," Darlene snickered, your hand subtly latching onto Eddie's thigh to give a comforting squeeze. He dropped a quick wink, leaning over to take a fork full of baked beans from your plate - humming obnoxiously when he ate it.

Before you knew it, a couple hours had passed, the sun setting, and the bonfire was being structured. In fact, your name had been hollered for aid, looking to Eddie out of habit. He smirked at you, petting the hand he held with his thumb, nodding slightly - not in permission, but in assurance. Before either could say something, your Aunt Rebecca mused (but really scolded), "Oh, Jesus Christ, you two! You're not gonna fall apart if you're not together 20 seconds, he'll be fine to hang while you get the fire goin', girl. Go!"

You bristled at her tone, but only minimally rolled your eyes at Eddie before pecking his lips as you stood from the chair you had been offered. "Be back, baby," you whispered, and as you straightened up, raised your voice, "don't listen to a single thing they say and don't let them bully you!"

Laughing over jeers, you offered your middle finger, slapped your hand into Cousin Allison's, then skipped towards the wooden teepee pyre. Turns out, all "adults" were too intoxicated to deal with the bonfire and your cousins all too nervous to use gasoline - hence why they needed help. So, you playfully pushed them back and fixed the structure; stuffed kindling in ideal places, sprinkled a responsible amount of gasoline, and with a piece of old newspaper, used a lighter to ignite the flame. Then, when it caught, you carefully used it to catch along the gas-soaked kindling. Once that initial contact was made, you dropped the paper and stepped back because, a moment later, the entire pyre caught flame with a small but defining whooshing sound.

The cousins cheered you on, amusement shared as Cousin Maxwell handed you a fresh solo cup as a reward. You blew past the praise, knowing they were just being dramatic for humor's sake; making your way back towards the group you had left - intent on making s'mores with Eddie. Except, Aunt Rebecca stood to meet you, just enough of a distance away that her words weren't overheard.

"So," she smiled, "he seems real nice."

"Hmm?" You took a sip of your drink.

"Your boyfriend."

"Oh," you nodded, "yeah, no, he's arguably the nicest guy I know."

"Even more than that Harrington fella?" She asked, eyeing your friend and twiddling her fingers flirtatiously. Steve smirked and waved back.

"Uh-huh. C'mon, Auntie," you nudged her, "your husband's right over there."

"He's fine," she scoffed.

"Well, all right - "

"Hang on," she halted you from leaving, seizing your arm. "I was just wondering, you know, how nice a boy can be with all them tattoos? I mean, only delinquents defile themselves like that."

You scoffed, "I seriously doubt inking your skin is an indication of kindness in a person - but that's a good one."

Rebecca halted your departure again by asking, "Well, how healthy do you think this is?"

"Be more specific, Auntie."

Her eyes rolled, "Your relationship, girl, pay attention."

You chose not to engage fully, just sighing, "It's the healthiest relationship I've ever known - not much thanks to you, since nobody in this family would know a healthy, functional relationship if it punched them in the face."

With a fake smile, you pulled your arm from her grip and only managed two steps before she was sneering, "You sure it's healthy the way you cling to him?"

"What was that?" You asked, slowly turning to face her.

"You're so clingy, it's actually concerning! David, Kyle, Bethany, Darlene, Casey, and Tom all agree with me, and not to mention, your mother told us that's normal behavior for you two - which is just a red flag, sweetie. You're lucky, though, 'cause when I was your age, my mama would've slapped me silly if I hung all over my boyfriend like that in front of her. You know it's distasteful, right, honey? Men don't like that - they don't want girls who are desperate for love that they claw onto them."

"I'm not clawing - "

"Whatever you're doing, sweetie," she mocked, "it's not a good look. I can smell your desperation - you do know, there's gonna be more boys later. This Eddie guy? He's not your end all, be all. First loves are fun, sure, but this is where you make your mistakes - so, take notes and then try not to do the same shit with your next man. Okay, pumpkin?" She patted your upper arm as if a child winning a sports participation trophy. "The kid is nice and all, but he's not gonna last, honey. Women in our family are prizes, you see, so, it takes a real stud to earn us - not some long-haired, tattooed punk. Don't embarrass this family anymore than you already have by thinking this is a sustainable relationship."

You slapped her hand away and stepped into her space, snarling, "You wanna try that again?"

Eddie glanced over and saw the two of you; needing a double take when he realized how tense the exchange looked. "Shit," he whispered, sitting up in attention while nudging Steve.

"Huh?" Eddie pointed, Steve turned, and after a beat, repeated, "Shit."

Rebecca stuttered and tried to explain, "I-I-I'm just saying - "

"Sounds like you're making pretty snap judgements about the man I love - based on what? His fucking appearance? Do you fucking hear yourself? Like, you're reprimanding me for dating when you're not even my parent. You need to take several steps back into your lane."

"I'm not reprimanding you for dating! Just for... For..."

"For dating Eddie?"

"For being so dangerously desperate!" She snapped. "Jesus, a kid like that? You don't have to cling too hard, he's lucky to just breathe your air! So, maybe loosen the reins, babe, it's not a good look to keep a man so... Beneath you so close and so tight."

Eddie launched from his chair in time to hear you laugh in response. "Yeah? Yeah? This comin' from the woman whose husband cheats on her more than he remembers their anniversary or her birthday? Is that what you mean by desperate?" You narrowed your eyes, "You're right - that is a real bad look. I mean, I've had years to watch you and decide, that's not what love is. That's not respect. Wow. Being desperate for love really is embarrassing, isn't it? Thanks for the advice, Auntie, but don't worry - first place for worst relationship is still steadfast yours. I mean, Eddie and I are actually compatible, you know? He and I actually like one another, mutually love another. Now, I know you're not used to that, so I guess I can excuse you mistaking 'love' for 'desperation' and being 'clingy' - "

"Baby, hey, hey, hey," Eddie caught you around the waist and pulled you back a few steps. "All good, it's all good - don't gotta argue, c'mon. Walk away, just walk away, c'mon, come with me." You scoffed in amusement while Rebecca looked close to tears, Eddie directing you in the opposite direction to force space. "What the hell was all that?" He asked in worry, arm slung around your neck as he checked over your shoulders to make sure you weren't being followed.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Didn't seem like it. C'mon, baby, what happened? Talk to me."

"When my family drinks, you know, they can just get a little mouthy."

"What'd she say?"

Insecurity exploded in your chest, freezing your tongue and heart, pumping icy shards through your body. You didn't want to worry nor upset Eddie by being honest, so you sighed, "Oh, just some dumb shit. She honestly sounded jealous... And bitter..."

"Ah, Uncle Paulie isn't giving it to her, huh?" He teased and you laughed, if only to not tip him off to the brewing storm of emotions threatening to take over.

"Guess not. Hey, uh," you glanced around, "you wanna get outta here?"

"What?" Eddie chuckled, "Baby, no, nah, c'mon, night's just starting. Fire's finally lit, and look," he pointed, "Dustin's challenging Mike to corn hole. And... Is that...?"

"Max and Lucas playing... Pong?"

"Looks like," Eddie smirked. "Think we're bad influences, baby."

"They're not even drinking - how much of an influence can we really be? Do they even pay attention, learn from us?" You teased, arms crossing across your chest in a light hold as Eddie tugged you a fraction closer to place a kiss on your temple. "Well, can we go back to the van and smoke? I left your hoodie in there and it's getting kinda chilly."

"Oh, you left it, huh?"

"Since I was the last in it? Yep."

Eddie chuckled and kept you under his arm all the way to his van, opening the backdoors and letting you climb in first. He shut the doors after himself and instantly rocked onto his back; you mimicking his position.

You both just stared at the ceiling for a moment; breathing together; existing as one. Then his head turned, yours did the same, meeting each other's eyes and without a single word exchanged, let your lips spread in matching smiles. Like two charged magnets, you both leaned in at the same time to let your lips meet in a sloppy meshing; playful, heated, and quick-tempo'd.

When Eddie pulled back, he whispered, "I love you."

After returning the sentiment, you both sat up to rest against the metal van walls and Eddie reached over to snag the wee box he used to store (some) of his drugs in. You breathed a sigh of relief while watching him, engaged in a new and distracting conversation - grateful he seemingly forgot about Aunt Rebecca's bullshit already.

Yet those words seemed to haunt you.

It's been about two weeks since the Reunion and you felt as if you were slowly losing whatever was left of your mind. School had officially started and with all your AP classes, you were already juggling several assignments.

Everywhere you went, everything you did - you second guessed the amount of energy, effort, and diligence you put forth into everything! School! Friends! Family! And you know who suffered the most? Eddie - of course he did! He was closest to you, of course he was on the frontlines; enduring some kind of silent attack.

You didn't know what to do - so, you did nothing! You avoided Eddie because you were afraid of being ridiculed like a bug under a microscope in biology class. It seemed reasonable; not wanting to dig a deeper grave, not wanting to give further room for judgmental assholes to feel comfortable enough to voice their opinions. It drove you insane, living in silence, in this empty space; going from joined at the hip to severed Siamese Twins.

"Hey," your mother perked up when you came through the front door, "what're you doing home?"

"Uh, I live here?"

She sat up from her lounging position, "No, I meant, it's Thursday - isn't Thursday date night with Eddie? You didn't go last week."

"Oh, uh, no, not this week, Ma, I've got this crazy essay I'm swamped with."

"Hm," she nodded slowly.

"What?"

"Hmm? No, no, nothing, it's nothing," she waved you off, and just before you could take a step, she continued, "it's just - last week, you said you had some big test to study for. And now you're blowing him off for an essay? Honey, school just started, you shouldn't be this stressed and upset so soon."

"What can I say, Ma? I'm not blowing him off, I'm focusing on school. You know, the thing you love yelling at me to do?"

"I'm happy you're buckled down, sweetie, I'm just not used to you being here so often. You know? Since you started dating Eddie, I feel like you're only really home some weekdays, and sometimes, I don't even see you! Now, you've been home and I'm just worried something might be, I don't know, wrong."

"The only thing wrong, Ma, is the amount of work I have to do."

She sighed and nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile; finally allowing you to make your escape. First, you stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and bag of trail mix, then, you made your way to your room; throwing your windows open, turning your stereo on a low volume, settling at your desk, and rolling a joint - but setting it aside for now. You unpacked your supplies, cracked your knuckles, and got to work handwriting ten pages on The Lord of the Flies.

There came a knock at your door, eyes cutting to your clock and noting you'd been working about an hour. Waving smoke from the freshly lit joint away your face, you plucked it from your lips, inhaled sharply, and called, "C'min!"

Eddie slipped in your room.

"What're you doing here?" You asked in shock, tilting your head back when he stood over you and accepting his kiss. The ends of his hair tickled your face from where he dangled himself over you.

"It's date night."

"Yeah, but I told you I had work, baby," you pouted at him, watching him set the paper bag he brought in front of you and taking the joint from your stalled hand.

"Mhm," he agreed while taking his pull, holding smoke in his lungs and still speaking, "which is why I brought it to you."

"Oh, yeah?" You chuckled, opening the bag and revealing your usual burger and fries order. "Eddie - "

"Eh?" He grinned, producing a milkshake from behind his back, "Ta-daaaa!"

"Oh, a man after my own heart!" You laughed, "You're literally perfect - thank you. This is really sweet."

He smirked and sat in the plush chair you left beside your desk just for him. "All right," he reached out to pick up the essay prompt as you ate a fry, "let's see here, uh... Lord of the Flies?"

"Yeah, it's about - "

"No, no, I know," he nodded, "I read it."

"You did?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I thought you didn't read anything except your D&D manual and Hard Rock Magazine?"

"Oh, ha-ha, don't forget Playboy," he mocked, you smirking. "All right, well, let's get crackin'."

"What?" You asked, watching him toss aside the paper prompt and pick up the novel.

"I'm helping you," he shrugged like it was common knowledge.

"You? You're gonna help me write this essay?" You laughed, handing him the half-eaten fry - which he accepted into his mouth without hesitation.

"Why is that funny?"

"You don't even do your own homework, baby!"

"Yeah, well, figured I'd help if it'll get done faster, you've been acting real funny."

"How?"

Eddie pinned you with a harsh look, "You've been distant."

You froze, knowing you're caught, but still responded, "Uh, no?"

"Uh, yes? Since the Reunion, I've barely seen you. And even when I do, it's at school. You don't come over, you don't invite me over, you canceled our date last week, tried to today, too. Baby, look, if something's wrong, you gotta tell me 'cause I can't fix shit if I don't know what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong - "

"Try again."

"Eddie."

"Are you serious right now?" He asked, his voice no longer light and lithe, playful nor silly. "You might have yourself convinced, princess, but I know you better than that. Something's up, something's wrong. Talk to me, please."

"Why does something have to be wrong? Why can't I just be, like, tired or stressed? Or both?" You avoided his eyes, taking the joint from him.

"If you really want me to believe that, answer when you started smoking with homework?" This made you pause, shrugging in embarrassment. Eddie scoffed gently, "Lemme guess? You're just stressed?"

"It's not a lie!"

"But you're not telling me the full truth!" He leaned forward in his seat, reaching for your hand, frowning deeply. "Baby, I just want to help you. Since the Reunion, you've been distant, and I think it's to do with whatever your aunt said."

Tears filled your eyes, mutely taking another long inhale; gently ashing the joint in the tray on your desk hosting several stubbed-out filters. Swallowing the saliva that had pooled in your mouth harshly, you coughed gently upon exhaling the smoke; tears pooling and slowly cascading down your cheeks. Eddie sat closer in worry - literally sitting in a balancing act on the edge of his seat.

"You're right," you squeaked, unable to look at him; fingers beginning to shake. "Y-You're right, and I'm sorry, I just - I didn't know what to do, how to feel - "

"That's why you gotta talk to me, baby, so we can figure shit out together. Right? I help you, you help me," he spoke gently, reaching out to caress the back of your head. He sighed, standing, ushering, "C'mere, c'mon, stand up for me. C'mere."

He lead you to your bed, letting you sit as he toed out of his shoes before joining you. He settled on his back and pulled you in tight to his side; your arms like a vice around his waist, resting on his chest that was dampening from your tears. He rubbed your back and shoulders, up to your head, down to your waist and hip. Eddie spoke softly, encouraging you to talk when ready.

"She scolded me, I guess," you whispered, "because according to her, several other family members think I'm too clingy."

"She said what!?"

"Eddie," you groaned, his voice loud under your ear.

"Sorry, sorry - I just - she said you were too clingy? What? Seriously? Like - Like with me?"

"Yeah. Said it wasn't a good look," you admitted, and then, Eddie just remained silent as you poured your heart out and admitted all that was said. It felt like a never ending cycle; confessing that you loved Eddie so effortlessly, you didn't think you were loving him 'wrong', but your Aunt Rebecca's words made you second guess your own emotions.

And it honestly angered Eddie. No, not (only) about you being upset - but the reason for you being upset. He wished he knew the night it happened, remembering hearing your response to Rebecca, understanding your words now. He wished he knew, he would've had a word or two for your aunt; angry that this woman successfully made you doubt yourself. Doubt the way you love Eddie.

"Hey," Eddie whispered, hand on your jaw to gently encourage your head up so your eyes met his. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Pull away from me. Try to change, doubt yourself, do different. Baby, I love you - and no, you're not fucking clingy. And even if you are, I love it because I love you, and that means loving all of you, exactly the way you are. Fuck your aunt, fuck anyone who had something to say, their jealousy and bitterness and ineptitude are their problem, not ours. And anyone who makes it our issue can get bent." You were honestly shocked into silence, just staring up at Eddie in a daze of wonder. "What?" He asked.

"I'm just processing you using 'ineptitude' correctly," you teased in a whisper.

"Oh, you little - " He laughed, rolling onto you; fingers digging into your flesh and wiggling. Your laughter was loud and genuine, Eddie grinning in amusement before just staring down at you; gently petting hair off your forehead. "Listen to me. Hey? You listenin'?"

"Yes, Eddie," you chuckled.

"Don't ever pull away from me," he told you sternly. "I need you close to me, always. I don't care what anyone ever thinks or says - you're not a bother, not to me, never to me, so, please, for my sake, stay close. I'll fuckin' fall apart without you."

Overwhelmed by emotion, his sweet words, and how they instantly settled your anxiety, you didn't respond verbally. Your hand shot up to hook around the back of his neck and pull him down - but it's not like he resisted. Eddie let his mouth descend onto yours in a heated display of passion, his hips involuntarily rolling forward to roll his hips so his bulge ground into your clothed cunt. His tongue was hot, wet, sliding against yours in a raunchy pace that made your head spin until you were dizzy.

And in exactly 436 days, Aunt Rebecca, Cousin Darlene, and any other outspoken family members sat at home, bitter, while the rest of you (and the town) celebrated yours and Eddie's union of Holy Matrimony.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[intertexts]

oh yeah he gives him new piercings pretty regularly he didn't really like the ones he came with :) muse heals a little faster in his breaker state so he's able to just take em out and give him entirely new ones whenever he wants to! he's not super great at the whole piercing thing though. he doesn't really care about hygiene. and, like, you know how when you're getting your blood drawn and the phlebotomist isn't too great and has to re-stab you like five times before they get it?

relatedly to the trickster loosening his control of ashe just for long enough to make him take care of his own hair because he doesn't want to bother with it himself & ashe being forced to do what the trickster wants even when he isn't actively being lobotomized & ashe being violently dragged back to awareness every so often and he's always in a different place and dressed differently & sometimes he even has different piercings etc. and is. covered in soot and blood and awful things. i think the first time the trickster does this. ashe doesn't come back very easily. it's very like. waking up with a bad headache after an evil nap dream & you feel syrupy and hazy and weirdbad. that's just setup though i think he just panicked so violently messily and badly & barely heard anything the trickster was saying..... trickster watching this like -__- for a couple minutes before sighing and taking control of him again where he's curled up in a corner shaking violently & going well that didn't work. maybe next time though?

[ozarkthedog]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞

18+ mdni

warnings: shotgunning. slight thigh grinding. no spoilers wc: 649

“Where’re you runnin’ off to?” Lucien asks, stopping you in your tracks.

You spin on your heel on the edge of the dimly lit patio, your summer dress twirling in the warm night breeze as you face the dark-haired beau. He tips his head back, keeping his burning eyes on you as he blows a trail of smoke into the midnight sky.

The tendons in his throat glide under his dewy, golden skin. Your cunt clenches at the thought of getting your mouth on him, tasting him.

An alarming darkness washes over his face as he presses the cigarette between his lips. His feral eyes zero in on your frozen state as he stalks toward you like a panther in the jungle—calm and relaxed, ready to sink its claws into unsuspecting prey.

Before you have a second to think, Lucien winds a thick arm around your waist and tugs you against him. He’s big, warm, and so fucking broad. The cigarette hangs limply from the corner of his mouth as curls of sandy hair fall across his forehead as he backs you up and into the large brick wall surrounding the patio. Your hands instinctively rest on his chest; the satin button-up is butter-soft, and you can’t help but dig your fingers into the firm muscles hidden beneath.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he lifted his free hand and cupped your jaw. Those wicked irises tempt you deeper into the murky darkness. You can’t tell which way is up, tumbling in the black as he presses a solid thumb between your lips.

Your eyes bug at the intrusion. A heavy wave of arousal crashes into your belly, making you wantonly moan around his digit. He tastes like a mix of ash and cabernet as he grinds his half-hard cock into your belly. Your eyes flutter like you’re staring at an eclipse as your lips close around his thumb without thinking.

“Keep that pretty mouth open for me.” Lucien softly commands with a thick, sultry voice that drips down your spine like molasses. He presses on your tongue, tugging your jaw open. “Thatta girl.”

His cheeks hollow as he takes a deep breath. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a beat. Dark eyes wash over you as you innocently wait for his next command. He holds your stare before pulling the cig from his mouth and leaning in. His plush lips barely graze your own as he exhales, releasing the smoke into your mouth. His thumb rubs along the edge of your lips, encouraging you to inhale his offering as he presses you into the rough wall.

You breathe in, letting the ashy smoke burn your insides. His lips pull into a smirk, and he hums. Your eyes water from the fumes, and you sputter, coughing out the remaining smoke.

Those sinful eyes travel the expanse of your face before moving south, down your neck to your exposed clavicle, and between the valley of your breasts. He takes his time like he’s considering his next move as your chest anxiously rises and falls under his calculating gaze.

He chuckles under his breath and lifts the cigarette to his lips once more. “Looks like we’ll have to work on that.” The cigarette bounces as he speaks, the tip burning red hot like the arousal dripping from your cunt.

He crowds you, pushing you further into the wall, and slots a burly thigh between your legs, forcefully grinding your throbbing core. A pitiful whine tumbles from your lips, and he cups a heavy hand along your jawbone and presses a deft thumb on your chin, keeping you locked in place.

“Don't worry now," He muses, shifting his thigh back and forth, pulling a wreaked gasp from your throat. "The smoke won't be the only thing you'll gag on tonight."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

be sure to follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[space-blue]

Avatar 3 D23 musings and analysis

Images drop on some BIG screens at D23 seems like!

First off, great new looks and close ups of Varang!

First off it's super dope. Look at her fingers! Looks like she's wearing claws (bone? forbidden metal? body mods). The notches on her belly and legs also look like potential scarifications!

Stuff I want to scream about on a personal level: The tswins... I made my Txepiva (ash Na'vi) fan clan to be warrior like, living in more desertic areas, and cutting queues as part of warfare. I also recently made a sketch to illustrate an idea to a friend that they may wear these queues in a bandolier tied to shoulders and hips as a show-off.

My Txepiva also have bare tail tips, and Varangs fits this too in this art, though I'm sure it's just the light rendering technique. If not, then I should apply for a job on the brainstorming team lmao.

Though I appreciate the idea of warfare and tswin cutting, I want to point out it's also possible that she's not actually wearing the tswin of her enemies, or at least not in the "this is how we kill other Na'vi" way.

The others around her are in obscuring and impractical headdresses, and this looks like a ritual. IMO it's very possible that the tswin she wears are that of ancestors, or old leaders, great warriors, or even enemies, collected and rebraided to create this distinct look. I particularly think it'd make sense for it to be made of the hair of past leaders and worn as a sort of crown, as nobody else is rocking that look in the image.

Next we have her weird not-an-ikran.

Glorious beast with 10 winglets where ikran have 4. It also has mouth frills, jaw frills, and a spike over its head, making it closer to stingbats in that area. Here's a super obvious comparison with an enlarged stingbat picture:

So their mount probaby evolved independantly from ikran. Would be fun if they also have poison.

Another FUN detail : GUNS!! Does it look like guns? Could be recoms then, Lyle, Q , and some new red shirt recoms... or could be Omatikaya wil RDA guns...

But for real, there are only two types of Na'vi with guns: the Omatikaya clan and the recombinants. Given past images in leaks ((remember this?))

It's most likely that the people interacting with Varang are going to be recoms and not Jake's people. BUT who knows where the plot will go. If it's recoms, I'd looove to know if it's 3 moffos because Q+Lyle+Mansk, or if we're getting new recom red shirts or what.

Then we have views of air ships, so we're getting to see the promised Wind Traders, with Neytiri in the forefront, and the Man'o'war inspired floaters being pulled by sky manta ray...

Not much to say about those. I just hope we get some high definition version released online soon.

If this reignites your hype for Avatar, go vote in this poll!

There's 20h left to vote, and I think we could all benefit from an event around december 2024, to pass the time before fire and ash's big dropin 2025.

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

The Arcane - Chapter Three - Blood and Bone

Summary: It's time for Viktor's first proper visit with his new doctor.

Characters: Viktor x Male Reader (Doctor Raven) x Jayce (eventually)

Warnings: Blood, needles

Words: 1,638

Viktor returned to the lab by noon, his approach heralded by the gentle click, click, click of his cane as he walked. With your exceptional senses, you could hear him exit the elevator and make his way down the hall. His footsteps, his breath, his gentle heartbeat…

The lab door opened with a hiss, and you turned to greet him with a smile. The heavy bags beneath his eyes were still dark, but his eyes themselves shone just a bit brighter. He’d also showered and changed his clothes, by the look of things.

“Afternoon, Viktor.”

“Doctor,” he nodded.

You invited him to sit in the chair near the chalkboard, where you would take a few samples of his blood.

“Sleep okay?” you asked as he sat heavily and you gathered your equipment.

“Well enough, with a mind as busy as mine.”

You chuckled. “I know what that’s like. Did you find something to eat?”

“Yes, an apple. To keep the doctor away,” he smirked.

The corner of your mouth twitched up into a smile.

You set your supplies out on a little metal table and rolled it and a chair of your own over to Viktor.

“Do you want to keep me away, Viktor?” you asked as he offered his arm to you.

He thought for a moment before replying with a soft, “no”.

“I would certainly hope not,” you smiled softly. “I would miss your company.”

“Already?” he asked sarcastically as he watched his blood fill a vial. “But we barely know each other, doctor.”

“All the same,” you chuckled.

A crease formed between your brow as you switched the first vial out to fill a second.

“Your blood is a strange color. Almost purple.”

“I noticed.”

You hummed, thoughtful.

“Do you have your medical records?” you asked.

“No, but you may be able to get them from my previous doctor.”

“And where is he?”

“The Undercity.”

You paused and looked up at him.

“The Undercity?”

He nodded.

“He was the closest to home.”

“I see…”

You didn’t realize that he was from the Undercity. It didn’t make a difference, but it could explain some things.

“Where in the Undercity?” you asked, as you finished up the second vial and hooked on a third.

“Mmm, I’d have to show you.”

“Would you?” you asked.

“Sure,” he nodded. “We can go after we’re finished here.”

“No,” you said, perhaps a little too hastily.

He tilted his head, curious.

“I can’t go during the day…”

He regarded the heavy curtains drawn over the big windows. His eyes went wide with realization.

“The sun.”

You nodded and unhooked the third vial, then removed the needle from his arm and pressed a cotton ball to the site. Instinctually, he held it in place while you grabbed the bandage.

“So vampires really do turn to ash in the sunlight, then?”

“Not immediately, but yes.”

You wrapped up his arm, disposed of the needles and your gloves, gathered the vials of his blood, and took them to each of their testing stations.

“The sunlight burns, quite literally,” you explained. “It’s more than a sunburn. Only a few moments in the sun can put me out of commission for quite some time.”

“There is so much misinformation surrounding your kind, I wasn’t sure if that one was true.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

"UV sensitivity... interesting..." he mused.

He was as curious about you as you were about him. There was a brief lull in the conversation while you scribbled some notes in his file and he considered your unique "condition".

“I would like to do a physical examination, if you don’t mind,” you said finally. “To make sure you’re in good health otherwise.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

You asked him to remove his shirt, and turned around to locate the stethoscope. When you turned back with the device in hand, you were caught off guard by the metal corset covering most of his torso.

“Does that come off?” you asked.

"With a bit of difficulty, yes."

He stood while you helped him remove the corset, and then took a moment to get a good look at his crooked spine. You ran your fingers gently over it, tracing the curve. What he was currently wearing was keeping it from bending any more, but it wouldn't fix the problem. You, however, might be able to. With his help, of course.

"You need something better than this," you told him.

"I... have been working on a design," he told you hesitantly. "A brace that will bolt to my spine, with a removable chest piece. But I would need a doctor to perform the surgery to put it in place."

"I can perform that surgery," you said as you gestured for him to sit back down and pressed the stethoscope against his chest.

You didn't actually need the stethoscope in order to hear his heart and lungs, but it was helpful at pinpointing certain sounds in certain locations.

“Deep breath,” you ordered him, and he obliged. “Another.”

He didn’t like the tone in your voice. Soft, but mixed with concern. You moved behind him to listen.

“One more.”

When you finished listening, you moved away to scribble more notes. He waited patiently.

“Your heart and circulation sound good,” you began, leaning back against the blank chalkboard.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

“Your lungs don’t,” you said plainly.

He nodded.

“They don’t feel great either.”

As if on queue, he wheezed out a cough.

“You grew up in the Undercity?” you asked. “What is the air like down there?”

He scoffed.

“I grew up near the fissures. ‘Toxic’ is the only appropriate word.”

You cast your gaze downward, and a cold chill crept up Viktor’s spine. And then you were in your chair in front of him again, gazing at him with those deep ruby eyes. You rested your hand gently on his knee.

“I am your doctor, Viktor. My specialty may be blood, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the skills required to tend to the rest of your needs. I’ve spent the better part of my six-hundred years studying medicine, I’m going to do everything I can, use everything I’ve learned, to help you feel better.”

He was caught off guard by your conviction and the intensity of your gaze.

“I… I know you will, Doctor.”

“Good,” you smiled, and hopped to your feet, and he couldn’t help but notice just the slightest jerk in your hip, as if moving caused you pain. You didn’t pay it any mind, however, so it was an observation that he silently filed away for later.

“Can I take a look at your leg?” you asked.

“Of course.”

You averted your gaze while he stripped down to his underwear. There was a small bed on the opposite wall, and from it, you handed him a soft blanket, blue one one side, red on the other. He placed it in his lap. It wasn’t a hospital gown, but it was better than nothing. Your touch was gentle as you felt around his leg, cold fingers ghosting over his skin. He shivered.

“Sorry,” you chuckled. “Probably should have put gloves on.”

“It’s alright.”

You felt each side of his knee, and then asked him to slowly extend his leg, feeling for the movement of tendon, muscle, and bone beneath the skin. You checked his ankle and toes as well, and then asked him to stand so you could check his hip. He left the blanket on his chair and stood before you. You wheeled your own chair around to his side, and he jerked slightly when your hands found him again. He was used to this kind of treatment after a lifetime of doctor’s visits. But this was different. Your touch was firm, but gentle. Caring. He had felt like a burden with his previous doctor, who had terrible bedside manner. With you, though… You touched him like he was made of porcelain.

Your hand drifted backward slightly, and you squeezed, just a bit, as you asked him to rock his leg backward. Then, it traveled forward, in the crease between his inner thigh and crotch. He held his breath as he gently swung his leg forward. And then your touch was gone and you were rising from your chair. You leaned past him, so close, to grab the blanket and return it to him. Your scent lingered when you walked away. You scribbled some more notes as he sat back down, and he found the sound surprisingly comforting.

“I need to get some scans,” you said. “Your lungs, spine, and leg. But we don’t have the equipment for that here, so I’m going to have to consult with someone at the hospital. While we’re waiting for them, I’ll work on your blood. Oh, and your leg could use a brace as well. If you fell like taking on some homework, you could design yourself one.”

He hummed thoughtfully, and you turned back to see him huddled up in the blanket.

“Oh, uh… Sorry,” you chuckled. “You can get dressed.”

He would have offered a snappy comeback, something about liking seeing him with no clothes on, but he was distracted. His skin felt like it was buzzing everywhere you’d touched him. Wordlessly, he got dressed while you organized the newest notes into their place in his file. He noticed the way your gaze flicked toward him every now and again. You couldn’t help it. You found him infinitely fascinating, not because of his blood or his bones or his fancy mechanical braces, but because he was him. Because he was Viktor. Handsome, kind, brilliant Viktor.

“These tests will take some time,” you told him. “I expect Heimerdinger will need you to get back to work, but, if you ever need to come into the lab, for anything at all, you’re more than welcome. The door will remain unlocked.”

He smiled as he finished buttoning up his vest.

“Thank you, Doctor. Your kindness is much appreciated.”

“Of course.”

He lingered for only a moment before turning to leave. The door opened with a hiss, but your voice stopped him.

“Oh, and Viktor?”

“Hmm?”

You smiled.

“Have some lunch. Doctor's orders.”

[teatreeoilll]

Retribution (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .

w/c - 0.5k content warnings - MDNI!, 18+, fem!reader, dom!reader, attempted murder (lol), language, poisoning, Heian-era sorta sub!Sukuna, sorta smutty drabble, Reader is a pissed-off concubine trying to kill the King of Curses. I dunno what came over me

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .

"Has the king heard the tale of the obedient emperor?" You muse, your tone an eerie tune that lingers in the dim chamber. 

"What's in the drink, human?" Sukuna demands, his gaze locked onto his own fidgeting palms.

When Sukuna's fingers first wrapped around the cup, you scolded yourself for ever letting the other miserable concubines coerce you into believing that a mere poison in his drink would end his life. But as his body began to tremble, still trying to remain seated on the bed, and his pupils burst into black holes within his ruby irises, a glimmer of hope coursed through you like hellfire. 

"Nothing, my king. It's nothing but wine." You hold your breath as his body falters, "Unwell, my king?" There is a hint of self-satisfaction in your words as his arm extends towards you. But then, like pulled by an invisible string, it retreats, falling back onto his side. 

"They say a thousand years ago, far up north, lived the strongest emperor the world has ever known," You resume, watching the cup slip from Sukuna's grip, staining the wooden floor with remnants of the crimson drink, "It is said he had an army hundreds of thousands strong, servants to abide his every whim .." 

Sukuna's eyes pierce through you. He attempts to speak, but his words emerge as nothing but deep grunts and growls. His mouth fills with taste of lead as the cursed energy flowing through his body already works on his recovery.

"Ah-ah, don't interrupt," your malicious grin sends waves of fury down his spine, "Or you might not get to hear the ending." 

In the pleasure districts of your town which the king of curses burned to ashes, the brothel owner taught you thoroughly; all men who possess great power, crave to relinquish it as well.

Sukuna’s body wobbles, the thud of his torso hitting the mattress is like music to your ears. 

"Where was I? Oh - the servants. Men and women who cowered in fear when he spoke, who built him a palace so vast that even the gods looked down upon it with envy. And so, the gods decided to curse him." 

You approach the bed, watching his monstrous limbs sprawled across the mattress, enjoying the subtle twitches of resentment in his expression.

"They cursed him so that even with all his power," You put a knee on either side of his body, straddling him with all your weight, "He could not feel any pleasure until he would submit to another." You grind against his hips, a moan escaping your lips as you feel the bulge grow under you. 

"You like this, don’t you? Like being powerless?" 

"-Fucking Bitch." He groaned, interrupting your gleeful smirk; your eyes widen as you tip your chin down to watch his arms regain their vigor, shooting out to slam you on the mattress. 

You gasp for air, freezing when his body towers over you. The thuds of your pounding heart deafen your ears as he stretches out his arm. Your breath halts as you brace for impact, and for a fleeting moment, you see the imminent end.

Instead, he slams his hand down on the mattress beside your head, his expression a flushed, panting mess as he thrusts his clothed hips between your legs. "Fuck you." 

"Be nice," you chastise. As your initial plan crumbled, a greater wave of pleasure engulfed your senses at the sound of his breathless moans.

Maybe you’ll make him beg, just for fun.

[rustedhearts]

let it snow (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: what happens when you're snowed in with your best friend (and there's a lot of sexual tension)?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ christmas carols✶ the library

tags: fluff, mutual pining, best friend!steve

"oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go: let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!"

— let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!, dean martin

somewhere in indiana. december, 1976.

“That snow’s really comin’ down,” Steve mused from his bedroom window.

You glanced up from your book, splayed on your stomach against his duvet. “It’ll be fine.”

Steve let his drape drop back into place over the window, frosted with ice and fogging with the heat from his radiator. He wandered back toward the bed, flopping beside you and jostling the mattress. You huffed into your current chapter.

“Not worried about missing your date tonight?”

You shrugged, flipping the page that you haven’t even read. “Eh. He’s kind of boring anyway."

"Well, yeah," Steve scoffed, twisting to lay on his back. The blankets bunched up with his shifting. "His name is Peter."

"Your name is Steve."

Steve's head snapped your way to sharpen his eyes in a glare. "Hey."

A slow, sideways smile plucked at your lips. You turned back to your book and stifled a giggle, though it burst free when his fingers poked your side.

"Wanna go in the basement? I need a light and Mom'll kill me if she smells it up here."

You closed your book around your finger and gazed at him over your shoulder. "They won't be home for hours."

"It lingers, sweetheart."

“Gross.” You scrunched up your nose and tried to ignore the pulsing ache in your chest. Bless the cold for keeping the heat from rushing to your face. “Don’t call me that.”

Steve rolled off the bed and to his feet, rushing the door and paying no mind to your distaste.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he called, already halfway down the hall. "We can dip into some of my dad's scotch."

So half an hour later, Steve was on his second Winston—the first stubbed out in the glass ashtray on the coffee table—and you were nursing a mug of scotch. Your mug had Santa on it, and you traced his beard with the edge of your nail as Steve fiddled with the stereo.

"Don't have any Christmas tunes," he'd muttered once you settled in the freezing cold basement. "But we can break out the winter music."

"And what do you consider 'winter music?'" you asked.

He lit up a Winston and clenched it between his teeth, already rifling through his baskets of vinyl. "Anything as cold and dreary as this damn town."

Now, Steve was bopping his hips to a jazzy tune found on a very old record from early high school. You remember the day he found it at the record store. It was during his "blue period," where all he wanted to listen to was jazz and blues.

You hid your grin behind another sip as Steve made finger guns toward the ceiling in time to the trumpet of the song, though a giggle burst forth into a gulp of scotch. His head snapped your way, one finger gun coming to pull his cigarette away.

"I hear your giggles, Miss. Grinch," he teased, swinging his leg over the back of the sofa to sit on the edge.

You swallowed down the pungent liquor, wincing when it stung. "I'm not a Grinch. I just don't like Christmas the same way you do, you know that."

Steve blew a cloud of smoke though his teeth. "Yeah, never understood that, by the way."

"Not for you to understand, Hair."

Steve narrowed his eyes at you, pointing the ashed end of his cigarette your way. "Don't call me that."

You quirked a brow, chin tipping up defiantly. "Or what?"

Steve cooly mouthed at his cigarette a moment more. He carefully slid down the back of the couch until he was seated near your socked feet, leaning forward to stub his second Winston out. As it died out in the mess of ash, Steve hooked his arm around your knees and yanked you close.

"Steve," you warned, voice knocked a pitch up. "Don't!"

It took everything in you not to spill your scotch as Steve's thin fingers prodded at your sides. He knew just what spots to press on, just where to squeeze and jiggle to have you twisting and writhing in a fit of laughter. The kind of laughter that had you aching with soreness. The kind of laughter that sent you back to infancy together.

Steve swooped the mug out of your hand and placed it on the coffee table before it could fall—but only so he could ignore your giggled protests to stop as the pair of you slipped off the couch. You tumbled to the hard floor together, a mess of limbs on concrete.

Soon, you were pinned under his heavy weight. His hands stopped tickling and rested stilly on your waist. They slipped under your sweater in the commotion, and now his palms braced your bare flesh without barrier. You could feel him between your legs—the sheer size of him, pushing your thighs apart and stretching them to sting. The outline of him pressed against his jeans.

The laughter subsided to breathless sighs. You gazed up at his pink-cheeked face, splotched with excitement. Your stomach was in your throat. The record stopped spinning some time ago, and now the empty scratch of needle turn crackled through the empty house. The end of your nose was frozen from the cold, but the rest of you was on fire pressed up against Steve.

Steve: your best friend.

"You're so soft," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. His thumb started to move in odd patterns under your shirt. You were suddenly and extremely aware of your hands around his arms—and how firm his biceps were under his sleeves. Every breath that touched your face smelled like Winston smoke. There was a tear in the rug underneath you and it was tickling your cheek.

"Th-thank you."

His thumbs continued. The breathing shallowed. The record spun on an empty track. His eyes were such a pretty color—or, an amalgamation of many colors all in one pretty iris.

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. "I-I should go. Still...try to make my date."

Steve nodded, though he, too, was lost in your eyes. He never noticed how pretty the shape of your eyes were. How long and dainty the lashes were, how they brushed your cheeks with every blink. Did you know? Had you walked around with all this glorious beauty his entire life?

How could he have been so blind?

"Steve," you interrupted. "Get off me."

Steve scrambled to release you of his weight, rolling to his feet and brushing off his jeans. He helped you up—a gentle hand around your arm—and watched you grab your coat from the hook near the door. You've had that coat for years—the fur-lined collar and cuffed sleeves were full of lint and cat hair, and there was a button missing at the bottom.

While you were fishing for your gloves in the pockets, Steve moved the lace drapes over the back door and peered up the steps. There was about three feet of snow blocking the door, and as he watched, more piled over the staircase and across the yard.

"Uh...not sure you should go out in this," he announced.

You flicked your hair out of your face with mittened hands and huffed. "What?"

"The snow's pretty bad—"

"We live in Indiana, Steve. I've seen plenty of snow."

Steve dropped the snow and stepped away, arms folded over his chest. "Is Peter really worth getting stuck in a snowstorm?"

You cocked your foot out, mimicking his folded arms. "Maybe. He-he might be. I don't know."

It was the way his jaw tipped up at you, how his brows raised and nestled together, how his lip curled into a grin akin to the sixteen year old that never got told 'no.' It was the way your heart thumped in your ears with deafening force.

You weren't sure you could be around him right now. Not without wondering how his lips tasted. Not without wondering why he'd never told you he loved you.

"Really? What's his last name?"

"Good question. I'll ask him tonight." You rolled your eyes and whirled around, heading toward the basement steps.

If Steve wouldn't let you leave that way, you'd just go out the front.

"Hey—seriously, you're not going out in this."

"Oh yeah?" you huffed, stomping up the stairs. "Who's gonna stop me?"

A heavy arm hooked around your waist, knocking the air from your lungs with one quick pull. Steve hoisted you back down the steps, and it was only when he placed you back on your feet that you started kicking them. You got one good hit in the thigh before backing away to glare.

"What the hell is your issue?" you spat.

Steve threw his arms out—fucking Christ, his shoulders were broad. His hands were so big, and he had the prettiest pink flush to his face after all that play fighting and struggling.

"I'm not letting you go out in that."

It took everything in you to muster a squint and shoot it at him. You were sweating bullets in your buttoned-up coat.

"Well, I'm going."

Maybe you wanted him to grab you again. Maybe that's why you tried to push past him and dart up the stairs. Maybe you wanted to be chased, manhandled, held by those big, rough hands—Steve couldn't think of any other reason for your second attempt at escaping.

So, he snatched you up again. This time, you ended up dangling over his shoulder, and your feet were quicker to react this time. But your struggles were futile and adorable, and Steve chuckled when he brought you back to the cement floor and blocked off the stairs with a stiff body.

Once standing, you flicked your hair away again. Steve pushed his sweater sleeves up to his elbows. Cords of muscle flexed in his forearms—those strong, wide forearms. The scotch was starting to take effect. The room was getting smaller and hotter by the second, and you couldn't stop watching his lips grow pinker with heat.

"You have to stop touching me," you breathed out, so much softer than you wished it would sound. But you had no strength around Steve when he was at this proximity.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, swallowing. He almost seemed in pain. "Then stop looking at me like that."

Your mouth ran dry. The room regained its frigidity in an instance. The sizzle of saliva down your throat passed between you.

"Like...like what?"

There was an ache growing in your chest that you were starting to resent. A hollow, weeping ache that squeezed with all its might when Steve looked down and shook his head.

"Nothing."

You watched him a moment. Scuff his shoes through the dirt on the floor. Wipe at his nose the way he does when he's nervous. Tuck his hands into his pockets and roll his shoulders. Meet your eyes only to duck away again.

"What if I...just go home?"

Steve scratched at the back of his neck, tousling his hair. "I'll-I'll walk you."

You nodded. "Okay."

Steve bundled in his coat and scarf, slipping on a pair of ratty old gloves before you pushed your way out the front door. Though you only lived a few houses down, it as a difficult trek. You had to hoist your legs with every step, kicking snow up the back of your jeans and under your coat. The wind whipped flurries at your face and numbed your mouth.

By the time you made it to your own front door, you were shivering and no less flustered than a few minutes ago. You turned around as you reached for the knob, finding Steve at the top step, waiting.

"Thanks for walking me."

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. His smile was tight-lipped. "Sure."

You opened the door and slipped inside. Steve watched you kick the snow off your boots against the wall and shimmy your coat onto the hook. He watched you trudge to the steps and ascend them slowly, lost in the world of your own thoughts.

He stepped back and shuffled through the mound of white on your front lawn. He stopped in view of your bedroom window on the second floor, and watched the glass turn yellow in the lamplight. You passed in front of the window on your way to the bed.

Steve echoed a white breath into the air.

Maybe one day.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 58

@saiaisaiko and I were talking in the comments of one of my earlier prompts, and they really inspired me to make this prompt, so all the love to them, thanks for being my muse ;P Geralt has known right from the start that Jaskier is human. A mortal. Before Geralt will even know, he'll die. So Geralt eventually does relent and admit they're best friends, but he will NEVER give in to his feelings of love for the bard. He shoves it all down and away. Geralt will not fall in love with something he's going to lose. He wouldn't survive it. He already knows he'll never be the same after Jaskier leaves, he won't be able to keep going if he knows what it's like to love and be loved with Jaskier. He watches as Jaskier gets too old for following along the path, and then too old to work, and then too old to live. Geralt cries as he holds Jaskier's hand as Jaskier lays in his death bed. Geralt was... Broken. To be honest. Trudging on with life in an emotionless haze, not really remembering anything or truly caring, Geralt finally makes it to Winter, going back to Kaer Morhen and holing himself up in his room for the most part. The only time he leaves his room for anything but retrieving food to bring back to said room is when he hears his brothers shouting in shock and horror. Geralt races to the courtyard where they are, only to see the impossible. A man with wings made of fire flies down into the courtyard, gracefully. And Geralt knows the man. He looks like Jaskier. But Jaskier from their first year together in Posada. He's young. He's alive, and young. Jaskier folds his wings in and takes a step closer, opening his mouth to say something, but Geralt can't even hesitate. He races forward and kisses Jaskier roughly. Perhaps a romance between them wasn't as impossible as he had first thought. ♡!Optional addons!♡ • Jaskier also had no idea he was a phoenix until he emerged from a pile of ash looking 18 again • Jaskier DOES know he's of phoenix blood, and tries to tell Geralt such on his death bed, only to die before he can get it out. He words it as him revealing a big secret, and Geralt misunderstands and assumes Jaskier was about to tell him that Jaskier loves him. (And yes, Jaskier DOES, but really, he thought that wasn't a secret.) • Jaskier was CONVINCED Geralt already knew (How could he not?) and is just so bewildered that Geralt was/is sad and disbelieving when Jaskier first shows up. I mean, why wouldn't Jaskier choose Geralt for his other lifetimes as well? Did he have to go so far? It took forever for Jaskier to catch up and find him on the damn mountain!

[fangdokja]

"I’ll burn the world if it means keeping you warm in the ashes."

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Vigilante x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. #1

♡ Word Count. 1,018

His Obsession

From the moment he laid eyes on you, the world shifted. It wasn’t love—not in the way you might imagine—but an all-consuming need to take every piece of you and weave it into his existence.

He doesn’t see you as fragile. No, you’re far too strong for his liking. It irritates him, the way you resist, the way your eyes hold defiance. He’s determined to break that. Not to destroy you—oh no—but to rebuild you into something better, something his.

Every breath you take feels stolen to him. Every step you take away from him feels like a betrayal.

He memorizes you. The slope of your neck, the twitch of your lips, the way your hands tremble when you think you’re alone. He sees it all, cataloging it, dissecting it, planning how he’ll use every piece of you against yourself.

Psychological Warfare

He doesn’t just break your body—he unravels your mind.

The messages start small: a flower on your doorstep with a petal missing. A photo of yourself, taken from outside your window, tucked into your mailbox. His handwriting scrawled on the back: "Beautiful, even when you don’t know I’m watching."

He isolates you with precision. Your friends suddenly stop answering your calls. Your coworkers grow distant. He forces a world where only he exists.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispers one night, his voice a husky growl in the suffocating silence of your apartment. “The weight of my gaze, even when you think you’re alone.”

And you do. You feel it in the way shadows linger too long, in the phantom sensation of fingers brushing against your skin.

Manipulation: The Shackling of Your Soul

He isn’t satisfied with just having you near—he wants your thoughts, your dreams, your nightmares.

He doesn’t lock you away; no, that would be too simple. Instead, he ties you to him with invisible chains. He makes himself indispensable, the only constant in the chaos he’s created around you.

When you cry, he holds you. When you scream, he covers your mouth. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t waste your voice. You’ll need it when you’re begging me to stop.”

You try to run once. You don’t even make it to the end of the street before his hand clamps over your mouth, dragging you into the shadows. His breath is hot against your ear as he growls: “I should be furious with you. But I’ll let it slide this time. You know why?” His lips curl into a twisted smile. “Because I enjoy the chase. But don’t test me again.”

Sadistic Precision

Pain isn’t just an act for him—it’s an art form.

He knows exactly how to break you, how to inflict the kind of pain that lingers without destroying you completely. “Did you know,” he muses, dragging a blade across your forearm, just deep enough to sting, “that the human body can endure up to forty-five del? That’s childbirth-level pain. Let’s see how close we can get, sweetheart.”

He takes his time, savoring every gasp, every twitch of your muscles. The blood doesn’t scare him; it excites him. It’s proof of his power over you.

His voice is soft, almost tender, as he presses his lips to your ear: “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It only makes me want to hurt you more.”

The Age Gap Dynamic

He’s older, wiser, and infinitely more dangerous. His presence fills every room he enters, his broad shoulders and battle-scarred hands a silent testament to his past.

He uses his age and experience as leverage. “You think you know everything,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “But you’re just a baby in a world full of monsters who would ruin you. Blessed for you, you’ve got me to keep you safe.”

His touches are deliberate, dominating. He enjoys reminding you how small you are compared to him, how easily he could break you if he wanted to. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “So delicate. So helpless. It’s almost adorable.”

Dialogue: His Words Are Knives

The room was silent except for the sound of his breathing, each exhale a reminder of his control, each inhale a claim on your existence.

“The world doesn’t deserve you. But I do.”

His hands, stained with blood and malice, were the hands that cradled your trembling frame. A paradox of cruelty and care, his touch left bruises that whispered stories of love twisted beyond recognition.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How quickly people break when you press the right buttons.”

Blood seeped into the cracks of the wooden floor, a silent witness to his devotion. His voice, low and reverent, cut through the suffocating stillness: “I’m making you perfect, piece by agonizing piece.”

“So scream all you want. No one will hear you but me. And I like the sound.”

“I don’t want to own you. I want you to willingly offer yourself to me.”

“Your body is mine. Your soul? I’ll carve my name into it, one way or another.”

His smile wasn’t warmth—it was a blade, sharp and cruel, slicing through the thin fabric of your hope.

The Night Visitor: You woke up to the sound of your door creaking open. Your breath catches as his shadow fills the doorway, tall and unyielding. He steps into the room, his boots heavy against the floor. His voice is a low murmur: “Couldn’t sleep without checking on you. You looked lonely.”

The Reminder: He corners you in the kitchen, his hand slamming against the counter beside your head. The knife in his other hand gleams under the dim light. “I thought I told you not to leave the house,” he says, his tone calm but laced with menace. “You’re testing my patience, sweetheart.”

The Revelation: Blood drips from his fingers as he kneels in front of you, his eyes wild. “I did it for you,” he says, his voice trembling with something between madness and devotion. “Every scream, every drop of blood—it was all for you.”

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Thirteen

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Thirteen!! I'm actually so excited to post this one. There's some angst, but like it's not all bad, this is actually probably one of my favourite updates to date. But this is just a forewarning! Lots of swearing too, to be expected really so.. Anyway, hope you enjoy it, have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of emotions over this one!

Thank you again for all the love this series has gotten, means so much and really does keep me writing:)

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy @helloitsme1223

Masterlist

It was strained. 

The entire house, its whole atmosphere. It was just incredibly heavy and strange.

It wasn’t hard to miss either, judging from the careful way Rosie had been watching the two of us since she’d first woken up this morning. 

But last night hadn’t fared any better. Em had been weirdly distant; not meeting my eye, dancing around subjects, hardly speaking at all in actuality, and then he went as far as to avoid my touch— even as I’d handed him a fucking fork. 

It was such a harsh reality check for me in truth, because suddenly, I felt like an intruder. 

“El?” Rosie’s voice rang out, drawing me from my inner musings as well as the slice of toast I’d practically been burning a hole into. 

“Hm?” I replied belatedly, dragging my eyes up and away from my plate to cast her a distant look, but Z was just wearing this perplexed sort of frown that had me blinking away any remaining haze as she dropped her spoon into her bowl of cereal. The splash sent a few drops of milk flying over the countertop.

“Called you like four times.” She sighed, that frown of hers still prominent enough for me to throw a small smile back in apology.

“Sorry, just– must be half asleep still.” I attempted to shake off the solemn feeling I’d been cast in, laughing faintly before I finally took a bite out of my own breakfast, hating the way the bread tasted like ash in my mouth.

She didn’t seem to take the bait though, not if the scrunch of her brow was any indication, or her next words, “Are you sure? ‘Cause last night–”

I didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for Marshall’s sudden appearance in that next moment because the girl swiftly cut herself off in favour of hurriedly spooning another load of cereal into her mouth.

Marshall whipped around the island without so much as a glance in my direction, opening up the fridge before he turned towards the coffee pot he had laid out but hadn’t used since my first day here. The kettle and the half-made mug of tea I’d set out for him either going unseen or just ignored. I was betting on the latter.

I opened my mouth to say something, if only to break the debilitating silence, when the man himself unknowingly cut me off. “You almost ready?” He questioned Z, who was still slurping up the remnants of her bowl. 

The girl’s eyes darted towards him from over the porcelain brim of it before she dropped her arms to cast him a buoyant grin lined with, what could have only been, a milk moustache. I couldn’t help the fondness my smile gave way to, or how I reached out to wipe her upper lip with a nearby napkin. 

Her expression softened at either the gesture or my laughter, I wasn't quite sure, but her bright eyes glanced back over to her Dad just as I withdrew my hand.

“Nearly, just my shoes.” Rosie told him easily enough, kicking her legs out beneath the table to better show him her shoeless feet. I saw Marshall roll his eyes out of the corner of my own eye and deigned to take a long sip of my brew if only to keep from flashing him the shared smile that threatened to break through. I didn’t think it would fair well right now, me trying to buddy up to him over his daughter's shameless antics. 

“We got fifteen minutes ‘fore you’re late.” He replied to her as he all but drained his mug dry, the heady smell of coffee grinds polluted the kitchen's air. I bit the inside of my cheek when the familiar warning of scalding his mouth crawled its way out across my tongue, but I didn’t dare speak a word.

Rosie bobbed her head in a quick understanding, already jumping down from the barstool to run and grab the last of her things before she could set off for school, forgetting the dirtied bowl she had left on the counter.

I didn’t think much of my next movement, in truth, mostly looking for a reason to ignore the heavy cloud which had since settled over the shared space, as I picked up both the bowl, my plate too, to carry them both over to the bin and sink. 

A sound had me glancing back over my shoulder instinctively once I’d turned on the taps though, surprised to find Marshall already looking in my direction, or rather the sinks, I supposed.

But maybe I was wrong about that, because my surprise jumped straight up to shock when I heard him speak, to me. “How many times I tell you, you ain’t gotta do that?” It didn’t sound much like the question it was meant to be, more of a grunt than anything else as his hard stare flickered up to meet mine.

It was instinct for me to frown, but as my forehead went to furrow I was quick to smooth it back out again and turn my back on him, knowing this conversation would be much easier if I made quick work of the dishes in the sink. “I don’t mind.” I muttered back, hands already covered in soap duds.

He didn’t deign to respond, just let the sound of the water fill the lengthy space that had been created between us so suddenly. My heart ached a little over it, in truth, as I wondered what I’d done so wrong to have fucked up the easy thing we had going on here. 

Because look, it wasn’t as though I was new to quick snipes or heated conversations, or whatever the fuck this was. But it unsettled me enough to know that it was him that I was on the outs with. Marshall, he’d practically taken me in, done more than just house and feed me, but now he was just over it? Done with all the niceties because of an almost– what, kiss? If it had even been that at all. 

But I didn’t, scratch that, I couldn’t linger on the thought because if I did, then I would be sure to start fucking throwing back words a lot more scathing than just ‘I don’t mind’.

I was broken from the way I was furiously scrubbing away at my plate with the scour when my personal space was suddenly invaded. I all but jumped out of my skin as my head shot over to the left to find Marshall now stood there, leaning over me in the tight corner which sat between the two adjoining counters, just so that he could drop his cup into the soapy basin. 

His eyes met mine the second I looked up at him, mouth somewhat agape enough to have those icy blues of his dropping down to catch a quick look before they settled back on my own again. I went to swallow, confused and caught entirely off guard by the intrusion, but found I couldn’t. Which was good, in reality, seeing as I didn’t dare want to let onto the fact that he’d garnered anything more than surprise out of me.

“Seein’ as you don’t mind then.” 

Marshall’s comment perplexed me further, before I caught wind of what he was really getting at with it. So it was in that next moment that I allowed my eyes to narrow, even as he brushed back against me slowly, almost languid in his retreat. 

I huffed out a tiny, grim laugh, more air than anything, when I shoved the dish I’d been cleaning into his chest, flicking soap and water all over him. But it was missed only slightly by his moving form, catching his bicep instead and allowing a trail of water to drip down his bare forearm. “You won’t mind dryin’ then.” I shot back scathingly, clenching my teeth.

As much as my own action had surprised me, the drawl of my accent heightening in my anger gave way to the actual shock which lined beneath it, forcing me to turn back to the sink before Marshall could realise or actually comment on it. 

I didn’t know what it was about what had transpired that kept him from jumping down my throat, but he kept quiet even as it took him a good second or two to grab the towel hanging by the draining rack and wipe at the sodden plate. 

It was tense after that. Not a word was spoken, and so a shaky exhale left me the moment Rosie reentered the room, her shoes clicking against the kitchen tiles as she slung her school bag over a single shoulder. 

If Marshall heard the reaction, he gave no indication, but was quick in the way he jumped back from the counter to meet her. “Let’s go.” He all but demanded after he’d chucked the towel down onto the side so that he could round the island. 

I didn’t have to look back to hear the confusion Rosie obviously felt, “Is El not coming?”

Opening my mouth to answer her, my chest pinched when Marshall did so for me instead, “Not today. Come on, you gone be late.”

It was with that which he withdrew from the room with, leaving me blinking and Rosie gaping at his retreating figure. I wondered then where the hell it had all gone wrong. 

When Rosie casted her eyes back to me, my hands were still hovering over the sink but I witnessed the way her usual smile had transformed into something more solemn, or perhaps just ruminative. 

Being the adult, as well as the ‘bigger fucking person!’ I wanted to scream at his back. I forced my expression into something a whole lot sweeter than just the bewilderment that had plastered it a second before. I let go of a large breath and reached for the tea towel. 

“I just got a new idea for a song, figured I’d write it down before I lost it, you know?” I attempted to reassure, brushing off how odd the entire situation must have seemed to her.

Because why was I covering for a forty-something year old man and his pissy demeanour? Well, one simple reason could be that it wasn’t Rosie’s fault that her Dad was being a massive prick at the moment, and that I for one wasn’t going to be shucking her with the bubbling irritation I felt for him. Something which I’d picked up from living in a house a whole lot worse than this, where you didn’t know whether a reply would earn you an outright laugh or something to tell your future therapist about.

Z was nothing if not perceptive though and so when she just hummed I was quickly taken back to my own childhood, to when some of my mum’s less shittier boyfriends had attempted to lie their way out of what was obviously happening between the two of them. My skin itched at the thought.

“You gonna be here when I get home?” She asked me before I could say anything at all, which broke my fucking heart, because Rosie was so quick to add to her question, if only to make it seem as though it had been something other that it was, “You know, ‘cause Dad’s talking to the school about what happened yesterday… So I just figured you might wanna hear about it when I got back.”

“Of course I do, Z.” I promised in one hasty reply, already moving to dry my hands before I could even really think about it. “Of course.” I repeated as I made my way over to her, smiling warmly when she met me halfway. “It’ll all be just fine, you hear me?” I murmured to her the second I let myself get swept up in one of her gentle hugs, “Your Dad will sort it all and I’ll be here waiting to hear about it the second you get home, okay?”

She was quiet for a long moment before she just whispered, “Swear it?”

My eyes shuttered closed and I buried a sad smile in the top of her head, already reaching out to lock my pinky with hers. “On my life.” I swore quietly, forcing myself to match the wry grin she wore when she pulled away to peer down at our interlocked fingers. Rosie giggled lightly, choosing to swing our arms back and forth.

I shook my hand in return, wobbling the pair of our limbs ever so slightly, before a slight cough gained our attention. I looked up whilst Z spun around on her heel to find Marshall stood waiting just outside of the doorway, a hazy shadow crossing over the bridge of his nose as he toyed with the set of keys he had in his hand. 

His voice was all too soft when he spoke, eyes zeroed in on his daughter, “Time to go, bean.”

It took everything in me then to look away from him and over to the clock stationed on the far wall, letting Rosie’s hand slip from mine after I gave it a small squeeze. “He’s right.” I sighed lightly, “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

She was already peering back up at me when I looked over and so I wasn’t too startled by the sudden embrace she wrapped me up in before she hastily made her way towards the front door. 

The quiet which settled in after her wake forced my gaze to return to the man who had yet to follow, his eyes faltering between my own before he dipped his chin in a barely there nod, a gesture which spoke volumes as he turned to leave.

–

Messages  Lottiebug 🐞 In school!! Sorryyyyy didn’t mean to ignore u Was out late and passed out At lunch now, promise to call later xxxxx Love u don’t miss me too much:))

I actually wanted to wring the kid’s neck. She was such a stress inducer that I was sure to head back home to her covered in hives come this point. I mean, where did she get off on making me worry like that? Especially after all that had gone down, all that she had kept from me. And with Rosie last night too, her entire situation having flooded my mind with memories of the past.

Messages  To: Lottiebug 🐞 You’re the actual antichrist I swear Where the hell have you been Lotts?? I’ve been worried sick just waiting for a text or a call, did your phone just die? Or did your charger break again? I swear I’m flying home if you don’t call me the second you step out of those school gates

Or you know, maybe sooner if things with Marshall carried on.

I sighed at the burst of adrenaline which had rushed and drained from me in a too short moment, before I tossed my phone down onto the couch I’d taken to sprawling on, a plethora of notes and pages dotted all around me. 

I figured it was at least one less thing to worry about now though, even if everything going on with Lottie was still a rather large issue at hand. I wanted to scream about it all actually. But currently, my biggest problem was this song. And maybe the man who was set to return in the time between now and the moment Rosie got out of school. 

Because see, I had a small hunch that Marshall was probably going to avoid me for as long as he possibly could, which would end up being the very second his daughter danced back through that door.

The thought had me groaning again, unhappy with how everything was turning out, as well as the lyrics that I just couldn’t get to sound quite right. See, I hadn’t been outright lying to Z when I’d claimed that I had an idea for a new song. Being unable to sleep truly worked wonders on the psyche and could send your imaginative thoughts into a whole other realm.

But still, I was struggling to get it all to fall into place, the verse sounding much more like a bridge and the chorus still lacking something. Even so, it was promising. That much I could tell. Only thing was, I was stuck on whether or not it was going to end up on Marshall’s scrapheap or my next album. 

It was what I was here for, wasn’t it? To write, to collaborate. Even after we’d gotten a little bit side tracked the last few days. But I just didn’t know how much he wanted from me, we hadn’t really spoken about it or hashed over all the gritty details. And yet, even after last night and this morning, I was still here trying to pull something together for him to come back and hear. Even if I was sure that he’d can it the second he did.

“You look like someone just shit on your chest.”

I startled at the voice, flailing a tad to get a better look at the figure which now loomed behind the sofa, but it seemed as though the scare had been enough to send all my hard work flying. 

Three things happened in the next moment: I gaped, frowned, and then ultimately topped it all off with a rather hefty huff, turning back to grab at the pages I’d just been scrawling on with my tongue tucked between my teeth.

“Shat on my chest?” I answered back in the same dull monotone he’d just used, face screwing up slightly as I stretched to collect the last page that had slipped its way further down the sofa. “You know that expression intimately, or just guessing?”

A breathy snort sounded just as the page I’d been reaching for was snatched up before me. My gaze snapped upwards in narrowed slits to scowl at him, unimpressed by the action, before I held out a hand towards him, silently asking for it back.

Marshall took no note. Instead his eyes flitted over the red ink I’d been working on, reading it at a mile a minute. He handed it back without another word said and then rounded the sofa to fall into the seat beside me. 

He had picked up a couple drinks whilst he’d been out, it seemed. Just a couple of coffee’s from what I could first tell and so I wrinkled my nose at the obnoxious smell they let off whilst I settled the final page back into the pile I’d since formed.

“Figured you’d be gone longer.” I couldn’t help but mention whilst he settled in, taking a slow deliberate sip from one of the brown paper cups before he slid the other across the coffee table in my direction, an action to which I raised a brow to.

He shrugged languidly as though nothing had occurred between us earlier, like he had the entire world at his feet actually, and then gathered up the pile, flicking through the pages without much care. “Dealt with that kid and his shitty-ass father, stopped off to get somethin’ to eat when Paul called, then came home.” He quipped promptly enough, leaning forward in his seat to rest his cup back down on the table and shuffle the first few pages between the hands he now had resting on his knees, “This new?”

I flicked my tongue over my front teeth, harsh enough to feel it drag and keep my head from imploading, but careful enough that it didn’t bleed– just yet, I allowed myself to add on. Because honestly, if I had to refrain myself much more than I currently was it sure was going to. 

“Yes.” I quipped shortly, picking up my phone to slide through the brief voice notes I’d made the previous night in bed and then again when I’d stepped out of the shower this morning. “It was just something I kept on replaying, a little melody.” I explained if only so that I wouldn’t allow myself the space to start pestering him with questions and his sudden switch up, because what was with that? “Figured I’d just get it down whether it was good or not.”

He grunted out a hum.

I gritted my teeth.

“What happened at the school then?” I asked in a mutter, feigning nonchalance even though my eyes were already trained on him reading my words and the fact that I was now dying to know what he’d been on about when referencing this kid’s ‘shitty-ass father’. 

His eyes were slow in the way they sloped over to me, my own darting back down to my phone if only so that I could pretend to meet his stare. He looked away again a second later, rolling a single shoulder. “Some teacher caught the shove yesterday, principle was already waitin’ for me when I pulled up.”

Surprised, I blinked. “What, he dragged both you and the kid’s dad in?”

“She. Misogyny has no place in the modern world, Elia.” Marshall corrected all too easily with that curt smile of his that he was so used to using. Typically it would have had me chuckling, but now it just pissed me off further, especially with the use of my full name.

Instead of reacting though, something I supposed he was aiming for there, I rolled my eyes. “She, what the fuck ever. What happened?”

Marshall leaned back in his seat with a quiet huff, “Guy got what was comin’ to him, fuckin’ wrung him and his kid out. Bitch figured he could say a bunch of shit about me and my daughter and I’d just let him?” He blew out a small titter then, though his evident smile was grim, “Bastard’s jus’ lucky I didn’t throw him through one of them windows. Could pay someone more than what he earns in a year to chop his fuckin’ hands off for me.”

I didn’t know how to take his words, all I knew was that a strange emotion had settled over me upon hearing them, almost uncurling the coil that my shoulders had wound themselves into. 

Still, I licked at my lower lip and reached out to take the other cup he’d pushed down onto the table, pleasantly surprised by the lack of coffee it offered. Infact, the sweet taste of chocolate started to chip away at the icy irritation that had been brewing since early this morning. 

“So, no lawsuits?” I murmured over the brim, pulling up a leg to get more comfortable on the sofa, seeing as my little makeshift workspace had now been overtaken. 

Marshall’s eyes caught on me in that next moment and, stupidly, I wasn’t put off by the way they were so clearly examining me. The grit of his jaw softened after a minute and so I figured he’d found whatever it was he was searching so intently for. “A fine for parkin’ in a no-stop zone. But nah, no lawsuits this time ‘round.”

One corner of my mouth ticked upwards impulsively, though I was quick to smother it behind the paper cup, feigning a sigh instead, “And here I thought I’d get to witness a real court in session.”

Em didn’t hide his own smile at my words, his eyes gleaming in a way that gave more away than he realised. You see me, they said. 

I supposed I did.

–

Working on music had always been a way for me to channel or process my emotions and thoughts, whether it was when writing or just messing around. It was possibly the reason as to why I was constantly in a bubble of it, when working, when cooking, driving, when I showered or got ready for bed. It was just always there, a constant companion in a way. 

Em seemed to be torn from the same cloth. In the days I’d spent with him and Rosie, I’d gotten to understand that in a whole new way, he played music almost as much as I did, even if it was barely audible, I could still see the way it settled him in the drum of his hand or the tapping of his foot. I guessed it was why we worked so well together, just in the studio of course.

Somehow we managed to leave whatever resentment and odd feelings we’d been experiencing at the door to the downstairs studio when we’d moved from the living room to get a start on writing again. The song I’d been working on earlier had been pushed to the side so that Marshall could show me the few verses and ideas he’d had for the song we’d been messing with previously, the same one he’d called Dre and practically fawned over.

“I figure it’ll open the album.” He explained from where he’d wheeled his way over to the sound deck, scribbling over the top of it with the pen he kept chewing on subconsciously. “Set the tone, then we can just work around it.” 

I hummed noncommittally, rereading the chorus I’d jotted down and since toyed with. “Could have a big voice on it,” I suggested to him, “Like, it sort of feels like a symphony in the way it builds, I reckon a few people could be jumping over one another for a chance at it.”

When I was met by an immediate silence, the scratch of his pen having paused, the rustle of his papers too. I dragged my eyes up and away from my own page to cast him a sparing glance, but was evidently surprised to find him already watching me. Rather intensely.

“What?” I queried, dropping my hand away from where I’d been rolling my lower lip between my fingertips.

He levelled me with a blank look, “You’re fuckin’ stupid if you reckon I’ma ask anyone but you to sing on this.”

My brow furrowed, before I raised my hand in a placating gesture. “It was just a suggestion– a good one too. Song won’t get as much recognition if I’m on it.”

That blank look shifted so quickly that I could barely even blink before it morphed into something which visibly portrayed his inner irritation. “You think I give a fuck about shit like that? I care about how it sounds, not how much it can make.”

Rolling my eyes, I just shook my head and looked back down at the marked margain, not entertaining him with a reaction. I knew I was right in my words and hadn’t meant anything by it, he could take it how he liked for all I cared. 

He didn’t appear to enjoy that though, seeing as he dropped the pen down onto the deck with a clatter to push himself to his feet and walk closer to the couch I was still perched on. “I mean that shit. What, you think I was jus’ gone push you aside? You think that little of me? Last I checked, this was your fuckin’ song.”

His voice was littered with misplaced exasperation and the way he chose to tower over me, even if he was still stood a foot and a half away, showed it too. He was looking for a fight, had been waiting for it, gearing up. I realised then, rather belatedly, that he wasn’t too good at holding onto his emotions. Sure, he could wait and bite his tongue when he chose to, but those feelings he had only seemed to bubble further the longer he held them in, as though they were stewing in the acid of his stomach, waiting to burn through.

I could really see it now. He was antsy, overassessing, overthinking this entire situation. I could almost smell the unease he’d been simmering in, and I knew it was all down to what had transpired the night before. Only now, he had a real excuse to bite back at me. Rosie wasn’t around to hear or interrupt, and me? I was done being impassive. 

“Yeah, Em. Of course,” I drawled with little to no care as to how I was practically scoffing at his words, “I think you’re an egotistical prick who just wants to steal my work, wasn’t as though I was the one to suggest getting someone else on it or anything.”

He didn’t take too kindly to the sarcasm. 

“You’re awful fuckin’ mouthy for someone who claims they a nobody, you know that?” He sniped back with enough heat to have my back immediately straightening, “All high and mighty, that it? Like you can do no fuckin’ wrong.”

My mouth fell open because– what?

“Just waltz in here,” He continued on in his tirade, “Into my goddamn life and jus’ throw your opinions out, then expect me to lap it all up. Well I ain’t your fuckin’ lapdog and I’m sick of listenin’ to you tell me what to do and how to do it.” He shot out, casting me away with a gesture of his hand which seemed so pointless, what with the way his unblinking gaze was still hooked on me. 

“Me?” I bristled, my voice high in the face of his outright irony as I stared up at him. “You brought me here! You! You were the one to call me, Marshall. You were the one to ask me to collaborate. To come stay with you here. To invite me into your fucking goddamn life!” I mimicked callowly, “So don’t go throwing that shit back in my face just ‘cause it's blown up in yours now.”

“The fuck’s that meant to mean?” Marshall seethed, ridgid in his stance as I forced myself to my feet too, done with sitting below a man so full of anger. 

I laughed bitterly and shook my head at him. “I don’t know what the fuck last night was, but since it happened you’ve been acting like a proper dick about it. An even bigger one than I’d been expecting, too.” I told him plainly, pointing towards his chest as I tried to bite back my gall smile, “And everyone else might be fine soothing your ego and apologising to appease whatever fucking delusions you’ve conjured up in that thick head of yours, but I’m not gonna let a grown man mess with my head and make out like I’ve done something wrong or acted inappropriately. ‘Cause look, I’m sorry if I offended your sensibilities, but again, you’re old enough to fuckin’ be able to work through your own feelings. I can’t be expected to read your mind!”

My chest was heaving with all the anger that fueled my words and I only realised a second too late just how close we’d grown in the short space that sat between his heated question and my reply. 

I glanced up into his eyes, that familiar blue gone, now swimming in dark hues. They flickered between my own and for a split second, I wondered what he saw. He was breathing just as harshly as I was, lit by the intense conclusion we’d been pulled into. 

It was make or break, I figured. 

But then he met me halfway and suddenly I was drowning in him. His hands in my hair, tugging, my fingers digging into his sides. It was unlike the night before, where his breath had been teasing, ghosting over my skin in baited wait. His words soft and genuine. Now it was just sparks flying off–  only not in that shitty Disney magic sort of way, but instead it felt like steel being forged in fire. 

I couldn’t concentrate on the way he was biting at me, teeth clashing as he forced me to expose my neck, me responding in the only way I knew how, dragging his lip between my incisors and pulling. Tugging. Hoping it hurt.

He walked us backwards, feet encasing mine, drawing me up against the nearest wall. My fingers dug in harder, feeling the muscle of his torso jump beneath me. He knocked my head back and we both heard the collision it made with the concrete there but neither of us seemed to care. The sting was enough for me to sink my nails into the skin of his neck and he retaliated by dropping his mouth to my jaw, leaving me gasping at the ceiling that sat above us, pulling him closer even as his own hands started to explore.

“Bastard.” I blew out, voice hitching when his tongue circled around my pulse point.

He answered me by nipping at the skin there, not enough to bruise but to mark, dragging his mouth lower and lower, tugging at the hem of my top until he bit harshly into the collarbone he’d exposed. I choked on my next breath, clawing at his nape until he soothed the sting with a featherlight kiss. 

I dragged his face back up to meet mine, his jaw in the palms of my hands as I knocked my nose against his, panting against his open mouth, not even questioning how I’d gotten this worked up by just his teasing. Because that was what this was, a game. The opener before the real show could begin. He seemed to know it too, smirking briefly at me before he slotted his mouth back over mine, dragging his thumb down my cheek to pool in the small dip there.

My hands fell too, they clung to whichever part of him they could find, but it wasn’t enough. It felt as though everything I’d been feeling, every emotion I’d experienced, not just over the past twelve hours, but during our phone calls, our texts, and the days I’d spent with him here, were pouring out of me. From crevasses that I didn't even know could exist until then.

He pushed and he shoved, greedy in the task of getting what he wanted, but I was just as bad. Just as eager. The moments over the past week where I’d lingered too long, looked too intently, were all making sense now. Silently, I hoped I left my own mark on him, something that was enough to have his mind lingering on me instead. 

I wondered then if he’d known this had been coming. If all his irritation had just been pent up tension. If he’d been angered by the fact he’d given himself away last night.

But then he pulled away. 

My eyelids fluttered.

His thumb dropped to swipe over my bottom lip. It settled there for a second, then two. 

It withdrew, smeared in a sheer coat of spit. I watched on, jaw agape, as he lifted it up to meet his own mouth, wiping it clean in one swift suck all whilst he stared back at me, his eyes taunting. Mouth menacing. 

My next breath escaped me in a silent shudder.

His eyes, dilated and glimmering, flickered between my own. Mirrored arousal looming over us like a thick fog, before he took another step back.

Away.

Retreating.

Only, was that what it was?

I watched, baited by his stance. By the devious look his gaze gave way to. The rest of his features were solemn almost, so blank that it was practically daunting. But his eyes…

They told a different story.

The studio was so quiet I doubted the thought that he couldn’t hear my heavy pants, or the way I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I waited, pondering over his next move, what he might say, before he tilted his head.

The motion caught me by surprise, ever slight as it was, before he spoke, “Times up.”

My face must have ploughed through a dozen different emotions in that brief pause, but confusion won out, head shooting to the right the second he decided to move, crossing the short distance which stood between him and the door.

“Z’s home.”

Ah.

Fuck.

[papiliotao]

・❥・THE ELYSIAN PURSUITS OF ACADEMICS

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: studying with him

♡ — Content: fluff, modern AU, school AU of some sort

♡ — A/N: I definitely didn't write this in an attempt to unwind after like three weeks straight of quizzes and tests. If you're currently suffering through school (or remember going through something similar), I hope this fic will help ease your pain! Also, if you like this please consider reblogging or commenting!

ALBEDO, who agrees to help you study without informing you that he has ulterior motives. While it is true that he wants to aid you in any way possible, a more selfish motive also lies concealed behind his gracious actions.

Lately an unfamiliar emotion has had a grip on him. It lingers, following him around, making its presence known through the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat and the way his cheeks haphazardly become rose-tinted. And while the feeling has haunted him throughout euphoric daydreams and sleepless nights alike, he finds that it is most potent when he is with you.

So now, he is sitting in the library with you, attempting to quell his curiosity and confirm his hypothesis by spending time with you to discover the catalyst for the unexplainable sentiments that plague his heart. As he glances down at his books, he notices that a thick fog fills his mind, permeating every corner of the space with tangible clouds of exhilaration. His eyes can't help but wander to you every once in a while. It almost as though there is a magnetic force drawing his aquamarine irises to you.

Whenever he is finally able to avert his stare, soft tufts of his ash-blonde hair fall and tickle his face, obscuring his view of you. However, out of a desire to seem inconspicuous, Albedo never moves to brush the strands of hair away, and one day, when you inevitably notice, you decide to help him.

A fleeting touch causes a cherry hue to dust his cheeks, and when you make eye contact with him, embarrassment overtakes Albedo. As he mutters a barely-audible "thanks" under his breath, Albedo comes to a conclusion.

He loves you.

ALHAITHAM, who is irrefutably genius yet one of the worst study partners. Ironically, his brilliance is ultimately the reason he is an ineffective tutor. Whenever he tries to explain anything to you, he uses complex terminology that sounds otherworldly, and he brings in concepts that are much too elaborate and obscure.

To some degree, Alhaitham enjoys seeing the clueless expression on your face as he uses his wits to concoct a verbose response to your questions, and when your features twist into a coalescence of confusion, he finds it oddly gratifying rather than irritating. It's endearing, and the way you attempt to keep up with his complicated explanations instead of giving up causes the slightest bit of emotion to slip through his logical front as his heart warms and a soft smile breaks loose on his face.

However, when pessimistic musings begin to spill from your lips into the air of the tranquil library, Alhaitham decides that perhaps it's finally time for him to try harder to accommodate you instead of maintaining his admittedly pretentious habits for his own amusement.

He knows that it's not your fault that you can't understand everything he says, so he doesn't see why you're criticizing yourself, but for you, he makes an effort to put your needs over his own leisure. Despite the fact that you can't see eye-to-eye, Alhaitham can still pick up on your feelings of insecurity and insufficiency, so he tries his best to slow down for you.

KAZUHA, who silently admires you as you chew on your bottom lip, allowing a groan of frustration to escape you as you exhale. To Kazuha, you look absolutely adorable. He suppresses the laughter threatening to bubble up and out of his chest, raising one of his hands to his mouth in order to conceal the tender smile blossoming on his face behind slender fingers. His ruby eyes feel permanently fixated on you as you mull over an assignment, and they sparkle with unspoken adoration with every move that you make.

He knows he should be studying, but he finds it impossible to concentrate on anything in your presence. You make his heart race erratically, and the utterance of his name from your lips whenever you need help penning down eloquently-conjured phrases sounds sweeter than the soft clinking of wind chimes in a gentle spring zephyr. 

Sometimes he longs to see the day where you finally catch him staring from across the table you're seated at, but you're always too focused on your work to notice anything off. So for now, he takes every opportunity he can to silently observe you, picking up on all your more subtle mannerisms.

And after each session of quiet hours spent in the library that pass far too slowly yet all too quickly at the same time, Kazuha takes your hand in his and walks you home, basking in the warm artificial glow of streetlights. Your bag is slung over his shoulder as the two of you stroll back to your house in the midst of a silent evening. The crisp evening air sends tingles down your spine, but Kazuha's comforting touch prevents you from shivering.

When you finally reach your destination, Kazuha says an earnest goodbye. Unbeknownst to you, he is already anticipating your next study date, walking away from your front door with a love-struck grin adorning his pretty face.

SCARAMOUCHE, who calls you an idiot for the fifth time in the span of an hour. The words leave his mouth with ease, as if insulting people is second nature to him. And perhaps it is, because whenever he helps you study, he can’t help but spout harsh fallacies whenever you get a question wrong, reprimanding you for your lack of understanding.

Although his words are rather cruel, you aren’t in a position to refuse Scaramouche’s assistance. When he’s not busy badmouthing you, the indigo-eyed boy is actually capable of offering valuable feedback. 

Besides, there are times where he actually shows some semblance of care for you. On days where you overwork yourself, Scaramouche never fails to find a way to discreetly complain about how long you’ve been studying, effectively forcing you to take a break. He likes to pretend that he’s doing it for his own sake, but deep down, he’s really just trying to look out for you.

If only you knew the full extent of his affections toward you. Every touch of your soft hands to his as you hand him your pen makes his heart flutter, and each "thank you" that falls from your lips causes a pale sunset blush to dust his fair cheeks. Perhaps one day, you will realize that all the brutal insults he sends your way are all made in a desperate attempt to conceal his overwhelming feelings for you.

XIAO, who feels his heart seize up each time he leans closer to you to get a better look at the homework causing you an unspeakable amount of grief. When he talks to you to answers your questions, his voice noticeably softens, and when you turn to him to thank him for helping you, he immediately averts his sunlit gaze.

He buries himself in piles of textbooks to distract himself from the perplexing butterflies settling in the pit of his stomach. However, whenever you call his name to ask for his assistance, his attention immediately snaps back to you.

He's surprisingly patient while teaching you. Although he's rather strict, his methods are effective, and he is completely honest with you if he believes you need to work on something. Xiao can't help but feel a twinge of guilt whenever your face falls as you get a question wrong. However, he knows that being truthful is the best way to aid you in fixing your mistakes.

And when all is said and done, Xiao finds that the way you smile with satisfaction evident in your features upon figuring a difficult concept out is the greatest reward he could ever ask for. The grin that adorns your face is woven from the stuff of dreams, and he hopes he will have the privilege of seeing it for the rest of his life.

I don't really like the way I ended Albedo's (sorry), but I was too sleep-deprived to think of anything else :( Anywayyyy, have a lovely day!