#12 hours of absolute bliss

[confidentconfusion]

I just read long live evil by sarah rees brennan all in one go and i feel like a have emerged an entirely different human being

jesus christ

like, i read a lot and there is always something wrong with a story, those tiny little derails you wished were different, but like. I didn't even have time to find any of those in this book.

I had absolutely no clue where this story was going, and I was laughing so loud i startled my cats, and I was sobbing, and i was absolutely delighted with every single plot twist

I need someone to hit me with the amnesia so i can experiance it for the first time again right now. No, let me read it a second time first so I can have the experiance of knowing, then hit me over the head with a steel bar

I feel hollow.

I fear I will never find a book this good ever again. Damn you sarah rees brennan. Bless your beautiful soul.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline. 

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation. 

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that. 

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this. 

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown. 

He did not understand where your annoyance came from. 

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel. 

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance. 

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare. 

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!" 

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown. 

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.” 

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh. 

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze. 

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime. 

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?" 

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

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[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 2 "Eidolon"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist (12 Chapters)

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag list? Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

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Night 15

Midnight darkness caresses Feyd's shoulders as he pads to his dark bed, clad in full-coverage pajamas of loose, black fabric. He catches his silhouette in the wall mirror, glad to be spared the view of the new blemishes on his back and chest.

When he slips under the stiff covers of his bed, he is almost too excited to fall asleep. Excitement knots his stomach, so he forces his lungs to perform the breathing exercise that has always helped him since he was a child, channeling his focus only on his breathing, not whatever is happening to his body, the good and the bad.

The excitement helps him through the day, but he needs to relax his mind, relax his soul.

Is it working? When will he finally sleep?

The transition is seamless. He never realizes when he falls asleep and when the dream seeps into his mind like a blessing.

But then there she is, right in his arms where she belongs. They are reclined against the headboard of the large, white bed, their legs half buried under black covers. The fern rustles faintly in the terracotta pot and Feyd catches a glimpse of the two of them in the wall mirror. Immediately, his cheeks do this thing that makes them appear rounder and fuller and his teeth are on full display while his eyes are slitted. He is shirtless and there are no blemishes on his skin.

"Have you been here for long?" He asks, fingers tracing the softness of her upper arm.

"What?" She asks.

"What?" He replies and the same sense of could-be-should-be déjà-vu as always macerates the fabric of reality. She blinks at him and he leans down to kiss her on the lips. Her hand curls around the smooth back of his head, pulling him close as she opens her mouth and beckons him inside, so easily, so softly.

When they part, she whispers: "I don't know how long I've been here, but I missed you."

"I missed you," Feyd rumbles. She has absolutely no idea how much he missed her.

Gentle hands explore his face, touching places no one has ever touched, like his closed eyelids, the dip of his cupid's bow or the meandering shapes of the shell of his ear.

"How is this scientifically possible?" She raptly breathes and Feyd's eyes open back up from the blissful trance where only the caress of her hands can bring him.

"I still don't care." He smiles, leaning closer into the warm and comforting body that breathes against him.

"How can you not care? Shared, lucid dreams imply the existence of a connection between two organisms across space time, and since our interactions seem to be instantaneous, it's almost like we're quantum entangl- Feyd!" She squeaks when he rolls her on her back, pushing one leg between her thighs and his chest on top of hers.

She is so caught up in her wild chain of thoughts, that she completely forgets to hold him and that annoys Feyd greatly. "Don't you find that fascinating at all?" She asks.

"I have bigger concerns."

"Yes, like what?" She grins, cupping his face with gentle hands.

"Like the fact that you're not kissing me."

"Oh, you're so needy." She pecks him on the mouth, noting how his features soften and his lashes lower.

"I'm not." Feyd growls, pressing his mouth against hers softly while he wonders why he actually denies it. Their chests come flush in an intimate dance of bodies, bare, vulnerable skin stretching across bones and muscles.

These may be dreams and they are the dreamers, but she is real. Feyd could never make up a woman so kind without any reference.

Night 28

"How was your day?" Worry laces her voice and Feyd would like to be upset with her but, oh, he can't. She always looks at him with such concern, as if she expects him to drop dead any moment, or fall apart beneath her fingers.

"My day was better than usual," he reveals nonchalantly, scanning her face with challenging, blue eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Something is up today, I can feel it."

"Nothing is up," he insists and delves for her throat where he intends to place kisses on the impossibly soft and delicate flesh, but she catches him by the chin (so smooth, not even a hint of stubble) and pouts.

"Don't lie to me, Feyd." She can read him so well, as if they've known each other forever.

Fine. "I killed my uncle's pet today." Oh, how good it felt to say that. The elation in his tone is impossible to hide.

"Feyd! Why?!" She lets go and flinches away from him and Feyd regrets his choice of words instantly. She however is more shocked by the fiendish grin with which he had admitted a murder than the actual words.

"If you saw iit and lived with it, you would understand why. You could say I put it out of its misery." He sits upright, mirroring her position. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, so it was sick?" She hopefully asks and Feyd is seriously tempted to just lie to her to maintain that warmth that returns to her expression. She appears to be ashamed of misjudging him, but his answer can only disappoint her.

"It-, well, I should spare you the details."

"But now I want to know." She comes back to him and curls against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She wants to know about his life.

"It was a monster. It would have scared you." And now it won't ever scare her. Feyd's arms slide around her waist and she leans into his embrace. His presence is so comforting, she thinks. She may not even care if he killed an animal.

"Was it dangerous?"

"It shouldn't have existed in the first place!" Feyd hesitates for a second and she feels the spike of his pulse against his jugular. "And it was my uncle's."

Aha, she thinks with alarm, fingers tracing patterns on his smooth, bare chest while she keeps her face hidden in his shoulder. "Tell me more about that pet." What she really wants to know is more about that uncle.

Feyd turns his head, catching her gaze which is only inches away and leans closer as if to whisper a foul secret to her. "It was Tleilaxu-fashioned." That word doesn't have the intended effect, which is a little annoying. She blinks at him without understanding - bless her innocence - so Feyd sees himself forced to elaborate. "I'm saying it was genetically engineered to be a monstrosity."

"Oh." She shrugs her shoulders like that is not at all shocking. His strange woman was shocked by his black cum but not a twitch of disgust decorates her features in the presence of breaking the laws of nature.

"It was fashioned only for my uncle's amusement, not because it should exist but because it could!" More anger swings in his tone now. "I've done it a favor."

When he was younger, he had asked himself many times if anyone would ever do him the favor, but he was too well-protected and now the idea has been banished into a dark, dark corner of his adult mind.

"So, your uncle has been… Mistreating his pet and you put it out of its misery?" Her fingers gently stroke his wrist.

"He's been treating it better than other things." Things, people, boys…

Feyd glances into the center of the room, looking right through everything, into the nothingness, not realizing how his grip tightens around her innocent flesh.

She sees it there in his eyes, the truth. She sees it in the tight set of his jaws, the sharp intake of breath, the terror buried beneath layers and layers of apathy. It could be anything, but her empathy has never lied to her. It's like she's always known.

"Oh Feyd," she says and wraps her hand around his. His every muscle becomes rigid and his head whips around. He can see that she knows. 

How can she know from just a glance? This witch! Feyd recoils, aghast that he gave away so much of himself so easily. It slipped out of his grasp like a snake left to flail on the ground and bite him in the ankles unless he stomps it dead. Should he kill her so she can't tell anyone his secret?

As he recoils and slides off the bed, she releases his wrist and Feyd's stomach cramps. Why did she let go of me? I repulse her now, I repulse myself. Everyone who knows would be repulsed and wouldn't want to touch me.

He backs off until he has maneuvered himself into a corner, shoulders drawn up, panting like the small boy who once ran down the corridors, chased by nothing but the sticky shadows of reality that follow him every waking hour. His woman hasn't followed him at all. She sits on the bed, looking at him sadly and with pity that overflows from her eyes and posture.

"I don't want your pity!" He barks, voice shaking. "You know nothing about me!" 

"I'm sorry," she squeaks, flinching, and Feyd wants to take it back, feeling awful for making her scared, but he can't, just like he can't take back the terrible truth.

"No…" Feyd weakly mutters, looking away, staring at the pattern of the floor until his vision turns grainy. Clenched fists yearn for his blade, but he's never had it in this dreamscape. Any target will suffice, a slave, a fighter, himself, his uncle… But not her.

"What can I do?"

"Can you get me out of here?" Feyd blurts out.

"Oh." Why does she sound so disappointed? "We've tried to wake up before, it's never worked, I don't know how to-" 

"That's not what I meant." Feyd's jaws grind and he stares so hard at the floor pattern that his brain starts seeing the shapes of snakes that slowly coil around what looks like his neck.

"Oh, Feyd. My poor-" 

"I don't know where that question came from!" Feyd snaps, interrupting her. Viciously, he shakes his head. His eyes sting with hot, wet tears because he's stared at the floor too long. How silly of him, a pathetic, dreaming boy, to think she could save him, when he can't even save himself. Giedi Prime's most fearsome warrior can't even-

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around him tightly and the crown of a head invites him to rest his chin upon it. Feyd's heart stops and he bites back the agonizing pressure in his throat with a choked sound.

"I'll stop if you don't want me to."

He hugs her back so fiercely that her poor ribs and spine must be aching, but she only hugs him back fiercer still, face buried in his chest, lips mouthing sweet nothings. After minutes, Feyd's grip grows weaker, his face on her head heavier and by the end of it, she is holding him.

Night 39

"Have you always dreamed?" Feyd innocently asks and she struggles to comprehend the question. 

She lies prone on her stomach, legs spread open and a pale, smooth body undulates on top of her, taut chest and tummy pressed against her back, pelvis grinding against her ass. His length slides in and out of her at an inefficient angle, every upwards arch of her hips being smothered by a downwards push of Feyd's.

"Every other night, y-yes, hah~" Once more she tries to raise her behind, but Feyd's rutting hips press her down. He could reach much deeper if he only let her move!

"And have you ever dreamed of other men?"

"Hnngg, ahh- I'm sure I have. Feyd!" Her cheeks blush hotly when Feyd slams himself to a stop, cock throbbing palpably against her walls as he holds himself there, nearly crushing her with his weight.

"What?" His voice is more growl than human and a shiver passes down her spine which is smothered by his smooth torso.

"But not like this! Oh, please, don't stop." She tries to grind her ass against his pelvis with little to no range of motion, but Feyd only slightly shifts his knees, tightening the cage he has created around her body.

"Do other men have you in your sleep?" Plush lips tickle the shell of her ear and his hot breath caresses her skin, eliciting a clench of her inner muscles around his unmoving, velvety length.

"I only dream of you," she whimpers, heart thrumming up a storm in her chest. To be craved so possessively almost feels forbidden. "And do you dream of other women?" 

"I only dream of you. I only think of you too," he rasps, hips snapping leisurely back to action massaging her inmost parts. Feyd expects her to repeat it after him but she doesn't, so he tightens his manacle around her shoulders, caging her torso with his arms. "Who do you sleep with when you're awake? Is there someone holding you while I fuck you in your sleep?" 

"No, there is no one!" She snarls, shuddering from the harsher pace that came with the last question.

"Are you lying?!" Tiny specks of spittle spray against her ear.

"I'm not lying!" She snaps. Why doesn't he believe her? "Feyd~" A pleading moan rolls past her lips, body squirming for freedom and release, rejoicing when the former is denied to her. Feyd's right arm crawls under the impossibly tight space between her body and the mattress, past her sweat-damp pubic mount.

The tender, little nub of her clit rewards him with a clench of her walls when his fingers trace deft circles, smothering her body and mind from all directions with possessive affection that would be too much if she didn't crave it so much. Her body adjusts so easily to the rough tempo and pressure builds with no way out, nowhere to go except over the top of her climax and crashing down in hard waves that squeeze his cock and make tears and drool roll down her face.

The orgasm takes her worries to the sky where they dissolve among the clouds and pelt down like harmless rain drops. What if the dreams suddenly stop, what if she will never see him again, what if something terrible happens to either of them in the real world? All meaningless words, jumbled into benign disarray as bliss takes a hold of her body.

Her face drops on Feyd's forearm which is the bars of the fleshly cage that shelters her and she moans open-mouthed against his skin as he still ruts into her from behind, chasing his own release. Why would she ever have anyone at day when she can have him at night?

 By a route obscure and lonely,     Haunted by ill angels only,     Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,     On a black throne reigns upright,     I have reached these lands but newly     From an ultimate dim Thule –     From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,           Out of SPACE -- out of TIME. - Dream-Land by Edgar Allen Poe, 1844 

[Tag list: @nostalgichoya]

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

TW: nsfw, angst

You wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet in the skillet.

Usually such a thing would mean you are dreaming, and you need to wake your ass up before you’re late for work. But you roll over to look into your tiny kitchen, finding a sight fit for Playgirl Magazine before your disbelieving eyes.

Dear Penthouse, I can’t believe this actually happened to me…

Detective Tom Ludlow is in your kitchen, making pancakes…in nothing but a towel around his trim waist. His dark hair is combed back, still wet from the shower. His broad shoulders are something to write home about–Kansas farm boys had nothing on this beautiful specimen of masculinity.

Had the night before even been real?

As though he senses your return to consciousness–or maybe the weight of your gawker’s stare upon him–he turns to look at you. “Morning, beautiful.”

You blink with surprise, because he is talking to you.

“Hi,” you greet, clever as ever, and goddammit but are you blushing?

“Whacha looking at?” he teases, spatula in hand. The very picture of domestic bliss. God help you, but in that moment you were 300 percent ready to put a ring on this man.

“Just…the most best thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, knowing you’ll kick yourself for it later.

However, the smile he pays you, smug yet somehow gentle–it fries your brain entirely.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” He crosses the short space with a few long strides to press his lips to yours. “You like pancakes with blueberries?”

You’d bought the ingredients–and promptly stuck them in the cupboards–for just such a purpose, thinking that someday, when you had time, and weren’t bone fucking tired from working 12 hour shifts days in a row, you’d make a point to treat yourself.

Funny, how that never happened, until Tom Ludlow came around.

Here you are, getting emotional about blueberry fucking pancakes.

“Yes,” is the only answer you can muster, and he kisses you so sweetly that it curls your toes.

His soft smile down at you will be the death of you. “Sleep well?”

“Like a well-fucked rock,” you tell him, winning a bark of masculine laughter. 

“Likewise, beautiful. Definitely likewise.” He vacates the couch to flip his pancake. You continue to stare, still dumbfounded.

“Tom?” you ask, still struggling to wake up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did last night…actually happen?”

“Sure did. Don’t you remember driving to Vegas? We got the best Elvis in the building.”

You blink stupidly for a few moments, before registering his absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Very funny. And the joke would be on you, if you married me on a drunken lark.”

“Why?” he asks, seemingly amused by your discomfort.

“I told you. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Far as I can tell? You’re fucking perfect, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” 

You’re not really sure why this pithy little compliment brings tears to your eyes, your lip quivering. Only a beat later does he notice, and he rushes over again.

“Hey, hey, no crying, baby, I’m sorry. What’s wrong? I was just joking.”

You swipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands, embarrassed. “You’re just..so sweet, and I actually fucking believe you, when you say this shit, ok?”

He blinks, but god bless, it only takes him a moment to assess, and act. He presses his soft lips to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, as though he can will you to accept his declarations through osmosis. “Believe it,” he tells you. “It’s true…well. Not the Elvis bit. We can do that next weekend if you want.”

You know he’s joking…but it still doesn’t fail to utterly melt your insides. This man who manhandled and harrassed you has turned out to be the biggest fucking softy, and you just might lose your shit.

You’ve already cried in front of him too many times, though, so you play it off and act like what he’s saying is no big deal. “Really? I think I’d rather have Michael Jackson instead.” 

You wonder if he misses being married. If he fucked his wife like he’d fucked you last night…you can’t fathom stepping out on him. But then you also know, that sometimes cops can also be married to their jobs. It could make for a difficult threesome. You imagine going without him, while he was working an intense case, would be absolute hell.

Tom snorts. “Whatever floats my lady’s boat,” he answers, flipping another pancake onto the stack. He ports them to the table with a flourish. “Come eat, sweet girl. You gotta work today?”

“Later. Unfortunately.”

He sticks his full lip out in a pout that should be illegal on a grown ass man. “Then eat quickly, because I’m not done with you yet.” he informs you with a wicked smirk that causes a brand new flood between your already sticky thighs. 

He turns, that broad, tapered back on full display, to finish plating breakfast, and you can’t not watch the tight muscle in his butt shift in the thin towel. You get this sudden strange urge to sink your teeth into him and latch on, and wonder if ancient cavewomen bit their partners to lay claims. Because that’s what Tom Ludlow works on—the part of your spongy brain that developed before speech and theory—the part that wants to bite and howl. 

Evolution is a bitch. 

Oh no, he can cook. And cook good. The pancakes he sets in front of you, drizzled with honey and topped with fresh blueberries, taste like a fluffy heaven in your mouth. Even the coffee is splendid, done up blonde and sugary just the way you prefer. “Tom, damn,” you compliment between mouthfuls. “You went out to get blueberries?” It’s selfish, but the thought of him leaving you alone even to run out and grab something for you makes your insides twist uncomfortably. 

“Oh, no, I borrowed some from your neighbor.” 

Of course at that moment you have an entire mouthful of coffee that you almost spray on his bare, beautiful chest. “What?!” 

He adopts a bemused smile. “Very nice lady.”

“Please tell me you had more than just a towel on?” 

“Less, actually.” 

He bursts into laughter and the astonished look on your face. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Ludlow.” 

“She asked me something really interesting.” He wipes a little honey off your top lip and sucks it into his mouth, making you dumb enough to forget you’re annoyed. “She asked me if I’m the nightmare?” 

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“You are a terrible little liar, you know that? I can see your tell from a mile away.” 

“Oh, what is it?” You smirk, shove a bite of pancake into your mouth. 

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he threatens, playful and promising, sending a thrill through your chest. 

You grab a glob of honey on your finger and kitten lick it off, almost bold enough to make direct eye contact with him for more than five seconds while you’re doing it. “Or what?” 

He pops up from his seat, and your first instinct is run. Run away. You make it two steps before he has you grabbed around the waist and is dragging you back to his place at the table. 

Your squeals of nervous laughter crescendo into a moan when he pulls you down onto his big cock. It surprises you as much as it did last night, how well he fills and stretches you. Not a piece of your fluttery hole unpunished by his silky, maddening pressure. You immediately grind, eager for that pressure to shift and rub and build you, but he stills you with a mitt on your waist. 

Then his big hands bunch in the ruffled fabric of your sundress, which somehow you never managed to remove amidst both of your eagerness to get to other parts of you instead. Slowly he draws it up over your head, tossing it away somewhere across the room. Before you can even begin to think about feeling self conscious he makes a low sound of appreciation behind you, running his hands down your curves. 

“So fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay inside this pretty little pussy all day,” he tells you, smoothing his wet tongue across your shoulder. You arch into him, and he nips your skin for the retaliation. “Feel her throb while I tell you what I wanna do to her. Jesus, you’re soaked.” 

You try to squeeze your thighs together for precious friction on your clit, but he tugs them back open, chuckling at the pathetic attempt. “You wanna fuck yourself, baby?”

“Yes. Fu-uhck.” 

“Want me to pet that pretty clit while you ride me?” He kisses up your neck, into your hairline, tugs your ear between his teeth and you see white fire. 

“Yes, Tom. Yes. Please.” 

“Then eat your breakfast.” 

It’s impossible to focus on the delicious food anymore. The chunks of stuff getting forked into your mouth are no match for the small taste of him. It isn’t long before he’s done with silverware and hand feeding you, making you lick and suck his sticky fingers clean. 

“Atta girl. Keeping me all warm and cozy.” His mouth traces circles on your upper back that make you twitch and gasp while his heavy pointer and index finger rest on your tongue, sweet and salty-pleasure and pain-the desire to move trumping all of it. 

When his fingers trail up your side and land on your nipple, rolling and pinching, you clench your thighs shut again. He grunts at you, although you think it was meant to be a sound of disapproval before you clenched deliberately on his cock. 

“You want to cum?” 

“Yessss.” 

“Then open your legs back up.” 

You obey with a groan of frustration, widening your hips so that the tantalizing pressure is off your throbbing clit. That means all you can focus on is having him inside you, and that would be great if he would just fucking thrust. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He grabs your hips to hold you in place. “You’re busy.” 

“Could be important,” you say. 

“More important than this?” He grinds up, into your cervix, into all the sensitive soaked walls of your cunt, and the answer to his question is no. Absolutely not. There is nothing more important than him or his cock. 

“Tom,” you hiss. 

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get it. Get dressed.” 

How empty you feel, when you slide off of his cock as you stand on trembling legs. He halts your progress by gripping your hips, pressing his mouth to the curve of your buttocks. You forget about the door, and everything else, turning in his arms so that he can bury his face in your cleavage. “These beautiful–” He kisses one breast cupped in his hand, “Naughty,” a kiss for the other, just beside your nipple, the tease, “titties are in so much trouble.” He sucks on your perked nipple with a pop, making you cry out. 

Knock knock knock.

“Someone’s fucking determined,” he grumbles against your skin. 

Reluctantly you manage to pull away from him, and you remember this state of the art technology in your door called a peephole. Naked as a jaybird, you peer through the tiny lens–and gasp at the sight on the other side.

This clearly interests Tom, his head canting at an angle in question. You shake your head, just knowing a perfect storm is brewing. “It’s no one. Ignore it,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t hear you on the other side, praying they have the sense to go away. You try to distract Tom again with kisses and by trying to pull him towards the bedroom, but dammit this man is solid as a fucking tree when he doesn’t want to move.

“Who is it?” he asks with a lifted brow.

Knock knock. “Y/n? I know you’re home.”

Goddammit.

What can only be described as a wicked grin spreads over Tom’s handsome features. “Oh. Let’s say hello, shall we?” 

[ceebit]

11:12 PM

wc 690 ‧ genre fluff ‧ pairing joshua x reader ‧ cece’s note i’ve been missing him terribly… so. not proofread so sorry for any spelling mistakes oops

sleep takes its sweet time in puling you under, his gaze fond as his fingers toy with the frayed edges of a t-shirt long lost to the black hole of your shared closet. a smile tugs on his lips then, disgustingly, irrevocably fond. thread gives way under his fingertips.

it’s a minute past the wishing time, red standing out against against the darkened room. tomorrow you’ll ask him if he’d asked for anything and he’ll humor you, spouting something sickeningly sweet enough for you to roll your eyes and laugh. something like lottery wins or grocery prices going down. sharing memories with you in the kitchen were fun, but scowling at ever rising numbers were beginning to become habit. any more, and he’d start seeing wrinkles by thirty-five.

still love you, wrinkles and all.

but even though he’s memorized the layout of your cramped apartment and spends more time in your cluttered room, home to miscellaneous sticky-notes and loose socks discarded tiredly, he still finds himself wishing for more. selfishly so.

his pristinely and embarrassingly bare walls quite literally pale in comparison to the life breathed into your home—and that’s what it’s become over these past few months. he spends less and less time in a space he’s resigned to paying for but isn’t living in, content to look up from your island to your tired groans and passionate complaints about whoever has slighted you in the worst way possible, hands already reaching to wrap around his middle. it’s become routine, even down to your jokes about housing him without paying rent.

and yet, you don’t.. budge. i love yous are shared almost daily, he’s seen you in less fortunate situations and you, him, and he’s absolutely certain you feel something. you accept his affection in large doses, his care criminally present, but the two of you don’t. budge. and it’s beginning to pick at the already fraying edges of his brain, overworking himself pass the very same pull sleep desperately tries to drag him under.

you love him. he loves you. what more was there to discuss? he pictures romance film worthy scenes of slow dancing in a parlor that overlooks at pretty view, the prettiest one in front of him smiling in complete bliss. something something the light from the setting sun glinting prettily against the matching silver that adorns your joined hands or something. a setting readers of young adult novels would burst into tears over.

the weight of the box sits heavy in chest as it does buried under old clothes in his dresser. he keeps telling himself he’s waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect time. he thinks he’ll end up waiting forever at this rate.

so as he sits against the headboard, shoulders heavy with anticipation, the clock strikes a new minute into the night. you stir slightly in your sleep and wrap your arms around his middle. routine even unconsciously. right then does he decide he’ll propose tomorrow, probably casually over coffee as if his nerves won’t be shot a hundred times over and the mirror isn’t sick of watching him pace back and forth.

sleep isn’t as friendly to him as it is to you. but it doesn’t matter in the long run anyway.

(tomorrow you’ll comment on his comically disbelieved appearance. his plan will nose dive out of your fourth story apartment window, eyes wide, running on adrenaline and less than an hour of fitful sleep altogether.

tomorrow he’ll tell you he loves you, he loves you for real, and set the box on the island with shaking hands. it’s far from the perfect setting, both of you in less desirable clothing.

tomorrow you’ll cry in the middle of your kitchen, swamped in a t-shirt he hasn’t seen in months, your yes warbled in between half stuttered attempts at words altogether. the rising sun does glint against your finger, so he figures a win is still a win.)

[deandoesthingstome]

Welcoming Committee - Part 12

Pairing: Captain Syverson X Reader/OFC (Drea); August Walker x OFC (Genevieve/Neve); Captain Syverson x OFC (Genevieve/Neve); August Walker x Reader/OFC (Drea)

Word count: 971

Series Summary: You and Sy have been together for three years, but you still like to mix it up. The new neighbors down the street give you a chance to do just that.

Masterlist for series warnings. Heads up: this is 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings: p in a straddled reverse cowgirl, oral f receiving, mention of m masturbation, surprise!

August kept me spread wide for Neve and continued to thrust up into my ass. I was past the point of any resistance, not that I was interested in preventing any pleasure about to overtake me, but at one time I might have subconsciously thought I could delay the gratification by tensing against his push and her pull.

I dared one more glance at Sy, wide-legged and enraptured on his private island across the room and I knew exactly what he was thinking about. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd have me locked down on our own bed and he'd be describing to me exactly what he was seeing right now. And he'd tell me how he would never forget the night so early on in our courtship when I'd grabbed his neck and pulled his ear close as he was absolutely railing me into the bed and I'd whispered in his ear to tell him how hot I thought it would be if he was instead sitting in a chair across from the bed watching someone else fuck me into the mattress. The way he groaned back at me, whipped his head to capture my lips with the scorching hot kisses I'd come to crave, and began to fuck me harder and deeper than I ever thought imaginable. That was the moment I fell for him completely and he said the same the next morning when we rehashed the night.

We spent the next few days laying ground rules, sharing fantasies, admitting desires, and promising each other forever. Our friends were only mildly shocked when we announced we'd done more than gamble on our impromptu Vegas trip the following month. Neither of us needed or cared for the trappings of a traditional wedding, or marriage for that matter. As evidenced by the way Sy sat perfectly content, stroking his giant cock with a look of sheer adoration as his friend impaled me over and over on his dick and his friend's wife licked, sucked, and fingered me to within an inch of the most intense orgasm I'd felt in a good, long while. Sy knew I needed this.

It wouldn't take much longer. Neve had taken August's lead and was now alternating her soothing licks and nips with sharp taps from her fingers and my pussy was pulsing with a tightness that could only mean one thing.

"Fuck, Neve," I whimpered. "So fucking good. Please, Sir. Will you let her let me come?"

August growled in my ear, the roar pairing nicely with the increased speed of his hips and though I couldn't see it, I could tell he was nodding down to her because her eyes darkened with intent as she slipped two fingers back inside me and circled her thumb across my clit. I could feel her press the backs of her fingers against August as he slid up and down inside me and then she pulled forward and focused all her attention at the soft, spongy bundle of nerves that was about to explode.

I lost sight of Sy and I could no longer hear him praise me from across the room. The blood rushing in my ears and the blinding lights exploding behind my eyes as the release inched closer shrouded me in a floating haze of impending bliss. When Neve finally flicked her fingers free and rubbed my clit and pussy lips hard, I let loose with a wail I don't think anyone in the room expected.

Neve smiled wide with pride and opened her mouth to receive the gush she and August had coaxed from me. It was short-lived, but she clearly wanted more and I knew I had it in me.

"Again. Do it again, Neve. Please!" I begged and she complied, alternating the press of her fingers and thumb and tongue in the secret code she'd so adeptly discovered before drawing her hand back to give a few sharp slaps and a final rub to release another gush and wave of vibration.

August gave a final thrust before he jammed his hips against mine and stayed connected, pelvis to ass as he pumped his load into the condom. I wished I could feel his hot seed dripping from me, but the extra swell of his throbbing member was still enough to send a last shockwave through me leading to one last gush of clear, sweet liquid for Neve to lap up.

When she was done licking me clean with a few gentle nips for good measure, she stood and helped August ease me off his cock. I collapsed onto the couch, drawing Neve close with me as we tangled our legs and intertwined our arms and relaxed into a heaving mess of cuddle.

"You good?" August leaned over to ask with a gentle whisper and a soft caress to my cheek, no longer playing Sir with me. When I nodded assent, he told me "Good girl. Stay right here and we'll get you cleaned up."

I couldn't really say how long he was gone, but a glass of water was eventually pressed to my lips and I felt the soothe of a wet, warm towel drawing soft across the pleasant ache between my thighs. Neve still cooed sweet nothings in my ear and I had a vague notion that I'd like to ask Sy if he and August could agree to let her and me have something private, just the two of us, sometime. Maybe often.

I had only ever felt so safe in the warm embrace of one other person, and right now that person was making his way over to our couch to slip in behind me and tell me how he was gonna have a hard time waiting till tomorrow night to relive the memory of this one.

[paperstorm]

Made it Easier Somehow

for @theghostofashton

Rating: T Pairing: TK Strand/Carlos Reyes Word Count: 1876 Tags: Established Relationship, Comfort no Hurt, Domestic Fluff

Carlos leans against the handrail in the elevator, closing his eyes for a moment. His head sways. He’s dead tired, this particular 12-hour shift feeling longer than most for reasons he can’t entirely isolate. Nothing particularly terrible occurred, and he didn’t need to stay significantly later than he was scheduled for, but the day dragged. It’s nearly midnight and he just wants to rid himself of shoes and jeans and collapse into bed. TK will be there. He was working today, too, but his shift ended hours ago and he’ll be in their bed when Carlos finally gets there. He’ll be warm and soft and Carlos bites back a moan as the elevator comes to a halt on their floor and he imagines how nice it will be to crawl in beside him.   He never used to be one for lounging, for sleeping in, for lazing days away. Carlos always felt like he was wasting time. Like there were always better things he should be doing – exercising, cleaning, working, fixing something. He was always moving, even when his body wanted him to rest, and he’s not sure he’s completely unpacked how much of that was the urge to run so fast that his hurts and fears couldn’t catch up with him. He knows it enough, and he’s getting better at settling into the bliss of lying around doing absolutely nothing with TK. When it’s the two of them wrapped up in soft blankets, with arms around each other and legs tangled and kisses to foreheads, it feels like a far more valuable use of his time than doing almost anything else.   Carlos puts his key into the lock and turns it, dragging the sliding door open when the lock gives. It grinds on its gears as it always does; a sound he has started to associate with coming home. Lights are still on inside the loft, and Carlos’s brow furrows as he turns and pulls the door closed behind himself. TK must have forgotten to shut them off before he went to bed. Carlos sets his bag on the ground and walks a few steps forward, toward the table behind the couch to deposit his keys. As he gets closer, he notices a lump on the couch. Peering over the back of it, Carlos takes in the sight of his husband – husband, he’s still not accustomed to how sweet that word tastes – curled into a ball underneath a gray blanket.

Read the rest on AO3

[amhrosina]

NSFW Alphabet (Matt Murdock x Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

Read the Frank Castle Version

A/N: I have no idea what happened when I posted this earlier today, but when I came back after making the most delicious sugar cookies ever, it had been flagged and removed from every tag. Let's try this again!

Highly requested (so much so that I can't even respond to all of them because my blog would become one long nsfw alphabet matt request blog lol). Thank you to everyone who requested and sent me love about the Frank one! I'm feeling like maybe a Namor one next??

(Warnings: literally all the basic NSFW warnings you could think of, if you’re not into smut please don’t read this lmfao, no daddy kink, no blood/knife play, but almost everything else) 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Matt definitely wants to be an aftercare king, but let’s be real – he’s usually so blissed out by the end of it that you end up taking care of him. 

That isn’t to say you always take care of him – when he’s feeling particularly dominant, he’ll wreck your body, mind, and soul and then cater to your every need afterwards. 

Making you tea after he ruins you is his love language.  

Cuddles are an absolute must and I stand by that.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

THROAT!!!!!! If having a neck kink is a thing, Matt absolutely has that.  

He loves anything that has to do with your throat which includes (but isn’t limited to): choking, biting, sucking, kissing, and especially licking up the column of your throat when he’s about to cum. 

Your favorite body part of Matt’s is his eyes. 

He keeps those glasses on 99% of the time when he’s in public or with clients, but as soon as he’s alone with you, the glasses come off. 

His glasses are like a barrier between him and everyone else, but with you he doesn’t have to hide himself. You love that he trusts you enough to do this. 

Obviously, Matt is seeing-impaired, but sometimes you swear you can feel his stare at you from across the room.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

Are you guys ready for this one? Are you sure??? 

MATT MURDOCK LOVES CUMMING ALL OVER YOUR PRETTY FACE!!!!!!! 

Sorry, it had to be said. 

He tries to schedule these incidents around your hair wash days because he knows it gets in your hair and that causes more work for you, but sometimes he can’t help himself.  

He likes to swipe some of it off your cheek and make you suck it off his fingers.  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

Matt secretly loves it when you go out of town or have to leave the city for a night or two, because that means *phone sex*!!!! 

I mean like he hates it when he’s apart from you, but he’s always a little giddy because it means you’ll call him from your hotel room for some fun. 

The sounds of your breathy moans through his phone speaker always makes him cum so hard.  

This isn’t necessarily the dirtiest secret, but Matty is a religiously traumatized baby boy and the idea of using such lude language when he talks to you really gets him going. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Oh boy. Matthew Murdock is a dirty little manwhore and I am HERE FOR IT! 

He’s never left a partner unsatisfied, and he never will.  

The little hyper-sensitive hearing trick really helps him when he’s going down on you. When your heart rate picks up, he knows he’s doing something right. 

He could make you cum in 12 seconds flat if he really wanted to, but that man is a tease and will drag it out for as long as possible when he has the time. 

The king of delayed gratification and nights with at least half a dozen orgasms. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

Matt’s a simple man (lmfao), and he loves it when you ride him because he has unlimited access to your throat in that position. 

His absolute favorite thing is when you’re so worn out from the hours of sexcapades with him that you end up laying down on top of him, giving him full permission to fuck up into you with as much force as those juicy thighs allow. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Matt isn’t so much goofy as he is excessively happy that he’s with you. 

He’ll have a dopey little grin on his face the entire time he’s inside of you (unless he’s feeling super dominant) and whisper the most exquisitely worded praises you’ve ever heard in your ear the entire time. 

The only time you’ve ever heard him laugh during sex is when Foggy walked in on the two of you going at it on his office desk. When you pointed out that he definitely heard Foggy walk in and just wanted to show off that he was getting laid, he busted out laughing because true, but also Matt wasn’t really paying attention to the noises around him. He just loves the sounds of your quiet moans so much. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

I’ve always questioned this because how does a blind man groom himself down there???? 

But Matt’s a pro because he’s Matt. He doesn’t like it to be too hairy, so he has a pretty regular maintenance schedule.  

He knows how much you love his happy trail so he doesn’t dare touch it, for fear of your wrath. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Oh brother, Matt is so sentimental about it with you.  

He loves you so much and ensures that you know that every time he’s inside of you.  

Even when he’s being a dom, he can’t help the occasional gentle caress of your skin.  

Matt’s love language is touch, and mans was touched starved for so long, so the fact that he gets to touch you whenever and wherever really puts him in a grateful headspace. 

He can’t stop the praises from falling off his tongue anytime you two are together, and he doesn’t really care. He wants you to know how much he loves you, so he tells you every chance he gets. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

The whole delayed gratification thing puts Matt in a tough spot. On one hand, he’s always horny for you. On the other hand, the idea of getting to cum in you keeps him from touching himself until he sees you again.  

It’s not a daily thing, but during the weeks that you’re both busy and don’t see each other much, he may have some solo fun every once in a while. 

He’d much rather cum in/on you, so really this isn’t a big thing for him. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

You know this already but CHOKING KING KINK!!!!! 

That man loves one thing above all, and it’s your throat. 

It’s not even a conscious thought anymore. He’ll be halfway through fucking you into the mattress and realize his hand’s been wrapped around your throat the entire time.  

He’s a soft!dom and will shower you with praises the entire time.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

He’d gladly fuck you on any surface if that’s what you want, but he prefers his bed more than anything. 

The combination of the silk sheets and your kisses on his skin sends him into a state of euphoria. 

He also loves that it leaves behind your scent on his sheets. Our boy’s overly sensitive nose can’t get enough of your scent when you’re gone.  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

Like I said 1 bullet point ago, Matt loves it when your scent lingers on his sheets or around his apartment.  

If you’re not in bed when he wakes up, he’ll roll over onto your side of the bed and bury his face in your pillow.  

His third leg makes an appearance shortly after this. 

Also, (obviously) anytime he has access to your throat, he turns into a feral little devil. He can’t get enough of you, even if he’s deep inside of you. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Any kind of blood or knife play. 

Mans is traumatized by his old scars/wounds and would never want to inflict them on you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

Matt is a generous man, and that doesn’t go away in the bedroom. 

If he could situate his tongue between your legs for the rest of his life, he’d gladly do it (with honor).  

Like I said before, he knows your body so well that he can make you cum with very little effort on his part, but he still likes to put in the effort because it’s you. 

All this means is he gives you multiple orgasms before he even thinks about himself.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Matty’s a slow lover, and it drives you absolutely mental, because he’s so damn good at it. 

He could fuck you slowly for hours without cumming, all the while making you fall apart around him. 

Did I mention delayed gratification king??? 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

He’s not a fan, because it usually means he doesn’t get to fully satisfy you the way he loves to, but he’ll never say no to a quick fuck, ya know?? 

Lots of office quickies. LOTS of office quickies. 

He just looks so good in a suit, and you can’t keep your hands off of him when you stop by to have lunch with him.  

His greatest triumph (and his greatest shame lol) is the quickie you had in the bathroom of a church one time. 

You couldn’t stop rubbing your thighs together during mass, turned on by how wrong it would be to fuck Matt in a holy building. 

As soon as your scent his Matt, it was over for him. You’d excused yourself to try and clean yourself up, but Matt had followed and silently fucked you on the counter of the bathroom. 

He was clearly turned on by it too, but you were careful not to mention it when he was re-living any religious trauma he experienced. 

Matt secretly loves to think about it when he’s anywhere near the church. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Your Matthew Murdock??? Risky??? Noooooo. 

Obviously, Matt is down to try anything with you.  

Getting a visual of Matt furiously searching the web for new positions to try with you. 

He hasn’t told anyone this but his goal for the New Year is to have tried every position listed in one of those sex books with you.  

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

Oh man, he could go for literal hours, and on nights when he has the time, he will go for hours. 

Matt is so disciplined with himself that most nights, he’ll make sure you’re absolutely spent before finally cumming in you. His orgasms are always earth-shattering, which is why the aftercare usually ends up being something you do, or at the very least, delayed. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Matt doesn’t need toys to help him get you off, but he’s always game to use them if you ask.  

One of his favorite things to do is call you when he’s leaving work and tell you to get started with your vibrator while you wait for him to get home.  

You’re allowed to get as close to cumming as you want, but you are definitely not allowed to cum before he gets there.  

He can pick up on the soft buzz of your vibrator from miles away, and the closer he gets to you the more eager he is to bury his face inbetween your legs.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

When Matty’s feeling particularly sneaky, he likes to tease you by almost making you cum a dozen times before finally giving in and making you cum.  

You’ll be a shaking, sobbing mess, begging him to make you cum, and he’ll just have a vicious smirk on his face as he pulls away from you.  

When you finally do cum, it’s so mind-bending that it takes you a few minutes to catch back up with reality. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Matt’s usually so busy praising you that he doesn’t really have the breath to make other noises, but on the nights that he does, it’s magical. 

The soft grunts he breathes into your ear is so sultry that it alone could probably make you cum. 

When you get the rare chance to tease him, the whimpers he lets out are heavenly. You like to stretch these nights out because his whimpers are like music to your ears. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

Matt likes your hair a little on the longer side because he likes to tangle his fingers in it and pull on it when he’s fucking you raw. 

One hand in your hair, the other wrapped around your throat, and Matt Murdock ascends into the stratosphere. 

He can’t imagine a better way to spend his time.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Whether Matt actually has a big dick or not, he for sure has big dick energy. 

The game that man has puts everyone else to shame.  

But we all know he’s huge. Like I just know his dick is big. It’s not even a theory, it’s a fact, and I stand by that. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

Matt is insatiable for one thing, and that’s you.  

He wants you at all hours of the day, and on the days that both of you are off work, he’ll spend the hours fucking you slowly. 

(If you have a uterus), it’s a miracle that you aren’t pregnant by now. Even with all the precautions, it’s a god damned miracle. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Sex doesn’t put Matt to sleep, so if it happens at night, it’ll definitely be a couple hours before he’s tired enough to fall asleep. 

He usually uses this time to patrol Hell’s Kitchen (if he knows you’re safe and taken care of). 

Tag List:

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If your name has a strike through it, tumblr will not let me tag you for some reason. This could be caused by something in your settings or possibly a spelling error on your form (I copy and paste directly from that). Please look over your settings/form and message me to see if that fixes the issue! Thank you!

[posthumanwanderings]

gonna finally beat the rest of Shenmue 1 tonight. at the very end basically then gonna showcase the Shenmue Passport disc with all sorts of bonus material. I know there's other longplays that beat the entire game under 12 hours but it defeats the whole purpose of its series which is just vibin out, exploring every nook and cranny and treating and getting to know the NPC's as real people. by doing this I always discover new stuff and apparently there are cutscenes with secret inputs that unlock hidden content that people are just now finding out! I have another motive of going back through these, which... requires playing it again on a modded version of the remaster lol. but it'll be worth it for sure for those who are into my Dreamcast Ambient vidmixes. I'll be continuing with Shenmue 2 sometime February to sync up with the game's plotline time which is even more expanded and filled with alternate content and the soundtrack is absolute bliss 👌 anyway, shoutout Yu Suzuki / AM2 for being major forerunners in the gaming industry; from the launch of the super scaled 3D graphics of Space Harrier in 1985, taking fighting games into the 3rd dimension with Virtua Fighter in the 90's, the open world aspects that became the modern staple in games with Shenmue, til the rapid decline of arcades in the 2000's adding so many more unique and fun titles under their name. there is also so much Sega love in the form of minigame content and capsule toys in these 1st two games which sucks the rest of the Shenmue series won't have because of rights ownership :( I'm not too thrilled with the way Shenmue 3 looks and how Ryo will die from hunger if you idle too long lol but I gotta check it out for the cause at some point.

[randomvarious]

1990s Downtempo Playlist

Well, ya just knew that after doing a bunch of trip hop playlist posting over the past few weeks that I was gonna start adding fresh coats of paint to my downtempo playlists too. And this week I've got some 90s gems from a same trio of albums I've been posting a lot about lately on these Sunday nights: Ninja Cuts: Flexistentialism from UK electronic powerhouse Ninja Tune, Parisian Kid Loco's brilliant DJ-Kicks mix, and then a pretty damn obscure comp from late 90s South Africa called ReRooted: Beatz From Da Ground Up.

And I think my absolute favorite of these new adds this week comes from that Flexistentialism comp, with a lovely piece of blissed-out, mid-90s, reverberating, softly bonging and throbbing dubbiness by legendary Austrian duo Kruder & Dorfmeister called "Shakatakadoodub." These guys are better known as top-flight DJs and remixers, and their own DJ-Kicks mix is often ranked as one of the greatest DJ mixes that's ever been made, period, but "Shakatakadoodub," which is not an obscure track by any means, as it currently has over 1.11 million Spotify plays, is seven-plus minutes of light, hazy perfection 😌. K&D don't release much music of their own creation, and so, this merely made its debut on Flexistentialism, but if they'd ever been more committed to releasing more material, this definitely would've been a stand-out track on whatever they were fixing to release; it's so good.

Next up, from that ReRooted comp, we've got something from a band that hailed from Johannesburg called Sugardrive, who deliver "Girl You Made Me Bad," which is also sort of this vocal indie pop crossover hybrid too. Excellently soothing bits of trumpet, choppy psychedelic synths, and electric acoustic guitar strums. Looks like there's another version of this song on Spotify that has 31.8K+ plays, but this one appears to be cruising somewhere below 1,000 right now...

9 Lazy 9 - "Spoonful of Slow" Kruder & Dorfmeister - "Shakatakadoodub" Funki Porcini - "Venus" Sugardrive - "Girl You Made Me Bad" Boards of Canada - "Happy Cycling" Kid Loco - "Flyin' on 747"

But the YouTube version of this playlist contains all those adds and a handful more too that can't be found on Spotify, which is where some of the songs from Kid Loco's DJ-Kicks mix come into play, like a 1999 song called "Slo Jo" by a guy from Vienna named Stereotyp, who was signed to Kruder & Dorfmeister's own G-Stone Recordings label at the time. And true to that label name, this one is definitely stoned 😵. Very trippy and chill tune, with slow and syrupy synth zaps, a crunch-dusty drumbeat, and vocals delivered by someone named Le Bubu, whose only credits ever came from the Stereotyp 12-inch that this wonderful song first originated from: Stash It. Currently under 2,300 YouTube plays, and deserving of a lot more.

Hacienda - "Diskoking" Tongue - "Culture Consumers" Thievery Corporation - "Lebanese Blonde" Stereotyp - "Slo Jo"

And this playlist is also on YouTube Music.

So this latest update now brings the Spotify version of this playlist up to 40 songs that clock in at 4 hours and 7 minutes, but over on YouTube, we're up to a total of 69 songs (nice!) that clock in at 7 hours and 14 minutes! So if you want a shit-ton more of excellent 90s downtempo, do check out the YouTube one!

And if those playlist lengths sound way too long, consider checking some shorter ones out, which are segmented by year:

1993 Downtempo: YouTube / YouTube Music 1996 Downtempo: YouTube / YouTube Music 1997 Downtempo: YouTube / YouTube Music 1998 Downtempo: YouTube / YouTube Music

And you already know that there's gonna be more downtempo next week, but just to make it official: more downtempo next week.

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Somewhere Between Sorrow & Bliss

1200 words for 1200 followers #6

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This is the second of two requests that I got for Jack, and they go together because the two songs demanded it. The first can be found here, and should be read before this one to get the full picture. I absolutely have plans to continue this AU, as well as to fill out the time between these two parts, but for now please enjoy a little more Time Traveling Jack Daniels. 💚

Warnings: mild angst, Jack’s big brown puppy eyes and pouty lips 

Requested by: @writeforfandoms Song: Too Much Is Never Enough Character Choice: Jack Daniels - Jen!! Thank you SO MUCH for sending this in. I have A LOT of feelings about this song, just like I have a lot of feelings about this Cowboy. I hope you enjoy the direction I took it in, and where it’s eventually headed! 

Jack stood at your bedroom window as he gazed out over 9th Street, still quiet at this hour on a Sunday morning. 

You were asleep in the bed behind him. If he had his druthers he would be, too, with his arms wrapped around your body and your cheek against his chest. Then it would be your warm breath fanning out over his skin, not the summer breeze coming through the sheer curtains. Then he could trace lazy figure eights over your bicep, your hip, the nape of your neck. Then he could have one more morning’s worth of moments with you to take back to the present with him. 

Because by this time tomorrow I’ll be gone. 

A dull ache punched through his heart at the thought of going back. 

He winced, remembering the look on your face and the hurt in your voice when he’d come back to the Junction this time - on July 31st, not the 19th. For you it had been twelve days since he’d spun into your world like a tornado, charming you with his smile only to disappear just as suddenly as he showed up, without a word, without a goodbye, without a way to contact him. Without a reason to think he was any different than the other casanovas who wandered in looking for a one night stand. 

“Well, look who it is.” Your eyes had flashed as you tossed a cardboard coaster onto the bar like a frisbee. “So you do remember how to get here, then, Cowboy?” 

“Darlin’, I-” 

“Oh, absolutely not.” You slammed an empty glass on the rail and shook your head. Reaching for the neck of a whiskey bottle with your left hand, you tipped it to pour while grabbing the soda gun with your right. “You do not -” You pressed the button on the gun to add a splash of water to his drink. “- get to Darlin’ me after -” 

Your brow furrowed then, as though you weren’t sure how to articulate the disappointment, frustration and heartbreak you felt waking on the 20th only to find an empty bed beside you. Because it didn’t make sense for you to feel this strongly over someone you’d spent one night with. 

One night. Twenty-seven times. Spread out over a year.  

A year of figuring out how to make you smile, laugh, moan his name. A year of learning how to bring you to bliss with his touch and his tongue. Of falling in love with you while you learned him from scratch each time. 

But something in the way your fingers shook as you set his drink down on the coaster made him wonder if some part of you remembered more than just your last July 19th together. If maybe on some level your consciousness carried the memories that going through the Rewind had written over. 

Jack tried again, using your name that time, his fingers grazing yours as they left his glass. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for havin’ to leave that morning.” He frowned, swirling the contents of his drink. Whiskey’n water. She remembered. “I was on call for work and-” 

“And you couldn’t say goodbye?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “You snuck out, Jack. Your work was that urgent that you-” 

“Yes.” 

It wasn’t a lie. He had been called back urgently - by Ginger, when the twelve hour window had shut and the Rewind yanked him out of your bed and back into the present. 

“Yes,” he said again, a deep crease cutting into his forehead. “It was. But you have no idea how much I wish it wasn’t.” He sighed, tapping his glass.  “Would you believe me if I told you I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since the last time I saw those pretty eyes’a yours?” 

For you it had been twelve days, and that had been longer than he would have liked. But for Jack it had been two months without you. 

You sucked in a breath, clearly struck by his claim. The tip of your tongue swept out to wet your lips as you recovered. “No.” 

“No?” He swallowed despite not yet taking a sip from his glass. “Well I’d do anything for a chance to change your mind, Darlin’.” 

“Don’t call me that, Jack.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard you even over the din of the bar noise. “Not unless you’re here to stay.” 

His heart slammed at his rib cage as he contemplated how to answer. The trial for the Rewind had moved to the next stage, which involved sending the subject back for a longer period of time to see if prolonged skips along the continuum had any side effects. After a year of testing it for half a day, Ginger had reset the window to three days for this trip.

Finally bringing the glass to his lips, he took a drink, eyes on you the whole time. “Well, I’m in town all weekend. That be a good start?” 

A patron at the other end of the bar flagged you down and you shouted over to let him know you’d be right with him before turning back to Jack. He could see in your eyes that you wanted to say yes, and he latched onto that little bit of hope even after you responded. “Ask me again at the end of my shift.” 

He had. And now here he was in your bedroom two days later, awake and already feeling too far away from you even though he still had just under a day left in your life. Like waking up an hour shy of the alarm clock for fear of missing it, Jack found himself on edge about leaving you before it was time to. 

Part of it was due to the fact that he didn’t know how long it would be until he got to repeat these three days with you. Part of it was because the previous night, as you curled your body into his, both of you sweat slicked and spent, you’d confessed that you thought you’d gone crazy for how strongly you felt for him after just that one night - that you felt like you’d known him and that he’d known you for much longer than those few hours. 

But part of it was also because he was confused - and concerned - by the fact that in the present, when he’d tried to look you up just to see what your life was like along his current timeline, his search had drawn a blank. 

I need to find out why that is. Find out if- 

“Jack?” 

The sound of your voice, still hazy with sleep, pulled his focus away from the window, away from the ticking clock in the back of his mind and brought it back to you. He turned to see you lying on your side, the sheet pulled partially up your body, and in two long strides he was back at the bedside and climbing onto the mattress beside you. 

But right now I just need to be here. 

“G’mornin’, Darlin’.” He reached to pull you against his chest. “How’d you sleep?” 

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

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[ruewrites]

Blinded by Better Judgement

AO3

Ship: Asmodeus/Solomon

Word Count: 2019

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy scare, implications of sex

A/N: Yes I used to be a big omegaverse girly back in the day. I just never wrote them. But now I have one. So please enjoy it to your heart's content!

Comments are appreciated <3

It was nice to no longer have Asmodeus screaming at him. The past 12 hours had been nothing but panic, anxiety, and absolutely chaos. Asmo had switched from sobbing over what he would tell Lucifer and throwing things at him. 

Of course Lucifer would have been furious for a multitude of reasons. He didn't like Solomon, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be allowed near Asmo during his heats. Accidentally getting the baby brother of one of the highest ranking demons in the entire Devildom knocked up when he already hated you wasn't the best road he could walk down.

"How don't you remember if you wore a condom?"

 It was a phrase he became intimately familiar with. Yes, it had all been incredibly irresponsible, but when an omega as sweet smelling and as adorable as Asmodeus was giving him bedroom eyes and rubbing against him at every given moment, it wasn't easy to ignore his desires. When an omega as sweet smelling and as adorable as Asmodeus was making out with him, latching onto his neck, and pushing him towards the mattress and whining into his mouth, he didn't stand a chance. He vaguely remembered bits and pieces after being tossed into an untimely rut. Asmodeus had been begging to see him. Sexting wasn't enough. His heat was bad, it hurt, and nothing was working. He needed help. He would simply die if he couldn't have Solomon. In short, he'd been the pinnacle of sexual frustration. 

So Solomon relented. He'd met up with Asmodeus and the rest was history. The time between his back hitting the mattress and waking up no longer connected to each other had been a blur. It had all been bliss, until they couldn't find a single trace of protection. They'd laughed it off. Surely they wouldn't have forgotten. Right? And then Asmodeus got anxious. Every store had been sold out of Plan B, and suddenly he thought he saw symptoms. That was how Solomon had been awoken by a very unhappy omega and discretely going out to buy a test. It was embarrassing how much he felt like a teenager. Waiting for the results had been an eternity. Asmo refused to even look at him, snarling whenever Solomon made an attempt to go near him. 

Then, the first negative, and the second. A sign of relief washed over both of them and suddenly Asmo once again felt much more cuddly with the alpha who had been at the sharp end of his fury. In the aftermath of the anxiety, they cuddled up in a well put together nest (courtesy Asmodeus) and picked out a light hearted film. But as the hours ticked by, another feeling crept into Solomon's veins. 

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little.... disappointed," he said.

Asmo barely glanced up, eyes fixed on the movie and nibbling on a cookie, "About the plot?" 

"No... about that." Solomon gestured at Asmo with his hand. 

 Asmo stopped abruptly, "Shut up." 

"What?" 

"You're not funny." 

Solomon raised his hands in defense as Asmo swatted at his chest. The pretty omega was staring pointed and dangerous daggers at him. "I'm not being funny, I'm being serious." 

Asmo's expression shifted from annoyed to confused faster than he could count.

 "Think about it, your beautiful nests, maybe a couple of little ones scampering about, and you'd have that perfect glow," Solomon whispered, accenting each point with a kiss, "Doesn't that sound wonderful?" 

Asmo softened and went back to curling up with Solomon, "I suppose." Disappointment quickly flashed across his face, and then a perfectly manicured finger tip poked his nose. "But if you want that, you've gotta get Big Brother's approval, Mister. Do you know how long he'd lock me away? He already hates that I come home smelling like you." 

Solomon laughed and nuzzled his head into Asmo's. "I know Darling, don't worry, I'll get him to like me one way or another."

“Doubt it,” Asmo giggled, “You should hear him complain about your ‘alpha stink’ on our couch. He spends days washing and rescenting everything.”

Ah of course. Lucifer seemed to complain about any alpha that was not one of his brothers or Diavolo who dared step foot near the House of Lamentation. Of course he seemed to harbor a particular disdain for Solomon himself, but that was perhaps slightly understandable.

“And I thought he only complained when I was there.”

“He's contained while you're still there,” Asmo corrected, walking his fingers up Solomon's chest, “He hates that your scent lingers on my skin, tells me how I shouldn't be cozying up to an alpha who hasn't stuck their claim on me.”

Solomon felt himself being pushed back again. Oh his omega was aggressive with what he wanted, and Solomon loved it. As those strong and slender legs straddled his waist, he couldn't help but leaned back, eyelids lowering, one hand on his cheek and the other across his abdomen, and a lazy smile on his face. He  adored that Asmo could take charge. Sure he played pretty and submissive for his adoring audience, but Solomon knew the real him. The real Asmodeus left pretty bruises scattered across his body and angry red scratch marks down his back. He opened jars that Solomon struggled with and pulled him into the warmest hugs that had the strength to crack ribs.

“Hmmm, he has a point.”

“He's old fashioned,” Asmo countered. 

“In that case I should definitely wear a condom this time.”

“Or you could not.”

All Asmo offered was a shrug at the look Solomon gave him. Asmo had almost killed him seconds ago for a scare, and all the sudden he had a change in rationale. His hand moved to Asmo's thigh in an attempt to ground him, “Asmodeus, are we forgetting that you asked me to get your brother's permission first? I like where my head is. Thank you very much.”

“But he's sooooo old fashioned,” Asmo said, setting his hand on top of Solomon's, “If I have mini yous, he'll have to be okay with you marking me.”

“That logic seems flawed.”

“What's flawed is you not fucking me.”

Solomon laughed and let Asmo lean down to kiss him through the laughter.

“What do you want? Hickeys?” he teased through his lips, “Will that get you going? Get you hard enough to put a little Sol in me?” 

Despite himself, Solomon felt arousal stirring. He snorted and leaned into Asmo's lips, “You're not making good choices My Love, I thought for sure you were spent.”

“I was, but you know I can never get enough of you.”

Solomon let his hand slide further up Asmo's hip, a soft hum echoing in his throat as his fingers tapped away.  “I think, you have had enough,” without warning, he flipped the both of them over. Asmodeus squealed as his back hit the mattress, eyes widening in shock up at Solomon, “For now that is.”

“That's not fair! Cheater!”

“Maybe so, but I think it would be easier for the both of us, if we waited until after I've gotten Lucifer's approval,” he chuckled, poking his demon's nose, “Wouldn't you agree?”

Asmo whined before pouting up at Solomon, “It's your fault for putting the idea in my head in the first place.” 

“And one day, I will very much make this up to you.”

Rolling back over to his side, he made space for Asmo to snuggle up underneath his arm if he chose to do so. Asmodeus did just that. They continued to watch the film in a comfortable silence, picking at their snacks and enjoying the warmth of company. 

“Do you think we'd have cute kids?” Asmodeus asked after some time had passed. He didn't even wait for Solomon to respond, “I think we would, I mean they are related to me so how could they not be cute? They'd totally be the cutest in all three of the realms!”

Solomon continued to listen to him ramble on. Talking about everything and nothing, whatever potential future they had together. Perhaps one day they'd be in a similar situation together, starting their own little life. They'd have a little one on the way, Asmo would build beautiful nests and Solomon would do any work around the house as needed. Of course Asmo would grow frustrated with him. His demon liked to be pampered, but Asmo also occasionally liked to do things for himself. They'd have plenty of space for their children to run and play and Solomon would read to them every night. But the absolute best part would be coming home to Asmodeus every day, falling into his loving arms and just being. 

He buried his face into Asmo's hair despite his protests and let out a sigh. This would be the life. 

“You’re messing up my hair!” 

“Hush, I want to remember you like this before my scent no longer lingers on your skin,” he whispered, “By tomorrow it will be but a faint memory of my senses, and I wish to linger in this dream for a bit longer.”

“Fancy words to say Lucifer is going to make me soak and scrub until he’s happy that I don’t smell like you any more. I can only imagine how terrible it will be for my skin,” he tilted his head upward to kiss Solomon’s lips, and Solomon felt himself relax further into his lover’s embrace, “But you’re so cute, it’ll be worth it.”

Asmo’s hand caressed his face, and Solomon couldn’t help but lean into it. He was so warm and soft and comforting. Solomon could feel himself turning to mush. Pulling Asmo closer, he let his fingers dare to slip past the fabric of his shirt and trace the vertebrae on his back. A shudder left Asmo’s lips and then a stifled whine. 

He was biting his lip and looking up at Solomon now, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink, “Solomon, if you want me to cool down, I can’t say this is the best course of action. You’re teasing me.” 

“Perhaps I’ve had a change of heart.” 

If he could, he’d keep his scent on Asmodeus forever. He may not be able to do that, however he could make it stronger.

Asmo was on top of him in a heartbeat, nipping and sucking at his neck, adding yet another hickey to his growing collection. The moan that left him was more than audible. Perhaps they shouldn’t have started teasing and toying in Purgatory Hall, but he could apologize later if anyone asked or was disturbed. 

“Protection first this time.”

“I’m not in heat anymore, it’s fine.”

“Asmo that’s not-” he didn’t get to finish that thought as Asmo ground down on him. His fingers clawed at Solomon’s shirt and a growl left him.

“Off.”

His omega knew what he wanted, and there was no arguing with Asmo when his mind was made up. For better or worse, he was set in his ways, and god did Solomon love that about him. As his shirt was pulled over his head, Solomon knew he wouldn’t be calling any shots for the time to come, and that was more than okay with him.  Only what Asmo allowed was what he’d do. Solomon was nothing if not a man of standards, and he wouldn’t be contemplating death by a top ranking demon if he wasn’t serious about Asmo being with him. 

Perhaps he was blinded by his potential future with his pretty demon. There were steps he needed to take before having that happy sunny fantasy in his head.

Perhaps he should want to say no to him a little more.

Perhaps he was being a bit reckless, but it couldn’t be helped. 

Asmo inspired bad ideas, and Solomon loved it. 

Solomon had a habit of thinking too much, and Asmo’s willingness to just do was exactly what he needed in his life. They were good for each other. Solomon could afford to have a few more bad ideas, and Asmo was showing him how good they could be.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 12 - Fortress Around Your Heart

IN THIS CHAPTER: A mysterious card, allergy pills, and Wayne conspires against his nephew [7.1k]

WARNINGS: eddie being a lil sick (nothing serious), vague mentions of financial hardship

A/N: a huge shout out and thank you to two of my fairy godmothers and biggest cheerleaders, my beloved @justahappycloud and my loveliest @gutterratt for vibechecking wayne's dialogue in this chapter. it takes a village to build a small town! i love you both, deeply, madly, truly.

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

And if I built this fortress around your heart Encircled you in trenches and barbed wire Then let me build a bridge

Tuesday, May 6th - 1986

Five days. Five days without a single drop of rain. Not a light shower, not a thunderstorm, not a drizzle in sight, and Dottie felt like she was losing her goddamned mind. Before moving to Hawkins, she was sure she dreaded rainy days; New York smelled like a sewer, the subway was muggy as hell, and she was perpetually tired of people bumping their umbrellas into her head when she walked home from school. But rainy days in Indiana? Absolute bliss. She’d gotten so used to the fresh smell of wet soil, to sitting on her window seat with a book, a moody record playing in the background, thunder rumbling and lulling her to sleep. Rainy days meant driving home with Eddie and Gareth, huddling under tin roofs with Jeff for warmth while Donny smoked a cig, sharing a hand-knitted blanket with her Dad while they consumed anything and everything that was on TV after dinner. Rain was comforting and homey, and as the weather continued to get warmer and humidity levels kept climbing, she couldn’t wait until that night’s forecasted thunderstorm to hit the small town she had grown to love in only a couple of months. Eddie, on the other hand, was once more contemplating on moving to the middle of the desert and never having to see a raindrop again in his life.

“Man, you look like shit,” Gareth said, sliding into his usual seat at their lunch table.

“I’ve been telling him to go to the nurse since second period but you know how he is,” Donny shook his head disapprovingly.

“I don’t need to go to the nurse,” Eddie told him, accepting the sandwich Donny was offering so Eddie would share his chocolate covered peanuts with him in return. “It’s just allergies.”

“I think I have allergy meds in my locker if you want some,” Dottie said.

“Why do you always have pills on you? Are you a fuckin’ pharmacist or what?” Gareth teased her.

“Okay, asshole, next time all those weird fumes in the lab give you a headache, get your own painkillers,” she said, pushing his lunch tray away from him and down the table, just barely out of his reach.

“D’you really think they’ll help? Your meds?” Eddie asked, finally caving in, eyes squinting under the fluorescent cafeteria lights.

“I mean, I’m not a doctor, but it’s worth a try. They make you really sleepy though, so maybe take them after school?”

“Okay,” he rubbed his eyes with two fists. “I’ll take them when we get home.”

During the past couple of years, Eddie had developed this random allergy that seemed to get progressively worse whenever the weather changed. As the air was becoming more and more oppressive with the kind of humidity one forgets could be experienced after the colder months, Eddie was more often than not showing up to school with red eyes that had nothing to do with the weed he liked to indulge in after hours. Eating his sandwich and peanuts without really tasting anything because of how clogged his sinuses were, he considered stealing a wad of toilet paper to survive his upcoming Biology lesson after depleting Dottie’s generous stash of tissues during their back-to-back shared periods before lunch. The skin on the sides of his nose was becoming raw and red from blowing it so many times, and his head felt like it was stuck inside a bucket, his ears sensitive to loud noises and his throat scratchy.

By the time the final bell had rung and they were driving towards his trailer, Dottie theorized he might have developed a cold last Saturday morning when his water heater had died on him mid shower. Thankfully, Wayne was nothing if not resourceful and had gotten it up and running again that same day, but if Eddie had really gotten sick from washing himself with freezing water, there was little anyone could do except wait for the illness to pass on its own.

“Boy, you look like shit,” Wayne said from his armchair, watching his nephew shrug off his coat as he stepped into the trailer.

“Thanks, Wayne, hadn’t noticed,” Eddie replied dryly.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Dottie started guiding him towards his room.

“No! No, you can’t go in there,” he immediately blocked her path, arms braced on the walls of the small hallway to stop her from marching on.

“Ed, I don’t care if it’s mes-”

“It’s not- I mean, it is a mess but-” he blubbered, watching her cross her arms and cock her hip to the side in defiance. “Nuh-uh, nope, can’t have you seeing that shit right now. No way.”

“Eddie.”

“You can’t argue with a sick man, princess, that’s illegal.”

“God, you’re-,” she threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Fine, have it your way. Go sit on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded, sinking into the cushions next to Wayne who was very amused by the entire situation but had the decency to act like he wasn’t paying attention. “Where do you keep your stash?”

“There’s a hidden pocket at the back, look for small round yellow pills.”

Dottie busied herself rinsing a mug in the kitchen sink and filling it up with water from a pitcher that was in the fridge while he snooped around her belongings, her brown corduroy backpack pulled into his lap. He was taking a couple of notebooks out to get better access to the small concealed zipper sewn onto the back panel when a baby pink envelope fell from one of them, landing next to his ratty sneakers. Always a curious one, Eddie picked it up, instantly noticed red hearts on the glossy paper inside and hurried to put it back where it had fallen from before she could catch him being nosy.

Trying to focus back on his initial task, he began rifling through the contents of the pocket, pulling out of a waterproof pouch that held various types of pills and tiny plastic bottles. He would have asked what they were for, always eager to know more about Dottie, but his brain was stuck in a constant loop of questions. Was that a love letter? Does she know who it’s from? There weren’t any names on it, is it a secret admirer situation? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Is it-

“Here you go,” she kneeled on the carpet next to his feet, pushing the plastic McDonald’s mug into his line of sight. “Did you find them?”

“Uh- yeah, these ones?” he asked, shaking a blister with pills that matched the description she’d given, making them rattle.

“What’s that?” Wayne asked, pretending like he hadn’t noticed his nephew having a mild stroke in front of his very eyes by the mere sight of an envelope.

“My allergy meds,” Dottie explained, resting an arm on Eddie’s knees. “I get really sniffly when seasons start changing so I thought maybe they’d help with Eddie’s too. I take those once a day when it starts acting up, and then I also have a nasal spray. I used to have two different ones, but I ran out of the prescribed one and haven’t replaced it yet.”

“You take a lot of pills, kid?” the older man said, curious.

“I try not to ‘cause I’ve heard it’s bad, like the bugs build resistance to the drugs or something? But I was a babysitter so I got used to carrying stuff around. Can’t really look after a screaming toddler if I’ve got a sudden headache, you know?” she explained before turning to look up at her friend. “You can keep those if you want, I’ve got a ton at home. They’re cheaper than a doctor’s appointment.”

“Thanks,” he said, staring at the blister. There were only three pills missing, and one of them was currently inside his body. “D’you wanna get started on homework?”

“We can take a day off if you’re not feeling well.”

“No, no, I’m okay. I can work on my drawings, I guess? Something that doesn’t require a lot of thinking would be great right now.”

“Okay, but you’re definitely gonna need a nap in about an hour,” she patted his knee and got up from the floor, moving to sit next to him before busying herself with her own work.

“I’m gonna go make some soup,” Wayne announced, shuffling into the kitchen before muttering to himself. “See if that saves us a visit to the doctor’s office.”

Wayne Munson was a simple man with simple needs. He considered himself lucky in the sense that he’d always had a roof over his head, and he’d always been able to provide for those he loved, fancy cooking be damned. He didn’t need three course meals or top of the line equipment to make his boy feel better as long as he knew how to make a good chicken rice soup, just like the one his mother used to make. They might not have lived in a real house with a big backyard and a bedroom for both, but as long as his meals were warm, his beers were cold and Eddie was smiling, it was enough for him.

He’d always thought of his nephew as a happy kid, one that chose to see the best in everything even when life had dealt him shitty card after shitty card, but Wayne had to admit that in the twelve years he’d been responsible for Eddie, he had never seen him act the way he did when Dottie was around. The youngest Munson was a ball of energy, always gesticulating wildly, not knowing how to control his own voice whenever he got going, leg perpetually bouncing when he was quiet. It was strange to see how subdued he was whenever his newest friend was around, and even more so considering she could also be loud and animated when given the opportunity. There was a gentle quality to their interactions, as if they were both toeing an invisible line that separated them, wishing the other one would cross it first but being afraid of overstepping.

As the old man leaned to get a couple of carrots that desperately needed to be eaten from the bottom of the fridge, he noticed once again the water pitcher on the door. He had never once seen Eddie choose water over any kind of cheap soda he could get his hands on, and yet this ancient plastic pitcher that hadn’t been used in years had somehow found its way into their fridge when Dottie started hanging out at the trailer. Wayne had only known the girl for a few short days, but felt that their shared time had already been enough to form a strong opinion. He liked Dottie. He liked how she was simultaneously polite but quick to make herself at home, how she was always helping around just because she wanted to and not because anyone asked her to, how everything she did came with a heap of kindness. He liked how she kept up with Eddie’s humor, how they calmed each other down, how she made him smile and want to try harder. And perhaps, above all, he liked how easily she dissipated Eddie’s fears of not being enough. Wayne loved the boys in the Hellfire Club, he really did, but he knew that his nephew compared himself to them, with their loving families, their houses in residential neighborhoods, their homemade lunches that did not consist of leftovers or whatever snack was left in the pantry.

The eldest Munson wasn’t one to pry, but he knew something was different with Dottie when she showed up on Monday with a handful of coupons from that day’s newspaper. “Ed said he likes mushrooms and my Dad can’t eat them without getting sick so I brought you these. I hate when coupons go to waste. Do you like mushroom soup, Mr. Wayne?” she had asked. It might have been an assessment made with personal bias, but Wayne was certain that no kid who didn’t go through any financial turmoil in their lives could be so into couponing that they hated not using them before their expiration date.

Around 45 minutes after Eddie took his medicine, his speech started to slur and his eyes kept trying to close themselves no matter how hard he fought to keep them open.

“Time for a nap, sleepy head,” Dottie pushed his thigh with her sock-clad foot.

“M’fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, and immediately yawned.

“You were saying?”

“Ugh, fine. Jus’ a short nap, gotta get you home,” he muttered, tucking himself into the couch cushions.

“Ed, you need to rest if you want to get better,” she insisted, pulling him onto his feet with her hands on his wrists. “That means sleeping in your bed, not on the couch.”

“Room’s dirty,” he said, standing on wobbly feet. “Don’ wan’ you to look.”

“Okay, I won’t look. I swear.”

Satisfied with a promise that she obviously did not intend to keep, Eddie let her lead him towards his room at the other end of the trailer. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she opened the door. It was like his closet had exploded onto the floor, clothes strewn everywhere, no indication as to which ones were clean and which ones were not. His bed was unmade and his bedsheets were rumpled into a ball in the middle of the mattress, an overflowing ashtray sat on his bedside table and a thin sheen of dust covered the objects he clearly did not use very often. Dottie helped him shrug his hoodie off and helped him get comfortable under his blankets, already making a list of things she could straighten up without waking him up once he was safely on his way to DreamLand. He turned to his side and coughed a few times.

“I’ll get you some water,” she said, but before she could stand, he shot out a hand to grab her wrist.

“No, stay,” he muttered. Dottie was very familiar with the particular kind of drowsy associated with her allergy meds and knew that he was somewhere between awake and completely unconscious. He was gonna be out like a light in a few if she had her math right. “M’legs feel weird.”

“They feel heavy?” he nodded. “Go to sleep, silly. You’re gonna feel better when you wake up.”

“Okay,” was the last thing he said before his eyes finally closed and his breathing evened out.

Dottie knew it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help but stare at him for a few moments as he slept. He looked so peaceful, his long eyelashes almost touching the top of his cheeks, soft freckles decorating his skin. He didn’t move when she stood up, didn’t even flinch when she tucked his hair behind his ear and pulled the covers up higher. Surveying the room around her, she spotted a white plastic bag underneath his desk and quickly retrieved it, starting to clean up some of his mess. First thing to go into the bag were the cigarette butts; then the few cans lying around, the crumpled snack wrappings and pencil shavings on his desk. She was in the middle of picking up a denim jacket strewn on his desk while suppressing a snort at the busted handcuffs hanging from the wall - and oh, did she want to ask about them some time -  when she noticed a black shadow hovering above her head.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered to herself, recognizing instantly what it was.

In the corner of Eddie’s room, displayed like a piece of art, was the most likely cause of his long-lived allergies: black mold. Dottie could have kicked herself at not paying attention when she walked in; the stain was so big she wondered how she had missed it in the first place. Immediately remembering her Uncle Johnny’s retelling of his encounter with black mold behind an old broken washing machine back in ‘69, she looked back at Eddie wondering if he would listen if she told him to get rid of it. Judging by the state of his bedroom, he wouldn’t, so she steeled herself for what was possibly gonna be a very awkward conversation and hoped to the stars she’d come out on the other side as a victor.

“Mr. Wayne?” she asked, stepping back into the main area of the trailer. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t want to be disrespectful but did you know there’s mold in Eddie’s bedroom?”

“Yeah,” he scratched his head, lowering the fire on the stove to let the soup simmer. “Been tellin’ Ed he should clean that up but you know how he is. I think the only reason he listened when I told him to patch up the roof was so it wouldn’t rain on that fancy guitar of his.”

“Sounds like Eddie,” she smiled. “In any case, if he’s not gonna do it himself, would you be okay with me cleaning it up for him? I think that’s what’s causing his allergies and he could get very sick if he keeps breathing that stuff in.”

“Don’t know what my nephew has told you but you are a guest here, not a maid,” Wayne said, pointing with his head at the trash bag in her hand.

“I’m a friend,” she said, like it was the simplest fact known to man. “This is what friends do for each other. They help out, even if they are as stubborn as Eddie. Especially when they are as stubborn as Eddie.”

“Don’t I know that,” he snorted, his features softening. “He can be hard to be around sometimes, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Yeah, he does. I can see where he gets it from.”

Wayne liked to think of himself as a man of few but intentional words. As he looked at the young girl in front of him, he realized that they both knew exactly what was happening in this conversation and they were both on the same page. Eddie didn’t often ask for help; in fact, help was almost always simply thrust upon him disguised as a nonchalant act or a trade, and the eldest Munson knew that this request was as much for his nephew as it was for Dottie. He stirred the soup for a few seconds, and finally set down his wooden spoon.

“Y’know he’s gonna get mad when he sees what you did.”

“I’d rather deal with an angry Ed than have him start coughing up blood,” Dottie said. “But I won’t do it if it bothers you. This is your home and I’m aware I’m overstepping just by asking about it.”

“Well, it’s like you said, right? Friends help out,” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting into half a smile. “So what do you need?”

“I just need him out of the trailer for an hour. He’s not gonna let me do it otherwise, he didn’t even want me in there in the first place.”

“I’ll get him out of your hair, don’t worry ‘bout it. Need a ride home?”

“Oh, no, thank you. You’re busy with dinner, I can ask my Dad to pick me up if you let me borrow your phone for a second.”

“All yours, kid,” he pointed behind her to where the phone was hanging from and went back to his cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, Wayne was in the middle of explaining his soup recipe to Dottie when a car horn interrupted their talk. The older man walked her outside and waved at James, who waved back at him from the front seat of his car.

“Tell Ed I said bye!” she said, skipping down the front steps to the trailer.

“Bye, Dot. See you on Thursday,” he said, resting an arm on the door frame. “Say hi to your dad for me.”

Dottie stopped at the last step for half a second before hurrying up the stairs again and wrapping her arms around the eldest Munson with a bright smile on her face. She squeezed him tightly before letting go, her expression sincere and yet a little bit embarrassed.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. See you on Thursday,” was all she said, before disappearing into her dad’s car and leaving down the dirt road.

He watched them leave, sitting on his doorstep and fishing a cig out of the front pocket of his work shirt. He chuckled to himself after taking the first drag, thinking about his nephew taking a nap in his room, about the black stain he kept telling him to clean up to no avail, and about the girl who refused to take no for an answer. About how there was definitely something different about Dorothy Burke, and how maybe, just maybe, what separated her from all the other kids her age was exactly what made her so similar to Eddie after all.

Wednesday, May 7th - 1986

Hawkins High’s library wasn’t as big as her former school’s library, but had so far proved sufficient enough for all her researching needs. Thus, Dottie found herself perusing the Home Economics section after claiming to need a book for an essay, resorting to little white lies in the hopes that Eddie wouldn’t look too much into them. He seemed to be in brighter spirits that day, still sniffling and occasionally coughing into his elbow, but his eyes were less swollen and teary with the help of his newly acquired allergy meds. Still, Dottie insisted (perhaps a bit too much, but he wasn’t about to fight her about it) that he take a nap during their shared free period in an effort to get back to full health as quickly as possible. He didn’t even think about how unusual it was for her to even suggest it before resting his head on his balled up jacket, arms folded on top of their secluded table at the back of the room.

“Do you need any help, sweetie?” Mrs. James, the school’s librarian, said, startling Dottie from her trance scanning the table of contents in what looked to be yet another useless book. “You’ve been going through every shelf in this section, maybe I can help you find what you need?”

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t think to ask,” Dottie smiled at the old lady. “I’m trying to do some research on mold and I’m stumped.”

“Mold? Why, I think you ought to be looking in the science section then! Is this for a Biology class? Maybe you can ask Mr. Brooke if he has any recommendations.”

“Actually, I was looking into mold removal for Home Ec? You know, like in old houses or bathrooms!”

“Hmmm, can’t say I recall any books like that off the top of my head but let me check. There must be something about home repairs somewhere,” she walked away towards the front desk, muttering to herself.

Dottie followed her into the main area of the library, always keeping an eye on the path towards the table where Eddie was resting upon, blissfully unconscious and unaware of his surroundings. Mrs. James rummaged through a set of drawers full of neat cards, nodded once and promptly disappeared through a back door behind her desk. Dottie waited, her hopes dwindling as she stared at the clock on the wall counting down the minutes until the bell rang.

She was distracted, rapping her chipped sparkly red nails on the wooden surface in front of her when she felt a weight settle across her shoulders, and smelled her sleepy friend before she even saw him. Eddie’s clothes generally had faint traces of smoke hidden behind Old Spice after shave, generously applied cheap woodsy cologne and gentle laundry detergent, his battle vest adding a hint of pungent weed to the mix. She had only noticed a few days prior that his hair always smelled like green apple in the mornings, most likely thanks to his predilection of showering as a way of waking himself up. Dottie knew that if it had belonged to anyone else, she wouldn’t have found the mix of aromas as charming as she did - she thought of it as a side effect of that newly discovered pesky little crush she consciously chose not to dwell too much about.

“Well, that was a hell of a nap,” he muttered into her hair, voice and limbs still heavy with sleep.

“And you woke up on your own before the bell rang, I’m impressed,” she said.

“So… what are we waitin’ for?”

“Mrs. James is looking something up for me in the back, you can wait at the table if you want.”

“Nah, I’m cozy,” he said, putting all his weight onto her shoulders, her knees wobbling a little bit before she caught herself on the desk.

Dottie was sure he’d dozed off while standing up and the way he jumped when the bell rang didn’t really convince her otherwise. It was still ringing when Mrs. James reappeared from wherever she had been hiding in her backrooms, a small book with a bit of a lengthy title in white letters at the front. She waved it around as if it were a valuable carnival prize.

“I’m not sure it’ll be of much help, but I think it’s the closest you’ll find here,” she admitted. “Just sign this, you can fill in the rest when you return it. You don’t want to be late for class!”

“Thank you!” Dottie hurried to sign the form attached to a clipboard and tucked the book into her chest to hide the front from Eddie. “I’ll let you know if it helped.”

“Oh, please do! If it doesn’t, maybe you could check the local library? It’s much bigger than this one, I bet they’ll have what you need.”

“I will, thank you. I’ll bring this one back tomorrow, I promise.”

“You can keep it for a week, sweetie, don’t worry. Now go on, get to class you two!”

“Did you get the feeling she was trying to get rid of us or was it just me?” Eddie muttered, a sly smile on his face while they gathered their things and left the library.

“Just doing her duty in helping you to graduate, that’s all,” Dottie joked back, shoving her newly acquired book deep into her backpack.

“See you at lunch?” he said, walking backwards through the quickly emptying hallway.

“Of course! See ya!”

She watched him nod once and bolt towards his Latin class when the second warning bell rang. Dottie took a second to take a deep breath before walking into her World History classroom where Jeff was already waiting for her, his usual calm smile on his face. She really didn’t like hiding things from her friends, but since she only had Eddie’s benefit in mind, she hoped he wouldn’t be as pissed off as she feared he would be when he found out.

Gareth’s house had big windows on the west side that opened up to a medium sized backyard, thick green grass extending until the end of the property. His parents had debated on building a pool back when the kids were younger, but as it turned out, pools were much more expensive than what they were willing to spend at that moment. They had ended up getting a blow up pool that served its purpose perfectly for a few hot summers until Gareth crashed his bike into it at age 12 and punctured it.

Eddie felt marginally better than the day before and was looking forward to taking his second dose of allergy meds once he got home, but for now, he was content to tuck himself into his friend’s armchair and read through Jeff’s Biology notes. Besides, having the girl he was hard crushing on in his line of sight was always a plus. Dottie, on the other hand, wished Eddie would just fall the fuck asleep so she could skim her damn book without him noticing. Homeowner’s Quick-repair and Emergency Guide by Max Alth was still carefully hidden between her other possessions in her backpack when Jeff plopped down on the seat across from hers at the dining table.

“Heyyyy,” he said, awkwardly.

“Hey?”

“I, uh, I need advice on something but if you don’t wanna talk about it, just… tell me to fuck off, okay? I won’t hold it against you, I promise.”

“Okay?” Dottie stared at him like he had grown two heads overnight.

“So, I remember you mentioning you have a book about Victorian flower language?” he waited for her to nod in confirmation before continuing. “I was hoping you could tell me what to get, y’know, for Mother’s Day.”

“Oh! Of course, I’d love to help! What did you have in mind?” she smiled, understanding now where his hesitance was coming from.

“Just something nice, doesn’t really matter if it’s expensive. Bobby’s coming home, said he’s pitching in.”

“Aw, that’s cool. I’m sure your Mom will be happy to have both her boys home.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Haven’t told him about Virginia yet, I’m kinda terrified he’s gonna get pissy about it and ruin the day for Mom. He can be… intense about the military stuff, even more than my Dad. It’s so annoying.”

“Well, that’s his own fucking problem,” she scoffed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, not your fault he can’t see you are not a kid anymore and can make your own choices. But never mind Bobby, we were talking about your Mom! I’ll bring my book to school tomorrow, we can look through it together if you want, find something cute.”

“That sounds great, thank you!” he smiled wide, his braces full on display. He couldn’t wait until he got them removed. “Are you… Like… Man, I don’t know if this is okay to ask-”

“Jeff, it’s okay,” she patted his hand across the table. “You can ask, I don’t mind.”

“I was just wondering if you celebrate or anything like that.”

“I do, in my own way.”

From his comfy spot on the couch, Eddie watched Dottie pull her backpack into her lap and rummage through her books, finding a baby pink envelope between them and sliding it over to Jeff with a shy smile. His heart rate picked up, could it be…? Was she showing him what she had received or was she giving it to Jeff? Maybe there had never been a secret admirer, maybe… maybe Dottie had always just liked Jeff and Eddie had been so far up his own ass he’d never noticed it before. And who could blame her? Jeff was kind, gentle in ways that Eddie couldn’t fathom being. He was going to a good college, had a bright future ahead of him, came from a nice family. He watched them talk; Dottie leaned over the table, pointing something out to him on the card. Jeff was polite, a fantastic singer, a great friend. One of Eddie’s best friends, actually. Fuck, I’m such an idiot, I can’t ruin this for them, I’m-

Jeff carefully put the card back into the envelope and gave it back to her, stopping to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Eddie’s pulse returned somewhat to its normal rhythm when Dottie put the pink paper inside her backpack, tucked into the same spot she’d taken it out from. Donny got up from his spot on the floor, books forgotten, and slid himself into the chair next to Dottie’s, arm resting behind her. She leaned into his shoulder using his arm as a neck pillow, the three friends now engaged in animated conversation. Eddie caught a few words as their voices raised: the boys were trying to talk her into going to next week’s gig at The Hideout. He looked down at Jeff’s Biology notes resting on his thighs and ran a hand over his eyes. Everything was normal, nothing had changed, and yet everything felt different for him anyways.

Eddie had always been proud of his ability to hold his shit together no matter what. He considered himself an expert in bottling up, shoving things under the rug until they could no longer be seen. But this mystery card situation? It was absolutely messing him up. If he had discovered something about himself in the past two days, it was that even though he wasn’t a jealous asshole, he could still be a jealous man, and that knowledge embarrassed him to the bone. He didn’t like the way all his insecurities screamed at him whenever he compared himself to his best friends, detailing all his shortcomings and failures, constricting his chest and leaving him breathless. In his mad panic, a lone image of having to watch Dottie fall in love with someone else while he got left behind kicked him square in the chest.

Dottie turned her head to the side, looked at him sitting alone on the couch and beckoned him over with her hand, a soft smile gracing her features. He realized right there, as loud thunder cracked open the sky and the long awaited rain made its return to Hawkins, that he could take a step to the side if she needed him to. He would let her be happy with someone else, even if it was with one of his best friends. Even if it pained him to imagine it. But he also realized that Eddie Munson wasn’t going to go down without trying. Once they were alone tomorrow, he was gonna ask about the card and if her answer turned out to be less than favorable for him, he’d be supportive and encouraging. He would be a good friend, just like she’d always been to him. And most importantly, if she happened to choose Jeff, or Gareth, or Donny, he would never let it come between him and his band mates. All his friendships would remain intact, he would make damn sure of it. But he couldn’t quit before he tried.

Eddie joined them at the table, mirroring Donny’s position and letting his arm fall behind on Jeff’s chair. Jeff leaned into his shoulder and batted his eyes at him, clearly making fun of Dottie who chucked an eraser at his chest in response. Everything will work itself out, Eddie thought, watching Gareth pull up a chair to the table. We’ll be fine.

“Honey, can you set the table?” James called from the kitchen, hands busy finishing dinner.

“Yeah,” Dottie replied, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

James took the chicken out of the oven, setting it on the empty stove top and transferred it from the sheet pan to a more appropriate container that wouldn’t burn the surface of the wooden table when placed upon the tablecloth. He was adding the final touches to his roasted potatoes when he lifted his head and noticed his daughter hadn’t yet moved from her spot on the couch, legs dangling from the arm, book propped on her thighs. This wasn’t an unusual sight in the Burke household; Dottie had an affinity towards never sitting like a normal person, something that he’d always found extremely amusing. James leaned out of the passthrough window to call her attention again.

“Can Her Majesty please set the table today if she wishes to eat while it’s hot?”

“I’m coming, hold on,” she finally got up, book still in her hand and being held open by her thumb in the middle of the gutter.

“What are you reading?”

“Something I got from the school’s library. I think it’s a bust but it’s the only one they had on this topic.”

“What topic?” he asked, and Dottie lifted the cover so he could see. “Homeowner’s Guide? Did you buy a house I wasn’t aware of?”

“Yeah, you know that blue Victorian mansion on Morehead Street? Got it at a discount because someone got murdered in there,” Dottie said in a deadpan tone.

“You hate haunted houses but you’re gonna live in one?” he snorted, watching her come in and out of the kitchen to the living room carrying plates and cups with only one hand.

“Nah, I’m gonna fix it up and turn a profit.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, proudly.

Once they were seated at the dinner table, plates full and cheeks stuffed with homemade bread, Dottie went back to her reading, going back and forth from the table of contents to various pages she was marking with her fingers. This was also not unusual behavior coming from the teenager; James was very much used to her being absorbed in whatever she was reading at any given time, so much so that sometimes she’d make herself a snack or a cup of tea to enjoy while getting lost in her fantasy worlds and completely forget about it until hours later. He supposed he only had himself to blame for that, having encouraged reading since she had learned to sound out her own name. It was, however, extremely strange to see her this engrossed in non-fiction, particularly about a subject that she had never really shown much interest in before. She loved baking and cooking, sewing, knitting and doing various kinds of crafty things, but she’d never been curious about home repairs. Sometimes she’d wait for days until James changed a lightbulb for her, claiming she didn’t want to do it herself because she was probably gonna get electrocuted. James supposed that was also his fault, pampering his daughter so much that she had never really needed to learn how to do it in the first place.

“I’d like to talk with my daughter during dinner like a normal family, please,” he said, tapping the top of her book.

“Sorry, it’s… I’m doing research on mold removal and I’m getting nowhere,” she huffed, finally setting the offending pages aside and looking up at him. “This book sucks, can’t believe this guy’s advice for an intruder is to get a dog.”

“We’re not getting a dog.”

“Do you enjoy ruining my fun?”

“I signed a contract, it’s my duty as your Dad,” James grinned. “Why do you want to learn about mold removal?”

“Remember I told you about Eddie’s allergies? He has mold in his room, Wayne said I could clean it but I don’t really know how.”

“Wayne asked you to clean Eddie’s moldy room?”

“No, of course not!” she glared at her dad like he was insane for even suggesting it. “I asked for permission to do it. I’m worried about Eddie, he could get really sick if he keeps breathing that stuff in. I just- I wanted to do something nice for him, that’s all. He’s always driving me around and doesn’t let me pay him for gas, it feels like I’m taking advantage of him.”

“A good deed for a good deed?” James said, softening.

“I was thinking about it more like payment in kind.”

“And you said the book isn’t helping?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the P. “Not a single mention of mold but plenty on wasps.”

“Why don’t you ask Uncle Johnny? He cleaned up the mold behind the washer and it never came back, he might remember how he did it.”

“Huh, hadn’t thought of asking him. Thanks.”

After dinner, Dottie hurried to wash all the dishes before dialing a very familiar number she was sure she’d remember her entire life. Sat on one of the kitchen island stools, pompom pen in one hand and cord stretched to its limit, she heard the phone ring once, twice, thrice before someone picked up from the other side.

“Hello?”

“Hi Uncle Johnny, it’s me!”

“Hey tiny, how’s it going? How’s your Dad?” his voice was soft and warm just like it always was; Dottie could hear his smile in every word.

“Good, good, he’s taking a shower. I was actually calling because I need help with something important.”

“Uh oh, do you want me to get Mary Elizabeth?”

Johnny and Mary Elizabeth had gotten married the summer after Dottie turned five; she got to fulfill the role of flower girl at the modest but gorgeous wedding, stealing all the looks as she danced with her Dad all night and fell asleep before the cake was cut. The couple had been friends since their first year at college, but they had started dating only a year before Johnny proposed during a cheap last minute holiday in Vermont. They had the kind of relationship that made Dottie believe in true love: two best friends who supported one another through financial turmoil, illnesses, debts, and grief, and kept choosing each other every day despite the hardships. Every time she saw them, she hoped that someday she’d get as lucky as they did when they found each other.

“No, I need your expertise this time,” she said, twirling the stretched cord around her pen. “Remember when you got rid of that mold behind the washer? A friend of mine has a mold issue and I was wondering if you could tell me how to clean that up.”

“Hell yeah, I remember, that stuff was gross. Got something to take notes on?” he asked, getting comfy in his armchair back in New York.

Around fifteen minutes later, James popped into the kitchen in his pjs with a ball of dirty clothes under his arm. He stepped around the island and threw the pile into a half filled basket in the laundry room for him to sort out the next day while he listened to Dottie on the phone.

“What do you mean it’s toxic?” she asked, and crossed something in her notebook. “Oh, okay, I won’t. Yeah, I think so. Two. One might be stuck but I know the big one opens-” she paused, listening. “Great, I’ll do that then. Thank you so much! Yes, I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay. Okay, I’ll tell him you said that,” she rolled her eyes. “Bye, love you! Say hi to Mary Elizabeth and Rosie for me. Thank you again!”

“Everything okay?”

“He says that he saw that movie you told him to watch and it sucked.”

“I know. That’s why I told him to watch it,” James grinned. “Did he help with the mold thing?”

“Big time,” she said, her sly smile matching her Dad’s. “That ceiling is gonna look brand new when I’m done with it, I promise.”

taglist (let me know if you want me to add you!): @munsonology

[blazenfire223]

Good Omens Fandom Love Letter- by @/elnorawhittaker on Instagram

Day 1: How I discovered Good Omens

It was January 1st, 2021, around 12 or 1 am. Everyone in the house was asleep, my parents, great grandma, and siblings. My siblings and I all slept in the same room and I was at the bottom of the bed laying down. I should have been asleep but I couldn't. I was watching ASMR like slime videos on YouTube when I saw something in the recommended section of the video I was watching. It was a podfic with the title "Getting a Wiggle On" by Kedreeva and read by SkyAsimaru. I was curious so I clicked it.

40 whole minutes I laid in bed listening to a fanfic about a set of characters I knew absolutely NOTHING about and my god I fell in love INSTANTLY. I mean, I was kicking my feet and giggling in bed at these 2 queers that I didn't even know what they looked like. So I listened to a few more. I listened to like 5 or 6 of these podfics before finally passing out for the night. Then the next morning I went digging. I found out Good Omens was on Amazon Prime and got sad because I didn't know at the time that we had Prime. So I watched video clip after video clip for the next like week until my excitement and love for these unknown characters was too much for my heart to bare.

I went to my mother's room and asked with as much subtlety my 13 or 14 year old self could do (absolutely none) if we could get Amazon Prime. It turned out that we already had Prime. So I asked my mom to put in the password on my tablet and once she did I was so excited that I was shaking.

As soon as I pressed play, I was sat down in my room for 6 whole hours. Doing nothing but happy stimming and squealing. When I tell you I was the most blissful 6 hours of my life, I MEAN IT. It was seriously one of the biggest highlights of my life. It was such a euphoric experience.

We were still in heavy Covid times, and school was still mostly virtual, so I spent the next few months BURYING myself in fandom content. Fanfic, podfic, fanart, animatics, anything my little grabbers could get ahold of, and I had the BEST time of my LIFE. And it all started from a random YouTube recommendation.

I still absolutely love SkyAsimaru's podfics. They're probably my favorite voice for Aziracrow, Especially! Their Crowley voice, I mean it it is SOOO good. I adore it.

I always find how I discovered GO funny, but it seriously wouldn't have happened if it weren't for the fandom, and I am forever grateful for it.

[bihansthot]

The weather was awful while we were up North, one of the warmest Christmas’ on record, and rainy. Bleh. It was not the idyllic holiday vacation I envisioned, my Mother was mostly fine minus her obsession with mentioning Keto Drops and celebrity weight loss but Dad was frustrating to a degree. I’m trying not to be so pessimistic but in addition to him yelling at me over calling my mother-in-law Mom he nearly got into a fight with my MIL’s partner. Boomer alpha males together are a problem. Then there’s my personal problem with my MIL’s partner, he kept calling Denny a “turd” which ok , rude and talking to him about how he was, and I quote “going to get himself shot in the head”, excuse me?! WTF?! Who says something like that?! I was furious with him for the rest of the trip. I know I’ve been overly sensitive about dog death ever since I lost Jäger but over sensitivity aside I thought that was absolutely absurd and uncalled for. I should have told him off but I’m so non-confrontational I just couldn’t, I told my partner and they understood why I was so furious but also didn’t say anything. No one wanted to ruin the trip by getting into any fights but fuck me, I guess it’s fine to ruin my trip. I just wanted a nice Christmas and nice memories before I lose my Dad (nothing is seriously wrong with him minus his knees and back) or he becomes immobile and it just did not go as planned. That’s life I guess though, nothing ever goes the way you want it to or at least it rarely does. Plus side my folks got home ok and picked up their dog my partner’s family also got home safely so everyone is fine.

On a more positive note my partner and I went to the mall today and they opened a new dog bakery! We got Denny lots of new treats including a dinosaur cookie and a new football jersey since his old one was ripped. I didn’t talk much about football this season but I’m a very devout University of Michigan fan and in honor of them going to the Rose Bowl and being ranked #1 it was just necessary to get Denny a new jersey to wear for the bowl game. My parents also got him a new bear for Christmas, their next door neighbor loves to do embroidery and the front of the bear says “I’m going to my MeMaw’s and PePaw’s” and the butt says “Merry Christmas Denny 2023” it’s very cute. He doesn’t love it quite yet but I’ll cuddle with it until it smells like me and then he’ll take it everywhere he goes like Pooh Bear (he steals my stuffed animals).

I hope everyone else had a lovely holiday season if you celebrated and if you didn’t I hope you had a lovely week. I barely slept a wink at the vacation house and got a blissful 12 hours last night, so everything is better after that much sleep. The rental was beautiful, the bay was gorgeous and the area was so quaint and charming that I’d love to visit again without all the family drama. My partner and I might look into going during the Summer when we can actually take advantage of the bay and take Denny swimming. The downtown was very dog friendly and had lots of dog friendly shops and restaurants. Sorry if this was so negative but I just needed to get that off my chest, it’s very nice to be back home. Here’s an apology Denny in return and his dinosaur cookie that he absolutely gobbled up.

Denny’s bear needs a name, any suggestions?

[fe-leading-ladies-bracket]

AKA: What if the golden apple was thrown into a Heroes summoning portal?

Fire Emblem has had a long and interesting history, and so it is time we honor the ladies that helped shape the franchise into what it is today! Public opinion is always quick to swift and turn when it comes to the gals, so when I tried to on my own judge who among the cast were the most popular fan favorites, I struggled to pin down any one answer. So we're going to decide who is the fairest among the war criminals with the totally accurate and scientifically sound experiment of a good old fashioned tournament bracket!

When it came to deciding who to pool for this contest and how to seed it, I looked at three main characteristics

Lord or Main Character Status

Impact on the Plot

Popularity with the Wider Fanbase

Rather than pick all my faves who are totally the best, I wanted to choose characters who served as the "face" of their respective games/worlds and give each entry a reasonably balanced amount of representation without having to default to friendly fire right off the bat. I also have not played every game and so often had to rely on fan discussions, Heroes rep, and whose art fills the tag to determine that flagship status. As a result I had to leave out some absolutely iconic gals and create brutal round 1's that absolutely break my heart. So if you are sad about some of these matchups, me too girl, know I tried my best to seed this in a way that would create an exciting contest

Voting criteria is based around popularity. If you want to take into account how important, well-written, or historical a character is, that is all well and good. But if you just want to vote for the hottest lady, that is your prerogative. At the end of the day, we can only measure who tumblr's favorite blorbo is, not who "deserves" to win, so follow your bliss.

Round 1 starts May 12, 2023 12:00PM EST, each match gets its own post, that will be tagged #FELLpolls

In addition I will create round specific posts under the same hashtag linking to each match. Each match will run for exactly 24 hours, with the next round starting another 24 hours later

Please keep it civil, it is ok to get competitive and root for your faves but any violent or self-harm threats directed at other fans, myself, or the speaker in question will result in a block. I don't care if it is clear exaggeration or said jokingly, I'm the person having to read all y'all's comments and I do not need that in my life