#AND MY OTHER TWO BOYS LOOKING UP AT THEIR BOYS WITH THE MOST BROWN DOE EYES YOU'VE EVER SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN

[usertoxicyaoi]

"What kind of affection is this?"

TAKARA NO VIDRO (2024) - EPISODE SIX. COSMETIC PLAYLOVER (2024) - EPISODE TWO.

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[arc-misadventures]

I don't know why, but I'm enjoying the thought of Coco and Jaune being bros.

99% Lesbian

Blake: Coco!

Yang: Hey, Coco!

Coco: Yes?

Blake: We need your help

Coco: My help? Well, first off: Stop wearing all black. Add more colour to you apparel; I recommend purples, golds, and perhaps some deep blues. I think those colours would really make you 'pop!' Otherwise you look like a poorly dressed goth girl hipster. And no, you do not look like a goth girl the way you are dressed, and most certainly a sexy goth girl.

Blake: That's not 1hat...

Yang: No. No, take notes you could use a make over.

Blake: Hey!

Yang: But, no this isn't fashion related!

Coco: It isn't? Then what the hell do you two want help with me, you utter fashion slobs!

Blake: Hey!

Yang: I know it's true that, Blake dresses like a slob!

Blake: Hey?!

Yang: But, does that include me too?

Coco: Only two people in this entire school have any sense of woman's fashion, and neither of them are you.

Yang: Who?!

Blake: Yeah, who?!

Coco: Jaune Arc.

Blake: Jaune?

Yang: Him, really?

Coco: He has seven sisters, he knows plenty about woman's fashion.

Blake: So you say...

Yang: Who's the other person?

Coco: Glynda Goodwitch.

BY: ...

Blake: I'm not going to argue against that.

Yang: She's drop dead gorgeous, what else do we need to say?

Coco: So, what do you need help with?

Yang: We need to help settle a bet.

Coco: A bet?

Yang: Yeah, Ruby said you weren't gay, and that you were in fact, bisexual. We called bullshit, she said it was true, so we made a bet on whether or, not you are actually gay.

Blake: So, are you bisexual?

Coco: No I'm not bisexual.

Blake: Ha!

Yang: I knew it!

Coco: But, I'm not... 100% a lesbian.

Blake: Eh?

Yang: Beg pardon?

Coco: I'm 99% lesbian, but I am 1%... straight...

Blake: You're 1% straight...?

Yang: So... you are bisexual?

Coco: No... I love woman 99% of the time. But, 1% of the time... I'm straight... exclusively for, Jaune...

BY: For, Jaune?!

Coco: For, Jaune.

Yang: How are you attracted to, Jaune? He's... he's...

Blake: He's, Jaune!

Yang: I was going to say a guy, but that's true.

Coco: Gods, does everyone have to pick on my, 'If I had to pick a dude?' He's a great guy, a bit of a goofball sure, and a dunce. But, he is a really nice guy once you get to know him.

Blake: And, because you know, Jaune so well he becomes the 1%?

Coco: Well, there's also the fact that he is the only person I can discuss fashion with; he has great taste, and has even convinced me to wear a helmet as part of my fashion assemble. I just started to enjoy being around with him. So the intrusive thought of us... 'mingling' just popped up. So, I'm 99% a lesbian, and 1% straight for, Jaune.

Blake: Oh, that makes sense. Somehow...?

Yang: So... did we win the bet?

Blake: We didn't bet anything, so we could call it a draw if we wanted to. Right?

Coco: I'd call it a dra...

Jaune: Coco!

Coco: Hey, Bunny Boy, what's up?

Blake: Bunny boy?

Jaune: I found another helmet you could wear! Only this time if completely covers your head, which of course would make it that it doesn't go with your current outfits design. But, that does mean you have to choreograph an entire wardrobe to fit the helmet. Of which, honestly sounds fun to do on it's on.

Coco: Oh-ho-ho~! Really now? Okay, show me this helmet you're so confident about?

Jaune: Tada~!

Coco: ...

Coco: Holy shit...

Jaune: You like it?

Coco: This is a old helmet, so I would have a more detailed lion head, and mane. The colours would definitely involve more gold, maroon, and crimsons.

Jaune: Red, and caramel browns, with complementary cream whites?

Coco: Oh that sounds perfect! Colours aside, what would this outfit entail?

Jaune: Boot's that are at least knee height...

Coco: High heels?

Jaune: Oh, but of course. Next should... Hmmm... Oh no...

Coco: What is it?

Jaune: Nora pulled a, Nora again. I'm sorry I gotta go. Shall we continued this discussion later?

Coco: No problem, Love. Have fun~!

Jaune: See you later, Mocha!

Coco: Hmmm... Should the face mask be a copy of my face, or should it be a generic face?

BY: ...

Coco: ...

Coco: What?

Yang: 'No problem, Love?'

Blake: You sure it's just 1%?

Coco: ...

Coco: Maybe... 10%...?

Yang: Coco's bisexual, but only for, Jaune.

Blake: Agreed.

Coco: ...

Coco: That's fair...

[iris-qt]

𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

🗝️ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʜᴜꜰꜰʟᴇᴘᴜꜰꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🗝️ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🗝️ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🗝️ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴜʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏʟʟ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ɪ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ. ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀ ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴜ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴛᴡɪꜱᴛᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴠɪꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅʟʏ ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ

🗝️ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴀʟ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ…

Did you believe in fate? 

No.

That may be silly, I mean, you live in a magical universe where anything is possible. Magic defies the muggle laws of nature; it’s something undetectable yet very much alive. Anything could happen. Anything you can imagine. Anything you can imagine besides being in a relationship with Theodore Nott.

Yet for some wild, unbeknownst reason, the universe seems adept in proving you wrong. 

No, you didn’t believe in fate. Until you became acquainted with him.

It started off slow and undetectable. Yes, you were aware of Theodore Nott, but you tried to stay unaware of your feelings towards him. It all started in the dingy little Potions classroom, when you were seated next to him. At first you were a bit uncomfortable as he was a popular guy and popular boys weirded you out. Always so judgmental. But Theo was quiet and calm. Always so sure of every action; every dice of the ingredients, every stir of the brew. You were a pretty sociable person and so, once you decided Nott was not so off-putting after all, you began to share a few words with each other. You treasured those little conversations in the shrouded back row of the Potions room. 

“How was the DADA test for you, Nott?”

“Hey, Nott, Is it just me, or does Snape’s hair look extra greasy today?”

“HELP THEODORE MY POTIONS ON FIRE!”

That last one was not a very fond memory, but one you could not escape. Truly, you two being the only Slytherin and Hufflepuff sat next to each other, as there was an odd amount of students from both houses in that class, was the real beginning of the universe’s meddling behavior.

With all this in mind, it was painfully obvious Theo was not interested; he never quite talked to you unless you said something first. That is why you would never delude yourself with the thought of being in a relationship with him, He was an unattainable, rare flower, such as the tiburon mariposa lily that only grows in the Ring Mountain region of California. That flower is quite vulnerable to extinction due to natural and man-made disasters. That part didn’t really apply to Nott. He wasn’t the vulnerable type…

Theo, however, fell hard and fast from the moment he first spoke with you. How could someone so passionate and awkward not catch his eye?

“It was honestly a rough test. Actually, I need a tutor for DADA..”  

But you didn’t take the hint.

“Perhaps if I gave Professor Snape my hair care routine…?”

But that didn’t earn him any hair-related compliments.

“AGUAMENTI! HOLY SHIT you’re really on fire today, huh y/l/n?”

That earned him an elbow in the rib.

The series of events that the fed up universe concocted began in none other than a little grass meadow.

As usual, you had woken up at the most ungodly hour of 5 am for the sole purpose of taking your morning stroll to a hidden meadow within the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, just behind a thicket. You were walking with your sketchpad and graphite in hand, ready to capture those jewels of the earth in the faint morning light. In your opinion, the crack of dawn is when the wildflowers shine the brightest. You sat in the grass, leaning against an old oak, beginning to sketch a particularly beautiful periwinkle flower. You were sure no one else knew about this meadow; it seemed untouched by anyone’s harsh footsteps.

Imagine your surprise when you heard the plants rustle to unveil a sleepy Theodore Nott: brown locks askew and dark circles tinged red against his pale skin, a cigarette dangling from his sleep-swollen pink lips. His light eyes slightly widen at the sight of his talkative ex Potions partner.

The silence was awkward and extended; you weren’t used to engaging in conversation in your quiet haven, but of course it was you who broke the silence anyway.

“Good morning, Nott,” you say quite hoarsely, slightly clearing your throat in embarrassment. Those were the first words you’d uttered that day.

His lip twitches, ghosting a smirk at the sound of your voice.

“Morning, y/l/n. You come here often?”

You nod saying, “It’s my morning ritual at this point.”

You nod in reply, eyes ghosting over his tired appearance as he continues, “Funny. I come here every night.”

He lets out a puff of smoke into the pure air of your precious haven, and you can’t help but subconsciously glare at the wisp of smoke. Of course, he notices and lets out a small chuckle.

“Don’t like my smoking?”

“It ruins the fresh air for the flowers and plants, Nott.”

He nods thoughtfully, finishing his cigarette.

“Don’t tell me you litter your cigarette butts all over the grass,” you frown.

“Of course not, I’m not a brute,” he laughs and fishes out a portable ash tray where he neatly tucks his cigarette remains away. After another awkward silence, he walks up to you and sits down next to you, peering at your sketch but quickly shifting his gaze away when he realizes you never gave him permission to gaze upon your works of art. You laugh as you assure him, “You can look, it’s just quick sketches.”

“Looks frame-worthy to me,” he shrugs with absolutely no hint of sarcasm or doubt in his eyes. It makes you feel flustered to the point you had to look the other way.

You decide to move the conversation over to him.

“What do you do here every night? Smoke?”

He shakes his head, saying, “As much as I like to smoke at night, I don’t here.” He pulls out a book. “I read under wand-light.”

You glance over and your eyes widen as you notice its a story you had just recently finished reading.

“The Turn of the Screw? A literary masterpiece, I just finished reading it, like, a week ago.”

He smiles, eyes warm and inviting, “I was just about to say your drawings remind me of Audrey Benjaminsen’s limited edition illustrations for this book. I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy.”

Your eyes widen even more.

“The limited edition would be a gazillion galleons, but I suppose you’re filthy rich,” you tease.

“I mean, what better thing to spend my money on?” He smirks, pushing back a stray lock of his hair that had escaped.

“Solving world hunger, ending wars, funding cancer cure research…” you smirk.

“Ok, I’m not that rich.”

You both laughed at that and talked all morning up through the first 15 minutes of your guys’ first lessons. Laughing, you both jog to your class, the dandelions in the field spreading its tufts as you both run past. Little did you both know, it was the mutual fascination with a trail of dandelion tufts in the breeze, one in the sunlight and one in the moonlight, that brought you both to discover the meadow years ago.

While this universal push succeeded in temporarily bringing you and Theo closer, the two of you fell apart as you stopped showing up to the meadow as often due to school stress and you no longer were seated with Theo in any classes. The autumn leaves floated down and shriveled up; leaving the trees bare. The cold winds carried snow through the Hogwarts air, swirling around the iced windows. 

It was time for the winter trip to Hogsmeade and you were bundled up and ready to go with 3 jackets, long socks, leg warmers, and snow boots as you braved the cold. Your scarf tucked against your face, you walked down the snowy pathway, laughing and talking with your friends as you strode through the ice.

Theo was also walking down the pathway with his friends; zoned out of their conversation while quietly observing the falling snow. 

Fate had it that you both got distracted by a reflective light in the distance at different times, and so you both left your friends group for a second to observe this flash of light.  

You were the first to separate, and when you looked back, your friends were long gone; enveloped into the icy mist.

You shrugged and began trudging through the snow, wondering where they could’ve gone off to. Suddenly, you stumbled across a little book shop that you’d been wanting to visit, but never got time to. You slowly walked up the creaking steps and into the warm embrace of the cozy shop. It was lit by yellow candlelight, dancing over the spines of rustic books. A Christmas tree in the corner shone brightly. You began getting lost in the page-riddled haze…

Theo, likewise, separated from his group a moment after you left. He bent down to find the source of the reflective light and found nothing. He raised an eyebrow annoyedly and glanced back to find himself abandoned in the snow; not a student to be seen in this blizzard. He decided to just walk in a straight line and suddenly saw a warm glow in the muggy snow. He approached a bookshop he had never noticed before. How could he overlook such a gem? Walking in, he was met with the faint smell of cinnamon and a warm atmosphere.

After a couple minutes, you laid your eyes on a particularly gorgeous spine with engraved flowers. Of course, you’d judge a book by its cover if its cover was an absolute masterpiece. You reached out to pluck it off the shelf when you felt a force pulling it back from the other side. You furrowed your brows as this turned into a game of tug of war. 

Theo had seen that this particular book had artwork painted onto its pages. He was intrigued as to what this book could be about when suddenly he was hindered from grabbing it. Refusing to let up this competition, he pulled the book to his side, but, ultimately, failed. You and Theo’s eyes met through the hole where the book had originally been, his shining eyes crinkling as he grinned at the familiar irises of y/n. 

“Brains and brawn? Could you get any better?” He joked walking to your side of the shelf and smiling.

You laughed as you handed him the book.

“Feel free to take it, Nott”

“Don’t worry, I was just admiring the painted scene on the pages.”

 You both glance at the gorgeous book for a bit when Theo breaks the silence.

“You haven’t been to the flower clearing recently.”

“Yeah, school has me fucked up… I study too late and can’t wake up that early.”

He nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the shop.

“I think this is my new favorite place.”

“I agree..” Your eyes widen as you glance at the shelf behind him. “No way. Theodore look.” You excitedly point at a limited edition copy of The Turn of the Screw with illustrations done by Audrey Benjaminsen.

Theo looks stricken as he freezes at the sight of the copy he’d been chasing for months now. It was right there, before his eyes, tucked between other worn books. He would never have caught it in this dim light.

“Am I dreaming, y/n?” He breathes out, jaw dramatically dropped at the sight.

You playfully pinch him, laughing, “I don’t think so, Nott. Call it an early Christmas miracle.”

It was as if you and Theo shared the same safe spaces. First the meadow, now this book shop. He couldn’t help but ponder how there was always something leading him to you. Something that connected the both of you. First it was the flower field, and now this book. It was if every good thing in his life was somehow connected to you…

Theo gently holds the book and observes it in the light, but he found his new revelation of you far more fascinating. He always knew he adored you, and it just so happened that fate agreed. They were constantly being pushed together; given every oppurtunity to confess their feelings. Their fear overshadowed them. Maybe it was time to stop being so fearful. 

Theo noticed you gazing at the book in awe, and smiled gently.

“Would you like to look over it with me over some butterbeer?”

Your eyes snap up at him, surprised at his question. This was the first time Theo had shown any interest in going out of his way to spend time with you. Despite the lingering cold, you blushed down to the roots of your hair.  

“I’d love to..”

He grinned, shadows dancing on his carved face. The invisible string was brighter now, wrapping around their very beings, no longer neglected.

“It’s a date.”

[ladykailitha]

Eddie and Nancy

Just giving my brain a break from the Secret Tunnel (aka the game show) story. I still have two chapters to get through and my brain needs a cool down.

I've seen a lot of headcanons that Eddie is the Wheeler children's older half brother because of how much they look like each other.

But may I propose instead: cousins.

Hear me out.

You have first born, Elizabeth. Absolute hippie child. All about that free love, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. She learns how to play guitar, falls in with the charming and cool, Al Munson. They plan to tour the country his beat up old truck. But before that can happen, Elizabeth gets pregnant with Eddie. So she marries Al.

Then you have Karen, the younger sister. Bright, demure, absolute golden child. She dyes her hair and blows out the curls to more like waves so she doesn't look like Elizabeth anymore.

She does what she was raised her whole life to do. Get married to a good boy so they can have good children and pay taxes and never do anything fun.

When Elizabeth dies, Karen refuses to go to the funeral, hates that her name is even in the obituary at all. Then three years later when Al is sent to prison, CPS calls her first.

She's the boy's aunt. She has a comfortable home, and bringing him in would barely dent their finances. But Karen refuses. She won't have that delinquent anywhere near her children.

So they go to Wayne. Wayne who really doesn't have the space or the money to take care a little boy almost teenager. But he looks into those big brown eyes and can't say no.

They keep apart until the murders in town start in Wayne's own god damn trailer. He keeps his mouth shut when Nancy comes up to him asking about Eddie. He would like to throw it in her face that he knows who she is and that he knows full well that Karen would throw a fucking fit if she found out where her daughter was. But he won't. It's not the girl's fault her mother is a bitch.

After Vecna (and Eddie NOT dying) Nancy is sent to the attic to see if she can find some of Mike's old things to donate as a lot of Nancy's went to Holly. She finds an old trunk and though locked it comes apart in her hands. In it she finds dozens of pictures of her mom with beautiful girl with flying dark brown curls and sparkling eyes.

She smiles as she reminds her of Eddie.

Her mother calls out for her to hurry and slips one of the pictures in her back jeans pocket. Nancy closes the trunk and hurries back to her mother.

Then because Nancy can't leave a mystery well enough alone, she goes digging. All while Eddie and Max are in a coma, Nancy works on her mystery.

She finds her answer in the most unlikely of places. Joyce Byers's year book. She had it out showing her boys the outrageous hair styles they had in her day.

There two rows down from Lawrence Byers is an Elizabeth Childress. She's got ribbons in her hair and smiling brightly at camera. So full of life.

Childress.

She closes her eyes. There is no doubt this is her mother's sister. A sister Nancy never knew anything about.

She points her out to Joyce. "Oh, I remember her. Such a sweet girl. It's really too bad she fell in with that Munson boy. Or rather the wrong Munson boy."

She flips the pages and on the same row as her, is Wayne Munson staring up at her. So happy and free. The Vietnam would too soon take that from him. "That's Wayne. Such a good boy. Elizabeth would have thrived with him. But Wayne was shy and more interested in getting good grades than girls."

Joyce flips back to the seniors with Jim and Lonnie and began searching for the M's. "There." She pointed at another boy. Alan Munson. "He was trouble from the moment he was born. But he had a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Lizzy fell hard. They got married right out of high school, I heard."

Jonathan and Nancy share a look of shock.

"What happened to her?" Jonathan asks.

"Cancer," Joyce says sadly, "poor thing."

Armed with her knowledge and a borrowed yearbook, Nancy marches right up to her mother and slams the yearbook in front of her. The picture Nancy took from the attic serves as bookmark and she shoves both at her mother.

There is no denying it now. All the proof is right there in black and white.

"This is why you didn't want to join the D&D club my freshman year, isn't it? Because it was Eddie's club?"

Karen buries her head in her hands. And the truth just starts spilling out.

"And that boy is just like his father!" Karen cries. "He might have not have killed those kids but he was a drug dealer."

"To keep the lights on his trailer!" Nancy yells back. "If you and Dad had taken him in maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did. Maybe he be a better person."

"Or maybe he would have dragged you other children with him!"

"If you really thought that Mike wouldn't have been allow in Hellfire either!"

It's at this point Mike walks in and suddenly Karen is caught.

She breaks down and explains that Eddie had helped her with her car right before Mike started high school. So as a way to return the favor she let Mike join.

Nancy heads to the hospital and manages to get into see Eddie.

Wayne tells her only family is allowed to see him and Nancy smiles.

She knows.

Then Eddie wakes up, falls for Steve, the whole party teases Steve about keeping it in the family and Karen gets her head out of her ass and everyone lives happily ever after.

The end.

[mangomonk]

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me

↳ summary: read this drabble first! goodie two shoes!remus, afraid of being perceived as other, stumbles into a relationship at the expense of y/n. ↳ content: angst, one-sided fake dating ↳ a/n: a little nervous because this is my first time writing for remus pls be gentle w me! for full enjoyment, listen to ivy by frank ocean (i looped it the entire time i wrote this). the more i wrote this, the more i realized i could turn this into a full blown million word fic, but i tried to keep it as condensed as possible, hence some time skips/summarization. pt. 2 here!

When Remus Lupin confesses — no, announces — that he likes her in the middle of the Great Hall, she thinks she's dreaming. Surely, she didn't hear that correctly. Only hours earlier, she had witnessed the doe-eyed boy unleash a slew of curses beneath his breath. I guess everyone has bad days, she had thought. Even Remus, who she had always pegged as straight-laced and well-mannered.

So when a half a dozen heads turn to stare at her directly, Y/N turns to see if there's anyone behind her. When she sees no one, she turns back forward. It's when Remus Lupin's soft, brown gaze meets hers that her heart stutters dangerously in her chest. She can't help it despite the bewilderment she feels — everyone in the castle has to have some sort of crush on the fluffy-haired boy. He's all soft, disarming smiles and beautiful, brown eyes and knitted jumpers and gentle laughter and—

—and Y/N goes red in the face right away. It doesn't help when Remus tilts his head to the side slightly and offers a small, uncertain smile. Merlin, help me, Y/N thinks as she stares back, wide-eyed, her confusion and any thoughts briefly neutralized at the way his eyes crinkle into little half-moons.

— — — — —

Y/N has always prided herself on being a sharp judge of character. It soon became clear to her, however, that Remus Lupin was a strange, but intriguing case of contradicting character.

Following his confession — rather, announcement — in the Great Hall, she becomes overly conscious of the tall boy. It feels as though she's suddenly very aware that they have most of their classes together, that he sits only a seat away from her in Charms, that he has chicken scratch for handwriting when she passes him in the library. The latter comes as a surprise — perhaps unfairly, she would have pegged him as a swooping cursive type of boy. In any case, it soon becomes the case that Y/N realizes that she can find Remus easily in a room of crowded students, and the more she does, the more she begins to realize that Remus is a boy full of surprises.

This doesn't seem to matter though, because strangely, after his confession in the Great Hall, Remus does not once approach her. Occasionally, she catches him glancing at her with an odd expression, but outside of an increase in being stared at by the other students, little changes in her life.

It isn't until a week later when her seat partner in Charms is out that their paths cross again. When she trudges to her seat in class, she becomes very quickly aware that they're separated only by an empty chair. She doesn't look away fast enough because Remus looks up as she pulls her chair out, his gaze snagging on to hers with an intensity that she doesn't expect from the softness of his eyes.

"Good morning," he says slowly, almost uncertainly. Up close, Y/N can see a splay of pale freckles across his cheekbones. His lashes are unfairly, distractingly long as he gazes up at her.

"Hi," Y/N says, equally uncertain, though she tries to keep her voice light and casual. No one's ever really had a crush on her before, and she finds herself floundering on how to act. Shouldn't he be the nervous one, and not her? Somehow though, she can feel her palms begin to sweat, though Remus doesn't look nervous at all. Just sharp and assessing. Fortunately though, before the air between them can turn any awkwarder, a mussed-haired head pops up from around Remus.

"Y/N, right?" James Potter asks with a wide grin. His glasses are skewed and crooked on his face as he peers around Remus at her rather owlishly.

Next to him, Remus blinks a few times as she nods, opening her mouth to speak when Professor Flitwick clears his throat to begin class.

She tries to focus on taking notes, but it's difficult when she can see Remus casting her sidelong glances from her peripheral view. She gives up on trying to focus on class entirely when a folded piece of parchment flits over the gap between them with a familiar chicken scratch.

Can we talk after class?

After class, Y/N has a ridiculous, irrational flash of self-consciousness that the humidity has made her hair begin to frizz. Remus doesn't seem to notice as she rakes a hand quickly through her hair because a nervous, almost agitated, energy is rolling off of him as he paces in the courtyard.

When he catches sight of her, he stops, a warm smile breaking across his face, though Y/N feels that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. But the new knowledge that Remus has a dimple on his left cheek and his smile is just slightly crooked is enough to disarm any wariness. Unexpectedly his nervous energy seems to dissipate immediately. "Hi," he says, "You came."

"I got your note," Y/N says, inwardly grimacing — of course he knew that already, he had been sitting next to her.

"Right, well, I, er—" Remus begins choppily, his hand rising to rub at the nape of his neck. "I was wondering about... Earlier, last week, when you saw me... Did you say anything to anyone?"

Y/N blinks at him once, then twice, blankly. "Earlier?" She questions, before the heat begins to rise to her face. He must have been referring to his confession. "I haven't said anything to anyone."

Remus's brows furrow for a moment before his face relaxes. He's surprisingly difficult to read — it feels as though any trickle of emotion is covered with a disarming soft smile. "I see," he says after a moment, his shoulders relaxing. "Right, well, Y/N," he begins, looking around them distractedly. "—shall we date?" Y/N straightens with a jolt as he continues. "I won't be offended if you say no. In fact, I'd understand if you said no, we've barely—"

She doesn't know what it is exactly. Maybe it was the curious thought that Remus might not be the charming prince he seemed to be. Maybe it was the dimple in his left cheek. Maybe it was the way he said her name. But something in Y/N slipped through her confusion and the unceremonious nature of the whole thing, because she finds herself speaking before she can stop herself. "Yeah. Let's date."

Remus's face goes slack. He looks a little startled, Y/N thinks, like she's clubbed him over the head. "Are you sure?" He blurts, eyes widening a fraction. It's perhaps the most emotion she's seen him show so far. Y/N writes it off as nerves and incredulity.

She nods once, firmly.

"I guess that's settled," he says weakly with furrowed brows, though he looked neither pleased nor displeased.

— — — — —

Initially, Y/N and Remus are as awkward as can be. She's not sure if it's because neither of them have really ever been in a relationship before, but it feels clumsy in the beginning.

Their dates start off mostly as study dates in the library, but Y/N doesn't mind — to her pleasure, she finds that they eerily work well together and she likes the calm peace of Remus's presence while she's studying. She likes to think that he also finds comfort in her presence because it's become ritual for him to ask her about the book she's reading, and vice versa. In a few weeks, they start reading the same books. Maybe it's because they spend so much time together studying that it becomes gradually more comfortable.

When they go to Hogsmeade for the first time together, Y/N finds that they end up walking around the village and chatting nearly until curfew. She tells him about what it's like growing up with three brothers — "It doesn't seem very different from the Marauders," Remus observes with a wry laugh — and he tells her stories of how despite moving around periodically during his child, his mother always found a little corner in the yard to start an herb garden.

He does all the things she'd imagine a boyfriend might — Remus is a gentleman, expectedly. He holds the door open for her, gives her his jumper when there was a draft in the library, walks her back to the Common Room at night.

But, unexpectedly, it isn't Remus's soft smiles or considerate aura that Y/N finds herself straining to see. But it was when he threw his head back and laughed himself breathless at James holding his wand on the wrong end that Y/N found it impossible to tear her eyes away from him. Or when he shot her a dour look the first time she teased him on his illegible chicken scratch. Or when Remus cursed like a sailor when he knocked his ink pot over onto his parchment because he was always so uncoordinated and graceless.

It was perhaps impossible not to fall in love with Remus Lupin. Though maybe she already knew this from the start when he first looked at her, and even more so the first time he said her name.

She liked the way he would groan and complain and grumble as he stretched out his lithe limbs in preparation of helping Peter with his essay that he had procrastinated on, even after she could see the exhaustion begin to pool under his pretty eyes. She liked that he could silence the boys with just one baleful look. She liked the way he fell asleep on his books when he thought no one was looking. She liked his dry remarks and his wolfish grin and his grumpy mood. She liked all the rough edges that Remus showed her when he would forget to put up a soft smile.

It was too easy to love Remus Lupin, though it seemed like he didn't know that himself.

It only takes four full moons for Y/N to understand what the Marauders meant whenever they quietly referred to Remus's furry little problem. In the first place, they weren't always discreet — it was easy for them to forget she was there when she was studying in the background. In the second place, Remus would apologetically cancel their studying plans around the same time each month, and he would disappear for a few days and come back exhausted with fresh scars. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, really.

But while she understood why he didn't tell her, she couldn't help but give him a tighter hug when she realized.

"Something wrong, love?" He had asked, reaching up to caress the back of her hair as she squeezed his abdomen.

"No," she had mumbled into his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent. She could feel affection swell inside her so violently she felt a little dizzy as she gave him another squeeze. "Just wish I could always be hugging you."

"No one's stopping you," Remus had responded dryly. She smiled into his chest as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "Certainly not me."

— — — — —

When Y/N tries to discreetly deliver a small care package of chocolate and books a few nights before the next full moon, she accidentally overhears Peter ask James when Remus was ending his fake relationship.

"I doubt it'll raise any suspicions now that no one's pestering him about not having a girlfriend," she hears Peter say.

James makes a noncommittal sort of noise. "You know how Remus is about these things. He's always on edge that someone will think he's the odd one out—"

She feels like the ground beneath her has stuttered and shifted into an open chasm as her mind whirls to make sense of their conversation. For a moment, she thinks she's wrong, but like it was with Remus's furry little problem, if she thinks back on the stranger moments of the past four months, it's not difficult to piece it together. She begins to feel a little ill.

How many times did he force himself to smile at her stories? How many times after walking her back to the Common Room at night did he sigh with relief when she left? How many times did he wait for other students to be around to hold her hand? All the heart-fluttering moments she had thought had been magical and wonderful and incredible with Remus had been entirely one-sided. How humiliating. She feels used and dirty and pathetic, but the worse thing is that she can't feel angry.

She doesn't know how long she stands paralyzed outside, just that it's difficult to breathe or think properly. All she can feel is a numbing ache in her chest, and the feeling tightens when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"Hmm?" Remus hums, a smile breaking across his face. The dimple in his left cheek appears briefly. "What are you doing here, love?" When she doesn't respond, he steps closer to her and peers at her face carefully, his big, brown eyes soft. "What's wrong?" He asks, gently looping his arms around her waist. Y/N goes perfectly still under his touch. "I knew you'd be studying for the Ancient Runes exam all day, so got some cakes from the kitchen for—"

"Remus," she interrupts suddenly, her throat gone cottony and dry as she raises her gaze to finally look at him. It sends a sharp pang through her chest again. "Are we ever going to kiss?"

Bizarrely, scarlet splotches appear swiftly on the high points of Remus's cheek as his eyes widen a fraction. "Kiss," he repeats, sounding strangled as he stares at her wide-eyed, looking as though she had clubbed him over the head. "You want to kiss?" He asks after a moment, his voice hoarse as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

"Do you want to kiss me?" She asks quietly, watching his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

"I've wanted to since—" Remus says softly, a little nonsensically, his eyes darting back down to her lips. His pupils are blown wide and dark as he swallows, his throat bobbing. “Y/N,” he murmurs, and she can feel his breath brush against her nose. She tries to control the thumping in her chest as he slowly leans in and raises his hand to cup her face. Remus looks down at her with a sweet adoration she knows cannot be real. She's seen this sort of soft look from him countless times before and now she knows better than anyone that it's just another cover. Perhaps it was perfectly clear since the start, but she had let herself get swept away with naive hope. The start of nothing. She feels like a fool.

Remus's head ducks slightly as the space between them closes. Y/N goes perfectly still as she watches his other hand rise, his fingers trembling a little as they reach to curve around her jaw.

For a moment, she entertains the thought and wonders what would happen if she just closes her eyes. She could close her eyes, could lean in and feel his eyelashes brush her cheek, could let him kiss her senseless. It would be so easy. It scares her a little how much she wants that.

Before she can betray herself, Y/N closes her hand around his wrist. “You can stop now,” she says, her voice low and steadier than she felt.

Remus freezes, his dazed expression crumpling in confusion. She takes a steadying breath, swallowing back the bile in her throat as she schools her expression with difficulty. Y/N places his wrist back down away from her face and lets go as she continues, despite the dull ache in her chest. “I wanted to know how far you would go,” she continues quietly. “How far you thought I would be willing to go.”

“I don’t understand—” Remus begins, a myriad of stricken dismay, alarm, and something else flickering across his face. For a moment, she thinks it’s the residue of desire, but she quickly remembers how good of an actor Remus is, and doesn’t let herself entertain that thought that it’s anything else besides panic for being caught.

"I know you're just using me," Y/N says, her throat dry. Her voice, to her mortification, cracks and comes out as a croak. Any sense of anger deflates immediately and all she can feel is this crumbling sense of defeat. “I should have known that something was strange when you suddenly confessed. We had never even really talked before that. I mean, I thought that I was dreaming when you said you liked me—"

“No, it's because—”

"I know why you did it," she whispers. Remus freezes, the color draining from his face. "The worse part of all this is that I can't find it in myself to hate you for using me. But I had just thought that you didn’t think so little of me as to…” She doesn’t finish as she stares down at the space between them, swallowing thickly. She feels ill. The last sentence had come out before she realized it. So that was what it was — disappointment.

"Did you even know my name before James said it?" She asks with a bark of a forced laugh as she straightens, setting her shoulders now though she still has a difficult time looking directly at him.

Remus swallows thickly as he steps forward. His pause is enough of an answer. "Let me explain,” he begins quickly, his words tumbling out in a frantic mess. “Y/N, wait,” he starts, reaching out.

“Don’t touch me, Lupin,” she says dejectedly, stepping away from him. Remus flinches and freezes, his expression falling, but she can't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore. Y/N stares at the worn patch of carpet by her shoe as she swallows thickly before turning to leave. "You can tell everyone that you broke up with me if it helps you."

— — — — —

a/n: thx for reading! pt. 2 here my masterlist here

[dearhargrove]

Please pls pls write for Eddie Diaz🥺

Sleepover

Eddie Diaz x reader

summary You're on the way to pick up your son, Liam, but it's hard to get him to go home when he's begging to sleepover at his new friends house. Turns out you don't mind as much when you met said kid and his dad.

word count 995

tags fluff, reader simping over Eddie, kind of open ending

a/n I got this idea randomly so I hope you like this <3

part two

masterlist

“Liam!” You call out when you spot your eight year old son busy playing with another kid. Usually whenever he heard you he'd come running; with every year he turns older you expect his clinging to reduce but it never does. Not like you mind, he may be eight now but he's still your baby.

But today he just glances and waves before continuing to giggle and talk with his new friend.

You're surprised as he usually never stuck with one kid, most of the time he'd even stay by himself. It worried you, even when you figured he just preferred to be by himself and did it by choice and not because he was left out.

One of the teachers at the side shrugs with a smile after seeing Liam and his new friend.

You approach them and put a hand on Liams back before bending down and kissing the top of his head. “Hey, buddy. Did you make a new friend?”

He grins and nods eagerly, “Chris! We've been playing all day. He's my best friend!” You chuckle at the eager introduction and wave at Chris, who looked almost shy if not for the cute grin.

“Well in that case, it's nice to meet you, Chris.” He politely holds out his hand, “It's nice to meet you too, ma'am.” He says quietly and slowly. You melt on the spot and gently shake his hand.

Your son stands up quick enough to knock the top of his head into your chin, leaving you to grunt in pain as he excitedly bounces in his spot. “I have to sleepover at Chris' house!”

Your eyebrows raise as the two boys continue making plans about tonight. You don't want to be the killjoy but for one you had never met the other parents nor had they met you. Otherwise you would've easily agreed; you were just happy Liam had finally made a friend.

“Alright, boys, I'm afraid this won't work out… We don't even know if Chris parents are going to agree,” you say and pointedly look at your son who's about to pout (you couldn't resist him and you would not let him make you feel bad about making a reasonable decision).

“My dad will say yes. He always says yes.” Chris says seriously and pushes his glasses up with his index. You smile as both of them look at you with equally big, pleading eyes.

“I will say yes to what?”

You almost give yourself whiplash with how fast you turn around because whose voice is that sexy? You'd never heard anyone talking that attractive.

And surely when you look at him you basically faint. Brown hair that seemed to be a grown out buzz cut, brown eyes and white teeth with a grin that makes your heart actually stop for a second.

“Sleepover!” Liam yells and then turns shy when the man looks at him with a smile that should be illegal to look that good. “A sleepover? That sounds exciting.” He gets even more attractive in your eyes when he leans over and kisses Chris’ head in greeting. So he was great with kids too? Wow.

He then fixes his gaze on you and you do everything in your power not to fluster as he rakes his eyes over you and back up to look right into yours. “Hey, I'm Eddie. Chris is my son.” He extends his hand and you shake it before remembering to introduce yourself as well.

He smiles at you through it and if it wasn't for Liam gently clinging to your hand as he and Chris watch you and Eddie talk you'd have actually lost it.

“So these two want to have a sleepover?” The boys both yell in agreement and you laugh, shushing your son a bit. Eddie looks at you with a questioning look and you shrug your shoulders. He had something trustful about him and with the way he acted with both the kids he already checked a few boxes.

But still, this was your son and you wouldn't leave him overnight with - practically - a stranger.

“My dad is a firefighter, he will protect us.” Chris mentions and you look at Eddie in surprise. He chuckles a bit bashfully but nods, “I'm with the 118.” You hum in recognition, “I work at the dispatch center.” He looks surprised now and you chuckle as he comments, “That's a coincidence.”

After that conversation flows easy and after probably fifteen minutes is Liam who pulls your sleeve with an impatient pout. You coo and pick him up with ease, letting him wrap his arms around your neck as he sleepily rests against you.

“Chris is clingy too, I feel like I shouldn't be indulging him so much, but…” Eddie starts and you see him ruffling Chris’ hair with a fond look as the boy looks at his dad with pure adoration.

“It's hard to resist. Yeah, same here.” You hum and both of you laugh a bit.

The teacher takes note of both the kids being picked up and you start walking to the parking lot after getting the backpacks. Chris is on crutches you note and slow your steps for him to comfortably keep up.

“Sleepover?” Liam asks again after - you were quite sure - a nap. Eddie tilts his head and looks at you, giving you the chance to decide.

Wow. So far he's more than just a green flag.

“How about we do a few meet ups first?” You suggest and both boys groan but ultimately agree.

Eddie nods and after letting Chris into the car he turns back to you and holds out his phone with a small smile, “Just so we can, you know, organize their play dates.”

Your heart actually stops for a second before resuming twice as fast and you take his phone to put your contact in.

“I'll see you around.” You smile and wave, Eddie grinning too as he waves and gets in the car.

[corroded-hellfire]

Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father. 

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground. 

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once. 

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day. 

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.  

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room. 

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door. 

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response. 

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter. 

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table. 

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.” 

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile. 

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes. 

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking. 

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms. 

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink. 

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return. 

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.” 

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother. 

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof. 

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side. 

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes. 

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes. 

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out. 

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin. 

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer. 

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess. 

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived. 

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them. 

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter. 

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip. 

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge. 

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. 

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her. 

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room. 

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you. 

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye. 

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens. 

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show. 

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet. 

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips. 

“Comfy, are we?” he asks. 

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode. 

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar. 

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off. 

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.” 

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons. 

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.  

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap. 

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return. 

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble. 

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you. 

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him. 

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder. 

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair. 

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table. 

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

[croucify]

✶ STARGIRL — hamzahthefantastic x reader

002 ✶ Admire Me

stargirl masterfile – next – previous

SUMMARY: hamzah has a crush on a youtuber who's always out and about and slushies see their relationship progress on social media! (smau)

DISCLAIMER: reader is a brown haired girl and for some pics that aren't faceless, i'll be using olivia rodrigo cause i love her and she’s filipino like me hehehe

liked by devonleecarlson, kalynnkoury, and others

ynln new vid is up ft funny ppl

view comments

user001 SLUSHYNOOBZ AND Y/N WTF!!!!!

user637 where did u get this sweater omds

↳ ynln theres no tag and its not minee

↳ user417 IS IT HAMZAHS

user890 HAMZAH SWEATER

user145 awww carl and fish

user791 HAVE U GUYS SEEN THE VIDEO HAMZAH KEEPS LOOKING AT HERRRRR

hamzahthefantastic nice sweater i guess

↳ ynln this is what u look like rn 🤓 anw thanks for the sweater

↳ user369 DOES THIS CONFIRM IT???!!!?!

becoming a slushynoob for a day

44k views • 5 hours ago

uploaded by ynln

"hey you guys, does this place look familiar to you?" you tried to ask with the straight face, looking straight into the camera, trying to ignore the two boys that stood right beside it.

but right before you say your next sentence, you burst into laughter. "oh my fucking god—it's like that she sent me her location trend on tiktok!" you cover your mouth as you laugh even more.

"what does that even mean?" martin asks with a confused face and hamzah just shrugs at him, still off screen.

"okay, today i am at the slushynoob hospital because..." you look up at them and hamzah mutters the word virus multiple times for you to say. "i got the virus on me and only two wonderful doctors can help me, mind joining me here?" you signal for them to sit by the couch now and martin jumps on it, crashing the side of his body on his yellow couch.

hamzah sighs but then he notices you were smiling at him, inviting him to sit next to you which he obliged to.

they introduced themselves before the boys explained what they were planning on doing.

"okay! so first thing is your outfit, hamzah hand me what we've prepared for y/n today." martin crosses his legs and puts his hands out.

the curly haired boy reached to the side for the clothes they prepared. "you can choose between the martin's orange vest or this camo sweater." hamzah said in a weird "cool" tone which made martin bite his lips to stop himself from laughing.

it was clear to martin that his friend was trying to look good in front of the girl he liked. it was for sure going to be a long day.

now, you're wearing both of the clothes they put out and now in hamzah's car but instead of martin being in the passenger seat, you occupied it and he was sat at the back.

"okay so where are we going now?" you look between hamzah and martin, going a bit closer so you could include martin.

"that's a secret just film this," hamzah tells you, eyes focused on the road and suddenly he feels the camera on him.

you were smiling as you held your camera towards him, he glances and he starts to feel his breath hitch. "is he always this serious?" you joked which earned a laugh from martin and a scoff from hamzah.

you guys ended up going to a drive thru and buying almost half of the menu then going back to martin's apartment.

the next clip showed the three of you, sitting down on the floor with all the food set up on the table. hamzah was right beside you, watching you pet and play with the pets in the house. "it's starting already," martin whispered then you looked up.

the rest of the afternoon, the three of you ate the food and shared with each other as you talked about any topic you could talk about.

most of the time it was only you and martin speaking as hamzah kept on zoning out due to the fact you were sat next to him and he could smell the cologne you were wearing.

"what about you hamzah?" was the only thing that got him to snap out of it. he looked up at you, head a bit tilted in confusion. "what's a place you wanna visit?" you asked before taking some of his fries.

there were more questions and you three got to know each other more.

after the mukbang, they taught you how to play overcooked but only some clips were added to the video.

one of them being hamzah helping you play the game as his hands were on top of yours, directing your hands on what buttons to press. you felt your cheeks heat up during the game and martin was too focused on the game to realize what was happening.

after you guys bid goodbye to the end the video, you hugged them before leaving. "wait! i still have to change." you suddenly remembered, quickly taking off the vest.

as you were about to pull off the camouflage sweater, hamzah stops you. "you can keep the sweater but the vest i don't think martin would allow you to keep it," you both chuckle, handing him the vest.

he was about to speak again until your uber arrived in front of the building.

you hug the boy one last time with a smile on your face. "i'll see you soon!" you said before you entered the car.

"get home safe, okay?"

✶ taglist — @cdbabymp3 @noturbabe22 @dabuggh3 @kingvioleta @tumb1rgir1z LMK IF U WANNA BE ADDEDDD!!!

[braxlrose]

i read your tom kaulitz weird and silly headcanons and i can't stop laughing 😭 wtf it's 4 am.. anyway will you do the same headcanons only with bill, pretty please?🤭 i know one hundred percent that this little bastard isn't so innocent what he looks like.. i'm sure he's as dirty as Tom 😭 btw sorry engilsh is not my first language ☠️ Greetings from Poland!!:)

(his skirt is so cute?!?)

Cześć jeszcze raz! Rzadko spotykam Polaków, więc cieszy mnie możliwość ćwiczenia języka polskiego!

also his skirt is super cute omg

silly and weird bill headcanons

cw: mentioned oral(f and m!recieving), making out, nipple play?, etc

-you are completely right, this mf is far from innocent 💀 tom is seen as the dirty minded one but this little shit would make the most dirty fucking jokes every and then act all innocent LIKE BITCH

-he's also passive aggressive. like very passive aggressive. pookie can't help it 😪

-the first time you, him and tom all got high together he got super paranoid and thought that you guys were all just figments of a dog's imagination

-when you guys are spooning, he reaches underneath your shirt and cups your boobs. it helps him fall asleep quicker apparently

-but sometimes when he's feeling like a little shit, he'll tweak and pull at your nipples and you have to slap him away. so then you make him promise not to do it again. spoiler alert. he does it again 😐

-hes an impatient mf so the amount he's burned his tongue after heating up a pop tart 😒 like bitch..just wait the two fucking minutes

-he loves kissing your temple and your forehead

-during the winter, if his hands are cold he asks if he can put his hand in your pants. 💀 like that's his exact words. "Can I put my hand down your pants?" he says it's because you're warmer down there than he is, but I think it's just cuz he's a dirty minded little fuck

-when cooking marshmallows over the fire, it's a 50/50 thing. Sometimes he's super patient and will wait and make his marshmallows a crispy, perfect golden brown color and other times he gets to lazy and will just shove it in the fire.

-he also thinks it's like the coolest thing in the entire world when his whole marshmallow is on fire

-he didn't know how to snap until he was like 16 and always got mad whenever tom could do it 😭

-he was super happy when he realized that he was the taller twin bc tom was allllwayyss talking about how he was 10 minutes older.

-YOU GUYS GOT MATCHING TATTOOS

-he literally loves getting matching tattoos with you, he thinks it's so cute and fucking loves it. somehow he convinced the both of you to get some dumb ones 💀

-when you two were little kids he used to beg the teacher to make you, him and tom partners. lil bro would get down on his knees

-speaking of getting down on his knees, the first time he went down on you he "accidentally" 🤨 bit your clit. I still say he did it on purpose though

-you guys know that thing that Gomez does with Morticia when she reaches her arms to the side and he kisses from her finger tips to the other finger tips? yall know what I'm talking about? WELL BILL DOES THAT

-he likes to sleep naked sometimes. because it's "better for sleeping" but I think it's just because he wants to sleep next to naked you.

-almost drowned tom at the pool 💀...multiple times

-him and tom make you sit by the pool and then make you tell them who's cannon ball was better. and this isn't just a like 16 yr old boy thing. they do this at 33 too.

-bill once stood up upside-down on a keg and drank it 😧. not the whole thing but it was super crazy. you later found out it was because tom didn't think he would do it

-he once jerked off in class and found a way so nobody would notice him EXCEPT YOU 😨 MF YOU WERE TRAUMATIZED

-he also doesn't know how to lock a door. so you'll just walk in and he'll be jerking off, or you'll turn a corner in his house and he'll be jerking off, you go to use the bathroom and he'll be jerking off. "I'm a teenage boy it's what we do!" BRUH GET A HOBBY

-if you don't know german, he'll randomly say dirty stuff to you in german. BUT THEN PROCEED TO GET MAD AT TOM IF HE TEACHES YOU BAD WORDS IN GERMAN 🙄

-he loves sitting in your lap when making out. like obviously he loves it when you sit in his lap, but he LOVES when he gets to sit on top of you and kiss you

-the first time he tried to give you hickies, he wasn't completely sure how to and ended up biting you 💀

-he's not a morning person, we all know this. so if you want to get him out of bed, you will have to drag him out by his feet.

-his dick is big. we all know this, but the first time you tried to give him oral, he accidentally slapped your face w/ his dick 😭

ANYWAYYSSS TY SM FOR THE REQUEST POOKIE I HOPE MY POLNISCH WASNT TOO BAD

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @dead-tapes @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles

[tatoda]

Mine || conrad fisher x fem!reader

!!MINORS DNI!!

masterlist

request

summary: attending the same college as your best friend has its highs and lows, but conrad sees you flirting with another dude he finally does something about his feelings

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warning: slight angst, male receive, jealous conrad CHARACTERS ARE 18

wc: 1.1k

im a little rusty on my smut writing I apologize I'm trying to get back into it still. edited but I may have missed stuff

You and conrad grew up together as the oldest siblings, you to your brother and sister, steven and belly, and conrad to his brother jeremiah. Your birthdays was just a day apart from conrad’s. To say that your mothers were so excited to have babies around the same time was an understatement. They were best friends and it was their dream to have kids at the same time. Also as mothers, they knew you were both meant for each other. To be the first two little kids to run around the beach house, to attending your dream college together.

At the end of the summer before college started in the fall is when conrad broke your heart. It was the 4th of july and Jeremiah dragged everyone out of the house to go to nicole’s party. You hung out with Belly most of the night not trusting the drunk guys around her. With your mind occupied with her most of the night, you never got to talk to conrad. You wanted to watch the fireworks with him and not come to this lame party, you wanted to kiss him and tell him how you felt about him after all these years. Belly took off with nicole letting you have your fun. Who knew that fun could be ruined in 2.5 seconds? You walked into the living room looking for the brown-haired boy only spotting him with a girl on his lap and her eating his face out with him doing the same thing.

You ended up leaving the party and cousins that night. Telling your mom that you needed to finish a ton of college stuff before moving in at the end of the month. She didn’t push to ask you what happened and let you leave knowing you would call if it was anything serious. When everyone arrived back home that night conrad looked for you. He wanted to talk to you about your midnight plans to go watch the fireworks, but everywhere he looked you were gone. He looked in your bedroom seeing the nicely made bed and your bags gone. He sat on the edge of the mattress looking around softly.

“she left.” laurel walked into the room slowly

“where did she go? everything was fine before the party.” he stood up walking around your room and to the picture of you and him as babies. laurel walked behind him placing her hands on each side of his arms

“two peas in a pod, you two are inseparable.” laurel paused “she went home to finish college stuff.”

“and she didn’t ask me to go with her?” he brought a hand to rub over his face and sighed in defeat.

You didn’t talk to conrad the rest of the summer. He texted you, but you decided you better not get your heart broken again.

It was a few weeks into the school year. Your roommate dragged you out to another party that you didn’t want to attend, only because conrad would be there and almost every time he didn’t see you but you saw him. And you saw the girls he would leave with. And it just broke your heart more. So here you were trying to distract yourself with Josh— a boy from your math class— as he talked to you about his frat. You acted as if you cared only trying to hook up with him in the end.

“yeah my dad wanted me to follow him in his footsteps so he decided to pay for my school year.” he bragged taking a sip of his drink

“wow.” you acted interested

“if you want, one day i can take you for a ride on my boat back home?” he leaned towards you as if it was a secret

“i’d love that, yeah.” you put a hand on his arm rubbing it a little before a shadow crept over the both of you, it was conrad.

“sorry to bother, i need to talk to her,” he grumbled in josh’s face

“can it wait? i’m talking to her?” he tried to protest and you didn’t look at conrad, it would only make you fall and say you’re sorry for everything

“no it can’t.” he grabbed your hand off the dudes arm and walked you to an empty room before shutting the door “what the hell are you thinking!” he moved around you and away from the door

“i don’t know.” you shrugged slowly lifting your gaze to him, he was wearing a white shirt, plaid pullover, and jeans, you had never seen the boys other than in the summer and it was nice to see conrad dressed in jeans

“he was practically fucking you with his eyes!” he stood in front of you now

“grow up conrad, we’re in college now.” you scoffed. putting your drink down on a nearby dresser

“yeah, and it’s my job you don’t get an std from a frat boy like him.”

“oh and you’re any different?” it slipped out of your mouth

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he was taken back by your comment

“i’ve seen the girls you take back to your dorm. how do you know they aren’t carrying anything harmful when you stick your dick inside of them!”

“y/n what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyebrows furrowed

“the girls.”

“what girls! not one has stepped into my dorm other than our damn family when we moved in!”

“b-but you take girls home.” you tried to make yourself believe it

“i walk them back to their dorm. they are a drunk mess and my mom raised me that way, you should know.” his voice softly said

“i-“

“i’ve only had my eyes set on you since we were kids.” he blurted

“w-what?”

“yeah but i wanted to give you space to figure out your college life, but not get dicked down by a frat boy at one party.” he smiled to himself

“i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry i didn’t see it earlier.”

“i tried for years, for you to see how i feel.”

“i felt the same way, i was going to tell you at cousin’s, but then i saw you with this girl at nicole’s party and she was all over you so i just left.”

“the party? is that why you left cousins early?” you nodded looking back down at the floor

“i was heartbroken con. you were making out with her what was i supposed to feel?”

“i don’t know you should have talked to me.”

“i talked to jere and he said that it wasn’t worth it, so i just left to get a head start to move in.”

“that’s why you were so distant when college started? we were so excited to be going to the same place, my mom was excited!”

“i felt heartbroken and i didn’t know what to do you’re the only boy i’ve ever loved, i didn’t know how to work around it!”

“i kissed the girl at nicole’s party because jeremiah told me you went on a date,” he whispered

“i-i hung out with a dude at the arcade for 10 minutes trying to help in figuring out a game. jeremiah was there!” you tan your fingers through your hair

“well, how was i supposed to know!”

“it seems like jere is just against us.” conrad laughed softly

“he’s always had something for you, you know.” you nodded knowing how the other fisher boy liked you, but you only had eyes for conrad

“he doesn’t matter. i’ve only seen him as a friend.” conrad let out a soft breath

“come here.” he gestured at you and you walked towards him as he opened his arms for you. the comfort of his arms secured you leaned against his chest hearing the raging of his heartbeat

“your heart is going crazy.” you twisted your head to look up at him with your chin on his chest and conrad looking down at you

“because of you.” he brought a hand to the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you, for the first time. conrad fisher was kissing you, it felt like a dream

He held your face so softy. He didn’t wanna break you, not again. His arms tightened around you pulling him closer to you. The kiss became deeper and stronger than you have ever had before with anyone. That’s when you felt the effect you had on him, he was hard, from you. You didn’t know you could do that to anyone ever but it felt amazing and an accomplishment.

“sorry.” he smiled against your lips as you both slowly separated lips turning red

“don’t be.” bringing one of your hands to his hair moving a few pieces away from his eyes the other hand you had slowly descended towards his pants

“y/n” a warning tone came out of his mouth

“hm?” you looked at him innocence in your eyes as if your hand wasn’t messing with the button of his jeans before moving to the zipper

“no one’s ever-“ his breath hitched as your hand cupped his erection “no one ever touched me down there.” you looked at him confused

“you’ve had sex though?” he nodded

“that doesn’t mean foreplay was involved, they just skip to the sex.” you kissed his lips

“don’t worry, just sit down and relax.” you pushed him to sit on the bed

Dragging down his jeans he lifted your hips to help get the fabrics down to his calf’s. He looked scared and nervous. You were touching him, the girl he’s been in love with forever, finally seeing the effect she has on him. You slowly swiped to get some pre cum off of the head and conrad shuttered under your touch.

“like that?”

“fuck, you have no idea.”

You coated the sides of his dick before slowly moving up and down at the right movement. He looked down at you breathing hard and deadly to your touch. A loud clatter came from outside the room and his eyes turned to worry.

“y/n, i don’t think this is such a good place to do thi-“ you cut him off licking the side of his shaft shutting him up immediately and the sounds from outside passed “fuck” he brought a hand to your head holding it as you bobbed up and down on him “keep going.” you didn’t plan on stopping, you hollowed your cheeks taking him in deeper and his groans filled the room

The way you moved made him jealous of the guys who have seen this image before. You on your knees sucking him off like no tomorrow. But the thought disappeared as soon as it came because he realized that this will be his view for the rest of his life. You looked up at him making eye contact and he felt the warm build but he didn’t wanna release just yet.

“just a few more, yeah.” he started to take control by moving your head with his hips as they came up off of the bed making you gag “just-“ he moved faster feeling the edge start. he pumped all the way into your mouth and let his release into your mouth as he groaned into the air

“fuck.” you pulled off of him and swallows the salty taste “did you just-“ he couldn’t believe you were real

“is that bad?”

“no, no, god no.” he moved your hair from your face. “all i know is no man is ever touching you again, you’re mine.”

[augustinewrites]

oh, the fushigojos and their nonsense

“i don’t know, shoko,” you sigh as the two of you step into the elevator. “i think something’s going on with him. he’s just been so odd lately.”

“gojo being odd?” your friend scoffs, still scrolling through her phone. “you’re going to have to be more specific.”

you press the button for your floor, shrugging. “he’s staying out later, takes calls in the middle of the night that he leaves the room for, and just this morning he left without telling me where he was going.”

this does prompt her to glance up. “so you think he’s cheating?”

“no,” you laugh, because who else would put up with him but you? “but he’s definitely hiding something.”

“want me to beat him up?”

the doors to the elevator slide open as you shake your head. “a tempting offer, but i’ll have to pass for now.”

“offer’s always on the table,” she quips, following you into the hall and towards your apartment. “i wouldn’t be too worried though, he sucks at keeping secrets.”

“it’s cause he talks too much,” you mutter, pulling your key from your purse and sliding it into the lock.

when you step into the apartment, you immediately notice two things. the first is that it’s unusually clean.

and the second is that there’s a strange boy eating takeout with tsumiki in your kitchen.

you stare at him. he stares back. shoko sips loudly at her iced coffee. “hi,” you start, making a cautious approach. “tsumiki, is this a friend of yours?”

“what are you talking about about?” shoko asks, gesturing to the stranger in your home. “isn’t that megumi?”

“ieiri,” you groan, exasperated and regretting letting her have that second martini at lunch. “we just dropped megumi off at book club.”

she lifts her sunglasses, looking the boy up and down before averting her inquisitive gaze to you. “oh. how many kids do you guys have?”

“satoru!” you yell, just as you hear a door close from within the apartment. your boyfriend comes running out, a panicked look on his face.

“babe,” he starts, pressing a kiss to your lips that you don’t reciprocate. “first things first, you look so hot today—”

“explain,” you interrupt, pushing his face away from yours. “now.”

the grin on his face wavers. “okay, this is yuuta okkotsu. you remember that kid i was telling you about, with the curse and the—”

there are a million things running through your mind right now, the most prevalent being, “the special grade curse? the one that killed— you brought him to our home?!”

“it’s just for a little while,” he insists. “until he can get properly settled at the school.”

“satoru—”

he holds his hands up in surrender. “okay, before you tell me i have to sleep on the couch, i think we all just need to get to know each other a little. why don’t we play a game?”

_____

“the game is two truths and a lie,” he explains when the five of you are seated at the dinner table. “is everyone familiar with the rules?”

“it’s a fun game,” tsumiki tells your guest, swinging her legs back and forth. “we play it in class at the beginning of every school year.”

“if you’re sleeping on the couch,” you mutter so only gojo can hear. “where is he even gonna sleep? in megumi’s room?”

“alright,” he chuckles nervously, pointedly ignoring your question. “tsumiki, why don’t you start?”

your angel child nods excitedly as you kick your boyfriend under the table. “let’s see…my eyes are blue. i have the highest average in my class, and one time…” you all wait as she trails off, thinking. “i got detention because miss hina caught me kissing a boy in the janitor’s closet when we were supposed to be in class.”

you gasp, but gojo just laughs, shaking his head. “honey, you need to make it more challenging, because the last one is obviously the—”

“satoru,” you whisper. “her eyes are brown.”

one beat of silence. then two. yuuta sinks in his seat. shoko’s got a shit-eating grin on her face.

your boyfriend is silent for a whole thirty seconds as the information fires through his brain. you can see the exact moment it clicks, and his world ends.

“you did what? why didn’t we hear about this?”

tsumiki visibly pales, shifting in her seat. “you were both out the country, so they called aunt shoko—”

this time it’s your turn to be surprised, both you and gojo staring at your friend in disbelief. “you knew? and you didn’t tell me?”

“i promise i will tell you the next time i bail one of your kids out of detention.” she turns to yuuta, who really has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. “welcome to the family, kid.”

_____

BONUS

megumi trudges into the apartment, nose buried in his book as he makes his way towards his bedroom. he doesn’t even spare gojo a second glance as he passes the living room.

“you probably deserved it,” he says before the man can say anything.

“megumi, wait.”

he ignores him, pushing the door to his room open and walking in. he drops his backpack by his bed—

only to see some guy sitting on it, sending him a small wave.

“what the—”

gojo appears in the doorway, breathless from the living room to bedroom run. “megumi, meet your temporary roommate.”

[wh0re43van]

Boyfriend pt 3 (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You wake up at Warrens house, then finally indirectly break up with your boyfriend.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of Warrens wounds from the fight, mentions of weed

A/n: Okay y’all, i think this might be the last part. I could probably continue this for another part or two if i really wanted to. (i have a couple rough ideas) but I’m probably gonna focus on other fics.

Pt 1, Pt 2

As I open my eyes, I’m startled for a split second, not recognizing the bed I’m in or the ceiling I’m looking at, but the familiar scent of weed and the sound of a bong bubbling while a Green Day CD plays in the background reminds me that I’m at Warrens house. I sit up in his bed, the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing hangs off me, still smelling of his cologne.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty,” Warren says between coughs, I sit up in the bed yawning.

“Why’d you leave me,” I frown, looking at the cold spot next to me where Warren fell asleep last night.

“Well, I waited for you to wake up for like an hour, I got bored,” he laughs, standing from the couch then walking to the bed, bong in hand. I smile at the boy in front of me. His disheveled brown hair that’s falling into his bruised face, the white tank top that hugs his torso snug and his grey sweatpants that don’t leave much to the imagination. “Does this make up for it?” He hands me the glass and the lighter.

“Only if you go get me some water,” I smile sweetly, accepting the bong.

“Anything for you,” he winks, making my heart flutter as he turns to walk up the steps. I take a small hit from the bong before laying back down on the bed, watching the smoke I blow out cloud above my head and dissipate into the yellow light in the ceiling.

‘How did I get here?’ I think to myself. Just last month I had a routine. I was comfortable- albeit bored. I knew what every day was going to consist of, there were no surprises. I woke up, smoked, then either went to work or went to Dakota’s house. If I went to my job at the library, I had a set task list; the exact same every day. If I went to Dakotas, we either went on deliveries or argued because he’d been cheating on me again. Sad, I know, but that’s how it was, and I was fine with it. Everything’s different now, not in a bad way though. Warren invaded my thoughts and my heart as soon as we reunited, and I don’t think he intends on leaving anytime soon. I’m grateful for him. He’s made me see that life can be exciting-and messy. I’ll never be able to think of sex the same for the rest of my life, regardless of what happens with us.

‘Us,’ I think to myself. ‘What are we?’ Are we friends with benefits? Is he seeing other girls? He wants me to break up with my boyfriend, but I don’t even know where he and I stand. I’m going to break up with Dakota- for many reasons- but, do I really want to jump straight into a relationship again? Is that what Warren wants? Will he lose interest once I’m single? Regardless, I don’t want whatever me and him have to end; That’s the only thing I know for sure.  

“Here you go, beautiful,” Warren interrupts my thoughts, his voice bringing a smile to my face as he hands me the glass of water.

“You’re so chivalrous,” I giggle before taking a sip of the cold water. Warren crawls over top of me and flops down on the bed, laying on his back with his toned arms crossed above his head. He smiles and sighs, turning his battered face to look at me with heavy eyes.

“What?” I giggle, unsure of why he’s staring. His grin stays plastered on him as he shakes his head.

“Nothing… It’s just if you had told 13 year old me about this past month, I would have never believed you. How did I manage to get the most beautiful girl in Fayette County in my bed, wearing my shirt…only my shirt?” he says in a dreamy tone as he props himself up on a bruised arm. I can’t help but blush at his words. He knows exactly how to flatter a woman.

“Oh stop,” I giggle. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” I smirk as crawl on top him, sitting on his stomach. “You look really good in this wifebeater with your busted lip,” I run my hand up his chest and to his face, brushing my thumb over his healing abrasion. He brings his strong arms to my hips, leaning into my hand on his face. “You look dangerous,” I wiggle my eyebrows, smirking. He laughs as he flips me over so that he’s hovering above me, he slips his hand under the t-shirt I’m wearing, ghosting over my bare core.

“You have no idea,” he whispers lowly in my ear before nibbling on my neck, sending electric shoot through my entire body.

“I don’t think that I thanked you properly for defending my honor,” I smile, before pulling the shirt up and over my body, leaving me completely bare underneath him. His eyes scan my body as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“This view right here is thanks enough,” his sultry tone resonates in my ears as he runs his busted knuckles over my curves, leaving goosebumps on every inch of skin that he touches.

“I have a little bit more to offer,” I smirk as I sit up, shoving him on to his back. He watches in anticipation as I settle between his legs. “I gotta say,” I purr slowly as my hand ghosts over his crotch. “You looked really hot fighting for me,” I smile through my lashes as I slide my fingers under the top his waistband.

“And I’d do it again, especially if you’re my reward,” he brings a rough hand to my cheek, pushing my hair out of my face as he stares bullets into my soul. I’ve always adored his dark eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee; bitter yet comforting. A single glance from the man below me is enough to make my core ache.

“You know Warren,” I begin as I slowly pull his sweats down, holding his gaze. “When you look at me like that, you could get me to do absolutely anything you want,” I say before biting my lip in anticipation as I slide his boxers down to reveal his semi hard cock awaiting my attention.

“Mmm, I could say the same thing about you, darlin’,” he groans out, his deep voice sending chills down my spine straight to my core. I spit into my hand before grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times to fully wake it up. He hums at the contact, his body relaxes as he lays flat on his back, laying his arms above his head. I cup his balls in one hand and his base in the other as I slowly sink my mouth down on him until he hits my throat, earning a low moan from the back of his throat.

“You always treat me so well, baby,” Warren groans, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. I begin to bob my head up and down on him, hollowing out my cheeks. “Mmm, atta’ girl. Just like that, beautiful,” he sits up to watch me gag on him; a feeling that I’ve grown to love. Every ounce of praise he gives my goes straight to my stomach, fueling the butterflies that are erupting. His eyes, dark with lust, gaze down at me. I lose myself in the moment. His moans and words of praise fill the room as he repeatedly thrusts against the back of my throat. My jaw starts to go numb, but I ignore it; The site of Warrens face contorted in pleasure and the compliments falling from his blushed lips is worth every ounce of pain.

I see his hand go the night stand, picking up my vibrating phone. I pull away from him, catching my breath as he puts the phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” he asks with a sly grin before gently guiding my head back to his erection. I’m confused, but I obey and slip him back into my mouth. “She’s right here, but she’s a little busy at the moment,” he smirks into the phone.

‘Oh god. It’s got to be Dakota’ I think to myself as I kitten lick around his tip. I hear him raise his voice on the other end of the line.

‘Yep. It’s Dakota,’ I think I hear him ask warren to put me on the phone, followed by some curses. Warren laughs as he thrusts deep into my throat, making me audibly gag.

“She can’t talk right now man, her mouths a little preoccupied,” he winks at me, my cheeks burn red. I can tell Warren is enjoying this- maybe a little too much and I hate to admit that I also find this situation extremely hot, so I play along. I take his entire length into my throat, past my gag reflex until my nose is nestled against the small patch of brown hair decorating his skin.

“Fuck! Just like that baby,” he moans loudly, chuckling into the receiver. He begins to thrust deep into my throat, groaning in pleasure. “What’s she doing?” He laughs breathlessly as his free hand uses my hair to hold my head in place as he violates my mouth. “Mmm, I’ll spare you the details, dude,” he says, his stupid grin not leaving his face. I can hear Dakota cussing Warren out. His eyes focus on me as thick strings of spit drip from my mouth around him as he fucks my throat, my gagging filling the room. Warren uses my hair to pull my head back, spit rolling down my face as I gasp for air. He holds the small phone up to my mouth. “Do you like gagging on me y/n?” he asks I nod my head still trying catch my breath. “Use your words beautiful,” he says with the biggest shit eating grin, using his eyes to motion to the phone.

“I fucking love it,” I say breathlessly, a smirk falling across my own face as my knees becoming weak from how aroused I am. With that, he shoves his cock back into my mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls in a way I’ve never heard before as he drops the phone on his chest, Dakotas small voice still shouting on the other end of the line. Warren grabs either side of my head guiding me up and down his cock a couple more times.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. I’m cumming,” Warren groans as he releases deep into my throat and onto my tongue, I lap up every last drop, pulling away gasping again. “Did you swallow all of it, darlin’?” he asks, panting as he wipes a tear from my cheek. Dakotas frantic voice still chirping through the small plastic brick.

“Yes sir,” I giggle opening my mouth, sticking my tongue. Warren smirks, grabbing my ass to scootch me up to him. “Good girl,” he says against my lips.

“Warren!” I hear Dakotas infuriated voice boom from the phone. Warren laughs holding it up to his ear again. Dakota bellows every slur, insult, and curse word I’ve ever heard through the cell until Warren cuts him off.

“Yeah that’s why I fucked your girl,” he laughs loudly, his shit eating grin plastered proudly on his battered face. “Bitchass cuck!” he shouts before ending the call, tossing the phone to the side.

“Warren, what was all that about,” I giggle as he attacks my bare skin with kisses and love bites.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He pants against my skin. “Turn over, beautiful, I’m not done yet,” he slaps my ass, standing to remove his tank top, his dick still hard as ever. My stomach flips as I get on my hands and knees on his bed. He comes up behind me, pulling me to the edge of the bed, using his hands to spread me open. Wasting no time, he licks a long strip across my core, earning a whimper from me. “You taste so sweet baby,” he coos before inserting a finger inside of me. I whine at the contact. He begins pumping his finger inside of me. “You really liked that, hm? You’re soaked,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, all I can do is nod my head as he curls exactly where I need him most.

“Fuck Warren,” I whimper, desperate for more of his touch.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he runs his hand down my back and over my ass, admiring my body while he slips another finger inside of me, I whine in response. It’s strange the kind of affect he has on me; With one touch from his hand, I’m soaked. I’m so pathetically attracted to this man, I’m almost ashamed. He fuels a lust deep inside of me that I never even knew was there. No drug is any match for the way that Warren can make me feel.

“Fuck me, Warren,” I whimper out as his fingers pump into me. “Please, I can’t stand it, I need you Warren, please,” I plead in a way that I’d never imagined I would beg a man.

“Anything for my girl,’’ he coos, pulling his fingers out to lean down and place wet kiss on my lower back, nibbling at the skin, sure to leave a mark.

‘His girl’ the phrase fills my heart with joy.

Soon, I feel Warren slowly pushing into me. His hand reaches up, snaking gently around my throat as he pushes deeper and deeper into my sopping wet cunt. I let out the unholiest of sounds as he stretches me out.

“Fuck,” my voice comes out shaky and desperate as he begins to thrust into me.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip on my throat tightening as he pounds into me. He slaps my ass, making me gasp loudly. He rubs his hand gently over the stinging skin. “This is mine,” he growls lowly, then he wraps his other hand around my torso, pulling me up to so that my back is flush against his chest as I rest my knees on the bed. This new angle allows him to hit even deeper inside of me, making me see stars. I lean my head back on his shoulder, my eyes rolling back in their sockets. He grabs my face and ducks his head down to pull me into an intense kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as he pounds my pussy into oblivion.

“You’re all mine,” he growls against my lips, his grip tightening on my throat a bit. My knees go so weak that his arms are the only thing holding me up, keeping our sweaty skin pressed together.

“Fuck Warren,” I pant out, barely audible. The rubber band that has been tightly winding in my stomach snaps, sending ecstasy to every cell of my body. My walls convulse around him while he continues to thrust into me mercilessly. “That’s my girl,” he groans lowly in my ear, reaching down to rub my clit to encourage my orgasm. I come completely undone around him, my body begins to shake as I scream out his name, the pleasure almost to much when he reaches his own release. He pumps me full of his cum, fucking it deep into me as I clench around him. His warm seed drips out of my cunt around his cock as he rides out his orgasm, surely leaving bruises underneath every fingertip gripping my neck. He finally slows down, pulling out of me before picking me up with shaky arms to lay me gently on the bed. I lay with my eyes closed trying to catch my breath, a sweaty puddle on the disheveled bed. Warren lays down beside me. “I’m sorry, was that too much?” he asks sincerely, placing a loving hand on my stomach. I open my eyes, turning to look at him.

“Are you kidding,” I giggle weakly. His worried expression quickly matches my own. “Warren that was amazing,” I crawl up to lay on his sweaty chest, his quick heartbeat is comforting as it rings through my ears.

“You can always tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he says honestly as he traces circles on my back, using his other hand to run his fingers through my hair.

“Warren Lipka, you know that you can do no wrong,” I giggle as I snuggle further into him. He laughs lightly, the room is filled with a comfortable silence.

“Hey, how ‘bout we get cleaned up and I take you to that new cafe that opened up in town?” He offers. I sit up to meet his gaze, he has a serious expression on his bruised face.

“What? Like… like a date?” I smile a bit sheepishly. He smiles right back.

“I’d sure like it to be,” he says hopefully. My grin stretches from ear to ear as I stand from the bed, tugging on his arm.

“Well, come on then. I don’t want to go on our first date with your cum dripping down my leg,” I laugh as I pull him into the bathroom.

“Hm, I don’t know. Sounds kinda hot to me,” he chuckles as he closes the bathroom door behind us, pulling me into a deep kiss before he turns the shower head on.

[farfromstrange]

Sub!matt idea. Sensory deprivation.

It can be common as a way of control, heighten the experiance or even to help calm and sooth to blindfold your partner and make them rely on other senses. But for Matt he already has this to the extreme which can be distracting able to hear three blocks away when all he wants to focus on is you his world in this moment.

After a day of honestly tiring input he just asks for you to take over he somtimes does that wanting someone else to control him for a while and he trusts you. And trusts you enough to fuck you with his hearing either gone or reduced only able to feel, smell and taste you which is more then enough. Esspecially when you focus on the touch lavishing his body with sensory your hands never off him roaming, soothing holding. Your lips almost always on him kissing, sucking biting anything to elicit the sweet groans of him. He keeps a hand on your chest or throat not controlling but to be able to sense your rumbling groans and soft sighs feel the uptick in your heart rate as he focuses on you and only you

I am SO sorry that this took so long! And when I finally started writing it, I got carried away, so it took me two whole days to finish. But I wanted it to be good enough after I left you hanging.

On that note, your smutty thoughts make me feral!! Not gonna lie, I sat in my lecture the other day and I couldn't stop thinking about this, which is why this turned out to be over 4k words. On this page, we celebrate sub!Matt and all that comes with him!

Thank you so much for your request, and I hope I could do it justice <3

Sensory Deprivation | Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: The world tends to get a bit loud, but thankfully, you're there to help Matt focus.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), sub!Matt, use of "good boy", oral m!receiving, swallowing, use of earplugs (sensory deprivation), Matt's catholic guilt, slight blasphemy, (almost) coming untouched, mention & use of safe word/action

Word Count: 4.4k

A/n: I'm so horny for this man, I can't function. Also, even though I did proofread this, I'm not sure if I missed any mistakes. My brain doesn't function as well as it used to. I'm sorry in advance.

More than anyone in this world, Matt believes he has to function, always, and without exceptions. He believes that he has to be useful, always doing something and never resting. His heightened senses make it impossible for him to turn his back on even the most minuscule cases of injustice, and he still beats himself up time and time again because he can’t be everywhere at once. He hears everything, smells everything, and feels the despair in the air, but in the end, he can’t take on the weight of the world all by himself. 

Ever since he met you, you have become his reprieve. You’re the haven he returns home to when everything gets just a little too much. When his senses are flooded and his heart is heavy. He crawls to you when he’s wounded, and he would crawl to you if he only had a few more minutes to live. You’re the first person he thinks of when he wakes up, and the last person he thinks of when he goes to sleep at night, preferably holding you in his arms to make sure that you won’t slip away from him. In you, he has found someone who would never judge him for who he is. Someone who will always stand by his side proudly, and someone who will hold him when he’s at his weakest. And he has been hanging off the edge of his breaking point for quite some time, holding on for dear life.

You can tell Matt must have had an awful day from the second the key turns in the lock to your shared apartment. His feet drag over the wooden floorboards as he makes his way inside. You look up from your book. 

Matt takes a deep breath, dropping his bag by the door. His shoulders are tense. He folds his cane, places it aside, and removes the red glasses you’ve grown to love—but you don’t nearly love them as much as his beautiful brown eyes, the green specks so distinctive, you could recognize them anywhere.

“Rough day?” you ask. 

He opens the first button of his dress shirt with shaky fingers. “Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says. 

He hasn’t said hi to you like he usually would. Tonight seems to be one of those nights again. You know Matt well enough to pick up on the subtle clues in his behavior. He’s overwhelmed, possibly even anxious, and the weight he always carries on his shoulders is threatening to crush him. He’s walking a very thin tightrope, and he’s about to fall off. 

You place your book on the coffee table and straighten up. He rounds the couch you’re sitting on, his unfocused eyes searching for you. Your heartbeat resonates in his ears. Your breathing is regular. You’re calm. You’re his rock. You won’t let him drown, no matter how strong the current is that is dragging him down. 

Raising your eyebrows, you look up at him when he stops right in front of you. “No hello kiss?” you dare to ask. It’s a soft question, a little teasing, but he knows you mean well. 

Matt shakes his head. As soon as he breathes you in, he’s done for. His brain cells fry on the electric chair of his mind. His heart starts beating up to his throat. You’re so close yet so far away. You smell incredible; you must have showered after work, and then you sat down with your favorite tea and read your favorite book while waiting for him so you could have dinner together. You’re so considerate, you even used his scentless soap so all he would be able to smell is your natural scent. You consume him. The city moves into the background, and the bricks are about to fall off his shoulders. He’s close to collapsing, falling on his knees and begging you to take control to just make him forget, but he isn’t quite there yet.

A car honks in the distance. The night is calling for him. His hand clenches into a fist at his side while the other rests flat against his thigh. 

You slowly rise from your position. “Matthew,” you breathe his name like a siren. “What do you need?”

He sniffs. His fingers twitch. He has to go out, but he can’t. You envelop him in a bubble, and it makes him feel like he isn’t alone. Like he isn’t trapped. Like he can finally let go after holding on for so long. 

“Talk to me,” you say. 

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “There was so much noise,” Matt whispers back. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t focus. I’m trying to stay in control, but I can’t focus, and—” He breaks off into a shaky sigh. 

You chase his eyes; they’re glossed over. You reach out to tilt his chin in your direction. His eyes flutter closed. A stray tear slips down his cheek. It’s a tear stemming from months of exhaustion, physical pain, and emotional turmoil. He tried to push through, but he’s arrived at a point of no return. He’s breaking, and you’re the only one capable of catching him. 

After another deep breath, Matt’s eyes open again. “You’re here,” his voice is still barely above a whisper, but the smile that starts to grow on his lips speaks the language of relief. 

“I’m always here,” you answer. 

“You keep me sane.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”

“I also know that, but it doesn’t matter. I know how hard it is for you. If you need to be distant for a while and then blow off some steam, I’m okay with it.”

He shudders when your fingers brush his cheek. The faint bruise underneath his eye has turned green. You trace the injury with gentle fingertips. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” he says. 

You smile back at him, knowing he can feel it, and you guide him toward your face. “You exist,” you tell him. “That’s enough for you to deserve me.”

His nose brushes against yours, but before his lips can meet yours, he stops. He inhales your scent. He feels your pulse under his fingers from where he’s wrapped them around your wrist. Your skin feels so soft against his. He’s no longer on fire. The world is no longer on fire. He can let go. He wants to know that it’s okay to let go, but the voice in his head is telling him to stop. The crossroads he finds himself at won’t let him leave in the direction he wants to go. 

You can feel his inner turmoil. He’s holding back. He always does so. You’ve been together for what feels like forever, and he still doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. What he needs. What he deserves. You told him to be primal when he needs to be. You told him to admit when you need to take over. He never does it out of his own free will. He waits until you force him into submission. 

Tonight should be the night he finally tells you. Matt needs to learn that his needs matter just as much as yours. His catholicism can go to hell for all you care. 

“I need—” He swallows. “I-I need t—”

“Go ahead,” you urge him. 

“Ugh,” the sound resembles a broken growl. And then, the barriers finally break. “I need you to take over,” he begs. “I need you to help me breathe again, sweetheart. Please. I need you.”

God, he sounds so wrecked. 

“You want me to take control?” you ask to clarify. 

He nods. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good boy. I can do that.”

Matt’s lips part in a weak whimper in response to your praise. Calling him a ‘good boy’ always has the same welcome effect. You don’t even have to look down to know that his cock is slowly swelling in his slacks. 

All the blood has rushed from his head and his beautiful rosy, stubbly cheeks to his groin. It doesn’t take much to turn him on, especially not in his current state—especially not if it’s you.

Hearing him admit that he needs you like this makes you feel a myriad of emotions. You want to take care of him, you want to love him, and you want to give him a moment of peace amongst the constant chaos, but there is also something so arousingly erotic about the way he begs for you to take control that makes your thighs clench. 

Often enough, he is the one taking care of you. Matt is a giver, not a taker. He always puts you first, but on some days, he just can’t bear it anymore. And you couldn’t possibly ask him to take charge in bed in his current state. It would break him. He’s a vulnerable man, whether he likes to admit it or not, and he can be as fragile as an ancient vase. You have to handle him with care on those days, which is all you intend to do as you guide him to your shared bedroom. 

You gently urge him to sit down on the bed. “Do you trust me?” you ask. 

His unfocused eyes flick from one side to the other. “Always,” he breathes out. 

“Good. Lie back for me. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

He would never doubt that. 

You climb into his lap, and finally, you kiss him. His lips part slightly in a desperate groan. Before he can slide his tongue into your mouth though, you pull away. His grabby hands are already resting on your hips, wandering, and wandering, and…

“Nuh-uh,” you tell him, taking hold of his calloused fingers and placing them on your upper thighs. “Patience, baby.”

“Please,” Matt begs. You love it when he begs. He’s completely putty in your hands. You could tell him to get on his knees and pray, and he would, no matter how blasphemous it may be. 

He’s holding onto you for dear life. You place his hand against the left side of your chest, allowing him to feel your heartbeat. He isn’t leaving you cold. He never does. Alone the sight of him is enough to make your thighs clench with need, but straddling him, you can’t get the friction you need. 

You reach for the nightstand to your right, opening the drawer. You know exactly what he needs. “Turn your head for me,” you murmur. 

Matt follows your instructions without questioning them. Finally finding what you were looking for, you retrieve the earplugs from the bedside drawer. This isn’t the first time you have used them on him, or he has used them on you. The specific brand renders you almost entirely deaf and renders Matt’s enhanced hearing almost to an entirely normal level.

You gently put the first plug into his left ear, then the other into his right. Before you push it in though, you ask, “Do you remember our safeword?” 

He nods. “Red,” he says. 

“Good boy. And when you can’t speak?”

“Tap your wrist three times.” His lips curl up into a weak smile. “Usually, I’m the one asking you that.” 

“Not tonight, you aren’t. May I put this in now?” You tap the earplug.

He nods again. It’s all the confirmation you need before inserting it, reducing his hearing completely. He lets out a sigh of relief. He closes his eyes, and you know he’s trying not to cry. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” you ask, cradling his cheek. His stubble scratches your fingertips, but it’s a welcome pain. 

He can still hear what you’re saying, feel the vibrations in your chest from where his hand is resting, and he smells you so much clearer now that he no longer has to listen to the city screaming at him in the background. Your arousal gets stuck to the tiny hairs in his nose, and he inhales sharply. Every nerve in his body is on fire. 

Matt moans. His tongue darts out, tasting the air. For a moment, he forgets that you just asked for his consent. Everything is so much more intense, yet it isn’t nearly enough. 

“Matthew,” you nudge him. “Talk to me.”

“Yes,” he whispers. At least he thinks he’s whispering. 

You smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and then you lean down to kiss him again. This time, you let him push his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, feeling you, and consuming all of you. He wants every ounce of you ingrained in his mind forever. 

His hands slide under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. His focus is on you entirely. You help him take the pesky piece of fabric off, followed by his own. He’s suddenly so hot. 

Your teeth clash when you kiss. His cock is hard as a rock, pressing against his lower abdomen. You can feel it between your thighs. It must be painful for him. 

His kisses trail from your mouth, down your neck. He tastes the salt on your skin. Your pulse jumps as he drags his tongue over the vein. It’s a primal need. He needs to mark you. He needs to taste you, all of you, and make you his for all the world to see. An animalistic growl escapes his lips. His teeth dig into your skin. He nibbles just enough to make you moan, your chest vibrating underneath his hand. Matt doesn’t even hesitate to grab a handful of your breast, tugging at your sensitive nipple until it’s stiff enough to rival his aching cock. 

You throw your head back, your jaw slack, and he uses the newfound space to kiss down to your collarbone. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, but you don’t care. 

With a demanding grip on his hair that pulls at his scalp and causes him to groan against your shoulder, you push his head toward your chest. He isn’t in control, you are, and you know how much he loves to please you. 

Like a man starving, he sucks your nipple into his mouth. No, it’s not just your nipple. He takes as much as he can into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub only momentarily before he moves on to the rest of your silky skin. 

You moan. You have to let him know that you’re enjoying yourself. He feels the sound deep within your chest from where his hand is resting, and the way your breast moves slightly when you moan. Matt only becomes more eager when he feels and smells what he’s doing to you. 

The scent of you is addicting. Your arousal smells slightly sour, sometimes slightly metallic, but most of all, it is you. And when he tastes your essence on the tip of his tongue without even licking at your slick folds because you are simply that wet, it makes him feral with this insanely primal need to have you. 

He wants to spread you out before him and taste you until you’re coming all over his face. Though today, he is too weak to keep you restrained to the mattress. Matt takes what he can get, what you are willing to give him, and he does so eagerly, like the good boy that he wants to be for you. 

With the world silenced, he can focus on you. The way your heart is hammering against your ribcage, right against his palm. The way your chest heaves with every labored breath you take as he sucks and sucks at your breast until your nipple is beyond swollen. He can feel how smooth your skin is, smell the remnants of your body lotion that he sometimes steals so he can smell you everywhere he goes, and the slight sheen of sweat that has started to cover your body from head to toe. And he can smell your arousal so thick in the air, his cock jumps at the mere thought of sinking into your tight walls—of being completely consumed by you, body and soul. He doesn’t need to hear right now, all he needs to do is feel you. 

You know about his desperate urge to please. You know that, even while you’re in charge, he wants nothing more than to make you feel good. Matt is anything but selfish. But his selflessness doesn’t have a place in this bedroom tonight. 

As crazy as his mouth on your breasts is driving you into an oblivion of pure ecstasy, your walls clenching around nothing, you find it in yourself to pull him away. 

With his eyes hooded, he looks so delicious. His cock is still straining against his lower abdomen in his underwear. When you pull him away, his expression reads offense. You can’t help but snicker. 

“Did you think I’d let you make this about me?” you say just loud enough for the sound to reach through the earplugs. 

He exhales. “I was praying,” he says. 

Praying. He is too far gone to realize. There are sides to Matt Murdock you love more than others, and when he becomes blasphemous, it does things to you. This good catholic boy turns into mush when you just touch him, and then you are his God. You’re who he wants to worship, and he would pray to you, worship at the altar of your body, and drink your essence like holy water if it meant being all over you and inside of you. And you take your position very seriously. 

He trusts you. That is not a small feat. He trusts you with his body and soul, and he trusts you with the most vulnerable parts of him, be it in bed or merely a hug after a bad day. You know what he needs, and he trusts you to take care of him. He wouldn’t let just anyone do what you do to him.

“What were you praying for?” you ask him. 

“You,” he whispers. 

“You can have me, but first… focus.”

He told you he was losing focus because the world was far too late, so with the noise reduced, you will help him focus on something other than the world out there. 

“Feel that?” You kiss his mouth, and from there, you move down to his stubbly jaw. “Focus on that. Focus on me.”

Matt sucks in another sharp breath. While one hand still rests on your chest, the other comes to rest around your neck, feeling your pulse, feeling you, and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your luscious lips all over him. 

Your kisses trail down his neck. You pay close attention to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He moans. His hips buck upward. He’s so painfully hard, his cock has already started leaking pre-cum into his boxers. 

Each scar, each indentation on his skin that reminds you of all the good he does at the expense of his health, you kiss. You trace your tongue over the healed wounds, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours. He’s so sensitive. 

His fingers involuntarily clench around your neck, but you don’t mind. He’s not choking you, he’s simply trying to hold on. You have established a safe word for a reason, after all. He can get carried away the same way you can get carried away.

You wouldn’t dare push him too far though. Not tonight. Not when he’s already this wrecked underneath you. You purposefully leave his nipples out of the equation and move further down his body. His abs tense under your tender touch. You can’t help but smile. 

And him? Matt feels like he’s floating. He can feel every kiss against his heated skin, your fingertips tracing his scars after you’ve so sensually pressed your mouth against them, and he can feel your every breath as you move downward. Every kiss leaves a series of shivers in its wake. He’s hot, yet he’s cold. He needs more, but at the same time, you are already close to driving him into overstimulation. 

His balls tighten. He can’t believe that the feeling of you is enough to make him want to explode. He knows that if you touch his cock now, he might as well come right then and there. It’s so much more intense like this when he doesn’t get distracted by the world outside. You are his world, and you are all he focuses on. 

You move further down until you reach his boxers. His arm is no longer long enough to keep his hand around your neck, so he moves it into your hair. It’s a silent warning, you suppose because he is close. You only kissed him, and he’s already so close to coming undone. You don’t blame him. He’s been so tense lately. 

You press a kiss to his hip bone before murmuring against his milky skin, “It’s okay.”

Matt whimpers. Your words make their way into his bloodstream. 

You pull his boxers down. The cold air hits his aching tip and the way his back arches makes you almost feel bad. You spit into your hand, but you make sure your palm is warm enough before you reach for his girth. 

The moment you touch him, he’s done for. “Sweetheart, I can’t–” he chokes out, but you shush him by placing your lips against his tip. 

You lick at the salty pre-cum. It tastes like him. You can’t deny that you missed this while he was so distant from you. This is as much for you as it is for him, that is something you can’t deny either. You’re a little selfish tonight. Just a little. 

His words of protest get swallowed by a needy moan, and his fist tightens in your hair. He’s not going to last long. 

Matt is not one to come early. The guilt swallows him faster than you can swallow his cum, which is why he always holds himself back. Tonight though, you won’t let him torture himself for your pleasure. You hate it when he does it. 

“Ugh!” the moan comes from the depths of his chest. “Fucking–God!”

You take him into your throat as far as you can without gagging, and what you can’t take, you wrap your hand around. He’s so thick, and he’s so incredibly big—you can feel the tears forming in your eyes. But God, he is so beautiful with his head thrown back, brown eyes squeezed shut, and that little drop of sweat dripping down his temple. It’s lewd, it’s erotic, and it makes your thighs clench. 

All of his reservations vanish when you take him all in. Your throat is tight, but you’re enthusiastic. Your tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock, moving back up to the overly sensitive head. Your hands cup his balls. Every time you go down on him, Matt swears he can feel heaven reaching its hand out to him.

He grips your hair a little tighter, his other hand tangling in the sheets. He’s so close. He twitches, painfully so. And when he comes, he instinctively pulls your head upward so you won’t choke. His hot cum spurts down your throat, and you have no choice but to swallow. 

You surprise both yourself and him when you fight against his hand and force yourself down far enough so that your nose brushes the base of his cock, and you gag. 

Your throat is so tight and hot that it drags his orgasm on for eternity. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. His heart is racing out of his chest as if it has somewhere to be. The fire ripples through him, the inferno turning into a dangerous explosion that tears his nerves apart, putting them back together just to tear them apart again. He feels as though the skin is falling off his very fragile bones, and his muscles collapse in on themselves. 

Matt can’t breathe. When he finally manages to untangle his hands from your hair, he lies there. The blood in his ears is obnoxious. He can’t hear. He can’t see. And suddenly, he can’t even feel anymore. He doesn’t exist. Reality slips away into a moment in time. Now, he’s dying. It feels like he is dying. 

You pull off his cock, catching your breath. His cum trickles down the corner of your mouth. You wipe it away. Pressing a kiss to his hip bone, you look up through your lashes. At first, he looks blissed out, but his expression quickly changes. 

He can’t talk. You take his hand. “Matt,” you coax him. 

Not even his chest is lifting in time to accommodate his heavy breathing. His body is shaking as every ounce of stress falls off his shoulders, and his nerves fall victim to the inferno that is still wreaking havoc inside of him.

He taps your wrist three times. 

“Okay,” you murmur. You quickly climb back up his body. 

“Out,” he manages to tell you, weakly pointing to the earplugs. 

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You pull the earplugs out as fast as you can. Matt’s arms wrap around you, searching for a lifeline, and he pulls you against him.

“Shhh.” You cradle his head in the crook of your neck. 

You hold him like this for a while. You hold him against you tightly, gently, as if he is the most fragile thing you have ever held. 

Eventually, his breathing returns to normal. His heart starts to slow down. His fingertips no longer dig into your back as desperately as they have before. He’s just content now. 

You press your lips to the crown of his head. “You okay?” you dare to ask. 

Matt takes a moment before he nods. He leans back slightly. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

“For what?”

His lips curl into a tired yet satisfied smile. “For helping me focus.”

You smile back at him. “My pleasure,” you say, and you lean down to capture his lips in a loving kiss. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“And I love you, Matthew Michael Murdock.”

“Oh, you love me that much, huh?”

You giggle, “Shut up!” before you pull him in for another kiss. 

For now, he needs to catch his breath and pick up the pieces you shattered by giving him this orgasm, but you know that once he does, it is going to be a long night for you. And you won’t be able to find it in yourself to complain. Not that you want to, anyway.

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