#I'll try and come up with more generic content soon

[kiwi-bitchez]

Double Down, Triple Threat 

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension. 

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending. 

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics. 

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways. 

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something." 

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order. 

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret. 

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on. 

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that. 

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were. 

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers. 

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar. 

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well. 

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig. 

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him. 

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface. 

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer. 

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him. 

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull. 

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt. 

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards. 

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night. 

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot. 

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive. 

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot. 

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something." 

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road. 

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt. 

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong. 

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk. 

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one. 

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood. 

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper. 

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful. 

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door. 

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks. 

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go." 

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step. 

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking. 

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live." 

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies. 

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?" 

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought. 

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat. 

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here." 

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights. 

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought. 

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?" 

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar. 

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward. 

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on. 

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped. 

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close. 

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy. 

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat. 

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.” 

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside. 

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now. 

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane. 

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this. 

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond. 

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. 

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say. 

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well. 

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile. 

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago. 

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips. 

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window. 

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form. 

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much. 

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue. 

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.  

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner. 

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise. 

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be. 

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.” 

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath. 

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch. 

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief. 

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind. 

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there. 

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing. 

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights. 

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow. 

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.” 

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel. 

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale. 

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request. 

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. 

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…��

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it. 

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off. 

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.  

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances. 

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over. 

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were. 

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…” 

He understood, he hated how much he understood. 

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him. 

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run. 

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive. 

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt. 

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails. 

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers. 

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed. 

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point. 

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction. 

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale. 

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot. 

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice. 

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip. 

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction. 

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?” 

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill. 

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away. 

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth. 

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom. 

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on. 

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself. 

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark. 

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked. 

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you. 

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious. 

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present. 

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed. 

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go. 

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around. 

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin. 

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways? 

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away. 

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back. 

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel. 

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging. 

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.” 

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.” 

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most. 

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs. 

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you. 

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and  plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time. 

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?” 

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him. 

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand. 

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary. 

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else. 

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes. 

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch. 

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top? 

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching. 

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name  mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment. 

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point. 

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold. 

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean. 

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two. 

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his. 

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could. 

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen. 

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong. 

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep. 

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you. 

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months. 

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control. 

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed. 

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze. 

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue. 

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true. 

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper. 

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall. 

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl. 

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time. 

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over. 

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was. 

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear. 

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.” 

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this. 

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.” 

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips. 

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself  on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you. 

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom. 

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips. 

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom. 

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets. 

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you. 

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed. 

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away. 

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself. 

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect. 

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck. 

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.” 

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body. 

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long. 

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs. 

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up. 

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks. 

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.” 

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away. 

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.” 

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit. 

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred. 

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.” 

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask. 

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest. 

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip. 

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle. 

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?” 

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other. 

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you. 

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning. 

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone. 

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest. 

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit. 

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand. 

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time. 

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment. 

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare. 

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening. 

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more. 

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more. 

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go. 

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you. 

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time. 

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state. 

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you. 

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you. 

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could. 

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all. 

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now. 

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him. 

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter. 

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you. 

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you. 

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts. 

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future. 

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page. 

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock. 

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips. 

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake. 

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t  have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his. 

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours. 

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses. 

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.” 

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center. 

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you. 

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name. 

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release. 

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements. 

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm. 

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name. 

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van. 

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets. 

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all. 

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice. 

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come. 

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part one)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone.

Taglist: @marshmallowinamess

A/n: Hi lovelies! Lia here, I'm back after a nerve-wracking week of school. This is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it otherwise. God I fucking hate school. I wrote all of this in a cold room, a heat pad on me (because period cramps) and at 3am so any mistakes will be edited out as soon as I'm aware of it.

This is divided into a multiple part thing (I think 2-3?) because God knows I can't fit them all in one post because of the limited amount of gifs and photos. I'll add more to these in the future, some are longer than others because I can't think. Also because I can't write them all at once, that's a lot to write okay 😭

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

John Price

ꕥ (OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS SMILEEE) (He's such a quokka)

ꕥ Price who literally is such a father figure, doesn't matter whether the relationship between you two is romantic or platonic. He often takes the dominant caring role.

ꕥ Doesn't smoke around you, doesn't matter if you insist he doesn't. He still won't and definitely will criticize you if you try or do smoke because he doesn't want you do end up like him.

ꕥ If there's a bit of an age gap between you, I'd say he's hesitant. Definitely afraid of what the rest of the task force thinks (He can't help it, they're basically his boys)

ꕥ John Price who wants to settle down with you, maybe have kids if you want but just a white picket fence life with you without the chaos that is war and his job.

ꕥ He only ever let's you have his hat, only when he gives it to you though. Most of the time it would be while you're out, he'd put it on your head from his. (Cowboy hat rule? I heard that in more respectful terms rather than sexual, it respectfully means that you are theirs)

ꕥ John Price who rests his chin at the top of your head no matter how much he needs to crouch down whenever hugging you from behind. Love doing it whenever you're busy doing something too. (Props for the effort because you cannot tell me he doesn't have back, neck and knee pains)

ꕥ Is constantly worried if you share the same line of work, like at first it was nothing but a tiny crush and slowly he finds himself caring about your well-being more and more over time.

ꕥ Can't help but think he's an acts of service type of guy, reaching up for things you need or better yet lifting you up so you can reach them and loves opening things for you like bottles or anything canned. (Girlies who get their nails done or wear press ons know this struggle ( I'm a press on girly)

ꕥ The kind of man who would turn on some oldies music and slow dance with you in the living room, your footsteps and breathing being the only other sounds as you smile at each other, foreheads against the other's.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

ꕥ Ghost who is such Doberman/Black cat boyfriend. Like have you seen this man? He's so tall and intimidating, one distasteful look from him and if it was physically possible that person would drop dead.

ꕥ Ghost whose a chubby chaser through and through, he just looks for something different from what he's used to.

ꕥ Is definitely a tits kinda guy, doesn't matter how big or how small they are. He'll definitely play with them in some way during doing the you know what.

ꕥ Feels like you can take him and his size better because of your plush body. Has a size kink and likes seeing it bulge a bit when he's inside you.

ꕥ You're just so soft and warm, he wants something away from what he usually feels doing his job. Not really that touchy but he gets quite clingy within closed doors.

ꕥ Likes to squeeze your thighs, his grip on them would not falter. Doesn't matter whether it's in a sexual or domestic way.

ꕥ Thinks you deserve better than what he can offer and needs constant reassurance, never says it out loud but you pick up on what he feels. (please be patient with him)

ꕥ More often than not, he thinks you're quite fragile. Even if you can protect yourself, one of his ways of showing you he loves you is through protecting you. Hence the Doberman boyfriend scenario.

ꕥ Doesn't like PDA but knows when it's necessary, him placing his arm around your shoulder is enough to keep perverts in their places. If that rando is really that bold then they'll most likely end up with a few broken bones depending on how pissed Simon is.

ꕥ If you work alongside him, he'd constantly worry about your well-being but at the same time is conflicted because he's confident that he can protect you.

ꕥ Only you and the TF141 can call him Simon, he still feels uneasy when he gets called that but when it's you saying it, it doesn't sound as daunting to him. Still dislikes in in certain tones of voice because his name reminds him of his past.

ꕥ You've seen his face, it took a long time but after that he trusted you enough to show him. The fact that you didn't find his face revolting and even kissed his scars while cupping his face was enough for him to want to marry you.

ꕥ Isn't fully insecure about his face but has his moments. (You know like the voice line where soap asks him to take off his mask and asked him if he was ugly and Ghost said "Negative")

ꕥ Takes a little while to get him to open up and little things like letting you hold him takes him a bit of time to get used to because it makes him feel vulnerable.

ꕥ God forbid something were to happen to you and he couldn't do anything to stop it, Simon would lose his fucking mind.

John "Soap" MacTavish

ꕥ Soap is a Golden Retriever boyfriend through and through. He's energetic, loyal and really affectionate.

ꕥ He's a lighthearted flirt at first because he doesn't wanna scare you off but damn does he gradually get bolder over time.

ꕥ Very hands on, touchy, and could be clingy at times unless you don't consent him, secretly always finding new ways to touch you.

ꕥ A sucker for cheek kisses, lips are his favorite but he can't help but break out a wide grin whenever you kiss his cheek. Can't help but feel kinda manly whenever you do.

ꕥ Adores making you laugh, no matter how stupid your sense of humor is he will absolutely say that joke if it gets a laugh out of you. Would be concerned if you had a dark sense of humor but will eventually get used to it. To describe it, hearing you laugh makes his heart feel full like in a content domestic way.

ꕥ Also, see the gif? You cannot tell me that he doesn't look at you that way because he absolutely would.

ꕥ Loves your weight against his body to the pint he's begging you to lay on him. You, him in the bed while he's shirtless with grey sweatpants on and you in your night clothes sharing each other's warmth with your head on his broad chest.

ꕥ Shows you silly and cute pet videos, especially the cat ones:

"[Name], look at this one!"

"Soap, we're not adopting a pet. Not right now at least"

ꕥ He was upset and gave you puppy eyes the whole time because the only time he had pet was when he was child, it was a hamster which was killed because it got sucked into the vacuum by his older sister.

ꕥ You're the only one allowed to tough his hair, he's very proud of his mohawk and will let you style it. Won't wear it out if you did something silly to it though.

ꕥ Soap who loves showing you off to everyone, loves light PDA but doesn't wanna potential put a target on your back.

ꕥ He definitely is the guy you want to take home to your family and friends (or found family <3), he's funny and easy to get along with. Very flirty with you but he'll straighten out because he's terrified on making a bad impression.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

ꕥ (HE'S SO FREAKING UNDERRATED WITHIN THIS FANDOM)

ꕥ He gives Labrador boyfriend vibes, you can't help but want to take care of him.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to do a double take when he first saw you, he turned to Soap with that "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" look in a good way.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to ask you out multiple times before you said yes thinking he's only doing it for a bet or a cruel joke.

ꕥ Constant reassurance from him because he doesn't want you to feel insecure about your looks because to him you are literally an angel.

ꕥ Loves to chill with you, cuddling and just relaxing. Maybe scrolling on TikTok occasionally and show you the funny ones he chuckled at.

ꕥ He has a sixth sense whenever you crave something, say you want chocolate or drink of some sort then he'd definitely being home whatever it is you we're craving without having to ask you.

ꕥ Kyle who has your Starbucks order memorized because he likes being the one to order things for you. Will playfully argue with you on who'll pay this time. (Don't even try anymore, he always wins anyway)

ꕥ Puts his hat on your head mostly when you're out, has done it the first time because it was hot out and the sun was in your eyes. He's picked it up from Price and once you smiled at him through the shade of his cap, he has not stopped doing it.

ꕥ Definitely a words of affirmation and acts of service kind of guy when it comes to love languages. Sometimes whenever he'd give you two thumbs up and a cheeky smile, you can't help but laugh a little.

ꕥ He's very thoughtful, so much so that he prides himself in knowing you better than anyone. Everytime you two go out to eat, when he gets something and know that you'll want to taste it (he knows damn well whether you'll like it or not when he tastes it) he'll bring it upon himself to order you one before you even say you want some.

ꕥ Soft snores when he sleeps, it's cute but you know damn well he's tired. Also I think he's very cuddly, like he just likes reminding himself that he's not alone and that his bed is warm because you're in it. Therefore at minimum always has an arm around you in bed.

ꕥ Dances in the rain with you and loves it when you pull him gently on his arm while your hands are intertwined. Takes note of how the the raindrops sometimes fall on your lashes while you look up at him smiling.

ꕥ Kyle Garrick who wants nothing more in the world to see you happy and smiling. His "this is the woman I'm going to marry" moment was when you baked his favorite cake for his birthday despite it being so hard, you nailed it perfectly. (Whether it's out of luck or skill is up to you)

Alejandro Vargas

ꕥ (idk how to write for this angry Mexican man but I'll try my best, love him and his megamind hairline though <3)

ꕥ Alejandro is definitely a flirt, a very bold on at that. He's quite forward when it comes to liking someone so yeah.

ꕥ He lives for it when you boss him around. That being said, he isn't picky about body type or any of the sort.

ꕥ Will teach you Spanish if you don't know any, definitely prioritizes the curse words and laughs whenever you jokingly call him pendejo.

ꕥ Wouldn't mind you teaching him your own culture and mother tongue. Bonus points if it's similar to his.

ꕥ Has Spanish nicknames for you because I imagine his own culture is important to him.

ꕥ Would hate it if you had the same line of work but will never take it out on you, it's just that it's so dangerous given the people he's involved with. (It's definitely Valeria)

ꕥ Speaking of El Sinombre, I don't think they had anything romantic going on. It's mainly platonic and the "betrayal" sucked on Alejandro's side. They definitely had some rivalry and the tension was through the roof. (Mainly because I headcanon Valeria as Lesbian)

ꕥ Can be so romantic when he tries, you can't tell me this mf ain't a smooth talker because he definitely is. Can be very blunt like in a forward way with his affection too.

ꕥ Likes kissing your wrist and feeling your pulse against his lips because it reminds him you're alive. (The amount of angst this scenario carries would be something I'm up for to write)

ꕥ Is sent on a fit of rage when something happens to you, say you got kidnapped then this man would tears off the walls of every building if he had to.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

ꕥ (ANOTHER UNDERATED CHARACTER)

ꕥ Another Golden Retriever boyfriend. This man is just loving and dotting, very husband material.

ꕥ Loves chubby women, has a soft spot for them and just likes holding them.

ꕥ He's definitely used to the insecurity that comes with the body, also doesn't get why such beauty standards are even in place. Has and would fuck the insecure out of you again if he had to. (It's in a very gentle and loving manner)

ꕥ If you hold him in your arms, he'd be absolutely living for it. He already has had a long day and being honest he hasn't had many lovers that went far so having you care in this way about him would have him wrapped around your finger.

ꕥ Worships the ground you walk on. That's it.

ꕥ Would take everything to heart whenever you teach him or mention something within your culture if you aren't of Spanish origins like he is. He just loves you so much that it makes him happy knowing more about you.

ꕥ Would adore slow dancing with you, brings him back to reality where he realizes that he has you and that you're there.

ꕥ Terrified that one day you'll end up leaving him so reassurance would be much appreciated by him.

ꕥ Definitely a sucker for receiving forehead kisses, as for giving he likes to kiss the back of your hand.

ꕥ If ever danger presents itself to you too closely, he would have a heart attack like full on crying but not in public though.

[justawriterofstuff]

Happy birthday to Jason

(A/N: MDNI; TW for breast play, nipple play, praise kink, edging, rough sex, and very sexual content.)

"Ngh...shit...oh god..." Jason groaned, as he was splayed out on your lap, the both of ya'll on the bed.

It was an amazing sight; the hulking mass of Jason rendered helpless in your arms, your arm wrapped around his thick torso, your other hand stroking his thick cock.

"Remember your safe word, Jay." you reminded him, but he shook his head.

"N-no. Feels too good..." he trailed off, and when you felt his cock twitch, getting ready to come, you stopped altogether.

He let out a whine of frustration as you denied him release.

"Seriously...again?" he choked out, trying to gather his bearings.

"Don't complain baby, or I'll make it even worse for you." You replied, kissing his cheek, salt on your lips as frustrated tears went down his face.

After about twenty more minutes of that, you finally let him release, his body jerking upwards, muscles strained as he lets out a gasp, and groan.

His hands clutch at the sheets underneath him, and your hand is covered with his thick, hot seed.

Cleaning him off, you rub down his shivering and aching limbs, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxes.

"Is that all you had the stamina for today, Jay?" you asked, smoothing out his hair from his face.

His eyes opened instantly at that, the darkest shade of green boring into yours.

"No, I want to do it all. Just...let me catch my breath." he replied, and you nod, tracing his autopsy scars gently.

It'd been six months before he re-entered your life from coming back from the dead, six months of him running around as a powerful drug lord known as The Arkham Knight that destroyed several drug rings.

And then he had sought you out.

You'd mourn him for the past six years, and now, just like that, he was back in your life, making you feel like you were fourteen again, and helping him stop crime.

And now here you were, celebrating his birthday by giving him the full sexual experience, since he'd been so busy being used as a soldier, and then trying to seek revenge on Bruce before he found you. You'd already jerked him off for about an hour or two (with breaks of course), and Jason had been adamant about trying out all the positions.

The next one he wanted to do with you?

Sixty-nine, of course.

Jason took a deep breath in as his gaze landed on yours. There was heat, hunger, and love in his gaze, and you smiled at him.

"I'm ready." he said softly, and you laid him on his back, wiping off the sweat from his body. You undressed as he watched, his cock springing back to life.

The motherfucker was huge. And he knew it.

Once fully undressed, you kissed him messily, tracing the planes of his chest, and then stomach. His breathing had gone rough, and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

He went feral when you touched him.

"Ready?" you asked him, and he nods as you saddle him reverse cowgirl, except scooted up to his face. His hands cupped your ass, a soft sound escaping him as he groped you a little.

"Whoa..." he whispered, and you felt a thrill of pride at yourself.

Carefully, you lowered yourself on his face, and then you went down on his straining erection.

You licked the base, coating it generously with saliva, and stroking it, his hips jerking a bit. He's still so sensitive, and you feel his tongue shyly lap at your cunt, the sensation making you moan a little.

"You're doing such a good job, baby." you praise him, and that really pushes him to continue on, his tongue accidentally brushing against your clit.

You suck in a breath, and shudder, Jason noticing your reaction, he sucks on your clit, causing you to jolt.

"Oh...fuck..." you curse, and he eagerly continues, making you take his cock in eagerly, as you suck on him

Jason moans into your pussy, his grip on your ass tightening, as he continues on licking your cunt, and you're just as busy sucking his cock.

Jason won't admit it, but he came first, yours following soon after. As you slid off of him, and collapsed on the bed next to him, his breathing erratic, you watch him with a smug expression.

"Give me another ten minutes." he says, and you nod, rubbing his chest up and down.

Ten minutes later...

You're on your back as Jason is over your naked body, his lips kissing yours lazily. One of his hands cups your breasts, his fingers rubbing your nipple.

He's curious about you, his hands roaming all over your body, his calloused palms making goosebumps run up and down your body.

It's so fucking hot, and your core is pulsing with need.

"Guide me?" he asks, and you nod, cupping his condom-covered cock into your entrance.

You're not a virgin anymore but holy fuck does he stretch you out. He's panting, his muscles straining as he grasps your hips, entering inch by inch into you.

"Oh...fuck..." you gasp out.

"God...you feel so good." he said in between clenched teeth.

"Whenever you're ready, let loose-"

You don't even finish the sentence before he's slamming into you, his hands on your hips gripping you so tight.

You're letting out noises, his eyes on your face, and your bouncing breasts. That seems to encourage him to go into you even harder, his face leaning down and biting your nipple, biting your breasts.

"Oh...shit...God...yes Jason." you cry out, and all of a sudden, he's picking you up, thighs being held sturdy by his grasp, and he's spearing into you, your hands clutching on to his back for dear life.

"Oh God, Y/N, your pussy wraps around my dick so good." he groans out, and he's moving faster and rougher, and you clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but some still slip out.

Jason doesn't last long before again he comes, but as he slips it out, he switches out the condom instead.

"I didn't make you come." he says, and he lies you on your stomach, arching your hips back up.

You say a quick prayer as he goes back to ravishing you.

It shouldn't last long, right?

Three hours later...

You're limp on the bed, Jason laying next to you. So many positions you got to show him, and then he really showed you how far his stamina went.

A sheen of sweat covers the both of your bodies, and Jason looks over at you.

"Did I hurt you? I didn't right?" he asks, and you turn to him, dazed.

"I know I have some experience, but not that much." you reply, and he pulls you closer into a cuddle. "You know you still have presents to open, right?" you ask him.

"I literally don't want to leave this bed. I have no more in me to stay upright." he replies, and you feel smug as well.

Just as much as you're tired out, so is he.

"Happy birthday Jason." you tell him, as you kiss his temple just before he passes out.

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Peri x GN!Reader[Pt.3]

Part 1 — Part 2 — FINAL[you're here!]

warnings: obsessive thoughts, guilt tripping

OH LETS GO!! Now this is actual yandere content 🙏 Part 2 bothered me too much so here you go LOL— The format for this is half bulletin and half drabble!

Peri didn't realize how deprived he is when it comes to friends. He enjoys your company more than he really should.

He supposed it's because he's literally the youngest fairy after a thousand years. The only experience he had with having friends has already faded away in his memories; he never saw those baby fairies again.

In one way or another, you both found common grounds in taking care of Dev.

Yet, you're a human. What do fairies and humans even have in common? He's already struggling to pretend like he's one of you.

Perhaps one of the reasons why Peri appreciates you is because you're giving him your natural attention. It's not smothering like his parents, not pressuring like the others, and is generally just not forced.

Needless to say, Peri really, really likes you.

Which is why he doesn't want to let you go so soon.

Being with you and Dev is almost breaking the rules. Heck, maybe it already is. Why else would he be doing this secretly?

`•*°•*

Peri, your friend now, is babysitting Dev with you again tonight. You were skeptical about it at first, but Peri was so eager about it for some reason. If you had to truly be honest, you don't know what compelled you to agree with him tagging along with your kid.

You initially asked your boss, to which he easily said yes. But it was more about brushing you off, if you had to admit. Irritation creeps into your bones. Dale just doesn't care sometimes, doesn't he?

But it should be okay. Peri seemed to genuinely care about Dev. It's almost like he's known him his whole life, even.

It's quite perfect for the favor you're going to ask him later.

"..."

You watched Dev's blanketed figure for a few more seconds before gently closing the door.

Peri looked at you expectantly. You grinned with a thumbs up. You whispered, "he's sleeping."

He grinned, walking to the living room with you trailing behind him. "Well, then! Whatcha wanna do? Watch a movie, draw each other, put makeup on my face—"

"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," you carefully said as you sat down on the couch.

"Yeah? What is it?" Peri replied, sitting next to you. He's not sure how to feel about how serious you're being.

"Well," you sighed. "I know it's only been a few weeks since I got this job, and I love Dev with all my heart, but..."

Peri's expression almost goes blank. You're not looking at him. "But what?"

"I'm going to change my job soon," you grimaced. Turning your head, you finally looked at Peri. His lilac eyes looked distant. "Uh, which is where you come in! Do you want to replace me instead? I'm worried for Dev, and I think you're the best next babysitter for him! The pay is good! I'll talk to Dale—"

"Why? Are you saying you'll leave us? I mean, Dev?" Peri furrowed his eyebrows.

You frowned. Maybe you should have told him after babysitting. Peri's more upset than you thought. "I'm trying to explore all the work options right now. My aunt offered me a job as a barista, and.. well, I do like making drinks."

Peri doesn't understand. Why are you so quick to move on from Dev? He rejected a dentist job from the tooth fairy just so he could be a godparent to him!

"I can't replace you," he deadpanned. "It has to be you. I thought you said you cared about Dev?"

"I do!" you said, growing a little upset. "But I can't be in this job forever, you know?"

A small pause.

You placed a hand on Peri's shoulder, offering him a gentle expression. "I'll be honest, Peri, I'm not sure why you're so upset, but I can always just visit you guys."

To your surprise, Peri pulled you into a tight hug. He buried his face in your neck. You're used to him being touchy, so you let it happen.

"Really?" he mumbled.

"Of course. I promise it."

Liar.

[kaledya]

HOWDY!!🌟🌟 I haven't been active on Tumblr for a long time, to be honest I haven't been active on any platform until recently.

I think it would be right to make a small update and let my followers know what's on my mind.

(And a little note, I am writing this article from a translation. If there is a mistake in any sentence or if it sounds rude, I sincerely apologize.)

First of all, I would like to talk about why I am  less active than before.

I don't want to go into too much detail about it, so I'll keep it short, and it'll be easier for you too!

I have a disease that worsens with stress, and I can say that this disease has leveled up because I have been stressed a lot lately due to some events.Now, for no reason or if I put too much pressure on that arm area my joints and arm start to ache. This means I can't draw for 2-3 days.In general, it means that I try not to use my arm too much.

But don't worry, thanks to my doctor I'm getting better quickly and I don't have as much ache anymore, much less! Almost gone now!!🌟🌟🌟🎉

And besides these, I was trying to get accepted to the university, but I learned that my drawing skills were not enough for the animation university!( I knew this actually, my anatomy is really bad but I wanted to try my luck) It's a little sad, but I'm not discouraged!🫡

 (I think my only regret was that my arm started to hurt in the middle of the exam after I had come such a long way. Why on earth would anyone make two one and a half hour art exams back to back??) Show some mercy to the students!!)😭😭

༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

I just need to focus on more art skills  and I will do that!! From now on, I will focus only on improving myself and my arts! YIPPE!!

About  HH SS AU or My's OC development

It saddens me to say this, but even though I've been drawing in the HazbinHotel fandom for months, I've lost my inspiration at the moment.I probably won't be able to share any content about HazbinHotel until I regain my inspiration because I can't think of an idea or get excited about series anymore.But of course this is a temporary thing, my fandom had faded before but then it blossomed again!!

This is valid for SSAU as well, I don't have any inspiration to develop AU or draw for AU right now. 

And thank you very much to my followers who have liked and supported my HazbinHotel content so far!!!

Same goes for my OCs, I'm putting my OCs like Constantine and Serenity and the archangels on the shelf for now.Of course I will use them again in the future when I get inspired about them again, I love my babies!

About SSAU inspired fanfics Thank you again for loving this AU and for being inspired to write your own fanfic!!!

It makes me really happy to see you having fun And it makes me proud to see that I inspire people!! 

But from now on I don't prefer to use my HH OCs to write Fanfics,There are a few reasons for this but the main one is that I can't give you much feedback anymore and I wanted you to know that and I really don't want to upset or disappoint anyone when it comes to feedback.

Of course the fics about SSAU that have been written so far can continue, I have no problems with them, have fun!! I just want you to know I won't be able to give feedback  to you, or it will take a long time 

 This is of course temporary, I will let you know when I return to this fandom or change my mind about this!!

Some people ask about YouTube, I don't plan on posting any content on YouTube anytime soon.

Thank you in advance for respecting my opinions!

In short, yes, these are what I was going to say. It can be said that I have switched to the Gravity Falls fandom at the moment and I am sort of making my childhood dream come true by giving fanart to this fandom.And this is something that makes me very happy. 

Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!

[baby-tini]

What kind of doms are all mikey timelines?

TW- Abuse in Kanto!Mikeys part.

I am not the most knowledgeable when it comes to the BDSM community, so if there is any misinformation or harmful content please let me know, so that I can fix it.

Toman!Mikey- Daddy Dom. He's both strict and playful, the perfect balance of a dom. He's also very heavy on aftercare and he makes sure that you're well taken care of, even if he's horribly tired. Because, he prioritizes you above everything and anyone else. He definitely feels like the type too let you just play with his hair as he sits in meetings with his legs spread as he barley listens to his, already, anxious lackeys that are trying so hard too not fuck up and receive a round in their skull, especially in front of you. While he does have rules with the high expectations that you follow them to a T, you usually have a lot of freedom and can do as you please, as longs you're not getting into trouble, because depending on what you did, the punishment will not be too nice for you... or your ass.

Manila!Mikey- Brat Taming Dom. I've stated this already here, but I'll happily dive into it a bit more. Manila!Mikey gets a sick kick out of your disobedience, it's not the act in it's self, but more of what it always leads to, which is punishment. He'll let you do as you please, just watching you as he sits on the couch as you stomp your foot on the floor, with a loud whine for whatever it is that you're wanting in that very moment. His face blank as his eyes stay locked on you before his arm lurches forward and he has your shirt in a tight grip as you quickly stumble forward into his lap before he puts you on the floor, on your knees, looking up at him as he pulls your head back, his hand tugging at the roots. His other hand squeezed tightly around your jaw as he tilts his head to the side. The look in his obsidian eyes empty as he stares you down, your lips sealed as you hold your breath, your eyes deer-wide as you wait for him too do something.

Kanto!Mikey- Sadistic Dom. Now, it's no big surprise that this version of Mikey is mean and harsh, he makes it very obvious that he is too be respected and never questioned and that's what you do. Because you know Kanto!Mikey can fly off the handle within seconds, being a relationship is like walking on eggshells and you have too be very cautious with every question you ask and everything you do because it's heavily monitored by him or his lackeys. He thrives off the fearful look in your eyes, because that's what his whole gang is gang is based on, the fear of Mikey and he knows that. Fear is still respect at the end of the day, and as soon as you see him walking to you, his composure calm but you know that it's the farthest thing from good and the consequences will be dire as you feel his hand grab you up by your hair and drag you away, some of the strands being tugged out.

Bonten!Mikey- Hard Dom. I think this version of Mikey would thrive in a dynamic like this, simply because control is a very big thing for Mikey and he expects complete obedience and he's not too happy when you display behaviors that are against that, in any way really. While you know he's in control, he also enacts this control in less obvious ways as well, such as, choosing your clothes, deciding how you get your nails done and even how you style your hair that day. Your days are very scheduled, not fully packed, he does let you have some down time and relax, he's not always hounding over you, you have time for your own activities, but he does control a large part of your day. He, just like Kanto!Mikey and Toman!Mikey, has rules for you, but his rules are more day-to-day based instead of in general, especially with how all over the place his schedule can be, so he just accommodates your rules for that day based on himself.

Street Racer!Mikey- Pleasure Dom. He is very giving and fully focuses on satisfying you before he even lets you think about touching him. The foreplay with him is long and welcoming as he drawls out your pleasure and makes you cum for him over and over again, leaving your head all cloudy as he has youm laid on your back and spread for him, but it's not an uncomfortable vulnerability with him, it's very welcoming. He makes you want too be vulnerable with him because it's a scarce kind of trust that people rarely feel, but with Mikey, it's so easy too let him do everything for you, for you too let him make you feel good because he always makes it worth every second of it. He's so intuned with you during these intimate moments as well, always checking with you, not for every little thing because he knows the tiniest of twitches in your muscles when you need a break or are, quite often, insatiable. He makes sure that he pays close attention, but he does expect you too verbalize what you want or need, sometimes too be a tease but more often, your verbal reassurance.

[fallingdownhell]

haii may i request the sumeru men with a people pleaser so?

Love this! As a people pleaser myself, I know how hard this can be. Still, hope I did a decent job with this.

Characters Included: Tighnari; Cyno; Kaveh; Alhaitham; Wanderer

Content: gender neutral reader; established relationship; some comfort and fluff

Word count: 2k words

Have fun with this<3

Tighnari

he understands you want to help people

he really does... but when it comes at the cost of your own health and well being, that's where he draws a line

Tighnari watches you as you go around doing anything people ask of you, always a smile on your lips

but he sees behind that smile, sees the tired expression you so desperately try to hide

He knows you want to make people happy.. but there's got to be a line. Sometimes, one has to prioritize themselves

But when you remain unwilling to stand up for yourself, he steps in to take over for you. Enough is enough!

When he sees you taking on the work of someone else yet again, he decides to step in

He takes you away from the situation, making up some excuse about needing your help with something before he drags you to his hut by your hand

You protest against him at first, but when he didn't budge at all, you knew to just accept your fate. After all, Tighnari can be quite stubborn if he wants to be..

As you arrive, he instructs you to sit down on the bed, which you oblige to while he goes and makes you a quick snack, since he noticed you haven't really eaten anything all day. You had even skipped his top tier breakfast..

He literally watches you like a hawk, making sure that you eat at least half of the food he made before he tells you to lie down and relax

You try and protest again, but he's firm in his resolve

With a sigh, you comply. And as soon as your head hits the pillow, you notice just how exhausted and drained you truly feel..

Tighnari looks at you with an expression akin to "I knew it". He lied down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he just held you like this..

"You don't always have to make everyone around you happy. You need to think about yourself and your own well being from time to time as well. You need breaks, just like everyone else needs them. Rest for now, my flower. I'll watch over you.."

Cyno

Cyno's an interesting case...

He wouldn't notice that behaviour in you at all at first. And once he does, he admires it first and foremost..

People were always afraid of him... they were when he was younger still.. and they are now, thanks to his status as General Mahamatra..

He finds it fascinating that people come to you to ask for your help constantly.. he can't even imagine what that would be like for him.. there would definitely be some underlying jealousy from him at the start

But.. overtime.. as the people ask more and more of you and you growing more and more stressed and tired trying to do all of them justice, did he finally see the downside to that kind of life..

Especially when it's affecting such a kindhearted soul like you, who can never turn anyone down for anything

after reaching that point, he starts to keep an eye out for you, making sure that you're not overworking yourself too much. But he wouldn't step in just yet, believing that you'd know your limits yourself

So, he just watches, as people come running to you again and again, asking you to fulfill simple tasks for them that they could have easily done themselves

it's not until much later does he realize that these people are only exploiting you and your kindness. To be fair, he only knows the extreme examples of such behaviour, so he didn't immediately recognise it with such "small" acts

but as time goes on, as he sees just how tired and exhausted you get, he starts to get worried himself

he's constantly asking himself why you wouldn't just turn those people down. He really doesn't understand it

But what he does understand is that you need a break. Urgently.

so without waiting any further, he goes into action. Cyno knows your usual schedule like the back of his hand so he knows that he has some time on hand

he goes to the market and buys all the ingredients for your favourite meal, which he promptly cooks you for dinner. After you've come home and eaten the food, he insists you take a nice, relaxing bath

after that, he gives you a nice and long massage, relaxing all your muscles perfectly. And once that is over, he cuddles you for the rest of the night until you both fall asleep

He's seen how hard you were working these last few days, so he wants you to know that he appreciates you and that he wants to help you unwind from time to time

"I've seen how these people treat you... you and the kindness you show them. Remember that it's okay to say No to them every now and then. You don't and can't always be responsible for everyone. You need to look out for yourself more. But for now, relax, my Lotus. Relax and let me take care of you for tonight."

Alhaitham

At some point, you became the unofficial librarian of the house of Daena

Not because you wanted to or applied for the job.. you just spent a lot of time in the library so you know where most of the books are. And people come to you when they need help with literally anything, because you never refuse to help anyone

At first you were happy to be able to help out a few struggling students, glad you were able to guide them in the right direction

But soon, word spread around and people came flooding you every tile they spotted you within the house of Daena

What was once a nice interaction and an exchange of information soon became an overwhelming amount of people bombarding you with questions

And even though it became too much for you very quickly, you didn't have the heart, not the opportunity, to turn them down

Much to the displeasure of someone else, as well

Though your boyfriend loved the House of Daena and to spend time with you here, he didn't appreciate people flooding you like that, taking time away he would usually spend with you and just being generally very loud

And since he knew you would never turn anyone down, he had to do it for you. He did not care what people thought or said about him, his reputation already being not the best. But what's it to him?

And today especially.. people were just so damn pushy and demanding towards you. It didn't sit right with him..

He watched you for a bit as two students were heavily debating something with you, raising their voices slightly. He noticed you growing uncomfortable in the situation yet still not saying anything

Deciding that he had to step in at this point, he walked over to you and simply took your hand, pulling you along with him without uttering a word

The two students were yelling after you, but he didn't pay them any mind. You weren't protesting at all, simply following him along, because you already knew why he did that

After he turned a quiet corner within the Academiya, he turned around and pulled you into his arms, engulfing you in a comforting hug

"I told you so many times.. you need to learn how to turn people down. They'll walk all over you otherwise. Please don't take this the wrong way, I'm just concerned about you. ...How are you? Feeling better?"

Kaveh

Oh boy...

this is quite the difficult situation, because Kaveh is such a big people pleaser himself

You two are constantly looking out for the other, reminding them to take breaks and to take things easy

you are both great at giving actual good, helpful advise. But when it comes to following them yourselves.. both you and Kaveh need to hone that skill much more

you constantly keep an eye out for him, as he does for you. Kaveh knows the telltale signs when you get exhausted and he always tries to gently remove you from the situation to get you to lie down when he sees them... which works for the most part

but he's often away on trips for his work, so he's not constantly around you to keep you safe from your own self destructive behaviour

when that happens and he returns from a trip a few days later, he finds you utterly exhausted and tired, about to collapse while standing up

he quite literally forces you to sit down or lie down while he makes you some simple food, mostly soups and such

and every time, you promise each other to look out better and to take better care of yourselves... only for that promise to be broken a few days later, letting the cycle begin anew.

Kaveh knows that things can't keep on going like this, something has to change. Something has to change, right now!

So he sits you down for an honest talk where he plays with open cards, sharing all his doubts and worries with you

It's an emotional talk, many tears from both you and him flow, but in the end, you both agree that you can't keep going like this, unless you want to destroy yourself completely

it will take a lot of time and effort, but you're sure that you can do this. You can do anything with Kaveh and his support by your side to help you back on your feet when the world tries to push you down again

"I know how hard it is.. you want to he helpful, you feel like that's the only way you can accomplish something in this world. But overworking yourself is not the right way to do this. Listen to me and listen to yourself. You are also important. So please, start treating yourself that way."

Wanderer

Hates it. Absolutely hates it

But not for the reason you might think

well... At first, at least

you see.... his issue in the beginning is how much time it takes away from your shared time together

every time you're out with him, even just for a walk, people come up to you, either engaging in conversation or asking favours of you

at the start, he only scoffs and shoots nasty looks at those people, but he does not interrupt, since he doesn't want to come of as rude to possible friends of yours

but he's still annoyed beyond anything that your attention is taken away from him

after he gets over the inital feelings of annoyance and anger, he begins to notice a pattern every time people approach you with a request in mind

he begins to notice your little hesitance before accepting the request, notices how your shoulders slump just slightly after they walk away without even giving you proper thanks

so, he decides to observe further... and boy, does he not like what he sees

because the longer he watches this unfold, the more rage he feels building up inside him

why were those pesky humans always coming to you for such trivial things? And why aren't you turning them down? In fact, he hasn't seen you turn down a single person so far..

of course, as he keeps on observing you, he notices you growing more and more tired the longer this keeps going

until one day, he just has enough

it happened when you two were out for a nice stroll in the evening and someone was approaching you yet again

something in him just snapped when he saw that familiar expression in their face

he quite rudely and loudly just stated a firm "NO!", taking your hand in his and just pulling you along with him

you did not protest against this, partly because you were surprised and a bit shocked by his strong reaction

he took you out of the city, to an open field where he sat down with you, watching the stars up in the sky

he kept quiet for a long while, and you also kept quiet, not knowing how to best tackle this situation

but as it turns out, you didn't have to do that at all

"Idiot... going around and letting yourself get expoited like that. What would you do if I weren't here to look out for you, huh? Just... be more careful. You don't always have to agree to anything, you can just say No to them. It's not that hard... But if you can't do that.. let me know. I'll do it for you."

[ellieputellas]

give me a minute | part two of "if you’d have stuck around"

give me a minute, kiss me again, i'll say goodbye to cloudy blue skies i'd trade all i've got in my name for you instead of this pain — "give me a minute" by lizzy mcalpine

part one | part two | part three

🏷️: @simp4panos @moonystoes

The video went live, and it racked up views within hours. Comments poured in, with fans loving the new content and even new people from your own follower base growing interested in the content. You hadn’t expected it to take off so quickly, but the sudden popularity of the video felt satisfying. 

Soon, the video was the most viewed on your company's Youtube and TikTok. You wondered why it must have blown up; it felt like such generic fluff but a lot of people seemed to like it. 

The popularity of the video led to talks in your office of pursuing more sports content. You usually did pieces with celebrities, actors, influencers but maybe expanding to somewhat newer territories would be a great way to compete with other media companies.

Aside from discussing the popularity of the video, a bunch of your younger colleagues were smitten by Elisa. The effortless and nonchalant French vibe seemed to be all the rage with your officemates, much to your annoyance.

You were getting asked left and right about her by your younger co-workers. You tried not to seem annoyed as to not raise suspicion but frankly you were over it. You kinda liked it better when all the baby gays in your office were preoccupied with Emma D'arcy or Paige Bueckers. Hell, you preferred that shortlived era when everyone crushed on your girlfriend after she got a haircut. 

But no, instead, all anyone could talk was Elisa. Even your work friends groupchat was flooded with Tiktok links to edits of your ex-girlfriend. 

God, if you're real, you'd give us a new cute gay intern for these girls to focus on instead. You wished for it on more than one occasion over the past few days.

You were working on a new pitch when the bubbly intern Daisy peered over your cubicle with a cheeky grin on her face. "Y/N..." She said, extending your name in a cutesy manner. 

"Yes, Daisy?" You smiled but gave a cautious eyebrow raise at the younger girl. She had been one of the new staunch Elisa fanatics in your office, even trying to convince Casey to ask her dad to take everyone in the office to go watch the PSG friendlies match tomorrow. "This better be important."

She giggled and blushed. "You have a guest at the lobby."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Is it a delivery?" You paused, thinking that it might be the magazine archives you requested for another thing you were working on. "You can just sign for that, y'know?"

She chuckled again. "No, no, I can't sign for it." She said before making a gesture for you to just come along.

You sighed and stood from your cubicle before following the intern. When you arrived at the lobby, you were met with the sight of the last person you wanted to see. 

"I told you I couldn't sign for it." Daisy commented.

"Oh," I said. 

Elisa stood up from the chairs in your office lobby. She gave you a weak smile before greeting you. "Hey."

You looked at her, clad in her team hoodie and joggers. She had a paper bag with her which you made notice of. You turned to Daisy who was basically as red as a tomato. You sighed.

You stepped towards Elisa. "Uh, what are you doing here?" You said in a hushed voice.

She blinked. She looked a tad nervous and awkward but you figured it might have been because Daisy had been very obviously gawking behind me.  

"I—I know this might be unexpected, but I wanted to drop by and thank you for the interview," she said, extending the gift. "The team…loved it."

You thanked her curtly, hesitantly getting the gift from her. "Do you... wanna talk somewhere more private? In the conference room, maybe?" You asked.

She nodded. You led the way inside your office. Elisa gave a friendly greeting to the intern who looked like she was going to burst in just a moment. You finally made your way to one of the vacant meeting rooms.

You shut the door behind you and the privacy curtains, knowing fully well that your co-workers would very indiscreetly pass multiple times just  to catch a glance of the new office crush.

You two stood awkwardly before you finally gestured for her to sit. She paused before sitting on the chair adjacent to you. 

You glanced down at the paper bag, only catching a glance of what looked like a jersey. "Elisa... why are you here?" It sounded more exasperated and hostile than you intended.

"I already told you." She answered, defensively. "The team's social media engagement blew up after the video and now all the tickets to our friendlies are sold out. The team just wanted to thank you."

You sighed. "I don't think I can take credit for that. Someone else conceptualized that video." You responded, shaking your head. "Besides, why just me? Gina took care of the production. Hell, Casey did even more than I did. All I did was read out a script written by some other person."

Elisa furrowed her eyebrows together, looking confused. "I don't know, okay? You were the one they remembered so you're the one being thanked. Is that so bad?" Her voice raised with annoyance. "God, can't you just say thanks."

You took a deep breath. Suddenly, you were teleported back to the time that you were always arguing like this — raised voices, misunderstanding, hostile tones.

"I'm sorry, I just thought you'd appreciate it." Her voice was more calm.

You nodded. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Thank your teammates for thinking about me." You responded, just wanting to avoid another argument. "What is it anyway?"

Elisa shrugged and her facial expression softened. "Why don't you look?" Her tone had a slight amusement to it. You looked at her and she had a small smile. "I thought of what to get you. Jackie wanted to get you flowers but uh, I think... I know you well enough and you might want this more."

You ignored what she had just said, not wanting to read into it. You lifted up the jersey. It was the Paris Saint-Germain away kit. You hummed. "Thanks?"

She chuckled at your reaction. "Turn it around." She rolled her eyes playfully. "You're so quick to react negatively."

Your eyes widened as you turned it around with your last name on the back and your old number from when you used to play — a five. A wave of nostalgia hit you.

"What?" Your voice was soft as you blinked at the sight of it.

Elisa scooted closer to you. "I had our staff get it done this morning and uh... I know that five is my number now," She started. "But it was yours before it was mine."

She put a careful hand on your knee. "I'm just giving it back to you... if you'd want it." 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at the list of the new numbers assigned to each player at your summer camp. "Huh, why am I not five anymore?" You asked yourself in English. "Because I'm five now." A voice behind you said. You turned around to see a taller brunette girl with short hair, wearing a baggy jersey. "You got a new number because five is mine." You scoffed at the girl with a strong French accent. "I was here since last summer? I should have first dibs." You argued, thinking it must have been a mistake. She stepped closer to you, intimidating you with her height. "Well, obviously, I'm a better player so coach gave me first dibs." She smirked. "But I'll give it back to you under one condition."

"What?" You spat out. The smirk grew on the girl's face. "Date me." "No chance."  "Tough luck," She chuckled. "Guess you're stuck with... fifteen? What a shit number."

“Huh.” You murmured, remembering the memory. "Took you long enough to give it back to me."

"Yeah, yeah, to be fair, I wanted to give it back to you when we uh... started dating." She chuckled awkwardly. "But uh, you were done with football then so I might as well keep it."

You couldn't pinpoint what you were feeling at that moment. It was overwhelming — the memories, her proximity to you, her intoxicating scent filling the room, her hand on your knee.

She must have noticed that you were frozen in thought again. She took her hand away from you. "I see you like to overthink still." She joked.

You feigned a chuckle as you put the jersey on your lap, feeling the fabric with your fingers awkwardly.

Elisa, who’d been watching your reaction, cleared her throat. “There’s, uh… something else from me too,” she added, a little nervous. "In the bottom of the bag."

You just looked at her. She gave you a small smile before taking the paper bag from the table and sticking her hand in. She reached into something small — small enough to fit in her palm without you seeing what it was. 

Elisa pulled out a small, battered keychain — a football charm with a lucky four leaf clover on it. The steel was scuffed and dirty but it looked almost like it did years ago.

"Just another thing I want to give back to you," Elisa said. She dangled it in front for you to take. You stuck your hand out and let her place it gently on your palm. Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Elisa," You called out to the French girl after a winning scrimmage. You had scored a goal in that game and were an essential part of the defense line.  On the other hand, Elisa was subbed off early in the game after making a few crucial mistakes. It left her pissed off and moody so much so that even when your team won, she didn't bother to huddle with your team and celebrate. "You fucking bad sport," You commented before giving her a punch on the shoulder. "You think you could just bail without congratulating me for being the player of the match?" She didn't seem amused by your teasing. "Cool it, fifteen. It was a scrimmage." She warned, using the nickname she gave you. "Besides, I'm not in the mood." Your rolled your eyes at her immaturity. "Are you seriously not happy for me, huh?" She took a deep breath. Her eyes which had been previously dodging your gaze finally met yours.  "Fine, you did really well." She acquiesced. "I'm just jealous actually. I didn't have my head in the game, you know? Not even for the past few marches. But you're doing... really good. I loved watching you play. You're getting even better than I am." She pinched your cheek playfully and you swatted her arm away with a chuckle. You hummed as you batted your eyelashes at her. "You really have a crush on me, De Almeida." Her smile grew. "I used to... but not after I learned how cocky and arrogant you are."  You rolled your eyes. "Y'know what, I think I played really good cause of what I got at the supermarket this morning." You chuckled before swinging your backpack to your front, struggling to unhook the football keychain you got. "They had some promotional event where you could win a trip to Barcelona, a signed jersey, an umbrella, all that. But, I won this. The cashier said it was a lucky charm." You showed her the steel keychain. "It's not a weekend off to Spain but hey, it really must be lucky." You chuckled. You looked at Elisa and noticed that she had a soft gaze fixed on you with a slight smile. Her brown eyes seemed even lighter as she looked at you. You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?" She rolled her eyes. "You're such a gullible idiot." She teased as she touched your keychain. "This is just a corny keychain from the supermarket." You playfully pushed her again, making her laugh. She bit her lip, still looking amused at you. "Don't be mean." You told her off. "But if you feel that way, then so be it. I was supposed to give it to you but since you're such an ass..." Her eyes widened in instant regret. "No, no, I want it." She reached for the keychain but you swung your arm behind you so she wouldn't catch it. She grappled with you for the keychain, desperately trying to get it from you. In the process, her hand found its way to the small of your back, holding you in place to prevent you from further squirming. You paused and felt shocked at the sudden touch and proximity, causing you to lose focus on keeping the keychain away from Elisa. "Aha!" She exclaimed as she grabbed the keychain from you. "Now, I'm the lucky one." You sighed. "Okay, fine, you need it more anyway." You teased, under your breath. You expected a retort from the French girl but instead, you two fell silent and Elisa still had her hand on your back. You looked up at the girl. "What?" Her brown eyes were soft and they flickered from your eyes to your lips. "Don't worry, fifteen." She said in a hushed voice. "I'll trade you something for it." "It better be worth it cause that keychain is priceless." You said teasingly. "I hope you think it is," She said nervously before slowly leaning into you. You could see her hesitating, pausing a bit to gauge your reaction. You stayed steady and fluttered your eyes close as she finally closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

Your fingers stilled as you stared at it. You were at a disbelief as to why Elisa even kept such a cheap keychain. You touched the chain part, noticing that it was noticeably newer and made of a different metal. 

Elisa must have noticed. "I had to get the chain changed at a jeweler this morning." She clarified. "It's gotten pretty flimsy over the years and it broke before I came here."

You stayed silent. She tried to lighten the mood by telling you how it broke. "It's funny actually... Before I came here, my car had some issues so I naturally had to take the taxi and my driver was so, so talkative. I really didn't care until he started talking about football."

"He started talking shit about the PSG men's team, which I found funny." She chuckled, pausing to look at you for a reaction. "Anyway, when he dropped me off at the airport and helped with my bags, he noticed I was wearing a PSG jacket and my bag tag had the PSG logo."

You looked at her, waiting for her to finish her story. "So, he carefully asks me if I was a fan, looking regretful at what he said and I said 'non... je suis l'un des joueurs.'" (No, I'm one of the players.)

You gave her a soft chuckle. She was beaming as she continued the story. "I just watched him look like this," She paused to make a shocked face with her jaw open and eyes wide. "And then he said... 'désolé, monsieur, je n'aurais pas deviné... je pensais que vous étiez une fille.'" (Sorry, sir. I thought you were a girl.)

You shook your head and chuckled. "So he thought you were part of the men's team."

She nodded, looking amused. "Yeah, supposedly." She sighed. "But anyway, as he was driving away, I noticed that the football charm on the keychain was gone. It was just the round part and the flimsy chain. So, I panicked."

"I feel like it was such a dumbass move to do in the airport but I left my luggage there at the drop-off to chase after the taxi," She said with a big smile on her face, recalling the incident. "It was like I was in a TV show running after a taxi and shouting but anyway, after probably four minutes of sprinting, I caught up to the taxi and rummaged the backseat and found the keychain lodged somewhere between the cushions."

She shook her head at the memory. "I thanked the taxi man and he looked incredibly annoyed, making him stop in the middle of a busy road. He started calling me crazy and he pointed at me and shouted 'Tu n'es pas PSG; tu es une fille!'" (You are not PSG; you are a girl!)

She laughed at her own story and you gave a weak smile. You started piecing her story together, recalling the shoot you had the other day with the other PSG girls. "So... you were late to the airport?" You clarified.

She nodded. "Yeah, my manager got so pissed at me for it too."

You exhaled, pausing for a moment. "I thought it was because you left your passport." You looked up at her.

Elisa realized her slip-up and shrugged. "I couldn't tell them I was late because I chased after a taxi over a keychain." 

Suddenly, you two fell silent again. You looked at the scuffed keychain once more. It was so worn down and dated. You couldn't understand why Elisa would keep it after all of these years. 

"When I gave you this keychain, you called me a gullible idiot for thinking it was a lucky charm." You recalled and gave a small chuckle. "Yet you kept it..."

Elisa ran a hand through her hair, realizing she had revealed more than she wanted to. "Well, I had it in my first game with PSG and we won. The times I forgot it at home, we lost miserably. I don't know. It's silly but yeah... I kept it."

You hummed and nodded. "You do know I didn't actually believe it was lucky back then..." You clarified. "I only said it to make you feel better about being benched."

She nodded. "I know." She sighed. "But the lucky aspect.... it's not the only reason why I kept it."

Again, there awkward and heavy energy filled the air. You ran your thumb through the metal, feeling the texture of the keychain against your  finger. You didn't know what to say. You didn't even know what to think. 

You knew what Elisa was trying to say but it was hard for you to make sense of it. She never made an effort to contact you after you broke up. You two haven't seen each other in years... yet here she was practically digging up the bones of your relationship which you have worked so hard to bury. 

Elisa was the first to break the tension. She put her hand over yours, gently running her thumb against your skin in the same way you were touching the keychain just now. You avoided looking at her but you could tell thay her brown eyes were fixed on you.

"I'm sorry..." She started with an almost undetectable shake in her voice. "I'm sorry I never reached out to you. I'm sorry that I'm bringing it all up now. And, I'm sorry... for what happened to us."

Your gaze stayed fixed on the table, afraid of what might transpire if you had looked at her face.

"I just..." She paused. "Je pense à toi tout le temps....et je regrette tout." (I think about you a lot still... and I regret everything.)

Your heart was beating fast and you've grown increasingly emotional. You just didn't know which emotions were there as they had tangled with each other inside of you. Elisa was still brushing her thumb against your hand and it felt like too much at the moment. It felt... wrong.

"It's been five years," You didn't know why you said it. You felt like the words just slipped right out of your mouth.

Elisa nodded. "Yeah, I shouldn't have let it take this long." She muttered under her breath. "I just had no way of telling if there'd be another chance for us and every day that passed just made it feel more and more impossible... but then I saw you. It just felt like a sign, you know."

You finally had it in you to look up at her. You nearly gave in when you saw her with her beautiful face and those warm eyes on you. But you shook your head. 

"You don't know me anymore," You said softly, trying to keep composure. "And, I don't know you."

Elisa sighed deeply but you could tell she understood what you meant. You were no longer young, in college, and sharing a small dorm with tiny, pushed-together single beds.

She was a full-blown football superstar and you were this writer with an established life here. Sure, a lot of your tiny quirks and habits stayed the same but you could just tell that time has changed you two so much.

"I know, and it's better now." She said, leaving you confused. "We got what we always wanted in our lives and now, we can... give us a chance."

You let our a sarcastic chuckle. 

"It sounds corny, I know." She rolled her eyes at her own statement. "But I mean it... why else would we have met again this way?"

Silence befell the two of you for the nth time. It just was too much for you to process quickly. You were suddenly forced back into the same situation you were years ago.

"Elisa... where do you see yourself in five years?" You repeated the same question you asked exactly five years ago. The very question you asked that caused you two to fall apart.

You looked up and her face just fell. It was her turn to be speechless. You let out another dry chuckle as you quickly wiped off your moist eyes. 

"Five years ago, you said you'd be in a major club and playing the Olympics and travelling the world." You reminded her. "And you got everything you asked for."

You paused and cleared your throat to avoid your voice from cracking. "I wasn't part of your dreams five years ago..." You nodded. "And for the past five years, I worked on accepting that."

She looked at you with pleading eyes but she stayed silent. You sighed shakily. "You don't get to undo the past five years just like that."

A part of you felt broken; you felt like you were still that same girl five years ago crying over never being a priority to her girlfriend. If past you knew about what you chose to say now, she'd be ripping her hair out.

Surely, you'd prefer it, right? Your dream job with your dream girl who also achieved all her dreams. A chance to be together and still have it all. It seemed like the ideal scenario.

But it wasn't that simple.

You made peace with your break-up. You built this life that you had now brick-by-brick. Sure, you got a bit lucky with getting a girlfriend who was basically a media nepo baby. But you still worked your ass off to get everything you wanted. There was still so much more for you to do... and you just knew you couldn't do that if you were with Elisa.

"What am I supposed to do, Elisa?" You asked. "Quit my job? Leave my girlfriend? Abandon my life, my friends, my family and go back to Paris so I can be your football WAG?"

She looked annoyed. "I'm not asking you to do all that. I just... want another chance, okay?" 

"Did you even think this through? What would you do if I agreed to give you a chance?" Your voice started to get louder. "I'll just go end things with my girlfriend — whose dad, by the way, is my boss — and just date you? What if you realized I'm not the same as I was before? Then, I would have lost everything while you still get to keep being PSG's star defender, Elisa de Almeida."

Elisa grew frustrated but you knew her words were making sense to her. "I didn't think it would be so offensive to tell you that I still care about you after all these years." She raised her voice. "You're acting like I'm wrong because I still love you."

You were shocked but you tried not to show that you were taken aback by her declaration. Elisa sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "There... I still love you." She repeated it. "I just wanted to remind you that a long time ago, you loved me too."

You looked at the keychain and the jersey and felt your heart twist in pain. Part of you loved hearing Elisa say that she still loved you after all these years but the logical, more mature side of you knew that she was being selfish, naive, and immature. She may have changed a lot career-wise but she was still the same selfish and immature Elisa she was five years ago.

You took a deep sigh, feeling a bit shaken up. You avoided looking at Elisa. "I think you should leave."

Elisa said your name and tried to reach out to you to touch your hand again but you shook your head. "Please just leave."

Elisa paused. From your peripheral vision, you could see her contemplating. You knew that as much as she wanted to stay and convince you, she had a game in San Diego to attend to.

For a second, you thought she'd ditch the game — some desperate attempt to beg for you back. If that happened, you wondered if you would have given her a chance. After all, that would have shown you that she was finally prioritizing your relationship (or in this case, a shot at a relationship again) — something she never did when you were together. You were certain that you wouldn't have given in that easily... but deep inside, you knew it would have changed a lot of things. 

But you weren't given that dilemma. 

Elisa stood up. She paused to take a breath before leaving you in that meeting room alone. You didn't bother to lift your head when she left. You just let your head hang low and let the tears fall.

a/n: i didn't proofread so pls lmk if there are any mistakes! i write pretty quick but the last chapter might take longer! hopefully, i can finish by this weekend hehe lmk if u wanna be added to tags

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. 

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach. 

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!" 

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP! 

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same. 

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be. 

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy. 

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of. 

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can. 

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor. 

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard. 

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek. 

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early," 

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness. 

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes. 

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen. 

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase. 

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims: 

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip. 

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans. 

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too. 

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side. 

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple. 

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways. 

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open. 

"Which one of you is Arlong?" 

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear. 

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?" 

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him. 

Maim him. 

Crush him until his bones break. 

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh. 

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here. 

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light. 

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands. 

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there. 

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with. 

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious. 

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy … 

His head is on top of the kitchen table. 

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[madschiavelique]

HSUDHDBD!!! I love your work sm and I really enjoy reading it 😭😭 (tears of joy) they're literally works of art and honestly I hope that someday that I'll be better at writing than how I am now :' also a lil request i have in mind is a lil Miguel x Reader sort of thing like,, aftercare after a night of some rough seggs?? That or just taking care of said Reader when they're in any sort of pain (ex; period cramps, dealing with trauma, etc)

OMG THANK U SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAAA AND YES THIS YES

i chose to write on miguel taking care of reader when they're on their periods (because i am, endometriosis is hitting hard af DFQZRESG)

summary : Miguel takes care of you when you're on your periods

content warnings : mentions of menstrual blood (reader is on their periods), other than that it's absolute fluff - so sweet you'll get cavities after reading this, afab reader, no use of Y/N word count : 2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

status of my requests according to the date of this post : CLOSED (asks are open though)

Fuck.

You'd woken up in the middle of the night with a terrible tummy ache, a hot, heavy pain felt in your lower abdomen accompanied by an intense hot flush that took over your whole body unpleasantly. You had a good suspicion of what it was, so you got up, trying not to make too much noise, although every movement seemed to give you incredible pain, making you whimper.

Miguel groaned in his sleep as you stood up, bent over as your belly and the low of your back ached excruciatingly. You made your way to the bathroom, which fortunately wasn't too far from your bedroom, each step making you feel as if your thighs were about to separate from your pelvis.

You pulled down your panties, a dark stain soaking the fabric. You sat down, taking the opportunity to really go to the bathroom, and when you wiped, the vibrant carmine color covered the paper.

Fuck. Shit. Son of a bitch.

You had your period, and it was never pleasant. You knew they'd be coming soon, it had been at least three days if not more since you'd started to feel cramps in your lower abdomen and pain in your breasts, the only surprise you had left was when they'd arrive.

And they'd chosen the delightful moment of the middle of the night to wake you up, how thoughtful of them, how generous. You sighed, your panties were full of blood, you had to get yourself another pair, which meant coming back into the room and trying not to make too much noise for Miguel.

You stood up, putting your knickers in the laundry, unable to find the strength to clean them now. You opened Miguel's cabinet, but found no painkillers... You'd forgotten to stock up on painkillers for your period. An umpteenth sigh of desolation took hold of you as you came to pinch the bridge of your nose.

You closed the cabinet door and turned to see Miguel, which surprised you a little. His eyebrows were furrowed, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled.

"Something's wrong?"

It had only been two weeks since you'd moved into Miguel's quarters, and before that you'd avoided seeing him when that time of the month came around for you. The smell of your body and what it was expelling must have alerted him to your condition. You inhaled, rubbing your eyes as your belly suddenly clenched and you had to sit back down on the toilet.

Miguel immediately knelt down in front of you as the cramps made you bend double until your forehead touched your knees, completely distraught by your condition.

"Nena, what's going on?" he asked, stroking your back with one hand and your leg with the other. "Please tell me."

You breathed in, trying to articulate as the pain brought you to tears.

"I'm on my periods," you managed to say through clenched teeth.

He said nothing, and you wiped your eyes as you looked down at your knees.

"I'm so sorry I woke you up," you said, trembling as you tried to breathe properly, the wave of cramp easing slightly.

"Hey," he says, taking your chin between his fingers, bringing your eyes to his worried ones, "don't apologize. Just tell me what you need me to do right now."

You looked up at him, eyes moist.

"I need another pair of panties, a pad... I put some here in the closet," you said, pointing to said closet in the room, "and a painkiller for now." you said softly.

Miguel nodded, kissing you gently before standing up.

"Don't move," he said before leaving the room.

It was probably the easiest order you'd ever get from him, if not the nicest. So you just sat there, completely folded in on yourself, waiting.

Miguel returned with one of your panties in hand, opened the cupboard to grab the packet of sanitary pads you'd placed there, and came to kneel before you again, handing you both items.

You took the undies and pulled them down to your ankles, mechanically opening your sanitary towel package and placing it over your underwear. You then stood up in front of him, pulling the panties up over you, sitting back down.

He watched you, his tongue creating a tent in his cheek.

"For the painkiller, I don't have any pills. I only have one that's... peculiar." he told you as he stroked your calf gently.

"Which is?" you asked softly, feeling a little safer from creating stains now that you were carrying something against you.

He said nothing, simply opening his mouth and pointing to his slightly extended canine.

You knew that Miguel had an antidote in the venom he secreted that acted as both a painkiller and a sedative. The latter, come to think of it, would not only allow you to sleep peacefully, but also to feel less pain.

"Bite me, Miguel," you asked, almost desperate for him to bring you any sense of relief.

He inhaled, nodding.

"Open your legs, the closer to the pain the bite the faster the venom will act."

You bit the inside of your cheek, this will be unexpectedly sexy, you thought.

So you spread your legs, moving closer to the edge of the toilet. His warm hand came to rest on your thigh, Miguel coming as close as possible to the inside of it as your hand caressed his hair.

You felt his hot breath on your skin before he bit down. The abrupt sensation of his canines in your skin made you tighten your grip on his hair, but he didn't flinch. He let the venom spread, then retracted his teeth as he ran a gentle stroke of his tongue over both slits, finishing the act with a gentle kiss over them.

"Good," he said simply as he straightened up.

He brought one hand behind your back, the other coming to rest behind your knees, and raising you against him princess style. You brought your arms around his neck, as he led you out of the bathroom.

"I can walk, you know that right?" you smile against him.

"In this state? I won't let you move," he replied.

He led you into your bedroom, laying you gently on the bed. He came to lie behind you, pulling the comforter up over you both as he curled up against you, becoming the big spoon. He placed his hand on your lower belly, the warmth of the latter soothing a little the fire dwelling there.

The venom was also starting to take effect, making you want to sleep again and greatly easing your pain. He kissed the back of your neck and you drifted off to sleep.

You felt so soothed. You'd been dreading a situation like this, but in the end Miguel had reacted perfectly, and you fell asleep much more relaxed.

When you woke up, the antidote was gradually fading from your blood. You were wrapped up in your comforters so snugly that you didn't want to move, and you weren't going to.

You opened your eyes, and on your bedside table were four different boxes of medicine, with a glass of water beside them. Miguel must have got some painkillers for you, and probably not knowing exactly which brand you preferred, he'd taken several.

You smiled, straightening up slightly to sit down and pick up the box you were most familiar with to take a pill and drink it immediately.

"Lyla?" you asked, putting the glass back down.

"Well hello," the little orange pixel cloud materialized before your eyes.

"Is Miguel away?" you asked.

"In truth, he's in the kitchen right now, preparing..." she checked her data, and quoted the name of your favorite dish.

You made a little pout mixed with a smile, Miguel was really taking care of you till the last bits of himself.

You straightened up, placing your foot on the floor as you grimaced. You had to go and change your pad, and although the deal was unpleasant, you got up to go to the bathroom. But first, you made a detour to the kitchen to at least say hello to Miguel.

You arrived in the kitchen, the smell of your dish's ingredients wafting through the air.

"Buenos dias, bebé", you smiled as you entered the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

He turned immediately, surprised not only by your little use of Spanish, but especially by the fact that you were standing. He approached you, smiling gently as he kissed your forehead.

"I told you that I wouldn't let you move," he said, coming over to stroke your hair.

"I just came to tell you good morning," you assured him as you brought your hand to his waist.

He pretended to think, "not a sufficient excuse to move."

"I have to change my pad ?" you offered as another explanation.

"Still not a valid excuse, nena." he smiled before taking you by the waist and raising you against him, his hands resting on your back and thighs as he led you to the bathroom.

You sighed, but couldn't help appreciating the attention he was giving you. He set you down in the bathroom, letting you change your pad, then taking you back into his arms as he led you back into the bedroom.

He laid you gently on the bed.

"Don't move," he said again, "really."

"I won't, I promise." you said, putting your hand on your heart as you covered yourself with the comforter.

He smiled softly, kissing you before standing up and leaving the room. "Lyla," you called again, the cloud appearing once more, "report on Miguel's occupations since waking up." "As good as done, Chief," she smiled as she brought up a small timetable showing each of his activities. "Miguel woke up this morning at eight o'clock, his first demand being to give him as much documentation on menstruation as possible. After reading a number of articles, he asked me questions about what to do for a loved one at a time like this. Subsequently, Miguel went to the various commercial areas of the society where he made several purchases including: a hot water bottle, a whole bag of snacks, a variety of ingredients for lunch, a dozen packets of sanitary pads, and four tablets of different pills to treat the symptoms." You glanced at your bedside table, "Finally, he filed for leave this week. Since his return, he has begun preparing the dish. Shortly afterwards, you woke up."

Your heart clenched with emotion. Miguel had done all this? For your sake? You could feel the tears welling up, the sensitivity brought on by the periods not helping your situation.

Miguel came back into the room, hot water bottle in hand, but noticing your shining eyes and trembling chin, he rushed over to you.

"Is everything okay ? Why are you crying, nena?"

You're the why, you thought, in the most adorable and safe possible way you are the one making me cry.

You threw yourself at him, taking him in your arms and holding him close as hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

"I love you," you whispered against him.

You felt him relax under this revelation, coming to wrap his arms around your back as he pulled you into his embrace.

"I love you too, nena." he whispered as he came to cup your wet cheeks, kissing your lips softly there.

You looked up at him, your eyes tender with love.

"I brought you a hot water bottle," he smiled, showing it to you.

You gave a little laugh, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

"Thanks," you grinned as you took it in your hands, its comforting warmth perfect for your body's torment.

"Would you like to watch something? Just tell me what you'd like and I'll take care of it."

You smiled wider, sighing lovingly as you offered to watch one of your comfort movies. He nodded, coming to kiss you again.

These would probably be the best periods you'd ever had, and it was all thanks to him.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit, Part Thirteen on AO3

Content

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?" There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?" Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo."

A/N Well I did it. Someone gets eaten this chapter so sayonara if that's not for you. I don't think it's gratuitous, but also I'm a gore hound and my standards aren't normal so proceed with caution if you must. As a heads up, this is the beginning of the end, folks. I think there'll only be two, maybe three chapters after this :(

Simon's resolve finally breaks when John takes a winding corner in the foothills of the bighorns too quick and they nearly roll over the guardrail. His grip on the holy shit handle, white knuckled and muscle bunching as it had been for hours, yanks down hard enough to break it and even he can't play that off casually, although he's sorely tempted to try when he realizes Price is too focused on the road to have noticed. Simon sighs and throws the handle out the window before telling Price to pull over. He's ignored, so he snaps his fingers obnoxiously in John's face and nearly gets them bit off in the process.

"Fuck off, Riley," John growls, shoving the other man's hand away, but Simon persists, shoving right back.

"Pull over now , Price."

"Nearly there," John mutters, accelerator never wavering.

"Roight, but the plan is to get there, yeah?"

John risks taking his eyes off the road for exactly two seconds in order to glare at his passenger. Simon, of course, glares right back, hopefully managing to make it look apathetic despite the fact he'd recently torn a piece of Price's car off. 

"Pull over, cap. I'll drive."

"And what'll I do?"

"Not kill us for a start," Simon grumbles and John snarls but complies anyway. It's a quick exchange, and soon Price is simmering in the passenger seat while Simon tears through the countryside at a slightly less lethal pace. It's bad for him, probably; leaves his mind free to wander and envision worse and worse scenarios. Simon hopes it fuels the fire, leaves the general din of anxiety in his gut roiling. He's been beside himself since he'd heard Graves come through that door, sitting up stiff as a board as he yelled through his earpiece for the bird to wake up. It's not good, but it's useful. Himself, he remains as quiet as ever, content to let John simmer, and by the time they make it to the motel where the bird's phone last pinged from, he's damn near frothing at the bit.

Simon pulls up alongside the Wrangler and John is jumping out before the Suburban is even fully parked. The driver's side door hangs slightly open, battery evidently dead after keeping the dome light on half the night. Simon studies the ground around it while John inspects the car thoroughly. He finds a set of keys not far off, crouches to get them and pops back up in the passenger window, watches as his longtime friend sniffs the driver's seat like a bloodhound. He briefly wonders how well a joke would go over right then, thinks better of it when John snarls something at him that sounds maybe a little like 'What?'

Simon just shakes his head minutely, weighing options he knows Price is too wound up to consider. If the Jeep is left here, someone will eventually come to tow it. And then someone will need to be billed, and cops will get involved. But John's found blood on the door, and Simon very much doubts they'll want cops sniffing around by the end of this.

"Jump it," Simon instructs, dangling the keys at John. I'm gonna go see what the clerk knows."

"I'll come with -."

"You won't. You're too distracted, and I'm scarier. Jump it." He lobs the keys over the roof of the Jeep and Price grumbles but complies, returns to stewing.

The reception area is dim, mildewy, the carpet so thin and threadbare the concrete dust of the subflooring puffs around each of Simon's quiet, careful bootfalls. There's no one at the desk so Simon takes it upon himself to slide behind it and knock the mouse of the computer just to see if it's locked. It is, of course, because nothing can go right anymore, so he thumps the help bell hard enough to break it and sits to await the clerk, for all appearances just as patient as ever.

Simon can hear the clerk muttering to himself about customers as he rounds the door of the office in the back, voice thin and high. He half expects Anthony Perkins, gets frumpy old James Stewart with a hell of a black eye instead. The man stops dead when he spots Simon, takes a half a step back before thinking better of it and trying to square his shoulders up. "You're not s'pposed to be back here," he gripes, thick American accent adding to the vague washed up aura of him.

Simon ignores him. "Where'd you tha' shiner?"

The man falters a bit, squeezes an old-looking ice pack in his fist absently. They both track the movement, and when Simon looks up again, the man - Les, by his nametag - has a grim, resigned look about him. "What d'you want?"

"Wanna know who you lost a fight against, first. Then I wanna see some security footage."

"I can't disclose that to anyone but -."

"No, but you will."

"And why would I do that, now?"

"We'll get there," Simon grumbles, leaning forward in the seat until it creaks ominously under his weight. "Who gave you the beat down, Les?"

The man sighs, gives up pretending he's not in pain and plasters the ice pack back to his face. "Didn't give a name."

"I'd imagine not, but you can do better than that."

"I don't know, man, Jesus. Blond fella. Sharp nose."

Simon leaves a beat of silence where another person would hum contemplatively. "And what did you give 'im?"

Under all the swelling, Les pales. "Nothin'."

It's hard giving a man an unimpressed glare, when you make it a point to look unimpressed every moment of your life. Still, Simon must manage it because the clerk visibly wilts, shuffles. "You a cop?"

Simon nearly laughs. "Do I look like a cop?"

"He wanted a key," Les sighs, "to a tenant's room. I swear I didn't give it to him, just her room number. Figured he'd make a hell of a commotion trying to get in and she'd have time to scram, or call for for help or somethin'. But then he hopped the desk and nabbed it. Shoulda seen that comin'," Les huffs, no humor. "I'm sorry if she's your girl, I just didn't know how to stop him."

"And you didn't think to call the authorities when you 'eard 'im peeling out and saw the Wrangler was left ajar?"

"Didn't notice -." He cuts himself off when Simon raises his eyebrows sharply. "We don't… like cops comin' 'round here, 'specially at night. Figured I'd wait 'til she missed check out and call then."

"Gave 'im a hell of a head start," Simon observes, patience growing thin.

Les shrugs dejectedly. "I panicked, man. Had shit goin' on here last night. It was either she goes missin' or a whole mess of people wind up in jail."

Simon lets him flounder a moment, stands to his full height and watches the effect it has on the clerk. "'ere's what we're gonna do. You're gonna show me that security footage like I asked -" Les attempts to interrupt but Simon carries on right over him, "- because if you don't, I will beat you within an inch of your life, call the authorities and tell them all about what you did - or didn't do -, and I'm gonna get to see the footage anyway when I tell them about my friend. And when they ask about your state, I'm going to blame it on that sharp-nosed fucker, yeah?"

Another nervous squeeze of the ice pack. Les looks around for help, finds none. "And if I let you see it, this all goes away?"

"We'll even take the Wrangler."

Les nods. "Hang on. Gotta find the password, should be in the boss's office." He turns and ducks through the door, closely followed by Simon who does not want to lose him out a back window or something.

"You're not the owner?"

"Night manager," Les grumbles, shuffling through a spiral bound notebook so old and thumbed through, the binding resembles an abused slinky. He briefly compares himself to this sorry old man, wondering if that'll be him some day, second in command of a rapidly sinking ship and makes a note to check on Price's finances. Nothing wrong with being thorough.

"Should be it," Les mutters to himself,  moving past Simon into the lobby again.

Simon watches Price through the bay window while the old man works, grumbling to himself all the while about technology he can barely understand. It takes him a bit, but Simon doesn't mind - just keeps watching as his mate grows more and more irritable. It's a gamble, probably, but Price has always had a short, effective fuse. All he needs to do is find a direction to aim the man and soon they'll all be home in time for dinner.

If Price is still hungry, that is.

He texts Gaz to make sure the man can help him if he gets a plate number, frowns at the emojis he receives in response. A thumbs up and a saluting serious face. Probably an affirmative.

"Here it is," Les finally announces, and turns the screen toward Simon. Must not want the big man coming back behind the desk again, smart lad. He does it anyway, just to be an arse.

"Is that a bloody Escalade?" Simon prides himself on keeping most emotions out of his tone, but he can't help the sneer of disgust the gaudy SUV incites.

Wes nods sympathetically. "A champagne one too, looks like."

"Christ," Simon mutters, watching as Graves drags a concerningly limp bird into the back seat. "Get me a decent shot of the tags." Wes does, eager to please now that he knows his intrusive guest will be clearing out soon. Simon copies the number over to Gaz and asks for a print out of the shot for good measure. He claps his hand on Wes's shoulder when the man produces, squeezes threateningly to gain his attention.

"Wes, you wanna hear my favorite Norman Bates joke?"

"Uh, s-sure," the man agrees, hackles raised.

"It goes like this: if I ever find out you stood idly by while another girl gets abducted, I'll come back here and taxidermy you, yeah?"

"Y-yes, sir." He has the decency to sound shamed, at least.

"Roight. That wasn't very funny, was it?" Simon hums as if in thought, pats Wes on the back too hard again as he straightens out and walks back around the desk. "Tell you what, I ever come back, I'll take another stab at it." Wes doesn't laugh, the tasteless git. Simon nods at him in paying and shuts the door unsettlingly quietly behind himself.

He's halfway across the parking lot when Gaz calls him. 

"You sure that's the right car?" The younger man greets him when Simon answers.

"Quite sure. Saw Graves pull the girl in and everything."

"Strange. It's registered to a Hershel Von Shepherd… the third."

"Two wasn't enough?"

"Apparently not. This guy's like, the real deal, bruv."

Approaching Price now, Simon puts Garrick on speaker. "What d'you mean?"

"Some high ranking general, looks like."

Simon and Price exchange a look. "She said she thought Graves knew someone high up there," Price supplies, and Gaz takes a minute to think it over.

"That shell company we found Graves works for… how likely is it looking that's some paramilitary thing?"

Simon chews that for only a second. "Very."

"Should we -?"

"'M'not worried about it." 

There's very little room for argument in Price's voice, but Gaz tries anyway. "I am. What's the plan when you pull up on a compound, eh? You lot got some Rambo shit going on I don't know about?"

"Are we headed for a compound?" Simon interjects before Price can get too heated. Best to steer clear of discussing the plan, considering the best he thinks they've got is 'sic a werebear or whatever on him and hope for the best,' and he's quite certain Price doesn't want Gaz knowing about that.

Kyle huffs. "No," he allows after a moment. "Shepherd's got a cabin down near Denver, looks like. If Graves is looking to return his buddy's car, my bets on that."

"Send the address," Price barks, already climbing up into the Wrangler. He forgot to slide the seat back first, looks bloody ridiculous, all spitting mad and folded like a paperclip.

"Cap," Garrick hedges, but Price isn't listening so Simon assures Gaz he'll talk to the boss before signing off. "Don't get yourselves killed," Gaz mutters, but hangs up all the same. 

"We need to talk," Simon announces, Captain Morgan-ing his boot into the door jamb so Price can't close it after figuring out the seat.

"Christ, Simon, I am sitting on blood splatter, now really isn't the time," Price seethes, but Simon doesn't so much as flinch.

"Think it's the perfect time, cap. Gotta have a plan." Price rolls his eyes because he's a petulant child, starts the Jeep and shoves at Simon's leg. He's mildly surprised when the old man succeeds in dislodging him but he covers it fine, steps into the way of the door. "Graves knows about you," he announces and finally, Price stills.

"Knows what?" The man growls, and Simon just keeps staring up at him blankly.

Price takes a moment to eye him over, assessing. "And what is it you think you know, Riley?" 

"Know your current plan amounts to 'go all berserker and eat 'im up in one big gulp,' but I'm telling you, if this whole paramilitary shit is true, 'e's gonna 'ave lot worse than some backwoods hunting rifle waiting for you."

There's a tic in Price's jaw as he tries to decide how much of his hand he's willing to show. Simon remains unflinching, letting the other man see exactly how unaffected he is by the truth. He's known for years anyway, plenty of time to grow used to it.

"'e thinks we're both…" Simon waves his hand demonstratively, "furries -."

"- Shifters," Price corrects, long suffering.

"Whatever. Us and Johnny. 'e's an idiot, 'course, but 'e's expecting three bears to show up, if anyone -."

"But he's not expecting anyone. That's what the mace was for." Simon raises an eyebrow in question, and John huffs in frustration. "Can't smell her. I could've tracked her by scent alone if that fucker hadn't sprayed me. I can only assume that's why he wasted time with me before going after her. Thinks he's safe."

"Still leaves me and Johnny."

"Then bluff, Simon. Pretend you got a hell of a trick up your sleeve if you have to."

Simon nods, backs up half a step but holds the door open as another thought occurs. "How'd he know to do that? Get you where it hurts?"

"Because he knows even one singular factoid about bears, I assume?"

"You don't think it's odd how quickly he accepted your fur -."

"-Shifter abilities?" Price eyes Simon over, mustache like to crawl off his face, he's so irritated by this point. "Think it's odd how quick you accepted it."

People usually shrug here, but Simon schools himself into stillness. "Unflappable, me."

"'Course. We're not done talking about this, but I haven't eaten properly since everything started tasting like mucous, and I got big dinner plans." Price plants his boot on Simon's hip and pushes him away, slams the door behind him.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Simon calls through the window glass. There's a speck of blood by the side view mirror which he tries not to think too much about.

"Well, you brought your backwoods hunting rifle, right?"

***

The cabin is nice. Suspiciously nice. Like, 'Has the man you've been committed to for the last several years been secretly married to some successful plastic surgeon this whole time?' kind of nice. But the few pictures that adorn the mantle feature an older, sterner man and his younger, conservative looking wife. No kids from what you can tell, corroborated by the lack of warmth within the walls. It's decorated well enough alright, but in that sterile kind of design you think Joanna Gaines should be brought to the Hague for. You fashion yourself a crutch from a dining chair. It's bulky and awkward, and Phil yells at you whenever you use it while he's inside, but it allows you to take stock of your surroundings, puzzle out places you can hide if need be, or items that could make a decent makeshift weapon. Unfortunately, 'rustic minimalism' leaves you with few options. Less still for a good splint. After close inspection, you'd been relieved to find the break was above your ankle, and probably only restricted to your tibia. You'd found a clothes drying rack the first night at the cabin, broke it apart while Phil slept and used the rods to brace your leg, fashioning it all in place with corded saran wrap. It wasn't great; the plastic itched where it met your skin and it slipped down your leg if you moved too much, but it was better than nothing so you made do despite Phil's mocking laughter when saw it.

Phil's ear oozes blood and pus, marks up all the starched dish towels. He doesn't eat anymore. Well, he might, but you've yet to see it. You'd drifted in and out of wakefulness on the trip down to the cabin and it was easy to assume you'd missed it, or maybe that he'd been running so full tilt that he hadn't stopped at all. It had left you starving, but it wasn't like you were about to ask him to make a special stop for you. It doesn't get better when he stops running. He goes outside a lot, says he's sick of looking at you. Through the window you can see him talking animatedly on a phone he keeps hidden on his person at all times. When he pockets it, the hem of his shirt rides up enough you can see the pistol he keeps in his waistband. You sneak uncooked pasta from the pantry while he's distracted, stay out of his way when he's not. 

He hasn't been terrible, all things considered. He likes to grab his gun through his shirt threateningly, but hasn't pulled it on you yet. You keep your head down, watch him in your periphery. He cleans his ear obsessively, mutters about old werewolf movies when he thinks you're not listening. You worry about this new Phil, this man who seems to be courting madness, and sprinkle powdered bleach on the clean rags when he's not looking, listen to him groan in pain every time he goes to clean his ear. 

The second night in the cabin finds you laid out on the bed next to him, over the blankets. The threat of him makes you physically ill, but he doesn't touch you, just stares at you malevolently in the wan light that filters in through the rough woven curtains. His ear is a pool of tar in the darkness, oily and slick. It stinks, compiling with the lingering nausea of your head wound and the general sickness his presence brings you to have you turning your nose into the pillow. It smells like straight Borax because the lady of the house probably thinks modern cleaning agents will turn her ovaries queer or something, but you breathe deep anyway, which prompts a cruel laugh from Phil.

"Don't like it, darlin'? Me neither. Got your man to thank for that, you know." It's his fighting voice - the one that warns you there is no response that could appease him. You're so tired. 

"Said he bit it off," you chomp illustratively, huff as if it's funny. You hang your finger over his wound suggestively, but your muscles are lax to show him you're no threat. " Holey field indeed."

He snarls, slaps your hand away anyway. "Think it's funny, do you?"

"A little," you admit, brace yourself for a strike that doesn't come. When you can meet his eyes again, Phil looks almost impressed. "What are we doing here, Phil?"

"Hiding out for a bit. Don't know how much you told your man."

"Why?"

"Rather not get mauled in the -."

"No, why are we here? You hate me, Phil. Why not just move on?"

Phil sighs, heavily, plants his open palm on your cheek a little too aggressively and shakes you by your jaw. "So soft, darlin'. So pretty. Simple." He flicks your temple and you flinch, head throbbing, drawing another cruel laugh. When he speaks again, his voice is low and flat. Dark. "I don't share my toys."

You try to drop it, turn back to his ear. "You still got glass in there." He doesn't, it's the bleach drying his flesh out so bad it's turning the cartilage brittle, but he can't see it properly to call you a liar so you'll take your bargaining chips where you can get them. "I'll debride it for you if you get me a splint."

He scoffs. "Glass… ain't worried about the glass, despite your best efforts."

"Human mouths are gross," you agree. "We could both go -."

"Ain't worried about the human part, neither." He sits up with an irritated sound and you keep your lips zipped, the strange stalemate you'd found yourselves in bleeding away and taking your gall with it. "That man of your's… sure know how to pick 'em, don't ya?"

You might tell him he'd left John with little choice, but you know better. Phil continues, "That bear you were friendly with. Never struck you as odd?"

It's hard to speak past the knot that builds in your throat when you realize just how closely Phil must have followed you. You don't remember seeing an Escalade around, which means he followed on foot in some places, skulked through underbrush. It's a miracle (a curse) he himself never got a bit 'friendly' with the animal. You shake your head.

"Not very bright, you. Thought about calling that thing in a few times. It's a damn freak, you know? Huge, too. Woulda made a damn fine trophy. I traced its tracks one time out of curiosity. Wanted to see where something like that kept itself hidden. You know what I found?" At your continued silence, Phil prompts you to guess. "I could give you all fuckin' night and you'd never get it, but I wanna hear you try anyway."

Well, ain't that just like him? You sigh. "I don't know, Phil. Bear shit?"

"Cute. But bears shit in the woods. Got a whole thing about it. Your buddy bear, though, he came from out by the town - manifested in a birch grove far as I could tell. Found a pile of clothes there, blood splatter a few yards off. Thought that was strange."

You do too, unable to keep the confused scowl from your face. What the fuck is he on about?

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?"

There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?"

Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo. I thought, 'what luck!' Bastard went and took care of himself. Stood there debating whether or not I should call it in, but must've waited too long. Damn bear came back. Remembered they sometimes bury fresh kills so I sat around and watched cause nothing would've pleased me more'n to see your man all tore up. Even started filming for posterity's sake. Didn't quite get that, though," he chuckles darkly. "You wanna see something? Wasn't gonna show you cause I know how you are about gorey movies -," if he was withholding information, it wasn't to spare you. He was probably just trying to keep the upper hand. "- but I can tell already you won't believe me if I don't, so maybe this is best."

Phil digs into his pocket, procures his phone. You sit in apprehensive silence as he flips through it. "Hold my hand if you get scared, darlin'," he drawls, turning the screen towards you and pressing play. 

There's no denying it's your bear, at least. Tall and broad as a shed, strange shaggy quality of his collar that makes him look bearded. He lumbers into frame with his head lowered, snuffles around the pile of clothes Phil had mentioned. His ears pin back at whatever he finds and peers around for a bit, nose held high. But whatever he finds can't be too concerning because he settles back after a moment, shakes his great hairy body. And keeps shaking. 

It sloughs off him in one great pelt, leaving spare few patches to dot the sinewy, thin-skinned freak which stands on its hind legs and stumbles away from its own flesh. You watch in horror as it groans in pain, oddly jointed arms reaching blindly to keep tree limbs from scraping its tender flesh. It looks like raw chicken until it doesn't, flesh bubbling as if being cooked, growing darker and tougher as it reshapes itself. It pants in exhaustion when it finally stops, familiar weathered hand stroking down a broad, inviting chest as if to take inventory of itself.

John pats his hips in satisfaction, points at his discarded clothes as if he'd lost track of them for a second. He dresses himself efficiently and does one more pat down to be sure he hasn't forgotten anything and then walks off, calm as can be. 

You can feel Phil's eyes on you, but it's hard to school your expression into anything other than abject terror. He's smiling when he pulls the phone away from you, your reaction all he needed to know you hadn't been bluffing, that you honestly had no idea what John was capable of.

"Just when you think you know a guy, huh?"

***

Phil brings you outside with him after coffee. You try to demure, hoping to snag some more dry pasta, but he says the sun will do your head some good. You doubt it, even just the threat of it peaking through the tops of the pines enough to lance pain down your optic nerve, but it's not like you can very well fight him on it, so you let him guide you onto the porch and watch while he goes about setting up wood to chop. You wonder if it's a threat tactic and stifle a laugh when his diminished arms struggle with the maul after only a few logs. You tune out after that, unwilling to be caught so much as grinning at his expense, and think about your conversation the night before.

It makes sense, is the biggest problem you're having with the whole thing. 

You' laid awake all night thinking through every interaction you'd ever had with either John or the bear - with him , you suppose, in both cases. It's shocking to say the least, but in a strange way, you're almost relieved. All the fears he'd been keeping tabs on you, all the convenient excuses you'd had to craft to explain them away; all your worries, tied away with one extremely unlikely ribbon. You'd still need to have a talk with him about using his other form to keep tabs on people if you ever got a chance to speak to him again, but somehow it's less malicious this way. It's not his fault you'd decided to use a wild animal as a therapist, after all.

Mostly you're mad he didn't tell you, though you can't really fault him for playing that close to the chest. More than that, you're mad at Phil for taking it upon himself to spread the information around. You watch him as he works, eyeing his ear suspiciously. He'd told you before turning in that he was worried he'd wind up like John. You were worried too. John made for a sweet bear, if a little intimidating. Something tells you Phil would not have the same temperament. 

"Had a dream you were a fox," you call to him after the silence grows too long.

Phil frowns up at you. "A fox?"

"Yeah. Right before you… revealed yourself, back at the motel. Was dreaming about the bear trying to wake me up. And then it was a fox. Looked kinda like you. And then it was you."

He chuckles, hefts the maul a little closer to himself. "A fox, huh? That how it works, you think? What's that make you, big boy? Damn mountain lion?"

You frown in confusion, follow his line of sight off to your right. "Simon!" you gasp, leaping to your feet. You forgot about your leg in your excitement, however, and stumble down the porch steps with a yelp.

"Careful, darlin'. Gonna get yourself hurt," Phil laughs, siddling closer to you. He yanks you to your feet and places you between himself and Simon. It takes you a moment to understand why, eyes taking in the rifle he's got aimed at Phil belatedly.

Simon is silent as he stalks out from behind the cabin, heavy boots never so much as snapping a twig. You wonder how Phil even noticed him, and then wonder if he let himself be noticed. "Olright, pet?" he calls softly, and you nod, eyes scanning the treeline.

Phil brings the business end of the maul to your throat. It's not terribly sharp, but it wouldn't take too much effort to throw you across the steps and split your head open and the threat is clear. You swallow your panic and hang on to his forearm for support. 

"Where're your buddies?" Phil's voice is high with nervous tension. You think your's would be the same if asked to speak.

"'Round," Simon drawls, kicks a rock over when Phil's anxious circling nearly turns you both around.

It works. Phil twists back toward the sound and Simon carries on, nonchalant, making more noise. Your breath comes rapidly, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You think you can smell something musky on the breeze, and your grip slides down your captor's arms, toward his hands.

"Hold still," Phil warns, and Simon draws to a halt. A soft shuffling noise continues despite his stillness and Phil spins to meet it. Your bad leg takes most of your weight and you stumble to the ground. 

A deafening crack echoes in the small clearing and Phil slumps over you, his shoulder a mangled mess. You're still trying to process what happened when an ear splitting roar shakes the very ground and you look up to find the bear thundering at you from the treeline. Phil sees him too, and the two of you scramble for the maul. He kicks you in the shin cause he's a bastard, so you use his leverage to help you push the sledge against his shoulder. He grunts in pain and you wrench it from his grasp, start to roll out of his reach when a lethal click stops you dead.

It's not you he's aiming at, though. 

Two quick, successive shots. You turn in time to see the bear falter, the hump of its back shaking with impact. It doesn't stop for long. A few more steps and the bear's on him. It - John - sinks his teeth into the meat between Phil's scapulas, tries to stop on a dime, can't, goes tumbling over with Phil still clamped in his jaws. Phil gets slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch that turns his screams into silent wheezes. John settles his weight on top of Phil's prone body and holds his head down with a massive paw so he can pull against it, tearing muscle as easily as the thin cotton of his shirt when he shakes his head like a dog.

Phil's screaming again. John doesn't seem inclined to stop it until the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding whistles out of your chest raggedly. The bear asses you for a moment, chewing contentedly on the scrap of flesh between his teeth like a cow with cud. Your eyes dart from John to the dying man below him rapidly, unsure what you're asking for.

John grumbles, but wraps his maw around the column of Phil's throat and bites down hard enough that Phil's screams turn to gurgles, give way to a sickening crunch. When he pulls away, a fat tongue licks the geyser of blood and finally, your stomach roils.

"Let's get you inside, pet." You wipe your mouth, turn to find Simon crouched next to you. "No need to see this." 

"He's hurt." Simon looks at you like you might be simple so you clarify, "John."

You both glance at the man - bear? - in question, tearing at a scrap of viscera that sounds upsettingly like jerky. He glares at Simon ominously, as if daring him to touch you in any way that could cause offense. There's blood matting the fur of his back and shoulder but he pays it no mind. 

"Think 'e'll be olright." 

You hold a hand out, expecting to have him help you up, but the big man tucks his arms under you instead, lifts you with little more than a huff. 

"Seriously, what are they putting in the water over there?" You mutter. He'd laugh, but he's being careful of your leg. Some jostling is inevitable, though, and he hums deep in his chest in sympathy when you grimace.

He carries you back to the cabin and you watch over his shoulder as the bear turns Phil over onto his back, pawing at clothes to expose his belly.

"Scrawny bastard can't be very tasty," you quip, and here Simon does laugh. 

"You ever listen to someone eat a Slim Jim?"

"Oh god," you grumble, stomach audibly gurgling. This time Simon's laugh is a cruel thing.

He sets you up on the couch with a pillow propping up your leg. He goes back outside and you hear him yelling something about a phone. The bear lowers at him, but the wet squelching of Phil's vulnerable underbelly stops for a moment and soon after comes a dull thunk. When Simon returns, he's got Phil's phone in one hand and a thumb in the other. 

You lip curls, "Is that necessary?"

Simon doesn't even spare you a glance. "Just gotta figure out who he's told what."

"About you and John?"

"Oh, I'm not a furry." It's stupid and unexpected enough to startle a laugh out of you. Simon carries on as if there's nothing wrong with what he's said. "But yes, that. And gotta figure out if anyone's gonna come looking for 'im."

"There's a video in there," you offer, "Of John… changing. Don't know if it's backed up to anything."

"Good bird, I'll check." His eyes meet yours for a moment. "'e showed you then, I'm assuming?"

You nod. "Suppose it was for the best in the end. Would've shit myself if I saw that thing running at me without knowing what was going on." Simon nods exactly once. You take it for agreeance. "How long have you known?"

"Years. But don't tell Price that."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No. Didn't even know I knew until yesterday."

"Well then how'd you find out?"

Simon turns his big apathetic eyes on you. "'e doesn't 'ave a house in Phoenix. Telling you now, in case you're still holding out for the snowbird lifestyle."

This time when you laugh, you think you spot a slight crinkling of Simon's eyes as well.

***

An hour passes mostly in silence. You ask Simon to check on John occasionally, but he only ever says things are unchanged out there so you take that to mean John hasn't died of blood loss. You try to come to terms with everything you just witnessed, but it's still too fresh, your adrenaline too high. Instead, your thoughts circle back to John repeatedly, your fingers itching to inspect his wounds. That's probably not a normal reaction, but nothing about this situation is normal so you give yourself a break.

When John does stumble in, he's naked. Simon squawks, which would be funny to you if John wasn't also covered in blood. You try to climb to your feet to meet him, but he's on you quicker than you can even process, kneeling beside the couch and running sticky hands all over your face.

"Are you okay?" you both ask at the same time, and you nod feverishly, subject yourself to the desperate kiss he plants on you in response.

The taste of him is heavy, seems to coat your tongue. You can't help the full body shudder it elicits and John retracts, brushes wet, whiskery kisses up to your temple instead. He stays there for a moment, just breathing you in. You use it as an opportunity to peer over his shoulder, inspect his back. He's leaning away again before you can make sense of what you see back there.

John holds your face between his massive palms. He looks you over, eyes desperate and wild. You give him a reassuring smile, hold onto his forearms while he tries to wipe some of the blood off you. Smears it, if the way he frowns at his dirty hand is any indication.

"That your blood?"

"I wish," he growls, and uses the hem of your shirt to try wiping it off. 

"You wish?"

"You already smell enough like him." You finch when he presses against your head too hard and his scowl deepens.

"Here." A towel lands over John's head, another on the floor next to him. You grimace at Simon apologetically and try to get John covered while he completely ignores your attempts, focused entirely on cleaning the blood off you, hands much gentler this time. 

"John, I'm fine."

"Not fine, bunny," he seethes. You blink at him, but give him a pass when you realize he's mad at your state. "What happened?"

"How about we get cleaned up first, eh?"

"We have to get you to a hospital."

"Me?" you scoff. "You got shot!"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. Simon, go get the car, yeah? We gotta -."

"Okay everybody hang on. You are naked and covered in a dead guy's blood. Let's deal with that first."

"Bunny -."

"And then I think we should get our story together before we waltz our hot fresh gunshot wound slash old broken leg combo into a hospital." The words are out before you've even thought them through - what it means for you, that you'll be an accomplice to your own ex's… murder? It's not murder if a wild animal kills and eats you. John isn't a wild animal, but it's not like he was all there mentally at the time either. 

You hope.

Well, maybe it would be okay if he knew what he was doing, but you're gonna delicately avoid saying that outloud.

John's mustache twitches irritably, but Simon looks about as supportive of your idea as you think he's capable of appearing. Nodding, John stands and tucks his towel around his waist. His belly is so full it's nearly distended and you try not to think about it too hard. You're not surprised when he picks you up. Simon tactfully turns away in case there's a wardrobe malfunction, but the towel stays firmly in place as John carries you down the hall. You know where he's headed and you point the way to the master bath.

What does surprise you is the way he strips you too, unwinds your makeshift splint so achingly carefully. His palms are impossibly light when they smoothe over the indents the saran wrap has left in your skin and you both frown at the bruising which has pooled under your skin.

"That's gotten worse," you comment, and John presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, breathing in the sweat there deeply.

The shower is blessedly huge. John gets the water to a comfortable temperature before helping to lower you to the tiled floor. He doesn't even bother to wash any blood off before he's plastering himself to your side and burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. Red runoff slips over both of you, swirls in the drain. Your hands are on his scalp, his neck, his shoulders. They trace the rivulets of water down his back and he grunts when you find the first open sore.

"You know they call the police for gunshot wounds."

John shakes his head. It jiggles your tit a bit when he does it, enmeshed as he is with you. "Clean through."

"What?" Pushing him away, you drag a palm over his chest in search of the other wound but he just holds your hand in place over his pec. 

"Through my shoulder hump, sweetheart. In my other form. I'll be fine in a few days."

Confused and unbelieving, you push at him until he turns to show you: a gnarly hole over his lower ribs which bleeds profusely, and a smaller, far less concerning mark up over his scapula which somehow looks already knotted over. It doesn't make sense here, but you suppose if you twisted and contorted his body enough you could draw a straight line between the two. Still, you drag your thumb gingerly under the cleaner of the two wounds, watch the tender skin jump. 

"How is this nearly closed over?"

John shrugs. "Quick healer."

You suppose it makes sense, after the horror you watched his own body inflict upon itself in Phil's video. All that skin remaking itself. "Of course."

"Told you it's you I'm more worried about." He leans back against the wall, cradles your entire face in his palm. 

"I'm good now," you try to convince him, but suddenly your voice is anything but and John crumples.

"Do I scare you?"

Your lip wobbles, unauthorized. You shake your head before you can really think it through, and then sob in relief when he wraps you in an all-consuming hug and you realize it's the truth. He should scare you. He really should. But for better or worse, the only thing you feel wrapped up in his strong arms like this is safe.

It's hard to stop the tears once they start but John holds you all the while, occasionally pulling away just enough to inspect your face and kiss your eyelids, your nose. You hold him back as best you can, but the angle is awkward so you mostly just end up stroking his hairy chest and you both know you've cried yourself out when your fingers get picky, start combing icky bits out of his pelt.

John lets you groom him, scrub away every last trace of Phil. He cleans you too, careful to filter water through his hands when he sees you flinch as the hard water pressure beats against your bruised scalp. You make him rinse his mouth, pick something that looks like bone from his chops and surprise yourself with how well you handle it, watching apathetically as the suds push it along toward the drain. It's possible Phil didn't quite deserve this fate, but you decide it's not your job to determine that; you're just glad to be free of him.

"Gonna remember the way you crushed his throat until the day I die, I think," you murmur, inspecting his nails and hairy knuckles.

John goes still. "I'm sorry you saw that, bun -." 

"Not a bad thing, John." When you risk meeting his eye, you're met with an intense, desperate gaze. 

"Don't leave me again, bunny." 

You feel like an idiot, throwing yet another item onto the pile of forgiven things that would have sent you running even just a few weeks ago. But it's not a threat when John says it; just a raw, honest plea. This man's tracked you across multiple states, revealed his deepest secret for you. Killed for you. And still, he doesn't demand you return with him or hold all these things he's elected to do of his own accord over your head. Just begs you to stay. 

He still tastes like blood when you kiss him, but it's just more fuel for the pyre of forgiven, ignored warnings.

A/N Want you guys to know that I figured out the choreography of this bear attack by wrestling with my infinitely patient dogs, so if you ever need a good pick me up, just imagine looking out your window one day and seeing your fat neighbor putting their 70lb dog through a death roll and pretending to rip its throat out, snarling all the while as if they've gone fucking rabid.

Next>>

[the-little-ewok]

The Little Spoon

Poe Dameron x G/N Reader

Rating: M

Wordcount : 1600 (ish)

Warnings : Fluff, mentions of getting caught during sex/heavy petting, rife with teasing innuendos, soft softness, spooning, brief mentions of food, Poe being an adorable menace.

Prompt / Summary : Burying your face in their neck, listening to their heartbeat, spooning at night. / After a difficult day you and Poe try something new in the bedroom.

A/N : Anon who sent me the prompts - i dont know if fluffy was what you really wanted but… i kinda went pretty fluffy cute with this. If you were hoping more for a NSFW request please send me an ask and i’ll do an alt fic for you :)

If you enjoy this fic please don't just hit the like button. Hit the reblog button and tell me your thoughts! Support your content creators with reblogs!

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"Stop!" You half whine, half laugh, burying your face in Poe's neck.

"I don't know if he'll ever be able to talk to you again without blushing!" Poe laughs, clearly finding the fact his newest squad member walking in on you both in a, well, compromising, position, hilariously funny, and your embarrassment even funnier.

Since then poor Leru had been unable to look at you without his cheeks lighting up red, and losing all ability to speak.

"Take it as a compliment it affected him so much," Poe shrugs, taking the whole situation in his stride, as usual. "You can't change what happened, and besides you can't hide out here forever."

'Here' was the grassy bank outside the, what now seemed all too small, base entrance. You had escaped out into the humid night air as soon as your shift was over, convinced everyone you encountered knew the story and was staring at you.

Of course, they already knew that you and Poe were close, but perhaps not quite how close. There had never really been time, during the middle of a war, to consider what you were. And now you were together, both of you wanted to enjoy it without too much fuss. At least while you settled into a new routine, and Poe to his new role as General. So really, getting carried away in what should have stayed an empty office, after Poe had returned from a long mission, was not the best of plans.

But oh, he had been so distractingly hot. The way he'd smiled, his eyes flickering up and down your body, the way he'd pulled you tight against his chest, the way his lips had brushed against your skin.

It was hard to regret what happened. But you did regret getting caught.

"I can stay here as long as I like," you challenge his statement, folding your arms.

"I could just order you back inside," he shrugs with a sigh, making out it would be a huge inconvenience for him to do that.

"You wouldn't dare!" You twist to glare at him in challenge, as Poe leans back to look at you, a serious expression creasing his brow. He slowly raises one eyebrow, before he finally gives in, bursting into laughter.

"No, you're right. I like continuing to live without a vibroblade in my chest, so I guess orders are off the table!" He pulls you back into his arms, holding you tight against him.

"How about I very politely request you come back inside? We can grab some food and get an early night?"

"I don't want to go to the canteen,” you mumble, picking at a loose thread on your trousers, unable to remove the idea that everyone would be judging you.

"You know, I don't think anyone else knows? And even if they did, firstly, it's not like they saw anything personally, just second hand, and secondly, if anyone says a damn word I'll have their ass hauled in front of me faster than they can blink!" Poe states passionately.

"That's sweet. But we agreed on no special treatment."

"Not special. I'd do that for anyone talking inappropriately about anyone. You get absolutely no special treatment. I've never given you any special treatment." Taking your chin he tilts your face towards him before he places a soft kiss against your lips.

"Hmm, so you offer that to everyone, do you?"

"Well, everyone is a little broad. More like a select group. You, Finn, Rey, Snap, BB, that really cute medic we met in Yavin," he shrugs with a teasing smile as you roll your eyes. “Now stop overthinking.”

Poe was right, you were over thinking, and as annoying as his teasing could be, you know it comes from a good place in his heart. He simply wants you to see that it's not all bad. Nothing you could do now would change anything that already happened. All you could do was, as Poe does, make the best of the situation.

Still, the embarrassment gnaws a little at your thoughts, though quieter, still there for now.

"Can we eat in your room?"

"Only if we are naked," Poe grins, making you dissolve into laughter.

"Stop that, right now!" You warn through giggles.

"I've been away for almost a month! I've been storing it all up. You are in for a lonnnnnng night, baby," he winks, and for a moment, you`re laughing so hard you forget anything had gone wrong at all today.

~

"I'm sorry," Poe offers later that night, his fingers trailing up and down your back as you lay in his bed, curled up against his side, his heartbeat drumming in your ear as you lean your head on his chest, half asleep.

You hum in question, wondering what he's talking about.

"Earlier. It was my fault we got caught like that. I should have waited. I was just excited to see you and being impulsive. I’ll try and keep my hands to myself for a little longer next time.”

You lean up on your elbow to look at him, frowning in confusion and feeling the tendrils of guilt in your own belly that he feels he's somehow to blame. The last thing you wanted was for Poe to feel he couldn't be his usual, affectionate self.

"There's nothing you need to apologise for. We were both willing participants. I was excited to see you too. You’ve no idea how much I missed you."

Poe's hand slides around the back of your neck, pulling you down to him as he mumbles, "I missed you too, baby," against your mouth before he kisses you.

When he finally lets you go, you have to take a moment, feeling a little giddy, whether with love or lack of oxygen, you aren't sure.

"Anyway, I like you being impulsive," you assure him with a soft smile.

"Then I rescind my apology," Poe chuckles as you snuggle back down against his side, trying to get comfy again.

Except now you have a problem. No matter where you place yourself, you can't quite get comfy enough to fall asleep. Something just feels wrong.

You let out a noise of annoyance, sitting up.

"Turn over," you instruct, laughing as Poe raises a questioning eyebrow, his lips upturning in a familiar grin.

"Is this going a sex thing? Because you know I can stay awake a little longer. I'm sure I can help tire you o-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," You laugh, cutting him off and pressing your hands against his arm, trying to manually roll him over, onto his side.

"So it's not a sex thing? I'm disappointed," Poe sighs over dramatically, ignoring your pathetic attempts to move him.

"I want to cuddle you!" You explain with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, that's what we are calling it these days? Okay, well, we can 'cuddle' as much as you like," he grins, eyes crinkling with amusement as he makes air quotes at you. You make a show of dramatically rolling your eyes in response.

"No, Poe! I mean I want to hold you!"

"Hold which bit?" He wiggles his eyebrows as you try and bite back your laughter. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, telling yourself you are grateful he's home and he just needs to get this out of his system.

When you open them again you fix him with a stern look.

"Alright, alright!" Poe holds his hands up in surrender, clearly deciding he might be pushing too far now. "You want me to be the little spoon?" He asks, obviously having known exactly what you wanted from the first time you asked.

"I want you to be the little spoon." You nod in confirmation. Poe's expression softens from teasing into something that makes your chest ache with love. It's as though the seriousness of the last few years of war drop away, and the boy Poe used to be, stares at you with hopeless adoration.

"I like that idea better," he says simply, before he rolls over with his back to face you. "But I'm still open to the sex thing." He adds, making you snort as you try to contain your laughter, knowing it will only encourage him.

Once Poe is settled, you curl up behind him, wrapping an arm over his chest, tucking your legs in behind his, cuddling up close to him as you press your face between his shoulder blades.

"Don't think I've ever been the little spoon before. I like it," Poe sighs contentedly, his hands resting over yours wrapped around his chest, holding you in place.

You smile and press a soft kiss to his back, "I like it too."

A near silence settles over you both, the only sound in the room your steady breathing as you hold each other. You can feel your eyes finally starting to drift shut, but you also know Poe is not asleep yet, as his fingers continue to gently caress your arm, almost distractedly.

“What are you thinking, Flyboy?” You mumble sleepily against his skin, not wanting to fall asleep if he has something on his mind.

"I was just wondering," he mumbles quietly, “if you think Leru is thinking about us right now?"

"Go to sleep!" You sigh against his back, feeling him shake with barely contained laughter.

"I definitely think he enjoyed it a little bit."

"Sleep!" You hiss, refusing to play into his teasing again.

There's a moment of silence, one in which you think that he's given up with the teasing and finally decided to get some rest. That is until -

"Do you think he wants to join us sometime?"

"POE!"

You can't help but smile as his laughter fills the room. Insufferable, infuriating, pain in the ass. You had missed him, so very much.

--------------

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[hoshiseon-digiarc]

desire ; preview

♰ pairings :: ot8 vampire!ateez x fem!witch!reader

♰ genre :: dark fantasy, smut, strangers to ?? to lovers, fluff, maybe slight angst?, soulmates/fated lovers

♰ content :: polyamory, references to religious themes, all of them are kinda down bad... some more than others, reader is enamored with them (i'll add more by chapter, they're not written yet)

♰ word count :: 580

♰ note :: all of the descriptions are general as this is the preview, please read the warnings for each chapter!! this is my first time not writing in third person :,) each chapter will probably focus of different sets of members. the chapters aren't planned, i'm writing this as i go so pls be patient. i'm not sure how many chapters there'll be. feedback is greatly appreciated and i should have the first chapter up very soon!! ♡

♰ gen. warnings :: blood, violence, predator/prey dynamics (non sexual & possibly sexual in later chapters), fear, anxiety, sight obsession, stalking, general dark themes, manipulation (non sexual)

☽ smut warnings by chapter, MDNI!!

as i look around confusedly, i forget that there was a small chance i was being followed by something. instead astonishment replaces the fear as i look around. but not for long. i start to hear the distinct sound of crunching leaves coming from my right. this time my entire body freezes for a fraction of a second and i do not turn to see whatever it is coming for me. instead i turn left and start to run. as i sprint through the tree line, i make it long enough that the clearing behind me starts to morph back into endless trees.

but turning back to look proves to be a mistake as i trip once again and fall, unable to catch myself as i collide with the ground. sharp pain shoots through my knee again and i know this time i would not just have a bruise. i wince and cry as i push into the dirt to roll onto my back. through my fear, i could only hear my boots making contact with the earth beneath me but now that i am still i can definitely hear the pursuit of something coming towards me. it doesn't sound like running but then again i may not be able to hear over the sound of my own pounding heart and heaving breaths. i attempt to scramble to my feet and push through the pain in my leg but i can only manage a weak limping jog. i feel tears pool in my eyes as i stop to lean my side against a tree. there's just no way i'll make it to my cabin like this. and there's no way i'd beat whatever it is that's following me. as the pain in my knee starts to throb, i sink lower until i'm sitting with my back against the tree.

through my wallowing i failed to realize that the sound from before had stopped. as i turn my head to look around, i spot a silhouette to my left. back from where i originally started running. it looks like.... a person? who in their right mind would be out this far? it seems like the seconds drag on as i stare wordlessly at the unmoving figure. i have no options to weigh so i wait. for impending doom most certainly. but there's nothing i can really do. trying to get up again really isn't practical and would just alert them to my location, if they don't see me already. i blink and suddenly the figure looks a lot closer than they were a second ago. no... my mind is playing tricks on me no one moves that fast. my heart rate kicks into high gear as the figure starts to become larger. they're definitely getting closer. my reflexes kick in and i scramble with no success to get onto my feet. i hear my breath stutter and a cry threatens to leave my lips as the figure finally really comes into view and then stops. though it's still very dark, they're close enough now that i can see the person is a man. he's human looking... enough. but that doesn't really quell my fear. he's still not close enough that he could hear me if i spoke in a normal tone but i shouldn't get my hopes up. i watch as his head tilts to the side for a second before he starts to walk, much slower now, towards me.

[penelopepine]

Forever in Your Gaze Pt. 3

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Fem Reader

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Night at the museum AU. Gaz and Reader are both paintings directly across from one another, and have been in love for many years now. The only thing is that they are unable to actually leave the confines of their canvas, and have never felt others touch.

Word Count: 1236

Content: Established relationship, fluff, light angst

Kyle is so relieved when he sees you again, and he can tell even through the shock you’re elated to see him as well. He whispers your name and puts a hand up next to yours. When you mirror his action the magical barrier still separates the two of you.

"You're here," You take a stuttering breath, "How are you here?"

"I promised that I'd find you, it's just like I said this situation is not going to keep me from you." 

Your eyes are still red along with tear stained cheeks, but you give him the biggest grin, "What did I do to deserve you?" 

"I think the correct question is what did I do to deserve you?" 

The only thing Kyle can think about right now is you, and how much he loves you. Which is why when he hears a cough from behind him he's generally caught off guard. He had completely forgotten that the others were even with him. 

Price comes up to them and pats him on the back and smiles at you, "Well it seems things are going well here then. The lads and I will leave you two here for the rest of the night while we go look into everything a bit more. I'll come and get you later Gaz." With that the three of them leave the area with parting words of hope and comfort.

Silence after that lasts only for a moment before you ask, "What's happening Kyle? I thought I was going to still be near you tonight." 

It took him a bit to reply, pondering to himself about how to explain that in a week you two may never see each other again if they don't come up with a solution. "Shepherd plans to have you shipped to another museum."

Immediately he can see when his words hit you. Your shoulders slump and give a defeated sigh, "So this is it then?" 

"No! No, you're not going anywhere! We're going to figure something out." 

"But what if we don't?"

"We will." He gives you a sad but reassuring smile as he puts his hand to your face. When he does the barrier's sheen shines at his touch. Kyle's face then quickly turns to determination. "Let's get you out of here." 

"What?"

“Well I’m out aren’t I? That means that you can get out too.” Kyle exclaims as he stands to adjust your frame before kneeling down a bit away from you, “All you have to do is push the barrier!” 

You look at him with an apprehensive look as you put both hands on the barrier. “I think more paintings would be out by now if that is all it took.” That being said, you still begin to push against the magic. Kyle watches as the sheen ripples with the contact from your palms. This goes on for several minutes with words of encouragement being thrown your way. 

Alas though you can't seem to escape, no matter how hard you try. Clearly dejected you give one last push before stepping away from it. 

“We’ll keep trying until it works,” He says softly to you, “I’m not giving up just yet.”

"You're right," You take a deep breath, "You're right, we can try again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Kyle is now back sitting right in front you. He knows that it's not the same as actually holding you, but he takes your frame and sets you down in his lap. You both continue talking as you normally would with each other. Just trying to enjoy being so close to one another despite both knowing that all this could be coming to an end very soon. 

It's hours later when Price does eventually come back in to collect him, "Gaz, it's time to go lad. We need to get you back on the wall." 

Kyle very reluctantly lets you go, and puts you back whispering sweet reassurances to you. The only thing that he doesn't do is put the sheet back. He refuses to be the one to put you in the dark, and makes Price promise that he wouldn't do so either until the sun was up.

“I’ll see you soon love,” Kyle smiles at you, “It’ll be just a few minutes of us being apart.” 

“I’ll be waiting for you.” You say back putting on a brave face. This is after all the first time you’ve actually said goodbye to one another. With that Price has to practically drag him out of the room otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to leave your side.

As they walk back to his frame Kyle can’t help but ask, "Price, do you know where she is supposed to be moved too? Is it at least close by?"

"There wasn't an address listed, the only information mentioned was that the deal was made between Shepherd and Phillip Graves. The whole thing doesn't feel right; I'm planning on bringing all of this up with Laswell when she gets in." 

"You think Shepherd is up to something?"

Price gives him a very serious look before saying, "I don't know for sure, but after going through all the files I could find in his office a lot of things aren't adding up. All things considered this deal with Graves shouldn't even be happening with how incorrectly those documents were done." 

Those words brought so much relief to him. If things were really as sketchy as Price described then he knew Laswell would do everything in her power to put a stop to everything happening; with any luck she'll be able to get rid of Shepherd as well. 

The rest of the walk was fairly silent. Kyle watched as others around him slowly moved to their own areas preparing for the morning light to freeze them in place for another day. 

It was very quiet now as the two of them entered the familiar halls once more; all the other paintings eyeing him as he walked past. He's become some kind of social pariah amongst them it seems, but that is not something he is going to worry himself about right now. 

Once Kyle is back to his own frame he takes a few moments to really just look at where he's been his whole life before finally bringing his hands up to the painting. As if the frame was welcoming him home Kyle slides back in very seamlessly. Unlike when he first broke free there is no pain upon re-entering the canvas.

He quickly gets himself back in his proper place once he's fully inside, "Price, can you promise me one thing?"

"What is it? I'll see what I can do, lad."

"Please don't make me wake up not knowing where she is. I know where she is right now, and I don't know if I'll be able to handle having to find her again." 

"She won't be getting moved again Gaz. I won't let you go through this all again."

He nods and gives a relieved huff, "Thank you." 

A mere few minutes after that Price watches as Kyle and everyone around him goes back to being regular paintings. With that he walks out of the hall, and continues with his usual routine. After making sure everything was in place walks back to the lobby's reception desk and waits for Laswell to walk through the door. They're getting to the bottom of this. 

Note: AHHHH CHAPTER 3 IS DONE! I hope everyone is enjoying this story!

Taglist: @zarsghost @nexthyperfix @kaoyamamegami

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (4)

Parks And Puppies

Wanda Maximoff X Reader

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 4- W/c 2.3k

Parks And Puppies

A loud ringing noise startles you awake, your hand shooting out of the comfort of your duvet to reach the device, eyes squinting as you see Natasha's name flash on the screen.

"Hey," your voice raspy from just waking up, your hand moving to cover your yawn as you flop back onto the bed, leaving your phone on speaker as you talk to your best friend.

"Hey Y/n, my best, best friend," her tone is too sweet, her words too complimentary making you groan.

"What do you want, Nat?" you grumble, only just looking at the time and realising she's woken you up at nine on a Saturday.

"Who says I want anything?" she answers back, you push your face against your pillow, wishing you could be swallowed up by sleep again and be left to bask in the warmth of your bed.

"It's nine in the morning Nat, tell me what you want now otherwise I'm going back to bed," you can hear her chuckle at your moody and tired tone.

"Well, Yelena is currently out for some school trip that's lasting the weekend and I'm in charge of looking after Fanny," you laugh at the dog's name as always, Natasha groaning at your childishness. "Really Y/n? Every time," you hear her mutter something else in Russian before continuing, "Any chance you would walk her with me? I don't want to go alone and, well, you practically love that dog more than me."

"Are you jealous, Romanov?" you tease, reluctantly sitting up in bed, back cracking in a satisfying way when you stretch a little. "I'll come on one condition; you pick me up to go to the park."

"Deal," she says, "What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"Ten?" you hear her agree to that and a bark in the background, "Tell my favourite resident of the Romanov household I love her, and I'll see her soon."

"Cyka," she mutters before saying goodbye, leaving you to get ready before meeting her.

Around an hour later, you've showered and gotten dressed into a simple outfit, pulling a hoodie on to keep you warm from the slight chill of outside. You check the living room to see your mum still on the sofa, not even bothering to wake her up and tell her you're going out. You do, however, grab a quick snack from the kitchen, only a breakfast bar as you're hoping to persuade Natasha to go with you to get food somewhere else, and start to head outside the apartment block, looking for your best friend and her car.

"Are you ready?" she calls out when you approach her car, confusing her as you walk towards the backseats with a grin on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, not wanting to ignore her and climb into the back where Fanny sits, Natasha rolling her eyes in the rear mirror as you hug the American Akita, ruffling her fur before making contact with Nat's green eyes in the mirror.

"Why don't I get a greeting like this?" she grumbles playfully, unable to hide her smile as you decide to move to sit next to her in the front.

"I can always do that to you," your hand jokingly goes to her hair, face pulling up into disgust and a grimace as you try to ruffle her red locks. "Oh, aren't you a good girl," you put on the voice people do when they talk to their pets, voice slightly higher than normal.

"Go away," she huffs out, fixing her appearance while you sit back into the passenger seat, a giggle escaping you, especially when Fanny decides to try and lick your face from the back of the car.

"You're the one who invited me," you retorted, her shaking her head at your antics before putting the car in reverse and starting the journey towards the park.

***

"Just so you know, as much as I love her, I'm not picking her shit up this time," you make clear, looking over towards your best friend as you see Fanny starting to sniff around a certain patch of grass.

"Fair enough," she mumbles, watching closely as the dog decides to walk away from that area and come back to you two, your hand instinctively scratching her side while her tongue sticks out, hot pants of breath showing in the cold air.

The three of you casually stroll around the park, Fanny wandering off occasionally to play with other dogs and coming back when called, you and Natasha talking about everything and anything. You can't stop the laugh that escapes you when you see a child fall over, Natasha hitting you softly on the back of your head as the child's parents look at you with annoyed looks.

"How on earth are you a babysitter?" she says in disbelief, walking away with you to evade the angry parents for your reaction.

"Oh, come on, that was funny," another chuckle leaves your lips as you replay the small child falling over, the way their face slowly changed from happiness to a confused and sad expression. "And, for your information, I'm great with kids, that's how I'm a babysitter."

"Doesn't seem like it," she mocks, bumping your shoulder to hers in fake annoyance as you continue to walk around.

"Y/n!" you hear voices scream your name, turning around only to feel two bodies crash into your legs, Natasha's arm stopping you from falling over.

"Mini Maximoffs!" your tone playful as you hug the two boys, looking up to see Wanda strolling up towards you with a smile on her face. Your breath hitches slightly, the sight of her making you speechless as she wears a long beige coat with a white shirt underneath, black high waist jeans accentuating her curves and long legs. Her hair frames her face perfectly as you peer up at her, now standing in front of you.

"Hello Y/n, sweetheart," she greets, your cheeks tinting pink that you're definitely blaming on the cold weather, not the older woman.

"Wanda," you manage out, giving her a shy smile while the twins notice the dog running up to you.

"Oh my god!" Tommy exclaims while Fanny sits by Natasha's side, looking up expectantly as she wants a treat. "A puppy!" Both twins move closer to the dog, looking back at their mother for permission who nods her head.

"Can we stroke it?" Billy asks Natasha who hands Fanny a treat.

"Of course, you can," she replies, crouching down and petting the dog herself. "She likes it like this," she shows the boys how to scratch the dog in her favourite way, her fur on her head being messed up slightly by the twins' small fingers.

"What's her name?" Wanda asks you as the twins busy themselves with the dog, you look back at the older woman and ignore the smirk your friend gives you.

"She's called Fanny," you say embarrassedly, Wanda's eyes widening and brows raising at the name. Her laughter makes you smile, the sound something you could listen to forever, her hand raising to cover her smile while you let out your own laugh. "I did not name her by the way, Yelena did," you clarify.

"Is that Yelena?" she asks, motioning to the redhead currently talking to her children, an indecipherable look in her eyes.

"Oh no, that's Natasha, Yelena's sister," you say before calling her name again. "Natasha," she stands up and makes her way over to you two, giving you an insinuating look before moving her gaze to the other woman, "This is Wanda, Wanda this is Natasha." They share a smile before Natasha starts to smirk, making you tempted to clamp your hand over her mouth to prevent whatever was about to come out.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she starts off, "I've heard so much about you." You want the ground to swallow you up, your blush darkening as Wanda looks to you with a teasing smile.

"Oh really?" Natasha hums in response, "I hope it's all been good things."

"Oh, it's all been good Miss Maximoff," she smiles at you while you scowl at your friend, quickly switching to a smile when Wanda looks over you.

"Why don't you show the boys the trick Fanny can do with the tennis ball?" you say to Natasha in a fake sweet voice, noticing how she's enjoying making you suffer. She raises her brow at you in a challenging way, the only reason she gives in is because of the way the boys practically buzz with excitement.

"Sorry about her," you say when the boys run off, Natasha throwing the tennis ball so Fanny can catch it in her mouth, cheers coming from the twins as they chase her playfully.

"There's no need to apologise dear," she chuckles out, walking with you to a nearby bench and sitting down, motioning for you to take the other seat by moving her head. "Billy has a present for you the next time you come over by the way," she says while a smile tugs at her lips at the way your face brightens.

"Really?" your voice shocked, teeth showing as you smile while looking at the boy currently trying to throw the tennis ball further than his brother could.

"Yeah, he's been drawing a lot lately and he said it's thanks to you," her voice is grateful, thankful that you've helped her son find something he enjoys doing.

"Not really," you try to dismiss, "I just told him whatever Vision said to him earlier was wrong." Wanda's face turns to confusion, tearing her gaze away from the twins to look at you, eyes scanning your features briefly before speaking up.

"What did Vision say to him?" there's a little coldness in her tone, you turning to look to your side, her green eyes swirling with curiosity.

"Billy didn't tell you?" She shakes her head, clearly unaware of the false information her husband had been saying, "Vision told him he should like science stuff or sports instead of art, calling it a waste of time." Her jaw clenches and you curse yourself internally for finding the action attractive.

"He really said that?" you nod your head, feeling sympathetic when you see the defeated look take over her. Fingers push her hair back, her auburn locks falling backwards as she lets out a sigh. "He didn't even tell me," her voice is barely a whisper, but you still hear it, "Billy didn't even tell me, his mother."

"Hey," you say softly but she just bites her bottom lip, a worried expression on her face as she ignores your words.

"Am I a bad mother?" you blink in response to her question, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What? No," your quick to answer her, "The twins absolutely adore you Wanda, honestly, all they do when they talk about you is say how amazing you are." You watch her reaction closely, doubt still in her eyes, "It's 'my mom is so good at this' or 'Y/n did you know my mom is so cool when she does this?' all the time." A small smile tugs at her lips as you continue to tell her about how much her children love her. When you finish there's a small period of silence, Wanda letting the information sink in for a minute.

"Thank you," she murmurs, finger playing with her wedding ring, "It's just Vis would say..." Before she can finish her sentence, the boys come sprinting over, Fanny following behind and sitting at your feet.

"Mom, please can we get a dog?" Tommy asks, Natahsa following with a sheepish look.

"Please," Billy adds, both of them hugging the dog while giving their mother puppy eyes.

"I'm sorry Dorogies," she says, your eyes widening at her use of another language, "But your father is allergic to dogs." They both pout and decide to shower Fanny in affection, while Natasha looks at Wanda curiously.

"Are you Russian?" she asks, knowing that dorogies was the masculine version of darlings, you also interested in knowing the answer.

"Sovokian," she answers, you then accidentally speaking without thinking.

"You don't have an accent though?" luckily for you, the question doesn't seem to bother her.

"When I moved to America, I learnt to hide my accent, now I'm just used to it, sometimes it slips out though," she explains, and you wish you could hear her normal voice. You were about to ask another question but Natasha's phone rings, telling you it's Melina and moving away to talk to her mother.

"You don't have to hide your accent with me," you say a little shyly, not wanting to sound weird. Wanda simply smiles softly at you before moving forwards, wrapping you in an embrace that has you melting against her body. Her lips press against your forehead before she pulls back to whisper.

"Thank you Detka," your cheeks flush at the sound of her voice, her accent causing a slight rasp to her words before she pulls away, Natasha returning with a shit eating grin on her face.

"I'm sorry to break this up," you glare at her, "But Melina is inviting you over for lunch Y/n, if we're going, we need to start heading back now."

"Yeah, I can do lunch," you say, trying to think straight and calm your body down from the way Wanda's arms felt wrapped around your waist.

"It was lovely seeing you two," Wanda's words break you from your thoughts, the boys saying goodbye to Fanny.

"Bye Fluffy!" They both hug her one last time, you raise your eyebrow at Natasha while she swiftly hooks the lead on the dog and starts to walk away with you after you say goodbye to Wanda and the twins.

"Fluffy?" your voice teasing while Natasha rolls her eyes at you, groaning at your mocking tone.

"I wasn't going to have them screaming Fanny in a park and I also didn't want them to ask me what a fanny was either," laughter spills from your lips at her answer, her pushing your shoulder to move you away.

"I would have paid to see you try and deal with that," you chuckle out, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and walking back to the car with her, unaware of the set of green eyes watching you laugh and joke with Natasha, a disheartened look in them.

---

I used Google translate for the translations so if anything is wrong, please correct me (:

I hope you enjoyed :)

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes <3 I really appreciate them!

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

[alittledizzy]

this a big ask and feel free to ignore but you seem like the right person to come to.

can you give like a dnf overview for those of us who know almost nothing but are sooo curious (minecraft? face reveal? queer?)(i follow for dnp lol)

Okay so... I'm gonna try and do a bullet point overview and for the purpose of not getting in the weeds I am not going into the controversies. I'll be happy to discuss that part - OFF anon.

Dream and George met on a Minecraft server when Dream was 16, George was 18/19 and became best friends.

When Dream decided to start youtube when he was 18, he asked George (and Sapnap) to come along with him. They both said yes.

In 2019, George started talking about moving to America. At the time Dream lived with his girlfriend, though they broke up by 2020. (George and the girlfriend did not get along. But that's also a whole other can of worms because she fucked Dream up pretty badly with consistent cheating and verbal/physical abuse.)

Plans for George to move to the US got more concrete and at some point over 2021 became him moving into a house with Dream and Sapnap.

Dream also came out multiple times in this general period of time. He came out in a post on reddit, on twitter, and on a stream. He does not explicitly state that he's bisexual, but he does explicitly state he isn't straight.

Sapnap had already moved in with Dream for Dream's protection since he was being swatted pretty regularly. Dream had plans for a face reveal but people were stalking and harassing him both to 'reveal' him and also because at this point the Kiwi Farms targeted attack on him had gained a lot of steam.

Speaking of: George used face cam pretty regularly, but Dream did not face reveal. Based on things he's said it seems pretty clear he was trying to lose weight but at some point set the goal of face revealing once George was in America because he wanted George to see his face before anyone else.

George applied for his Visa and would have had about a 6-9 month wait, and then was denied. He had to apply a second time, and wait another extended period of time, which put it September 2022 when his visa finally was approved. This means they'd known each other for seven years and he'd been trying to move to the US to live with Dream for three years at that point.

George arrived in the US and Dream posted his first video with a face camera on. George posted a vlog meeting Dream irl for the first time, which is a great starting point for a watch.

In terms of the ship stuff: they've always had a heavily flirtatious relationship and Dream is open about how attractive he finds George. They've acknowledging having a conversation about if they'd date or not.

Once in a while Dream will reiterate that they're not dating, and we know he spent 2023 having a variety of hookups but no confirmed relationships. (Which lines up with his long history of women that flirt with him complaining he'll be great to them and make them feel good but always says he doesn't want a relationship.)

2023 was pretty wild for them in terms of nonstop travel, events, and making very little content besides Dream's music. So far in 2024 we've seen a complete 180 of that and Dream and George have noy traveled at all, staying at home in Orlando together. (Sapnap has traveled and spent time in LA, but alone.)

This is partially due to controversy, I'm sure, but also seems to be just in line with a rededicating of themselves to Minecraft and content impending. They're working on a project that hopefully will come out soon.

Right now in terms of what they've publicly told us, they're just in the category of Super Not Normal About Each Other. Here are a few of the Not Normal things that are just fun from a shippy pov:

Before George moved, they were open about living most of their life on a call together. This includes sleep calling and staying on the phone while taking showers.

One of Dream's early videos was gifting his friends money to thank them for supporting him. He gave Sapnap and another friend $500 each. He gave George $5000.

Dream took 'am I in love with my best friend' quizzes on stream twice with George on the call and neither treated it quite like a joke.

Dream sent George an oversized Dream hoodie which George has worn repeatedly and even admitted to spraying with cologne before he'd put it on. Dream took pictures of George in the hoodie (a private call, not one fans were in on) and then later shared them saying they were the cutest pictures of George ever.

The first time we really got to see them interact irl at length was a stream they did around Christmas. Here's a supercut that just really shows the vibe between them.

Initially in late 2022 Dream was wearing a very specific chain. At some point in January 2023, George started wearing that chain (the specific one Dream used to wear) and has not been spotted without it since.

At one of his concerts Dream described George as a friend he just met a year ago that he's so in love with.

The entire song Spotlight which everyone immediately associated with George, to George's embarrassment and pride.

And there's obviously way more... but I feel like this is a good starter kit for Them.