#and even though it does pick up and feel better as the two closing tracks swell

[kiss-inthekitchen]

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him. 

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.  

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone. 

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet. 

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum. 

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.” 

“Yeah.” 

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do. 

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics. 

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice. 

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.” 

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.” 

“But I think I should be right more often than that.” 

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock. 

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.” 

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?” 

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.” 

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while. 

“Spence?” 

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door. 

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.” 

“I’m already inside with the door locked.” 

“Man, I’m good.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already. 

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.” 

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.” 

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice. 

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic. 

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster. 

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.” 

You laugh. “For the whole day?” 

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.” 

“Okay, rest day all day.” 

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.” 

“Maybe the floor.” 

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?” 

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.” 

“Say no more.” 

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.” 

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?” 

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.” 

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.” 

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke. 

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.” 

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?” 

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.” 

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.” 

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates. 

You let out a little gremlin laugh. 

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone. 

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’. 

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs. 

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.” 

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’” 

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.” 

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part. 

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.” 

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.” 

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.” 

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.” 

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird. 

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice. 

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh. 

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it. 

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes. 

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.” 

“We did.” 

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy. 

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him. 

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters. 

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon. 

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Husk please

The request for a Sinner darling was pretty much the plot I had for his concept... so I hope it's okay I combined the two :(? It would make more sense than me repeating myself.

@okchijt helped me out with this to make sure I got the character right and filled this with good ideas ^^

Yandere! Husker Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Stalking, Drinking, Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Murder briefly mentioned, Blood mention, Biting mention but not done, Scenting, Dubious relationship.

For how moody Husk is most of the time, I imagine he'd care for his obsession very much.

It's said he lost the ability to love long ago... which he no doubt believes to be true for a long time.

Even when his obsession begins Husk would still be in denial of the idea.

There's no way he's feeling love towards another sinner here.

Yet here he is, worrying for you more than any other.

His obsession would be the most likely to occur with someone who's in the hotel.

So another sinner employed to help out the hotel or looking for redemption.

For the most part, Husk tends to stay out of the way and observe.

Most of his behavior is obviously cat-like.

Which means he'd keep his distance and watch you... just to see how you behave and what you're planning.

Husk's obsession is slow... gradual.

It's not like other yanderes who feel an immediate spark only for it to grow.

He watches you for a bit... Then slowly talks to you over a drink, then you become close.

His mood can put people off.

He's always drinking, always grumpy, apathetic, and gruff...

Yet he really does like to listen to people and help.

In that case... I can imagine one of your bonding times is opening up over a drink.

Maybe you're anxious about the hotel or some other thing.

The cat's good at listening... soothing your nerves with a drink and advice.

You'd swear he's the hotel's therapist more than the bartender.

However...

A good drink certainly would start a bond between you two.

Observant and empathetic... Husk would care for you once he shows some interest.

It's certainly not romantic immediately to him...

But it is a curiosity.

He's patient with you and often knows if you lie to him.

Which at first is revealed by something innocent... like you trying to hide some problem you have.

Yet that ability can turn sinister later on... like if he feels you're lying to him about something to distance yourself from him.

Husk is said to be sweet and protective of those he likes.

Naturally, as a fellow sinner in the hotel, Husk often keeps track of you.

He looks forward to sharing a drink with you or playing a game of cards.

You don't even have to trauma dump on him, he enjoys your casual conversation in his normally dull day.

He doesn't even realize he enjoys your company so much until someone, maybe Angel, points out he's purring when he sees you.

This would probably occur within a couple months.

You two often chat as you work and get along pretty well.

Better than he thought apparently if he's purring when he sees you.

He can't seem to help it...

You just stir something in him... It's familiar but... it can't be anything serious....

Husk is a subtle yandere for a couple reasons.

One reason is he's in denial of being in love for a long portion of his obsession.

He often tries to rationalize with himself that he just sees you platonically.

That he's just a shoulder to cry on....

Another reason is this... Even after he comes to the conclusion he does love you...

There's Alastor.

Husk's soul is still owned by Alastor, the radio demon is his master.

He can't show his love for you much as he fears Alastor will pick up on it.

The last thing Husk needs is causing you more stress because Alastor needs leverage against him.

Such a thought forces him to keep his obsession over you out of sight.

Both out of shame and fear.

Doesn't stop him from accidentally dropping hints, though.

When you two talk in private, or even in public and he lets his guard down too much, you can hear Husk purring around you.

He denies it the whole time, of course.

When alone, Husk tends to be more affectionate once he accepts he's in love.

However, he excuses it to try not to give himself away.

For example, if you're having a stressful day, he may hug you and start purring.

When you question him, he claims he's just trying to get you comfortable.

After all, did you know a cat's purr supposedly eases the mind?

In reality... He's trying to excuse his urge to touch you... just to keep up his facade.

So you'd just keep venting while he nuzzles into you to "cheer you up".

Apparently....

Husk is limited in his obsession.

Kidnapping and physical isolation would draw too much attention.

Alastor would definitely find out then.

Although... Emotional dependency and social isolation?

He can make that work.

In fact, making his darling dependent on him is core to his yandere tendencies.

It's easy since you already come to him for help anyways.

He wants to be the only one you're vulnerable around.

Husk wants you to seek him out for help, comfort, and company.

Perhaps even love eventually.

Making you dependent on him makes you his... Yet keeps Alastor out of it.

... Hopefully....

Because you vent to him, Husk knows nearly everything about you.

More than you know yourself sometimes.

While such secrets and info would be great blackmail... Husk wouldn't want to ruin your trust.

Instead he uses it to his advantage, a way to gain your favor.

He'd use the info he gained to help you.

He knows what you like, what you hate, what situations make you uncomfortable...

He's always around and ready to tug you out of a situation you hate.

He acts like such a caring friend, he's even protective of you.

Husk may actually leave his post at the bar to follow you and check on you.

He does some stalking but has to make it subtle.

If someone was messing with you or hurting you, Husk is quick to step in.

Considering how he handled those Loan Sharks in the show...

Safe to say you're in mostly good hands.

The only time he'd murder is if your life is in danger.

In that case... Surely you can ignore the blood in his fur?

Not like it's very new to you, though....

Hell's violent... Which is another reason Husk hates you wandering off alone.

While Husk is subtle... I can see him scenting his darling in secret as he nuzzles and purrs.

He may even be into biting you... leaving marks to show you're his...

Yet since he has to be subtle, he reigns in such urges.

Overall, Husk is a subtle protective yet possessive yandere who would make his obsession vulnerable and dependent on him.

This way, you're kept safe and cared for...

All his... even if you don't know it yet.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"The Test." Part Two. Sugar Daddy AU. Poly!Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Sugar Baby Reader.

Part one here! Hey, hey, hey! Here it is part two! Picking up RIGHT where part one left off! So this is basically all porn, so happy to be finishing this behemoth! So I might add onto this in the future if people want it, there is still the rest of this three day weekend to go over! Feedback very much encouraged on this one! Thanks for reading and enjoy!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.6K. Billy Loomis/Stu Mach/Sugar Baby FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Age Gap. Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. Sex Work. Restrained Reader. Tit Slapping. Nipple Play. Pain Play. Knife Play. Blood Play. Vaginal Fingering. Edging. Orgasm Denial. Vaginal Sex. Anal Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Extreme Kink. Double Penetration. Multiple Cream Pies. Dirty Talk. Praise. Degredation. Aftercare.

---

Billy felt a thrill run through him. This was unbelievably exciting, so far, this is everything he’d been wanting, all he’d been hoping for. He and Stu both looked at eacdoh other, even though he couldn’t see the eyes of his long term best friend, he knew he felt the same. Giddy, alight, ready to really dive in. A deep breath to compose and really ready himself. 

You wait, but you aren’t left questioning for long, the hand that isn’t holding the knife comes into view, he palms the now obvious clothed erection so close to your face, so easy to see with how your head is currently tilted. “I think we are going to put that mouth of yours to work.” 

The robe is hauled up, and his belt is open, he isn’t in a rush but also clearly he wants to get inside you after all this build up, zipper comes down, then he is exposed, thick and hard, hanging right there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. 

You open your mouth and try to appear somewhat reluctant about it, a valiant attempt to mask the strong desire to have him in your waiting mouth, you manage it well, to not show the excess of saliva that pools or the want in your eyes from the prospect of getting him inside. You want to please them, play your part of the unwilling victim. Your eyes are locked on the bead of pre-cum at this tip, you want to taste it.

“Mmm, can’t you at least try to look a little happy about it?” The question makes you scoff, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes and instead, while keeping your mouth open, you quirk up at the sides. A nearly comical open-mouthed smile forms from the action that in response makes you feel this wash of an emotion that is surely a cousin of humiliation, it also gets minor praise from him, “Better.”

It hits your ears right before, he shoves his cock into the orifice with such brutality it makes even you, the experienced paid slut for hire, gag. It isn’t the hardest you’ve ever gagged, yet there is still a particular kind of force behind it, your body rocking away before making yourself roll forward, taking him deeper, to the root until your lips wrapped around the base. 

He holds, staring down at you, the bulge of himself buried in your throat apparent and crystal clear, if he reached down and squeezed he could feel the pressure of his fingers through the walls of your neck for sure. As it stands at this moment, he doesn’t do that, the knife is still pressed to your throat after all. The view is spectacular, combined with the sensation, it is enough to make his breath stutter, and you can hear it from behind the mask. 

Slowly, he pulls out before bucking his hips forward again with a quiet curse, “Fuck.”

That one exclamation does absolutely everything for you, the cadence of it, you are able to hear the heavier breathing, both sides of that word almost bracketed by a moan. He starts to get into a sporadic rhythm, it is hard to keep track of when he is going to jam himself in or retreat, but you are trying to anticipate his needs, stay on top of it and please him as best as you can, you are doing this to save your life, right?

While you are distracted trying to work with him, move your head, take him as he pushes forward and pull back when he does so you can sneak in breaths whenever he isn’t lodged in your throat, you are assaulted with another sensation leaving you floundering to contend with. 

What sensation is that? The light touch of leather gloved fingertips on the tops of your thighs, they move, patterns being traced that you can’t keep track of before they slip between your thighs and then part them, spreading your legs, exposing yourself. You can feel drool slipping past your lips, running down your face, gravity helping pull the wetness on its way, you still keep up, but barely as finally fingers touch you where you are soaking and aching. The touch is gentle in comparison to how brutal your mouth is getting fucked, one hand palms you carefully, fingers press but don’t penetrate, they rub but not where you wished they would. The first hand shifts, spreads your lips open and then the second joins, thumb dips slightly into your hole collecting slickness before tracing up, circling around your already swollen clit, and you stiffen, moaning around the intrusion between your lips. 

“God, that feels good.” The cock is forced deeper into your throat, “Again.” 

The pressure increases and the circles get smaller, the feeling becoming more intense, and you moan again, louder, whimper a little at the jolt of pleasure that overtakes, and this is how it goes. One between your thighs, touching and rubbing your clit, the other fucking your mouth with abandon until you feel lightheaded from the lack of proper oxygen, trying to breathe while blowing and getting pleasured like this was proving to be impossible. You swallow thickly, trying to manage the excess of spit you were producing, and it was as if they planned it ahead, the timing of it is perfect. Right when you swallow, the first one pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick breaching the tightness of your throat mid-swallow, and the one between your legs? He slips two fingers into your leaking hole, his thumb pressing on your clit all the while. You gag and your walls clench around his fingers, the drag of the leather of his gloves feels much better than it should, his thumb is swirling around and around your clit, your hips buck, wanting to get more of the sensations he was foisting upon you.  

It becomes a blur of trying not to choke on spit or the dick in your mouth as you are catapulted to the edge with alarming speed. The push and pull of the entire act, the heightened emotions from the scenario at hand, all of it, has you near cumming, your body betrays you, tightening, getting more tense and trembling slightly, almost, so fucking close and right before you can tip over, before that first wonderful spasm can start, the fingers are ripped from your hole, leaving you dangling. Your hole is grasping, clitoris throbbing, both silently calling out for something to push you over and finding nothing. Your hips squirm and you whine around the dick in your mouth, if you were able to pout around the thick shaft, you would have.  

“Stop hogging her mouth and let me have a turn.” The voice cuts through the lustful haze, it sounds playful but with an edge that mirrors the knife being held to your throat. 

“Fine.” He grunts before pulling out of you, your eyes take a second to adjust, managing to catch the sight of the wet leash of your saliva still connecting him and you break as he moves back, the blade lifts off of you as you suck down a series of deep breaths. You don’t have time to try and regain some sense of yourself as you are spun on the smooth, polished table-top with ease. Now you are reversed, confronted with the man who was just fingering you, glove still wet as he hauls his robe up and starts opening his pants. 

You wish that your hands weren’t tied and pinned under you right now, you wanted to reach out and tug him close to you, wanted to taste him the moment that second cock was revealed. Patience was apparently wearing thin, pointer finger and thumb at the base of his shaft, near neatly trimmed coarse hair, he guides himself into your open and waiting mouth. 

The moan of satisfaction was so arousing, you swear to God above you feel yourself get wetter. 

“Fucking shit-” He gasps as he thrusts experimentally and the other one hums in response, “Right?” 

There is less than five thrusts into your mouth before you feel a hand between your legs again, two fingers thrust unceremoniously into your hole, you clench, body tenses, you had backed off from the edge, but you were still incredibly sensitive. His thumb presses to your clit but doesn’t rub, the fingers fuck in and out, the pressure combined with the lack of movement of his thumb is killing you viciously, it isn’t enough, you want movement, more friction. However, you are drenched, the wetness is a comfort and a curse, makes for fluid and smooth work, but it also dulls the feeling slightly. The butter soft leather is lovely, sure, but it isn’t what you need right now. His fingers curl, he finds what he wants and he abuses it liberally, he curls into the firmer, rougher tissue causing you to moan, your eyes squeeze shut. His thumb doesn’t move a single centimetre, he drags you to the edge with his middle and ring finger working at a steady pace, up, up, up and there you are, so fucking close you can almost taste it and he stops. Doesn’t even take his fingers out because of the risk he might accidentally trigger it, he just holds, you are throbbing around him and he waits for the edge to recede before he starts again. 

You groan, much more focused on the intrusion in your cunt than the one in your mouth, you had fallen into a good rhythm with that, mostly letting him do what he wanted, take the lead, do what he wished the same way his partner in crime was.

Surviving the next two edges was equal parts blissful and terrible. He worked them out of you quickly, you, of course, let him without putting up a fight, just moaning mournfully around a mouthful of cock.

You wonder if you can get away with it, with grinding your hips up without him protesting, could instead put forth the effort to rub your clitoris on him instead of waiting for him to rub it that last pass needed to make you cum. If you timed it right you could make it happen, push yourself over, steal that much coveted orgasm out right from under him, because who knows if they had plans to let you cum tonight at all. If you do that, make yourself cum using him before he is ready for you to? Who knows what he will do. 

Should you risk it? You swallow around the cock shoving its way into you, inching further and further down your throat, once more your head spinning with want, so fucking close, you are nearly there, his fingers feel incredible. You are buzzing with pleasure, you could always blame it on the lack of proper oxygen, so with that thought you do something stupid.

You move. 

Hips squirm, arching up and then coming back down, the slip of him, of the firm pressure sliding up your clitoral hood and then back down fully over your clit makes you cry out, walls gripping a bit tighter, and that is as far as you get. That knife is put against your hip, your eyes are watering slightly with the effort and severity of the throat fuck, a sharp inhale through your nose, shoulders shuddering as you jump from feeling the cold steel against heated flesh. 

You feel your pussy fighting it, trying to go over the edge, his thumb was barely touching you now, had eased way up, so the contact was extremely minimal, his fingers inside you still and straight, not even curled, not pressed into the spot you needed and slowly, agonizingly, you feel the orgasm slip from your grasp. You didn’t time it correctly and you missed your chance. 

His voice slices through the air as easily as his blade would be able to do your skin, “Try it again. See what happens.” 

An invitation. You hesitate, obviously, fearful of hurting yourself. He pushes, “I mean it, if you want to cum that fucking badly you’d do it, hm? Trade a little bit of pain for some pleasure.” 

You make a sound of question that makes the thrusting into your mouth falter, he pulls out over halfway, just the head of his dick resting between your lips. He joins in, encouraging what the man threatening you between your legs, was suggesting, “Yeah, I want to see it, unless you want to wait for a cock in the other end of you-” He laughs as he slides back in fully, deeply, you gag and he pulls back out almost all the way, “-you aren’t cumming any other way. And you should see how cruel he can be, the stamina on him? He’d be content to fuck with you like that for hours.” 

Your eyes widen in disbelief, hours? He could and would edge you like this for hours? You had barely made it halfway to ten, no way could you make it through hours of that particular brand of torment. You whimper, partly from the situation, partly because those fingers inside your wet walls stir, slow, counterclockwise, stretching you, and you decide fuck it, you can’t hold out. You rock your hips, conveying your consent and they seem pleased by this, “Good. C’mon, put on a show like you did earlier in bed, yeah? Show us how bad you wanna get off.” 

The reminder of their voyeuristic tendencies makes your cunt clench again. 

The cock pulls out of your mouth and slaps your cheek wetly, “Hey, don’t forget about me.” He inserts himself back into your mouth, just the head, and you give a small nod. You lick and suck at the head of his cock as his gloved hand proceeds to slowly stroke his shaft. 

He praises you, “Good girl.” 

Hearing that in that voice? Christ, you wouldn’t take long. The fingers inside curl again, his thumb closer again, and you get to work. Your feet are up on the table, knees bent, you roll your hips, arch up and down, squirm and writhe, rubbing yourself to your hopeful end on his fingers, using gravity to help, pleasing yourself both inside and out. You are very, very aware of the knife, it is to your hip, over the bone, and you find with every movement, there is a small spike of fear, wondering if this will be the pass he presses it the few extra ounces of pressure needed to make that first cut. 

Suck, lick, tongue swirling around the tip, flick, gasp, moan appreciatively and closer and closer you get to the edge. “God, you are such a fucking slut, you just couldn’t get away fast enough before, so confident, wanting to run off down the beach for help and look at you now.”

He sounded a mix of joyful, condescending and mocking all in one, “I’m not doing a damn thing, this is all you, I mean Christ look at you! Slobbering all over my buddies dick and fucking yourself on my fingers.”

He exhales amused, “This isn’t even enough to deter you-”, he taps the knife on your hip and it makes your legs jerk, your cunt grasps at his fingers and he laughs, shocked and delighted, “Oh! See? I think it’s more than that, you actually fucking like it.”

You try to shake your head, try to protest that isn’t true but the one whose cock you are currently worshipping isn’t having it, he smacks your left breast, the pain is sharp, he pinches your nipple next and says harshly, “Get off that high horse of yours sweetheart, you are just as fucked as we are but don’t worry we like it!”

“Yeah, we do, we like to take good care of our toys.” He hums, you hadn’t stopped moving your hips, hadn’t stopped trying to satisfy yourself, your movements are getting sloppier, messier. “Oh, look at you, getting close again, hm?”

You nod, your mouth is uncoordinated, but he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he is seemingly loving watching you losing your mind, stroking himself as you slurp at the head of his dick, his body language telling you his immense enjoyment.

So consumed with pleasure you had almost forgotten about the knife, as if he could sense this, he chose that moment to remind you. He pressed harder and the skin breaks, you cry out, eyes squeeze shut and your hips stutter, pausing midair, two slaps ring out, one on your chest again, the other on your inner thigh with the back of his hand before the knife is replaced over the fresh wound. You hiss at the rush of pain, “Show us you want it! Keep. Fucking. Going.” 

You did want it, you did want to cum, you needed it so badly, and his tone left no room for argument. You keep going, you rock with renewed vigor, his thumb is slipping over your clit, fingers pushing into that sweet spot again and again, as you move, you find yourself almost sawing the knife into your hip, the cut isn’t deep, but it is getting wider.

You can’t look, but you feel it, hot blood spilling out, running down over your hip, the curve of your ass, your inner thigh, gloved fingers pick some of it up in the process of your pursuit of pleasure, wet crimson adding to the sweat of your tense body, to the mess of your slick pouring from your cunt, creating the most obscenely erotic lube the pair had ever seen.

They knew they would both have to fuck you, bloodlust feeding into sexual lust, merging, twisting, combining.

The cock is pulled from between your lips, no longer stroking himself, he just wants to watch, wants to hear you. With your mouth unoccupied, it hangs open as you allow yourself to pant and moan through it, vocally express yourself. Even with the pain, it doesn’t hurt or hinder, no, it’s helping, the sharp stinging and burning cut of the blade assists and you are hanging on by a thread that is threatening to snap at any second. A quiet and breathless chant is leaving you, “Please, please, please, m’ so fucking close-”

“Nothing stopping you, certainly not us.” 

Your eyes flick down to the man currently two fingers deep, that mask’s hollow empty eyes are staring back at you makes your breath catch, one more, you know it, you think they both do, one more rise and fall of your hips, one more grind, one more cut, and you’ll be there. Your whole body is trembling with the effort, so fucking near you think you might go insane if he stops you from seeing it through again, “Do it.” 

He doesn’t need to tell you twice, hips fall, fingers press inward harder with him helping, thumb slips over your clit and the band inside snaps, your whole cunt spasms and you cum. A bleeding, sweating, shaking, gasping mess, you cum, walls like a vice around his fingers, throbbing and completely alive. You feel indescribably amazing, barely holding on, vision whiting out, you have no words, unable to begin to convey how strong your orgasm was. It’s the kind of climax that leaves you speechless, gun to your head, or knife to your throat, you don’t think you’d be able to adequately describe it in a way that would save your pathetic life. You are left feeling different afterwards, floating and ears ringing, body uncontrollable, from so tense, too loose as can be. 

When the pleasure did finally stop, when every bit of sensation had been wrung out of your body and you were lying flat back on the table, legs dangling once more, chest heaving, struggling to catch your breath.

It isn’t verbally communicated, or maybe it is, you aren’t sure, you are still kind of out of it, you register fingers slipping out, but not much else, your ears are still fucking ringing. You are repositioned, put on your stomach, one leg brought up, knee on the table, the robe flipped up, covering your still bound hands pressed into your lower back. You try to roll your wrists in their restrained state, and yup, just like you thought they’d be, totally asleep. Your cheek is to the table-top, eyes wanting to slip closed, your pussy and ass are totally exposed like this, hands spread you open and you hear a happy sigh, “Oh come look at this!” 

The other one walks around the table to join his friend, his thumb presses to the base of the anal plug you slipped in after your bath, “When did you get this inside yourself?” His tone sounded pleasantly surprised and very pleased.

“She’s a sneaky, filthy little thing. Didn’t I tell you?” The one whose cock you just had in your mouth pre-orgasm asked and the other responded, “You did, I swear I’ll never doubt you again, now go get the lube.” 

You hear him step away, the other continues to prod at the anal plug buried in your ass for a moment before his fingers hook around the base and he slowly starts to remove  it. You hiss slightly at the pull, you had lubed it very well, but that was a long while ago now, he pulls harder and it pops out with relative ease. Breathing a sigh of relief, you hear the heavy steel plug set on the table further down with a minor clank, as well as more footsteps, signalling the return of his friend. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you, so-” He takes the lube and you hear the click of the lid open as if for emphasis, “-she’s an admirable cocksucker, isn’t she?”

“Oh yeah, very good, she’s got a nice throat, can take a good pounding.” He sounded gleeful, a sound of agreement rings out before it’s added onto, “You were fucking into it pretty hard for a minute there.” 

So true, he gave it to you rough, your throat will feel a bit raw tomorrow for sure.

“But we still have two other holes to try out, and she was nice enough to start prepping one for us, it’d be rude not to take advantage. Hold her open for me.” 

You feel hands on your ass, spreading you open, and then feel the cold lube pouring down over your tightest hole and in short order, two fingers rubbing around the rim, spreading the cool slippery substance around. You remained relaxed, you weren’t a stranger to anal, you’d done some prep earlier, it wouldn’t take much to get you ready to go. 

“You have a preference?” One asks, and the other responds, “Who says we can’t try both?”

“Elaborate.” One finger begins to slide in, the material of the leather is smooth but still provides some drag, he sinks in to the last knuckle before pulling out, more lube is heaped on before reinserting. 

“Start in her cunt, get a good feel for it, then end in her ass, obviously.” It is said so easily, like it’s unbelievably simple.

“Sure, you are gonna be able to wait me out?” He teases and the other laughs, “Ha! Who says I have to? Once you are in the back, I’ll slide in the front. A whore like her? She can take a dick in each hole, no problem.”

“You are so right! Stupid of me to think otherwise. Too bad we don’t have a third friend for her mouth, could make her airtight.” That thought makes you shiver, fuck.

“Maybe something for the future.” He muses. 

The conversation turns quiet save for the occasional comment from them, or moan from you, as he continues to lube you up and finger your ass open, before you know it you have a second and a third finger buried in you, he was twisting and scissoring them, stretching you wider and wider until he deemed you ready to go. You were excited, very into this and leaking even more, you can’t help it, anal even after all this time, is a major turn on. You had been rocking back into him for a while, moving with him, encouraging him with your deepened breathing and pitched moans, biting your tongue to hold back your begging for more. 

His hands grip your hips and pulls you back towards him, you feel how sticky his fingers are with lube, you feel more alert, recovered from the monstrous orgasm you experienced earlier and ready for more. His hands lift momentarily to slick his cock up, you can hear the wetness of it, your fluttering stomach flat to the table, and his hands are back on you, gripping your hips tighter. You feel it, the hot velvety brush of his cock against you, bumping over your clit, he allows that for a moment, a few passes that makes your breath stutter. You feel next, a hand between you and him, gripping him, “Let me help.”

He assists in dragging the blunt and fat head up through your folds, spreading your ample wetness, adding on further to the slickness already coating him.

“Ready?” It's said quietly, so quietly you aren't sure if you are even meant to hear it, was it meant for you or for him? 

A small hum and a confirmation, asking low, “Stop teasing me.” 

“You're no fun.” It's said light, teasing, ignoring his friend's explicit ask, uttered in such a way it has you questioning just how deep their relationship goes, the true nature of it. 

“Shut up.” The response comes, fond, and with what sounds like a grin. 

He's lined up and he pushes forward, he fills you completely, the hand guiding his shaft into you falls away. You know who is who, now. The one who is buried balls deep in you is Billy, not a single doubt in your mind. The one who was in your mouth first, who threatened you with the knife, who spilled your blood, who edged you into oblivion, made you cum so hard you saw stars and spent ample time fingering your ass open and now was inside you, stretching the walls of your pussy so well, was Billy. He pauses, and Stu, you realize now, asks, “How does she feel?”

Billy sighs, “She's soaked-” He pulls out halfway before thrusting in again, “-and somehow so, so fucking tight.”

He began a slow rhythm, fucking you in earnest, his own breathing behind the mask picking up, that makes more heat flare inside,“You know something feels off.” 

He fucks harder, as if barrelling into your pussy with more strength will reveal the answer he is looking for. His hands are on you as he stills, they start to wander, feeling you, legs, ass, lower back before curling down and his fingers press over your hip and you cry out from him pressing so hard on the cut from earlier. “Oh, that’s what it is! She’s not bleeding anymore.” 

He sounds disappointed.

A beat before Stu responds, “We can fix that.” 

You hear the sound of the previously abandoned blade on the wooden table-top getting pulled up, that distinct schink sound as it is drawn up, “You just focus on fucking her.” 

He comes around the front of you, facing you, looking down and brandishing that knife, he gives a small wave with the steel as if to say, “Hi.” 

Even with his face covered with that mask, you are sure of the look on his face, the playful shit eating grin, eyes alight with mischief.

Billy starts fucking you once more, you moan helpless to resist, brows furrow as the haze of pleasure descends once more and Stu steps closer, the hand not holding the knife reaches down and he cradles your chin. His thumb traces your lips before pressing to your bottom lip, you can smell the leftover juices from when he was fingering you earlier still clinging to the leather. 

“Where should I cut you? Where should I cut you?” He is musing it as if to himself, you know he isn’t asking you. 

You have no say in this. 

He is humming, you can almost feel his eyes moving over your body, currently being rocked from the force of Billy’s thrusts. His hand moves, slips down your throat before tracing your collar bones and then going over your shoulder, strong fingers follow the line of your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck, to where your hair starts. He nods, small, nearly imperceptible and he brings the knife down. The cut isn’t deep, however it is quick, precise, he cuts slightly above where his fingers were pressing, you hiss and clench around Billy’s shaft, making him groan. Honestly, it’s a smart place. Your hair can hide any scar that comes from this easily, he presses harder, squeezes and makes more blood spill and it only has one place to go, down your back. It makes it look much worse than it actually is, the pain isn’t actually the bad, the pleasure is far outweighing it at. 

“How’s that?” Stu asks, and Billy responds easily, “Much fucking better.” 

Billy’s hand reaches up, his fingers smear the blood down your back, his hand lifts only to come back down hard, smacking right on your ass as his hips drive into you the hardest they have all night. Stu’s hand is cradling the back of your neck, pressing down on that wound in time with Billy’s thrusts and the chorus of moans it draws from you are pitched and loud, caught between heaven and hell, pain and pleasure. You inhale through your teeth, musing faintly how thankful you are that all the houses lining the beach are spaced so far apart, some of the moans they have you making would be cause for concern for nearly anyone who overheard your current lustful activities. 

Billy pulls you back as he fucks forward, he tugs you a bit closer, adjusts you slightly and you tense all over. Billy found that same spot he had been practically bullying earlier and you gasped, the pair shared a look over your taut body, shared acknowledgement that he'd locked onto it again. Billy didn't falter, he fucked harder all while staring at Stu, who's fingers were dragging down over your back, smudging and smearing more of your blood as your eyes go hazy and unfocused, consumed with feeling and the slow build of another orgasm.

You push back to meet him and in the process cause Stu to press on the still fresh wound, but just like earlier the pain falls more to the background. 

“Look at this brainless mess, she's on autopilot.” Stu laughed and Billy’s breathing sounds more strained as he asked, “Yeah? Looking cock drunk?”

“Not a thought behind her eyes, all she's focused on is cumming on your cock.” His fingers tangled in your hair near your scalp, he tugs, you wince and Stu asks, “Isn’t that right?” 

You are panting, a nod, the only concern is how your blood is singing, the feeling of intense fire under your skin and keeping this whole experience going, getting as much enjoyment from it as you possibly can. 

“Awe, you're speechless! Is his cock that good? That you have no words?” Considering how close he is already getting you just from his thick shaft splitting you wide and annihilating your cunt for a few short minutes? Yes, he is that good. 

“Not gonna lie-” Billy sighed, the sound again sounds so much better from behind that mask, you clench around him, he pauses briefly, grinding deeply into you before resuming fucking in and out, “-wouldn’t say I’m one for getting pussy drunk but fuck man-” He breaks off in a groan and picks up the pace just a little.

“-this feels fucking in-cred-ible, right?” 

You nod again, agreeing with him wholeheartedly, frantic and dumb as you creep closer to the edge, moaning wordlessly, your walls grasping desperately at his shaft telling on how fantastic this is feeling for you, and when you are roughly fifteen seconds from another brain breaking orgasm, Billy pulls out. You begin making sounds of protest, trying to get yourself together to string together some words to complain, but they are already hard at work again. 

“Help me move her.” Hands are on your biceps, pulling you up and you are being repositioned. You are struggling and putting up a bit of a fight again, they are working you into the configuration they want, you seriously wonder if they talked about it prior or if their non-verbal communication is that strong. Here is how it ends up.

Billy is sitting on the edge of the table, you are in his lap, legs spread wide and hooked over his strong thighs, his hands holding your upper arms so firmly you can't get away. Stu gets on his knees briefly to help Billy lube up extra before he assists lining him up again. You feel the slick tip pressed to your asshole and Stu rises, but his eyes stay locked on where you are about to be joined, he watches intently as the grip loosens and gravity aids in helping you impale yourself on Billy. 

Your hands clenched into fists, you groan as he bounces you up and down a few times, gritting out, “C'mon, open up-” until suddenly he slowly slips inside your tightest hole, once the head pops in he joins you, the mixing sound of pleasure from him and effort from you as you take more and more until at the halfway point he starts to bounce you more vigorously. 

“Was worried it might not fit.” Billy breathed out, and you laugh just as breathlessly, “Me too.”

He is thrusting into you very shallowly, making you take more in small increments as Stu is stroking himself to the picture you both made until finally, fucking finally, he is totally buried in you. 

He is merciful enough to let you take a moment to breathe and get accustomed to him fully inside your ass, but it is only a moment. His hands adjust slightly but remain on your arms, he tugs you up with them and buck his hips up from below to fuck up into you, causing you to choke out, “God-” 

It didn't feel bad at all, but it is an intense sensation, he is very girthy, thank God he put so much effort into the prep earlier or that’d be a different story. Stu could only watch Billy for a minute more before he needed to get in on the action, you had your lips on him far too long ago, he is dying to get inside you again. 

In short order Stu is stepping forward and with the combined height of the table and you on Billy's lap it makes your leaking pussy at the perfect level for him to fuck you too. One hand on your hip and he is nearly flush to you, Billy had stopped moving to allow Stu to get inside of you, and you are confronted with just how imposing they both are when you are in this position, pressed between them, white masks with hollow eyes watching your every move.

The hand that isn't on your hip grips the base of his shaft, the tip drags up through your drenched folds only once before he is nudging up against your grasping hole, his hips press forward with no small amount of force and he eases into you with a harsh inhale through his teeth. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

Stu isn't quite as thick as Billy, but he is longer, which makes this position easier, to be honest the excess length is what makes this position possible, period. He manages to get about two thirds into you comfortably, his head tipping forward, his breathing laboured behind the mask as he starts to begin a rhythm in earnest. “You are so, soooo much tighter like this-”

The first thing said tonight that didn't fit the true narrative of the role play but no one complains, you are all rather lost in the weeds at the moment, consumed with lust and the only real God that mattered in this house, that of course being the moment, the now, worshipping at the altar of the flesh. 

“Can feel you so easily.” Stu huffs out to Billy, he grinds his hips, his shaft rubbing against Billy’s through the thin wall separating your two holes.

So you weren’t lying to Stu earlier, your stance on threesomes being very pro, especially after this experience, but the threesomes you engaged in were different; they were usually with another woman, another sugar baby or the partner of some client. Sure you’ve had things in both holes at the same time, however never anything as filling as this, nothing close to having a dick in both your pussy and ass at the same time. Now that Stu has a good handle on working himself in and out of your cunt, Billy starts moving again with a throaty groan, responding to Stu's earlier statement, “Can feel you too, man.”

You have never felt more full or more helpless, you couldn’t do much of anything, truly a pliant fuck doll pulled one way and another, pulled up and dropped back down, thrust and ground into. What bliss, having your holes stretched to the limit and lost in the feelings being forced on your body. 

The two men weren't so much as concerned with fucking in and out in that feverish and devastating way you were experiencing earlier, the kind where they pull out almost completely before slamming back in, the current action could be described as more of a firm grind. You quickly come to realize the rutting movements are just as much them seeking pleasure in each other as they are in you, gaining friction from each other as well as the gripping, well lubed and rippling walls of your holes.

The shared moaning and panting between the pair is getting louder, more intense, the dirty talk is fractured and not flowing in as elegant a manner, no full sentences, just short and degrading praise huffed out before breaking out. 

“-her holes are so fuckin’ hungry-” “-leakin’ like a faucet all over us-” “-just listen to her-” “-think she knows how loud she’s being?”

Shit, were you? Tuning in a bit more, you realize that yes you are moaning loudly and pathetically, helpless to stop it from how it all feels. Instead of feeling embarrassment or shame over this fact, you moan.

You aren't sure cumming from this is possible, it feels fucking incredible, but not necessarily in a way that could build towards an orgasm, it feels too overstimulating for that. Furthermore, you feel a strange mix of limp and tense as together they use you, mind blanking out with every jolt of overwhelming pleasure. You are more than aware this isn’t about you, this is about them, their mutual enjoyment, you are a prop for their fantasy and yet, you don’t feel objectified, or bothered, in fact, you find yourself loving every single moment. It feels good to be part of what they have, be privy to this level of closeness, it feels startlingly intimate. You had no idea how much more intimate it was about to get. 

Stu instigates it, his hand is off your hip and coming up, it pushes the bottom of his mask up, exposing the lower half of his face and he reaches out to do the same to Billy, he catches him off guard, you hear the question of, “What are you doi-”

Which is promptly cut off by Stu jerking forward over your shoulder, his mouth capturing Billy’s in a kiss, your eyes go wide as you look up and to the right to watch the frankly filthy looking tongue kiss the pair is engaged in. Billy doesn’t fight it, he moans into it and fucks into you harder. 

It doesn’t last much longer after that. 

Billy cums first, hips stuttering unevenly, choked sounds of pleasure expressed against Stu’s mouth, you think you can make out a curse or two, but you aren’t sure as he gives a few more shallow thrusts as he milks the last vestiges of his orgasm. You are seated fully in Billy’s lap as his chest heaves, slowly trying to recover, his currently still hard cock plugging your ass enough to keep the cum deep inside, something you sure would no longer be the case when he pulled out. 

Stu on the other hand was chasing his orgasm much more aggressively, now without having to try and contend with Billy’s movements he could fully focus on getting his. Stu’s hand is resting on the back of Billy’s neck, he had broken their kiss, lips an inch from his best friend’s, panting out as he ruts into you, “Fuck, fffuck, M’ so close-”

“Do it, come on, fill her up.” The encouragement seems to be what makes it happen, you feel him still, throbbing, the rush of warm as he shudders from the sheer force of how intense it feels. 

The come down takes a good minute, the only sounds are your collective harsh breathing, but when you all catch up they start to move. First things first, the masks come off, Stu face is revealed to you as he fully removes it, tossing it onto the table near the long discarded knife. He grins down at you, hair looking a little sweaty, cheeks a bit flush but eyes as playfully mischievous as ever, he says a soft, “Hey.”

You laugh softly, returning it, “Hey yourself.” Before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, he returns it for a moment before you feel still gloved fingers trace your jaw, turning your head. Once he has and you are looking at him, you realize Billy had taken his own mask off, his smile has a soft but still smug quality to it as he also repeats the greeting before kissing you for the first time. 

You melt into it, the realization that Billy had fucked every hole you had, cut you, hurt you, caused you to bleed and cum all before you ever kissed running over your brain like liquid fire. Your body responds automatically, clenching on them both, twin small groans pulled from them both as you squeeze their slowly softening dicks still buried in you. The kiss breaks and Billy asks, “When was the last time you came?”

A small laugh as you admit with a shrug, “Just the once, earlier on your fingers.”

He tsks, “Shit, well that’s no good at all Stu, hmm?” Stu nods in agreement, “Not good at all.”

“What’re we gonna do about that?” He asks with a hum and Stu offers, “How about we get her cleaned up, get all the cum and blood off her and then get her off real slow, comfortably?”

Billy’s nose runs up the side of your neck and you sigh out at the feeling and the thought, being freshly clean and in soft bedsheets as they focus on you, devote themselves to getting you off again hard as fuck, “Sounds good.”

“Yeah? Then that’s what we will do, the least we can do to show our appreciation for how good you did tonight.” Stu kissed your forehead and you ask, “Mmm, yeah, I did good?”

“Oh my God, the best.” Billy gushed, he slowly pulled out of you, causing you to gush in turn, Stu pulled out too and the amount of cum that spilled forth was impressive. They finally untied your hands, you rolled your wrists and open and closed your hands, trying to will the feeling back into them, the robe was used to mop up the cum you leaked out onto the table and floor. The robe was caked in now dried blood, it looked totally wrecked, you doubt it could be cleaned but oh well, the sacrifices we make in the pursuit of kink and pleasure, some casualties are meant to be expected. 

You are way too unsteady on your legs to walk, they are constantly trembling, Stu was carrying you upstairs, Billy carrying the ruined robe, knife and masks as he trailed behind. 

Soon the bath was running, you were sitting in the tub as Billy and Stu got out of their costumes, the Ghostface garb was being stripped away and finally he asked the burning question, “So what did you think? Did it live up to the hype?”

Billy scoffed, a fond roll of his eyes, “Is that why you were so quiet on the way up here? Worried what I would say?” 

Stu brushed him off, “Pfft no. Obviously not.” 

He hummed unconvinced, finished taking off his boots he walked over to Stu who was still unlacing, leaning down he kissed him on the forehead and said, “Stu, it was so fucking amazing it makes me wonder why we waited so long.” 

Stu grinned and pushed his friend’s shoulder playfully, “Shut up, yes you do.” He glanced over his shoulder to you reclining in the tub, enjoying the hot water slowly filling the porcelain, relaxing in your now second bath of the night. He finally admitted that Billy was right, that they needed the right person to make this as good as it was, he admits this by saying simply, “We were waiting on her.”

[boy-comics]

XDINARY HEROES AS SOULMATE TROPES

── .✦ gunil;

first words to each other written on your skin

you've often wondered what situation would warrant the words stamped on your shoulder, and what kind of person would suit those words. they're innocuous enough, you suppose, and leagues better than a threat or something totally creepy; at worst they're just a little vain. your friends joke about it constantly, and when you start your new job at an athletic apparel store the teasing only increases tenfold. of course you would, they say. gotta up your chances.

the day it happens is—normal. you're on the upper floor, busy in the corner, and don't see him until he and his friend wander up to browse through the track jackets. he's trying on different colors in front of the mirror, testing the feel of them when they're zipped up, and doesn't seem to notice when his companion slips away for a moment.

you approach him to ask if he's finding everything okay. but before you can speak, he does, his gaze occupied with the zipper and his tone too warm and familiar and silly to be intended for you.

hey, does this make my biceps look sexy?

and even though you know these words, even though the reality of the order of them hits you until you're dizzy with surprise, you can't help it. you snort, and the man's head snaps up so quickly you'd think he heard a gunshot. he turns around quickly to apologize, laughing, and up close you see how his smile warms the corners of his eyes and makes his cheekbones pop. it's funny, you think as the two of you giggle in the middle of the store, he's funny, and you like funny people.

will you buy it if i say yes?

── .✦ jungsu;

marks left behind when you touch each other

it's easy to be enamored with how things feel—soft fur against your cheek, cold water over your feet, smooth paper underneath your hands. a tactile learner, a teacher once told you a long time ago. that is what you are; one who knows the world as it is beneath their hands, understanding by touching and being touched. and you want to understand everything.

this makes you brave, and it makes you reckless. it makes you climb a crumbling wall after a light rain to pick the prettiest pine cone you've ever laid your eyes on, and it is why you find yourself slipping and falling from a height that is perhaps larger than you'd like.

you know what concrete feels like against your back. it hurts. what stops you is not concrete, but something much more alive, and once you're steady on your feet again, you see that it is a boy with a shy smile and bashful cheeks. he asks if you are alright, and you say yes, because you are until you look down and see the sunshine-yellow fingermarks painting your arms where he had touched you.

oh. you stand and stare at the yellow, then at the fern green that covers the entirety of the boy's overturned palms and fingers. his cheeks flush even pinker, and you notice a faint smear of green on one, where the back of your head must have brushed it.

he makes no move to pull away when you take his hand, dragging your thumb along the back of it to see the color that blooms underneath. that evening, you go home with faint yellow hearts on your wrists, one step closer to understanding everything.

── .✦ gaon;

matching marks on your skin

it's in such an outspoken place—inked onto your right temple where everyone can see, two intersecting circles, one orange, one yellow. you wonder what it means. fortunetellers at fairs tell you it's good luck, representative of a strong and lasting bond, of a warm compatibility; your classmate in sociology tells you it means whatever you want it to mean. your boss at work still thinks it's a tattoo, though she hired you anyway so it must not be too bad for business.

you're told that he's your soulmate before you meet him. he's a friend of a friend of a friend, and when you're texted a picture of some guy's temple while studying for a midterm, you're convinced it's a prank at first. your mark is no secret. a venn diagram is easy enough to photoshop. but you get his number anyway because your friend swears up and down that he's a nice guy even if you don't believe her, and you text him, and he does seem like a nice guy and even calls you a couple times to ask about the mark and your favorite music and least favorite teacher and all the other mundane things that you don't think anyone else has ever cared to know. and even though you are a skeptic at heart, you start to entertain the possibility that maybe he really is yours, if only because you want him to be.

he shows up at the next friend gathering. you think that you'll be okay because you've talked and texted, but when he spots you and bounds over with his arms wide open, your name sweet and bright off his tongue, you find yourself unable to utter a word. perhaps you are right and it is too good to be true.

he lifts the fringe of hair covering his temple. here, he exclaims, his smile gentle, touch it. i swear it's real. i wouldn't lie to you.

your fingertips trace the warmth of his skin for the first time, and you let yourself believe him.

── .✦ o.de;

timer that counts down to your first meeting

sometimes the only thing that tells you time is passing is the set of numbers dwindling down on your wrist.

you kind of dread it. when the timer reaches zero, there will be a break in your routine. there will suddenly be someone unfamiliar in your life and it will be uncomfortable and strange, even if they are good. the change worries you more than the person themselves. you can't do anything about it.

when this dreaded change is scheduled to occur, you forget your id badge the first time out the door and lose time retrieving it, burn your tongue on your coffee, and receive a scolding from your manager about a report you submitted last week. by the time you board the metro to go home, having to stand because all the seats are taken, you want to cry.

hey.

you don't know how you hear him, or how you know he is talking to you, but you do. you turn to meet his gaze—and your wrist burns, and you suddenly remember that today is the day. you had forgotten. face hot, you point at yourself, questioning despite knowing the answer very well.

it's a small comfort that he seems surprised too. his eyes have widened, though he recovers quickly and stands. the corners of his mouth turn up. his gaze is kind, and you think that maybe change is not always a bad thing.

just wanted to offer my seat if you want it.

── .✦ junhan;

red string that ties your pinkies together

you have always known him, and he has always known you.

even before you understood the importance of the red string that ties you to him, you had known his importance to you. your family often regales you with stories from when you were toddlers, just learning how to walk, and how you would make a fuss and try to help him up whenever he teetered over. he was the only one you'd share your toys with, and if he hid away from the adults, you were right beside him, keeping him company.

growing up, you don't think too deeply about your relationship with him, even when everyone else starts to. it simply is.

then your first year of high school starts. you try to make a show of looking after him, like you always have, and he goes along because this is how it has always been. but it's hard for you to make friends too and—well, people in high school can be cruel. acting tough can only get you so far.

he easily finds you in the bathroom nobody uses on the third floor, thread of sunset red tangling underneath the third stall. he convinces you to uncurl and stand up, folds a paper towel and pats your cheeks dry. his hand takes your hand the way it always has, softly, his pinkie with the red string linking with yours, and that is when you realize, really realize, what he is to you and what you are to him.

because, of course, taking care of your soulmate has never been one-sided.

── .✦ jooyeon;

hearing their voice in your head

… but for some reason, it only happens when he's singing. and he sings a lot and about a lot of things, anything and everything, about living, about dying, about love and heartbreak, about boiling ramyeon on the stove and choosing his socks. you are not a singer, not like he is. but sometimes you find yourself mumbling lyrics to yourself while washing the dishes or putting away your clothes and only realize it, mortified, when he joins you in the back of your mind, a strange and beautiful echo that far eclipses your own normal little voice. you wonder if he is disappointed that you lack the talent he possesses in spades.

you meet him while on vacation. or, rather, you hear him, which is quite fitting. it's ideal weather for a hike, and you almost trip over your own feet when the song that bursts into your head matches the one drifting around the corner; his voice carries and to hear it in person is like submerging your entire body underwater after only being able to dip your toes in. perhaps it is fate that it is one of the few songs you know by heart, but it is your own decision to pluck up the courage to sing along, loud enough for him to hear outside of his own head.

when he rushes around the corner, your singing turns into a squeak. all of your insecurities come flooding in and you open your mouth to apologize but his face is shining and his smile is so so wide and as he half-stumbles through a singular hi he sounds like he loves you, and you think you love him back when he says—

let's sing some more. i want to hear your pretty voice again.

[shortcakecuties]

HxH squad with a Madoka Kaname!reader 💫

Hii yall!! Its my first hcs!!! Might be ooc ^^; all of these are platonic btw!!

Gon ☆

He finds a portal to a labyrinth somehow and he was curious enough to go through it...

When he found his way to the actual witch and saw you fighting for your life, he was amazed at your skills and without nen?!

Hes literally mesmerised but he knew he had to help you!

He tries to help you with his own nen and eventually both of u are literally friends!!

He invites you to the friend group and you meet the rest of them that way.

When you tell him the truth of your job as a magical girl, hes disturbed and denied it by promising he wont ever let you turn into a witch!!! Spoiler alert: he failed...

Doesnt think your wish was in vain!

Trains with you constantly due to a fear of you turning into a witch.

He finds your kindness admirable even in your harsh circumstances and wishes he was like that too.

Brings you out on adventures with him and killua! He wants to be with you as much as possible and show you the wonders of the world

He cares a lot about you especially knowing you dont have much time left to live.

Killua ☆

Was with gon in the labyrinth and thought if he was in another world.

Was lowkey against making friends with a random person fighting in a strange place but hes met worse somehow

Amazed at your strength without nen because he had yet to meet a magical girl and found them a little stupid but here we are...

He dislikes the fact that you're only strong because of a wish, but finds your transformation silly and strange.

Plays around with your bow a lot and whenever you have it, sometimes it will be snatched by him

When you tell him about your wish, he doesnt seem very pleased, however he wont pick at it too much since you're sacrificing your life for it

He finds impressive that you were just a normal person before this yet you tried to be brave and help others

Hes a little confused of your hospitality because you have a lot of stuff on your plate already

Not the best at showing his emotions especially knowing that you're not going to be around a lot, he tries to be a little reserved

Feels bad about your fate as a magical girl and will try to help and be a better friend

You change him a lot and hes definitely more grateful for you!!

Likes to tease you about your kindness and naivety...smh.

Honestly being with him is either fun or a little annoying but nonetheless, him and gon just really brighten up your life >v<

Kurapika ☆

Met you through gon and killua!

Hes a little bewildered that magical girls actually exist

When you overhear about his line of work and goals you have a great idea to help him!!

Immediately he rejects because he doesnt want to drag a child with him to hunt down for the eyes, plus it's a personal problem !!

However if he did accept help (somehow) hes a little skeptical since your so naive and doubts you're going to help

Fortunately he was proved wrong!! You helped him track down the target and slow them down by shooting them with your arrows

Works with you for a while and gains your trust so you decide to tell the truth

Any wish? Just to kill witches? There has to be a catch. He was a little disappointed you fell for it but nonetheless once you tell him, he helps you hunt down witches with his limited power

Has a pang of guilt and sadness everytime he remembers your contract, because one of these days hes going to be all alone again without you accompanying him with his missions

Appreciates you more and gives you little gifts since he cant offer you a lot of time due to his job

Even though it's looking grim, he does not lose all hope. He doesnt want to lose another loved one.

Leorio ☆

He cant believe it like for real??? You're a magical girl???

Met you through gon and killua too! You're a little suspicious of him considering the stories killua told you...

Although you two grow close due to his want to care for others and you relate cuz you protect basically the world and universe!!!

You two are an iconic duo tbh...

Not surprised if he becomes a magical dude because of you

When he first saw a witch, he was lowkey terrified like wtf is that hello??? You're a kid how are you fighting those crazy monsters???

Says he'll protect you cuz hes older and stronger!!! That is a lie, you end up protecting him instead 😭

Even though hes quite terrified he tries to help here and there!!

Definitely nurses you back to good health if you got damaged badly in a battle

Gets really emotional when he finds out your fate and tries so hard to find at least something to always purify your soul gem at all times without a grief seed

Misses you when he has to go back and focus on his studies and not go on crazy adventures to hunt down witches

Probably calls you daily just to know what you're doing and sends those like good morning stickers Facebook moms use

Congrats leorio is now your older brother!!!

- Serenity 💫

[slasher-dasher]

Ummmmm

Headcanons where the slashers end up dating a cute s/o like the COMPLETE opposite of them like their s/o loves to dress in cute clothes and is very bubbly and sweet and caring and the slashers just a murderer- (words are hard)

Slashers w/an Opposite S/O

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Danny Johnson:

He loves horror movies, and doesn't get that scared easily bc of this. You though...

Every time you two have a movie night you cling to him for dear life. He does cover your eyes during more intense scenes so you don't get sick/squeamish from the gore. (You two watch a more lighthearted movie after nights like that)

Loves this, he likes knowing that you want to enjoy his interests even if it's not your thing, and that he does the same. Loves knowing you aren't afraid of him

Also likes how caring you are towards him, especially when he's being distant to prepare for a hunt

HATES how sweet you are to everyone else, but he doesn't let it show unless the other person thinks you're flirting. Danny gets jealous very easily

RZ!Michael Myers:

He's absolutely the creative one out of the two of you, a lot of the house decor was chosen by both of you and arranged by him, along with some homemade items for a personal touch. Many things he makes are on display

He peeked into your closet once to make you a few masks and took psychic damage from all the colors in it. You two are like the black and pink house meme

If he isn't wearing his white mask and coveralls, he's wearing band t-shirts, black jeans or sweatpants, and any of his masks that fit the outfit (usually the orange one)

Doesn't seem to be bothered by your bubbly personality, but when you get either too loud or really hyper he holds your head in his hands to let you both calm down for a bit

Michael is not an affectionate person, but he won't push you away if you try to cuddle or hug him, he just won't initiate

Bo Sinclair:

Angry man who's mad at the world 🤝 the person who makes him soft

Your happy-go-lucky personality does make him melt though, even if he doesn't want to admit it. His brothers joke with him about it constantly

Vincent is the only one who tries to keep the house clean when he's there, but the other two Sinclair's don't really keep up with it. Thankfully, you love to have a clean space, and it stops Bo in his tracks the first time he walks in on you scrubbing every surface in sight

He still has his moments, especially if you've been away from him for longer than an hour. You're taken everywhere he can drag you if he's feeling jealous (as far away from his brothers as possible)

Bo is a very emotionally repressed person, so someone like you who just seems to be an open book is very new for him. Might not want to get too close to you at first bc he doesn't want to scare you off

Billy Lenz:

Oh you are in for a hectic partner with Billy

The first time you pick up one of his calls and hear how vulgar he is you're a blushing mess, and he eats that shit up. No one else can pick up when he calls or your sorority friends start going missing.

You'd think he'd be clingy but he doesn't like to be touched unless he asks, which you forget about sometimes (cue dissociation)

Your softness also caught him off guard. He knew you were easily embarrassed, but he didn't know you would be understanding too

His talking and echolalia are at all time highs around you. Most of your time in the attic is hours of him talking about whatever pops into his mind while you just quietly listen. He likes this much better than talking to you on the phone bc it's just you two (and Claude sometimes)

[yuusishi]

. . . KISS DAY SPECIAL !

pairings : Ace Trappola , Malleus Draconia , Jing Yuan x gn!reader

genre : fluff , established relationships

cws/tws : none

a/n : writing this the day before my first exams!! it's my first sorta mixed fandom post and it feels lowkey weird. Sorry for my very obvious bias towards Malleus 🤞🤞🤞

Ace Trappola !!

A small kiss on the cheek, still too early for a kiss on the lips.

You both crashed down on the fresh green grass outside Ramshackle, the sun felt nice and warm that day and the grass was soft, nature was too tempting. Especially after a rough day.

Ace let out a big, exaggerated sigh, letting himself relax on the ground, "Why's Professor Crewel so strict, man. Does he want anyone to like him?" he complained "Y'know, the test wouldn't have been so difficult if you actually studied last night"

"And since when did you become a good student like Deucey".

Silence and jokingly threatening glares were shared before quickly laughing, you shifted a little closer to the boy before pressing your lips on his cheeks, earning you a look of shock from him. Even though you both have kissed each other's cheeks numerous times before, neither of you could get used to it. Each one was still full of innocence and pure love, uncharacteristic of Ace's usual mischievous personality.

Malleus Draconia !!

First kiss.

A first kiss should be something that feels special, magical even, Malleus knew that and was determined to make sure to make yours and his feel that way. But he was wise not to rush, better to make sure the time and place was right.

It was the conclusion to the Endless Halloween that he and Lilia subjected the other students to, everyone was leaving the realm to go back to their dorms for their well-deserved rest, but Malleus stayed behind for a bit, entranced by the building.

You were there with him as per his request, the two of you exploring the now-empty mansion hand in hand just like what you do whenever you both were able to go out of the campus for small dates.

It was quiet, you noticed immediately that Malleus stopped in his tracks. "Malleus? Are you okay?" you ask, quickly making your way back to him.

Malleus looked at you standing in front of him fondly, his eyes were always so soft around you. His favorite moon bathed you in its light, shadows hugging corners of your face.

"You're beautiful" he said, bringing his hand up to your face, slightly sharpened nails dragged on your cheek and you instinctively leaned into his warmth. It all felt so natural, his lips made its way onto yours, and you reciprocated as if you've done this plenty of times before, Malleus's hand entangled in your hair and your hands on his shoulders, needing to slightly stand on your toes to reach him.

His kiss was soft with a hint of desire to continue keeping you close to him, not wanting to let go. You both parted to breathe, cheeks flushed and staring at each other with wide eyes but unable to look away.

Jing Yuan !!

Unexpected and fun kisses

Jing Yuan is a busy man, taking care of many responsibilities as the General of Divine Foresight, so things like visiting him during break hours and eating with him were the regular for both of you. But today was far too busy for the Artisanship commission.

You knocked at the door to his office and he responded with a quick "Enter". Pushing open the large door, you greeted Jing Yuan who immediately set aside his work once he saw you,

"I made you lunch, but I can't stay for long. Too much things going on in the Artisanship commission" you said sadly, Jing Yuan responds with a dramatic sigh and a sad look on his face "So even my dearly beloved would pick work over me" he teased

"Mhm, so I have to get going now" you smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. As you were about to make your getaway, Jing Yuan quickly loops his arms around your waist and pulls you down onto his lap, you let out a small yelp when he started attacking your face with kisses while still hugging you tightly from behind, but it quickly turned into laughter as he continued,

"Jing Yuan! I seriously have to go! I have too much paperwork to take care of" you said between laughs and Jing Yuan looked at you while resting his face on your neck, "Alright, alright, I'll let you go now. Don't work too hard, take care of yourself too" he said letting go of your waist "You too" you respond while waving him goodbye.

[eddiemunsonbignaturals]

just a pinch

summer ends way too fast; you and Eddie surprise each other.

includes smut, as in 18+ 6k words somehow lmao? most of it fluff  best friends to lovers, and it gets a little gross in an arguably unsexy but very intimate way. you're not supposed to put anyone's mouth on your new piercing until at least two weeks out don't be dumb listen to your piercer

content: boob fondling, dry humping, jean nutting, some mild threats of violence, mentions of piercings but not piercing play to my understanding

reader is described as fat, dark skinned, and referred to gender neutrally, mostly (tough guy, man, angel, sweetheart).

comments (yes, even short ones,) reblogs all v much appreciated, take care :*

So, the heatwave had been a fake-out. 

You had both expected more swim-days. Just a few more sweaty, sticky nights— sat too close and tangled together sharing a bowl of Moose Tracks by moonlight, in as little fabric as you could manage and with as much ice as one freezer bucket could hold.

But alas, the fall sneaks in one cloudy morning and makes you regret ever even thinking the word “winter.” 

You’re shivering as you shock awake and roll clumsily to the nightstand. Reaching blind for the blaring landline, your hand cringes away from too-cold plastic, and you groan long and low in mourning— it's definitely over.  While you were asleep, Summer had packed up her bag and ducked off in the dark before you could send her off properly. Goodbye, dog days.

Hello, caller. You know it’s Eddie before you pick up; he knows it's you before you speak.

“Can you believe this? Shit fuckin’ sucks,” he croaks, right off the bat and into the receiver.

“And blows—“ you sigh back, punching one satin-covered pillow and your headscarf off the bed. “We couldn’t even get, a like, temperate couple of days? It had to go straight to freeze-my-dick-off immediately?”

“ha! Please. The end is nigh, sweetheart. You know it better than I,” he almost sings. His sleepy lilt catches on the pet name, and that gravelly morning timbre gees up your morning wood like nothing else can. You kiss your teeth, honestly annoyed at how he affects you this early, and when Ed’s answering chuckle rumbles through your ears and down your jaw, it's like you can feel his breath through the phone. 

God, he sounds good. You hum into a long sigh as he talks. It warms you, everywhere, hearing his voice first thing, and if your non-phone hand drags down your chest and reaches lower to rearrange the pillow between your legs, he doesn’t need to know.

You hear Eddie fidget, as he does, and he switches the phone to his other ear. Then, there’s the rattle of the earrings against plastic– a few chunky hoops he got at your suggestion, and one with your first initial that he definitely plucked off of your desk, though he had lazily denied it. You feel a smile fight its way to your face, suddenly giddy about him, about his call. 

A snapshot of him talking himself awake is as clear in your head as the grey in the sky: a grumpy Munson, emerging from the mess of gifted homemade blankets and ancient, flat pillows. Just a pair of doe eyes, framed by a cluster of chocolate curls and a scowl. Picture-perfect.

You’ve been nursing this damn crush forever, and with the effort of punching it off the bed and out of sight with that headscarf, you’re long past exhaustion. But, in the safety of your chilly room, and with the comfort of his voice in your ear, maybe you’ve enough strength for now to entertain a butterfly, or ten.

You had worn his ring to bed— a little bat hugging your ring finger the way it had been hugging his before you’d snatched it off as payment for a dare gone unfulfilled–and you’re twirling it now, like some lovesick sap. You’re written all over each other, and you’ve been itching to do something about it. But, that’s not the issue right now.

Right now,

“I know, life is over, the globe is warming, there are only a few summers left, et cetera. We’ll still have fun.”

(the dare? you had challenged him to snatch some Hawkins PD pig or another’s goofy little ranger hat as he had passed the two of you on the street. Eddie had suggested maybe he couldn’t float past an arrest on boyish charm this deep into his twenties, and acquiesced without a word when you had held out your hand for his own. 

You’d pretended not to notice the blush creeping up his neck; he had let you hold his hand a bit longer than necessary. It had been an even trade, as always.)

Across the line, Eddie’s still snickering at you, voice fathoms deep– all crackly– when he speaks again. 

“Hold on to your dick, angel, I'm pretty sure there’s options. Like, uh, maybe clothes? Clothes usually work for me.”

“Don’t get cute! I'm fat, you clown, I sweat-- I don’t need clothes. And, I belong in the water, Munson. Its beyond fun, its—“

He cuts you off completely, ignores your scoff, and finishes for you.

“—fulfilling, healing, its what and where you were in every past life, the brain sludge is already building back up as we speak, and ‘I’ll die, I'll just about fuckin’ die, Munson,’ once it drops below 40, I know, stop bitching,” he laughs. His tone? Pure fond; your stomach somersaults. 

You hear the smile widen when he goes on to remind you, “but I guess it's fall now. IE, your favourite.”

“Say ‘bitch’ to me again, I’ll shave your peanut head.”

He takes it back, giggling something about his favourite tough guy, but you know he’s got you there. You definitely are bitching, and—

Halloween month, cider season, big soft sweater weather, rain? It is the best, but it's never too early to argue. 

“You’ll love it, angel.”

You give up, melting again at his affection verbalized. You’re humming assent as he keeps the ball rolling, asking what you’d like to do today instead of going for a swim. Come over and take turns reading the new discount novel he found? Start that mead recipe you made last year? Drive over to Stobin’s—see who can sneak in and scare the shit out of them first? 

All great ideas, you assure him, but you decided long ago that the End of Swim also marked the beginning of piercing season. Your safety moratorium on body mods of all kinds has been lifted, now that you can’t dip your fresh wounds into scummy lake water. 

You've been planning a particular pair for some time. You also decided that it would be a surprise. Your Eddie is observant, dialed in, and sure, maybe you like to play the odd game here and there. He notices you, and you notice right back.  How long, do you think, will it take for him to note a new set of nipple piercings if you don’t warn him first? You figure it’s time to test it.

So, you break his heart a little, and decline to hang out today after all. You’ll see him on your next day off, you promise, and make plans for “four days hence, Munson, quit bitching. I just remembered something else I need to do,” before hanging up on his protests and pulling on your first pair of sweats in 4 months. 

ID, water bottle, and a sweet breakfast in tow, you head for the best (note: only) tat shop you know, braced and ready for a world of pain, going boldly into the cold.

—---------

And there had been almost no pain, at first. You had yelped girlishly before the first needle went in, then felt embarrassed about how easy and quick it had been. Before you had even realized, it was over, and you grinned big at the unique beads framing each pert, dark nipple. You loved them. You loved the piercings, and more than ever, loved your tits. Couldn’t wait to go home and check them out from every angle, actually. 

Then, a malicious towel snag, a careless door-jamb bump, and a hateful sweater-thread later, you were fearing for your life. Over the last few days, you had taken to crouching around them a bit, arms wrapped loose around your stomach as a reminder and for protection. Your nipples were insanely sensitive, now more than ever, and you had never understood ‘til now how often you simply walked through and into things instead of just around.  

But, they were calming down, and with each prescribed saltwater soak you breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of visible irritation. The standard piercing boogers notwithstanding, they looked hot, you felt hot, but found yourself nervous for the big reveal. You thought you would hide them well, your mission made easier by the cool weather and baggier shirts it allowed. 

You’re in his room now. Eddie’s ideas had been good, but you had both decided on the usual– you, rocking up to his trailer and spending the day with him throwing food and trading theories, hours whiled away in artistic pursuits and cat-naps, never too far from one another. It’s been a good day– you’re doing such a good job with the piercings, you forget to hide how entranced you are by Eddie's hands. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

You count the veins and tendons as they flip pencils and drum against whatever surface they encounter, try to guess how long he can go before he bites that right pinky nail too short again, wonder if he’s running hot today. He’s tactile, your Eddie, but you’re sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, and yeah, a little too warm in the hoodie you came in as he lounges on the bed– too far for his idle touches to distract you into admitting anything. 

You love those hands. You want to taste them one day. He’s looking at you.

Fuck, wait, he’s looking, and you haven’t answered him. You cut your eyes away, to the floor, to your nails, like an idiot. That wasn’t at all suspicious, sure. You’re reasonably sure Eddie hadn’t noticed the piercings themselves yet until, as you snack and he chats again about his sketch, he suddenly drops the pink eraser you’ve been watching his square fingers systematically tear apart.

“N...Noooooo.” He takes in your belated answer and eyes you for a second, then starts talking again. You tug your hands gingerly into the hoodie you’re in and slide the thing over your unwrapped cloud of hair without snagging anything, then toss it away, wiping the light sheen of sweat you realize is cooling on your nose.

 Fuck, here we go. You hadn’t considered you’d have to hide in conversation, just that you had to keep him from seeing. You try to keep your cool, but answer too quickly. This wouldn’t last long.

“Have you been eating weird shit again?” Eddie asks, cutting himself off from explaining the lore of his latest campaign villain. He’s sitting up more since you last looked at him– leaning back on one elbow as the other arm drapes comfy across his belly– and watching you fidget in that weird posture you’ve adopted since the piercings. 

“Eat– We–, me? Weird? What’s– What?” Nailed it. Smooth, like butter. Too player. You thank God or Dolly or whoever’s watching that your blush isn’t visible, because you can already feel your face heating up.

He stares, eyes squinted. You watch your plate, then look back at his lovely hands, fingers pale and impatient, thr-r-r-rumming in sequence against his now-closed notebook.

“What’s with the air-head act? And why are you clutching your tummy and moving like you fell down the stairs?” Okay, that one’s easy.

“Cramps.” Your reply is stiff, but reflexive. The pink in his fingertips as he drums is entrancing. Maybe you’ve saved it– you think you sound sure. He’s silent for beat, and you pick up a cracker and look out the window. Maybe you’re a genius. The fuck’s he gonna do? Argue?

“Hm. Bullshit?” You look up to challenge that, and catch him peering behind you to the stuffed possum you had gifted him when his favourite, real, live, wild possum friend stopped her brief shuffle through the fire pit behind his trailer one drizzly day. 

(Eddie had called it the best week of his life, then declared that he’d never love again.)

After another beat, as if the scruffy thing has read the room and confirmed its answer, Eddie nods once, curls bouncing, then swings his neck dramatically back to you to assert, “bullshit.” 

It's panic creeping up your throat now, because he’s going to see you,  see them, this isn’t– well– it is– but you didn’t think it through, and you aren’t a good enough liar to dodge the impending question. You hem for another moment, hands hovering over your torso, and he looks between them and your face before snapping his bulk upright so fast that the bits of pink littering his lap and thin muscle shirt fly up in the flurry.

“What’re you hiding?”

A frown tugs your lips down before you can stop it. You watch Eddie toss the notebook and, with a loud thump, collapse off the bed boneless into your nest of blankets and towards you like a mad slinky before you can finish saying, “nothing! I’m not– hiding–, wait a second!” 

In that second, Eddie has slithered the 4 feet between him and you, kind of flinging himself on top, landing more gently than you expected in a straddle and pinning your now-closed thighs under his seat before you can wiggle back and away in time. 

“Did you get a tattoo without me? You fucking did, didn’t you?” He might be verging on genuinely hurt, by the sound of it. You’d promised after he’d started his stick-n-poke journey that he’d be your first, (tattooer, that is), once he got some training together. Had swore to him–

“Le’me see– what, is it that shitty? Who the hell did you go to? You can’t be–”

“Ow, Eddie, stop!” Your screeching protest belies real pain this time, curling in on yourself and to the side as much as possible. He bumped a piercing in the shuffle, the pain expected but still shocking, and he backs off a bit and coos in sympathy, all his next words coming out in a frantic rush.

“Fuck, oh no, I’m sorry. I’msosorry, Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, breathing deep through the stinging. As it subsides, he ducks his head to meet your eyeline, his paint-stained palms up, promising no contact. He’s still straddling you, most of his weight on his heels. Still locking you under him, where its very warm.

If you looked down and saw your heart itself beating its way out of your chest, you wouldn’t be shocked. You’re almost choking on it, and plotting how to get him off you without knocking the new piercings again. Its enough to spin your head, to think you’ve been found out this soon, that the bravado in your spirit has fled so quickly at the reality, not just the idea, the real life prospect of showing Munson your tits. 

But it's thrilling, him on top of you. It's always thrilling, a dream fulfilling itself, isn't it? Even if the context is off. This isn't the first time a bout of “weird” from one of you or the other has ended up in a fact-finding mission– sometimes wrestling match, or pillow fight, or wild, short chase through the woods. 

But every time he gets this close, it's like the path between your head brain to the other brain is cleared– heat is flooding the thin cotton that separates you from his well-worn denim faster than ever. He has to get up, right now. You have to keep him there forever. 

You relax as the sting subsides, uncurling and groaning a bit as those strong, clever hands fall to bracket your head on either side. Eddie leans down, sounding the creak of floor beneath you,  and scowls, bathing you in his radiating heat. Studying you, taking in your full lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, your brows turned up where they’d meet, betraying distress. 

“What is going on in there, man?" He's really worried now. When did you start keeping secrets?

“It’s…not a tattoo?” You purse your lips and scrunch your nose, and the sweet smile that flows like syrup across his face seems involuntary.

“Then what else– huh?” Eddie is trying to keep eye contact, but the wheels are turning, and his lovely smile drops. He glances at your arms crossed over your chest, and his jaw falls open, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Not a tattoo. Not ‘a’ anything, actually. Two things.”

“No, you didn’t. No way, not a chance.” Eddie seizes your wrists and ignores your protests, pinning each arm by your ears where his once were, and tries to x-ray inspect you through your shirt. It's dark, but not thick enough to weather this kind of scrutiny. Those telltale bumps are right there in front of him, the middle of each trio hardening as he inspects. So, you give up trying to argue, and shrug, suppressing a smile. 

“With— wha?” Eddie’s looney-tunes double-take makes you hoot a laugh as he swings his head and bouncy curls up and down, looking at you, glancing back at your chest, and up again as he processes what he’s hearing. What the fuck is he hearing? 

Your eyes stay low but your brows arch together as you scoff at him, dork. “You’re really telling me you hadn’t seen them?”

“I’ve– not–wha– I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But, you had been talking shit. He couldn’t have seen anything in the dark shirt you had been wearing all day unless he’d been staring when you weren’t looking– had he been staring at your tits anyway?

 Did he do that often? Your jaw doesn’t drop so much as glide mischievously open. Surprise dawns and Eddie realizes he has, in fact, given himself away too quickly. Coolest dudes in Hawkins, you two.

He changes tack, slapping the floor by your head, still a little shocked.

“You got your nipples pierced? I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you! You’re full of shit.” His voice is almost petulant in its disbelief, high and tinny.

Your eyeroll is audible, “I mean. I can prove it, Munson.” 

“When?” He gasps, indignant, and slaps the floor with the other hand. 

“You barely have your ears pierced-“ he exaggerates. “Who the hell did ‘em? Was it a guy? You let some guy–”

“Please, some professional? Can you be serious?”

“You can’t take the pain, angel, not without my moral support, there’s no way. You’d have been whining about them being sore all fuckin’ week if you’d gotten your—“ 

He looks at your tits again, jaw slack, but in his shifting sends them undulating with the movement. His whole body goes still, except to inhale very slowly.

You’ve maybe never been this self conscious in your life, but his distraction emboldens you.  

“The idea was ‘surprise’, not ‘ambush’. But,” you drawl, smirking as you twist a wrist easily out of his now slack grip and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Do you—well.” Your eyes falter when your voice does. You want to offer proof. You’re not that bold yet, but you’re working up to it. 

He gives you room to sit up completely, hovering over your calves, back almost on his haunches. His heat leeches into your legs, swells in your chest and behind your eyes.

You want to touch him, like you always do. Eddie's deep brown eyes are wider, his mouth slack. His breathing is a little harder too, and you wonder for a second— do you want to un-ring this bell while there’s time?

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, I—“ He rolls his plush lips into his mouth and then parts them, trying to work out how to ask. It’s not a dare anymore, and you feel a shyness completely unfamiliar, laid out in front of your best friend in the world. 

You wilt a little; Eddie finds his courage.

He swallows, and you watch his throat work while he figures out what to say, maybe as nervous as you are.

“Can I see?” He sounds hopeful, gentle, but to soothe you or himself, you can’t tell.

You dont quite answer with, “I’ll have you know, they didn’t hurt. At all, actually. It was...cold. Uncomfy, totally, but not painful— just a bit of a pinch? The last week has been worse than the actual needles were.” 

Eddie seems to realize he’s really staring, and cuts his eyes to the left, almost shy, and he seems to wipe sweat from his palms down the length of his strong thighs.

Your own hands pick at the hem of your shirt, and his gaze is split between your mouth and chest. Then, he shifts his weight, leans back like he’s about to give you space, when you reach for his warm, toned tricep, his skin shifting over muscle as he fidgets, and you’re ready to tell him the rest of the story. You can’t bear to miss his warmth on top of you, you realize. Now or never, you think. 

“I…” you croak, “I thought of you.”

 You hear him choke, like actually choke on his spit, then watch him shake his head like he’s rattling himself out of a haze. Eddie’s locked in on your eyes, searching for even the hint of a joke as you lift the shirt up just your stomach, exposing all the graceful cresting hills of your soft middle to his hungry gaze.

“When I picked them out, I mean.”

“Youf, you– fuc– You did this for me?” He sounds so absolutely incredulous, and breathless, all bravado bled out, or rushing to his reddening cheeks. It's like Eddie opened the next Discworld and found a dedication in his name, like the heavens have opened above him. For him? For him?

“Not for you, you clown, of course not. But like, maybe I wondered which ones you’d say I should get. And maybe... I thought you’d appreciate my pick.” Your crooked smile feels small, and you feel like offering something more substantial. 

So, you do.

“Appreciate..? I. Oh, god, Jesus, I.” You had been lifting your shirt so casually as you spoke, palms sliding up across your skin and dragging cotton with them, a caress so careless it seemed incidental. But you avoid hitting the new bars through each hardening nip, chills putting a mild tremble in your hands that he first catches, and is then distracted from. You watch Eddie’s short-circuit for a bit, feel his thighs tense around yours. You decide then that boldness is the only path forward. 

At the last rounding, you let them hem of the shirt catch on the underside of your bust, and just before its dangerous, lift them up by the hem and then drop them a bit, so they bounce for him, putting on a little show, posture straighter than before in presentation.

You’ve killed him. His plush lips try and fail to form a word, any word, as he lets out another shakey breath and leans back in to you by centimeters.  

“Eddie?” you prompt at his silence, voice quieter now. He’s still a little wide-eyed when he gasps out,

“What. Appreciate? Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. Jesus Christ, I never thought— Are those bats?” He’s moon-eyed and gaping like a dry fish, and you’re too keyed up to even tease him about it. You didn't just think of him, you conspired to match with him, to carry a little bit of him with you.

You know he wants to see you, more than just the piercings, and that teasing smirk is a distant memory, much like your patience. 

“So you hate them, huh?” He’s shocked into laughing before you can finish the question, restoring the quiet to something like normal as he raises his ringed hands to frame the low curve of your breasts. But he takes them in only with his eyes, flitting back and forth between them.

“They look, so so good, so good, god. The color you picked, even,” a warm gold that picks up the warmth in the soft creamy brown of your skin, “it glows, like, perfect. Gold’s your color, Sweetheart. It's all your color.” 

Bravado is fickle. You order him through barely parted lips, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, then almost slur the hasty backtrack, “touch them. If-you-want, I-mean, if-you—.” 

In Eddie’s mind’s eye, gold falls from the sky; from his mouth tumbles a bewildered, “'If i want?' Are you insane?” 

As he reaches, you nod and sit up a bit straighter, feel heat rise in your cheeks, and take his confession with a crooked smile.

“I dreamt this.”

Here’s you, insufferably coy through a giggle: “Yeah? How’d it go?”

 His own knowing smirk is back, and you shiver, wanting fathoms deep as Eddie's hot hands envelope the heavy mounds of your breasts from below, cupped in the way he had threatened before you granted permission. Eddie seems to weigh them as he holds you, committing to memory how the plush fat of them sits in his palms, how they pebble across with gooseflesh at his very gentle fondling. 

You’re so soft, and warm, and he’s touching you; his mind splits in two. Some of him prays to any god for escalation, the rest could die happy right here.

On contact, you sigh together. Heavy, whispering things— you were both holding your breath— and inhale together, too. Your eyes flutter closed at the the drag of each body-warm ring as they poke into you. His calluses are almost sharp against you where they glide, some of the time ghosting over your skin, but mostly kneading you warmer.

It's your soft little hum of pleasure, how you arch, helpless, into his touch— the indiscreet rub of your knees together, and your thighs into his seat, the way you fight the smile back— these bring him back to himself,  and he checks your face again, watching the small smile grow as your eyes flick up to his. 

“Different,” Eddie intones, low and slow. “We’re out of order.”

You’re watching his pretty mouth again while he feigns serious, but as he moves just one hand to the floor behind you and leans in close, warm Cheez-It-breath tickling your face, setting alight every nerve that wasn’t already screaming for deeper contact. You meet his penetrating gaze and gasp at the pleasure-pain of that ringed thumb finally, finally, swiping up along one pert nipple. 

It's a shocked moan, not a gasp, that opens your mouth as he collides with it, timed perfectly with the upward jolt of your hips into his hardening cock. It's Eddie’s turn to gasp— his rushes out hot and quick, as if from a gut-punch. 

He's fighting for his life trying to steady his voice, act casual. “Usually, I get my mouth on your first.”

With that, he closes the gap again, but this time pulls away with a wet smack, a kiss so brief you’re compelled to chase him and get your licks in.

“Then, my hands,” he says, as he closes his fingers around as much of you as he can grasp with each hand to squeeze. Its at once electrifying and comforting, leaning into him and running from the cold. You want him pressed against you completely, but he's focused on the pillows of supple skin and heat in his hands.

“Promise,” he chokes, “ahhh, promise to tell me if it hurts, angel?”

“Eddie, touch me— I promise— touch me,” you positively beg, and your Eddie, egged on by your fingers now pulling deliciously at the hair on his sensitive nape, recovers fast. He’s on you before he can take his next breath in, and bites down around your bottom lip, pushing you with him gently as he leans forward, mashing your noses together.  

And you kiss Eddie back, hard, sucking his trembling lip between yours and earning yourself a groan that sends a lovely buzz through your jaw where you meet. That fucking noise, and his hand still on you, now not as gentle, sending little shocks of pleasure as he swipes gently along the outer dark ring crowning your nipple. The skin there is tightening, growing impossibly sensitive, and each brush and nudge shocks you between your clamped thighs, makes your body rock a little, sending kinetic energy across you that has him enthralled. So much evidence of his effect on you, the movement anchors him to reality.

"Good?"

"Really good, Eddie, yeah." You squirm under him as he massages one side, then both, then rests his forehead against yours to gaze down, intent on his project. 

“You feel good too, angel,” Eddie groans again, enjoying himself in earnest, crowding you gently together, then letting each breast roll in his hands, rough digits brushing in tandem against beads so taut it almost hurts, so intense its almost too much, but you need more.

“You know what’ll feel even better?” You ask him in a pant, breathless and focused– you need him between your legs too, and desperately, so you nudge one of his, asking to widen so you can rearrange. Eddie obliges, planting one solid knee right against your aching core and letting you fall back, propped up on both elbows. 

Neither of you wastes a second. This kiss is a hot, wet collision of sighs and spit, grinding sloppily into each other through just too many layers of sweet, stiff friction, whining into each other’s open mouths. 

While you nearly lift your hips off the floor, chasing the worn denim between your legs, tension in your lower gut building faster than it ever has alone, Eddie rides your linen-covered thigh just above your bent knee, murmuring between love-bites to your chin, the chubby apple of your grinning cheek, then the crook of your neck, where he finds and then latches onto a spot that makes you seize under his weight, clamping your thighs around the one at the very center of your focus. 

You clasp a hand at the back of his head again, scratching a bit at his neck and forcing a long shaky sigh out of his mouth as the rhythm of his swirling hips grows rough, devolves into a stuttering staccatto race to the finish, and he’s talking himself through it into your shoulder as you barrel him down.

Ed's heaving whines are gorgeous, ragged, as he sighs into your neck about how good you feel under him. He can’t finish a sentence as he groans into your shoulder, all about how good you smell, how he can’t believe you did this for him, how badly he wants to taste them. 

“Taste? I,” you cut yourself off with a near-panicked whine when his leg slinks heavily down, the relief of his wet but still straining crotch-tent another brief sliding kiss against your now soaking cunt, and you resist seizing him by the scalp, to keep him up with you, but only just. You’re both so close; he’s stalling?

No, tasting.

Through your horny fog, your mind starts to process his goal. Eddie works his body down yours urgently, never really breaking contact, and as he slips away all you can do is watch him watch you.

In a thrall, as he draws a scalding trail of open-mouth kisses down the heaving swell of your exposed breasts. The wet kisses cool fast in the chilly air of his room, and it feels so good you don’t care how needy your sighs sound, how obscene and high your breaths echo in your own ears. Then he pauses in his descent to admire you again, breaking eye contact for a few awe-struck moments, dropping a chaste peck just left of the left nip, then resting his forehead on your sternum. When he fully squishes your tits into his cheeks it makes you laugh out loud, and you feel his smile and then chuckle against your stomach.

He seems to paise there for a few moments, content to nuzzle, and your high whine-sigh takes even you off guard. Eddie looks up at the sound but stops himself saying whatevers on his mind. Instead, he double-takes between your mouth and chest once, and again, then and finally asks, “sweetheart?”

He’s got that look like he’s up to something, and you can’t say you mind it. 

Eddie drags his lovely nose across the wide valley between your bust, your shoulders cave a bit with the shiver, and he continues, “can I?”

Taste. Yes, “please, Eddie, yeah,” and he closes his hot mouth over one hard bead, swirling that devilish tongue around and over, knocking it roughly enough to pull a harsh hiss from between your clamped teeth. Your hands are both in his hair again, and in a little pain you pull at his sensitive scalp and feel the buzz of his moaning around you, closing the little pleasure circuit between you.

You feel every wet swipe of tongue like a brand, on your sensitive chest and melting, shocks of heat driving down in your sex, chasing the pressure and pushing your body into his chest where he lays against you. 

One of his hot hands mimics his mouth’s rhythm on the other tit, and the lewd sounds of his deep moans around you are only matched by the obscene slick of his hand finding the soaked core of you under his torso, his fingers tingling over the used cotton.

You nod assent before he can even ask, catching his eyes as he pulls away from your chest to check on you. He finds your open pant, you low lidded attention on only him, and smiles. Then, he grinds his own hips into your leg where he straddles it, lower than before, moaning again around your mound and sucking this time, a new kind of pressure that pulls the neediest cries from you yet. His fingers finally breach your underwear from the side, and the calloused contact jolts you to the precipice, climax just within reach now that your clit has direct, emphatic attention. 

His tongue swirls faster, and Eddie matches that pace with his slick fingers between your cunt lips, circling the trigger and nudging just the top of your gasping hole, pace quickening, just what you're begging him for. Your free leg hitches around his back and pulls him into you, then you clamp up and pull hard at the hair in your grasp, gasping his name over and over as you come shaking, curling around his head, pussy drooling on his rings and wrist, hips frantic in their desperate chase for friction. 

Eddie’s not far behind, rhythm incomprehensible as he’s distracted by his own big finish. He bites down almost too hard around your breast and fucks down onto your trapped leg, groans buzzing through you as he drools and sputters and comes a warm wet mess into the washed-out black. 

The grey light is blinding, you can’t open your eyes at first. But you start to collect yourself when you feel him pull off, sliding his hand slowly out of your panties. You open your eyes to him watching you again, eyes half closed, to him catching his breath, and with no regard for the mess on his hand he gathers your collar in his fist and hauls you forward for another kiss, other hand tucked in the soft folds of your waist, grasping, clutching, pulling you in.

“Ouch.” You say, with no heat at all. 

As he scoffs, Eddie slinks back down again to kiss it better, another gentle peck just to the side of the most sensitive bud of your breast where he sucked and nibbled hard enough to bruise. Just a pinch, indeed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” he promises, only a little sarcastic, and finally rounds his mouth around your right nipple, which he had neglected until now. 

Then, you hear the slightest crunch. Like crumbs rubbing together.

Eddie smacks his lips a couple times, tasting, considering.

"Salty," he says. No way.

Oh, god, no. No fucking way. He still licking you clean but you freeze, then he does, but Eddie, knowing exactly what he just set you up for, loses it. He buries the cackle in your tummy as it dawns on you, and you do some quick math– you last showered this morning, which means you last soaked your piercing this morning, maybe 10 hours ago.

Eddie crawls back up your body as you wail, “ohhh, my God, Munson, why would you—? I cannot–” and lands eye-level, with you spent and boneless on your back, him in a table-top pose, arms propped by your shoulders. 

He hadn't been neglecting your other side, he had been saving it.

10 hours. More than enough time for new “crusties” to form, so more than enough time to build your own nightmare from natural scratch. And he didn’t hesitate, or mention it at all, that your piercings were clearly crusted over as part of the usual healing process, he just sucked them off anyway like they were in the way.

“You– absolute– freak! Eddie what the fuck! Did you fucking eat it? Are you insane?”

“What? I helped! And it’s probably, like, I don’t know, nutritious somehow. Protein?” He shrugs, smirking in the face of your horror, your embarrassment. You hadn’t thought to look at your own tits when the idea of his eyes on you had been more than enough to deal with.

You punctuate every few words with sharp shoves, which barely register as nudges to him from your angle, still under him, fighting his weight and gravity itself. Little by little, he sinks against them, and you tire yourself out before his chest traps your arms between the two of you.

“You– sicko, I didn’t– give you permission– to snack on me.”

“You even said ‘please,’ sweet heart, no take backs. I believe they’re my boogers now.” His smile is just content now, mischief subsumed by all the love in his eyes. You were in his mouth; now you’re on your way through his system. He thinks its romantic.

He ate it. Like a weird pet left unattended too long, he saw something new and simply put his mouth on it. Your-- friend? hardly, you think-- Eddie Munson just ate the new piercing boogers off you, straight from the source as he came in his jeans. You don’t even know what to do, so bewildered you shove his shoulders and chest as rough as he’ll allow before he seizes your wrists and pins you again, only this time, your tits are still out. 

“Without full knowledge, that’s twisted– you’re sick.” Your smile betrays you. What a weirdo, sure, but who else would full-send like that? You can’t think of anyone you’ve dated– anyone you’ve let touch you– that has ever been so close, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. 

God, what a freak– your freak, you think with a thrill.

“Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Its quiet for a bit as you stare at each other, smiles crooked and soft.

"Well. Cat’s out of the bag?”

“Seems that way.” So, there's your "what are we" convo' all sorted.

“Good. So you know— " Eddie ducks his head to tap his nose against yours, then pulls back again to hover a little closer than before, "clothes are no longer an option.”

“What. The hell are you saying.”

“I'm saying,” he whispers, suddenly against your ear, dragging out each syllable, and slides his thumb and it's cool bat ring now poking out of a soft fist across your collarbone and up your shoulder, just to see you shiver again, just to watch you shake.

“hu-.. what, Munson, spit it out!” Now, you grab him by both wrists, and the quick movement brings his eyes to your tits again, gold titanium winking in the gray light. The soft wave of your body warms his core. He's half-hard already just watching you move.

“Too late, ha.” You groan, still grossed out, and anticipating this, he groans with you, mocking. You feel it through your own chest, feel it down your pinned leg.

Then, Eddie’s voice is soft too, at once dreamy and deadly serious, when he says, “You,” drops a kiss on one shoulder, “were so, so right,” and another on the other, “you won't need clothes ever again.” 

—--------------—

Its only days later, your next day off, when your favorite metalhead greets you at your front door. You don’t even have time to say hello before he’s flashing you; Eddie yanks his shirt up, fast as he can, to show off two glinting barbells, twin gold angel wings framing each nipple, still red and a little swollen from the piercing.

He beams at you, proud of the shock written all over your face, and before you can recover, cradles your face with one ringed hand and swoops in to plant one on your open mouth, grinning all the while. 

[gothgril69]

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: smut MDNI

Chapter Length: 7.7k

ao3 link

Historia and Ymir stop dead in their tracks, turning to you with wide eyes. Historia looks concerned, while Ymir stares at you as if she’s already been betrayed – you understand what it looks like.

“We are not allies,” you blurt, facing them to explain yourself. “I can assure you they are our enemies, the same as you.”

“You better explain yourself,” Ymir sneers at you, stomping forward through the open doors of their castle. You watch her short dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, sway slightly along with her hips accentuated by the trousers she wears.

“You must understand our hesitancy,” Historia tells you softly when Ymir disappears around a corner. “Things are changing.” 

Her blonde hair is braided, two sides pulled to the back, to allow you to see her features clearly. She’s beautiful, truly, and you can see how Ymir could fall for someone like her – they balance each other well. Although, you know Historia would not hesitate to do what’s best for her own country.

“I want to work together,” you tell her honestly. “If you’re willing, but I understand if you’re not and we’ll simply move on.”

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells you with a gentle hand placed on your arm.

She leads you inside the modest castle, Levi taking place behind you along with Erwin, Hange, and Miche. Navarre does not flaunt their wealth like Mirlenas does; dark stone brick walls lining even the interior of the castle, simple torch sconces lighting the way with minimal windows providing extra light. The floors are stone as well, but it still feels clean and wide open.

Historia leads you down a hallway. “We can discuss things in our meeting hall,” she gestures to an open doorway, a guard standing by with a blank face and cropped blonde hair. “Thank you, Nanaba.” The guard nods.

The meeting hall has wood floors, but they’re nothing like the patterned parquet flooring at home. A grand, round table is centered in the room, twelve chairs surrounding the mahogany surface, and you take a seat facing the doorway, but not quite directly across. Levi takes a seat next to you and you’re grateful, followed by Erwin and Hange sitting next to him. Miche stands guard by the door as Historia addresses you.

“Give me a moment with Ymir.” She gives you a sad smile. “She’ll come around.” You nod, and she takes her leave with Nanaba closing the door behind her.

You know very little of Navarre’s customs, your father only ever talking down about them and their “debauched” ways of living. They were more progressive than Mirlenas by far, sexuality and gender being something that was looked at far more loosely than Mirlenas. You admire them for living so freely, apart from the standards your society typically upholds. You wonder if Auguste would have felt more at home here, if Erwin feels as though he could have lived a life with him. You frown.

“If she even thinks about laying a hand on you,” Levi grumbles angrily next to you, a scowl evident on his face.

You sigh softly, appreciating his protection, but also anticipating a conversation later. You place a hand on his that rests on his thigh, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his fingers, and the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate slightly. You understand, he’s worried about everything – so are you.

The doors open shortly after, a seemingly less irate Ymir striding through the doorway with Historia by her side – although her features are still in their natural state of annoyance. She takes a seat directly across from you while Historia takes hers across from Levi. “From the beginning,” she snaps, gesturing with her hand loosely before crossing her arms over her chest.

You tell her everything; how Zeke ambushed your brothers – you don’t miss the tension returning to Levi – the letter he sent you, every detail about the journey intended for Zaramund to negotiate until a storm caused your ship to crash on their shores. Historia lets out small gasps through the whole thing, and you notice how her eyes tear up when you mention your brothers’ deaths. Ymir’s eyebrows are slightly less furrowed by the time you finish explaining your side of things, her anger turning into reluctant understanding.

“I am so sorry about your brothers,” Historia mutters, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. “I am glad you landed on our shores before you arrived at Zaramund.”

“Thank you. I am as well,” you tell her gratefully.

Ymir speaks before you can continue. “You must know the state of Kaslogon before you start your journey again.” She sighs, and for the first time she looks tired, a hand placed on her forehead as she supports herself on the table. “You’re going to hate this.”

“We have a plan,” Erwin speaks up.

“Yeah?” Ymir lifts her head. “You can probably forego following that.” She hesitates, looking over at Historia for approval – Historia nods. “Grisha and Carla Jaeger are dead.”

Your lips part in shock, the hand resting gently on Levi’s now squeezing tightly as you try not to panic.

You’re too late. Zeke has enacted his plan and already killed his parents.

“What about Eren Jaeger?” Hange asks, their face curious as you process.

“Survived, but his location is unknown,” Historia says softly. “Apparently it was an assassination– killed by poison.”

“It was Zeke,” you tell them. You emphasize his point in his letter that made it known he would do anything to have you and stolen land.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Levi says on your right, still holding your hand but using the other one to press a fist into the table. 

“Well,” Ymir hums. “Seems we actually have something in common. He’s a tyrant, and once he’s secured you he’s going to come for Navarre with full force.”

“He won’t be securing anything,” Levi growls. Erwin raises a hand to him, gesturing for him to relax. You can tell it makes him more angry, but he obeys regardless and sits with his lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched.

“Our plan involved your help once we found ourselves in your territory,” Erwin starts. “I believe it’s in both of our best interests to work together in this war to stop Zeke.”

Historia looks over at Ymir, sighing softly before she looks back at Erwin. “We agree,” she says. “I wish no harm against Mirlenas despite our differences, and I do not wish for Aeron to suffer such a fate from the hands of Zeke Jaeger.”

“We’re willing to provide you supplies,” Ymir continues on for Historia. “Whatever you need to end this war before it goes further into our territory. I hope whatever you have planned will end with peaceful negotiations, but Zeke is a mad man.”

You look over at Erwin – he’s smiling. “Zeke himself can be handled, but I fear it will end with bloodshed.”

—

Your guest bedroom is smaller than the ones you have in Mirlenas, with just enough room for a full size bed and a vanity. Levi stands guard outside your door, and you didn’t miss the look of longing he gave you when the door was closed and Miche gestured to show him his own room. You’ve been spoiled recently, able to share a bed with him throughout your travels and to constantly be with him.

You’re pacing the room, fidgeting with the plain cotton skirts Mrs. MacLerie had given you. Should you bother him in the hallway, request that he stay the night with you? You fear being too attached, too reliant on him, when you should be able to handle sleeping alone for one night before your journey resumes. Your sleep is just so uninterrupted with him, nightmare-less – dreamless. His arms wrapped around you is what makes you feel safe alongside his promises of always protecting you. You’re his now, and he yours.

You sigh, and swing open the door with a roll of your eyes at your behavior. Levi immediately straightens up off the wall, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. You don’t have to say a word for him to understand, and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful you want him inside. He steps through the doorway as you step aside, and your nerves are back again when he doesn’t say anything.

“We should talk,” you say, your voice sounding small. You cringe at your words, knowing if they were said to you that you would immediately panic. “Everything’s fine,” you blurt out when you see his mouth open – it snaps shut.

He ponders for a moment. “Okay.”

You frown, and begin pacing the room again. He sits down on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We are equals,” you state. You cast a side glance over at him, seeing him staring at you with a blank face – you look down again. “If we’re going to do this… If we’re going to negotiate with Zeke, I’m going to need you by my side regardless of the decision I make. I’m an inexperienced Queen, I know, but you’ll make me look like a fool if you question my authority.”

You keep pacing, nerves getting the best of you as you continue to fidget with the fabric of your skirts. You desperately want to break the habit, and you force your hands by your sides as they end up in fists instead.

Levi stares at you as you pace back and forth, fists now clenched by your sides instead of incessantly pulling at the threads in your skirts. He hates hearing that man’s name, the same man that killed your brothers and Furlan, the same man that killed his own parents. Levi feels this urge to protect you fiercely as soon as the name is mentioned – he’d do anything for you.

But he heard what you said, and he fears that he’s overstepped your boundaries when he didn’t mean to. He doesn’t know how to balance it, the unquenchable desire to be your protector, to love you, and the side of him that is still your loyal Chevalier. You’re right, and he knows that.

You’re startled by Levi grasping your hands, unfurling your fingers so you’re no longer pressing your nails into your palms, your head jerking up to meet his eyes. “You’re right,” he says softly. You stare into his eyes, those beautiful pools of grey that look at you so softly now. “You are my lover, but you are also my Queen. I trust you, and I will push down my instincts to protect you when you are fully capable.” His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb brushing the soft skin under your eye. “I fear there is going to be a moment where I can’t be there for you when you need me.” He lets go of your face, taking a step back as he frowns at the ground.

You stare at him for a moment, the overwhelming pressure in your heart making you speechless. You can see the frustration and sadness in his features as he stares down at the ground, jaw clenched. Memories of Auguste, Theo, and Furlan’s deaths no doubt passing behind his eyes, the hopeless feeling of despair overwhelming him. 

You step forward and reach out, a gentle finger under Levi’s chin tilting his head back up. “I am here now,” you tell him softly. “We are here now, and until we join the stars as well then we will both do what we can.” You press your lips against his in a soft kiss, gentle enough to feel the way he exhales in relief. “I cannot live without enjoying your presence fully now, Levi. We have bickered for far too long, and as long as we live I will take your protection as long as you will allow me to protect you,” you whisper against his lips.

His eyes are closed as you look at him with half-lidded eyes, his lips slightly parted as he awaits more of your lips against his. His hands find your waist, and he gently tugs the laces of your corset free. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he whispers, eyes still closed as he removes your garment. They open just slightly. “I’m yours.”

You kiss him, firmly molding your lips against his as they move languidly together. Your hands find the cravat tied around his neck, fingers nimbly untying the fabric to cast it aside as Levi’s hands bunch up the fabric of your skirts to lift over your head. You only part for a moment to help him rid the fabric from your body, his fingers untying the flimsy skirt support around your waist as your own begin unbuttoning his blouse. Your lips come in contact again. He shivers under your touch, casting aside the skirt support and assisting you by lifting his blouse over his head by the collar once you’ve unbuttoned it enough.

You don’t immediately connect again, taking your time to relish in the view of Levi in just a pair of trousers before you. You’ve never seen him shirtless before, only a peek at his abdomen when he would wipe his brow free of sweat during a rigorous training session, but you had never paid much attention to the man. Now you openly ogle at him, staring shamelessly at the curves of his muscles, the way they flex slightly under your watchful eye, the way coarse dark hair trails down from his naval and disappears under his trousers. His hair is slightly tousled from his shirt being swept over his head, dark bangs barely hiding the lustful gaze he looks at you with. He’s always been remarkably handsome, piercing grey eyes, sharp, but soft, features, and you’re so grateful you’re the one that gets to see him so closely.

Levi does the same to you, openly staring at the way your nipples pebble under the thin cotton chemise provided to you. He’s never seen you like this before, not even when his hands grazed your sides in the countryside of Navarre, your back being turned to him and body being hidden under the sheets. Your hair is still down, it’s natural texture brushing over your collarbones and the nape of your neck – it’s grown longer since the start of your journey. Your curves are slightly silhouetted by your chemise, the short sleeves cupping your arms so your shoulders are free. The way your décolletage is revealed to him makes his heart palpitate, your skin sloping down to your breasts that are only hidden by thin, white cotton. You are such a beautiful woman – Levi curses himself for waiting so long to admit it.

You bravely step forward again, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of Levi’s trousers. He brushes your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, grabbing your hands to stop your process.

“I owe you,” you smile at him and lean in to kiss him again, freeing your hands from his to continue.

“You owe me nothing,” he whispers against your lips, his hands coming up to cup both sides of your face.

“Please– let me please you,” you breathe, begging for just a small taste of him, anything. You walk him back to the bed when he doesn’t openly oppose, guiding him to take a seat when the back of his knees press against the edge of the mattress. Your fingers finally finish unbuttoning his trousers as you kneel on the ground, gently pulling them, along with his undergarments, down as he lifts his hips to assist you and kicks them off to the side with his shoes.

You openly gape when his cock springs free, already hard and inflamed at the tip as it leaks a small amount of clear fluid. You look up at him, eyes doe eyed and innocent, and Levi bites back a groan at the sight. “You don’t have to,” he tells you honestly, because he can tell you might be overwhelmed by the pressure of performing well for your first time. 

“I want to,” you insist.

Your lips are barely parted as Levi brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing past and watching as you immediately close your lips around it to suck on it. You pull your mouth off with a pop, your cheeks flushing at the sound as you keep looking up at him. He looks patient, blank features staring down at you with only the kind look in his eyes telling you that it’s okay if you back out now, that he’ll still hold you tonight while you sleep.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you take him in your mouth, lips wrapped around the head of his cock with hollowed cheeks. The gasp Levi let’s out is unexpected, and you savor the sound of his unabashed moan that escapes him when you take him further. His skin is slightly salty as you wrap your tongue around him, coaxing another soft moan from him as he gathers your hair to hold it back for you in one hand, establishing a grip against your scalp. You’ve never done this before, but you try your best based on instinct.

“Fuck,” Levi moans, his chest heaving up and down as you bob your head. “How–” Levi let’s out a small whine when you push down further, determined to take him fully as you close your eyes and feel the dark hairs on his skin brush against your nose. “Christ, Aeron– shit– you’re gonna make me cum.” You gag slightly and pull back, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as you use your hand to slide up and down the rest you can’t quite fit. 

You open your eyes to look up at him, tears forming on your waterline and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. God, you’re a sight to behold, and Levi pulls back on your hair to lift you off of him when he feels his climax approaching fast, your hand still pumping him to completion. He can’t remember the last time he finished this quickly even by his own hand.

His cum spurts in white hot ropes against his abdomen, coating his skin as you watch his eyebrows furrow with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth agape in silent ecstasy. His breathing is labored when he comes down from his high, cheeks flushed as he opens his eyes to look down at you staring up at him in awe. He’s beautiful, strikingly so, and being the source of his pleasure has your own stomach twisting in knots as your clit throbs.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, assisting you as you stand up, wobbly from being on your knees on the hard wooden flooring. You sit down next to him, grabbing at the skirts on the ground to wipe him clean. “I guess Mrs. MacLerie doesn’t need those back,” he mumbles, taking the fabric from your hands to wipe his abdomen.

You laugh lightly, feeling as though you’re walking in the clouds now. “No, I don’t think so,” you mutter, leaning into his side to kiss him softly. It���s slow, gentle, as he relaxes under your touch and you move to straddle him, hands cupping his face as you swing your leg over his. You can’t get enough of him, desperate to feel all of him against you, desperate to feel his cock throb inside you and coat your walls instead of his abdomen.

“Aeron,” he breathes against your lips, hands grabbing your hips as your chemise rides up and exposes your ass and cunt. You lower yourself down, gasping at the feeling of your wet pussy coming into contact with Levi’s soft cock. “What are you doing?” he gasps as you start rocking your hips back and forth, feeling his cock rub through your folds and into your clit, hardening as you continue.

“Feeling you,” you moan. “Oh.”

“I can’t claim you here,” he groans, but his hands do nothing but move to your ass as you continue to grind yourself against him.

“Stop being such a gentleman,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, wishing he would just fuck you right here and now as your arms drape over his shoulders.

“I am to a fault,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press kisses onto your neck. “I want to savor you, take my time with you.”

“Please, Levi,” you whimper. Every time you feel the tip of his cock rub your clit you feel breathless, stimulated, but not quite enough to make you feel euphoric.

His hand makes it’s way to your throat, establishing a gentle grip on the sides to just barely cut off the blood flow to your head and making you feel all the more inebriated off of him. “Then you can do it, my sweet girl,” he hums against your collarbones, lips trailing down to your chest above your breasts. “Make yourself cum all over my cock.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the lewd sound of your wet folds gliding over him make you blush.

Your head is tilted back, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together as you let out a gasp. “Help me,” you whimper, needing just a little more stimulation than grinding against him provides. He doesn’t hesitate, the hand guiding you forward and back by your ass instantly coming in between your bodies to apply circles to your clit.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, pulling you back to him by your throat and kissing you as you whine against his lips. You pant through your open mouth kisses, eyes scrunched shut in concentration as he gets you off. You’re so close, desperation lacing it’s way into the sound of your breaths and moans as you reach the cusp of your climax. “Cum for me, amour– Fuck you’re drenching me filthy girl,” Levi groans, your breath mingling together as you both get lost in the feeling of each other. Nothing matters but him.

You cum hard all over him, eyes rolling back as he lets go of your throat to help you through it by grabbing your hip, his thumb still making circles over your clit. You practically black out, vision blanking as you feel nothing but bliss pulse through you. Levi guides you through it until you’re panting, head falling forward into the crook of his neck while his arms wrap around you to support you. His hands glide under your chemise, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back as it rides up your waist.

God, he can feel you clenching, drooling all over his cock that’s hardened again and he resists the urge to fuck you into the mattress. He can feel the mess of your cream dribbling onto his thighs, creating a sticky concoction of sweat and your cum to clean up in a moment, but he bares it for you despite his urge to immediately get clean. You’re ruining him, absolutely taking all of his willpower away when it comes to serving you – the woman he never thought he’d bend over backwards for, but he can’t imagine it any other way now.

You feel drained, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when Levi finally pushes your shoulders gently and a hand comes up to hold the side of your face. “You alright?” he asks softly. You nod, only a mumble coming out in response. A deep rumble of a laugh comes from him, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So pretty when you’re fucked out like this,” he hums, his thumb gently swiping against your bottom lip. You give him a delirious smile in response.

“You stay?” you ask him softly, voice sweetened in hopes of him holding you as you fall asleep.

“Of course,” he murmurs, swiping leftover tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t care what the others might think?” you ask, head tilted as you lean into his touch.

“As if they don’t already know,” he mumbles. “Come ‘ere.”

He easily lifts you with him as he stands up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he supports you with his hands on your ass. He carries you to the side of the bed, using one hand to pull back the covers as he supports you effortlessly, and lays you down under the sheets. “Stay here,” he whispers to you, and bends down to kiss your forehead.

Levi picks up his clothes that are scattered on the ground, buttoning up his trousers and throwing on his blouse – he doesn’t bother tucking it in or fixing his hair. He looks over at you and can’t help but smile softly at the way you’ve seemed to instantly fall asleep, the travels of the day finally catching up with you. He makes his way to the door, putting on his boots and shutting it as softly as he can behind him as he exits your temporary bedroom in search of warm water and cloth to clean you, and himself, up before he joins you in bed.

He wanders the halls, the dark stone contrasting the white painted wood he’s accustomed to in Mirlenas. He makes it down one hall on his way to the kitchen Miche had shown him earlier when he runs into Ymir herself, stopping as soon as he rounds the corner and she comes into view.

“Ah, guard dog,” she hums, smirking – the nickname makes the hair on his neck rise. “I see you had some fun tonight. Bedding an unmarried woman– a Queen at that? That’s quite brave for a Mirlenas knight.”

Levi isn’t sure if he’s gotten more bold because of where he stands with you now, but he has to bite back his curses at the woman before him. “It’s Levi.”

She laughs. “Alright fine, Levi,” she scoffs. “How’d you end up lucky enough to bed a woman like Aeron?”

He doesn’t bother correcting her, telling her that he hasn’t technically bedded you. “I was her brother’s Chevalier,” he tells her honestly, crossing his arms as he looks at her. “Hers in the last three years of his life.”

“Ah,” she says, gesturing for him to follow her – he hesitantly moves. “And you were there for their deaths? Witnessed them?”

Levi stills, footsteps pausing on the cold stone floor. She turns around to face him, a split second of shock displaying on her features before she controls them again. He can feel the amount of fury showing on his face as he spits out through clenched teeth, “Do not–”

“Right,” she says and turns back around. “Sensitive subject.” Her footsteps continue forward and Levi reluctantly follows. She leads him through the corridors, long hallways that don’t turn too much to the point where he’ll get lost, and soon she’s opening a door and holding it behind her for him. The small room has linens on the shelves, and Ymir takes a few cloths down and throws them at him – he catches them easily with a scowl on his face. “You know, Aeron seems like a special woman, much better than her father,” Ymir continues while she walks out, clearly expecting him to follow. “She’s fiesty, and Miche tells me you got upset with her for revealing who she was at the gates.”

“I wasn’t–”

“She has courage,” Ymir interrupts, looking back at him over her shoulder. “And honestly, she’s the only one capable of taking down Zeke in the end whether she makes it or not.”

Levi scoffs. “As if she wouldn’t make it.”

She whirls on him. “Well then you better be there. Every step of the goddamn way,” she sneers. “Historia might have faith in Mirlenas, but the only person that’s shown me they can handle it is Aeron. Even Commander Smith himself seems like he’s acting on a hunch and me and Historia can’t afford a fucking gut feeling. If Zeke makes it here we’re done for.”

Levi’s fists clench around the white cotton cloths Ymir had given him and steps forward to meet her challenge. “You act like you know everything, but you have no idea what I’d do for her.”

“Would you die for her?” Ymir questions viciously.

“I would do anything for her. I would die the worst death if it meant she would be freed from whatever threatens her,” he vehemently tells her. “You know nothing. You know absolutely nothing about us, or the bond we share–”

“You’re mated?” Ymir takes a step back, bewildered.

“No–”

“How can you be bonded if you’re not mated?”

“We will–”

“Pray it’s not too late when you decide to,” she huffs and spins around, pushing a swinging door open to the kitchen as Levi follows her.

“She’s mine, and I hers,” Levi says, quieter this time. “Zeke won’t lay a hand on her even if it means my own death to protect her, and Kaslogon will have no rein over any more land. We’re fighting him ourselves and you should be grateful for the protection your country is being provided.”

Ymir grips the counter, her back facing Levi as he stands by the entryway. “We are,” Ymir mutters. “You’ve been gone too long.” She grabs a kettle of water and pours it into a small craft, shoving the already warm water into Levi’s grip. “Go.”

Levi wordlessly takes it from her and steps out, leaving Ymir to sit quietly in the kitchen.

She’s scared, Levi thinks as he makes his way back to you, and he can’t blame her. The only thing he fears is losing you, and he can sense that Ymir is only scared of losing Historia to a war they can’t win. He’s already tired and selfishly wants to live in the moments where it’s just you and him, when he’s holding you so close your heartbeats practically melt into one.

He exhales softly, looking down at the ground before he slowly enters the room to take care of you.

—

“Are you prepared for this?” Erwin’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You’ve gotten yourself together, disregarding Historia’s attempts at sending in a handmaiden and opting to get yourself ready. You’ve braided your hair and styled it in an updo, something that will last the journey to Zaramund. Ymir had delivered fresh clothing for you and you’ve changed into the woolen skirts and cotton blouse, a thin chemise that was made out of quality cotton underneath, and a woolen cloak for your shoulders. You didn’t miss the look her and Levi shared as she stepped into your room and spotted him – you didn’t ask about it, only glad they’ve come to some understanding it seems.

Your temporary horse whinnies under you, a dark mare that made you miss Saxson deeply, made you wonder if he was happily grazing next to Arwen on the coast of Mirlenas. Historia and Ymir provided supplies for you in a small wagon led by two smaller horses, and the rest of your soldiers were provided their own. You expressed your gratitude to both Historia and Ymir, earning a kind smile accompanied by a hug from Historia and a reluctant nod from the latter telling you to “not mess this one up.”

You’re almost positive you caught the upturn of her lip when you smiled back at her.

Erwin sat proudly on his own stallion by your side, regarding you with such care he rivaled Levi now in the way he wordlessly vowed to protect you. “Yes,” you simply answer him. There’s no need to elaborate on how your stomach twists into knots whenever you think about stepping foot inside the castle home to the Jaeger family. How could you ever be truly ready?

The easiest way to reach Zaramund would be to cross the bay between Navarre and Kaslogon territory, but it would leave you vulnerable to Zeke’s soldiers on the coastline – you’re not quite fond of water yet anyway. Instead you would be crossing through the valley of the mountain range that separated the two countries, a small path between towering mountains that would be covered in snow this time of year. From there it would be an easy trek into the capital city, but your nerves still threatened to overcome you.

And it started off simple enough, with two days passing by easily as you trekked across Navarre’s hillsides, rolling green making it easy to navigate and allowing horses to graze. Plenty of streams intertwined throughout the land, providing drinking water for your traveling squad. It was peaceful, nice even, while you appreciated the landscapes around you as your horses made their way through, or while you knelt down next to streams to fill the leather canteen provided to you.

It wasn’t until you reached the start of the valley that your group came to a full stop. The map given to Erwin was clearly deceiving, showing more rolling green hills in between tall mountains, streams flowing down from the mountainside. Granted, it was winter, but the sight before you was not at all how you imagined or were told about.

The earth was brown, no longer covered in grass and resembling a desert instead with visible drought lines along the side of the mountains and clear signs of dried up streams. You couldn’t blame the Queens, they warned you they haven’t had anyone travel these areas since the war began, and with a harsh winter already making it’s presence known far worse in Navarre than Southern Mirlenas, a drought before the snow melted was inevitable. 

The air was dry and chilled you to the bone as it swept in between the mountains, blowing the stray hairs that have managed to escape your tied up hair back. One hundred kilometers of this would have to be crossed to reach the other side where you had no idea about the terrain of Kaslogon. You’ve heard your father talk about how sparse it normally is, and you can only hope that in a twist of luck that the land spares you from it’s usual standing.

“We’ll stock up on water half a kilometer back and then make our way through,” Erwin announces to your soldiers. You give him a nod, tugging on the reins of your horse to turn her around and earning a disgruntled huff in return.

—

Any gods that may exist have never been on your side.

The sight was startlingly contrasted; white peaked mountains sloping down to dusty cliff sides. You were surrounded by snow you couldn’t reach, and dirt that had no life to it. You’re almost there – roughly seventy five kilometers have been trekked, and you’re just starting to grow weary as the sun sets. Shadows grow longer, the sky darkening and revealing the stars above your heads with some getting shadowed by the mountain tops.

“We should rest,” Levi speaks up, addressing Erwin. You’ve slumped down a bit on top of your horse, posture weak and limbs growing tired of riding all day. You’ll be on the outskirts of Zaramund tomorrow evening, but Erwin wants to camp just out of reach of the capital city so you can all gather the needed strength. 

I fear it will end with bloodshed. 

You hope that’s not the case.

All of the horses come to a stop, with Petra and Eld directing the horses towing the wagon to stop and allow access to supplies. You weren’t as prepared as you were in Mirlenas, settling for rucksacks instead of tents and hoping it wouldn’t rain on you despite the needed water. You hopped off your horse, beating Levi’s attempted assistance, and began helping set up camp. You didn’t know much, but you could at least help Petra gather supplies for cooking tonight's meal over the fire being prepared.

“We can take care of things,” Levi tells you, reaching into the back of the wagon for a crate – Petra glances over at you with slightly raised brows, taking that as her signal to leave your side to give you privacy.

“What kind of leader would I be if I let everyone do this for me?” you ask him, turning your body to face him with a hand on your hip.

He looks at you for a moment and then glances around to see everyone else busy with a task as the two of you are partially hidden behind the wagon. “Right,” he mutters and kisses your forehead. “I’m only letting you know that you can take a break if you need it.”

He walks away with a crate in his hands, a knowing look on his face. You frown in his direction before gathering more supplies for Petra.

“Thank you, Aeron,” Petra smiles at you when you hand her a pot and cooking utensils. It’s just the two of you as you both kneel down by the fire, settling in to hang the pot and get dinner situated for the rest of the group. You look up and spot Levi, discussing with Erwin and Hange, although you’re not sure what and can’t tell by the animated look on Hange’s face and the bored expression on Levi’s – Erwin is simply listening.

You hear it before you see it.

A gunshot rings out, the sound of a rifle piercing through the laughter and calm sounds of your soldiers setting up camp. Petra tackles you to the ground hastily, using her body to shield yours as she urges you to crawl with her under the wagon of supplies to take cover. Your eyes are wide, heart rate soaring with the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hold onto her and she does the same to you.

Then you see it – them. Eld and Gunther are lying down in the dirt, blood pooling around their bodies as everyone frantically takes cover and grabs their weapons. You gag, choking back your tears and the fear that’s consuming you as you look onto the chaos unfolding. You miss the eye contact Petra makes with Levi before she’s pulling you out from under the wagon despite your protests, kicking up dirt as both of you scuffle towards him.

“Go!” Petra pushes you towards him, causing you to stumble forward and barely catch yourself before Levi is pulling you up with one strong arm. Your legs straddle the front of the saddle, your back pressed so tightly to his chest you can feel his frantic heartbeat.

He positions you in front of him on his stallion, using both hands on the reins with arms that cage you in as you frantically look around and the horse sprints forward. Mikasa is hidden behind part of the wagon, using it as cover as she aims a rifle up into the mountains, a determined look set on her features. Armin is next to her, crouched down and holding a musket as he watches her back.

Your eyes find Oluo next, lying on the ground with Petra leaning over him as she frantically shakes him. You gasp, and turn your head down when you see his knee cap blown out and blood leaking from his thigh like a geyser.

“Eyes forward Aeron,” Levi’s deep, comforting voice intercepts your dark thoughts. “I’ve got you.”

You feel obligated to listen to the smooth intonation of his voice, his words trying to pull you back from spiraling as your mind wanders to thoughts of your brothers and the way they probably suffered in death. You keep your eyes focused on the horn of the saddle, your hands holding it so tight your knuckles become lighter in colour. You have to trust Levi to get you two out of this, trust that Erwin, Hange, and your soldiers will make it out alive – you know you’re their priority and you hate it.

—

Levi rides throughout the night, your body nestled against his chest and in between his arms as his borrowed stallion carries him forward. You’re sleeping now after hours of traveling and worn off adrenaline. Your body is turned just enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder while one arm holds your waist tightly to make sure you’re okay, his arm remaining flexed to keep you secure.

He’s angry, scared, and desperate to feel safe again. He caught glimpses of the Kaslogon emblems on the men that attacked them, and he wonders why the hell you’re even going to negotiate instead of declaring an all out war with them. But he knows how you are, how desperate for peace you are without bloodshed.

He holds you tighter. You’re okay. You’re alive.

He didn’t check to see if anyone was okay, didn’t bother stopping the sprint of his horse just to see if any of his comrades were following him out of the mess. The decided campsite for the next evening is his destination, a marked spot on the map that’s in Erwin’s possession and Levi can only hope he makes it to the right spot.

He rides for a few more hours until he sees the lake that looks to be the same size as the one on the map, the sun making it’s way over the horizon and casting a soft glow onto your cheeks. He’s glad you got some sleep, and he’s glad you’ll have a whole day and night to rest and get your bearings before Erwin inevitably forces you to move into the capital city of Zaramund.

Levi pulls on the reins with one hand to have the horse gently come to a stop, a small huff coming from the animal that deserves to rest as long as it can before he drags it into hell again. You stir, a small mumble that Levi manages to smile at as he looks down at your pretty face resting against him. He lifts his hand from the reins, using a thumb to caress your cheek and wake you up further from your sleep.

“We’re here, mon cœur,” Levi mutters to you. You open your eyes and stare up at him, the swirling of your irises that are warmed by the sun taking his breath away. “You’re okay,” he whispers, to reassure you that he’s got you, that he’s taken care of you and protected you from harm, in your sleepy state. 

You remain quiet and tilt your head up, the soft press of your lips making him melt into you as your lips move gently against his own. He sighs when you break apart, soft breaths mingling with his as he leans his forehead against yours. 

You’re okay. You’re alive.

—

It’s well into the next evening by the time you hear the distinct sound of hooves running against the soft grassy earth around the lake. Levi keeps you and the horse hidden well, letting you rest after he’s woken up from a nap and feeding you with a rabbit he managed to catch with a simple trap. Your eyes are frantic as he pulls you against a tree with him, holding you close as he peers around the bark and out into the open plains of rolling hills.

You can feel the tension leaving his body as he let’s out a sigh of relief, his hold loosening on you ever so slightly and signaling to you that it’s not the enemy. You allow him to help you up, his hand firmly grasping yours to guide you out from cover.

Your eyes tear up immediately when you see Erwin riding strong on top of his white stallion, Hange next to him on their own horse. You feel the tears fall when you see their head wrapped in bandages, one eye covered with a small blotch of blood soaked into the fabric.

The rest of your soldiers follow suit, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat when Petra rides at the back of the group on top of your dark mare, her face covered in grief. You let Levi’s hand go and run to meet your soldiers, your friends. Erwin is the first to get off his horse, practically leaping off and handing the reins over to Armin next to him, and then he’s waiting for you with open arms as you hurl yourself into him.

He crouches down to hug you, large arms wrapping around your frame and engulfing you tightly as you cry into his dirtied no-longer-white blouse. He let’s go of you to check if you’re hurt, calloused hands swiping your hair off your face and holding your cheeks to get a good look at you. His touch reminds you of Auguste, and your hands come up to hold the back of his as you give him a small, sad smile.

Hange walks up next to you, and you don’t miss the look of shock when you abandon Erwin’s touch to give them a hug. “I’m okay,” they mutter softly, and you make a mental note to ask them about their eye later.

The rest of your soldiers say their hellos, sorrow permeating the air with so much thickness you could choke on it as the tears never leave your eyes. They find their spots on the grass, sitting down with exhaustion leaking out of their bones after tying their horses up to rest and graze on the long grass.

Your eyes find Petra again once Erwin and Hange leave your side to talk to Levi, and your already broken heart aches when you see her sitting atop your mare, her dejected spirit idle. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and walk up to her quietly, carefully, as if she was a hunted wounded animal seconds away from startling. 

“Petra, mon amour,” you mutter. She startles, big golden brown eyes looking down at you from her spot on top of your horse. Her hands are covered in blood, the front of her uniform stained red from holding her loved ones close as they die. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hold her in your arms as she breaks.

[valenshawke]

6 albums I’ve been listening to a lot lately! Plus one track from each that I’m especially fond of.

I was tagged by @captainhunnicutt. Thank you!

The Mandrake Project - Bruce Dickinson - "Many Doors to Hell"

I waited 18 god damn years for this album. And while Iron Maiden has released four albums in that time period, I'm actually a bigger fan of Bruce's solo material. This song in particular does hit on a lot of things I liked to write about around the time his last solo album was released. A vampire who wants to be human again. Not quite, but I did (and do I guess) like to explore the blessing and the curse of being a vampire.

Vessels - Starset - "Telepathic" & "Telepathic (Acoustic Version)"

Starset was the band @telekinetic-issue recommended to me after I recommended Ghost. So the great music exchange of 2022 led to, what is currently, my favorite Starset album. This song hit very close to me I listened to it obsessively as it very much captured my feelings towards my former best friend, before I finally managed to let that friendship go finally even though we hadn't really spoken since 2015.

72 Seasons - Metallica - "Lux Æterna"

Probably the first Metallica album since, uh, forever where I truly feel like they band tried to put out a quality song every track (don't argue with me about Load & ReLoad, there was ONE solid album if they made better track selections and had a bit tighter arrangement). As for "Lux Æterna," it's one of those pick-me-up songs that motivates me to try to get my life together.

Infestissumam - Ghost - "Year Zero"

In terms of album, it was this for Prequelle, Meliora, Impera. Impera, burned out listening to and absolutely hate one song on that album. Meliora benefits by having the Popestar EP on it, and thus having "Square Hammer." Prequelle has "Faith" and "Miasma"/"Dance Macabre" (you really need to listen to these two tracks back-to-back), and "Witch Image."

Infestissumam I listen to the most and regularly since it has my all-time favorite Ghost song, "Year Zero" and the "band" at this time was more focused on using religious imagery in such a dark way that hits the bitter ex-Catholic heart of mine in such a way that no other band can.

Once - Nightwish - "Planet Hell"

Tarja's last album with the band. Probably their last great album (no disrespect to Anette Olzon, Dark Passion Play and Imaginaerum were good albums). But a song about the contradictory nature of humanity and the notion that hell is really simply planet Earth? Yeah, that's a song for me.

Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex OST + - Yoko Kanno - "Lithium Flower"

Yes, I'm trash. I know this. I'm Tumblr. I came to Tumblr because of anime and manga. But this song is just 1. Amazing. 2. And based solely on one line, it's like the character song for my blorbo. But Yoko Kanno is one of those composers where, once you hear her work, you just bow to her brilliance. Her mixing of styles and finding singers to fit whatever vision she has is nothing short of amazing. But this song is one of those that when it comes on, just don't bother me because I will ignore everything to listen to the song in full.

And I'm no-pressure-tagging: @beardedladyqueen, @spoczkot, @anisaanisa, @albatrossisland, @connie-rubirosa, @byronicbi, @transgalvantula plus anyone else that wants to do this!

[madschiavelique]

AAAA this idea has been on my mind for months now and i simply need to share it with y’all

it’s a raphael x reader fic idea that i had a bit ago, and as i am uncertain as to whether or not i will ever write it, i’m throwing this idea in the wild hoping a writer on the platform will have a better determination than me at writing multiple chapters fics ✨(if u do write it i’d love to be tagged to read it or to be credited pls !)

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : raphael x reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warnings : boss x employee, oblivious reader, female!reader (but if u want to picture it as gender neutral or differently it’s up to you i’m just throwing the idea out there!), tiny bit of explicit content

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

so

we have two possibilities for the start :

raphael made a contract a while ago with a mortal that he thought was pretty much impossible for them to fulfil, yet for some reason, they did manage to complete it, and now raphael had to oblige in whatever wish they had. let's picture it maybe as a person with few remaining options in life and that wants whatever remains of them to be inscribed in the family lineage as absolutely incredible. so imagine the surprise when raphael hears that the person wants their daughter to be the devil's assistant.

OR because i like having a wide choice of possibilities (and this idea came afterwards and i prefer it) :

Raphael lost a bet and has to deal with a human as their apprentice or archivist or scrib or whatever activity that necessitates to have them by his side most of the time.

imagine an oblivious reader, doesn't know much bout the hells except that you have to be wary of it, finding themselves in it directly with no friends, no directions, just in the house of Hope

imagine the scowl of raphael when he sees her arriving, the way his lower lips hems in anticipation of how he'll have to endure her presence during the upcoming weeks, months, maybe even years of apprenticeship if reader's lucky enough to hang in there

there's a bit of an urge to make her life difficult, but most of all to keep her away from him because he has no time to babysit a simple human in his home.

somehow seeing her in the face reminds him of his failure, of how a mere mortal fulfilled a contract he had so perfectly made (as he always does) and that brings him an absolute feeling of frustration

so maybe he assigns her to the archives, so that she can lose herself in books to, as he says "learn about the habits and customs of the hells", but it is mostly a pretext to occupy her so that she’s not following them around like a duckling following their mom

inevitably however (when we follow the track of the-bet-he-lost version) he has to prove to his other allies that he is fulfilling this forfeit, and thus bring reader to some diners or events with him

picture this whole thing kinda like miranda (raphael) and andrea's (reader) dynamic in the devil wears prada, just pushing her under a mountain of work that tires her the fuck out but then somehow reader becomes less insufferable and hardworking and adapts to her environment

who knows maybe she finally got used to his habits, knew what dishes, drinks, clothes he'd prefer. knew who he had positive ties with, who he loathed, who he had to keep an eye on, and who he could close his eyes around

which obviously brought reader to harleep

maybe reader has just never picked up on social cues (yes at this point i'm making reader autistic because yes.) and doesn't have a single fucking clue about flirting, so she just thinks harleep is being very very nice to her c: it'd be hilarious like

harleep: haven't you got a pretty garment today, but you might make the hells hotter if you removed a few layers of it

reader: how can one make a place hotter by removing clothes ? that's a silly suggestion

told you

✨ OBLIVIOUS✨

harleep and reader do become friends though, maybe harleep even teaches her a bit about the malicious art of flirting while refraining himself to just fuck her - still teaching her in his own way of course

raphael doesn't spend his time wondering what his incubus spends his time doing, because if he did he would know pretty quickly whatever he does anyway. but now that he's starting to feel less bitter about reader and actually is able to be in the same room as her without his nose hitching up like he is smelling something that reeks, he does have an interest to know a bit about what her activities are in the house of hope

because consider it, he never shares diner with her, barely exchanges a few words per day with her, and tries to stay the furthest away from her possible by adding piles of documents, lists and whatever books reader needs to read for him so that all these centuries of knowledge can repress her to come to him

imagine if haarlep, just to mess with raphael, tells reader to use any flirting lessons he has given her so far on him - whether it be the brush of a hand or flaming hot words that'll make the devil's skin ran with goosebumps

and that when she does use it, actually unconsciously, reader and raph both surprised

what the hell is that thing that raphael is feeling ?

he knows who's behind this little joke, obviously, but still there's a sort of lingering truth in these words

maybe reader has noticed how she herself has just started anticipating whenever he comes back, whenever she shares a moment with him in any room of the house of hope, whenever he gives a confirming hum or the single word "good" when she does a proper job that she made look natural and intuitive when she’s been working her soul out to make it look perfect and effortless in advance

she expects him

imagine how one day, she does everything absolutely perfectly, even goes out of her way to impress him in the hopes of receiving even just a smile about it, but nothing. raphael hides the way he's impressed with her, because... why actually?

to keep his image of irascible boss that doesn't give a shit about his apprentice human? i mean he could've dropped this kind of act probably, but making an effort for a human that doesn't owe him anything ? that's another feat he's not sure how to handle yet

so reader goes to haarlep, who's become her confident, her kind of only friend in the house of hope, and shares her frustration

maybe she just takes them in her arms, starts crying a bit as they caresses her hair sofity hushing her down

"nothing i do is ever good enough, even perfect is not enough for him! why does he have to be this way..." and maybe just maybe

haarlep suggests a way to make her feel better and ends up sleeping with her

they comforts her a bit more, and tell her that if she ever needs to feel "better" again, she can just come to them. if not, they still are her friend

things go on, and raphael's personal frustration grows, because his mind keeps going to reader

what is it about her that makes him want to think about her? certainly not the way she always knows what to bring him if he needs even the slightest thing, or how she suggests point of views and ideas he had not though of from his perspective, or how she's so pretty when she's serious and reading silently, or how he even finds beauty in her writing, or how...

the list goes on, this man is silently obsessed with you, and he doesn't know how to shake away this feeling

imagine one night of pure frustration he calls in haarlep, and as they’re deeply in the middle of it, he feels as though he's not getting satisfaction. his thoughts are oriented towards you and only you, maybe the way you brushed the feather of your quill on your nose today while reading and writing notes on whatever book on cambions raphael had commanded you to read, or how your sigh of relief sounded when you had stretched after a long while of being sat at your desk, or how your tongue had lingered on your spoon tonight at diner after finishing your yogurt

that's when the cocky bastard (haarlep) smirks, asking "what's wrong? do you wish tonight for me not to be you, but to be..." before changing in your shape and seeing how raphael's eyes widen in surprise, "her ?"

he just gets up from bed, screaming at harleep “how could you touch her? i gave you no right to touch her” but harleep just answers something like "how could i not ? you certainly know of The Scorpion and the Frog don't you? It's in my nature."

of course raphael knows of it (lemme insert the explanation: A scorpion wants to cross a river but cannot swim, so it asks a frog to carry it across. The frog hesitates, afraid that the scorpion might sting it, but the scorpion promises not to, pointing out that it would drown if it killed the frog in the middle of the river. The frog considers this argument sensible and agrees to transport the scorpion. Midway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog anyway, dooming them both. The dying frog asks the scorpion why it stung despite knowing the consequence, to which the scorpion replies: "I am sorry, but I couldn't resist the urge. It's my nature."), and knows that harleep would've probably tried to get your body sooner or later, but still he feels the sting in his heart

URGH i have lots of thoughts about this so if ur interested pls don’t hesitate to drop smth in my inbox !!

[subwaytostardew]

Subway to Stardew - Passenger Events - Saloon Part 2

This plays after you see the first saloon event (submas having lunch with Elliott!) and visit on a Friday after reaching 3 hearts with Elesa.

Commentary under the read-more!

Did you notice the sprites? No? Great! I finally stopped procrastinating and recolored their spritesheets so now they don't share the same brown outline and match vanilla style a bit more!

Sprite-wise... they're over 80. Emmet's in his 90's.

So many sprites.....

Also... Elesa's back! We have a basic outline for what would happen in Elesa's events, but we haven't written anything for her yet... She has plans though! She's rounding up all the artists for it. Meanwhile, submas are still struggling with passenger relations.

Elesa's storyline is going to be fun to plan out but one of her B plots is making sure Ingo and Emmet take their breaks!

Elesa's fun. She's a bit awkward herself (girl can NOT keep a secret for the life of her) but she's doing things. Nimbasa trio share a braincell and they pass it around throughout this event.

We wanted to show a little more insight into their life in the valley and how others feel about them. This time, you're catching them on a bad day. One of my favorite things about Stardew is how everyone is very much flawed in some way and everyone is an unreliable narrator. I love how it just presents life in a run-down town as is and it's up to you to interpret whatever glimpses you get.

Trying to merge the two different media's in terms of tone and seriousness is a bit complex. Pokémon - as a franchise - is at the end of a the day; kid friendly. Stardew Valley, while may look happy go lucky and cute touches upon some really heavy topics.

We are basically skirting the lines here and there with the themes and even trying to make it in character for the Pokémon characters as well.

Taking a kid friendly characters and just trying to touch upon tough subjects while also trying not to seem OOC or off - is tough. So creative liberties it is.

Not everyone gets along in Stardew. I tried to emphasize that in Sebastian's distaste for submas. He would hate being their neighbor. He's cranky because he can't sleep in until 10:00 AM anymore because they're already at work before it turns 6:00 in the morning. Extreme opposites with their problems.

Sebastian and Submas DO NOT get along... They may tolerate each other at the end of the story but they just do not mix well.

I also think that Sebastian would just project a lot of his personal problems onto them... He already does that with Maru. He's not the best taking out his frustrations in the right direction. Haven't finished Maru's passenger event yet (another battle event...) but submas would be decently close with her since she has an interest in Pokemon and Sebastian would take that as "siding" against him. They are also decently aquainted with Demetrius which isn't the best for Sebastian's dad issues. He's not fond of the invasive species they brought in but they do appreciate infodumping to each other about mechanics and such.

Oh, Demetrius... I'm going to have fun with world building info-dumps with him. Ya'll like world building? Well, talk to the villagers, they may have a glimpse into things.

I do headcanon Demetrius (pretty much painfully canon...), Maru, and Sebastian as autistic themselves just like the Nimbasa trio. Unfortunately, that does not necessarily mean that they'll always have solidarity. For one, Sebastian's sensitivity to loud noises puts him at odds with Ingo. Submas fare better with the more infodumpy types.

Sibling relations are a sore subject for all of them so submas are horrified at even the thought of splitting tracks and hating each other because they have codependency issues; Sebastian has an inferiority complex and hates how they make him feel like even more of a failure because he doesn't like Maru. Neither parties are exactly healthy, but you can pick between who you're going for! (I was curious as to what the deal was with Sebastian so he was the first bachelor I married... I think you can tell that I divorced him.)

Sebastian has his issues... He was also going to be my first bachelor but uhh, I went with Harvey. I still love Sebastian as a character tho, he is really complex especially family dynamic wise. I do feel bad for him....

He does. I do appreciate how messy his family dynamic is, but I'm a little biased against him since I appreciate Maru and Demetrius more (sorry). I really like how he doesn't handle his issues healthily (I mean... look at Emmet.) and it's interesting to compare him to the other characters.

Like Sam! Sam's a good kid (college age 20 something year old...) and actually really emotionally mature even if he's a bit childish at times. Abigail... isn't quite all there yet but she has a strong sense of what's right and wrong. She's less hesitant than Sam when it comes to things, but Sam serves a bit as damage control here. I headcanon Sam and Abigail to have ADHD so they kind of have an idea about submas being autistic and what that entails, but it's not at the forefront of their mind. It doesn't help that their autism manifests in verrrrry different ways and they don't really know them all that well in the first place. It's a bit awkward between them but they're okay with each other.

We had a bit of fun determining the heart point changes between each route. Personally, I think friendship decreases are hilarious. Also if you don't back up anyone in this situation then... 🤨

(1) Sebastian -

Ingo -100 | Emmet -250 | Sebastian +250 | Sam -5 | Abigail -15

(2) Ingo -

Ingo +40 | Emmet +5 | Sebastian -100 | Sam -20 | Abigail -25

(3) Emmet -

Ingo +25 | Emmet +30 | Sebastian -100 | Sam -5 | Abigail -5

(4) Sam and Abigail -

Ingo +20 | Emmet +5 | Sebastian -40 | Sam +50 | Abigail +50

(5) Nobody -

Ingo -50 | Emmet -200 | Sebastian -200 | Sam -50 | Abigail -50

I don't see friendship decreases as characters getting angry at you per se. It can always just be them feeling awkward and wanting to distance themselves from you for a bit. For example, if you reject Ingo in his 8 heart event, you get knocked down two hearts just so you can get more friendly-but-not-too-friendly dialogue before it stagnates again at 8 hearts.

The "true ending" is Sam and Abigail's route since they're fairly neutral picks. You should stand up for them! Sebastian would agree that him lashing out was wrong, but he just doesn't want to talk to you about it. Why would he? You would just lecture him or something.

Bad ending is not siding with anybody like a coward. Sebastian's being a bit of a bully here (mainly to a grown man a whole head taller than him, but still, his friends got caught in the crossfire) and if you're wishy-washy then that's just odd of you as the town's farmer and supposed protagonist that goes out of their way to befriend everyone. Not a good look.

Sebastian's route is a bit of a jab at how his romance plays out. A few people have mentioned Emmet and Sebastian being friends with each other under the reasoning that they're lonely autists (but mostly just being favorites, which I get) buuuut... Not sure why you would go for Sebastian when submas is right there. Pick one or the other. They're enemies here. I can't quite see them getting along past that surface-level analysis. Smoking alone is a hard No. from Emmet since birds are super sensitive to airborne toxins (so much so, you can't even have non-stick pans around them!) and he's protective over his defeatist of an Archeops.

Ingo's route is more for fun than anything. If you really want Ingo, you do get the most points with him for mentioning him, but he's confused as to why you're trying to win him over now of all times. He's concerned about Emmet first and foremost!

Emmet has trust issues so even the slightest red flag puts a quite a bit of distance between you. He has low point increases because it's hard to win his trust. In this situation, a point increase mostly just means you didn't do anything wrong. If you side with him, that's what you're supposed to do since he's the side against Sebastian. He may be getting picked on, but he's a bit of an instigator himself. His own route aside, Ingo would be most pleased to see you speak up for his brother. Ingo's route is only has the highest point increases for him because it's well, his.

As for the bar fight... It was a bit difficult to figure out how to make it play out believably and interestingly despite it being three New Yorkers against some grocery store owner. Ingo is more focused on defense, de-escalation, and protecting his passengers (in this case, the college kids). He can take a hit and doesn't want to resort to making any attacks unless absolutely necessary, so he was blocking for the most part. Had Ingo not been the designated grocery shopper, Pierre and Emmet probably would have already killed each other. Emmet doesn't have the patience to deal with Pierre. He thinks Reshiram will smite him for upcharging them and will take it upon himself to deliver the justice of truth. Emmet's swinging at Pierre. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the best defense nor balance when he's kicking and punching. Pierre's too drunk to talk about it, but even sober he suspects that submas are working with Joja because as far as he knows, he saw Morris walk away from the Railroad when they first arrived.

Ah yes. Joja stuff. *Realigns stacks of papers* Lets touch upon Joja here for a moment and Pierre's view of things. When Submas first came around. Pierre was already suspicious of them - more confused if anything - why are two major city boys who also- mind you- come from a foreign region and bring along Pokémon. Take interest in a small town? With an abandon railroad? Right off the bat he does not have a great view; he is worried about his store, his income, and family and this is stemmed all due to Joja Mart.

Now Pierre spots Morris heading towards the railroad - of course Pierre does not know what the interactions between Submas and Morris are. In his mind it's Submas making a deal to work with them or is already with them! Pierre already hates Morris as it is.

That is why he is so passive aggressive to Ingo and Emmet. Just this time around - Pierre is drunk... and Abigail's friend is being "annoyed" by them.

Well... outright agressive in this event haha. I don't quite remember how the idea was finalized, but we decided that they would get into a barfight when doing another "showing passenger relations at the Saloon" event.

As for Joja itself. I most definitely headcannon them in this whole crossover universe as the typical "bad guy" Pokémon team. However they have already won/succeeded (Pokémon are no longer in The Ferngill Republic....) However things are now being shaken up and changing.

I could go on and on about Joja and how I view them... but I think that will be a separate post (if people want to know)

The fight was a pain to debug. For one, Pierre kept running off into the void like a coward. Ingo's lines about staying behind the yellow line were made in the debugging phase because I got fed up with him for doing that.

Worse yet. 1.6 broke the Pokemon animations so now I have to go back into every event and redo everything (RIP green bean X-Scissor). The old method I was using no longer worked; before, I was using the addObject command. Now they show up as error signs because the sprites that were previously on the sheet called from were removed as they are not valid objects.

I ended up having to figure out the temporarySprites command to replace the "using a Pokeball" animation. There are no instances of it being used in vanilla. Nobody seemed to figure it out either, so I had to make a mini-event just to test its usage and figure it out.

I eventually did. Thanks to the help of my emotional support Emmet.

Ah yes... 1.6 has broken some events. Small things. (events are still playable) But we will definitely be revisiting some events to improve or make better. Or to just fix.

I have so much backtracking to do 😭😭😭😭😭 Oh well... I thought events were safe to work on since barely anything about them changed in 1.6... I was wrong.

The ending had quite a bit of revising for concision and tone. It was much more lighthearted in Kade's drafts, but I figured that Emmet is low on steam and probably would have gone nonverbal after everything. Too much passenger interaction for the day. He just wants to depart back to his home station.

Yeah there was a lot of dialog and exposition cut. (Hmm no wonder why it's only 13 minutes long. lol)

Only 13 minutes... Still a lot considering that most vanilla events are around the 1-3 minute mark...

Poor Emmet.. and Ingo. I won't lie, when first seeing the event I burst out laughing during the fistfight. Just somthing about Ingo suddenly collapsing due to Pierre. BUT THEY'RE OKAY - ISH.

It's a bit comical! I had fun ragdolling them. Emmet was going to be much more swingy in his attacks but I ended up not keeping it in since it just didn't look right when used as an animation frame.

We at least kept one of the rag-doll sprite as a "knock back" from Pierre. Which transitions well with his passed out sprite.

Until next time! Thank you for boarding!

[welkinsky]

hey i saw that you write for bleach so i’m sending a couple of requests if that’s alright!

could do you write any hcs of what dating ichigo and renji would look like? tyyy

Bleach Boys X Reader | How It Is Like To Date Them

A/N: Lemme know if you want to see this for some other character from some any anime you want, if I've seen it then I'd love to write about them <;3 Have a beautiful day <3

Ichigo

First of all, let's get this thing very clear he was not the one who asked for a date. Even though he was the one to fall first but he didn't have the guts or enough knowledge on how to take these feelings forward.

The poor guy used to drop hints left and right and you used to wait for him to make a move but HE WAS SCARED.

At first, you were annoyed thinking he was giving you mixed signals because HONEY we do not do mixed signals in 2023 anymore. (Like, quite literally boo you deserve better <3)

You were about to give up on him when you overheard him talking to Chad who was even denser and was so confused as to why Ichigo won't tell you his feelings.

So you decided to go for it and the guy had the AUDACITY to act as if he had no interest at all, it was playful teasing of course.

But dating him at times might feel like dating a wall. He is so DENSE at times that you question your decision to ever even think about going out with him.

But this was his first time so he was learning things too and let me tell you he never makes the same mistake again and mentions something that he has no clue about, the next day he'll be an expert in it. He wants you to know that he is trying his best!

His love language is physical touch and the act of service and most of the time he does it subtly in public but when you two are alone, YOU ARE HIS QUEEN. Would do quite literally anything you ask him to do.

Is very protective of you because ever since the word got out that you two are dating you were in danger. So at all times, you have to pick up your phone and wear the charm that he got made just for you to keep any negative aura away from you and to be able to track you, just in case anything happens.

Renji

You two met in the human realm when he was taking a walk with Rukia. He never really pays much attention to humans but as soon as his eyes landed on you man oh man he was stuck.

Like, quite literally didn't move for a couple of seconds. He didn't want to lose even a second of a chance to not look at you.

Lucky for him you went to the same school as Ichigo. After seeing you that day he was stuck on you, he didn't tell anyone but you didn't leave his mind even for a second and zoned out quite a lot and one day they all were chilling on the rooftop of the school when you walked in.

His eyes couldn't believe you and it was very obvious that he was awestruck because of the fact that he forgot to even close his mouth. Everyone was shocked and amused at the same time heh.

He pushed Ichigo away from his way and before he can even think about it he was asking you out. As he got closer, his sense of the outer world completely faded as if he was in a trance or something.

Everyone still makes fun of him till day to act like that and he always replies with, "And I had a very clear reason?"

He is someone who will not show his affection publicly but will not back down if someone has an eye on you. yea he is the jealous type but is weirdly secure in himself at the same time. He just likes to test the other person I guess. But if that makes you uncomfortable then one word and he'll stop. 

Just like Ichigo, he also worries about your safety a lot. Because he holds a high position in the 13 court guard squads he has to be careful when it comes to you. At first, he used to hide some talisman in your bag all the time to make sure you were safe but when things got serious he told you the entire situation and advised you to do exactly as he says.

Might as well keep one of his men to safeguard you while things get worse if you're a human. If you have powers then he'll make sure to train you as much as possible because he trusts in you and your intuitive ability to judge the situation and fight.

_____________________________

Thanks For Reading and for the ask!

If you liked it you can check out the masterlist too!

A-Z Headcanon

[tranquilskies2]

Tai Lung x Mei Mei headcanons🐆🎀🐼

These two would be beautifully chaotic together🥰

At first glance, you wouldn't even know the two are dating. Whenever the two told others they're dating each other, reactions were usually shocked. You can't really blame people for typically being surprised about their relationship since they appear more like friends together.

For sure Tai Lung would be 100% in denial early on. He's a big cat-of course he's a total tsundere! Mei Mei will notice this quickly & will be an absolute flirt! From flirting & playful teasing to riling him up that'll leave him in a flustered state! Mei Mei would find it cute & amusing that such a tough man who eats nails for breakfast will be so in awe with her.

Tai Lung is the type of man who will dig up flowers from someone's garden (the dirt & roots still attached) & give them to someone they have a crush on. One of the following interactions he has with Mei Mei goes along the lines of something like this:

Po: *Whispers* Dude, just tell her that you have beautiful eyes! Tai Lung: *nods* Ok, got it! *turns to Mei Mei & stares at her eyes wide open* I have beautiful eyes. Mei Mei: Oh...that's cool. *awkwardly puts both of her thumbs up* Po: *whispers, shaking his head frantically* Noooo!!!!! Tigress: *lets out a snort*

When Tai lung first witnessed Mei Mei's combination of a ribbon & nunchuck in combat, he can't help but be amazed & finding it admirable. How does a woman be so flawlessly beautiful & badass at the same time? He's so giddy when he gets to train & spar with Mei Mei for the first time. Training is one of the activities the couple loves to do together. Tai Lung will be Mei Mei's target practice in exchange for Mei Mei to be on his back whenever he does push ups. They receive each other's praise & critiques to foster each other's growth. Both are each other's motivators to train for the better.

Whenever the two go shopping together, Mei Mei will carrying a bag & chatting with a friend she bumped into while Tai Lung follows behind her carrying the rest of her shopping bags.

Restaurants & picnics are some of their favorite date spots. Mei Mei usually arranges restaurant dates since she knows the best places on the back of her paw. Once Tai Lung starts to get better at cooking, he starts making picnic dates to show Mei Mei how much he's learned from her.

A bicycle cart date they have around town is either a slow, captivating sweet time where they admire nighttime scenery or a chaotic, zany speed track thrill. Depends on their mood.

Tai Lung won't ever admit this, but he purrs when he receives affection. He especially lets out a massive purr sound whenever Mei Mei hugs him (he believes Mei Mei gives the best hugs due to her fluffy mass & perfume scent). Mei Mei found out by complete accident when she's giving Tai Lung a massage. Tai Lung's favorite petting spots are behind the ears & under the chin. Tai Lung.exe will stop working if he's tenderly stroked on the neck.

Mei Mei is more affectionate than Tai Lung. She'll be blowing him an air kiss whenever she walks by, picks him up while hugging him, & holding hands with him. It took a while for Tai Lung to be open about receiving PDA.

Although Tai Lung isn't as affectionate as Mei Mei is, he'll give Mei Mei affectionate mostly whenever others aren't around. He loves giving Mei Mei a gentle lick on one of her cheeks & hugging her to feel her soft fur.

Early on, Mei Mei does most of the cooking since Tai Lung is banned from most kitchens around the world. Overtime, Tai Lung gets to cook more in their relationship due to Mei Mei teaching him. Mei Mei is pretty impressed with how much of a diligent learner Tai Lung is.

Mei Mei is the only one who genuinely understands Tai Lung & accept him for who he is. She eventually became well-aware of Tai Lung's rampage & 20 year imprisonment. Tai Lung feels the most safe with Mei Mei due to her not judging him even though she's seen the worst of him that's almost close to his past. Perhaps, when the two are so close enough, Mei Mei will push Tai Lung to try making making up with Shifu.

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2024 :: Day Twelve

Prompt: Quarry Characters: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Enebish Angura Word Count: 1,065

Master List

There was a hush upon the mountains as Nomin followed close behind Enebish, the Angura woman who had been more than happy to welcome her to their village. The crunching of their boots in the snow filled the air, as did the sound of the sled being dragged across the powder behind them. Nomin simply did her best to bite her tongue when it came to handling the extreme temperatures of the Tail Mountains, the cold seeping into her bones, even with the protective layering. After all, they were out to see if they could find success in a hunt.

Enebish paused, holding up a hand to halt Nomin when she looked through the brush. When she stopped, Enebish then brought a finger to her lips, a smile growing upon them. She then grabbed her bow, and Nomin did the same…just in case. After all, Nomin volunteered her efforts versus Arik or Jargal, who both stayed behind in the Angura village to haul stone or wood, and clean vegetables.

Nomin saw it, though. Their quarry.

Enebish had them tracking a goat, all while teaching Nomin her own tracking skills. They followed the tracks in the snow. Apparently this goat was valuable. Their bows were not drawn to kill, but to capture. The tips of the arrows were swaddled with small phials that carried an alchemical concoction. Supposedly, it was to put creatures to sleep once the concoction was broken and released.

Enebish lined up her shot, as did Nomin. Better to have two arrows going out in case one missed.

“Three…” Enebish started, her voice a gentle whisper.

“Two…”

Nomin closed her non-dominant eye, ensuring that her shot was lined up.

“One.”

Fwip! Fwip!

Both arrows were released, and both arrows struck the goat. One arrow struck the side of its cheek before bouncing off, the other its shoulder.

Clearly and understandably spooked, the goat made a bleat of surprise before starting to hurry through the snow. It did not get far, however, before buckling and falling into the snow. Nomin only stared in shock, surprised that the concoction really worked.

“Use that scarf I gave you to cover your nose,” Enebish instructed, already covering her face with her own and making sure it was tied tightly. She looked back at Nomin, the proof of a smile reflected in her eyes. “Can't drag you and the goat back to the village.”

“Got it,” Nomin replied, pulling the scarf up and then also reaching back to tie it a little tighter around her face after securing her bow. While she took care of that, Enebish already started walking, pulling the sled along behind her.

Once Nomin fell back into step behind Enebish, she glanced back at the goat that they had put to sleep and considered why they wanted it back alive. Initially she assumed that they were going to hunt it for meat, pelt, horn, and bone. But taking it back…alive?

“Why does the Angura want this goat?” Nomin finally asked as they trudged through the snow.

“Though we value our sheep…” Enebish started, leaning down and picking up one of the arrows as they passed. “These goats are rare. They normally live in the valleys, but sometimes they're chased into the mountains by predators. When they are and we catch wind of them, we go out of our way to bring them back to the village, because we can use their hair to make even softer clothing while retaining that insulation that we value to combat the cold.”

Nomin thought about this and then frowned as she recalled her own experiences. “The goats I've seen don't normally have fur that feels good to touch. But then again, I don't know goats that come up to the mountains.”

Enebish could be heard laughing from under her scarf. “These ones we call ‘kashmir,’ and their hair is cleaned and woven into wonderful threads and textiles by our weavers. As way of thanks for helping our tribe these past couple of moons, I'll see about gifting you and your friends some scarves made from it.”

“Oh…we couldn't possibly… I-I mean, if it's so valuable…” Nomin thought of several things Enebish already told her as well as the consideration to bring the goat back alive. They wanted to use the goat for several summers if they could.

“The three of you have helped more than we expected. It's really the least I could do as the daughter of Guyug Khan…” Enebish replied. They got to the goat and hoisted its slumbering form onto the sled. “Though my father doesn't express himself well, he's been grateful for the help you've provided. He's just been even more impressed that you're all from different tribes; Sagahl, Dotharl, Qalli…”

Nomin supposed she, Arik, and Jargal made an interesting trio to say the least.

“I'm surprised you seem so knowledgeable about the other tribes,” Nomin commented.

“We don't travel down from the mountains that often, but the Steppe is still our home. Our khans and khatuns over generations have often gone down with our traders and merchants to learn of the people so that we might make goods for them to better secure ourselves food and supplies more bountiful on the Steppe versus the mountains,” Enebish explained.

“... And these kashmir goats let you trade for even more or higher quality supplies from tribes like the Sagahl for fruit or vegetables…” Nomin thought aloud. 

“The Sagahl aren't keen to trade with us when it comes to our beastkin-based goods. But I suppose you were merely drawing a comparison,” Enebish scoffed, a good-natured tone to her voice. She started pulling the sled again, this time heading back to the village now that the goat was secured. “We've traded for dried fish from the Haragin, or Mankhad. We've also gotten good quality medicines from the Qestir.”

“Makes sense; hard for me to think of much that is easily obtainable up here…but I don't need to consider it often if ever…” Nomin could see the value in what Enebish mentioned, but she still had a hard time wrapping her head around much else that would need consideration.

Enebish allowed a giggle to bubble. “Well, stay with the Angura a little bit longer, and I can teach you more of our ways before you and your friends find your way back down the mountain trail to the mainland.”

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 18: How I stopped worrying and learned to love the shoe

I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but I spent all Sunday, the Equinox, sitting in Rhoda’s apartment, listening to her tell me stories about her son.

I’m not sure why she’s self conscious about that, but I’m sure she has her reasons, and I can keep quiet until she gives me permission.

It’s Monday morning now, and I’m quietly showing off while talking to Rhoda in the coffee shop.

It’s interesting to see who still recognizes me.

It’s bizarre that they can. But it was also bizarre that my dracomorphosis didn’t make me unrecognizable, either.

This time, it’s probably my amber colored slitted eyes, and the conspicuous nature of my outfit.

“Meghan! That’s impressive,” Tom says on his way through the lobby.

Amy nudges me with her elbow and says, “Hot.”

Their dog, Cody, still stares at me intently through the door, calm but attendant to me specifically.

Gary comes in to sit down to a super gay hot chocolate, with extra rainbow sprinkles, and a bacon cinnamon roll, and he smiles and waves.

The Kims had no trouble at all, either. And gushed about my “haircut” because they thought it was funny to put it that way.

Rhoda watches all of this with her tea near her face, shaking her head, and mutters, “This is interesting.”

I put my drink down and pick up my tablet, using my thumbs to quickly type out, “I feel like royalty even though I know I’m not. I don’t believe in royalty.”

“Meg,” Rhoda says, lowering her forehead in my direction. “You are wearing a damn tiara. You’re supposed to feel like a princess when you do that. I know I do.”

“You have a tiara?” I ask.

“Yes,” Rhoda says. “Every self respecting woman should. Sometimes it helps you clean. You can order yourself about with true authority. But mostly it’s for my birthday.” She waves a hand, “Costume pieces are easy to come by. Good ones are cheaper than you might think.”

I nod.

“If you can’t hide your eyes with magic, you might want sunglasses or contacts, for hiding that you’re a dragon, I think,” Rhoda suggests, drinking her tea. “I can imagine a few situations where that might be desirable.”

I nod a little more vigorously.

She smirks, “Nevermind the rest of the outfit.”

I stick my tongue out, closing my eyes, then take a sip of my drink, pinky outward because I can do it.

There are always tells, but it’s still a pretty good disguise. It lets me do at least a few things even easier than Chapman’s pendant does.

My tongue is still forked and quite sensitive, by the way, and I find I’m wondering if I can sense Chapman’s shifts when I’m like this.

Narrowing my eyes, I send hir an SMS, “Scan me!”

Seconds later I feel the shift.

“Oh, woah,” comes the response.

“I felt that,” I reply.

“I’ll have to scan you some more. Can I? May I? I think I can learn from you, maybe,” Chapman sends back.

“Yes,” I reply, simply. “Later.”

“Sweet! Back to work.”

“What’s that all about?” Rhoda asks.

I look at her thoughtfully, thinking about our last day of conversations and the last thing she said to Ptarmigan and Chapman. She’s here. She’s showing herself. She’s claiming her space. But she’s still not happy with the Artists.

“Mm,” she says, twisting her mouth up and to the side.

“I want to help people like Kimberly,” I say. “And people like Molly who can’t be themselves by going out into the wild.”

She nods, looking down into her tea, and says, “Fair. Just, be careful, please.”

As she says that, we both notice a police SUV roll slowly by the shop, and we watch it go together, our heads turning to track it. 

I wonder if, under the right light, my tapetum lucidum might glow. It’s daytime now, but I do have significantly better night vision than humans. And it would be cool if the cop driving that car looked into the shop at just the right moment to see two forward facing silvery slits of light following them, wide and alert.

Ah, that’s another drawback of this disguise. I feel half blind with my peripheral vision so restricted and impaired, and it does make me a little nervous and twitchy. I’m sure my head still moves like a lizard’s, like it usually does these days.

“I feel,” Rhoda says. “I don’t know why I feel this, but I feel like there’s another shoe about to drop. Like that hasn’t been happening for four weeks straight.” She shakes her head, “I’m so tired, Meg. So, so tired.”

“I know,” I reply. Then, after a tentative thought, I say, “Maybe you should hunker down while I go drop the next shoe.”

“I feel like you just did that,” Rhoda scowls, referring to my impromptu training session with Wentin. “I think that’s why I feel like there’s going to be another one. They come in twos.”

“Then it’s my shoe and I should drop it,” I point out.

“Please don’t,” she says, burying her face in her cup for a moment. Then, lifting it, she says, “The daily published your letter this morning. I read it before coming down here. It’s good. I think they didn’t edit it. Because it’s good. Keep doing that kind of good, Meg.”

“It’s not direct action,” I say.

“The world takes all kinds of action, Meg,” Rhoda reminds me. “And so far, every time anyone takes direct action regarding you dragons, it turns out disastrous. That singing you did on Thursday night was stunning. It was the best thing to do. But look at how rattled the city still is. Look at everyone. It’s been a whole weekend and a half and we’re all so exhausted and jumpy. Still.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what you should do?” Rhoda says, leaning forward with as much energy as she can muster. “You should have another interview with the Mayor, like this. Like you are right now. With as much press as you can summon.”

I tilt my head.

“You’re obviously still a dragon, if anybody pays attention. You’re obviously you, if anybody knows you. Mayor Chisholm will recognize you and call you by name,” Rhoda explains. “And if you can show people this new thing that dragons can do, I think that could change everything.”

I sigh.

“I might be the only one who can do it,” I respond. “And I don’t want to give the trick away to Säure.”

“Oh, that Säure. He’s a bogeyman! Everyone’s afraid of him,” she waves her hand. “Look. If he is your mortal enemy, think about it. Remember how your purse was found on the rooftop and turned into lost and found, and everything was in it? Do you think your mortal enemy would leave it there like that unexamined?”

She pauses to watch me lower my head in thought and acknowledgement.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe his henchpeople were stupid or something. Negligent. But you’ve gotta consider that he left your purse seemingly untouched to make you think that, and make you careless. So that he could confirm his suspicions about that pendant. Because that pendant is conspicuous as all fuck, Meg. It has that oversized chain, the big venus symbol, and the markings all over the back of it. It doesn’t take an Artist these days to think it’s something weird and special.”

Shit, she’s right. But.

“Still don’t want to tip my hand,” I say.

“No,” she dismisses me. “Keep thinking about it. Follow me here. You appear before the press with the Mayor wearing this disguise. But you keep the pendant. He doesn’t know exactly what it does, but he sees you doing something that looks like you’re using it! And then he makes a move. Maybe we haven’t heard from him and his goons because he’s waiting for something like that. Assuming he’s that evil in the first place – what am I saying, he’s a billionaire. Anyway! You see where I’m going with this?”

I nod slowly, looking down at my tablet, trying to think of something I might say besides, “You’re right. This is a good idea.”

“It’s a direct action, but a sneaky and subtle one,” she says. “And you prompt him to take the less subtle move, and this time you’re ready. You’ve got two Artists, God bless them, and yourself, and however many dragons who are loyal to you now. And you’ve got your magic.”

“I am supposed to train with Wentin more,” I say.

She nods and says, “Then you do that. Take your time. Prepare yourself. Do it right. But not too long, because the election is coming up, and the Mayor and everyone else watching Fairport, could probably use an actual boost from you.”

“Okay,” I say with my syrinx.

“And then, when it’s all done,” she says. “I want nothing more to do with Chapman and Ptarmigan. I’m sorry. That’s a boundary.”

Shit.

I feel I shouldn’t push her. I’ve done an awful lot of listening the past day, and I understand way better where she’s coming from and why she’s helping me out, why she’s attached herself to me despite my inhumanity. More importantly, I know why her soul hurts so much, or at least the parts she felt she needed to share. And she thanked me for being such a good listener when she needed it most.

But I want to understand something. And I want to at least try to plant a seed in her head that this boundary might be unnecessary.

I think I want to keep Ptarmigan in my life as much as I refuse to drop Chapman at this point. But I don’t want to lose Rhoda.

And, also, I don’t think any of this will be over all that soon. We need each other.

But I at least want to understand what she’s thinking about this one point. So a good question should be OK.

“Rhoda? Why is it different for you to help me than it is for Chapman and Ptarmigan to help us?” I take the tenacity to ask.

“Oh, Meg,” she says. And stays silent for several breaths, just looking at the floor a ways away and blinking. Then she moves herself a little and says, glancing at me, “Me helping you is like an old dog who’s had four litters and survived all her pups helping an old woman. The dog’s maybe got a couple of years left in her, and the old woman has a whole other dog’s lifetime ahead of her. But here, now, during the dog’s life, she can help, and the old woman needs it. And they make each other happy. The old woman gets something that helps her continue with her life, and move onto the next stage of what she needs to do in the world. And the old dog gets the best years of her life at the end, when she needs it most. It’s a good trade.”

A single tear rolls down her face, and she furiously brushes it aside. I know that’s for her son.

“But with Chapman and Ptarmigan helping us? That’s like a couple of scientists trying to help a couple of ants. Talking to the ants with pheromones that they think they know what they mean, but do they really understand us?” She looks more directly at me. “They can tell us things we think we want to hear. They can do amazing things that neither of us can, and they live so much longer than we do. So, so much longer. What’s their actual language, Meg? How do we even hope to comprehend it? And telling them to fuck off isn’t going to work. They think they know better. All we can do is try to walk away. And keep trying. Until we’re out from under their scope. And for them, what’s a matter of curiosity is for us a matter of survival.”

I pick up my tablet again to type something, but pause as she shakes her head.

“It’s just the way it is,” Rhoda says. “Same as for you as it is for me. Even with the things you can do, I reckon. Gotta assume it. I hear the way they talk about you.”

“Rhoda,” I say with my syrinx.

She seems to notice I didn’t use my tablet, and sits up straighter and looks at me, “Yes, Meg?”

I type into my tablet, “They are immortal beings. I am a myth. They know me now. I will live longer than they do.”

Her jaw drops open.

“What was that, Meg?” Kimberly asks from behind the bar.

“I am the child of humanity, and you have spoken my name to immortals, and they will pass me on to their children,” I say, hitting talk every couple of sentences. “I know I can be hurt. And I think I can be killed, many times. I am no god. I am just a dragon. But a dragon is a story. And so long as I am told, though I may change with time, I will persist. And I think I’ve just learned that I might see the end of the universe.”

“What?” Kim asks, and the both of them come out from behind the bar and over to our table.

“Let me hear your stories and take them with me,” I say. “You are my family, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Then I hand the tablet to the Kims so that they can read my words, keeping my eyes on Rhoda.

That, actually, was the other shoe.

And, I make sure it’s dropped. I end up explaining it a couple different ways.

At one point, I think I end up saying,”I'm not real.” 

I'm pretty heavily dissociated myself by then, though, so I'm not sure.

—

I feel weird.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I’d see my fiftieth birthday. And when I did, I then didn’t think I’d see my fifty-first. It had been a long line of a couple decades worth of years like that.

That suicidal, and that fatalistic. Especially with the way national politics have been going back and forth like a couple of cowboys whipping the shit out of each other and everything around them. Weird metaphor, but it came to me for some reason. It feels right.

It’s a common experience amongst neurodivergent trans people. Especially those of us that remain closeted like I was.

Every year got worse. I don’t really know why I held on so long to that closet door. It was a damn stupid move.

I started growing my beard in late middle school, and I never shaved it. Ever.

Other trans girls will know what that means.

By last month, I was feeling already dead many times over. I was barely a husk of a person. I haven’t spoken or written about that much because I really have to work to remember any of it, and I don’t like dredging it up. Not even now.

It’s easier to remember my childhood, before puberty. Back when I first knew I was a dragon and thought I understood what I meant. And, wow. OK. I might have actually been closer to getting it back then than I was in college, though I couldn’t have explained it. In college, I’d developed a theory that is closer to this, but I didn’t believe it.

When I was a kid, I just knew what I could do. Or should be able to do. And I bragged a hell of a lot. But I had no idea what was in store for me.

Why should I be so lucky?

I’m not.

That’s like asking the sun why it’s so lucky. Or a comet. Or a rock on the beach that has a nice sparkle to it.

Why is it a rock, and not you?

It’s just a feature of my existence that I got to think I was kind of sort of a human for the first fifty years of… it might be just this life.

I don’t know how old I actually am, because I don’t have any memories of before this life. And I may never get them back. But I’m pretty sure that the story I come from, the story that I am, is older than this physical vessel, and it will last longer.

It’s like believing in your own immortal soul.

A lot of humans do that. And they might be right to. I personally kind of feel like they are, though I’m not going to guess at what the nature of it is.

Right now, I’m a dragon that can fly, breathe some fire a bit more often than she realized, and who can kind of sort of disguise herself as human. And also, convince some other dragons to respect her for some reason. And get hurt. And die repeatedly, I’m pretty sure.

There might be a few more things I can do besides that.

And maybe with the help of a couple of Artist friends, I might be able to stay connected with my story more reliably now, and keep my memories for longer.

I’m not sending this to any newspapers or anybody. I don’t think they’d get it. It wouldn’t be useful. I might put it in one of my books, in the right spot.

No. I don’t want to protest too much, though.

That would be disingenuous.

It’s just kind of a really big mind fuck to go from thinking that you are a living, breathing, organic, mortal being for 50 years, who maybe wished she was something different, to learning that you’re a story.

And having the undeniable proof of it pulled right from out of your very own soul – or what you thought was your soul – by another story that’s almost certainly older, wiser, and considerably less brainwashed by humans than you.

Maybe, someday, humans will be ready to know this part about dragons.

First, let’s get your governments to start treating us all, humans and others alike, as people.

For all intents and purposes, for all the experience I have at my clawtips, I’m still a 50 year old disabled girl. I just happen to be disabled by dracomorphosis. And C-PTSD, still.

It’s going to take a lot of work that’s certainly beyond me alone to achieve.

I could, if I can find an employer that is super fucking chill, maybe hold down a job now. Gotta be free of triggers, though, and few jobs are.

And honestly, out of all of the stories in the world, it is pretty special that I get to drink coffee and worry about shit like that.

—

There's a certain point in life where when a real live dragon tells you, “No, I really am a dragon,” you tend to believe it.

Anyway, Rhoda takes that better than I expected. I hope.

Kim is looking at me weird, and Kimberly is shaking too much to operate the espresso machine, so they switch positions.