#anxious little ticking time bomb

[mellybabbles]

You may be a ticking time bomb, but I would still kiss you even on your very last second.

Back to your regularly scheduled Dust simping Anxious Shit Dust belongs to ask-dusttale (click for better quality)

[unexpectedbrickattack]

I don't know how to properly word this, but. Peppino stole my heart and the way you draw him gives the impression of "If he hugged or held me I would feel so so safe and happy past the fact he would be very clammy". Thank you.

This is so CUTE thank YOU

[little-annie]

Sex worker Eddie meeting his boyfriends family for the first time. Imagine his surprise when he sits down at the Harrington's dining room table only for one of his regulars to sit down at the head of it. The man he knows as Richie, who has a slew of mommy issues and a rather prominent foot fetish sits down like he owns the place. Which Eddie supposes he does. Though that doesn't stop Richard from turning a ghostly shade of white upon meeting Eddie's eye for the first time that evening. Who knew the man that pays to call him Mommy and suck on his big toe every Wednesday night at the Hilton is the same man who has beaten Steve to a bloody pulp not once, but twice before. The fucking prick.

There's an immediate tension that's began to fester in the room. Thick and uncomfortable. It kinda feeling like a ticking time bomb that's bound to explode any minute.

"Richie," Eddie greets Steve's father with an extended hand, bright, joval, like reunited old friends, noticing the way Steve's attention tears away from the conversation he'd just been having with his mother.

Because you see, Eddie's told Steve about Richie. He's told Steve about a great handful of his clients but especially this fucker. This supposed Wallstreet hot shot who begs to lick Eddie's foot until he's shaking simply over the taste of it, who calls Eddie Mommy and cries every time he comes. Who is such a pathetic bitch that Eddie can't help but go home to Steve and laugh about it.

Steve's mother notices the tension too but seems non the wiser to the cause, smiling warily between the two when she asks, "Oh Honey, how do you two know each other?"

"Work," Eddie replies with a sadistic smirk, sitting a little straighter in his seat compared to earlier when he was anxious to meet the famed fuck up of a father Richard Harrington.

And because he can't help it, because he knows he's already dropping Richard as a client now that he knows who he is, Eddie can't help but add, "How's your mother these days, Rich?"

Steve snorts into the wine glass that he'd began to rather hastily down to Eddie's left, trying to stifle a laugh so sharp it nearly sounds like a sob.

Eddie can't help but feel the slightest bit proud when Richard looks about two seconds from throwing up.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Can I ask for a similar scenarios for Unrequited (Alastor x reader). It could be a part 2 technically ♥️♥️

Reader defending Husk from Alastor when he threatens him in ep 5?? Breaking their already destroyed friendship even more. I NEED ANGST IN MY LIFE

A/N uh,, of course??? i love this idea??? I... I'm obsessed. I'm literally so excited to write this. I hope you like whatever I come up with. If you requested something I will get it out in the next couple days!! I'm trying to be quick.

Unrequited Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Angst and an unhealthy as fuck relationship. Pining. Non-mutual pining.

Word Count: 2,681 (The way this is like twice as long as part one. I got excited. Sorry guys.)

Part One: Unrequited (Alastor x Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"So, once we have the proof that redemption is possible," Charlie was explaining to her father as they walked through the halls of the hotel, Vaggie and Alastor trailing behind the pair, "this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into Heaven. We just need a little more time to prove it. The sharing circles haven't been working as fast as I hoped-"

"Hey, Boss. Can we have a word?" Husk cut in.

Alastor stopped in his tracks, an eyebrow raised. Placing an arm behind his back, he turned to face the cat demon in irritation.

"What is it?" Alastor asked, his narrowed eyes the only thing about his face which displayed his true emotions.

Alastor's gaze softened slightly as he realized Y/n was standing beside Husk. She grabbed her left arm with her right, rubbing it in obvious discomfort as she looked away from Alastor and Husk, examining the walls with determination.

"Listen, we all know Mimzy only shows up when she needs somethin'." Husk sighed after a moment, realizing he wasn't going to be getting anything but moral support from his anxious and angry companion, "That bitch is trouble, and who knows what kinda demon she fucked with to come running to you this time?"

Alastor took a step forward, watching the two demon's carefully. Irritation ticked at the back of his head like a countdown for a bomb. He had to be careful. There was already so much wrong between Y/n and himself, he had no desire to make any of it worse. Alastor, as much as he hated it, knew she was close with Husk, cared for him even. He tried his best to remain calm.

"It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry, Husker." Alastor turned away, moving to head back down the hallway after the rest of the tour, "Who in their right mind would cross me?"

Y/n looked over at her companion, feeling a shift in the air beside her. He had is fists clenched, his brow furrowed. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Husk turned, meeting Y/n's eyes. She gave him a pointed look, one that reminded him who he was talking to. One that asked him to be careful. Husk took a deep breath and unclenched his muscles. Y/n's hand fell back to her side.

"I mean..." Husk tried to chose his words carefully. He was honestly worried about the whole Mimzy situation and wasn't going to give it up, "you've been gone a while and it's not like anyone knows why."

Alastor stilled, turning his head slightly to the side. He watched Husk carefully over his shoulder as he replied.

"They don't need to know." Alastor turned to face Husk fully now, leaning towards him with a finger in the air, "And don't you worry your fuzzy head about it."

Husk growled, pushing Alastor's hand from his head as the Radio Demon tried to scratch his ears.

"You may own my soul, but I ain't your fucking pet!" he snapped, poking Alastor harshly in the chest.

"But you are!" Alastor laughed, straightening himself.

Husk was trembling with anger now, unable to hold himself back. Alastor turned again, once more making to rejoin the group he had left and Husk watched him through narrowed eyes.

Y/n nudged Husk's foot lightly with the tip of her boot in an effort to remind him to keep his cool, but Husk brushed it off entirely. He stepped forward, out of her reach.

"Big talk for someone who's also on a leash."

Y/n sighed. Alastor stopped walking. The lights flickered out in the hall for a moment.

"Aha, what did you say?"

Alastor barley turned to look at them as he spoke. It was enough that Y/n caught the dials in his eyes, a sign he was truly and genuinely angry.

"Oh fuck." she mumbled under her breath as Husk began to back away.

"Nothing." he insisted, "I, um-"

Husk excuses were cut short as the all too familiar green chain and collar formed in the air around him. Alastor, his back still to Husk, tugged the chain. The cat demon fell to the floor, his eyes wide and wild with fear.

"If you ever say that again," Alastor threatened, his back still to Husk as he began to wrap his end of the chain around his microphone, pulling it taught, "I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams..."

There was a resistance in the chain. Alastor stopped speaking and turned around, his rage growing by the second. He opened his mouth to yell, he felt his demon form aching to come out. Everything stopped when he realized what was actually happening.

Alastor had assumed Husk had found something to hold on to, that he was fighting back. Alastor had been wrong. Instead, in the space between the two demons stood Y/n. She had her hands wrapped tightly around the green chain and was using all her weight to pull it back towards Husk. Alastor's mouth fell slightly open, his brow furrowed. He hadn't known someone not involved in a deal could touch the chains.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Y/n yelled, yanking the chain harshly towards her.

The movement caught Alastor off guard. He stumbled forward a few steps before catching his balance.

"Nothing is wrong with me, dearest." he cordially replied, quickly regaining his composure, "I'm simply reminding our favorite Husker where his place is in the world."

As Alastor spoke, he switched his menacing gaze back to Husk who was trembling on the floor behind Y/n.

"You're a dick!" Y/n exclaimed, trying to pull Alastor towards her again with the chain.

This time, he was ready for it and stood his ground as Y/n continued to speak.

"He was genuinely worried about you, you know? I didn't want to ask about this Mimzy shit, I wanted to watch you fucking fail for once but Husk? He was worried. He cared about you, and what do you do?"

Y/n exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Alastor watched in awe. This was the biggest reaction he'd gotten out of the girl in years. He had no idea how to react. It was oddly heartbreaking, oddly exhilarating.

"I just... god, I can't believe I ever trusted you."

The chain disappeared in Alastor's shock. Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment before she decided not to waste time and turned to Husk. Crouching down before him, she slowly helped her friend to his feet. Allowing him to balance on her, Y/n began to lead the still trembling Husk down the hallway back to the lobby.

Husk couldn't help but notice, Y/n's hands were far from still either. He looked over at her: brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, a tight frown on her lips. Husk opened his mouth to speak, to thank her, to ask if she was okay but before he could say a word, Alastor spoke again.

"Y/n, I'd like a word with you."

She stilled and so did Husk. This time, it was her turn to keep her back towards Alastor, rather than him keeping his to them. If she had learned anything from Alastor over the years, it was how power worked. Right now, she had the slightest bit of an upper hand unless he decided to use the chain of her own deal. Y/n wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"Why?" she asked harshly after a moment.

Husk raised his eyebrows, reiterating the unspoken warning he'd ignored from her just a few moments before.

"Please."

Now that was unexpected. Y/n sighed, turning to Husk.

"You okay to go down on your own?"

"Yeah." Husk nodded, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Y/n took his arm from her shoulder. Had it been anyone else, Husk would have been embarrassed, would have never accepted the help in the first place. This was Y/n, this was different. If anyone understood, she did.

"You gonna be okay, kid?" Husk asked in a hushed voice as she squared her shoulders, turning to face Alastor.

"Yeah." she hummed softly in return, "Always am, aren't I?"

Y/n took a handful of long, confident strides that landed her in front of Alastor once again. She stood tall and confident before him as he smiled menacingly down at her. Husk stood, watching them for a moment before Alastor looked over at him.

"Run along now, Husker." he playfully called to the reluctant cat demon, "I won't keep your soldier long."

Husk made no reply or move to leave until Y/n turned her head to the side, sending him a careful look over her shoulder.

"It's all good. I promise."

Husk nodded hesitently before at last turning around and heading back to the lobby. Y/n and Alastor watched one another carefully, niether saying a word until Husk was fully out of ear shot.

"What did you want to see me about?" Y/n asked coldly, crossing her arms, ready to be punished and not the least bit regretful of what she had done.

"I simply wanted to apologize." Alastor hummed, everything suddenly feeling a lot closer to normal.

Y/n's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"For what?" she asked after a moment, when it became clear Alastor would explain nothing without her prompting.

"That you had to witness that."

"I-" Y/n cut herself off with a sigh, shaking her head slightly, "Jesus fuck, Al."

"Language." he warned and Y/n just glared at him. He changed his tactic. "What ever is the matter, my dear?"

"You are just... why are you apologizing to me?" Y/n demanded, frustration seeping into her voice like sweet sticky honey that caught on everything, "Go apologize to Husk. As I already said, I was hoping this... Mimzy thing... would let me see you fail. He just wanted to help you, and look where that got him."

Alastor's perpetual smile softened slightly around it's edges.

"Why are you so set on watching me fail?" he asked after a a few tense seconds.

Y/n let out a rueful laugh, letting her arms fall from around her chest and settling her hands on her hips.

"Because gosh, wouldn't it just be lovely?" she grinned back at him.

"What?"

"If you got a taste of your own medicine." she taunted, "Caring about someone, trusting them with everything you have, only to have that very thing be the weapon they hold against you in the end."

Of course, it all came back to that. Alastor couldn't blame her.

"Y/n, I don't know how many times I have to say it for you to believe me, but I really did not intend for things to turn out this way." Alastor sighed.

Seven years since he'd seen her and it only took them what, four/five months to come back to this conversation? A new record.

"It doesn't matter how you intended for them to be, it's how they are."

She spun on her heel, taking a few steps towards the lobby before coming to a stop once again.

"Sorry, I forgot." she spat, not turning to look at him, "May I go now, sir?"

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "Of course. I have business to attend to."

"Great."

Alastor stood in the hallway, watching Y/n as she disappeared around the corner, watching the air she had occupied. He sighed, there was nothing to be done. There had been some small hope that somehow, someway, the hotel would hope. Clearly, he had been wrong. Alastor shook his head softly in the quiet peace of the hallway.

He wanted to give up on Y/n, he knew he should but still... he just couldn't. It was like a puzzle he was missing a piece of, a game he hadn't quite figured out how to win. A challenge. Alastor never backed down from one of those. He never had before and he certainly wasn't going to start now.

The strange jittery feeling of determination began to feed into his chest cavity through his veins. Doubt, anger, hurt, heartbreak -- all of it was being flushed out and replaced with sheer stubbornness. Alastor couldn't help but feel if he had Y/n, then everything would be okay. That she was the answer to his problems, that if she could love him then he would finally have won. What? Not even Alastor himself could say but that wasn't going to stop him. Nothing was.

----

Y/n sat down at the bar with a sigh as Husk quickly poured her a drink.

"Thank you." he awkwardly said as she downed the glass in one gulp, tapping the edge to ask for a refil.

"For what?" Y/n casually replied as he refilled her cup.

She picked it back up again, this time taking only a single small sip. She savored the second drink and Husk leaned forward on the bar.

"You know what." he rolled his eyes pointedly.

Thankfully Angel and Sir Pentions were keeping Mimzy entertained in the sitting room. None of the trio seemed to notice Husk and Y/n's return. Y/n swiveled her barstool around, leaning her back on the bar top as she watched them enjoy one another's company.

"Shit, Husk." she sighed, "You know me."

"I do." Husk nodded, straightening up and turning to place the bottle of liquor back on the shelf, "What I don't know is how you had the balls to pull something like that."

"I'm not afraid of him." Y/n shrugged, taking another little sip of her drink.

"Bullshit." Husk scoffed and Y/n turned back to him.

"I swear it, I'm not."

"How." Husk asked, eyeing her suspiciously, waiting for her to drop the act, "I felt you shaking earlier."

Y/n shook her head.

"Nah, that wasn't fear. I was just fucking pissed."

"He's the Radio Demon, he literally owns our souls, Y/n. How are you not scared of him."

Y/n's eyes fell onto the contents of her glass as she shrugged again, swirling the liquid around in the bottom of her glass.

"I..." she sighed, "I mean, you know this. I didn't know that's what was going on until..." she trailed off, clearing her throat, "We were friends, for a while actually."

"I know. I remember."

"I cared about him."

The truth hit Husk in the face like a speeding truck.

"Holy shit." he laughed in disbelief, "You like, cared cared about him, didn't you?"

Y/n's cheeks flushed the slightest bit pink. She met Husk's eyes once again.

"I think I was starting to."

"That's why your not scared of him. You loved him."

"Yeah." Y/n sighed after a moment, a sharp pain cutting through her chest like someone was cracking open her ribcage in a morgue, "I guess. Did being the operative word there of course, as in: not anymore. Not that he could ever love someone anyways even if I still did. Oh! Also, if he apologizes to you, tell me?"

"Wh..." Husk's brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden change in topic, "Why would he apologize to me, Y/n?"

"I maybe yelled at him."

"I... you're gonna get yourself killed one day."

Y/n laughed a bright, genuine laugh and Husk smiled over at her in return.

"Maybe." she smirked, leaning over the counter at him, "At least I'll have you to plan my funeral."

"Oh like I'd do that." Husk teased.

"Sure you would."

"Yeah. I'd have it at a gas station."

"Hey, rude." Y/n scoffed, "If you died, I'd throw yours at a casino or something. I'd expect the same kinda treatment on your end for me."

Husk shook his head softly, smiling. At the end of the day, he couldn't help feeling a little lucky for Alastor's deal. How else was he supposed to have met his best friend?

"Yep. Definitely gonna be at a gas station."

---

A/N I'm sorry Husk and the reader are besties and that's what this ended up being about. Yeah. Uh. Yeah.

Unrequited Pt. 3

[steveseddie]

limited time offer

steddie | rated: t | wc: 2,3 k | tags: vol. 2 missing scene, pre-relationship, eddie munson needs a hug, hurt/comfort

click here to read on ao3

Steve starts doing headcounts. 

After what happened with Max at the cemetery, Steve starts going over a list of names in his head, checking off each of his friends once he makes sure they haven’t been taken by Vecna- like ticking off boxes on a very fucked up grocery list.

He starts with Max every time. By now she has probably noticed the way his eyes constantly dart to her or the way he visibly relaxes when he notices the headphones still hanging from her neck, but at least she hasn’t said anything about it. 

Next is Nancy- the sight of her eyes rolled back into her head still too vivid in Steve’s mind. Then is Robin, Henderson, the Sinclairs-

After Skull Rock, Steve adds Eddie’s name to the list. He doesn’t know if they can be considered friends yet but he is part of their group now and Steve isn’t letting anyone else from his group almost die again at the hands of Vecna.

It’s only been a few minutes since Steve last did one of his headcounts- sitting outside the RV making homemade bombs.

But as the battle draws closer, Steve grows more and more anxious about losing one of his friends so after toasting to killing Vecna slash Henry slash One, Steve’s eyes roam the field where they’re preparing for battle while going over the list in his head.

Max and Nancy sawing off shotguns. Check. 

Robin pouring gasoline into a bottle. Check. 

The Sinclairs building spears. Check. 

Eddie and Dustin building shields- and sparring? Check. 

Steve breathes a little easier after that. 

His eyes linger on the last pair. He can’t hear what Eddie is telling Dustin but he can see the way they’re both smiling. 

That is until Dustin turns his attention back to his shield and Eddie’s face crumbles, his smile disappearing completely as his expression turns anxious and terrified. Steve watches as he takes a few shuddering breaths, his hands flexing at his sides. Even from a distance, Steve can tell they’re shaking. 

Steve sighs. He knows how hard it is- being hurled into this interdimensional monster fighting bullshit. This is Steve’s fourth time dealing with it and he can’t say that it gets any easier. And for his first time, Eddie already had it worse than any of them. He’s been alone for most of it and he also has people coming after him on top of everything. 

This whole time Steve has been waiting for him to snap, for him to say fuck it and run off, for him to start screaming or crying but he hasn’t done any of that. He’s still here- scared shitless but here, trying to put on a brave face. And Steve knows all about that so he can see right through Eddie’s act. What he doesn’t know is what to do about it. If this was one of the kids or Robin or even Nancy, Steve would know but he hardly knows Eddie and he doesn’t know what he needs. 

He looks like he needs a hug. Steve saw Eddie’s face when Henderson hugged him at Skull Rock, the relief written all over it. When the kid pulled back, Steve felt the urge to walk up to Eddie and hug him next, even if the only contact they’d had at that point was when Eddie pinned against the wall with a broken bottle to his neck.

Steve wanted to hug him again in the Upside Down- every time Eddie flinched or curled in on himself when Demobats screeched in the distance or lightning painted the sky red, but Steve was half-naked, covered in blood and goo and he didn’t think Eddie would appreciate any of that. 

He wanted to hug Eddie at Max’s house- trap his hands between their chests so he would stop running his fingers through his hair, scrubbing his hands down his face, aggressively wringing his fingers together so hard his knuckles cracked, but Eddie might’ve punched him for doing it in front of everyone when he’s supposed to be cool and metal.

He doesn’t look cool or metal right now. He looks on the verge of tears and Steve is shaking with how badly he wants to walk over there and hug him, tell him that everything will be okay but Steve has a job to do. 

They all do. 

Eddie seems to realize it at the same time. After one last shaky breath, he goes back to his shield, leaving Steve with no choice but to turn back to Robin and focus on his own task. 

***

It’s not until they’re getting ready to leave that Steve does another headcount. 

Max and Erica are inside the Winnebago, loading it up with weapons and supplies.

Nancy and Robin are going over the stages of their plan to make sure they thought of everything.

Sinclair and Henderson are trying the walkies, checking the batteries and making sure they’re on the right channel.

Eddie is-

Steve frowns, his eyes roaming the field one, two, three times but he still doesn’t see Eddie anywhere. 

Panic starts bubbling up inside him at the thought of anything happening to Eddie. 

Don’t go there, Steve tells himself. Maybe Eddie needed to take a piss and went to find a tree somewhere. Maybe he just needed a minute away from everyone.

Or maybe Vecna got to him. Maybe it’s already too late and Eddie is the fourth victim and all they did was for nothing.

He tries to remain calm as he looks for Eddie but his heart is beating frantically. He checks inside the RV first and when he realizes he isn’t there, he goes around it, planning to go into the woods next if he doesn’t find him there either. 

But he does- he finds him crouching on the ground with his back against the RV, his face buried in his hands, framed by a curtain of hair.

“Eddie?” Steve asks warily, still unsure if Eddie might be trapped by Vecna.

But then Eddie jumps, whipping his head up and staring at Steve with wide, scared eyes. ��Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington!” 

He holds his hands up in front of him. “Shit, sorry, I thought-”

“That Vecna got me?” Eddie scoffs. He taps his knuckles against his temple. “Nope, just me up here.” His hands fall to the space between his legs. They’re shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, shoving his own hands in his pockets when he feels the urge to grab Eddie’s and hold them until they’re not shaking anymore. 

Eddie breathes out a humorless laugh. “Dude, I’m so fucking far from okay.”

Steve grimaces, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Right, of course, that was stupid.” 

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Eddie shakes his head. “No, not stupid, sorry. I’m just on edge, man. This whole monster fighting thing.” He waves his hand vaguely. “It ain’t for me.”

“I thought that’s what you did in that dorky game of yours,” Steve says, hoping to distract Eddie with a joke. 

Eddie snorts. “It’s really fucking different when you can actually, you know- die.”

“You’re not gonna die, Munson,” Steve says with a frown.

Eddie shakes his head repeatedly. “Oh, I have a baaad feeling, Stevie, a feeling that I ain’t gonna make it out-”

“Fuck that, man,” Steve hisses. The thought of something happening to Eddie or any of his friends making anger bubble up inside him. “You can’t think like that. We got this, okay?”

Eddie sighs, lifting his gaze to meet Steve’s eyes. “How do you do it, man?”

“Do what?”

“How are you so,” he gestures at Steve, “calm about this shit.”

“It’s not my first time,” Steve shrugs. “My first time I was scared shitless, but I made it out okay and you will too,” he says as confidently as he can, but Eddie doesn’t seem convinced. He’s no longer looking at Steve but down at his hands as he nervously wrings his fingers together, his leg bouncing rapidly. His hair falls like a curtain around his face but Steve can still see the tears gathering in his eyes. 

Eddie looks like he’s falling apart at the seams, and once again Steve wants to hug him. Only this time they’re alone, they’re not covered in blood or Upside Down goo and they’ve come a long way from Eddie trying to slash his neck open with a bottle so Steve thinks fuck it and takes a step forward. 

“Come here.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. He frowns. “What?”

“Get up,” Steve says. Still frowning, Eddie pushes himself to his feet. “Now come here.”

“Where?”

“Here.” Steve holds his arms open and Eddie’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. “I’m giving you a hug.”

“You’re- what?”

Steve shuffles his feet. He feels stupid, standing there with his arms open while Eddie stares at him like he grew a second head. The back of his neck feels like it’s burning, the heat slowly spreading to his face. “You- you just look like you could use a hug.”

Eddie breathes out a startled laugh. “Holy shit, this is by far the strangest thing to have happened to me ever, and considering the days I just had, that’s saying something.”

“Munson,” Steve mutters but Eddie ignores him. 

“Steve Harrington wants to give me a hug?” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest. 

Steve huffs. “Yeah, and it’s a limited-time offer so are you gonna come here or are you gonna be a dick about it?”

“Well, if His Majesty insists,” Eddie jokes with a hand flourish but his tone lacks any lightheartedness. He’s nervous, fidgety. Despite his words, he hesitates, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. 

So Steve takes matters into his own hands. Literally. He closes the distance between them with two long strides, grabs Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him in.

Eddie goes stiff, and for a moment, Steve worries that he’ll pull back but then he lets out a soft noise and melts into Steve, shaky hands coming up to grab his waist. 

“You’re going to live, Eddie,” Steve whispers, one of his hands moving to cup the back of Eddie’s neck. He shudders in his arms. “We’re going to win and we’re all going to live, okay?”

Eddie tucks his face into his neck. It’s Steve who shudders this time. “If you say so, Stevie.”

Steve makes a stubborn noise. “I do,” he says, squeezing Eddie a little tighter. He ignores the whine Eddie lets out or how it makes something hot burn in his belly. He focuses on Eddie’s arms wrapping around his waist instead- like he fears Steve might pull away. 

He doesn’t.

“You just have to trust me, okay?” Steve says, absently playing with the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck, feeling him go limp in his arms. Pride surges through Steve at being right. Eddie clearly needed a hug. 

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, sounding a little more confident. 

Neither of them let go. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, Steve’s fingers still moving in Eddie’s hair. 

“Steve?” Eddie says, breaking the silence after a few minutes. 

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what? You’re a good hugger, dude, I’m enjoying myself,” Steve teases but the truth is that he means it. He likes hugging Eddie, he wishes he didn’t wait this long to do it or that he didn’t need to let go of him soon, before their friends come looking for them. He knows what Robin will say if she finds them like this- she has yet to shut up about Eddie calling Steve big boy and how Steve momentarily forgot how to function because of it.

He forgets how to function now when Eddie giggles, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “You keep surprising me, Harrington.”

“Get used to it, Munson,” he says as he finally, regrettably, pulls back. He keeps his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “’Cause you’re stuck with me, man.”

Eddie blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, squeezing his shoulders. He gets an idea. “After we’re done, I’m taking you out for a drink. I think we’ll both need one.”

A smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. He seems infinitely more relaxed now than he did when Steve found him. “What- like a date?” He asks, clearly trying to make a joke even if his eyes dart a little nervously over Steve’s face.

Already missing the way Eddie’s arms felt around his waist or how his fingers felt in Eddie’s hair, Steve stops himself from brushing it off as a joke. He can’t, not when the idea of going on a date with Eddie makes his stomach fill with butterflies. With a smirk, he shrugs. “Guess you’re just gonna have to live long enough to find out?”

A nearly hysterical laugh bursts out of Eddie but his eyes sparkle like the idea of going out on a date with Steve doesn’t make him want to run off into the woods. “Guess so, big boy,” he says, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. “Let’s go make that Vecna fucker pay then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a big grin. “Let’s kill that son of a bitch.”

And with that, they head back to their friends. Eddie isn’t okay, he probably won’t be until this is over but now there’s a spring in his step and his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

And when his eyes meet Steve’s on the rearview mirror as he drives them to the Creel house, Eddie gives him a big dimpled smile- the first one to reach his eyes since they found him in that boat house. 

Steve is happy to have hugged him. He can’t wait to do it again- because he needs it, because they made it or just because this time. And then hopefully many times after that. 

[lovebugism]

SAYING UGLY THINGS ON CHRISTMAS EVE WITH STEBE PLEASEEEEEEE

let's just pretend it's still christmas ok? hope you like it angel! — steve gets cruel when he's anxious, and with his parents coming to town, he's practically a timebomb (ditzy!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 2.1k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were only trying to help. 

Really, you were. 

Steve’s been stressing himself sick about his parents coming over, and you’ve been following him around with your heart in your throat, trying to help him before he totally implodes.

He’s always a ticking time bomb when his parents are in town. He doesn’t know how to be anything else when it comes to them. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than perfect because he’s terrified of his mom’s backhanded compliments and his dad’s sneering replies. 

He always turns into his teenage self when he’s scared — and there’s nothing more terrifying than being a teenager again.

You know all this, so you try your best to be supportive when he gets in moods like these. When he’s on edge and fussing over every little thing. You help him dust the top of the fridge and organize the spice cabinet and wipe down all the windows — even though you know his parents won’t notice, or otherwise care, about any of it.

And then, when you finally get the buzzing ball of anxiety to cuddle up with you on the couch, you manage to screw everything up all over again.

His head is on your chest, wild hair still drying from his shower. You hear him sniff once, then twice. “What’s that smell?” he wonders, not entirely apprehensive ‘cause the TV’s got most of his attention.

“What smell?” you ask, more distracted than he is. 

His weight on you is a comforting one. You pet him like a cat accordingly — one palm rubbing up and down the length of his back and the other curling in his hair. With your nose among the chestnut strands, you don’t smell anything other than his floral shampoo.

“It smells like something’s burning.”

You pull back from him and sniff hard once. It smells a bit smoky, like cooking something over a campfire. Because something is burning. Your heart plummets to your stomach at the realization. 

“Oh…” you hum under your breath, blood running ice-cold.

Steve only tenses up because you do. Your warm hands on his body go suddenly rigid. His scruffy chin rubs against the chest of your sweater when he turns to look at you. His honey eyes twinkle with confusion and concern. “Oh, what?”

“I think that might be the turkey…” you answer in a tiny voice because you know what’s coming.

“The what?”

“I put it in while you were in the shower, ‘cause you were so worried it wouldn’t get done in time—”

“Shit, babe!” he blurts and pushes himself off the couch. He rushes towards the kitchen without another look your way. You follow behind him like a puppy and hopelessly try to explain yourself. 

“—And then you wanted to cuddle after, so I laid down and totally forgot about it!”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” he scoffs and swings the door of the stove down. He flinches at the billowing gray smoke. He rises again and rummages through an adjacent drawer, in search of oven mitts.

Your face swirls with confusion. “No!”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I forgot!”

“That’s not an excuse, babe!” He grimaces as he reaches into the hot oven. The tray clatters to the stove with a smoking turkey on top. It’s not totally burnt, but it’s hard as a rock and charred all over. Neither of you are chefs, but you could probably guess it’s less than edible. 

“Shit…” Steve huffs under his breath. His hands fall to his waist and he cocks a hip to the side, blinking at the molten turkey before him because he’s at a loss for what to do now.

You stand just behind him, cowering as you wring your hands together. You feel small, like a child moments away from getting scolded. “I’m sorry, Steve,” you murmur, voice wavering. “I just wanted to help—”

He laughs loud. A bitter scoff, at most. “Well, you did a great job of that, didn’t you?” he says with a sour smile on his plush pink lips.

Tears burn the backs of your eyes. You decide to blame it on the lingering smoke. 

“I said I was sorry,” you insist in a tiny voice, trying your best to stand up for yourself. You fucked up. Both of you know it. Rubbing salt in the wound doesn’t help anything.

“That doesn’t fix it, baby!” he argues, hands gesticulating wildly when he turns to you. His chiseled features are sharp with anger, but you decide to count your blessings ‘cause he’s still calling you baby. He only uses your real name when he’s really upset.

“I’m gonna have to go all the way to the store and make it all over again!”

“I’ll pay for it, Stevie, it’s okay—”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“My parents are coming over tonight! And if everything’s not perfect, I will never hear the end of it,” he agonizes, voice fragile and close to breaking. His honey eyes go glassy when the red emotion slowly turns blue. “About how I can’t make it on my own, how I moved out too early— how I never should’ve moved in with you.”

His words sting a little bit, in the most literal sense. The very center of your chest starts to ache, like he’s shoved a red-hot knife into your sternum. 

You try to shrug it off as best you can. “Well, who cares what your parents say?”

“I do! I have to, ‘cause I’m the one that’ll have to hear about it every goddamn day!”

His misplaced anger begins to build, like the looming shadow of a boogeyman. The weight of it starts to suffocate you. At a loss of how to make any of it better (because you’ve got a record of doing the exact opposite) you try to bring your high-strung boy down again.

“It’s just a turkey, Steve. We can make another.”

You prepare yourself for an argument, but Steve only huffs — so deep it makes his chest rise and fall. His head tips back as he rubs two wide palms over his face, down to his chin and back up again. He swipes his fingers through the still-drying strands of his unstyled hair and doesn’t say a single word. 

His teeth are clenched tight. You can tell by the sudden sharpness of his jaw and the way his temples are slightly shifted. His eyes are still shut as he breathes in deep, rhythmic patterns. You can almost hear him counting to ten inside his head in attempts to calm back down again.

Steve is painfully self-aware of how hotheaded he gets when he’s anxious. Every little thing feels like the end of the world when he’s cranked up to one hundred. Problem is, he only realizes how cruel he’s being after he’s hurt someone with it.

That someone in question is you now. The sweeter-than-sugar you, the brighter-than-sunshine you, the well-meaning-but-sometimes-totally-careless you. 

And Steve, on the other hand, is utterly troubled. He’s harsh, and he’s hopeless, and he loves you so much he’s not totally sure what to do with it all. Sometimes it scratches him like barbs. Maybe that’s why he confuses love and anger so often.

He thinks of his parents — how they were supposed to love him, how maybe they do, how they have a terrible way of showing it, and how he isn’t at all deserving of the way they treat him — and something inside him seethes. It burns somewhere deep within his ribcage and squirms like a feral animal trying to break free.

He feels trapped and he turns violent, like some kind of hurt dog. ‘Cause if he can’t be loved, then he might as well be feared. And sometimes he bites you, the warmhearted stranger willing to love something that doesn’t know how to love itself. And maybe that’s why he snaps at you when he’s so high-strung. 

You love him the most, out of everybody in the whole entire world, and no one could understand all this quite like you do.

“You’re right,” he sighs when he comes down to earth again, arms falling to his sides when his shoulders are no longer tense. 

The shades of red give way to something more golden when he looks at you. It makes his heart twist because you’re still looking at him the same way you were ten minutes ago — like you’re looking at the rest of your life in the flesh.

One more breath, and the worry slips away.

“Yeah, you’re right— it’s just a turkey— everything’s fine.”

You want to comfort him. Your wringing hands ache with the longing to hold him like you were before all this, with his cheek to your chest so your heartbeat can keep him grounded. You’re just not sure if he wants that yet.

So you linger in place and try not to implode with your yearning.

“I can get a storebought one before they come over if you want,” you offer meekly, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I don’t think they’ll know the difference if we just lie and say we made it.”

He laughs again. One snorted breath, but much more genuine this time. A grin blossoms like a pretty flower on his rose-petaled mouth. It’s impossible not to smile back at him.

“Or we can just, like, not say anything, and watch my parents pretend to like it,” he jokes.

“That’s evil,” you say, hiding your giggle behind your palm. “But then we’d probably have to eat it, too— to make it believable and everything, you know? And I don’t think I can put that in my mouth without gagging.” You snort a laugh at yourself, then grow strangely serious as you mumble, “That’s what she said.”

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. It paints the kitchen golden and makes your chest feel all sparkly. “C’mere,” he hums with a grin, throwing his arms out for you. 

You gravitate towards him instantly, like he’s the sun and you’ve just suffered a terribly long winter. You hug him tight accordingly — suffocating, warm, and tender. He holds you back the same. 

His arms curl around your back, wide palms spreading along the length of it. He noses at your hair and presses a gentle kiss there. “Sorry for yelling,” he apologizes, mostly muffled from where he’s holding you so intently. “You forgot. It’s okay. I overreacted.”

It’s still hard for him to apologize sometimes. Even when he’s in the wrong. Especially when he’s in the wrong. He grew up with parents who fought and then acted like nothing happened the next day. There was never any closure. Just bottled up feelings.

It feels good to be wrong — to acknowledge it and to still be loved after.

“I really was trying to help,” you mutter, burying the words into his chest.

Steve nods against you. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse—”

“You didn’t make it worse, don’t say that,” Steve interjects before the words can properly leave your mouth. He squeezes you tighter, in hopes it’ll make his words stick more. “You know I’d stress myself to death if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah. And if your parents came home to a corpse, that’d be really morbid,” you murmur gently.

Steve chuckles when he pulls away from you. He unwraps his arms from around you, just to hold your face in his hands. His palms are warm and softly calloused against your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs over the warm apple of them.

“It would be,” he concurs with a nod and a big, dumb grin. His honey eyes sparkle as they melt for you. “I’ll tell them that when they come over— that you singlehandedly saved their son. They’ll have to love you, then.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but it isn’t really. It’s true in a lot of ways. Way more than you know.

“Think they’ll still like me even if you don’t say all that?” you wonder meekly and with your nose scruched, peering up at him with a hopeful gaze.

“Oh. Yeah. Totally,” Steve scoffs without thinking twice. He shrugs like it’s obvious with his face twisted like he’s confused why you’d even ask. “They’ll fall in love with you the second they see you.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic,” you mumble, laughing under your breath. 

You’re not nearly as confident as he is because you have no idea you’re made of flower petals, sunsets, and winter skies — all things delicate, tender, and impossibly loveable.

“I’m pretty sure it’s impossible not to be in love with you,” Steve insists, still cradling your face in his palms. It’s easier than saying that he loves you so much that he’d follow you anywhere — or that the rest of the world could fall apart, and he wouldn’t care as long as you were standing with him. 

“I think you’re biased,” you tease with a quiet smile.

“I know from firsthand experience, babe,” he argues with a rosy smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m an expert on the matter, actually.”

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Watchdog 

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist. 

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch. 

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

Warnings: Din gets a bit ✨violent✨, reader gets harassed, terribly written sexism, references to past sexual harassment, descriptions of bruises, swearing, reader self-deprecates and is scared of love (relatable much?)

A/N: Happy final days of Dincember everyone, especially to those that updated nearly every day for every prompt (@dindjarindiaries I’m looking at you you’re incredible). I cannot wait for new content in the new year. I love you all <3

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The last thing you needed from your partner—or whatever the hell he was to you—was the image of him nearly snapping a bounty’s neck.

What made it worse was that it was out of defense. For you.

You, of all people. A woman who had killed and tortured and maimed for a few lousy credits. You had killed in front of him, so many times you couldn’t keep count, and you barely felt remorse. You even went as far as to gloat.

You were a bounty hunter with a heart long-since hardened; at least, until you had teamed up with him. The infamous Mandalorian, wrapped in a reputation more ominous and intimidating than the impenetrable beskar he donned, yet the kindest being you had ever known.

The two of you didn’t talk much—if ever—but he still found a way to read you like a book. If you were squirmy, he offered you food. If you were achy, he offered you a quick stop at a hot spring. If you were anxious, he would press you gently with his words, curious as to what was bothering you. It was these little things, these seemingly insignificant actions, that made you begin to…care about him.

The worst, however, was when, once in a blue moon, you were filled with emotion so harsh that you revealed it in your body language. You had learned the hard way that emotion was weakness in your line of work, so you never showed it in front of him, but sometimes the heat of it burned you so badly it was impossible not to show it.

This was when the Mandalorian tended to lash out on whatever had caused you such pain or remorse. He would get…angry. Vengeful. These moments were so rare you would latch onto them, clutching them to your chest and using them to drift you off into sleep; however, in the moment, you would lash out as well. Usually at him. Pushing his…thoughtfulness away like it was a ticking time bomb.

The longer you remained partners, the worse he would lash out, and it all came to a head because of a fucking Twi’lek.

                                                           ~*~

Mando dragged the creature across the sand dunes of Tatooine, grunting and panting in the hot sun. You tried to get him to let you drag the male for at least half the walk, but he refused. It wasn’t like you were complaining. His infrequent grunts gave you a new set of audios for your mental soundbox. You were already eager to press the keys later that night as sleep carried you away. 

It was then that the dark green male remembered he had a voice box.

“Well would you look at that,” the male breathed, likely still aching from the blow you had politely bestowed upon his rib cage, “the only thing strong enough to drag me across the sandy hills of Tatooine is a man. Figures.”

You let it roll off you but could not help but let out a scoff. He sounded ridiculous, like a droid reading off of an old stormtrooper-recruitment brochure. 

“You find that funny, lass?” the male asked, turning to look at you while still being dragged. “I agree. Truth always seems to reveal itself even in the most subtle of ways.”

You didn’t laugh at that. You just kept one foot in front of the other. He was trying to piss you off on purpose, likely a last-ditch effort to regain his dignity. You were used to it; hell, you enjoyed it. It was bounties’ last grabs to their decency that always seemed to give you the most pleasure. 

The Crest finally came into sight, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that both you and Mando picked up your speed simultaneously, desperation for home present in both of your strides. He lowered the entrance ramp and you exhaled in relief, basking in the scent and feel of the one place in the galaxy you felt comfortable enough to take your shoes off. You started your march up the metal with Mando still hauling the man behind you. Of course, it was then that the bounty decided to perk up again. 

“Make that sound again,” the man said breathily. “I’ll say please if I have to. Plus, it sounds better from this view.”

Your jaw immediately clenched and blood flowed to your cheeks from embarrassment. It was one thing to be demeaned and lessened, but it was another to be viewed as a piece of meat. 

Despite it all, you took a deep breath, and carried on.

You set your belt and knives on their reserved spot in the cockpit, as well as your jacket and buff. You then made your way down the ladder to the bicarbonate chambers, or as you liked to call it, the trophy room. Mando had had a good scoff at that name once or twice.

Mando already had the bounty leaning his back against the metal wall next to his frozen fate as he prepared the chamber, and you took the opportunity to give the male a small smirk of victory. You wanted him to give you the best he had and, as expected, he began to overcompensate. 

“You really are much prettier when you smile,” the man said, looking up at Mando. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Mando ignored him, facing forward and keeping his focus on preparing the bower, but you noticed the tips of the fingers of his left-hand inch that much closer to his gun holster. Your heart quickened. You didn’t know why. 

“I bet you smile nice and pretty for this big guy,” the Twi’lek said with a laugh. “I bet he’s seen your smile in this very room, on this very floor. Describe to me, Mando, in my final moments of consciousness, just how hard she grips you and screams for you when you get a taste of that perfect—”

You felt yourself flinch at his words, cursing yourself internally, but you didn’t hear the rest over the sound of his skull smashing against the tank door. 

Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist. 

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch. 

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

The male in his palm nodded profusely, still climbing for air, and Mando lowered him torturously slow to the floor as he said, “If you speak about her again, you will not leave this ship with your life, and I will make it agonizing. Understood?”

The Twi’lek was inches away from losing consciousness, making it nearly impossible for him to reply, but Mando knew it was only nearly. He slammed his skull against the tank again, repeating, “Understood?”

The male nodded once and Mando dropped his body to the floor. His green body convulsed as he coughed and sucked in his breaths, but you weren’t watching him. You were staring at your Mandalorian, mouth agape, and stomach coiling with feelings you had obviously not pushed down deep enough. Mando calmly opened the tank and picked up the male on the floor, still gasping and clutching his throat in pain, and practically threw him in the bicarbonate. His body froze over immediately with his hand still pressed against his already bruising throat. 

Mando stared at the frozen body, and you stared at him. As you let your mind process what just happened, a wave of anger began to rise in your body. He had defended you before, but never like that, and something about it finally struck down the wall around your feelings for him. You had no other way to cope with that vulnerability than anger. A volcanic fire of rage enveloped you at your own stupidity and weakness when it came to the warrior in front of you, and who better to take it out on than the man himself.

So, you spun him around and slammed him against the tank, hard enough for him to exhale a huff. His hands went up in the air, refusing to go anywhere near you, and his chest heaved against your own. Your foreheads were practically touching as you hissed at him. 

“How many times have I told you,” you whispered menacingly, “I don’t need a fucking watchdog.”

Mando replied quickly, quicker than he had ever before and in a tone laced with anger similar to your own. “Do you think I can fucking help it?”

You stared at him, feeling the murder in your face beginning to soften.

“Do you think I don’t try to stop myself Y/N? Have you not realized that I cannot stop it. I cannot fucking stop it.” Your body remained pressed to his but your grip on him softened enough for him to drop his hands lower and lower. He practically dropped his forehead against yours in defeat as he whispered, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop myself. Not when it comes to you.”

He was a ruthless bounty hunter, but a terrible liar.

You remained pressed together for a few more moments, breathing hard, waiting for the other to move first. Mando’s hands made it down to his sides, clenched so tense the leather squeaked, before the tiniest brush of his right hand gazed against your hip. 

“Not when it comes to you,” he whispered, and slipped out from under your grip.

You didn’t watch him climb the ladder: you didn’t notice him look back for you, waiting for you to follow; you didn’t hear his sigh before he made it to the top of his climb; you didn’t register the ship rocking into hyperspace. 

All you could feel was that brush of his leather against your hip, so tender, so...loving. Your body was unable to move and your mind was unable to work. All they could latch onto was the feeling of that adoring touch...

...and how much you fucking loved it. 

Tag list:

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@lexloon @pauphs @enjoyyourlatte

@miss-goldenweek

[neetily]

↳ EVENT 44. Sam & Kent (Jealousy Sex & Incest)

— ✧ warnings: Jealousy Issues, jealousy sex, Incest, Competition, Established Relationship, father/son bickering, Double Penetration, Anal, Cheating — ✧ word count: 2,780

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

Sam has always been competitive, ever since he was a kid. Sometimes, to an unnaturally high degree— in other words, a problem. Taking challenges on a personal level, almost. As if his very existence hinges on the thrill of competition itself. It's exhilarating, don't you think? To be on the cusp of something great, something unrivalled in emotion; to be the best at something.

He does well not to let it cause him to act out, accepting loss as it comes (and it comes). But it's something so innate to him, ingrained in his being from birth. It's why he continues to suck at pool every Friday night in an effort to become better, willing to put himself through bouts of cheeky laughter and playful jabs from his beloved friends so long as it means that he's improving, y'know? So long as he can feed that near insatiable need to improve himself, to exceed expectations eventually, then he'll strive towards it.

That's why he's with you too, right? Never once stopping in his pursuit to be your boyfriend, continuing down the path of trying to earn your attention and affection no matter how many times he may have 'lost'— and God did he try. More than anything he's ever tried for in his life, to be honest. He could never imagine faltering in his efforts to score you, to become a better man infinitely for you, because you deserve the best. And he's working on it, don't you worry, babe.

But it's funny, how despite how many steps he continuously takes forward, all it takes to get him going is an off-handed comment. A mere joke tonight, if he thinks about it. You know, your dad's pretty hot, Sam. If he wanted to, he could have even taken it as a compliment, misconstrued your pretty clear intentions as something innocent instead, avoiding the ticking time bomb buried in his chest upon your jesting confession. Especially given how often you say that he resembles his old man in spite of the grumbles it gets outta him. But something needier is triggered within him upon your spilled secret. That same age old itch he's felt since birth, nagging away at the back of his mind enough to prompt him into impulsive action.

He just wants to be the best for you, wants to be your number one, the same way that you're his in all aspects. He can't allow any competition to worm its way through his defences, tight squeeze or not.

Or, that's what he tells himself anyway. Burying the scathing burn of jealousy in his tummy when his dad thrusts so heavily into you that you end up falling froward against his chest, scowling over your shoulder as you're forced to rest your head against his, the fucking smirk Kent wears when staring back at him is downright infuriating, in part because he sees himself in that faux smile.

But that's exactly what he needs right now, right? Helping you steady yourself between two cocks, both him and his old man sat with their heels behind them, your legs wrapping ever so tightly around Sam's sturdy waist as your tits squish up against his chest so nicely, if not for the fact that it's his fathers doing. He needs some anxious energy right now; just enough to motivate him, he doesn't want to topple over before the shows fully started. And for that, he's thankful his dad is situated behind you right now, cock balls deep in your tight little ass that Sam's fucked plenty times before— absolutely no fucking way was Kent getting your cunt.

After all, who do you think Sam picked up his competitive tendencies from?

The best.

No chance was he giving you up on a silver platter like that; he knows his dad well enough to know that if given the opportunity, you'd be taken two loads down your cunt tonight. No, a simple stipulation. Wanna fuck her? Take her ass. "You good, babe?" Sam questions you, eyes never leaving his father as his brows furrow before him, a non verbal proposition. You're not gonna win, old man. Partially because he's at least checking in on you, making sure Kent hasn't completely ruined you from the rough treatment he's shown you thus far; seems his competitive streak isn't the only thing he's stolen from his father.

"Course she is, look at the way she's tremblin'." Kent huffs from behind you, still sporting that stupid smirk that irks Sam to no end. Like he knows something that he doesn't, the thought alone causing an uncomfortable weight to settle thick in his tummy.

"Yeah, okay, I think I know when t'check up on 'er, considerin' I'm, y'know. Dating her." Sam retorts, rubbing soothing circles against your lower back as you grow accustomed to the feeling of two fat cocks stretching you wide open; count that as another similarity, as annoying as it is to admit.

Kent only grunts in response, big rough hands reassuringly groping at the meat of your thighs despite his otherwise impatient attitude. The brief pause between familial bickering allows you space to speak, but all Sam hears instead is this meek little mewl directly down his ear. Like you can't bare the act of verbalising your feelings, let alone the thought. The feeling of your body shivering in his hold as he makes sure his cock is allll the way in for a second or tow has him grinding his teeth in frustration, tip all twitchy for your dulcet tones, leaking precum to stain your copiously lubed up cunt already. And he figures Kent must have felt the throbbing too, given the way his father chews on his bottom lip, avoids his gaze with a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

A one up, so soon? Perhaps the situation is finally settling in for his dad, now that their cocks are practically touching inside of your warm, squishy little body. Perfect angel cunt stretched over his heavy cock, insides attempting to suck him off further as he makes you wait for it. It's for your own benefit, one of him is enough, let along a bigger, stronger version of him, he muses to himself. And surely, your cute little asshole is an even tighter fit right now, yeah? Though he's fucked it and stretched it many times before, he knows exactly what Kent must be going through too. The little squirms and sucks, as if your body was begging for more already. And they haven't even fully begun—

Fuck, you should only be giving him that sort of treatment, right? That's why you're in this position in the first place, so that you can ultimately choose him. Have you ever found him so difficult to take, huh?

Spurred on by the burning bile in his tummy, he tightens his jaw and takes a decisive grip of your waist. Eyeing his father up once more with a determined glint. It's easy to ignore the seed of inadequacy in his chest when Kent merely stares back, awaiting further instructions, because he can feel the way your lips press gently against his neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just a little to leave him breathlessly confident.

That's right. You might be squirming on Kent's cock right now, but it's him that you're seeking comfort from, right? Legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms even tighter around his neck, nails digging into his back to convey just how much they fill you up; so full, aren't you? To the fucking brim if the amount of slick that drips down to his balls are anything to go by. And God, the way your cunt just sucks him in, pulsing around his whole length as he shifts his weight around a little more, preparing for movement. Really, it doesn't really matter what your true answer is to his self serving thought, he takes it as a win regardless. Convinced from the get go that of course he's gonna win this stupid competition because he knows you so well, yeah? There's no way he'd fail in the sport of taking care of you! Cooing sweetly down your ear when you babble nonsense for his attention, he can't help but to grow giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally beating his dad.

"Gonna make y'feel all better. Me, okay? Promise—"

"C'mon," Kent interrupts him, annoyance present in his fathers tone, an intimate timbre from the childhood he spent with him. Even now, Sam simply brushes him off, idly pinching at your waist as if you were the only person in the room with him right now. And you might as well be, given how hard he's gonna fuck you, fuck, can't fucking wait to fuck you truly stupid in front of the man you called hot. "Cocks fuckin' achin' over here. Can we get a move on, or—"

Shit, shut up— is what he wants to say, but coaxed into sudden movement by the way your cunt sucks him off so perfectly, and the familiar craving to come out on top of his father, Sam drags his hips back to draw a high pitched whine from your lips, only to effectively shut you up in a silent gasp for more when he thrusts all the way back inside, not even clueing his father in before settling into a brutal pace, one full of persistence, perseverance, all of his hard work and effort to be the best version of himself for you culminating in precise fucks upward into your tight fucking cunt— god, fuck— sound so fucking pretty when you can't even breathe properly from his fast pace.

Though his father is not far behind, wising up to the situation with a chuckle, making sure to swing his hips in tandem to his sons thrusts. And Sam is honestly a little surprised at just how well Kent can keep up with him, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek in sheer sexual frustration of the fact, both impressed and irritated by the revelation. Sweet sounds of balls slapping against your underside; whose is whose? Can you even tell from the amount of broken moans and sobbed sighs you let out? Ah, he hopes you can tell which cock is making you feel the best, huffing harshly against your shoulder as his eyes squeeze shut with how tightly your cunt wraps around him, making sure to pull out all the stops as he angles his hips in such a way so as to hit your sweet spot— resulting in the prettiest sound he thinks he's ever heard you make. Take that, Kent.

But, it seems like his dad is a quick learner too. Leaning further into you, gripping at your ass cheeks to spread em wider; for your benefit? Or for his own perverted viewing pleasure? Sam sure knows which would be his reason, anyway.

"Fuck, kid—" Kent rasps from behind you, fucking his too fat cock in and out of your well prepared pretty asshole like it was a trained effort. Something second nature, rather than the first time experience Sam knows it to be. So fucking annoying. "So fuckin' tight, arent'cha? God, ain't fucked somethin' this tight in a while—"

"Babe—" Sam gasps for you, begging for your attention as he helps aid your bounce up and down on their cocks. It's much easier to ignore his dad when he's got you wailing against his neck, burying his face in the crook of your own so that you've got no chance but to hear how heavily he pants for you, how loud he sighs with every pass of his tip against your insides, and though he'd loath to admit it, every rub of Kent's cock thinly veiled against his own is stupid good, too. "Takin' it so well, please— keep squeezin' like that—"

This is where they differ though, and were Sam thinks he can gain the upper hand. His dad, rough around the edges, is all tongue and cheek. Smacking at your ass loud enough to be heard over the slap of their balls, even over the squish of your fucked full little angel cunt; but Sam? Only offers encouragement. Not only with his words, but with the way he carves his shape out of your insides, making you feel every single twitch and throb your pretty pussy sucks out of him, bullying his way to your cervix as a means to prove himself to you; look at how hard I'm trying for you, isn't that hot? Isn't that hotter than the cock in your ass right now? Hotter than my dad?

But you always were a little spoiled. Probably down to how much he does for you, yeah? All in an effort to be the best, allowing you to rely on him to make all the decisions for you. How hard to fuck, how fast to fuck, when to cum. Even now, you relying on him. Not his dad, not yourself, but on him to make you feel all better again as you subtly shift your hips to be pressed more against his pelvis just so that you can rub your puffy little clit against him, unable to communicate just how much you need him, and yet still he's able to pick up on your desperation. Even with Kent humping your ass so unfairly from behind, ending up fucking you forward a little, pressing you between two rock hard bodies so snugly that Sam feels as though even he's suffocating. Bearing the full weight of your meagre grinds and Kent's hefty cock, it's upsetting how every time he feels his dads dick brush up against his own through your holes, he shivers in response; because it feels so fucking good, he can only imagine how it must feel to take it.

And he does his best to ignore the yearn in his heart to feel it for himself, instead focusing on how your cute cunt clamps down on his fat cock, how he's so close to the finish line he can almost taste it. Even now, as he's about to cream your puffy pussy right in front of his father, he can't help but to yearn for the win. It's almost more important to him than anything else right now, if not for the way he catches sight of Kent's pained expression and he has to fight himself not to let out the most pathetic fucking whine of his life.

What's worse is when Kent continues to buck fervently into your tight asshole and decides to taunt Sam so nonchalantly with: "Already? C'mon Sammy, y'can give more than that, cant'cha? My son? Bowing out already?"

He wants to defend himself desperately, to whine like a child about how you feel too fucking good, ask his father why he isn't as close as he is right now, and with victory so close on the horizon too—

In the end, he should have known better than to challenge Kent. Spent a lifetime of losing to his father, the feeling of your gushy cunt squeezing around his cock so frantically, of course, inevitably does him in. Creaming your cunt as soon as you start to choke on his name, big fat load fucked right up to your cervix from how eagerly Kent starts to thrust against your backside at the first sign of incoherent babbling from you both, as if he was merely holding back until now. And the slick rub of his dads cock against his own only has him cumming harder, tip twitching as it drools seed against your walls, painting your insides white while Kent fucks it all back out of your stuffed hole.

And Sam hopes for a break. Resolved to accept the loss on the promise of a round two, though he's not sure how much of that resolution is selfish in nature, shivering into the feeling of your cum stained cunt dripping back out onto him every time Kent thrusts balls deep in you again and again. But his dad doesn't let up. Doesn't stop, nor does he slow down. Fucking both you and Sam into overstimulation territory as you hold onto him for dear life and he's left wincing up at Kent.

"Not done yet, son," He grunts, more focused than ever now that you're left all for himself, that same look of determination flashing over his fathers face for a second or two, long enough for Sam to recognise the predicament he's truly found himself in tonight. "That's it, fuck— you're mine."

Sam isn't sure if he means you, or him.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 7

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I would never be able to walk into Dr. Miller’s classroom and look at anything the same way again. When Tuesday finally rolled around after a weekend of reliving the most invigorating sexual experience of my life, I couldn't help but walk sheepishly in through the door.

Before I crossed the threshold of the lecture hall I could almost hear my professor’s primal groans that had echoed off the walls of his office the week before - a result of his intense climax as I ‘returned the favor’.

I would have been more anxious and unsure if he hadn't slipped a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it between my cleavage upon our walk to our respective cars that evening. That - and the fact that we had exchanged an overabundance of racy text messages back and forth. The very thought made me blush.

Trevor was up at Dr. Miller's desk when I rounded into the room and I almost snickered from the subtle, annoyed look on his face as he humored his over-enthusiastic student. When his eyes met mine I knew my eyebrows raised and felt a new rush of red form on my cheeks.

He's wearing glasses. Fuck, I was a hot mess.

“We’ll discuss it Trevor,” I heard him say amongst the background chatter in the room, shooing him away like a fly in the most delicate of ways. 

Our eyes locked again as Trevor vacated the area at the head of the room and Dr. Miller sat back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. The smallest smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and I smiled to myself as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

That position - his feet widened, the same brown dress shoes, hands behind his head, eyes on mine. Fuck, he was in the same exact posture as he had been in the other night in his office chair. It made my body twitch with satisfaction as I took my seat.

I wanted to focus on the subject matter. I wanted to engage in conversation. I wanted to learn more about the topic Dr. Miller had sent home in the reading the previous week. I simply couldn't concentrate.

I was thankful that he didn't call on me to answer a question. He must've known I wasn't paying attention the way I ordinarily did. My hormones were in overdrive and my typical sound mind was a ticking time bomb of lust.

“Aren't all killers.. bad?” A voice from the crowd asked.

My attention was pulled back to the discussion at hand. The girl on campus. I hadn't even thought about it since the fantasies of my own little world had manifested Thursday night.

Dr. Miller slid back to sit on the edge of his desk and moved his arms out to the sides. “I don't know. What do you think?”

“Well.. yeah.” I spotted the voice coming from a male in a blue baseball hat near the front left side of the room.

“Well,” Dr. Miller went on, “Let's define ‘killer’ first. Is it anyone who has killed another human being - a soldier, someone who has acted in self defense, a drunk driving accident, the man who put the lethal injection into Ted Bundy’s arm.”

A silence fell over the classroom and I began to ponder the question. When I raised my hand Dr. Miller's dimples highlighted a wide, genuine smile. He ran a hand across his trim, salt-and-pepper beard.

“Ms. (Y/LN),” he addressed me and folded his arms across his chest. “What do you think?”

Most of the students had turned their attention on me and so I cleared my throat. “I would say if it was part of a job, like a soldier or the person who is responsible for lethal injections, that it wouldn't make the person a killer per se, or evil in any way.”

“And why do you say that?” Dr. Miller removed his glasses and slipped the end into his mouth. It distracted me for a half-a-second though I quickly went on.

“Well.. I mean.. in some way they're protecting us. They aren't choosing to kill for pleasure, or targeting innocent people. It's not a crime of passion or revenge or pure insanity; or even because the person is a psychopath.”

“So, you would say in this sense killing is.. acceptable?”

I gave a little shrug. “I guess I would.. yeah.”

“They're getting rid of the scum,” the student with the blue hat added.

“Well, what if they got it wrong,” a blonde-haired woman with glasses shouted down from the back. “What if Ted Bundy was innocent and-”

“Ted Bundy wasn't innocent,” blue hat cut her off.

“I meant someone like him,” she shot back in a slightly annoyed tone, “Let's say in theory Ted Bundy never killed anyone. What would you say about the lethal injector now?”

Dr. Miller gave a hearty laugh from the front and nodded in approval as he hopped down off the desk and set his glasses down on top of it. “Now this.. this is what I love. Debates.. critical thinking.. digging a little deeper.”

“I think it all has to do with the reason behind the action,” another student chimed in.

“Yeah but we can't just go around killing people who did terrible things like.. The Purge or something,” the blonde added again.

“How about this?” Dr. Miller took a piece of paper he had on the corner of his desk and crumbled it into a ball. “I had a whole different assignment planned for this week but I like where this is going. I'll send this in an email to everyone more formally, but I'd like you to write up a short paper on your opinion on the questions presented. What defines a killer? Are all people that take a life.. bad?” 

“Do we need sources?” The blond shouted down.

“I'll send out a formal email with the requirements by tomorrow at noon and I'll extend the due date to Friday.” He added, “Though I would like to further this discussion so if you have it done by Thursday's class I'll give some extra credit.”

On that note, the class concluded.

“Trevor, (Y/N),” Dr. Miller called the two of us to his desk as the rest of the class began to exit the room. We both smiled for different reasons.

Maybe a repeat of the other night? I secretly hoped.

Dr. Miller rounded his desk and placed his hands flat on top of it as we both approached.

“I'm glad you attended the office hours Thursday night,” he said, glancing at Trevor first and then holding my gaze for just a second or two longer. “It made for a great discussion today and a new assignment I haven't done with my classes before.”

I took a deep breath and smiled.

“That's all,” he added with a grin, “Just.. keep up the good work.” His eyes shifted toward the door when the last person filtered out and then back to the two of us.

“Thank you, Dr. Miller.” Trevor’s nasally voice was far more tolerable.

“Thank you,” I echoed.

“Alright,” he looked to Trevor, “You can go. I know everyone has a job to get to tomorrow. Go home. Sleep on it. We’ll talk in a few days.”

Much to my surprise Trevor looked at me and smiled, “Good job.”

“Thanks Trevor.” I smiled cordially and watched as he skipped happily away without a thought of whether I was the last one in the classroom or not.

Dr. Miller reached for his glasses and placed them back on. He folded his arms across his chest again and nodded at me with a sense of approval. “You should speak up more, ya know. You could generate some damn good discussions in here.”

“I know. I should, I just-”

“Have some confidence. You've got a lot going for you.”

“Thanks.” I smiled softer now. There was always something about direct compliments that made me uncomfortable.

Yet his hand down your pants didn't make you uncomfortable..

I had to accept that this thing, whatever it was, would never completely make sense. I wasn't making sense. But I was, ultimately, okay with that.

“What're you doing now?” Dr. Miller asked. He ran a hand through his hair. It was short, though it began creeping over the tops of his ears. It suited him.

“I, uh..” my eyes shifted toward the open door and then back to him. “I don't know.”

He gave a laugh, apparently already knowing what I had in mind. “Lots of people are still hanging around the building tonight.” Dr. Miller quickly squashed my idea of an encore though reached into his pocket for his car keys, “You up to go for a ride?”

Of course I was up to go for a ride. When I smiled he scrunched his nose and chuckled. Despite the subtle grays in his hair and some crows feet by his eyes, there was something very boyish in his features. It wasn't often when someone could pull off such an intense sex appeal while being equally adorable. It was all part of Dr. Miller's charm.

“Come on.” He nodded, “I'm going to use the stairs. Go up the elevator, pull your hood up and meet me at my car.”

The sneaky nature of our borderline devious behavior added to my addiction; to my infatuation with my professor and every taboo act we committed together. I agreed without hesitation and felt, again, like I was flying so high as I entered the vacant elevator.

I couldn't wait. Even though it would only be a minute or two before I saw Dr. Miller again I couldn't wait until I was beside him in his passenger seat without a care in the world for where we would end up.

We could have driven five minutes or five hours. I wouldn't have questioned it. There was nowhere else I would rather be.

The cold nipped at my cheeks as I exited the building but it was a welcomed contrast to the heat that had made a permanent home on my face. I exhaled a puff of white air and eyed the lot, immediately spotting the Mercedes amongst the thinned out crowd of vehicles. 

Dr. Miller was waiting there already. He stood beside the car and must've hit a starter on his key ring because the car suddenly roared to life as I approached.

I was waiting for some, ‘come with me if you want to live’ line but he simply smiled and ducked into the driver’s side and so I followed his lead and joined him inside.

“Hungry?” He asked.

“Very.” I smiled. And thirsty.

“There's a good, little place up near Woodstock. Might not be a bad idea to get a little distance from this place.”

Woodstock was at least a forty minute drive. I knew those forty minutes would fly by, and it sounded like a little slice of heaven to be stuck in a car with Dr. Miller for that length of time.. and then back.

“I'm up for the drive if you are.”

He knew I would say yes. Being with Dr. Miller felt free and easy while contradictory, nerve-wracking and tense. I wasn't sure where on the scope of inappropriate our relationship fell but there was a part of me that knew it shouldn't have been happening. Acknowledging that certainly wasn't a deterrent. It was the exact opposite actually.

“So, what are your thoughts on the topic in class?” He asked. “Should everyone who has ever taken a life be branded with the same term?”

I was surprised when our talk began with what was happening within the educational setting, though it pleased me. Dr. Miller was honestly interested in what I had to say. It gave me.. hope.

“No,” I said, shaking my head as he glanced over for a brief second while he drove. “I think sometimes people are forced to act.. like in the self defense example. For others, they do it to protect the rest of us.”

“Like someone in the military.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Or even the people in charge of those lethal injections.”

Dr. Miller glanced over at me again, staring as long as he could manage safely before looking back out the windshield. “Why don't you elaborate on that?”

“Well.. someone has to do that job. I'm assuming those that do have some kind of thick skin and can handle it. Maybe that makes them just a bit..” I searched for the right word in my head, “..darker than your average Joe but I feel like they have to believe they're doing a good deed by eliminating some truly awful people from the world.. ya know?”

Dr. Miller was tense again. I almost thought something I said might have angered him from the way his hand tightened against the wheel. It was so much so that a squeak edged out from beneath his palm against the leather.

“I'm sorry. I mean.. maybe not.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You obviously feel differently.”

“I don't,” he stole another quick glance and let out a relieved laugh. “And even if I did you should never apologize for voicing your opinion.”

“Okay.”

“And..  I'm glad you finally put your social media on private,” he added, smirking when I whipped my head in his direction. “I almost wish I hadn't advised you of that.. for my own selfish reasons.”

I laughed lightly now. I loved knowing he thought of me in his private time. The details of how or why didn't matter to me in the least. I was on his mind - at least to some degree.

“What was the original assignment going to be?” I asked him. “The one you crumpled up.”

“Just some generic paper on the topic. This seemed a lot more interesting to me.” He added, “I'm eager to see what you come up with.”

Dr. Miller’s approval was something I craved. For only knowing the man for a short period of time it shouldn't have been like that - at least not to the extent I felt it. 

In the bouts of silence in between our conversations I snuck glances at him as he drove. I had been told over the years that I had a knack for reading people. It was mainly something I did quietly and, most of the time, without judgment. There was something there inside Dr. Miller that made my brain ache for discovery.

The man appeared as cool and calm as he did tense, at times. It didn't make sense. I knew it wasn't just some type of forbidden attraction toward me - though I would have been perfectly okay with that. He could have pulled the car over and taken me right there in the passenger seat and both of us knew I would have happily obliged. There was something else; something bigger.

I toyed with the idea of calling him out on it, not in a disrespectful way; but a part of me wanted to take him off-guard again like I had in the bar the week before. At the same time, I didn't want to say the wrong thing and shatter the night into a thousand pieces for me to pick up. For that reason, I played it safe and kept the tone light - for now.

“Ever been up to the Catskills?” Dr. Miller asked as he took an exit that led down a wooded back road.

“I went skiing a few times up this way,” I told him with a nod, and then added, “Never been to Woodstock, though.”

“Too bad it's dark,” he said, glancing over at me as his blinker led us down another dark road, “There’s a nice view of the mountains down this way.” 

“Have to come back during the day some time.”

“In the fall it's even better.”

The way the two of us conversed felt oddly normal. While my blossoming crush on him left me feeling a bit overwhelmed at times, the communication between the two of us flowed naturally. There wasn't anything that felt forced.

Finally, beyond the arboraceous route that we’d been on since exiting the highway, a quaint downtown street emerged, seemingly out of nowhere. Beyond it I could see the outline of the mountains Dr. Miller was speaking of.

The Mercedes eased into a parking spot on the side of the road where a collection of other vehicles were parked. He turned and looked at me for a second and then motioned to a little restaurant on the corner.

“You know the old saying, ‘you could at least take me to dinner first'?”

I chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah.”

“Well, I'm sorry about doing this backwards.” He smiled and it made me feel content - like something more than just sex was on his mind. I hoped that was the case, because I was already set on jumping in with both feet.

The interior of the place had a warm feel to it. A fire burned in the back corner and gave off a pleasant, cozy aroma immediately as we entered. The wait staff was eager to tend to the two of us and, much to my liking, sat us at a little table not far from the fireplace.

“I can see why you wanted to make the drive up here,” I said to him, taking in the surroundings.

“I live out this way,” Dr. Miller confessed. “About fifteen minutes in the direction back toward Woodbridge.” He glanced up and thanked the waitress as she brought our menus, while offering us a moment to look them over.

“So what is it about a half-an-hour ride to work for you?” I asked, trying to sound casual though the thought of possibly going back to his house made my thoughts spin in circles for a moment.

“More or less.”

I cleared my throat and glanced at the menu, taking a deeper breath than I must have realized because Dr. Miller smirked to himself and his eyes fleetingly landed on mine.

When the waitress returned I ordered the stuffed chicken with roasted potatoes and a glass of red wine. Dr. Miller requested a surf and turf meal, along with three fingers of bourbon. And then his attention was fully on me.

“What are you looking for from this?” He asked point blank, folding his hands.

Shit. The question had caught me off-guard and now I was the one who was disarmed. I knew exactly what I wanted; but I wasn't at all prepared to lay it all on the table. I didn't know what to say.

“I, uh.. I don't know,” I said to him. “I don't even know what this is.” The second part was true. The first part - not so much.

“Well I'm an open book,” Dr. Miller went on, “Talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

I opened my mouth and then shut it again before biting down on my lip as I began to think of a way to word what I was truly feeling. When I failed to respond he spoke again.

“How about if we start with a different question,” he suggested.

Yes.. please. “Okay,” I agreed with a nod, thankful for the opportunity to go in another direction.

“Would you be jealous.. or hurt.. if you thought I was fucking someone else?”

Had my chin just hit the floor? Because I couldn't control the reaction I felt forming on my face. This question wasn't any more subtle.

He's not a subtle man, I reminded myself.

“Would I be..” I began and he finished the sentence that trailed off in my mouth.

“..jealous if you saw me here with someone else.” He toned down the vulgarity in his rephrase of the same question.

“Yes,” I responded honestly. It triggered what felt like a jolt of electricity through my body.

“Were you okay with what happened the other night?”

“Yes.” That one was easier.

“Good,” Dr. Miller replied. His eyes lifted as our drinks were set down in front of us and he reached for his glass. “Now.. I just need to know what you're looking for.”

“What does that mean?” I couldn't even sip my drink though I watched as his lips connected with the short, whiskey glass.

“I think we have a connection,” he told me, keeping the drink between his hands now. Dr. Miller swirled the glass and glanced down at the liquid as he did. “And it makes me want to get to know you a whole lot better.” His eyes burned into mine now, “You have something that I want.”

I swallowed extra hard and looked at him, shaking my head. “What do you mean?” Did he mean sexually? Emotionally? Did he think I stole his family’s fortune? It was such a vague, obscure statement.

“I want you,” he said now.

In the midst of the honesty that he was bestowing upon me, however confusing, I blurted out my truth. “I want to be with you. I want to try having a relationship. Not just.. something casual.”

It was me who was hiding behind my wine glass now. There. I had said it. Is that what Dr. Miller wanted too? Could I even be with a man who I couldn't even address by his first name?

The lie detector in him was out in full force. I could tell. His eyes shifted to every part of me he could see as if he was, quite literally, reading me like a book.

“Why?” He asked me.

“Because I feel it too,” I told him. “The connection. I felt it the first time we spoke that time after class. I felt it at The Library. I feel it now.”

Dr. Miller's hand abruptly reached out and latched onto my wrist with a force that made me jump. He pulled his hand back immediately and then looked at me in a way that made me shudder. It was almost as if the man I had just been speaking with was replaced by a dark replica.

“I'm sorry,” he sighed and sipped his drink before composing himself enough to address me again. His first question had me confused.. again. “How many sick days have you accrued this year?”

“Huh?”

“Sick days.” His voice was slightly impatient now.

“I, uh.. I don't know. I took one day in the fall when I didn't feel good-”

“Whatever app or website your school system uses, take a sick day.”

“I, uh.. what?” I was fumbling on my words. I knew Dr. Miller was becoming frustrated but his delivery wasn't at all making sense. I was trying to read between the lines, or connect the dots, but I felt like I was lost in a puzzle.

The tables had turned. I noticed a shake in his hand as he lifted the bourbon glass to his lips. Only I knew it wasn't nerves. He was angry.. or so I thought. 

“I'm sorry,” I said immediately. “I don't know what you want me to do.”

He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “I want you to take a sick day tomorrow.” He added, “If you don't mind.”

“Okay.” I blindly agreed. His demand had purpose. I was sure of that. I even had a haunch as to why he had hit me with such an adamant request - one that was lined with emotion and angst from the inside out. 

“I'm sorry,” he apologized now, “I'm not trying to control you.”

“Yes you are,” I shot back immediately, prompting his eyes to lift and meet mine with a hint of surprise. “And I'm okay with that.”

When Dr. Miller's hand grabbed mine this time I didn't jump. His grip was just a little too tight, his eyes a little too.. savage. Still, I felt this unmatchable attraction as he looked at me in a way that I imagined the Big Bad Wolf might look at Little Red Riding Hood. There was a part of me that felt afraid, though at that moment I knew the intensity of his feelings matched mine.

I had sought him out in our days apart. I had driven around town in search of his car. I had entered his name in every search engine I could think of. I had looked at the handwritten phone number he had so lewdly slipped in my bra the night after our on-campus rendezvous. I was just as crazy as he was.

“Call out sick,” he demanded more adamantly now. “Take out your phone and send it in to your school.”

I did as he demanded. I put in for my second sick day that year and I could only imagine the punishing prize that was in store for me for obeying such a request.

When I clicked on the ‘submit’ button my eyes lifted to meet his. “Done.” I knew why, but I wanted to hear it from his lips. “Can you tell me why you wanted me to do that so badly?”

“Because..” His nostrils flared. His jaw clenched. His hand tightened around the glass of bourbon. “We’re going back to my house tonight.” 

Dr. Miller wasn't asking for permission. He was giving me an order. The second order of what I hoped was a laundry list of more. I didn't care if it was twisted or weird or wrong. I didn't care what anyone in the world might think if they knew. All I cared about, right then, was that he wanted me in the same animalistic way that I wanted him. We were on the same page in the same book.. and I couldn't wait to get to the next chapter.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115

[wordywarriorwrites]

Life's a Dance

Title: LIfe's a Dance | AO3 | Rating: T Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x You Summary: Jack finds a second chance at love. Will he take it? Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Swearing. Mentions of grief/death. A/N: This fic is for @burntheedges "Roll a Trope" challenge (sorry I'm a day late!) and is an AU (obvs). Tagging @jolapeno, who gave me an inspirational and dare I say it, MOTIVATIONAL, "ooo," when I shared a snippet on a WIP Wednesday post.

My trope. Songs referenced in the fic: 1, 2

Jack watches – wide-eyed, with his heart in his throat – as you complete the clover pattern, quicker than lightning, bolder than brass. Fearless, you and that horse of yours, maneuvering around the barrels at an almost impossible-to-follow speed.

Now, he’s gnawing on his nails, knee bouncing, waiting for the results as the digital scoreboard goes blank. A hush has fallen over the crowd of some 19,000 spectators; they’re right there with him, with you, as the camera pans in close to your face, capturing your anxious expression in the moments before the announcement.

Eyes flickering back and forth between you and the screen, waiting, watching as your name ticks to the top of the leaderboard. The announcer barely says it’s ‘a record-breaking run’ before the crowd goes wild. And Jack is swept up in it – on his feet, bursting with pride, whistling and clapping and sharing in your career-defining achievement.

Thunderbolt is just as triumphant, receiving pets and kisses from you as he excitedly prances around the sand during the victory lap. The rodeo may be over, but the night has just begun; there will be press, a fan meet-and-greet, and then, an afterparty. Jack knows you’ll be busy for several hours, but that’s okay.

He can wait.

“So,” Tequila drawls, shuffling out of the stands and towards the stairs leading up to the exit. “How long you two been datin’?”

Jack nearly trips over his own boots, hand shooting out to grab the rail for balance, “Datin’? No, we aren’t datin’. We’re just friends.”

A quirked brow is all the response he gets – for now. Jack knows the meddlesome man is just biding his time. In fact, it’s nearly midnight at the honkytonk when he brings it up again.

“You may be retired, but your name still gets flagged when you travel,” Tequila points out, all casual as he drops truth bombs while sipping his beer. “You’ve been following the circuit. And for a man who didn’t even know what the hell barrel racing was a year ago… Well, I find that real interesting.”

Jack sighs and signals the bartender for another drink, “Look, I invited you here to help me spread the message about my distillery – not to comment on my friendship with--”

“You know, I see her picture pop up when you two text,” he interjects. “And I can hear you talking to her on the phone late at night. I mean, have you really watched all 17 seasons of Heartland?”

Jack grunts. Rolls a mouthful of Johnnie Walker across his tongue before swallowing hard and muttering that Tequila is one nosy motherfucker, who has absolutely no business listening in on his private conversations through the damn hotel room wall. But arguing is pointless – especially since saying anything otherwise would just result in him pushing the issue even more.

The purpose of the trip to Cheyenne was two-fold. First, Jack wanted to see you. Second, the biggest rodeo event on the circuit drew a lot of sponsors (aka: potential investors) known for putting their money in a variety of different cookie jars, and he hoped they’d want to partner with him on a whiskey distillery. Tequila, still in the game, knew all the players and was exceptionally good at schmoozing. It seemed like a win-win, but now, he can’t help but regret asking his too-observant friend for help.

“And the first thing you did when she walked in?” he carries on, all ‘ah-ha, got you now’ in tone. “You put your stinky Stetson on her pretty, little head. And if that’s not stakin’ a claim…” 

It’s the verbal equivalent of a knockout punch, causing Jack to pause mid-sip, but before he can counter, you sidle up between him and his buddy, effectively disrupting the sparring match.

You’re an all-Western cowgirl; from the boot heel to the ten-gallon he’d plopped over your brow after hugging you tight in congratulations. Long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. Winners buckle the size of his fist just below your navel. Shiny eyes and a toothy grin. You’re in high spirits, clapping Tequila’s shoulder in greeting before propping an elbow up on the bar and jutting your chin toward the teeming dance floor.

“How ‘bout it, cowboy?” you quip.

Jack should’ve known Tequila, the jabber-jaw, wouldn’t allow him to get a word out in acceptance or refusal. Like a dog with a bone, he buts right on in – says Jack doesn’t dance (at least, not very well). And he grins while he says it - as if pointing something like that out when a woman is asking you to bootscoot for the first time is somehow helpful.

Head tilted slightly, you look at him from beneath the brim of his Stetson, “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Tequila strikes again, this time, with something pithy Jack doesn’t entirely catch, but his ears pick up every, single detail of the asshole offering to take you for a spin. And it’s fine. Jack is completely prepared to let it go, to be the well-mannered man his mamma raised, but Tequila does the one thing guaranteed to illicit a baser response.

“Won’t be needin’ this,” he states, plucking the hat from your head and discarding it down on the bar top. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s boogie.”

Jack’s not sure how much time passes. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds? Like stones skipping along a pond, those seconds come and go so quickly, but they ripple and expand. He recalls his dead wife and son, and how he would be the man he is without having had and lost them. Then, the job, and the purpose it had given him until he’d nearly lost himself in it. Then, meeting you. If someone had told him he'd find a second chance at love at a random truck stop in Kentucky, he'd have laughed in their face.

But that's exactly what happened.

That syrup-sticky counter. The scent of cheap coffee and overcooked bacon. Clanking silverware and Coal Miner's Daughter playing over the speakers. You'd been watching barrel racing on your phone and taking notes on an egg-yolk-and-strawberry-jam-stained paper napkin when he’d asked if the stool next to yours was free.

A simple question. A polite answer. A shared glance that lingered a bit longer than was strictly polite. Chit-chat that somehow morphed into you showing him how to download Instagram so he could follow you – which had seemed a bit untoward of him, doing such a thing, but you’d laughed in that bright, sunny way of yours and assured him was normal. Ten minutes spent showing him how to scroll, and then, you’d dropped cash on the counter and tipped your hat. Bid him farewell. Headed out the door.

But you hadn’t left his mind.

Calls and texts and video chats. Red-eye flights and sunrise breakfasts. Lunches at small-town fairs and dinners at dive bars. Exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts. A year had come and gone, and in that time, Jack had gotten to know you. Knew what channels you’d be on. That your horse loved organic carrots. That you sometimes slept in the barn when your nerves wouldn’t allow you to rest in a hotel bed or even your trailer. You told him things – painful, private things – and in return, he shared feelings and thoughts with you that he hadn’t expressed to anyone else in nearly two decades.

You’d opened his eyes to a different way of existing; proved to him that life could be balanced between wildness and safety, excitement and the every day, and sorrow and joy. You showed him moments were to be cherished, and losses weren’t supposed to keep him locked in a perpetual state of grief until he either got taken out by an enemy or found a grave to lay down and die in.

Of course, there was something there. A flame, unfanned. A torch carried, but unacknowledged. You’d be going into the off-season, soon; still working and training, teaching breakaway roping lessons and riding classes and such, but not traveling. And God knows he’s got the freedom and capital to do what he wants and go where he pleases…

But it’s Tequila’s hand on your shoulder that brings all that chaos, all those ‘what if’ thoughts in his head, to a resounding halt. The seemingly innocuous touch of another man shouldn’t bother him, but it does because he knows it’s a challenge, and his own hand reacts – goes right to his hip on pure instinct – and if he’d been carrying openly, his palm would’ve been atop of one of his revolvers.

Tequila clocks it, but doesn’t back off; in fact, it emboldens him and prompts him to move his hand to your waist. A friendly smile. A guiding touch. A few words to encourage you to head toward the dancefloor and a narrow-eyed glare for Jack to either take a stand or stand down.

Jack is no coward, but he’s also no fool. And he’s not willing to risk losing your friendship over a pissing contest, so, he backs off. Inclines his head. Plasters a smile on his face that’s faker than a buckle bunny’s spray tan.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he says.

Whether the flash of disappointment in your eyes is real or imagined doesn’t matter because Jack ignores it all the same. Just as he ignores Tequila’s muttering fucking idiot as he passes.

The opening chords of Life’s a Dance ring through the air, and he manages to make it to the chorus before deciding he’s taken enough of a beating for the night. He doesn’t say goodbye – just shoots off a lame excuse text to you about an early morning meeting that doesn’t exist, followed up by one to Tequila, telling him to find his own way back to the hotel.

By the time he gets to his pickup, he’s spitting mad. Mad at Tequila. At himself. At you, for making him feel things he hasn’t felt in such a long, long time. For making him feel both safe and afraid to take that leap again. For making him realize wanting you didn’t mean he was being disloyal…

Keys rattling, he jabs the unlock button with his thumb and jerks the door open. Habit has him reaching for his hat, which is no longer there. His Custom Stetson. The one he’s had for ages. The one he spent an obscene amount of money on to have made just right. The one that fits his big ol’ dome so perfectly that there’s no way in hell he could ever hope to replace it.

Jack slams the door so hard, it rocks the frame. Then, uncaring of the fact that it’s a rental, he kicks the front tire with his boot, and that scuffs the rim up pretty good. That old, familiar darkness rears up, and his chest goes tight with it, but expletives and fists are literally reined in by a rope suddenly winding around his shoulders.

Arms pinned to his sides, he whirls, and spots you. A stationary target may be easier to rope, but the distance is impressive. So is the strength you display when you cinch him tight and give a forceful tug to his tether. Passerby-turned-on-lookers think so, too because they clap at your display. Some even whistle as he’s forced to walk toward you or else be dragged.

“You done, cowboy?” you ask, toes nearly touching his as he stands before you. “Or am I gonna have to put my spurs on?”

The glint in your eye is one he’s come to know quite well, and when he doesn’t answer, the rope goes tighter. It doesn’t hurt, but it gets his full attention – takes his mind off his anger, makes him focus, and has him realizing that you’ve not only roped him in, but you’ve got his Stetson on, too.

“S’my hat,” Jack blurts.

You grin. Cup his cheek in a leather-worn palm. Jack meets you in the middle, and it’s like slipping into a hot bath after a long, hard day. A first-time, we-waited-too-long-to-do-this kiss that carries on just long enough for it to mean something.

A slow parting. Your thumb ghosting along his lower lip. Lips curving into a smile, you say, “Hat’s mine now, cowboy.”

And he laughs.

And kisses you again.

[leprosycock]

Could I ask what the story is between your characters? I see little snippets of it with the qnas on your twitter, but will there ever be some sort of comic aspect to it? or writing? They are so interesting to me I must ask.

thank you, i’m so happy that you find them so intriguing!! <333

their ask blog that i crosspost from is here at @ttwkyasks and information about the individual characters are here. they’ve spawned and grown and twisted quite a lot over time, but they originally came from a really dramatic and batshit insane streamer yaoi fic that i began to transform into a piece of original work. the final product will be a multimedia graphic novel that i’m working on behind the scenes, but in the meantime i’m running the ask blog to help develop them as well as i possibly can and iron out kinks in the story.

essentially the plot is about how the hayes family, for all intents and purposes, suffers from a generational curse in which their systems are damaged from a cancerous perversity and they will suffer from a taboo attraction to their own body and blood. each patriarch will poison the next unless the bloodline is completely cut off and no more haysees are born. jay hayes suffered at the hands of his father, who he loathes for poisoning him and relishing in the pleasure he got from the atrocious acts he committed. at age twenty-one, he graduated from community college with a teaching certificate and very quickly married a french immigrant, abigail, who he met at one of his classes in a drunken flurry. unbeknownst to jay, abigail had a murky past that she didn’t offer much information on and none of it really mattered to jay. he was determined to prove that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes that his father did by never producing a son, but instead living happily and domestically in a nice little house in the middle of phoenix, arizona, the complete opposite of where he’d grown up. unfortunately for him, abigail began to rapidly fall out of love with jay as he became more and more dependent on alcohol and much less intimate with her. their marriage was thrown into a brutal upset when abigail realized she was pregnant after a condom broke and jay went into a mad, anxious spiral, loathing his unborn son and loathing abigail more for refusing to get an abortion. after annie was born, abigail (who was only nineteen at the time) suffered heavily from postpartum depression and couldn’t connect with her newborn son, so she fled back to boston to live with her family and the son she actually cared about, who she had had at the age of sixteen and had been under the care of her grandparents. jay was now a single father and forced to care for what he thought was a living ticking time bomb.

at the age of eleven, annie approached jay and admitted that he’d experienced something he couldn’t recognize when a girl had stepped on him during recess. jay realized he couldn’t avoid not his nor annie’s fate for any longer and he explained the generational curse to annie, who failed to understand it and its stakes, but he did have an awareness that everything was going to change. ever since then, jay and annie have operated in very twisted, demented ways that are not remotely within the normal confines of a father and son, but instead borderline enemies, hated friends, estranged divorcees, etc etc. annie is currently dating a girl in his grade named claire and jay is dating a college boy named eva. if there’s anything else you’d like to know about them, you can always ask the boys questions at the blog :3c

[persy-r-bozo]

DHMIS - The Yap EPIC - Red Guy

Red is so fascinating to me. He's like a tragic oddity no matter where he travels. He is monotoned and hidden despite being the largest and arguably most brightly colored one there.

I AM IN LOVE with the unable to fit in anxiety and fear thing he has as well, He's too weird for his people. too Normal for the weird freaks.

i think red truly is bonded to the other two. He cares for them and wants them to be safe and far from danger. But here's the thing, I like to think red himself thinks he is a danger to them. He wants to be there to help and comfort them but at the same time, he thinks he's not good enough, that he'll just end up hurting them in some way. Like despite the brain fog a lil voice in his head tell him over and over again he hurt them. either in a "You lead them too their doom" or a "You gave them hope when it was never possible" even "You left to help, but you just made things worse"

think he feels guilty, and blames himself for everything even though he doesn't know why. he might just be doing it out of self hatred or he might have helped Roy or was blind to things in the past he never realized or fully remembers.

That guilt makes him distant. He loves them but he wont show it out of fear for them. I think in transport this is shown perfectly.

he wants them to be in a safe town. he wants them to have friends and neighbor's. he wants them far away from that house and happier and healthier. But he clearly mentions he wont be staying with them. that he will live separately from them. And reassures yellow that it will be ok and better, i don't think he said that because he dislikes them (yeah he gets annoyed sometimes but that's normal) I think he said that because he feels he needs to be separate so they can fully live normal happy lives. and when everything starts to fall apart, he panics. he is swallowed by anxiety. that ticking time bomb finally exploded. he yells out of fear and that fear turns into anger. The keys were dangled in front of him and they were taken away.

During the campsite scene red rocks himself and hides his face a little bit, covering his mouth after telling yellow its going to be ok. He failed again, he hurt them again.

The energy i get from red is someone who cares. and tries. but he keeps failing, it keeps hurting them and that hurts him, only making him more distant.

That is interesting as well, red is truly unpredictable. that urge to help and escape can make red go crazy but it could also truly help. if he were to open up more he could clear his mind just a little bit and connect with his lil found family. But he could also break more, He could accept this world or his "role" If he's Only going to be a monster that only hurts his friends he might as well do it on purpose. get it over with. (what I'm saying is red could easily get better and bond more AND easily have a corruption arch leading him to become a darker force)- (Both possible! and honestly super interesting topics to dive into) like he has main character energy, but he is pushed by the world itself to sit down and mumble along the songs.

in short i see red as a tragic overthinking anxious mess. on the verge of breaking. and that break could help him connect or truly shatter him. (Good Cry Vs "What's even the Point")

He made himself a cage and locked himself inside it.

too bad for him there are two goobers who are determined to get inside and let him out for a walk. no matter what he thinks.

-Relationship views-

Yellow: That's his little guy, the fellow who makes him smile even though every day is a dreaded one. Red overthinks to himself, But yellow doesn't give a damn he just wants to eat breakfast and watch Tv with his Semi Dad #2! and that makes red feel better, just to hang out and be included in whatever yellas doing, and i think red tries to teach him actually good things, like cooking and cleaning. (Lil cute headcannon!! I have a small head cannon that red doesn't like Grolton and Horvis. he doesn't hate it. its just he wouldn't ever choose to watch it personally, But its yellows favorite show and it makes his mornings whenever its on, so he sits and watches it with him.)

Duck: Hes SMITTEN FR FR. I think red does Love duck. But i also think red is practically chained inside the closet. I wouldn't be surprised if his stringy puppet family or species as a whole isn't exactly supportive of anything that's not "Normal or the same" And with how duck tends to dance around some topics and how he seems to be aggressive toward anything that changes his personal life. i think red just decided that staying in the dark - so to speak- is better than potentially losing his family again. But then the fridge scene happened, Red spoke about his feelings and duck was soft and even recuperated to a degree. If we get another season i can see their relationship become more interesting.

Roy: I dont think red remembers roy, the fog and day loop stuff makes the past more so hard to remember. However i do think they were business partners or at least acquaintances, the guy you hang and drink with every two weeks and talk about your lives. HOWEVER Uh. that changed didn't it? I said this in a random post once before. but i think that if red were to see Roy again, it be one of the few times red truly gets aggressive. (I mean even in the friendship ending he sounds more like he's venting than actually throwing hands.) That he wouldn't remember Roy or what he even did, but he'd remember the feelings, the horrible Fear and Hatred mixture. Like "I don't Know you, But i know you Have to go. my Everything is screaming at me to tear you apart. i need you OUT." Plus i think its awesome when a normally quiet character gets aggressive, its awesome and scary! i can see red tearing though the walls, chasing Roy relentlessly, no matter how many times the houses foundation starts to fall on him, or how many times he gets scratched by rusted nails, he just doesn't stop. (I think it would be super neat)

Lesley: I don't think red even knows Lesley exists. Roy might have mentioned her in the past, but i don't think reds ever even seen her. But if they were to meet i think they'd be chill with each other, drinking tea and talking about those scamps downstairs, but there would be a time limit. Because its just a matter of time before Red slips and mentions how badly he wants to move them away, or Lesley slips and Implies how she's Lowkey In control of everything. and the two of them remember that their protective enemies.

[niki-phoria]

‧₊˚✩ chishiya, arisu, and kuina's love languages

warnings: ooc chishiya, one mention of a panic attack, mentions of blood, kuina feels a little dysphoric, these are all kinda the same but oh well

inspired by this post by @/eletricheart !!

notes: kuina's heart bracelet is based on this pic and the flowers are based on this pic

a/n: i was never really into among us/mcyt streamers during 2020 but i've been watching some corpse vods and i love him sm

gn reader (they/them pronouns used)

requests open !! read my rules first

‧₊˚✩ chishiya

he's so DNSKLNSLS i love him sm

words of affirmation

word count 306

“what are you thinking about?” chishiya’s voice interrupts the storm of thoughts swirling in your head. he watches as you shift to move a little closer to him. 

“just…” you sigh, leaning back against your chair. “the games. the beach. everything, really.” chishiya remains silent next to you. the altered taser he was working on lays forgotten on the table in front of you. 

“you’re upset,” chishiya finally says again. this time you turn to look at him. “you’re biting your lip and playing with your fingers. nervous ticks. you’re smart enough to not do them in games, but when we’re alone or you think no one is looking you let yourself get anxious.” he turns to fully face you as you stare at him in shock for a few minutes. “so, what are you so nervous about?” 

you stare back down at your hands before you answer. chishiya remains silent, giving you as much time as you need to answer his question. finally, you do. “i’m scared.” your voice is quiet; as if you’re scared that saying the words out loud will make them real. “about dying. i’m not smart like you. the games are hard for me. what if i slip up one day and it all just… ends?” 

“you’re wrong.” chishiya’s answer confuses you. you look over at him with furrowed eyebrows. “you are smart. i can pick things apart, but i don’t understand people. not like you. you’re smart, and loyal, and kind.” he looks away, quickly returning his attention to the taser. “sometimes kind is the best thing you can be.” 

you’re sure chishiya notices the way your lips quirk upwards into a small smile when he lets one of his own grace his face. you fall back into a comfortable silence, this time without any negative thoughts clouding in your head.

quality time

word count 295

chishiya’s shoulders are hunched over from his position at the desk as he tinkers away at another kerosene bomb. the smell is nearly overwhelming as you enter the room, quietly closing the door behind you. though you’re sure he can tell that you’ve entered, chishiya doesn’t outwardly acknowledge your presence. 

you silently move to sit beside him, watching as he works. his hands move with precision; his work as a surgeon shines in moments like these. you lean your head against your hand as he expertly weaves the wires against each other through the soda can. he’s careful once he finishes creating the bomb as he sets it aside on the table. 

you remain in a comfortable silence as chishiya prepares to make another. this time, he slides a can over to you - a silent question. do you want to try making one? you oblige, following his movements as he uses a pocket knife to slice a hole into the can before setting it aside. 

the wires are easier to work with than you expected. they twist easily, allowing you to maneuver them into position. chishiya lets you lean against his shoulder to watch as he presses the wires inside of the can until you’ve created a makeshift bomb of your own. 

the sweet moment is interrupted when kuina swings the door open. “oh, sorry,” she says as you sit up. “am i interrupting something?” 

“no,” you hand the newly created device over to her. “chishiya just showed me how to make a bomb.” 

she twists it in her fingers before humming. “you guys are cute together.” you can't help the small smile that spreads across your face as you take it back from her, setting it alongside the others on the table.

gift giving

word count 234

you shiver a little at the cold air in the prison as you enter. the other players stand around. they're hardly subtle as they look around, anxiously sizing each other up. you feel a little uncomfortable under their harsh glares as you slip to the side, suddenly very self conscious about the swimsuit you’ve been wearing since finding the beach. 

a familiar white jacket catches your attention from across the room. you step forwards a little to see the man more clearly, gasping when he turns. chishiya. 

he notices you almost as soon as you see him. you try not to make a scene as you slip through the other people over to his side. “it’s so good to see you again,” you whisper. 

“you too.” he smiles a little. his eyes scan you for any new injuries before focusing on the raised goosebumps along your arms. chishiya silently slips his jacket off before draping it over your shoulders. you watch him with wide eyes. if the other players didn’t know you knew each other before, they do now. 

“what are you doing?” 

“you’re cold,” chishiya shrugs, tugging you back towards the wall to stand beside him. you slip your arms into the sleeves. it feels warm against your skin. he reaches out to zip the jacket up for you before wrapping an arm around your waist as you wait for the game to begin.

acts of service

word count 288

sunlight streaming through your windows wakes you early in the morning. you stretch, rolling onto your side away from the light in a poor attempt to get more sleep. you can feel chishiya sit up beside you as he silently gets out of bed. you whine, pulling the blankets back up over your body. 

chishiya slips his jacket over his bare chest before walking around to your side of the bed and kneeling down beside you. your eyes are still closed as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, pressing a small kiss against your forehead. you smile a little as he walks over to the door. he slips his sandals on before making his way through the beach. 

food is easy enough to come by; especially so early in the morning. chishiya makes his way through the beach’s hotel to grab a bottle of water and a plate to prepare some breakfast for you. he decides on something simple - onigiri. he grabs a few pre packaged onigiri, placing them on the plate before making his way back to your shared room. 

you’ve fallen back asleep by the time he returns. chishiya silently places the plate and water bottle down on the bedside table before slipping back to his hideout in one of the beach’s many hidden areas to continue working on his various projects. 

the sun has fully risen by the time you enter the room. you silently place a water bottle and one of the onigiri he had brought you on the table beside him before pressing a quick peck against his temple in greeting. “thank you,” he whispers, taking the food. you simply hum with a small smile as he begins to eat.

physical touch

word count 228

“y/n,” chishiya shakes you awake, giving you a reprieve from your nightmare. you flinch as you sit up in your shared bed. the room around you is dark; only illuminated by small streams of moonlight streaming through the curtainless windows. you close your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. “are you okay?” 

“just a nightmare,” you choke the words out. your breathing is unsteady. tears sting the corners of your eyes. your hands are shaking as you wrap your arms around yourself further. 

chishiya hesitantly reaches out, resting a hand on your shoulder. his touch feels nervous - as if you’ll suddenly bolt away from him like a scared animal. you shift a little closer to him. he takes the cue to move his hand a little further, now brushing his thumb against the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“breathe,” he whispers. you do your best to obey, starving off a panic attack as best as you can. 

you sit in silence for a few minutes to fully calm down before you move again. chishiya freezes as you wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck. his body feels stiff before he slowly relaxes to pull you even closer. 

“thank you.” neither of you say anything else. you don’t need to. chishiya’s arms resting gently around your waist say everything he can’t express with words.

‧₊˚✩ arisu

he's so cute here :((

words of affirmation

word count 282

you gasp as you jolt awake in the middle of the night. arisu leans over you, staring down at you in the darkness. he lets out a small sigh of relief when you sit up. “are you okay?” he whispers, handing you a bottle of water. you take it, grateful for a distraction from the nightmare that still lingers in your mind. “you were crying in your sleep.” 

“yeah,” you sigh. “i’m fine.” 

“are you sure?” 

“i just…” you fall into silence for a few minutes. you move to fully sit up, studying your hotel room in the darkness. it’s barely illuminated by a sliver of moonlight shining through a crack in your curtains. your eyes trace along the desk to the dresser and up the tv to the door. a small sliver of light is visible from underneath it. “do you think i’m a good person? i mean… we have to kill people to survive here. i watched people die in front of me. i was the reason why they died. and then we come back here and get drunk and sleep through the night.” you let out a shaky breath. “why do you love me?” 

“y/n,” arisu is quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “none of this is your fault. we didn’t ask for any of this.” he pulls away just enough to wipe away a stray tear from your cheek. “i couldn’t do this without you. everything is better when you’re here.” 

you sniffle, hiding your face back in his chest. “thank you,” you whisper. arisu leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. 

“i love you.” 

“i love you too.” 

quality time

word count 284 (set pre-borderland)

“ah!” arisu curses under his breath after yet another defeat. he sighs, leaning back against his chair. you glance up at him from over your phone as he prepares to start another round. sensing his growing irritation, you make your way over to his chair. arisu looks up at you in confusion as you pull it back just enough to comfortably sit yourself on his lap in between his body and the desk his monitor is on. “y/n? what are you doing?” 

“i want to cuddle.” you nonchalantly reach over to grab your phone once again, snuggling against his body.

arisu’s face flushes a bright red as he wraps his arms around you. “okay.” 

you smile, leaning back against him. arisu leans his head against your shoulder as he starts a new round. his fingers expertly switch between each button on the console as he plays. slowly, you find your attention drifting from your phone to your boyfriend. 

the way he bites his lip when he’s trying to concentrate. how his eyes flick from every side of the monitor as he scans for enemies. the warmth surrounding the both of you from a mix of your body heats and the energy from the games he’s playing. 

“yes!” arisu cheers when his team wins. you keep staring at him when he looks at you, face flushing a deep red again. you barely stifle your smile as he looks away as he pretends not to notice you watching him. “what is it?” 

“nothing,” you shift a little closer, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “i just love you.” 

his blush deepens even more as arisu leans down to peck your forehead. “i love you too.” 

gift giving

word count 275

the sun beams down on you from above as you walk through the empty tokyo streets. it’s almost eerie to be alone in a city that you’ve only ever known as loud and constantly bustling with people - businessmen catching early trains to work, students rushing to their early morning classes, drunken crowds clinging to each other as they stumble their way home. 

you push the thoughts out of your head as you continue walking. lush overgrowth has begun to take over the abandoned buildings surrounding shibuya crossing. it looks beautiful besides the nostalgia that stings you everywhere you look. 

you shove your hands deeper into your pockets, about to turn around to go back to the beach when something catches your eye. a small patch of flowers has just begun to poke through a patch of grass. they’re short; petals a light pink. you smile, kneeling down to pick a few from the plant. you use a stray piece of string to wrap around the stems to create a makeshift bouquet before running back to the beach.

arisu is easier to find than you had expected. he’s sitting around with usagi and kuina on beach chairs as they enjoy their time away from the games. you bound over to him, eagerly holding the flowers out. “i got you something.” 

arisu’s face flushes a little as he stands to take them from you. “these are for me? really?” 

you nod as he takes them with a small smile. “they reminded me of you.” 

arisu’s smile grows as he wraps his arms around you in a hug. he presses a quick kiss against your cheek. “thank you.” 

acts of service

word count 244

“come on,” you say as you tug arisu alongside you back to your shared room. he trudges his body alongside you, drunkenly stumbling through the beach’s hotel. 

“you know, my lover,” arisu hiccups. “y/n? they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i don’t know how i managed to live for so long without them.” 

“yeah?” you’re glad he won’t be able to remember how flustered he’s making you as you continue pulling him along. 

“yeah. and they’re so pretty, too! prettiest person i’ve ever seen. pretty, and kind! so, so kind.” arisu pauses when you open the door, pulling him inside and helping him lay down on the bed. he stares up at the ceiling in a drunken haze, mumbling to himself. “they make me so happy.” the words almost catch you off guard. you set a water bottle and empty trash can beside him as he continues rambling. “so, so happy. i’ve never been happier than when i’m with them. i’d do anything to make them smile.” 

you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at arisu’s words. you lean over him to brush his bangs out of his eyes, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “get some rest,” you whisper. 

“hm, okay.” arisu rolls over onto his side as you curl up behind him. you press another kiss against his shoulder before turning the light out as you fall asleep next to the love of your life.

physical touch

word count 305

“arisu?” you squint at him in the darkness as he rolls onto his side again. you sit up, leaning over to turn the lamp on from your bedside table. arisu sighs, sitting up to face you. 

“did i wake you? i’m sorry.” 

“no,” you lean in a little closer to him, reaching over to grab his hand. “what’s wrong?” 

“i just…” he looks away from you to stare down at your intertwined fingers. “i’ve been thinking. about karube and chota.” you remain silent, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles as a silent reminder that you’re there for him. 

in the silence, your eyes scan each part of his face. arisu has always had his heart on his sleeve. it was one of the reasons why you fell in love with him in the first place. he’s never been afraid to show how deeply he loves the people around him. his eyebrows are furrowed slightly the way they always do when he’s deep in thought. his teeth chew on his lip as if he’s contemplating which words to say. 

“what if there was something else i could’ve done? i should’ve tried to cut the wires on the trap or searched for them or…” he pauses. tears sting the edges of his eyes. “it was my fault. they shouldn’t have died. they didn’t deserve to.” 

“oh, arisu, no,” you whisper, tugging him into a hug. arisu lets out a small sob, collapsing into your arms. you pull him closer to your chest as he cries. “you did everything you could. none of this was your fault.” you run a hand against his back to soothe him. arisu clings to your body as if you’ll also disappear if he lets go. you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead. “i’m here now. it’s gonna be okay.”

‧₊˚✩ kuina

there aren't enough kuina gifs on this website ://

words of affirmation

word count 336

kuina tugs the blanket further up over her legs as she leans back against the headboard of your shared bed. it’s a hot day on the beach. the windows are open. your jacket lays forgotten on the floor to let any potential breeze blow against your bare skin. 

she shifts uncomfortably next to you once again. you cock your head at her in questioning. “is something wrong?” 

“huh?” she looks over at you with wide eyes. “oh, no, i’m fine.” 

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. despite not knowing her for long, kuina has always had her heart on her sleeve. you spend so much time around her that you’ve learned her nervous tells and the ways she acts when something is wrong. “are you sure?” you prompt again. “you know you can tell me anything.” 

kuina looks up at you again with tears threatening to fall from her eyes. she looks at you for a few seconds like she’s trying to memorize your face before she looks away again. “there’s something you need to know. about me.” you silently reach over to grab her hand, waiting for her to continue. kuina takes a deep breath before she begins. “i’m trans. i wasn’t born a woman. my father kicked me out when he found out about it.” she pauses, raising a hand to wipe away a stray tear. her voice drops even quieter. “i’ve never told anyone before.” 

“kuina hikari, you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen.” you shift to fully face her, squeezing her hand in yours. “i adore you and everything about you. nothing will ever change that for me. i love you. i always will.” 

“really?” her voice is quiet when she speaks again. 

you bring a hand up to wipe away another tear from her face. “really.” you let her curl against your side so she’s resting her head against your chest. you wrap your arms around her so she’s listening to your heartbeat. “i love you, kuina. never forget that.” 

quality time

word count 241

you stand uncomfortably at the edge of the crowd of people, ignoring the plethora of alcohol, drugs, and sex surrounding you. you search through the crowd for kuina, looking over the shoulders of strangers. “y/n!” kuina smiles as she makes her way through the beach over to where you’re standing. she has a bright smile on her face, hips swaying to the beat playing through the speakers. “come on! let’s dance!” 

you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as she pulls you along with her into the crowd. she laughs, swaying her body to the beat. you follow her lead, albeit a little reluctantly. the smell of alcohol and sweat is almost overwhelming around you, the music is bound to give you a headache if you spend too long standing in front of the bass-boosted speakers, and the hot, sweaty people surrounding you make you a little uncomfortable. 

but none of it matters when you focus on kuina as she dances in front of you. she grabs your hand, twirling you around with her almost too elegantly for the hard edm beats you’re swaying along to. you intertwine your fingers together, letting yourself get lost in the crowd. just for a moment. just until the song ends. just for the night. just until you’ve had your fun with kuina and decide to retire back to your shared bed where you’ll fall asleep, wrapped safely in her arms.

gift giving

word count 316

“here,” chishiya says, ripping off a small piece of duct tape and handing it to you. “for the bracelet.” 

“you know how to make these?” you ask, using it to hold down the thread against the table. 

chishiya simply shrugs, turning his attention back to the makeshift flamethrower he’s creating. you’re sure you both reek of gasoline from the amount of time he’s spent trying to perfect the contraption. “i know things.” 

you chuckle a little at his vague answer as you twist the strands of thread between your fingers. they move unconsciously as you intertwine the strands between each other to create a small heart pattern. the blue and white contrast against each other nicely until it looks long enough to wrap around kuina’s wrist. 

you use the lighter to burn off the thread so it ends nicely. chishiya glances over at it for a second as you slide the lighter back over to him. “it looks nice.” 

“thank you.” you test the length around your own wrist before standing up in search of kuina. you find her rolling her wooden cigarette between her fingers from her usual spot on a random beach chair. you maneuver your way through the crowd to sit down beside her. “hey,” she greets with a small smile. 

“hi,” you say. “i made you something,” you say, holding the bracelet out. kuina gasps, bringing a hand up over her mouth. she hesitantly reaches out to take it as if it’s a fragile piece of glass in her hands. 

“it’s beautiful,” she whispers before throwing her arms around you. “thank you! i love it!” you laugh, pulling away just long enough to tie it around her wrist so it sits perfectly against her skin. she holds her hand out to admire it for a few seconds before wrapping her arms around you once again. “i love you.” 

“i love you too.”

acts of service

word count 334

the sun has just begun to rise when you wake up. the light shining in your face is enough to jolt you awake far too early in the morning. you let out a quiet groan, flipping onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling. your jacket is a poor excuse of a pillow and your body aches from the games and what feels like weeks of sleeping on the floor. 

kuina is still peacefully sleeping across from you when you finally sit up. a small smile stretches across your face at the sight. she’s wrapped up in a random jacket you found, curled up beside you. her bag lays propped up against the wall next to her. 

you quietly stand up, careful not to wake kuina as you creep through the convenience store you slept in for shelter. you scan the shelves for any food you can keep to easily prepare with minimal supplies, finally settling on a few packages of premade snacks and some bandages in case of an emergency. 

you stuff the food into kuina’s bag for her to eat later before slipping out of the store. you squint at the sun, watching as it rises. it’s a beautiful sight. a golden glow illuminates your surroundings as you make your way into a random store to search for some shoes that aren’t a random pair of sandals provided by the beach. 

you settle on a pair of white sneakers for kuina and a random pair of running shoes for yourself. you make your way back to the convenience store where she’s still sleeping on the ground. you set the white shoes beside her before going back outside to watch the sunrise. moments of peace are rare in the borderland. 

the sun has barely moved when kuina leaves the store herself, walking over to sit beside you. “thank you,” she whispers, slipping her feet into the shoes. you simply nod, letting her lean against you as the earth begins to wake.

physical touch

word count 231

kuina’s hands are gentle against your skin as she wraps another bandage around your bicep. she tugs it tightly against your arm so it’s tight enough to stop any more bleeding. she moves onto your other arm, holding out your arm so she can tend to your forearm. 

you wince as she presses an alcohol soaked towel against the wound to clean it. “ah,” you hiss at the immediate sting of pain. 

“sorry, i’m sorry,” she whispers. “i’m almost done, i promise.” she works quickly to wrap another bandage around the cut. “okay, we’re done now.” 

you sigh as she shoves the bandages back into her bag. you lean back against the wall of the convenience store you took shelter in. kuina stands up, looking through some of the shelves before grabbing a random bag of chips to share with you. 

you lean against her shoulder as kuina wraps her arm around your waist. you reach over to grab your jacket, laying it over your knees as a makeshift blanket. “do you really think we’ll be able to go home after this?” you whisper. 

kuina squeezes your hand, intertwining your fingers together. “even if we don’t,” she whispers. “i’ll find a way to get us out of here.” 

you press a kiss against her knuckles before snuggling a little closer to her. “i love you,” you whisper. 

“i love you too.”

[clanoffelidae]

In this essay I will-

I think 95% of the Master's issues and being like ✨that✨ boil down to untreated PTSD and generalized anxiety that just keep feeding off of each other and compounding in a positive feedback loop as time goes on.

They never had much control over their own life, first from Time Lord society just being like ✨that✨(which is more than enough to severely traumatize anyone who spends more than five minutes on Gallifrey tbh) and then on and on what with also being the son of nobility, Theta running away and shattering what little solid future they felt they could see, being resurrected by the Time Lords specifically to fight, the drums, whatever the hell happened after they went back through the Time Lock, just to name what I can think of off the top of my head. The Master has never really had control or security and is always desperately trying to grab hold of it, hence their name. (Because let's be honest, unless that individual is very kinky, the only person who's going to be naming themself 'the Master' is someone who is extremely insecure and is doing everything they can to try and get a sense of control and safety.)

They're deeply traumatized by this constant manipulation and lack of security, and the fact that it never ends nor do they ever get any help for it means that it keeps building off of itself and worsening that feeling of insecurity, leaving them a more and more anxious wreck as time goes on, always feeling like everything is spiraling out of control. The Master is also desperate to live, clinging to life however they have to; going through unfathomable lengths from possession, whatever was going on with Crispy, more possession, chameleon arches, and resurrection just to get one more breath. They want control of their own life and existence, and of course one of the largest parts of that is control of their literal life, ergo control of their death and successfully securing themself from it.

And all of this compiles into a person trying to lay claim to everything they can, trying to conquer all they see to secure the entirety of their surroundings, manipulate everyone to be under their command so that they know exactly what everyone is doing and thinking and there are no unknown variables, and most interestingly of all - push the Doctor into embracing their destructive potential.

Which, at a surface level glance, makes absolutely no sense. Why the hell would someone who is scared simply be virtue of being alive then actively try and push an individual whom they acknowledge as being far more fearsome and powerful than they into a rampage?

Because they feel that it's going to happen anyway, so if they cause it, then that means that they have a little control over it.

But why are they convinced that the Doctor is inevitably going to go on a destructive rampage across the universe?

Because the Master has spent all of their lives scared and spiraling out of control because of it, desperately lashing out at everything around them in an attempt to find security. They're scared, and they've always been scared; so they can't possibly imagine that the Doctor doesn't feel the same way.

Oh the Doctor says it, and they logically acknowledge that the Doctor has different experiences from them, but at a core level they can't really understand it. On a core level the Master can't imagine someone not being as scared as they are and so can't truly reconcile with the fact that the Doctor isn't.

Because if they've always been scared, and can't imagine that anyone else could not feel that way, then it follows suit that they're watching the Doctor like a ticking time bomb just waiting for them to blow, just waiting for the Doctor to start lashing out like they are, because they just can't imagine that that isn't going to happen.

They can't imagine that the Doctor might not need to destroy and lay claim and conquer just to feel some semblance of safety and security, so that means it's going to happen eventually some day, the Doctor is inevitably going to lose control in their eyes.

So if they're the one who pushes the Doctor into it then they get to keep some small fraction of control over the oncoming storm; they get to feel a little bit safer, no matter how paradoxical the feeling, because they were the one who pushed the Doctor to break, as they are convinced is inevitably going to happen, so they had control over it. They had control over this powerful and unknowable variable, so it makes them feel safer; even if the rampaging Doctor turns and kills them, they paradoxically feel safer for it because they had control over it.

So that's why the Master keeps desperately trying to break the Doctor, because they're scared of them, but by pushing their fears into becoming reality then they were the one who controlled when those fears came true; because they just can't imagine that maybe the Doctor won't ever snap, and that maybe their fears won't ever come true, and that maybe all they're running from is bad dreams.

So anyway, in conclusion I think a lot of things would be fixed if someone just gave the Master some space-Xanax and space-therapy; they'd still be a sadistic bastard who gets a kick out of toying with people like a cat with mice, but they'd be a lot better about it thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Can u make kiribaku x male reader fluff

(I’m so sorry I wrote this so late, college and Uni stuff has been kicking my ass 😢)

Genre: major angst, fluffy at the end I think?

Content: in which you and your boyfriends have some quality cuddle time after a bad mission

TW: child death, fire, bombs, explosions, near death experiences

The steady tick of the kitchen clock was a constant noise in the back of your mind. Its smooth tick proved to be a double-edged sword though; it’s meticulous rhythm face you something to focus on, but every second that passed made you grow more anxious.

Eijiro had sent you a text message earlier saying that they were on their way back from their patrol, but the lack of kisses and silly emojis at the end of the message proved to you that it was a bad shift. Even Katsuki, who is usually diligent in letting you know when he would grace you again, didn’t drop a text. It was incredibly out of character for the both of them, so you knew you would appreciate what you did.

Your almost Olympian sized bath tub was filled to the brim with warm, soapy water with Katsuki’s favourite bath salts and Eijiro’s favourite muscle soak. Fresh towels were on the radiator heating up, and their favourite pyjamas were folded neatly on your bed.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the door opening. Your two muscular boyfriends were almost silent, eyes downcast and smiles all gone. Instead of hugging them right away, you gave them a second to remove their hero gear and trudge after you to the kitchen.

Katsuki was utterly solemn, and you knew that look. It was the look of failure, the exact same look at the battle of All Might and All for One all those years ago.

With a tentative grip, you gently caressed Katsuki’s arm to see if he would shake you off. Upon a slight flinch but no other reaction, you slid your way down to his hand and squeezed softly. He didn’t look up at you, but the gritted teeth and wet cheeks told you everything he needed to know.

You closed the gap, your arms wrapped around him in a one-sided hug as he trembled and sobbed into your shoulders. No effort to comfort him was made; he hated it when you told him that it would all be okay. He needed some time, and you were more than welcome to give him that.

Eijiro crept his way over and joined you, resting his head against yours and Katsuki’s shoulders. He also trembled in both of your grips. All three of you stood like that, soft touches, feather like kisses, the smell of smoke and sadness poisoning the air.

Eijiro was the first to stop trembling. With a grimy arm, he wiped his tears away and turned his focus back to you.

“I-it was so.. so awful, babe! There was so much smoke, and children, and villains, and I-“ he let out another sob and nestled himself back into your grip.

You held him tightly to ground him, both of your boys dampening your shirt. Katsuki stilled before letting out a breath.

“It was an attack in Kyoto prefecture, right in the middle of a giant shopping centre. There were so many villains, everywhere you looked, the bastards were lurkin’. A massive fuckin’ bomb was let off, like one of my Howitzer impacts. Kids were separated from their families,” he choked out, still not looking at anyone.

“We tried to get the fuckers, but they vanished outta the fuckin’ air. So we decided to evacuate everyone that we could find. There was so much fuckin’ fire, it was so freakin’ difficult to breath. But damnit, there was -“ Katsuki’s voice cracked. Eijiro rubbed his shoulder soothingly as he took over the story.

“We found a family who was missing a child. They were the last people to be evacuated, so we went back in to find the kid…

The kid.. oh my fucking god, the blood,” Eijiro whimpered.

“He was buried under rubble, hardly breathing at all. He somehow saw us and even though he was fucking dying, his face lit up when he saw us. He managed to find the strength to tell us we were our favourite heroes,” Eijiro sobbed bitterly.

“The little fucker, he knew he was dying. He told us- oh fucking god. He told us that we shouldn’t beat ourselves up over his death. Even though he was so tired, that it was the biggest honour of his life to have been saved by us,” Eijiro was gasping for air from his tears. Katsuki looked up.

“It never gets easier. Having to hand over the corpses of civilians we.. that I failed. I just… I never anticipated the next one to be so small,” he whimpered.

The tears were flowing from your eyes at the news. You hugged your boys even tighter, and that’s how you stayed. Swaying in the kitchen as you clung to each other for comfort.

You were the first to break the group. With a gentle hand, you cupped a cheek from each of your boyfriends before grabbing both hands and leading them to the bathroom.

Although there were still a few hiccups, both of your boyfriends looked as happy as they could have been. You squeezed each hand and looked at them.

“I’ll go and make you both something to eat. Please, just relax and try to enjoy the bath. I know it’s been a hard day, so take it easy,” you pleaded.

“…okay. We’ll try,” Katsuki mumbled. Eijiro nodded. You smiled at them before taking off to the kitchen.

==================================

Katsuki was done first. He plodded down the stairs, his undercut looking freshly shaved. He smelled a load better, but the eye bags gave his mental state away. Still, you were pleased that he tried to freshen up a little.

Eijiro trotted down next, seemingly in a better mood. He gave a wan smile as he saw the plate of sandwiches on the table. Your boys never ate much after a bad mission like this, but you wanted them to eat something nutritious.

Katsuki and Eijiro each nibbled on a sandwich as they sat on the couch as you looked on with love. You were glad they tried eating, even if it was only to please you. After they were finished, you led them to the bedroom where the bed was freshly made. Both of your boyfriends crashed on the bed, seemingly not having the energy to crawl under the sheets. You tugged it from under them and rearranged them so they could both cuddle you comfortably.

It was so warm under the blanket that if it wasn’t for the awful mission they just had, they would have easily succumbed to sleep. However, they substituted sleep for burying their faces into the warmth’s of your neck. Soft trembles filled the room and shook the bed, as you stroked your hero’s’ hair and crooned softly until they fell dead asleep in your neck.

No matter how many times they would fall apart, you would be there to put them back together.

[eruden-writes]

Strictly Pleasure - Part 5 (Jek x Heidi)

orc x human age gap paranormal romance 5 of ?

Summary: An awkward fresh-out-of-a-relationship woman and an orc that owns a sex store enter an adult theater together. She, intent on pushing her own boundaries. He, just looking to give her some sense of safety. Well, that and he wouldn’t complain about having a bit of fun himself.

After they inevitably get interrupted, Jek deals with the problem while Heidi flees. Resigned, he believes he’ll never see her again.

Thus begins Jek and Heidi’s sporadic interactions until, eventually, they find themselves fumbling around each other daily at the very place it started: Strictly Pleasure.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

First | Previous | Masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Heidi couldn't believe this was happening. As if being intercepted in the kitchen by her manager - told that Malachai's babysitter had urgently called - wasn't jarring enough, Jek's date was causing A Problem. The chimerakin was not evoking any sympathy within Heidi, either. She recognized the sly look in their eyes, the delighted nastiness.

"Niana, that's a little much." Jek stood, reaching a hand out to his date as he aimed to de-escalate the situation. To his own ears, Heidi's voice had a resonance that sang of danger. "You don't even know what she's going through."

The manager at Heidi's side seemed to give a relieved smile to Jek, but it was short-lived. Niana half-turned to Jek, frowning in an almost petulant way at him as she waved her hand. "Oh, don't give me that! As a businessman, I'm sure you know the customer takes precedence to whatever trifling thing is happening in an employee's life."

By this point, the surrounding tables were becoming aware of the scene. The bubble of quiet conversation around them dwindled, filling the air around them with dead silence. Feeling other people's eyes on him, Jek's skin crawled with apprehension. He couldn't stop his derisive snort or the roll of his eyes as he replied, "Sweetheart, I run a sex shop."

Even though Jek's tone was laden with sarcasm, something about him calling his companion 'sweetheart' knifed through Heidi. It didn't help the cold fury icing her guts. Before she knew it, she raised a hand to Jek, waving him away while keeping her attention on the chimerakin. "No, no, time is valuable. I'll be right back."

Jek's attention jumped to Heidi, watching her sharply turn away. Again, his skin prickled, but this time it wasn't apprehension. It was preparation. Something was going to happen. He just knew it.

"See?" The oblivious Niana smiled broadly, flashing sharp teeth in Jek's direction, before she too retreated back to the table. Daintily, she sat down, taking a proud sip of her wine.

"Right." Jek couldn't keep the skepticism from his tone as he made his way back to his seat. All the while, he kept the manager and Heidi in his line of sight.

The manager's expression did not ease his own concerns. They appeared stricken and, even from the distance, Jek thought he could hear them hushedly trying to talk Heidi out of doing anything rash as they disappeared back into the kitchen. That feeling of danger hadn't abated in his bones, either.

Niana's continued chatter didn't help his heightened senses as others around them returned to their own conversations. She primped at her hair, smugly purring, "It's just a matter of knowing how to talk to people."

Jek was about to argue when the kitchen doors slammed open. His attention - along with the focus of others - snapped to the thrown open doors. Heidi stood there, smiling her own vicious smile as the kitchen doors swung shut on her anxious manager.

She marched to their table, carefully holding a rather delectable looking pie. In Jek's mind, he couldn't help but hear an imaginary ticking of a time bomb with every one of her steps.

"This pie is on me, out of my own paycheck. To thank you." Heidi's eyes narrowed as her smile took on a sharpness Niana should have been wary of. Even Jek noticed how her voice filled with intent that Niana seemingly did not pick up on. Patrons at other tables apparently caught on as well, since Jek could once more feel eyes on them.

The show wasn't over yet.

"Oh! What a sweet gesture," Niana twittered, waving a fluttering hand in a flattered manner. Jek's eyes slid from Heidi to his date, he couldn't believe she was missing all of the warning signs, the tension in the air around their waitress. He couldn't help leaning forward curiously, elbows braced on the table and one hand cradling in chin, fingers obscuring the amused quirk to his lips.

Perhaps Niana's ignorance was thanks to her gaze turning away from Heidi as she reached over to pat his arm. She cast a half-lidded look up at Jek, flirtatiously fluttering her eyelashes as her voice dipped huskily, "You know, Gujek, darling, this is famed cream pie that succubus say-"

Heidi had enough. Something was wrong at home with her son and this chimerakin was wasting her time while trying to put the moves on their own date. Fuck them.

Before the customer could finish their sentence, Heidi shoved the full pie into their face, giving a twist for good measure on contact. While the whole restaurant had been filled with quiet conversation before, it was now dead silent. Not a quiet that faded into existence, but one that slammed hard into existence. More eyes bounced to Heidi, to Jek and his date. A few amused smiles were hidden behind napkins or hands.

The cream plopped noisily off the chimerakin's face, landing messily into their lap. It was the only interruption to the silence.

Heidi leaned close, ignoring how the slow bleed of outrage contorted the patron's face. Somewhere, deep inside Heidi, she knew she should feel bad, be afraid. The concern could not slice through the exhaustion of working two jobs and stressing about her sick child back at home. Despite herself, her cheeks colored under anger and the attention of the whole restaurant.

Keeping her voice low, her gaze locked on those wide golden eyes, Heidi smiled through her words, "Thank you for helping me realize that my time is valuable. I'd rather spend it at my puking kid's bedside than waiting on your entitled ass."

Across the table, Jek hadn't moved. He stared at the two women, trying to fight down a cackle at the scene. Heidi, wearing a pleasant smile so viciously, eyes burning with rage, swathed in a dangerous aura that made her movement precise. Niana, covered in pie, golden eyes bugging and a snarl on her lips that made her sharp teeth flash in the light. It brought an old thrill through his body. He had to fight down the urge to flip the table as it meandered through his thoughts.

As Heidi straightened from her bent posture, she turned to Jek. She was still running on angry autopilot, her face a that polite mask. But she noticed the amusement in his eyes, the hidden smile on his lips. Her lips curled into a smile as something in her softened, her voice sweet as the pie currently dripping from his date's face, "Someone else will be serving you for the rest of the evening. Enjoy."

Then she turned sharply, heading straight for the back. Utter silence followed in her wake, the whole restaurant stunned. Things like that didn't happen here, Jek imagined. This wasn't some low-brow diner or - gasp - a fast food eatery. This was a five-star experience with refined, civilized people. Those sorts always had greater potential to be the worst, in his experience.

He thought Niana would prove him wrong, but she was no different. The challenge of her made him ignore the warning signs.

Wide-eyed with rage, Niana's gaze followed Heidi back until it swung toward Jek. With hands raised, fingers crooked like claws, she shrieked, "Do something about this!"

"Yeah, gotcha." Shoving away from the table and getting to his feet, Jek glanced at the waitstaff that had accumulated with the scene. They were all wide eyed, uncertain of what to do with Niana, the mess, and the now fleeing Heidi. Even the manager seemed speechless.

When he waved vaguely at them, a water nymph with a ponytail clambered closer. "Get me my food in a doggie bag and the check. Separate checks, please.

The nymph nodded, biting their bottom lip to keep from laughing, before heading to the register.

Incredulity colored Niana's voice as she cried from behind Jek, "What are you doing?!"

"The most bodacious thing tonight was that waitress justifiably pieing you in the face. Can't top that." Jek turned back to his failed date, shrugging his shoulders as if she hadn't been thoroughly mortified.

"What are you saying?" The curl of Niana's lip twitched as her pupils turned to slit. If she wasn't already covered in pie, she might look a little scary.

"I'm saying, you were out of pocket for what you said to her. You think your dining experience mattered more than her kid being sick." Jek leaned over Niana, who had remained seated. She tensed as he swiped a finger along her cheek, gathering up a good helping of cream on his digit. It was the only real physical touch they had genuinely had. "Honestly, I hit people for less than that. Be glad her retribution was sweet."

He popped his finger in his mouth, making a satisfied hum as he tasted the meringue. Spicy and sweet and tangy. What a pity the pie was covering a rancid woman. He might have actually liked licking it off a certain someone, slowly and languorously. Quickly, Jek pushed the thought away before it became more apparent.

"You asshole!" Niana's decibel climbed higher, making the water on the table ripple.

While other patrons winced at the scream, Jek just snorted. He'd heard worse, honestly. "Yeah, well, don't treat the waitstaff like shit."

"What do you care!?" She continued, half-standing before she realized it made pie plop from her dress in an undignified way. Almost at once, Niana returned to her seat, fuming as Jek turned away toward the assembled waitstaff.

"Hey, can one of you tell your colleague that I'll pay for that pie, too." He nodded to Niana as she scrubbed her dessert from her dress. A nameless waiter glanced at the chimerakin, lips pressed together tight to keep from grinning before they nodded.

By the time the nymph and other waiter returned, with both the receipt and packaged food, Niana had managed to ensnare the hapless manager into aiding with cleaning her dress. Jek ignored the howlings of rage and blubbering apologies as he took the ticket holder. Everything seemed to be there. His drink, the meal, the pie. He inclined his head to the nymph. "Tips go to the waitress, right?"

"Yes, xir." They nodded, their gaze flickering away from the scene of Niana and their manager.

"Cool, thanks." Jek nodded, finishing signing the receipt before retrieving a $100 bill from his wallet. As he handed the folded receipt and money over, he leaned closer to the nymph, peering over his glasses. He caught the waiter's name and pronouns before he let his voice drop low, "Make sure Miss Heidi gets all that tip for me, will ya, Miss Periphoia?"

"Yes, xir." The nymph nodded once more, like a bobblehead with eyes wide and a flush staining her cheeks.

A smile curled at Jek's lips as he relieved the waitress of his bag of food, turning to leave.

Once out in the parking lot, waiting for the valet to retrieve his vehicle, Jek caught sight of Heidi in her car. Expectedly, she was already too far for him to get her attention. Sitting at the exit of the parking lot, waiting to turn out into the street. Even from the distance, he thought he could see her face twisted from residual anger and stress.

As her car turned onto the street, he sighed to himself. There wasn't anything he could do. It wasn't like she invited him into her life at all. The best he could hope was that the generous tip he left actually got to her.

Well, maybe she'd return to Strictly Pleasure. To thank him for the tip, even if that's not why he left it.

With a snort, he shook his head at the very thought just as the valet pulled up with his car. If she did walk into his store after all that, she probably would've seen his little good deed as something with strings attached. That was the last thing he wanted.

No, he thought as he gave the valet their own gratuity and got into his car, he'd rather her never return than return assuming she owed him anything. It wasn't like he did much, anyway.

x x x

Jek could not say the next twenty-four hours were necessarily pleasant. His phone blew up with texts and calls from Niana, running the whole gamut of grief from anger to bargaining. She never reached acceptance. He had only spoken a little to her, to reassert he was no longer interested, before blocking her number and what few social media handles she had shared with him. Not that it seemed to sway the chimerkin from using other numbers, email addresses, or handles.

A little voice in him sighed in relief. She had been a problem thankfully sidestepped.

Now that his phone had finally quieted down, though, his shift at Strictly Pleasure beckoned. As he trudged through the door of his shop, carrying a tupperware filled with the generous meal Coriander Tiger had prepared for him, he jolted as Gnadi crooned loudly, "Hey boss, how'd the date go last night?"

"Poorly." Nudging his glasses up, Jek pinched the bridge of his nose. After all the rigamarole with Niana, he hadn't even prepared for Gnadi's onslaught of teasing and taunting. It was going to be a long night.

A stricken expression flashed over Gnadi's features as Jek made his way to the back to store his lunch. The faun followed after him, ears drooping in woe. "Shit, I'm sorry."

The overblown disappointment was just as bad as the ribbing, Jek thought. It made his skin itch uncomfortably. He didn't want pity. Besides, it wasn't as if he was sad. He was very, very relieved to not have to speak to Niana again. After her actions last night, he wasn't sure anything would salvage her picture in his head.

As he entered the breakroom and opened the door of the fridge, shoving the tupperware in, Jek added with a flippant tone, "Niana was awful to the waitstaff to the point a waitress pied her in the face."

"Wait, for real?" Gnadi's bummed expression melted into one of delirious glee.

Their excitement was far better than the gloom. Relieved at the change in atmosphere, Jek hummed an affirmative as he closed the fridge door. Letting a crooked grin tilting around his tusks, he decided to push Gnadi's buzz further. "It was Heidi."

The reveal didn't have the result Jek expected as confusion pulled over the faun's features. "Who?"

Shit, Jek forgot that Gnadi probably didn't remember her. They had barely interacted and it wasn't like she had her mouth on their private bits. At the same time, the realization sent a flash of embarrassment through him. He didn't want to focus on the reason why he remembered Heidi, while Gnadi had not. "Our waitress was Heidi - that nervous woman who wanted to go into the theater awhile back - and she pied Niana in the face."

Gnadi's eyes grew wide, a smile splitting across their lips. Their ears pricked up, twitching with delight. "For fucking real?"

"Yeah. It was actually pretty stellar," laughed Jek as he made his way back to the front. Early evening was always rather slow, thankfully. Customers didn't usually come streaming in until twilight or night. Something about entering an adult sex store seemed something to save for evening hours.

Like a dog, Gnadi followed at Jek's heels. "Did you get her number or anything?"

"No, she took off after the pie incident." More than once over the last day, Jek wondered if Heidi had returned to the restaurant. Did she ask what happened after she left? Would she get the tip he left for her? She knew where to go if she wanted to thank him.

Remembering that she left to tend to a sick child sent a flash of guilt through Jek. He shouldn't be hoping she'd come to his store, even if the thought pleased something inside him.

As if reading Jek's internal conflict, Gnadi chuckled, "Well, maybe you're fated to meet again."

Jek threw his head back with a loud laugh, trying to shake the stubborn hope in his chest. "Hah, doubt that! It was just a coincidence."

Gnadi remained quiet, watching Jek with an expression the orc found grating. A mix of knowing and amusement and skepticism. The faun hummed noncommittally and shrugged their shoulders, before easing into their own chair behind the counter.

Once more, Jek rolled his eyes as he too settled into his chair. Oh, to be young and full of romantic daydreams. Jek had learned long ago to not linger on such fancies. It often led to disappointment and dashed hop-

With a jangle of bells, Strictly Pleasure's front door opened. Jek straightened on his chair, a warm sensation flashing up his back. Immediate pictures of a particular woman danced in his head. Eagerness swelled a little in his chest before the group of regulars registered in his head.

When it dawned on him what he was doing, Jek cursed to himself and eased his straight spine into a slouch. Without looking at Gnadi, simply feeling the radiating smirk from the faun, Jek grumbled, "Shut up."

"Wasn't going to say a word," cooed the faun, amusement coloring their voice as they stood straighter and greeted their patrons.

While Gnadi handled the customer service, Jek tried to focus his attention on ordering new product for the shelves. Anything to keep him from jolting every time the door opened. He just hoped that this time it wouldn't take weeks for Heidi's presence to dissipate from his thoughts.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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