#but even further than it seems that he made identity around not having one

[thankstothe]

james, what are we accomplishing here?

[chuluoyi]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

- sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought—

To hell with it.

You chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

“…!” Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin—

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all.

“Mmnh—!” Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste. “…a-ah!”

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but groan.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus seemed to notice it too, but he folded your knees, spreading you further. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Eyes on me, kitten.” He gave you a smile, and with that, he started pounding you—

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he thrusted into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

A pretty mess, his wife is. Your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain as he bred you, and he swore, of everything he had gone through, this look in your face was always worth it.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You cried, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see. Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

“You sly crow…” You gazed at his profile, still in awe that this elusive man was your husband.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Year. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

[bunny-jpeg]

a fast wi-fi connection

lando norris

tags: smut/pwp, masturbation, camgirl!reader, dirty talking & teasing, fantasies, lando is down bad

lando norris could honestly have any woman he wanted. his good looks, his winning streak, his money, it was all alluring to almost any woman on the planet! but money could buy a hell of a lot of things, he was spending his prize money on one of the hottest women he had ever laid eyes on.

so while he should be out clubbing on a warm night in july, instead he was in his hotel room, hunched over his laptop with his cock in his hand. he had a newly purchased bottle of lube and a white hotel towel for after.

he leaned against the headboard as your stream started, his cock twitched in anticipation.god, you were perfect. it should illegal for someone to be that perfect.

the stream started and lando could already feel his wallet a little lighter.

you got down on the futon on the floor with the camera aimed at you. you smiled. you wore a small mask to conceal most of your identity, but lando had every inch of you mapped out in his mind. you were perfect, beyond perfect.

"good evening my little rabbits, i hope everyone has been having a good week." you said almost casually as if you weren't kneeling dressed in skimpy lingerie, "this came in the mail the other day from a fan, so i want to thank luckynumber4 for sending this to me!"

lando smiled to himself. he knew he picked well,

you leaned in a little closer to the camera and said, "i have to let you in on a secret." you said cheekily, "the number four is my lucky number too. and since it is the fourth today, let's test our luck." then shuffled over to grab the toy you took out earlier.

it felt odd talking to no one, but you tried to not to think about it too hard as you showed the camera the black rabbit vibrator. you giggled, "seems only fair that my rabbits get to see me play with a rabbit."

lando shuddered at the sight of it. he bought and sent that to you as well. he wanted to make sure that you only had the best. he knew that you did private shows, but that usually involved the buyer showing their face. and well it was obvious why lando was a little nervous to do that.

the near legendary lando norris didn't have to buy cam-shows, except he was getting the lube on his hand to lean back against the headboard and enjoy himself tonight.

you shifted yourself so more of your pussy was exposed to the camera, the panties hit perfectly across your thick thighs and he could make out a small wet mark on the crotch of the panties. he licked his lips, he wondered what you tasted like.

sometimes he wondered what you did during the day, you looked about his age. should be in school, not turning on gross old men on the internet. but yet, lando still grasped his slick cock as you teased your pussy over the panties with the vibrator.

you said almost breathless, "i guess i owe you a lot luckynumber4. the lingerie, this toy." you giggled, "you're going to make the other viewers jealous." you swallowed as you rubbed the toy up against your achy sex, "but don't worry my other rabbits, there's more than enough of me to go around."

then when the panties came off, tossed over your head in an almost comical fashion, the donations started to come in. you learned a while ago how to turn off the 'ping' that came when you received a donation. it made it hard to touch yourself with the constant noise.

"i hope this was all worth it." you said with a soft exhale as you positioned yourself to expose your pussy then rub the toy up against your wet clit, "i thought about it all week. how i wanted to make it special." your voice was sweet to lando's ears as he continued to pleasure himself.

he shifted his spot on the bed and eyed you closely. he could imagine his face between those plush tits or having his cock inside of your pussy. he bet it would feel like heaven, it only excited him further. even though there weren't many photos of you nor did he know your actual name. he didn't care, he loved jerking off to you. it excited him to see you command a stream so well. he wish he had that kind of presence in his (safe for work) twitch streams!

you slipped the toy inside of you and leaned back a little onto a stack of pillows. your breathing was a little heavier as the toy also rubbed against your clit, "that's it. fuck, that's it. mmm, it's been so lonely in my apartment. been by myself." you shuddered, "wishing you were here." you tilted your head back for a moment, "i know you're not a vibrator, but i bet you could make my toes curl."

you didn't have to look at the stream to know that the money was coming in. you liked the pay-out, but you also loved being the center of attention. all these eyes on you as your masturbated. maybe it was a secret kink, but you didn't care.

they got off to you, you got off to yourself and the money came rolling in. you tried not to think about what the men looked like behind the screen as you touched yourself. you imagined meeting a nice guy your age, the kind that knew his away around a woman's anatomy. someone to make you cum besides your own fingers or toys.

maybe you craved a man's touch for once, but tonight you'd just have to do with your buzzing little rabbit. you moved the vibrator in and out of you. you moaned a little louder as you felt your breathing increase. you felt the heat in your body as you pleasured yourself. it was quite the feeling and it left you feeling sexually excited.

lando's grasp tightened on his cock as he quickly masturbated. he could feel the rush to his head as he toyed with his dick. he wished he was fucking you at that moment on stream. let everyone see how well you took him. you took the toys he gifted you like a champ, you'd handle him just fine. his cock was leaky with pre-cum and he could taste the pleasure on his tongue. he loved the feeling, he felt sexually charged like a live wire. he leaned a little forward as he stroked his cock faster. the feeling was intense, it was like sparks in his brain.

you felt similiar, you toyed with your pussy. your eyes closed a little bit at the feeling of pleasure raced through you. you tensed up for a moment and tried to stave off the feeling of climax. everything felt fairly intense in your core as the toy hit all the right places. you pushed it in and out of you as the other part rubbed against your stiff clit.

the rabbit vibrators were the champion of toys, the stimulation left you feeling heated. you knew you weren't going to last much longer. the pleasure could be felt throughout your entire body, it left you feeling excited all over. you shakily exhaled and felt the leap of excitement through you.

"fuck, i wish you were here. this toy is great, but you'd be better. so much better." you toyed with your nipple with your free hand. you had to put on a good show to the paying customers. you rolled your hips a little and you peeked a glance at your total for the evening and couldn't help but smile.

you got a little louder as you neared orgasm. you felt the flutter of want in your chest. it was exciting to climax in front of an audience. you panted a little heavier for dramatic effect. your toes curled as you said, "thank you, i hope next time you make me feel this good." you looked at the camera with a bit of seduction to your lovely fans, "i'd love to cum for you."

and you saw the flurry of messages in the chat as you reached your climax with a sweet, sharp noise. your cunt tensed around the toy as you slowed your movements and let the pleasure wash over you. you continued to slowly work the toy in your pussy, feeling the after shivers from the vibrations.

you continued to talk, "fuck, that feels good. i wish it was you. you know exactly how to make me squirm. i bet your mouth would feel good on my hot skin right now." your voice was near a purr and you knew that riled them up.

you played with yourself lazily while you felt the excitement of pleasure cool in your blood. you licked your lips and said, "you'd like that, huh? to have me bounce on your cock like an eager bunny? maybe if you play your cards right." give them the illusion of having you, that right now they were the center of the world.

it makes them more willing to empty their wallets

lando was quickly touching himself. he drank in the sight of your blissed out state. he dropped more then a couple hundred euros into your change purse tonight and he knew that he had to send you another gift. he wished he was there, fucking you on that stupid futon. or better yet, spreading you out on a nice hotel bed and fucking you until you sounded as sweet as you did at that moment. he wondered how many rounds you could go before you had enough.

he wanted to be better than any of the toys you had or could ever have. he wanted you, he needed you. and with a few more hard tugs of his cock, he finished all over his mclaren t-shirt and relaxed against the headboard with a heavy exhale.

"holy shit." he said to himself as he pushed curls out of his face with his free hand. he admired you as his cum stained the shirt. he panted heavily.

if anyone knew about this lando would appear desperate. but as you swapped out the rabbit vibrator for another, big toy, he felt his softened cock get hard again.

he might appear desperate but as your moans came through the speakers, he couldn't help himself.

-

it was the following weekend on the track and lando was taking it rather easy all things considered, he killed it qualifiers and it appeared that this was his weekend. he was currently waiting outside so he could walk in with oscar.

"want you to meet her this weekend, she's a real catch!"

lando smiled to himself when he saw the car pull up, he went to approach it and then his smile dropped when the passenger door opened. he expected another lovely on oscar's arm. but instead he came face to face with you.

and while lando didn't tend to pry too hard into oscar's love life. but he recognized those eyes. usually they were behind the bunny mask. but he knew. and you had zero idea that he knew. he tried to hold his smile as oscar came from the other side of the car.

"lando!" he introduced you by name, "this is my new girlfriend!"

lando's hand shook when he reached out to shook yours. he couldn't believe his fucking eyes, this felt like a sick joke. but this was actually happening.

you smile at him and shook his hand lightly, "it's lovely to meet you." your voice sounded like heaven in person, "i've heard so much about you! wanna know something funny, the number four is actually my lucky number." <3

[ruoshik0]

DP x DC: The al Ghul twins but with a twist!

Danyal al Ghul was- is a phenomenal actor. Always have been.

He was one of the best in the league for infiltration and espionage. None can deny that.

Along with his twin, Damian- whose skill sets are the complete opposite, they made for a terrifying pair of twins.

Ra's al Ghul saw that. He would have been a fool not to. The heir and his spare were talented in a completely different way.

So much so that Ra's decided to team them up. In the spotlight, Damian- the heir- would fight with raw strength and brutal power whilst Danyal- the spare- would strike from the shadows with amazing efficiency.

However, as much as they are better together, the twins must learn to be independent. To better themselves by being alone.

Relying on another encourages codependency after all.

And Ra's did not want such a pathetic thing to be a bigger problem than it is now.

So, he sent the spare to learn more about the Lazarus waters. A long term mission of infiltration and espionage. And while the League did not do such missions, he needed to learn more about the waters and it's properties to make better use of it. And simply forcing the two scientists to spill everything may result in a less than favorable outcome. Learning from the inside is better, really.

And whilst Danyal was away, he would further along Damian's training.

It was a good plan. Two birds with one stone.

And when Danyal arrived at his destination, he was a little worse for wear. Torn and dirty clothes, messy hair and acted beyond his years. He was in the alley right next to the Fentons' house when they first found him. They decided letting him spend a few days in their home to get ahold of a normal life before sending Danyal to the CPS was a good idea.

They quickly got attached to the cute and soft child beneath the always suspicious and hesitant orphan.

The Fentons immediately adopted him after deciding he would stay.

His name is now Daniel James Fenton.

Daniel was an average kid who acted like how you would expect an orphan who had lived on the streets for a long time.

His academic performance is above average in comparison to the other kids.

Even without the Fenton blood running through his veins, Daniel fit right in with the weird family.

As stated before, Danyal al Ghul is a phenomenal actor.

When he first arrived, he engineered a situation in which the scientists had no other choice than to take him in for a time.

When he was successful, he didn't stop to celebrate. Danyal immediately started working on making them warm up to him. Little gestures such as a hesitant hug and following them around like a little duckling worked like charms. Little giggles here and a little harmless prank there worked too.

Those psychology books and being near civilians more often helped him with these things. As well as the specialized training from the League.

When the child named Jasmine had fallen in his trap, it was easy to get the parents in too.

After getting adopted, although not before getting him a legal identity, he immediately started working who exactly he wanted Daniel to be and how people saw him.

A scared little child who jumps at any loud noises and a big interest in space and stars. Mostly because Danyal himself was a big space nerd and it's hard to fake enough interest to seem real.

Then he had gotten himself friends. A quaint life in a quaint town meant having less than 5 friends.

Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley were both viewed as weird and should be avoided. The new kid in town has befriended both and thus should be avoided by association.

He did not want to deal with even more obnoxious kids.

Danyal had lived a fake life with a fake personality. He trained whenever he can, and helped in the lab other times.

Weekly written reports to the League.

And learn as much as he can.

That was then. Now, Danny was no longer as alive as he was. And while it's a nuisance, his ghostly powers brought a lot of advantage.

When he first became Phantom, he fought ghosts. Acted like the wimpy yet still brave Danny in front of his friends.

Every few days, he would complain about the vigilante life and every other day he would use make up to worsen his appearance. A little darker dark circles and messier nest of a hair.

And while Danyal got the hang of his new abilities in a few days, Danny took a few weeks.

He purposefully dropped his grades because Danny couldn't find the time to study and Danyal knew Sam and Tuck would get suspicious if his grades remained the same.

Weeks and weeks after, learning more about the Lazarus waters, ghosts, and it's properties at a faster rate than ever before, Danyal decided that his little engineering and sciencing hustle should end. And by that, he means he should end the mission. So he started working on the last phase of his plans.

(He got too attached. Oh Ancients, he got too attached. He wanted to stay there and actually live like a normal person. He wanted to but- but... what about his brother...? He had to leave. Leaving means more suffering for them. His... friends and family.

He is so gonna miss the cat and mouse chase with the Fentons. He is gonna miss everyone. He hopes everyone forgets him so that he can leave feeling a little better)

First step, making those who are in the know about Phantom, warm up to the idea of him leaving vigilantism behind.

Every few weeks, he would joke about quitting as Phantom. That turned into months and Danny started looking even worse than when he first became Phantom. Danny wouldn't have a future if he didn't study more. But he couldn't because of vigilantism. And the stress caught up to him.

16 year old Daniel James Fenton decided he should stop when he was finally convinced by his two friends and two sisters.

(He hated how much he engineered these situations)

And while Danyal knew Danny didn't have a future, Danny himself didn't and thus acted like it.

It was hard trying so hard to rebut his circle of people when he just wanted agree right then there. It all ended in a messy and teary situation Danyal would have liked to avoid altogether.

(His tears were real. He didn't want to admit that he was crying. Mourning his loss before it happened)

The things he does to stay character.

Phantom quit after loudly announcing he was moving to another place to haunt.

And Danny's grades slowly went up to what it used to be before the ghost nonsense. He was finally relaxing again.

He was anxious. Anxious to the point of tensing. His League training thrown put the window)

Few months after, Daniel James Fenton went missing with little to no clues as to why.

Everyone mourned him. His ghostly core was happy when he had caught a glimpse of his grave while he was... visiting, for a lack of a better word.

(Finally, he was being mourned. Because he did die. Death touched him and he didn't even have a grave before this)

Now Danyal al Ghul returned from his long term mission. He could finally be himself again.

(Somewhere along the way Danny had become Danyal's real personality)

The League of Assassins was exactly as he had first left it. There were a few very glaring issues though.

First, Damian isn't here. He had left. Left Danyal alone. It took quite the willpower to not go out and track wherever Damian had gone to.

Second, Ra's al Ghul wasn't here. Grandfather had died and his body was nowhere to be found.

Third, Mother was leading. While it is not that much of an issue, Danyal is to be the heir and shall by crowned the leader in a few weeks time. Which is a big issue. Mostly because he was supposed to be in the shadows. Danyal decided that he did not want to be in the limelight like his brother.

Plus, he was already the Eventual King of another dimension. A rather infinite one might he add.

Ugh, more responsibilities.

He decided that he would greet his brother on their seventeenth birthday. A little terrorizing never hurts anybody.

Till then, he'd have to train his ass off.

(He’d do just about anything stop himself from thinking about Amity Park and its residents)

Sigh...

[blondejellykitty]

₊ ♡ ˚⊹ I'll be there on their side ₊ ♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ multi demigod x goddess reader ୨୧ the goddess of heroes and the protector of demigods was thought to be a mere myth and that was how she preferred it to be, until the time came when she could no longer stay away. a/n: (1.8k words) my first fic posted !! the title is from 'i bet on losing dogs' by mitski. the ending isn't exactly how i wanted but that's okay :)

Mortal children are told myths just the same as demigods. Usually mortal parents will tell them said stories to help themselves parent them like Jack Frost, to remember to put your jacket on or Santa Claus who won't show unless you behave well.

Parents of demigods however tell them for the child's benefit. Many legends aren't told but are taught at camp, once again to protect the demigods. Very few stories are able to be told without alerting any unwanted attention.

The entirety of the fall of Kronos from Zeus' beginning to his victory and the story of his earliest children. All revolving around Zeus in his prime, probably to keep himself ego inflated and unfaded.

Nevertheless this is another story that circulates the young ears of all demigods. The legend of the protector of demigods. Much is lost to time of the story but not even time himself can rip the hope that the lost goddess can give to the young heroes.

Very few things shocked the Olympians anymore, not in this century anyway. Of course Kronos and Gaea rising was one thing and Percy Jackson himself was another but the whispers from their children that after two titan wars sightings of their lost protector was becoming more frequent seemed to truly shock them.

After a few millennia of no contact from the goddess more than a few gods had assumed she simply faded quietly but now it seemed that wasn't the case at all.

It started as a mistaken identity.

With the son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson had thought she was nothing more than a helpful nymph.

Although the poison from the pit scorpion that Luke Castellan gave him was more than enough of a reason for Percy to not fully take in the figure in front of him.

He could faintly make out the outline of her dress but even that went blurry as quickly as he could blink. After struggling to get to the river in the middle of the deserted forest, he called for help, anyone's help.

So she answered.

In a daze of pain he recalls the feeling of being carried much like his mother used to do when he’d trip and hurt himself. He would have felt embarrassed but with a fading pulse he just mumbled best he could thanks to the tender nymph before his vision was lost to darkness.

After he’d recovered, Chiron told him if he'd been found any later he'd have been dead.

Thirty seconds, he thought.

After he had told everyone, everyone meaning Annabeth about Luke, he went back out to said woods to find the nymph who had helped him.

All he found was a few river spirits nearby who told him that no nymph went that close to the border that day. He’d made the river spirits promise to let him know if the mysterious nymph came back, she never did.

But nonetheless Percy remembered, and held thanks to the helpful nymph.

Mistaken identity shifted to a hallucination.

The son of Hermes, Travis Stoll had sworn himself to secrecy under the impression he'd have imagined the whole encounter.

An embarrassing thought he often let himself drift back to on more than one occasion. It had started when he and Connor had been setting up traps in the woods for the next capture the flag game.

They'd been out there all afternoon, they decided to turn back for curfew, best to not tempt the harpies when he'd tripped on a lodged rock in the ground and managed to roll down and crash into a further down tree.

A thick root from the tree he'd fallen against impaled his side making his shirt and the dirt around him to turn a dark red colour. The sight of the root appearing out his side Connor ran towards camp faster than he'd ever seen him run during their pranks yelling for healers and for Chiron.

When he'd think back on it he wasn't sure if it was the quiet of the forest or the numbness of his body but dark spots began to invade his vision and he couldn't help but embrace them without caution.

Until the most beautiful woman came out from behind a nearby tree, rushing towards him in a fuzzy blur. Her elegant hair falling past her face almost making a blanket of warmth and safety around the two of them.

She was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Better than the full moon, the sunrise and sunset. Better than the ocean or a flower. He could hear her softly speaking to him but he couldn't make out the words.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring in awe at the woman. Travis was sure he'd be red with embarrassment if all his 'red' wasn't currently bleeding out of him.

He looked over towards where he heard his brother's frantic voice getting closer to him. The sight of him and a few cabin 7 campers not far behind him did well to ease his own worry. He looked back for the woman but she was gone.

He doubted if he'd seen the woman but shook it off as nothing more than pain induced illusion.

Then from a hallucination to a mortal.

The son of Hades, Nico di Angelo should've known better than to assume that anyone who approached him was 100% mortal.

After spending more time in the demigod world he realized that mortals don't ever come over to talk to demigods, or maybe that was just his problem.

Nevertheless even mortals can see some kind of underworld aura around him even if they don't understand what they're seeing.

Which makes it all the more irritating that his younger self didn't realize the woman who helped him was probably not entirely mortal. He could still remember it so clearly, she was after all one of the few at that time that had been kind to him.

He had spent the night searching for an entrance to the underworld, his father had told him in a dream a few nights prior that it was in the area. He also mentioned that it was supposed to be easier to find for children of his.

Well that turned out to be crap.

Nico had spent all day and now late into the night walking around New york city trying to find a specific street corner. He was tired and hungry but most of all angry.

He called off his search once his eyes started to sting. Finding a bus stop bench to rest at. He pulled his knees to rest his head against. Tears stung his eyes more than his fatigue when a smell of food wafted near him.

Lifting his head he saw a woman, dressed in a cozy cardigan, the beige kind a mother would wear. She was carrying a bag, he could faintly make out the logo of the logo of a restaurant he remembered passing on the contains inside.

She never spoke but her eyes almost made him cry, a look of care and worry. one he'd imagined his own mother having from the stories Bianca would tell him.

She leaned over and rested the beg softly on the bench next to him, he could feel the heat from it warming her leg. He asked her who she was and why she'd given him her food but all she did was smile and ruffle his hair like Bianca used to do.

He could feel his tears roll down his neck as he watched her keep walking down the street until she eventually walked out of vision. He was just glad someone was kind to him.

Even if it was just a friendly mortal.

Then from a mortal to a mother.

The son of Hermes, Chris Rodriguez couldn't believe he could see his mother in the middle of the haunted Labyrinth.

It had been Luke who ordered him to go into the traumatizing maze and he'd done it willingly, so eager to help his older brother for the cause of getting revenge, justice, to be noticed.

But as most things in Chris's life it had gone horribly wrong. He couldn't even remember most of the horror he'd seen in there, the human brain forcing him to forget just so that he can move on from it all.

But one of the few things that stuck with him was the memory of his mother. Now, he knew it was completely impossible his mother, who'd died just helping him to get to camp, was in the labyrinth with him but his vivid recollection of those moments left little doubt.

He remembers leaning against one of the ever shifting walls, ready to give up on getting out for good.

When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he recalls not even flinching from it because of the calming ease it put him in, he could feel himself slurring his word and frantically almost magically speaking but it wouldn't reach his ears.

He had a light aura around her, and a gentle smile as she carefully lead the way through the twists and turns of the darken maze.

He relives the memory as best he can, he could still hear the faint whispers from her mouth, promising she wouldn't let him go and that it would be alright soon.

In hindsight that was something his mother would never do, his mother cared for him not was anything but emotional.

Part of him likes to think that Thanatos had lost her soul for a moment and she'd come to help when he most needed her.

He was just glad that someone had helped him because he hated the thought of what had happened to him if they hadn't.

Finally from a mother to a mourner.

The son of Jupiter, Jason Grace was the lost goddess' last straw.

Too many had already lost their lives in wars fought in seemingly vain. No matter how she felt for them nor how she longed to help them, rules were rules as the King of Olympus loved to remind everyone.

But when the fate meddled day approached and her sweet kind hero had perished, some rules were to be broken in order to do some good.

The day Jason Grace died was a day every demigod remembers, they felt the sadness draped over both camps and everyone in them.

Even demigods who had never even met the fallen hero were mourning him with such intensity.

The lost goddess knew it was because of her her grief was spilling into their own lives, her sadness swallowing them up with it.

Part of her wanted to stop, knowing it was affecting the little heroes but another darker part wanted it to spur them into action, she wanted it to make them want change.

But look how that had turned out the first time. As much as she wanted to change she settled for a medium, she’d change and she'd do what she was meant to.

Help the young heroes live and thrive, no matter the cost to any other immortal in her way...

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

  You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort. 

  Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door. 

  “Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

 1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it. 

  Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

  The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you. 

  Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

  “Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

  He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

  “Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

  “So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

  The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

  Interesting.

  “No brains?”

  Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

  He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.” 

  Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

  Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

  Why you? What did he want with you?

  You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

  “What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

  He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

  Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you. 

  It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

  Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

  “That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

  He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans. 

  While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals. 

  You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive. 

  “UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

  You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm. 

  With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

  “Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

  You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering. 

  Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

  “So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

  He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up. 

  Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

  Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

  Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

  You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

  “Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

  “I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

  The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

  And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

  “Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

  God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

  Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

  You’d made him cry.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

  You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

  Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

  You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate. 

  “MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

  You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

  Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

  She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

  You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

  You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

  Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

  Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall. 

  You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

  “There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

  You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

  This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

  He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

  “SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

  You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

  The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

  Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

  “Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers. 

  “Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

  You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

  You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

  “You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you. 

  You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

  “You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

  “Uunngh.”

  You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

  “That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

  You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

  “UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

  “What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

  He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

  “They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

  Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

  You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

  He just blinked, almost owlishly. 

  Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

  “The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

  You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

  Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

  You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

  “Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

  An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact. 

  “Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

  Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

  Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

  “You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

  The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

  You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

  He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

  “You tryna knock me dead, too?”

  When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

  The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

  When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

  If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

  You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

  To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

  Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound. 

  With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

  They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

  “Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

  You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror. 

  “Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

  “Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

  Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound. 

  “Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

  His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

  “I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

  Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

  You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

  Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

  You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

  “WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name. 

  “I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

  Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

  “I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

  He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

  “You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

  “Me?! I didn’t do this!”

  “Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

  “The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

  “Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

  “Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

  “Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

  “Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

  The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

  “I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

  “She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

  “Daddy…”

  “Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!” 

  You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself. 

  “Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward. 

  Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

  ”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

  “She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

  “No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

  You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this. 

  You’d have a loving parent. 

  You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do. 

  Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

  With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

  You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

  It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it. 

  The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life. 

  Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

  When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

  A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

  With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

  Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

  “I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

  “Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

  “We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

  The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

  “Dang—anything else?”

  “Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside. 

  Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

  You were wrong. 

  The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

  For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous. 

  You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

  “Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

  “You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

  Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors. 

  You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

  So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance. 

  He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

  Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

  Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

  Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering. 

  Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore. 

  You found him. 

  Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

  And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

  He understood the sentiment all too well. 

  Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

  When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

  With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead. 

  And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

  I wish I was with you.

  You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

  Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave. 

  Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple. 

  No sign of his uncle.

  It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded. 

  Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct. 

  He knew where to go after.

  Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all. 

  Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him. 

  He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

  Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

  Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

  Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

  Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests. 

  So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be. 

  The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you. 

  He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery. 

  FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

  What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

  All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

  Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze. 

  It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left. 

  Eddie heard a scoff.

  “How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself. 

  Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around. 

  The fuck was she doing in here?

  It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through. 

  Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings. 

  She was invading your privacy.

  If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling. 

  He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

  And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either. 

  Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse. 

  If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

  Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

  Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip. 

  Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

  Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made. 

  Bitch.

  Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

  He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day. 

  See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of.  Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

  He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

  His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

  “Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned. 

  He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

  “Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

  “Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure. 

  “Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

  “I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp. 

  “EXCUSE ME?!” 

  The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her. 

  Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

  He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

  It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

  Served the hag right.

  With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

  Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream. 

  That one was for you.

  Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision. 

  While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did. 

  You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive. 

  Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

  Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

  No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

  Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

  “You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

  You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

  Oh, god. Just play it cool.

  “Just some tampons and some chips.” 

  Leave. Walk out. Save face.

  “No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk. 

  You were going for it. 

  “Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

  “I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve. 

  You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

  “Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

  “I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

  “That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

  “And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

  “I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

  “Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

  Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.” 

  Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

  You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

  Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

  It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

  “You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

  Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

  “And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

  You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off. 

  She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

  How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

  “She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

  All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV. 

  You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life. 

  “Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

  Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed. 

  At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

  With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you. 

  You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

  She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

  It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

  But it was yours.

  When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs. 

  You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

  Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

  “Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

  “Uuungh?”

  You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

  “I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

  Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

  “Unngh.” He grunted in thanks. 

  As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

  Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

  “Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

  You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

  “He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

  You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling. 

  “You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions. 

  “There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

  You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

  Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population. 

  “Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

  Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand. 

  “What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

  Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

  “I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

  “MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

  “Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

  He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

  Laura.

  “SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

  You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

  And for once, she scared you.

  “Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

  Stepmother from hell, indeed.

  “Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured. 

  You took a small step back. She took one forward.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick. 

  “Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

  Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

  “ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

  All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

  Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction. 

  “Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

  “Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

  Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

  Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

  “Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life. 

  Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

  You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

  She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

  “I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

  Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed. 

  “No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

  “It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

  THUNK.

  Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

  You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red. 

  Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

  Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet. 

  You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

  “Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

  Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

  “Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

  When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

  You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

  ”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

  Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs. 

  Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

  You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

  The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it. 

  After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it. 

  “Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you. 

  He shook his head. 

  “Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

  When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

  While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work. 

  Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

  Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head. 

  “Mm-mm.”

  You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

  You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice. 

  He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even. 

  It felt…like you mattered to someone.

  “I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

  Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs. 

  “At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.” 

  He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way. 

  “Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

  Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

  “Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand. 

  “What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb. 

  Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger. 

  “Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you. 

  Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle. 

  A lightning bolt. 

  Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

  An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

  And then it hit you. Lightning.

  “OH.”

  Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

  “But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

  You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

  Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

  Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it. 

  It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

  You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure. 

  You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual. 

  The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

  You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

  He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

  “Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

  Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

  Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

  “Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

  No reaction. 

  “EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

  To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

  Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

  It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

  “Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!” 

  You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad. 

  The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

  You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

  Well, you’d already started. 

  “I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

[puhmpken]

Author’s Note: This one is a filler since I am still working on “Dairy of the Obsessed” ..this one was spontaneous lmfaoo! Also requests are open feel free to give me story ideas

This has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Warning ⚠️-> If you’re under the age of 18+ DONT interact with this post, this is your only & final warning! I do not & will not take responsibility for anything further!

You have been warned

Title: A Shape-Shifter’s Dilemma

Alastor x Reader Oneshot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 5.1K 😀 oops maybe too much lol my imagination got the better of me but please enjoy!

You always questioned where Alastor your husband would go. Most of the time you would brush it off and not think of it—Overlord stuff.

But one night while Al and you slept in the same bed he tossed and turned in his sleep you could assume he was having a nightmare

“honey..?” You said in a low ruff voice as you gently placed a hand on Alastor who stops his moving before the word he mutters out was

“charlie..”

...Now that is odd. Why would a overlord like Alastor be saying the princess of hells name in the middle of his sleep?

It made you raise a eyebrow, and questioned him.

The day following did not seem to ease your nerves one bit, he again in rather ..a rush to leave the manor

Standing next to the front doors door you watched as he moved back and forth through the living room looking for whatever he was desiring

“What's rushing for darling? This is rather out of character” You said as your eyes watched him move throughout the room

“Oh nothing to concern yourself with dearie!~ Just overlord business”

You hummed back at his bland cryptic response not wanting to pick it apart–you just decided not to question it and save yourself the energy

“Right. Just don’t go get yourself in trouble” You said smiling at Alastor standing infront of you, slightly towering over you as you fixed and cleaned off any dirt or lent that got caught on his suit as he was in your words rushing around

Moving your hands away from him, your eyes locked with his as Alastor’s reddish brown eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing within them. His lips curved from a small smile into a sly smirk, revealing his pointy teeth.

“Trouble?,” he questioned, making his one of his eyebrows raise in a cocky way , “Why..thats my middle name, my dear.” He said clasping and holding both your hands as he stared at you, before shrugging “But perhaps maybe I’ll make an exception—for you.”

You rolled your eyes to your husband's playful antics, before giving Alastor his goodbye kiss and waving him bye as he sinks into his shadow disappearing leaving you alone in the manor.

A moment of silent filling the air before

“Now, let me figure out WHAT’S actually happening.”

And that’s how this whole shenanigan began with you.

You see, while Alastor might have been expected to marry some ordinary demon, you in your case, were far from ordinary. As a shape-shifting demon, you possessed the ability to transform your identity at will, becoming a whole new demon or a manifestation of whatever your imagination desired.

The only limitations were those of your own imagination or..if Alastor was able to sniff you out, thanks to his keen sense of smell. HOWEVER, avoiding detection was usually easy enough… for the most part.

Weeks to months you’ve been keeping up on this “routine” of cat and mouse but all was paying off.

You found out Al has been to much of your dismay harboring rather a couple of secrets hidden and tucked from you. Other than your known overlord stuff he was a suppose helper at a hotel called the “Hazbin Hotel” that princess charlie owns and works at with a couple of other people almost made you drop with laughter when you first seen Alastor helping out with the hotel, you had to tell Rosie about this later.

It was easy to stay undercover and even easier to get close to him without him realizing and knowing it was you.

You made up your mind weeks ago that his territory would be fine, if you step away here and there to follow Alastor to the hotel

And that’s how you end up to the present day you.

You weren’t satisfied with knowing Alastor helps at a hotel. Yes indeed it was a shocker but that’s all? You were still puzzled on why Al said Charile name to began with

Alastor hasn’t suspected a thing yet due to him kinda being busy at the hotel or up in his office.

On the rare times you would see him, he was up in the upper balcony with nifty laughing with her, you couldn’t hear what they were talking about but knowing the both of them.. it was rather something strange or gruesome

As another shifted ended, the day ended with you back at the manor seating in your comfortable loveseat, reading a book before mere minutes Al got back, making it seem as normal as possible to not raise suspicions

The next day as things moved along you wished Alastor a goodbye as you watched him shift into the shadows and disappear off.

Waiting a few minutes after he left you then began to get ready for your shift at the hotel, that first started with showering to rid yourself of your natural scents–you didn’t want to be tackled down by your husband as soon as you walk in through the door.

Finishing up with your shower you stepped out spraying some random cheap perfume you had bought to scramble Al scents.

As you began styling yourself from being a lady of the 1920s with elegant beauty and designer dresses to a ripped petite coat, old bleach stained black skirt with a hole at the bottom with a finish messy down hairstyle

You laughed at your reflection

Seeing what you looked like in your normal form made you laugh. Alastor would probably gasp and dropped to his knees at the things you wore.

You walked out the house being sure to not be seen

Successfully making it past the fenced gates and out of the woods you came to the main roads of hell shifting yourself into a hell creature you have been using for this whole little “spying game”

A lengthy white fur being that stood, 6ft having two red stripes covering both arms and legs. Your (h/c) just reached the middle of your back and on your head sat two cream colored pointy horns, you kept your sharp teeth to still be able to scare off unwanted demons if the occasion was to rise

Checking yourself out in the reflection of the glass windows, you made sure everything was correct: your look, your attire and your scent.

You started to walk to the hotel, the sidewalk you have taken at least more than ten times.

As you inched closer to the hotel you for safe measures stopped and sprayed yourself down one more time in cheap perfume emptying the bottle before tossing it off in the distances and kept walking

Getting inside the hotel was an easy task,

You said hello to everyone vaggie, angeldust, sir pentious and his eggo children, huskier and nifty.

‘Everyone is down here practically–well almost everyone’ looking around furrowing your eyebrows together

“Where Charlie? She's usually with you, Vag?” You said to Vaggie who was sitting on the couch next to Angel looking at the TV

“She should be in her office right now Lucy. I think she also wanted to talk to you” Vaggie said kinda nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders towards the end as she looked up from the tv to you as you nodded your head

Making a hum noise you turned on your heel and began walking to Charlie office

Knocking before you entered, Charlie sat at her desk looking at papers

“Helluva morning Charlie. Vaggie was telling me you were looking for me, I just wanted to speak to you about what you wanted” You said as you walked towards her desk and seating down in one of the chairs across from it

Charlie still having her go lucky smile on her face nodded putting down a couple of papers “Yes Vaggie was right! I was looking for you Lucy!” She said pausing as she slide over a little stack of paperwork, “It’s nothing serious promise! I just wanted you to run these up to Al~!”

You nodded silently thanking hell for the opportunity to be closer to Al

“Yeah of course I can do that” You said standing up taking the paperwork in your black gloved hands “Consider it done Charlie!” You said walking out of her office as she screamed a thank you from behind a closed office door

You hummed quietly to yourself as you walked up the flights of stairs to get to Alastor’s door

Minutes passed before you got to the door that read in bold letter

“Alastor, Radio Demon”

Knocking lightly on the door, ‘he should be in there?’

“…”

‘No response..hm that weird’ You thought as you looked over both your shoulders before you placed a gloved hand on your door handle twisting the knob before it opened slowly

!!!CREAAAK!!!

Your body mentally cringed at the noise as you pushed the door more open glancing around one more time you slipped in the crack of his door, gently shutting it closed once you entered

‘Wow’ Was the first word that escaped your mouth looking into his room now, it's his office yes, but what was beyond it that made it almost feel like you were..alive it was the bayou swamp/forest it was just how you remembered before you died all those years ago..breathtaking

Scanning the dimly lit area with the only light being a moonless night and the few fireflies that infested the air, you didn’t see Alastor anywhere in sight, just a table with a chair on it in the middle of the grassy forest.

You bite your lip gently as you looked between the paper work and the forest before groaning knowing your mind was made up, as soon as you laid your eyes on the bayou. Leaving the paperwork for Alastor sitting on his wooden desk before you walked passed it and too the bayou landscape filling as it was almost a dream

Walking slowly into the grassy area with a smile as you breathed in the smell of forest closing your eyes and taking in the sound

It was a wonderful moment of quiet before the light noise of static in the forest made you snap your eyes open,.. that’s Alastor getting closer into range of where you were standing.

Being lucky and hopeful you HOPE he didn’t see you in the clearing just standing their with your eyes closed

You ran and hide behind some bushes and trees that were away from the table and chair you were standing near–and just in the nick of time

You could hear and see him from where you were hiding the full static sound of a certain radio demon as he hummed a tune with a deer slumped dead over on his shoulder, carrying it with ease as he slammed it down on the table, you examined as he sat down making a fork appear out of thin air as he leaned his staff against his chair, before disappearing into air as he began to eat the deer raw pulling at its meat–made you want to gag in disgust

‘He could’ve cooked it’ you thought watching him munch down on his hunt you can assume. Licking his lips after a couple of bites he wiped his mouth with a napkin like a true unhinged gentleman

Before he cleared his throat his eyes shutting but his smile spreading wider, causing you to get goosebumps

“I know your there” He said making you do a double take ‘he knows i am here?’ you thought blinking as you didn’t buy his bluff

“I can sense your presence,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a sinister charm.

“You can’t hide from me.” He opened his crimson eyes as they began scanning the area. You kept your movement still as he scanned over the area you were hiding. You saw how he squinted his eyes almost immediately at the bush you were in

“Come out, come out wherever you are” He sang out in a haunting tone

“You do know as a predator.”He started in a cheery tone before his voice dropped to a dual and deep one “ I can smell you out.” His voice ringing of no radio filter

Your heart began to sped up

‘fffuck’ Is what you thought before you seen Alastor disappear into thin air—it wasn’t a surprise you were accustomed to that but you couldn’t help your heart starting to speed up as he vanished into the air

“Run,” a disembodied whisper breathed against your nape

Took you no time of convincing as you ran not looking behind you as you kept your eyes forward only hearing the sound of something chasing behind,

You hit left and right, hoping to get Alastor off of you

As you take another right you ran behind a tree, hiding behind its figure as you heard and felt Alastor run pass you

You have never done something like this, it was rather fun but dangering

Peaking your head from behind the tree after what felt like entirety you didn’t see Alastor for safe measures you transformed yourself to a small forest animal, just in case Alastor wants to sneak behind you..again

Following near your foot trail from the tree branches, you jumped from branch to branch with ease as you stopped once more hearing static noise come from nowhere, you smirked in your creature form as Alastor wouldn’t suspect a thing

Watching from above, his form essentially appeared from thin air as he had a wide smirk and a look of hunger in his eyes as he looked at the spot you were suppose to be standing

“Where are you~?” He said

“…”

After a moment of looking in all the places he would expect and assume for someone to hide, he stood in the middle of the forest arms crossed as his ears flickered now and then

“Now where did they go? I was rather hungrier for something other than deer” He said you can tell by his voice he was almost dumb struck how could he still be able to smell you but your nowhere near..weird?

You slowly shifted yourself backwards away from Alastor as you didn’t want to alarm him nor give away your hiding, you were almost clear before a vibration was felt throughout the branch and in one second the branch snapped as you land ontop of Alastor head

“...”

“...”

It was quiet not either one of you dared to move before you felt your body being picked up fully by his hand and now..the jig was up

“What do we have here..” He said looking at you “A small diversion from the person thats in here?”Alastor’s gaze bore into you, dissecting your very essence.

A wicked glint in his eyes began to take place, “Well I guess since I couldn't catch my actual food, I shall eat you little one” Pausing to smug smile before continuing “Bad luck for you?~” He said as he lifted you above his mouth

You squirmed in his hands, heart racing.

‘This can’t be how (y/n)'s story ends’, you thought desperately.

Just as he was about to drop you into his abyssal maw, you shifted—your disguise falling away

You landed on top of Alastor, who staggered back, utterly unprepared.

“Don’t eat me,” you blurted out, adrenaline surging. Alastor stood, bemusement etching his features.

“Lucy?!” Alastor’s voice crackled through the air, a radio filter distorting his words. The static hummed, raising the hairs on your arms.

“Why are you in here?” His step was deliberate, menacing. You retreated, heart pounding.

“How did you make yourself appear small? Then big?” His eyes narrowed, dissecting you. Each step he took, you mirrored, until your back pressed against a tree—literally.

Your mind raced for a lie, an escape. But then it happened—the slip up, the unraveling.

You shifted into your true form, the one Alastor would recognized.

“(Y/N)?!” His voice lost the radio filter, and you met his gaze. Confusion etched his features. You bit your bottom lip, a awkward laugh escaping.

“Erm, surprise…?” You said as you watched him back up a little from you a smile now spreading wider by the minute as the static was the buzz in the air

As it was overtook by the applause he started to emitted as he turned the other way starting to laugh

“A surprise indeed dearie who would’ve know my wife could pull such a thing off” He started.. you didn’t like how this was sounding as you moved away from the tree watching him as he created slight distances between him and yourself

You watched as a nagging feeling was telling you to start running but ignoring that you spoke up “Alastor I-” He cut you off with his words

As he appeared behind you—the Radio Demon, with crimson eyes and a dangerous smile. His arm encircled your waist, pulling you closer. “You had the entire hotel convinced of this Lucy woman,” he murmured, his voice devoid of filters. “Bravo, dearie. Truly bravo.”

You didn’t like how he was taking the situation as what he said to you in a flare voice on confirmed how much you actually DID piss off Alastor with this little disguise

“You should run now.”

Those four words holding a threat of the unknown and you wanting to at least talk for yourself turned to face Alastor his crimson eyes only reflecting the pure chaos he was about to inflict on this game of catch with you, as you shook your head

“Please let me explain” You urged, desperation coloring your voice.

“5” Alastor your dear husband replied, holding out his hand. The air crackled with tension

“Al please—…”

“4..” He sung out as he closed his eyes, standing tall. One hand rested behind his back, the other poised like a pendulum. The smile of him showing his sharp teeth made you swallow harshly

“3” He warned out to you knowing your still there as he opened one eye to look at you breathing out short “Hmm..a shame your going to let me catch you so easy” He said shutting his open eye closed

“2 dearie” He warned out now holding two fingers as he began to shift in his stances his neck elongated he was slowly shifting into his demon form, and that’s when you finally decide to run

You huffed and panted as you switched your form a couple of times to give you longer distances away from Alastor as you made it deeper into the Bayou the ground under you turning slightly squishy as you kept running not interested to turn around

You ran for what felt like hours before you stopped down near a swamp bank hunched on you knees as you gain your second wind, taking a few more breathes you stood up, the air was quiet you couldn’t hear the static of Al, so you have to be far from him? or he just turned off that noise so he could stalk and pounce on you

Whatever the case maybe you took a breathe in and out as you looked ahead of the lake, nothing but more forest—

You thought different ideas like turning into a winged creature and flying back towards the rooms door to get out of here, but you didn’t know how high you could fly and since Alastor can’t fly nor has wings, you doubt that celling is high enough to get high enough where he couldn’t hit you out of air

Best option was to keep running or go into the swamp water, it would give you better opportunity, reflecting your options about it you heard the ground beneath you move with vibrations ‘fuck he already found me’ you thought coming to the defeat you were going to let yourself be caught but that was until you seen that fucken demon form mere seconds before he seen you, you bailed out dipping yourself slowly in the cold water taking a big breathe before dunking yourself under

Seconds stretched into eternity as you held your breath, your lungs screaming for release. The vibrations in the ground intensified, and you knew he was near. What was Alastor going to do when he catched you? He wouldn’t actually hurt his wife? You thought of as your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wondered if you should be actually concerned

Alastor scanned the area, seeking his dear wife. You pressed deeper into the water, your head submerged further, only the top part of your head concealed by a stray lilypad.

Minutes passed—or perhaps it was mere seconds—before you surfaced. Gasping for air, you wiped water from your eyes. Alastor wasn’t in sight.

You continued walk towards the edge of the pond before crawling out of the pond, lying down on the edge of it your knees still submerged as you sighed out in relief, shutting your eyes for what felt like a second

Before you heard, the clearing of a throat—a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Opening your eyes standing above you was the oh-so-familiar radio demon. You smiled, but before you could vanish into the water, Alastor’s grip closed around your arms. His purr was a velvet blade against your skin.

“Come now, darling,” he drawled, his tone deceiving. “We don’t want you to get wet. Let me assist you in this rather…exchange.” His strength pulled you back, and you squirmed, defiance flaring. But Alastor was stronger, and you found yourself pressed against his chest, dripping and caught.

“Let go,” you demanded, but he only laughed—a predator savoring its prey

“Now, dear, this is part of the game.” His eyes bore into yours, crimson flames dancing. “I’ve caught you, and now you’ll be the prize I win.” His tongue flicked across his lips

As Alastor carried you through the forest he hummed a simple tone, making you more on edge

You both arrived at another clearing?

“This isn’t where we started Al” You said as he set you down, gently helping you get up, as your eyes shifted from the scenery to him

Alastor’s gaze was going up and down on you, as you caught little symbols manifesting themselves around him as he was now a step or two away from you

“Come here” He said in a commanding tone, a chain manifesting around your neck as your eyes widen to metal chain outline with the color of green. Your hands immediately shot to your neck trying to grip and claw at it. You felt a tug come towards Al before you leaned your body away from it trying to keep space, digging your feet lightly in the ground

One real yank got you to move forward unprepared, the earth meant your face very quick and you instantly felt blood in your mouth

“Ah, be good for me, Y/N, and just obey,” he murmured, his grip unyielding. You crawled on your knees and hands, inching closer to him. The chain around your neck tightened, lifting you off the ground. Alastor’s crimson eyes bore into yours.

“My dear sweet little wife, Y/N,” he drawled, his voice devoid of filters. Each word carried weight, punctuated by his southern accent. “You, dearie, violated our little agreement.” His fingers traced the chain. “We had an understanding, did we not?”

Your breaths came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t mean to Al” you whispered

His chuckle echoed through the clearing as he lowered you gently to the ground, ensuring the fall didn’t harm you.

“So, my doe,” he began, his voice a velvet blade, “please give me an explanation. Why has my wife been running around disguised as a Lucy person, working—” His fingers closed around your hands, the chain that had bound you vanishing into thin air. “Her dear, softly delicate hands at a hotel that deserves none of her attention?” His words hung in the air, a question wrapped in menace. “Rather than be in a manor that belongs to her and her husband? Have I done something wrong?”

You sighed out as you nodded taking your hands out of his, to his displeasure “All this started because i heard you mumble in your sleep rather a month or so ago..princess name Charlie” You said with embarrassment flaming your checks as you looked away from Alastor not wanting to know what expression he held

The air was quiet between the both of you, not a word was spoken—You felt like you were holding your breathe with the tension in the air before you felt the touch of your husband on your hands again

“Mon cher~” He purred out making you look at him, his face of course held a wide smile but the look in his eyes held anger with something else glimmering around it “Nothing could replace you”

“No hotel” He said his hand holding out your arm as he kissed at the palm before saying, “No demon” Alastor continued raising his head kissing you at the center of your arm, looking at you in the eyes before kissing more up your arm while saying “And certainly no Lucifer daughter could take my eye off of something as ravishing as you my doe~” Al kissing up you between each pause as he at your neck slowly peaking at it having you basically in his lap with your back towards him, as you moved your head to side to let him continue as he only chuckle at the gesture

Al with his free hand grabbing at your chin to make you look at him as he stared into your (e/c) “But my dear mon cher, you agree at my words as if you understand, but it seems as though you forgotten who I belong too” He said letting go of your chin as both of his hands traveled down to your hips resting there “You forget who's name causes thrill of different emotions within me, so let me remind you~”

Alastor leaned into you, as you meant him half way kissing him

A passionate kiss with some underline aggression made the kiss much more thrilling as Alastor fought for dominance with you trying to dominate over him

With a deep chuckle he pulled away from the kiss, “You being defiant won’t end well for you dear” You looked up too him as you bite your lower lip holding on too his bow tie slowly undoing it as his hands trailed up and down your legs

“No words so be it” He shrugged before pushing you down to the ground, your back laying on the grass as he spread your legs open wide, everything on full display for him to see

He leaned his head down as his ears pushed back towards his head as his eyes half lidded looking up to a red face you “Mm~Darling your so intoxicating with that look on your face” He said before plunging his head down open his mouth before eating your pussy

Your eyes shut closed as your hands went immediately to his hair gripping and pulling at it, as you mumbled out moans holding onto Alastor head down as he kept eating you out

“Al~!” You said in low moan as you felt yourself starting to come undone down there “Alastor..I..I am going to—”

Before you could muster and get out the words to warn your husband, the sensation of Alastor mouth moved away from you leaving you in almost blank state, so close to clarity but yet so far …

You whimpered as you looked down to Alastor who’s face was smirking as he shook his head licking his lips slightly “You think after the charade you pulled your going to get to cum that quick and easily?” He said and laughed “Dearie we are just starting.”

Alastor in a instances flipped you over making you rise to all fours with help of his shadows tendrils you were now ass up face down, with your arms being held down by the shadows tendrils, you whimpered trying to move against them as you felt a burning sensation on your bottom causing you to move it from side to side

Alastor watched in trans like state as you moved your ass after he smacked it only making his boner go harder, as he rub on it through his pants

“Al, let me out of this! I don’t want to be—Ahh~!”You said feeling a familiar feeling slide in you as your eyes rolled behind you, you clawed at the grass alastor pushed all himself in you

“Mmm~There you go Mon Cher~” Alastor said rolling his hips as his head tilted backwards, both of his hands gripping on your hips keeping them in place as he began slowly pumping in and out of you

You moaned as you moved with his thrusts, arching your back as Al grunts and low moans could be heard

Alastor started to pick up in speed as you could only speak out the simple word “Al~” Which was music to the radio demons ears

“Oh (Y/n)~” He said as he kept up fast with his thrusts moving one his hand to your hair, gripping at it pulling you backwards as your head flung back

“Open your eyes.” He said making you slowly open your eyes as meant with the eyes of crimson red ones as his smile was deceiving as his eyes showed pure lust that was feeling “Fuck.” He said as gripped tighter on your hair yanking almost at the root as you moaned with each thrust

“I am going to finish in you.” He said in not a question but as a command as you tighten around him bring him closer as he shut his eyes letting go of your hair before opening his mouth and bitting at the back of your neck as you moaned closing your eyes feeling yourself reaching edge as you reached climax sametime as Alastor

Couple months later drawed by quick before you knew it you were back at the manor, watching over Al’s territory sipping tea as you smiled mindlessly, yeah there was really nothing to worry about.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

(Y/n) and Al strolling through the park. hand in hand as Al hums a tune

Al: “I do say mon cher, I think I never told you why I was saying Charlie's name”

Y/n: “Yeah you haven’t, do share”

Al: “You wouldn’t believe it! Charlie in my dream was trying to paint my Radio Studio, it was all going to be rainbows with fluffy pink unicorns if I didn’t say her name”

Y/n: deadpans

Al: Only telling you the truth dearie~!sings out

Y/n: Your truth is utter dogshit sometimes

Al: gasp Darling!

[dreamingofaizawa]

Run, Rabbit

Yan! Sosuke Aizen x Fem! Shinigami! Reader

***DDDNE - This is an 18+ fic, if you are not 18 years or older please go tf away thanks***

Warnings: Primal play(I think?), hunter/prey dynamics, noncon, mindbreak(?), dubcon, yandere Aizen, penetrative sex (p in v), edging, slight overstimulation, pussy slapping, choking, breathplay, manipulative Aizen (duh this bitch was always a manipulative bastard), a bit of thigh fucking, fingering, creampie. (I hope that's everthing o.O)

Word Count: 3.3k

Author's Note: Ohhhkayy so this just popped into my head. I don't know where this even came from but holy shit. If ya'll don't pay attention to these warnings imma come slap you in the face istg this ain't no fluff piece.

Enjoy?

This was your chance. Maybe your only chance. The door to the cell you were meant to call a room was left cracked, the fraccion that was assigned to check on you hadn’t quite closed the door shut tight enough, and the latch didn’t quite click into place. Which meant you could open it from the inside. Which meant this may be your one and only opportunity to escape Las Noches and get far from Aizen’s reach. It really didn’t matter that you could die out there to a hollow, anything was better than being trapped here at Aizen’s mercy, his plaything while his plans had a lull and he was biding his time. Your body shakes, heart pounding in your chest at the thrill of it all, the thought of getting away. 

He brought you here when he’d defected, stolen you away from the Gotei 13. You were supposed to be in the squad 5 barracks, defending the Seireitei and the world of the living with the rest of your squad members and the other squads. Hell, you didn’t even know Aizen all that well, hadn’t spoken to him directly ever. What made him take you, you have no idea. But you’re here, and now is your chance to leave.

You try your best to keep your footsteps silent, creeping up to the door, slowly tugging it open. Your hand actually begins to tremble when it actually gives way, the light from the hallway pouring in through the widening gap. You’re so close…but you can’t get complacent. You still need to escape the palace. Peering out into the hallway skyrockets your blood pressure, but when there’s nobody around and no sounds coming from further down the hall, you slip right out and shut the door closed behind you, making sure it’s actually latched. Hopefully that would keep any suspicion away for a while, and you take careful consideration in hiding your spiritual pressure as best you can. Making your way through the palace is a long and confusing task, all of the hallways are identical and there’s no markings of any kind. All you have to go on is direction, but as long as the windows along the hall remain facing the moon, you should be able to get out one way or another.

Most of it is empty, which feels odd, but you push it to the back of your mind and thank whatever god was watching out for you. It’s when you find your way to a bridge that you feel anxious. If anyone were to spot you, this is where it would be. The bridge is out in the open air, the railings impossible to hide behind, and unless an observer was directly beneath you you’d have nowhere to hide. There’s no use trying to find another way, but a flash step could get you across unseen. It’s not like you can go back after coming this far. The one good thing is that it would seem this bridge goes all the way across to the outer wall, which means if you needed to, you could just blast your way through with a kido spell and flash step away into the endless desert. With a long, heavy, deep breath you steady your nerves and flash step across the bridge. There’s nobody that you can see, but that’s good. It takes about five seconds to get all the way across, even with a flash step, but you make it to the building on the other side.

The building seems small, a single staircase in the back leading down into what seems like an endless darkness. Your salvation. You’re so close to being out, but you need to hurry, you have no idea when someone might notice your absence, so with no further hesitation you sprint down into the darkness. The hallways here are different, less like the stark white monochrome of the palace, more like carved tunnels. The only other difference is that there are no windows here. This is where you’d get lost, and die, but you were ready for that part. You use the heavy spiritual pressure of all the espada that are still in the main building of Las Noches to keep you oriented. How you’d managed to escape without a single arrancar noticing, you have no idea, they were all still in the building just not where you were. Hopefully that meant they were in a meeting of some kind. 

Regardless, you keep moving. You aren’t expecting to get out, but when you make it outside you think you could collapse from the sheer elation. You’re out. But now all that’s left is to get to the Menos Forest. It’s better to hide out there. You run out into the desert, searching for a crack in the earth. It isn’t hard to find one, and you dive into the darkness below. You’re shaking, the joy of escaping finally getting to you. You almost laugh as you leap through the trees, freedom making you feel light. 

“You’re a little slower than you used to be.” You freeze on a branch, heart stopping in your chest, a deep fear settling in the pit of your stomach. No. No it can’t be him. Frantically, you spin, searching for the source of that damned voice. The voice of your nightmares. Nothing. Emptiness. You can’t even feel any spiritual pressure. Were you just hearing things? No, you need to run, you need to run now. You take off into a flash step, diving further down so you’re nearing the forest floor. The darkness would help conceal your position. You’re panting and sweating and your body hurts, not having run like this in a very long time, being cooped up in that cell. But you need to escape, no matter what.

“Keep running, little rabbit.” Shit. You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see a flash of white. No, he can’t be here. A branch snaps off to your left, it spooks you enough to have you veer off to the right and avoid the area. Another branch snaps behind you, and another on your right. A chill crawls up your spine when that evil, dark chuckle rings through the forest. 

“Hop along, while you still can.” He’s taunting you. You gasp as the branch you step on breaks under your foot, plummeting you to the forest floor. Barely, you manage to tuck and roll and land on your feet, but your momentum is shot. 

“Aw, poor rabbit. You’re done running already?” You snap your head around behind you, seeing a flash of white fabric vanish behind a tree. Immediately you take off in the opposite direction. You’re not giving up yet, if you can lose him in the brush you have a chance.

“There you go, run some more.” You catch more glimpses of white on your right, and turn on a dime. Again to your left, and again directly in front of you, and you turn tail only to see another right where you’d just come from. You stop completely, panting hard as your lungs burn. That pit of dread has settled deep in your soul, and it’s taken you far too long to realize he’s been hunting you. Like a wolf herding its prey.

“Already done running?” You whip around to see where he is, only to come up empty. You spin around what feels like a hundred times, listening to his evil laugh as it echoes through the trees. Your hands are shaking, your heart slamming against your ribcage, tears beginning to form in your eyes as your chest heaves. This can’t be happening. You were supposed to be free of him. Suddenly, in a split second, he’s in front of you, both wrists gathered in one of his enormous hands.

“What a pretty little rabbit. Too bad you couldn’t run any further, I was having fun chasing you down.” That dread has spread to your entire body, your hope dashed. You were supposed to be far away by now. You were going to escape him. The realization that you were never going to make it hits you like a zanpakuto through the heart, making you lax in his hold as you drop to your knees in front of him. The despair, the sadness, the fear. It all makes your body collapse. He follows you to the floor, crouching down and cupping your chin in his free hand, leaning in close and pressing a kiss to your lips that you don’t return. The gesture is too sweet, too gentle, for a cruel man like him. He licks his lips, tasting the salt from your tears.

“Look at you, so submissive and pliant. So unlike your usual self. Have I finally broken you?” Your vision is unfocused, all the fight having fled your body, your head spinning uncontrollably. Part of you prayed you were dead, part of you hoped this was a nightmare. Aizen’s voice slices through your consciousness.

“Look at me, rabbit.” You don’t know how you do it, but you do look right at him. Those dark eyes pierce through your soul, his eerie smirk making you tremble.

“Very good. This was fun, but it’s time for you to come home now.” You can’t find the energy to do anything but nod, acceptance consuming you. There’s no escape, not from him, not here. You’ll never get away. Your surroundings blur as Aizen picks you up and flash steps to Las Noches, a flash step so fast it only takes a few seconds to get all the way back to the palace. But you aren’t in your room anymore, no you’re in his. He lays you down on the plush bed, more than large enough to fit four of him, and his hands begin to tug at your clothing, but he pauses. He’s waiting for it, for the fight that usually comes. For the clawing and kicking and cursing. When all you do is turn your head away and tremble he reaches up and wraps a hand around your neck. The squeeze is what makes your eyes pop open, frantically looking up at his face, a small panic flooding your mind. He’s never done this before, was he going to kill you?

“I want you to look at me. I want to watch as you come undone, all because of me.” Tears form once again, falling silently down your cheeks. No, this was much worse than death.

“You look so pretty when you cry for me. Cry some more.” The hand on your throat squeezes again, your hands clawing at his as you gasp for air. You squirm beneath him, legs kicking weakly as he resumes his quest to undress you with one hand. Your clothing is torn off of you, your heaving chest exposed as he kneads one breast in his hand, your nipple pinched roughly between two fingers. You do exactly what he wants, tears streaming down your cheeks and neck while he gropes you. You hate the way your body reacts, a nasty heat pooling between your legs as your vision begins to blur. You’re granted relief then, his hand releasing your airway and you greedily gulp in much needed air. 

“Good girl. So good for me, aren’t you?” His hands make themselves busy with the rest of your tattered clothing, whatever was left shredded and tossed aside and he lets his eyes drag over your naked body. It’s the first time he’s been able to really look at you like this, any time before was spent holding you down to keep you from fighting him. You just can’t find the will anymore. One hand reaches down between your thighs and the sheer embarrassment makes you clamp them shut, but it’s no use, his other hand comes to pry your legs open and he kneels between them to keep it that way, exposing you completely. He hums, dragging a finger through the wetness already leaking from your pussy.

“Your body always knew to be ready for me, it just took a little push for your mind to catch up.” Two of his fingers are plunged into you, your back arching at the immediate curl and pump of the digits. Loud squelches ring in the room, the embarrassing sounds only seem to make that heat in your stomach grow. He doesn’t waste any time, letting a third finger slip inside you and using his thumb to rub circles into your already swollen clit. You shut your eyes and cover your face, you don’t want to see the satisfaction on his face when you cum all over his fingers. Your legs shake at your slowly approaching orgasm, toes curling and legs clamping down around Aizen’s hips. You’re so close, and you hate how badly the knot in your belly wants to snap, just a little more…

You whimper when he stops moving completely, ripping his hand away from your sloppy pussy. He’s stolen your orgasm from you, your legs still trembling and his clean hand grabs your throat again.

“I said I wanted you to look at me.” When he releases you he retreats fully, stripping down to nothing. His cock is hard between his legs, long and thick and you can already feel the soreness begin to settle in. He slots his hips between your legs again, resting that thick cock right against your clit.

“Now, let’s try this again, shall we?” You don’t bother trying to answer, he’s going to do whatever he wants regardless. You’re proven right when he drags that dick of his over your wet folds, using it to stimulate your clit. It’s not enough to build your orgasm, and you’re thankful for it at least, until he grabs your legs and puts both over one shoulder, clamping your thighs shut around his length. His hips slap into the backs of your thighs, the head of his cock catching on your clit and suddenly you’re jolting with every thrust, the pressure making you leak even more onto the bed sheets. He’s left your cunt completely empty, just the stimulation on your clit making that knot tighten once again. But you won’t give him the satisfaction, even if you won’t fight him. Your eyes squeeze shut as you try to stave off your orgasm, focusing on anything to get your mind off of it. But when he slips his dick inside you and slams his hips into you, your vision goes white behind your eyelids and all you can think about is the fullness you feel. His fingers dance on your clit again, and you’re just about to fall over that edge when he pulls out completely and leaves your clit throbbing. You actually cry out this time, desperation seeping into you. You hate it.

He only chuckles down at you, pushing into your sloppy cunt once again setting a slow, deep pace. Every time he seats himself fully inside you, your eyes roll back into your skull at the pleasure. You sob when he folds your legs toward your chest, letting his weight power each thrust, hitting that little spongy spot with unmatched precision. It’s too much, the pleasure building too quickly. You need to cum, or you’ll lose your mind you’re sure. You focus all your attention on Aizen, his face concentrated but still relaxed, his smirk replaced with his lips parted ever so slightly, heavy breaths escaping as his brows pinch just the tiniest bit, The strands over his face have dampened ever so slightly, sweat beading on his forehead. In your lust filled daze, you dare to think he looks handsome like this. His eyes pierce yours, his pace picking up, filling the room with the sound of wet skin against skin. You’re at the edge again, the muscles in your legs trembling under his fingers and your own hands claw into the bed. You don’t dare look away, if this gives you the release you need you’ll stare at him as long as he wants. Almost there, you’re so close and your eyes are still locked on his.

He pulls out completely, and you cry out at the frustration. You did what he wanted! You were looking right at him.

“No, no don’t do this please I need it.” His hand is at your throat in an instant, squeezing down around it to cut off your airflow again. You’re shaking, both hands gripping his wrist in a poor attempt to get him off. 

“I like it when you beg, pretty rabbit.” In one fluid motion his cock is deep inside you, his other arm wrapped around your legs thrown over one shoulder and he leans over you, folding you almost completely in half as he grinds his dick into your poor pussy. He thrusts into you hard and fast, and it’s all you can do to weakly cry out beneath the pressure of his hand as your vision blanks and you cum on his cock, your walls clamping down around him and your entire body trembling with the euphoria. Your eyes roll back in your head as he allows you to breathe again, your orgasm drawn out while he pounds into you with his full weight, stilling once he’s satisfied and unloading deep in your cunt. Chest heaving, body shaking, you’re exhausted. You can’t register what he’s saying to you until he grabs your face in one hand and squeezes hard enough to make you wince.

“Focus, there you go. Now what do you say when someone gives you something you want?” In your scattered brain, you can’t come up with the answer, so he decides he needs to motivate you. He pulls out of you and you hiss from the sensitivity, but that doesn’t compare to the sting you feel when he spreads your legs and lays a hard smack on your pussy. It makes you jump and yelp, trying to squirm away but his grip on your thigh is iron clad.

“Try again, pretty thing.” You still can’t think, every thought is tangled like a loose ball of yarn. Another slap makes your body jolt, and he twirls a finger over your clit slowly.

“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’.” Shakily, you nod.

“Thank you, Lord Aizen.” His head tilts to the side, and he lands a harder slap on your poor, abused pussy, catching your clit this time and making you cry out, and he resumes his slow pace on the little bundle of nerves.

“And what are you thanking me for?” You’re trembling, your voice unsteady.

“Th-thank you for letting me cum, Lord Aizen.” His pace on your clit picks up, and you can’t stop yourself from cumming again, tears streaming down your face as your back arches painfully off the bed. He doesn’t let up until you’re squirming away from his fingers, lightly tapping on your clit to make you jump. You know what he wants, whispering the words between heavy breaths.

“Thank you…thank you Lord Aizen��for making me cum.” His laugh is mean and dark, and he moves so he’s beside you on the bed, lying on his side and propping himself up on one arm. He kisses you, deep and slow, and you let your jaw drop and his tongue invades your mouth. His free hand grips your throat again, no pressure, just the threat of it lying there. It’s dominating. You can’t find it in your muddled mind to care. When he’s done claiming you, he leans away and your unfocused eyes can just barely register his expectant gaze.

“Thank you for making me feel good.” You whisper, body still trembling.

“You’re mine.” He waits a beat, gently tightens his grip on your throat and releases.

“I’m yours.” You breathe, your eyes only focused on him. All on him. You belong to him. He smirks, satisfied, and he tugs your body so you’re laying on top of him, head tucked into his neck and breathing in his scent. There was a part of you that protested, but you can’t hear it anymore.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1376

Chapter 22:

After Agatha confessed to you, things seemed to be better. With less worry and jealousy in your heart, you found sleep coming for you faster than you anticipated.

Agatha has chosen to rest a little further away from the rest of the coven, and you had followed suit, her warm body spooning you from behind was the lullaby you needed to close your eyes and relax.

Time passed oddly for everyone, no sign of sun or anything to indicate how long the group had been asleep.

The first to wake up had been Agatha, whose dreams were haunted by bitter memories of her past; this time, about Nicholas.

Having almost lost Teen and then having Rio telling her the boy was not hers... it unlocked some dark moments from her past, and unfortunately, not even your presence could truly help.

Thus, she found herself the only one awake; her hand gently brushing your hair as you had subconsciously leaned more on her folded lap and presence.

Agatha observed you as you slept, a small warm smile forming on her pink lips as she observed you; looking so peaceful and trusting her so much... not to mention yearning for her touch, even while asleep.

When she was away, when she was faking a new identity in Wanda's hex; she often felt how empty the bed was. Often, she would lay there, extending a hand and wondering how you were; and if you would take her back when she would come to your doorstep once again.

She had been thinking about you, she was not going to lie but she could not just bluntly confess it. That was not her.

A part of her always fighting to protect her by hiding her weakness by preventing her from confessing how she felt and maybe that was okay because you understood her.

Agatha sensed when someone approached, not surprised to find Rio coming your way. She had not slept like everyone else but had sat down close by, especially after you had fallen asleep.

Ironically, it was her unique danger that had made you snuggle closer to Agatha; a subconscious needed to be closer to her.

Now was it because you were seeking protection or to simply protect Agatha, no one truly knew.

"Funny. I remember you giving me the same smile," Rio commented, her tone a mixture of mockery and maybe even slight jealousy.

Agatha looked up at her. "She came first, and you know it. I had made it clear to you back then, "

Rio scoffed faintly. "And yet you still don't want the three of us as one." She folded her hands in front of her chest. "That's fine by me. Keep your little moon girlie. "

As the Green Witch started to walk away, Agatha dared to move and actually stand up. She carefully walked around your sleeping form and trailed after her former lover.

"I will, but first I want some answers," she said in a hushed tone, making Rio halt. "How do you know her?"

Agatha faced Rio's back for a few seconds before the Witch graced her by turning to face her. They locked eyes as they stood in front of one another, merely a single step separating them.

Rio tilted her head faintly to her side, her thin dark locks following the movement of her head as she did so while she played with the curved knife in her hands.

"I found her," she started, observing how Agatha hung from her every word. "After she took care of those witch hunters. Kept my eye on her, talked... you know the drill. You and I met under similar circumstances. "

"My case was different," Agatha argued. "And you didn't exactly make it clear who you were either."

Rio shrugged and glanced at your sleeping form above Agatha's shoulder. "I wasn't with her, either. She found it out on her own, but I will give her credits for her determination in doing so. "

Agatha frowned. "How did she find out?"

Before Rio could answer, he shouts of Lilia reaches them. It disturbed the silence existing in the forest and was enough to even wake you up.

You took a moment to process where you were, and when you did, you noticed Agatha and Rio standing not so far away; clearly discussing something private.

Before you could ask what had taken place, the distant sound of a howllong wolf reached you, and you swore you also heard a raven as it flew above you.

"The Salem Seven," you exclaimed, standing up so fast that you almost tripped.

You looked at Agatha, whose eyes were wide with fear. She didn't have to say anything as she gabbed her discarded purple coat and rushed towards the coven, you close behind her.

Rio just casually followed, unbothered by the presence of the cursed seven witches that wanted Agatha dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you approached the coven, you heard Lilia explaining to the rest of the witches what she saw and who was after them.

"Scary black dresses?" Teen asked, recalling the creepy figures he saw in Agatha's House before he rushed to find them in the basement.

"When Agatha killed her original coven..." Lilia started.

Once again, Jen had to comment. "By stealing their power." She added, making you wonder what Agatha did to her to have such hatred and anger against her.

"Because her own mother tried to have her executed." Rio suddenly added, having managed to reach the coven around the same time you and Agatha did.

Even though she was further behind.

You didn't stay nor bothered to question, somehow having an explanation already.

After all, it was Rio you were thinking about.

"Are you really defending a noted serial killer, you creepy lurker?" Jen asked, taking a few steps closer to Jen.

Something seemed to snap within you. You were not sure if it was Jen negative attitude, her tone, or the unnecessary name calling, but you found yourself standing between her and Rio.

"Back off, Jen. Direct your attitude elsewhere for this is not the point" you barked, one hand extended to keep Rio further behind you while your other had a single digit pointed at the Potions Witch.

She pulled her head faintly, surprised by your outburst and sudden change of character for the new Witch. After all, just a few hours ago, you had been glaring nonstop at her, and now you were opening defending her.

Jen opened her mouth, feeling insulterd and ready to serve you some attitude as well when Teen interfered; once again, stopping things from escalating too far.

"Come on, someone finish the story." He said, glancing at the rest of the coven.

Lilia took her gaze from you and focused on the boy. "When Agatha murdered her sister witches, she spared their young children."

"Yeah, and then they became a feral, hive-minded coven bent on revenge." You argued, showing where you stood on the topic.

"Whoa, ah!" Agatha exclaimed as she finally managed to wear her coat, all this time comically fighting to put the second sleeve on. "The moral of the story, kids, is always finish what you started. Also, mercy is overrated. All right, everybody, pack up your shit! Let's go!"

You started to fix your tie that you had loosened before you slept and buttoned up your black vest while everyone gathered and wore their stuff.

Before you were even fully ready, you had to run and follow Agatha; only to hear the same wolf howl from the path up ahead.

By instinct alone, you chose to run the opposite way, but the sound of a raven made you realize you were practically trapped.

"What about a hexenbesen?" Teen suddenly suggested, earning negative answers from everyone but you.

"Guys, I think we -" before you could voice your opinion and perhaps persuade them to change their mind; the Salem Seven did it for you.

An inhumane screech reached you, like claws against a board or wood. Your hair stood on end in response, and you all had this innate feeling of pray caught in the line of sight of a predator.

"No, brooms are great," Agatha exclaimed, and you hummed in agreement.

Chapter 23

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi!! Hope everything is going well!

Could I Please ask for some bottom buggy (mayhaps with some watersports since I saw you had a interest) or some ftm crocodile being fucked into submission!

Have a nice day.

Ftm Sir Crocodile x male reader

Ficlet

I love Sir Crocodile so much 🗣️ 🗣️

Reader is part of Buggy’s crew, cuz I thought that would be hilarious. Reader doesn’t have a devil fruit, but is still super kickass. Hes kind of the information gatherer, smuggler, etc, for the Buggy crew. Reader is also normal human height.

Mixed terminology for Crocs bits. Also, breeding/pregnancy? kink warning ig. but its just mentioned for the fantasy.

The Cross Guild appeared great for any outsider or lesser in the know members, which was most of them. They all saw your captain as someone great and almost godly, thinking he was so much more than he was, but you had been with him for many years, even before the Buggy pirates had even been created. Shortly after the execution of Rogers, Buggy had stumbled into your path and had accidentally saved your life, and from then on you had been by his side.

Most people thought of you as something akin to an accountant or treasurer, wearing an outfit that looked very much like that of a ringmaster, long red tailcoat and top hat and all. You were always one of the first to run away, giving you a reputation of a coward who couldn’t fight.

The only one who truly knew how much of a threat you could be, would be your captain and his inner circle, which you were also part of. You might not have been the strongest physically compared to someone like Mihawk, but no one could gather information like you could, smuggle like you could, or have someone “disappear” like you could. Your network was so extensive that even the one they called Joker, who you knew was none other than Donquixote Doflamingo, was jealous.

That was why you knew everything about Sir Crocodile and Mihawk before the day was over when the Cross Guild was formed. You cowered off to the side, keeping up your weak act as you flinched at their raised voices or the light reflecting off Crocodiles golden claw.

They believed you a weak fool who’s only worth was your quick mind and ability to calculate numbers quicker than most computers, which resulted in them mostly dismissing you. It was a role you basked in and felt comfortable, using it to keep your true identity under wraps. That was until they pushed your captain too far, as Crocodile especially seemed to take great pleasure in antagonizing and hurting your captain.

You were protective, most pirates were, if they felt any sense of loyalty to their captain. It was because of that, that you dug up a trusted contact, a celestial dragon with greater access to seastone than anyone else you knew. Using measurements from the moment’s clothes had to be made, a pair of cuffs in just the perfect size soon arrived to you with the post.

It was easy to press Crocodiles buttons, to get him worked up by acting stupid and pathetic, just the way you knew made his blood boil. It was even easier to enrage him so far that he chased after you, so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice how you kept avoiding his sand, or how you were leading him further and further away from the rest of the guild.

When he finally caught up, Crocodile caged you against the wall, hook digging into the drywall as he almost snarled down at you, cigar crunched between his teeth as his purple eyes blazed. But mild confusion crossed his face as your fearful expression dropped, his body straightening as your eyes met his head on. Before Crocodile could order an explanation, a feeling of weakness crashed through his body, making his knees buckle enough that you had to catch him, supporting his towering weight and bulk.

His vision swam as you started dragging him along, his feet dragging along the floor because of his height compared to your own. Crocodile felt dizzy and mildly nauseous, his eyes finally catching the heavy bands around his wrist, the one he still had left. “ssseastone?” he slurred out, voice lighter than the growl you were used too, cigar long forgotten somewhere along the journey.

In the beginning, you had planned on torturing him, the blades strapped to your person burning at the thought, but as you threw him down almost carelessly on a barely clad bed, a different through passed through your mind.

A slight thrill ran down your spine as his purple eyes burnt into you, his usual anger still present, but mixed with something else, something deeper and hungrier. Soft pants left Crocodiles lips, sounding faintly struggled as the seastone drained the power from his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

You could see the heat rising to Crocodiles cheekbones as you started stripping off your usual getup, tailcoat slid off your shoulders and neatly folded, top hat placed down with care. “What the hell are you doing…” Crocodile rasped from the bed, his pupils blown as an unfamiliar need unfolded inside him, the familiar thrum of pleasure running through body.

Maybe it was his weakened state, but he swore his cunt was pulsing with need, especially as you unbuttoned the stark white shirt you always wore, revealing a tightly muscled and heavily scarred body underneath, leather straps adorned with vials and weapons stretched across your torso.

Crocodile tried to shuffle his legs, maybe to squeeze his thighs together, or to spread them further apart, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was a minimal twitch and jolt. “I planned on cutting you up, making you beg for mercy. But from the looks of it… you wouldn’t mind some other kind of discipline” you murmur, almost stalking towards him where Crocodile was splayed out on top of the white sheets.

You could see all his muscles tense as you let your hands climb up his legs, up his thighs and stomach, traveling all the way up his arms towards his hook. A choked off noise leaves Crocodile as you remove his hook with ease, like you had done it a thousand times before, placing it off to the side with care.

“Behave yourself” you tell him, squeezing the sides of his jaw to make his lips part. Crocodile tried to growl or snap a threat, to snap his teeth at you or somehow fight back, but his body was mostly unresponsive, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Crocodile as you moved again, settling between his thick spread thighs. Your eyes met as you reach for his belt, your brow lifting as if asking if he wanted you to stop. You may be a pirate, but you had class and manners, at least when it came to stuff like this.

But when all Crocodile responded with was a sour expression and glare, you make easy work of his belt and slacks, tugging them down his hips and legs, throwing them off to the side with little care. Your disregard for his clothes made Crocodile grumble, but the noise was quickly silenced as you pressed your entire hand against his slick underwear, fingers teasing his hard t-cock and soaked folds.

“Tsk tsk, look at you, bet you just need someone to put you in your place, is that it?” you mumble in an almost mocking tone, looking up at him with an almost feral hunger in your eyes. Crocodile chokes on the words that want to form in his throat, some kind of rebuttal perhaps, that he would never want someone as low as you to do anything to him, but as you pinch his cock between your fingers, it morphs into a shaky moan.

Crocodile’s boxers as easily pulled off, thrown to the floor with a damp plap, making his face redden further as you only find amusement in the obvious sign of his arousal. Kicking off your pants and boxers, you crawl up the bed and sit between his thick thighs, pushing them further apart to expose where he only grows slicker, hole clenching around nothing as if begging you to fill it.

“What would they say, seeing the great Sir Crocodile, spread out like this, ready to take the cock of a feeble weak treasurer” you taunt, pressing your hips closer to his, so that you could drag the tip of your cock up and down through his folds. The act has Crocodile arching as good as he can with the cuff on, his eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw, a breathy noise leaving him, folds only growing slicker around you.

Maybe it was your size difference, with you being average human size, compared to Crocodiles almost 9 feet, or maybe it was his gut deep arousal, but his hole didn’t need much prep for you to be able to fit inside.

That didn’t mean you were just gonna give it to him, since this was supposed to be a lesson. A stuttery moan spills almost silently from Crocodiles lips as your fingers rub through his folds, barely pressing against where he wants you the most. He had never imagined himself in a situation like this, splayed out and dripping for you, someone he had always just seen as a nuisance, but here he was.

“Come on Crocodile… ask nicely” your tone is almost cruel as you push only two fingers inside him, barely felt because of his size, but just enough to rub against his wet gummy insides and leave him aching for more. Crocodiles jaw clenches, barring his teeth as his head weakly rolls to the side, as if to hide his face into the sheets.

“Or… I could just leave you here, thighs spread open, cunt glistening with want. Im sure someone will pass by, and who wouldn’t want a chance to fill this” as if to exaggerate your point, you push two more fingers into his slick hole, burying them as deep as possible into Crocodiles wet insides, punching a gasp out of him.

Crocodile seems to debate it, if he wants to put his pride aside for someone like you, but his thoughtprocess is knocked off course as you pinch his cock with your free hand, twisting it cruelly. Had he not been wearing the seastone cuff, his thighs would have clamped shut and a shout would have left him, but now all his body could do was tense up as a wet keen tumbled out of him.

“P…please” Crocodile finally mumbles, voice small and almost shy, but it can barely be heard over the wet slick sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out of him, his wetness running down your palm and wrist in the process.

“Hm?” you hum, the questioning tone in it clear, as if you didn’t hear him at all, giving his cock another twist just because you could. “fuck me… please…” is gasped out, Crocodiles insides clenching around your slick fingers as they rub and prod around inside him.

Your fingers movements slow to a stop, silence filling the room long enough for Crocodile to peek an eye open and look down at you. Your eyes are intense as they bore into his, the predatory flare in them making Crocodiles insides quiver. “Normally id demand better than that, but I’m starting to pity you” you scoff out, withdrawing your fingers from his hold with a slick noise.

Instead of wiping them off on the sheets, you use the large amount of slick that had gathered in your palm to slick up your shaft, releasing a huffed exhale as Crocodiles eyes widen at the sight. “I’ve thought about making you ride me, so you’ll have to make yourself take it, but we can’t do that right now, can we” you eye the cuff around his one wrist, making Crocodile growl and spit out a weak warbled “fuck you”

His insult carries no heat, clearly only for show, his glare quickly wiped off his face as you finally push inside him. Crocodile needs little time to adjust, resulting in you almost immediately setting a bruising rough pace, drawing in and out of him with loud wet slick noises, his hole gripping onto you as he gasps and moans.

Reaching down, you push his shirt up just enough to splay a hand across his lower stomach, a foxlike grin spreading across your lips as you watch his hips weakly roll into your own. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I could fuck you whenever. Imagine that Crocodile, walking around, cunt leaking my cum, as you try to play tough.” You chuckle darkly, tone thick and hungry in the way only a predatory animal could possess.

As your cock rams into that sensitive spot inside him, Crocodile is finally starting to realize you are truly more than you seem, his cunt drooling a wet puddle under him on the sheets as you take him with a new hunger, a glint appearing in your eyes as your hand presses down harder on his stomach.

“I could knock you up you know, right here.” Is hissed out as you bottom out inside Crocodile, the words making him tighten up and shiver in want. “No one would find you so scary then, would they Crocodile. Waddling around, fat with my kid” you purr, letting both your hands splay across his stomach. It was all fantasy, but by God did it make Crocodile wet and wanting. Something about the fantasy of you, some lesser subordinate knocking him, Sir Crocodile, up, had him seeing double.

The seastone didn’t help with his woozy state, all attempts at forming words only becoming half formed and slurred, Crocodiles eyes going wet and glassy as that familiar feeling spread through his body. “in… inside me…” Crocodile slurs as you curse to yourself, clearly close to the finish line as well. Had it not been for the cuffs, he would have thrown his legs around you, squeezing you against his body to keep you inside him, but all he could do now was beg.

Crocodiles pride crumbled as your fingers squeezed his cock one last time, a pure orgasmic expression crossing his face as he gasped and moaned, his entire body twitching weakly as he came, wetting your cock and the sheets even further as the feeling thrummed through his entire body.

With a deep groan you bottom out inside Crocodile for a last time, letting your eyes squeeze shut as you spill inside him, coating his insides in a thick coat of white. Crocodile whimpers weakly at the feeling, trying to squeeze around you as if to milk your length for more.

He slumps against the sheets further than he already is, eyes falling shut in a relaxed exhausted expression. Crocodile barely notices as you pull out, white leaking out from between his folds to join his own mess on the sheets. He barely even notices you cleaning him up, only twitching and gasping softly when you clean up between his legs.

Its only when the seastone cuff leaves his wrist that Crocodile returns to himself somewhat, as the familiar feeling of his devilfruit washes through his body again. Squinting his eyes open, he catches sight of you getting dressed again, tucking on your shirt, then your coat, and lastly placing your hat on top of your head.

Even with his devilfruit returned to him, Crocodile still feels weak and exhausted, but the good type of exhausted one only gets after a good fuck. Part of him wants to ask you to stay, to hold him and pet his hair, to maybe mumble more dirty fantasies about knocking him up, and how you’d make him live as your pretty little housewife. But instead, Crocodile just grunts to get your attention, his attempt to demand to know where you are going.

“I have to get back to the others, since ill be taking over your duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow” you say, voice resolute and not allowing any denial or struggle. And normally Crocodile would have growled and rejected anyone taking over his duties, but for some reason, the idea of you taking care of him made him relax deeper into the bed, muscles lax and thoughts empty and calm for once.

Approaching him, you press a soft kiss to his forehead before telling him “this room is hidden away from everyone else, so take all the time you need. Ill check up on you later” as you pat his cheek. After telling him where the bathroom is, where he could find towels and replacement sheets and blankets, you were on your way, leaving Crocodile on his lonesome.

It took a while, but he finally pushed himself into a seated position before getting to his feet. The feeling of your cum trickling down the insides of his thighs as the familiar heat of arousal burning inside him once more, making Crocodile shuffle towards the bathroom you had pointed him towards. Even though you had just left, he could still get himself off a few more times from just the memory alone.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be disciplined by you, he wondered how you’d react if he caused issues with your smuggling routes. The idea sent a line of heat up his spine as he stepped into the shower, hand quickly traveling between his thighs, fingers burying themselves into his still sensitive hole, fantasies of hungry glare and cruel fingers filling his mind.

[beifong-brainrot]

Zuko's blue spirit persona parallels Toph's Blind Bandit/Runaway personas more than it does Katara's Painted Lady and I'm, frankly, so exhausted of hearing this comparison. Like I understand why those wires would get crossed. The Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady are both spirits in Fire Nation mythology -though the Blue Spirit seems to have some symbollic connection to the Water Tribe, (perhaps for propaganda reasons, as it appears as a villain in Love Amongst Dragons), as well as having its masks common around the Earth Kingdom to some degree, and enabled Zuko and Katara to work towards their goals in secrecy.

But that's really where their similarities end, in my eyes. Because the aforementioned goals are what sets them apart. Katara seeks to use the visage of the Painted Lady in order to help people, even if they are on the opposite side of a war. It serves as another way for Katara to connect 'across the isle'. Many have pointed out that Katara's Painted Lady parallels Aang's Kuzon, and I tend to agree.

But I want to focus on Zuko and Toph's parallels here.

The Blue Spirit was a tool for Zuko to further his own goals or support himself and Iroh. Yes, the Blue Spirit is introduced to us as Aang's rescuer, but let's remember that it was only to stop Zhao from turning Aang in, bacause Zuko has to be the one to do it in order to regain his honour.

The Blue Spirit is deeply tied, in my opinion, with self preservation, and going further, Zuko compromising his morals in order to achieve his goals. Say what you will about Zuko's morals, but he has that fixation on the concept of honour, which certain other Fire Nation citizens seem to share. He stands up to the war council when they come up with a ploy to sacrifice their soldiers, he keeps his word in the South Pole and he is explicitly presented as more honourable than Zhao.

Iroh: No, Prince Zuko. Do not taint your victory. [Turns to face Zhao. Condescending.] So this is how the great Commander Zhao acts in defeat? [Close-up of Zhao lying on the floor.] Disgraceful. [Cut back to a closer shot of Zuko and Iroh.] Even in exile, my nephew is more honorable than you.

However, as the Blue Spirit, Zuko utilises trickery and subterfuge, often attacking from the shadows when his enemies turn their back to him. His first appearance as the Blue Spirit is him literally acting against the best interest of the nation he loves.

Now, Toph's Blind Bandit is a much milder case, as it doesn't involve literal treason. However, she is, like Zuko, concealing her identity to act in ways that her background would hate her engaging in.

As Toph shed the role of the perfect lady her parents wanted her to be when she fought in the ring, so Zuko shed the role of honourable prince when he donned the blue mask.

Toph and Zuko seem to be the characters with the most rigorous roles imposed on them when they were growing up. Even Aang was afforded a little leeway with his identity as Avatar being concealed until he turned 12.

Of course, Zuko's upbringing was cruel, an abusive father moulding him into a prince of a genocidal nation. The noble, royal ideals ingrained in him were, to him, intrinsic to his naive, idealised view of the Fire Nation. Which is why he had to don the disguise of a theatre villain to commit acts that go against those ideals.

Toph, once again, was not in such horrific conditions, however, I believe a good case can be made for the awful effect her upbringing had on her. She was isolated and forced into the role of a calm, polite, obedient young lady. The persona of the Blind Bandit was the natural pendulum swing in the other direction, crafted, most likely, from watching other fighters trashtalk each other.

Some may argue that Toph didn't care for her parents' opinions as much as Zuko wanted to honour his nation, but I disagree wholeheartedly with that notion. Toph wanted her parents' approval more than anything, it's the reason she lived a double life, hiding her true desires and personality.

An interesting time for both these personas is when they're both 'on the run', Zuko hunted by the Fire Nation alongside Iroh, while Toph joins the Gaang.

The Blue Spirit becomes a bona-fide bandit, stealing to survive. And while Toph is free to be herself for a bit, eventually the Blind Bandit is rechristened into the Runaway.

This is where the Blue Spirit serves the other reason for its existence- self preservation. And that of Iroh. Similarly, Toph earns money for the Gaang's spending, albeit through scams.

Aang: [While holding up a silver piece.] So, guys. What are we gonna get with our last silver piece? Toph: [Stops walking.] We can get more money. [They both look back at her.] Right there.

However, both go astray a little, Zuko taking far more than needed, and Toph getting overly cocky with her scams. The youngins love comitting crimes ig.

I'd say that the definitive end to both these personas comes with some kind of personal reckoning.

For Toph, it's a moment of weakness, when she admits that she misses her parents, after which she asks Katara to help her pen a letter to her mother. It's an issue we've seen Toph repressing essentially since she left her family and what fueled Toph's feuds with Katara in the Chase and the Runaway. The Runaway, as much as people like to focus on Katara's 'motherly behaviours', I think it mainly portrays Toph's own struggle with her perceptions of freedom and parental or authority figures.

Now, Zuko is much more dramatic, as is often the case. The Blue Spirit's last mission is very similar to his first. A rescue mission (this time of Appa) fueled by personal gain. But this time, Zuko has uncle Iroh to ask them hard hitting questions. Zuko is going through a very hard time at that moment. As the Fire Nation fully rejected him, his life essentially became pointless, and he had no idea how to go forward.

Both Zuko and Toph have to acknowledge some hard truths, truths that had gotten attached to the very alter egos they once used for their own gain.

And once they do, they let go of their alter egos.

An additional interesting tidbit is how Zuko's mask is inspired by Nuo masks in Chinese theatre, and Toph's headband also seems to be lifted from Chinese theatre (note the characteristic 'pompoms')

[likealittleheartbeat]

talk to me about the theme of emotional isolation for zuko and aang

It's the main reason I'm obsessed with the show tbh.

Can we overstate Aang's isolation within the show. He's not only a survivor--a sole survivor--of a genocide, he's also knocked out of time and history. These are the facts of his physical isolation. But his emotional isolation is such a different beast. It began before any deaths did. He is set apart by the monks and by the whole world as a savior. Shortly after his status as the avatar is made known, his peers exclude him, his power too great. His humanity is denied because he's too divine. Only Gyatso seems to still regard him for who he is rather than his gifts. Of course, that's why the council decides Aang needs to be further separated from worldly relations like that, and vote to send him off. For Aang, it's the last straw. He can't bear further exile from others. To regain some sense of control, he tries to run away from the heavy burden and those who have put it on him. At least this time, he's the one choosing his loneliness. It has become so clear that no one can understand his feelings about the Avatar State.

This is the emotional state he enters the series with, icon rather than human. He starts off concealing his revered identity in an attempt to indulge in simple pleasures, penguin sledding, coy fish riding, etc. But the shame is secretly right there at the surface. He's lovable but mercurial. Friendly and animated with everyone when he first meets them but in a way that's fleeting. The knowledge that he will have to leave the village, in an episodic fashion, having helped the members of the town, even having sacrificed himself for their well-being, is an understood fact of the plot and his life. At most he sheds some of his grief by putting it into words with Katara's encouragement. But despite the whole world fighting through their own grief from the fire nation and Katara's sole-survival of her own culture's genocide, they each have people in their families and cultures who, however bitterly, hold them and hold the broken memories together with one another. No one is as physically isolated as Aang, but, more importantly for his character development, no one is as isolated by their significance to the world.

No one, except Zuko. Zuko, the banished prince. Isn't that what Aang as the Avatar is in many ways: a spiritual prince, an heir by birth to power and legacy, who has been banished from his inheritance. Only, Aang's inheritance would be peace. Zuko's would be the Fire Nation, but because of his humanity, Zuko, like Aang, is without a nation. This is one reason Zuko and Aang are such incredible narrative foils. Aang is rejected from humanity's compassion because of his divine status while Zuko is rejected from divine rule because of his human compassion and failures to demonstrate perfection. (If you're interested in this dynamic in media, Fruits Basket has fantastic explorations of these themes with Kyo vs. Yuki and Tohru vs. Akito.)

How early did Zuko start to notice the disappointment he brought to his father and grandfather? As early as we can see, Zuko seems alone. The episode with that phrase in the title reflects back on his childhood, which, noticeably, lacks the friends Azula manages to keep. He mimics and mocks her cruelty, as well, in an attempt to impress his mother. His insecurity seems already set, a sense that no one can understand. While Aang recognizes that everyone thinks he's too good to belong, Zuko lives in an environment in which he's not good enough to belong.

The reactions to their rejections correspond, too. Zuko's reaction of antagonistic pursuit of anyone and everyone--like Aang's reaction to run away (literally and sometimes emotionally with a smile or joke)--helps keep others in a framework of enemies so he can control his exile rather than the other way around. Yet these behaviors put them in dynamic relation to one another--Zuko is drawn to the endless pursuit of the strangely kind Aang, whose instinct is to behold others while remaining untouchable, while Aang becomes clearly intrigued by the person who refuses to treat him like an untouchable hero, the person who refuses to give up on the possibility that the Avatar can be flawed and fail, no matter how many times he slips away proving his divine destiny.

It's obvious that Zuko is supposed to hate Aang, as the Avatar. "The Headband" illustrates how education in the Fire Nation portrays him if the fact that Zuko's only possibility for regaining his title under his father is bringing the Avatar back isn't enough evidence for you. But Aang ought to hate Zuko just as much, if not more. Instead, they are drawn toward one another with an remarkable intensity, established within the first half of the first season, "The Storm" x "Blue Spirit" combo punch! In fact, the blue spirit episode really reveals what they can mean to each other. Not only in Aang's question at the end that invites Zuko back into the past with him, but in the way that Zuko is made to be the divine entity for a brief period while Aang is helpless in the fort. Then, that question at the end: "Do you think we could have been friends?" Isn't that the opposite of the isolation they feel. In the woods, without a nation or an allegiance, Aang, remembering the people and time that he was forced to leave asks Zuko, who has just betrayed the people who banished him, in another version of life where they were both simple people rather heirs of vast power, if they could have formed a kind of union that would have dissolved the loneliness that consumes both of them. But it's momentary and they have to return to the world that defines them as the Avatar and the Banished Fire Prince.

This becomes one of the cores of the show, as echoed in the finale, where Zuko and Aang consummate their friendship, but by then, through traveling the winding road toward one another and aiming to take on a part of what the other person represents, they have found a balance that refused the binaries of divinity and fallibility that had previously separated and defined their lives, binaries that exiled them from connecting with others, binaries that built towers to isolate them from the world. The victims and survivors of genocide, the subjects of colonial violence, nor the sufferers of abuse need be pure to claim their pain, nor must the people who want and work towards justice be saints to do that work. Harder for many audience members to absorb, despite their love for Zuko who's arc is meant to emphasize the point, there is a spark of divinity in everyone, from the most unloved to the most violent and tyrannical. This second fact must exist alongside the first, or else the premise won't hold. How you choose to act and engage with that spark of divinity is a human choice we each make on our own, but that does not deny it's existence. The divine ideals must be allowed to fall apart into comedy and tragedy, while the mundane, the profane, and the cruels horrors of life must be allowed to be seen as something that hold the possibility to become beautiful and part of a grander design. The Avatar must be allowed to be Aang and Zuko must be allowed to be the Firelord so that we can have Avatar Aang (the last title of the series) and Firelord Zuko (the most celebrated character arc of the series). They need one another to assuage the fear, isolation, and dread that black-and-white perfectionist thinking boxes us into.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Novel Dialogue

Speech in a novel is different from real life

Novel dialogue - is not like reality, where much of what we say is of little consequence to the bigger picture of our lives.

Check that all your dialogue needs to be there, then remove the mundane.

Artful dialogue - requires balancing realism with engagement.

Ensure that every word spoken by a character pushes the novel forward rather than making the reader feel like they’re eavesdropping on a mundane conversation at the bus stop.

Every line of dialogue should have a purpose. If it doesn’t, it shouldn’t be there.

A 3-Pronged Approach to Dialogue

One way of assessing whether dialogue is working is to think in terms of:

voice,

mood and

intention.

When we focus on these three things, we avoid dull dialogue – conversations about the weather, how someone takes their tea or coffee, and courtesy statements such as ‘Hi, how are you?’

VOICE

Tells us who characters are, what makes them tick – their fears, frustrations, hopes and dreams, identity, preferences.

Perhaps their speech is abrupt, rude, measured, polite, sweary or seductive.

When we change the way a character speaks, we change their voice. And that means we change them.

MOOD

Characters can show us how they’re feeling via their dialogue.

Emotionally evocative speech allows readers to access the internal experience of a non-viewpoint character. And that makes it a powerful tool.

Perhaps their speech is abrupt, assertive, hesitant, forceful, pleading. Using the right words means the speech tags and narrative won’t need to be cluttered with further explanation.

INTENTION

Another way of framing subtext.

How characters speak tells us what they want.

Perhaps they’re asking questions for the purpose of discovery & understanding whodunit (doctors, lawyers, private investigators, and police officers regularly use dialogue in novels to this end). Dialogue can express a multitude of motivations.

Ask yourself what your character wants every time they open their mouth.

To declutter dialogue and make every word count, ask yourself the following:

Is every line relevant to the story?

Is the character speaking with purpose or taking up ink/pixels on the page?

Can mundane chitchat be removed without damaging sense and flow?

Could the dull stuff be replaced with speech that deepens character?

Example

A real, but mundane dialogue:

Laurie comes back to the office with me for a meeting with Kevin. These meetings are basically of dubious value, since all we seem to do is list the things we don’t understand in our preparation for a trial we don’t know will even take place. “Hi, Kevin,” I say. “Hey, Andy. How you doin’?” “Not too bad, thanks. Christ, it’s cold out though. I need something to warm me up. Gonna grab a coffee. Want one? Laurie, you?” Kevin nods. Laurie says, “Please. Milk and sugar.” “So Kevin,” I say as I hand around the drinks, “we need to talk about Petrone.” It’s the first chance I’ve had to tell Kevin about my meeting with the guy. I fill him in. When I get to the part where Petrone denied trying to have me killed, Kevin asks, “And you believed him?” “I did.” “Just because that’s what he said?” I nod. “As stupid as it might sound, yes. I’ve had dealings with him before, and he’s always told me the truth, or nothing at all. And he had nothing to gain by lying.” “Andy, the guy has had a lot of people murdered. How many confessions has he made?”

Turning it into Novel Dialogue...

This is how author David Rosenfelt actually wrote this excerpt from Play Dead (Grand Central, 2009, p. 175):

Laurie comes back to the office with me for a meeting with Kevin. These meetings are basically of dubious value, since all we seem to do is list the things we don’t understand in our preparation for a trial we don’t know will even take place. It’s the first chance I’ve had to tell Kevin about my meeting with Petrone. I fill him in. When I get to the part where Petrone denied trying to have me killed, Kevin asks, “And you believed him?” “I did.” “Just because that’s what he said?” I nod. “As stupid as it might sound, yes. I’ve had dealings with him before, and he’s always told me the truth, or nothing at all. And he had nothing to gain by lying.” “Andy, the guy has had a lot of people murdered. How many confessions has he made?”

Rosenfelt knows that none of his readers care about the weather, the tea, or whether people say hello to each other or not. And so he leaves all of that out and lets the reader imagine that this stuff took place. And it’s enough.

In the published novel, the first line of speech is “And you believed him.” With that, we’re straight into Kevin’s incredulity and concern, and his desire to understand what the team is dealing with in regard to Petrone.

Meanwhile, Andy has his lawyer hat on. His initial reply is succinct, so that we are left in no doubt about his belief that Petrone was telling the truth, and that he is determined to reassure Kevin.

This is no-messing dialogue that focuses on story, not whether the speech is what we might actually hear – in its entirety – in real life. It’s an excellent example of an author ensuring that every word counts and that there’s no bus-stop-talk filler.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ Tips & Advice

[corydora-writes]

Two Lonely Hearts Part Two

Summary: Batman reveals his identity to you and then introduces you to his family on Christmas Day.

Pairing: Batman (Bruce Wayne) x Plus Size Female Reader

Word count: 9,202

Warnings: Just fluff and sappy Christmas things.

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Two hours before Batman confessed his feelings to you

Bruce and Clark stood together in the dimly lit confines of the Watchtower, their silhouettes cast against the deep blue of the expansive night sky beyond the glass walls. They had just wrapped up a grueling two-week mission. Despite their success, Clark couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was off with Bruce. 

Clark approached Bruce, his eyes filled with both concern and curiosity. "Bruce," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "Is everything alright? You seem...distracted."

"Everything is fine," Bruce responded.

Clark detected the subtle inflections and micro expressions in Bruce’s voice. He could tell that there was more to it than a simple "fine”. 

"Are you sure?" Clark pressed gently. "You know, you can talk to me if something's bothering you."

“I think I made a mistake,” Bruce finally said, as doubt crept into his mind.

Clark's eyes widened in surprise. It was rare to hear Bruce admit to a mistake. He leaned against the console, giving Bruce his full attention.

"A mistake?" he replied, encouraging Bruce to continue.

“I became too involved with a… woman,” he confessed, a trace of reluctance in his voice as he spoke. The words hung in the air, cloaked in ambiguity.

Clark raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. It wasn't uncommon for Bruce to have women flocking around him, but the mention of him being "too involved" piqued Clark's curiosity even further.

"Too involved," Clark repeated, leaning closer. "Do you mean emotionally involved?"

"Unfortunately," Bruce replied with a sigh, his brow furrowing in disappointment as he glanced away, lost in thought.

Clark's expression softened, his concern turning into a blend of understanding and empathy. 

"I see," he said slowly, choosing his words lightly. "What happened? 

Bruce took a deep breath as he began to explain to Clark the intricacies of his complicated relationship with you. You were not just any woman; you were the skilled director of the Wayne Legacy program, a vital initiative tied to the Wayne family name and its philanthropic efforts. Despite your professional ties, Bruce had kept you at an arm's length, choosing to maintain a certain distance from you in his role as Bruce Wayne. 

But that never worked out as planned. There were circumstances that drew you together in a way he never anticipated. One time, you found yourself in a perilous situation, needing help, and Batman intervened. What was meant to be a single act of heroism turned into a shared evening that unfolded several times, each encounter drawing you closer and deepening your connection. Somehow you seemed to attract danger. 

This unexpected bond eventually transformed into a casual arrangement—one that was purely physical. In fleeting moments, you and Batman shared passionate escapades. 

Meanwhile, Bruce grappled with his feelings for you, having fallen deeply in love, torn from the secrets he kept hidden from you.

As Bruce unfolded the complex tale of his involvement with you, Clark listened intently, his expression a mix of intrigue and understanding. The more Bruce described your relationship, the more the situation twisted itself like a labyrinth into even more complicated depths.

When Bruce finished speaking, Clark let out a breath, processing the information. "Well," he began, choosing his words carefully, "that...certainly is a tangled web you've woven, Bruce."

Clark crossed his arms, leaning against the console, his expression thoughtful.

"I know you're used to keeping your secrets, Batman," Clark added, using Bruce's superhero name to emphasize the point. "But this... this is different, isn't it? You're in love with this woman."

Clark's keen eyes studied Bruce's face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. He knew how difficult it was for Bruce to open up, but he also knew how desperately Bruce was grappling with this situation, torn between love and secrecy.

"You know, Bruce," Clark added, taking a step closer, "there's a saying: love and truth go hand-in-hand. How can you truly love someone, fully and completely, if there's this wall of secrecy between you?"

Bruce's gaze narrowed, his expression caught between vulnerability and determination.

"It's not that simple," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed away from the console, turning to face Clark.

"This is not just a part of my life. It's at the core of who I am," he continued, his voice laced with a mixture of resolve and anguish. "If I reveal that truth to her, it would upend her entire world. How do I trust that she can handle that kind of truth?” 

Clark listened intently. 

Bruce's eyes darkened, the weight of his burden visible in his gaze. "She only knows Batman. Could she love me too, or only Batman?"

Clark absorbed Bruce's words, and a wave of empathy washed over him. He reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand your concern," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you’re not just Batman. You're also Bruce Wayne—a strong, generous, and compassionate man. Why assume she couldn't see and accept that part of you as well?" Clark drew in a breath, his next words careful and deliberate. "Love requires courage, Bruce. It requires trust. But it also requires that you give the other person the choice to love you, fully and completely, without any secrets in the way. Are you ready to take that risk?"

Bruce held Clark's gaze for a few moments, his expression unreadable. The silence between them spoke louder than words. Clark could see the battle within Bruce, the struggle between his natural tendency to secrets and his desire for a true, honest connection with you.

Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice a whisper of vulnerability. "Maybe you're right, Clark." 

Bruce's admission carried a hint of resigned acceptance as if a small part of him longed to let go, to trust and open up. "But even if she could love me," he added, a tinge of doubt still lingering in his voice, "how can I be sure that she won't be hurt by the truth? How can I protect her from everything that comes with being closely associated with Batman?"

Clark sighed, empathizing with Bruce's concern. "Bruce, you can't control how others react to the truth.  But what you can control is how you share it with her. And more importantly, you can love her unconditionally.  Even if she might need to recover and take time to process the truth, you can support her. And as for protecting her, you won't be alone," Clark added, determination lacing his voice. “I'm here, and the rest of the Justice League will be here too. We protect the ones we love. We'll adapt, we always do."

A hint of gratitude flickered in Bruce's eyes as he looked at Clark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and hope. "I appreciate your support, Clark. But making the decision to reveal my secrets... it's something I need to grapple with. It's not that I don't trust her; it's that I fear losing her."

"I know," Clark replied, his voice filled with understanding. "It's a huge risk. But you have to give her the chance to love all of you—Bruce Wayne and Batman. If you keep the secret..." Clark paused, his gaze steady on Bruce's. "You run the risk of losing her anyway."

Bruce let out a long sigh, the internal conflict still etched on his face, but there was a glimpse of acceptance in his eyes.  "I suppose you're right. I just..." he trailed off, words failing him for once. Then, with a hint of resignation, he added, "I just need time to figure out how and when to tell her."

Clark let out a soft chuckle, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, I spent quite a while talking with Lois about the perfect Christmas gift for you,” he began, a warm smile crossing his face. “It’s a tough dilemma. I mean, what do you give a billionaire who seems to have everything? It took some time, but an idea just hit me.” Clark paused momentarily. “I want to gift you something that you can’t buy or accumulate more of—time. This Christmas, take the day off. Be honest with her; reveal your true feelings. Love her wholeheartedly. I mean it. I’ll take care of everything in Gotham while you focus on what's most important. It’s time you put your heart first.”

Bruce's expression slowly relaxed, a small, grateful smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That... that’s actually not a bad idea," he admitted. "But you know me, Clark," he added, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Taking a day off isn't exactly my strong suit, even on Christmas. Gotham…" He trailed off, the weight of his responsibilities hanging in the air.

Clark chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I know. I know. That city is your life in a lot of ways. But, and I never thought I’d say this, it's gonna have to manage without you for a day.” 

He folded his arms, his expression turning stern, yet his eyes held a hint of humor. “I mean it, Bruce. I’m gonna make sure you take the day off, one way or another. You need this, even if it’s against every fiber of your being.”

Bruce's sigh was heavy, but he had to concede that Clark was right. "Fine," he grumbled, a trace of resignation in his voice. "I'll take the day off. But I'm holding you accountable, Clark. Gotham better be standing by the time I get back."

Clark let out a hearty laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You have my word. Gotham will be standing, and then some." His expression softened as he continued, "Now, let's make this Christmas count. You just focus on enjoying your time with her.”

Bruce nodded slowly, the weight of his responsibilities easing slightly. He couldn’t deny the appeal of spending a day truly focusing on you. 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” he said, a hint of determination in his voice. “Christmas it is. And thank you, Clark. For everything.”

Clark smiled warmly, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him. “Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure you come back with a smile. And a relationship, hopefully. If not, I’m not sure the League can handle your brooding.” Clark laughed. “Anyway, I’m out of here I have exciting news to share with Lois,” Clark said and headed out of the Watchtower.

Christmas Day. Batman unmasked.

"If you could please put on this blindfold, as instructed by Batman, madam," The British man said, his tone respectful yet tinged with an element of secrecy. 

With a flutter of anticipation in your chest, you took the sleek fabric from his hand and carefully wrapped it around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. You could feel the thrill of the unknown thrumming through your veins, heightening your senses even as your vision disappeared.

Bruce nodded subtly to Alfred. Without a single word or sound, he extended his hand to help you navigate the car’s low seat. As you emerged, he gently placed an arm around your waist, providing a comforting presence. With his other hand, he clasped your delicate fingers, interlocking them firmly yet tenderly, and began to guide you through the entrance of the intimate, dimly lit Manor. 

Mellow strains of a saxophone filled the home with a soothing rhythm. You shivered at the familiar touch of Batman, and your heart raced with recognition. "It's you, Knight, isn't it?" You asked softly, your voice barely rising above the soothing music.

But Bruce remained silent, his eyes fixed ahead, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he led you deeper into the manor until you reached his study. 

Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the weight of the revelation he was about to unveil. The thought of sharing his true identity with you sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through him, igniting a mix of excitement and anxiety. For so long, he had navigated this connection under the shadow of Batman, but today was different. Today, you would finally meet the man behind the mask.

Bruce guided you to stand in front of the grand ornate mirror, its surface gleaming with an almost magical allure, while your world remained shrouded in blissful darkness beneath the blindfold. The air was thick with anticipation as you felt his body heat so close behind you, his presence both commanding and intimate. As you anxiously clutched the fabric of your skirt, your fingers twisted the soft material, a tell-tale sign of your nerves. It was a habit that you fell back on during moments of uncertainty, and Bruce couldn’t help but be drawn to your vulnerability. The air around crackled with anticipation, and he knew that this moment would change everything.

With slow, languid movements, Bruce began to caress your face, tracing the lines of your jaw and the curve of your lips, his touch gentle and reverent. He moved lower, his fingers ghosting over your neck with a feeling that was both tender and intense causing you to shiver in anticipation of his next touch. His other free fingers traced reverently over the swell of your hips and then lower, to the generous fullness of your luscious belly. 

Leaning down, he brought his lips near your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he whispered, “Are you ready, my love?”

That voice. Even without the voice modulator, you knew who that voice belonged to. It was a voice that you would know anywhere, a voice that had been imprinted in your memory and your heart. Your breath hitched in response to the whispered words, your heart racing with anticipation. With a nod, you responded, your voice barely a whisper, "Yes, I'm ready."

The feeling of his lips on your cheek was soft and tender, the warmth of his kiss leaving your skin tingling. As he leaned back, you could feel the silk blindfold being carefully unfastened, its soft weight gradually falling away from your face. The room slowly came into focus, the warm candlelight and the soft strains of jazz filling your senses. Your eyes widened in surprise, your gaze meeting Bruce's in the mirror as you took in the sight before you: the contrast between your own shorter stature and Bruce's towering presence, the way your bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. You turned around to face him, your eyes searching his with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Bruce...?" You whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you breathed his name, rich with unspoken feelings.

He couldn't help but smile, his gaze lingering on the softness of your expression, the way the light caught the gentle curve of your cheeks and the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. 

"It's me," he said softly, each word dripping with emotion and vulnerability. "I'm the man behind the mask, the man who has foolishly, desperately, and passionately fallen in love with you." A look of tenderness swept through Bruce's expression as he looked down at you, his eyes scanning your face intently. He could see the flicker of conflicting emotions in your gaze, the disbelief and awe mixing together with something else that tugged at his heart.

You reached up, your hand reaching out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw in wonder. "Bruce," you whispered again, your voice even softer this time.

The touch of your fingertips against his skin sent a jolt through Bruce's body, causing his breath to hitch in his chest. He had dreamed of this moment countless times, the moment when he could finally reveal himself to you. But now that it was happening, the reality of it was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, savoring the feel of your fingers against his face.

"I’m here," Bruce murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m no longer hiding from you."

Your hand remained on his face, your fingers running gently over his features. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?” 

Bruce let out a deep exhale, his hand coming up to cover yours, holding it against his cheek. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of regret and vulnerability.

"I wanted to tell you for so long," he said, his voice strained. “But I was afraid of how you would react, afraid of putting you in danger, afraid of losing you.”

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “Thank you for trusting me. For giving us a chance…”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Bruce's lips, he grabbed your hand and held it against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the rhythm of its pace a testament to the intensity of his emotions.

"You have no idea how much I've ached for this moment," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of relief and desire. "To be able to stand before you as myself and not a mask. To have a chance at a future with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a sudden wave of emotion washing over you. You leaned into him, your body close enough to feel his warmth, your hand still resting against his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat. Your eyes searched his, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty but you didn’t find any. “So you’re thinking about a future with me?"

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. He met your gaze, the look in his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

"Of course I am," he said, his voice low and filled with quiet confidence. "I want a future with you. I want to be there for you as both Bruce Wayne and Batman."

You stepped even closer, your body now flush against his, your arms wrapped around his neck. You looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with a mixture of emotions.

Bruce's hands encircled your waist, pulling you even closer, his body molding against yours as if they were made for each other. He marveled at the feeling of you in his arms, the way your curves fit against him, the softness of your skin under his touch. 

"I've imagined this moment countless times," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Holding you in my arms, being able to call you mine, without the darkness, without the cowl.”

You leaned your head against his sturdy chest, letting yourself succumb to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, a steady thrum that resonated in the silence between you. The sound was both exhilarating and reassuring, wrapping around you like an embrace. 

Bruce's voice broke the spell of the moment as he quipped, “You’ve taken this surprisingly well. My identity didn’t seem to surprise you.” His tone was teasing, yet there was an undercurrent of curiosity that hinted at his need to understand your reaction. 

“Oh, believe me, I have many questions,” you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. “one being the ethical implications surrounding our relationship, but we have plenty of time to discuss that.” You took a moment, your gaze piercing, as if searching for answers in his eyes. “And truthfully, my heart has already spoken; I’ve fallen for you, my Dark Knight. And that includes every part of you, Bruce. You’re a man of many layers, a complex tapestry of experiences and emotions, and I adore every thread that makes you who you are. I’ve seen you as my leader, authoritative and steady, yet we’ve shared moments of intimacy and passion. So when I look into your eyes, I don’t just see a man — I see a familiar soul. A man my heart recognizes as its own.”

Bruce's heart soared as you spoke, your words a salve to his soul. He felt seen, known, and understood in a way he had never experienced before. Your confession that you had fallen for him, all of him, both the man and the knight, was like a gift he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice low and gravelly, echoing the profound emotions that surged within him. 

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I feel as if you’ve known me for lifetimes as if we have shared countless pasts together. You somehow manage to bring light in parts of me that I thought had burned out long ago." He looked away momentarily as if he was embarrassed at his vulnerability. 

"Listen to me, love," you whispered, your voice filled with a blend of awe and tenderness, "I see your darkness, your pain, all the shadows that you carry. And I promise to embrace them, as I embrace you, piece by piece."

As Bruce leaned forward, he felt a rush of warmth and anticipation. Your eyes locked for a brief moment, and he could see the spark of connection evident in your gaze. Then, with a soft and gentle motion, he pressed his lips against yours, savoring the sweetness of the moment as time seemed to stand still around you. Your eyes fluttered close, giving in to the dance of lips and tongues, a heated, passionate, and needy connection that consumed you both. His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you close as if he couldn't bear to let you go as if this kiss was the very air he needed to breathe.  

Bruce gently pulled away from the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with a playful yet meaningful gaze. “Let’s save the best for last, shall we?” he said with a subtle grin, teasingly hinting at the wonderful evening that lay ahead. “Alfred has gone all out this time and prepared a special dinner for us.” His voice carried a mix of anticipation and affection, making it clear that he was eager to savor every moment of your time together.

“Alfred?” You inquired, your brow furrowing as you struggled to recall anyone by that name. 

Bruce smiled at your question, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Alfred,” he repeated, his expression soft yet filled with a sense of nostalgia. “He's more than just the man who helped raise me, he's the man who has been my anchor for as long as I can remember. He's been there through everything, from my childhood as an orphan to the present day as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. And tonight, he wants to introduce himself to you.”

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curving upward. “Well, I’d be honored to finally meet this mysterious Alfred,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

Bruce smiled, pleased with your response. He moved his hand to your waist, gently guiding you toward the dining room. "Be warned though, he can be quite the character, but it’s all with good intention."

As you stepped into the expansive dining room, you couldn’t help but notice the elegant setting, the table adorned with fine Christmas decor, candlelight flickering subtly in the corners. Soft music filled the air, adding to the atmosphere of refinement. Then your gaze shifted to an older man, standing near a side table, who turned to face you. You recognized the man as the driver from earlier. 

"Ah, Master Bruce,” the man said, his voice holding a note of familiarity. "And this must be the lovely miss Y/N I've heard so much about."

You felt a sudden wave of nerves wash over you as the man spoke. 

“Y/N, this is Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce said. 

Alfred approached you, a warm smile on his face as he extended his hand in greeting. ”I can see why Master Bruce is so taken with you. You’re quite lovely, if I may so myself,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine kindness. 

You accepted his handshake, a soft smile crossing your face in response to his friendly demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth,” you replied, your voice laced with both politeness and a hint of curiosity. “Please, call me Y/N. None of these formalities are needed.”

Bruce's eyes moved from you to Alfred, a sense of pride in his gaze at how comfortably you two were already interacting. “Alfred, as always, has outdone himself with the spread,” he said, gesturing towards the beautifully laid-out dining table. 

“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred responded, his eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of satisfaction. “I’ve prepared tonight’s meal with the utmost care and attention. I believe it's one of my finer creations.”

Alfred paused. “Before we commence with dinner," Alfred stated, his voice filled with a touch of seriousness, "I have a small request for the both of you."

Bruce turned his gaze towards Alfred, a slight furrow on his brow. He seemed puzzled by the sudden change in tone but also intrigued enough to give his full attention to the matter. “What kind of request?” Bruce inquired, the curiosity evident in his voice.

"If it's not too much trouble," Alfred started, his voice holding a hint of a playful smile, "I'd like a moment alone with Miss Y/N. I have some things I'd like to discuss with her."

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly in mild surprise, the request catching him off guard. He glanced at you, and you were equally taken aback, then back at Alfred. There was some hidden intention behind Alfred's words, and Bruce couldn't deny that it piqued his curiosity.

"Of course, that's not a problem," you replied, your voice steady.

Alfred nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering to Bruce for a brief moment as if silently communicating something. Then he shifted his focus onto you, his expression one of pleasant curiosity. "Follow me, Miss Y/N," he said, gesturing towards a set of double doors nearby.

You glanced at Bruce, offering him a reassuring smile to ease any lingering uncertainty, before standing and following Alfred towards the doors. 

Alfred led you through the doors and into a small, elegant sitting room. It was cozy, yet opulent. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries, and the furniture was arranged to maximize both style and comfort. A small fire crackled faintly in the stone fireplace against the far wall, casting shadows and warm light across the room. 

Alfred led you to a pair of comfortable chairs facing each other near the fireplace. He gestured for you to take a seat, a gentle, yet purposeful look on his face.

Alfred took his seat across from you, the warm glow of the fire casting shadows across his face. He observed you for a silent moment, sizing you up, before addressing you directly.

"Miss Y/N," he started, his voice soft yet carrying an intense undertone, "I’ll be straightforward with you. In my years of knowing Master Bruce, I've observed him go through many relationships. None, however, have seemed to hold his attention and devotion like you."

You tilted your head slightly, absorbing his words. You hadn't expected such a declaration, let alone from someone like Alfred. Your brow furrowed lightly, a mixture of curiosity in your eyes. 

"And why do you think that is?" You asked. 

"That is a valid question," Alfred responded, his eyes studying you carefully. “You've managed to catch his heart, make him open up in a way he's never done before. The change in him is striking." He paused for effect, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "But there's something else that sets you apart from the others."

"And what might that be?" You asked. 

Alfred's gaze intensified as he observed you, weighing his words.

"I do hope it’s not premature of me to say this but, it’s your ability to see beyond the surface. You see him, truly see him, for who he is - as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. You connect with him on a deeper level. There's no pretense, no trying to change him. You simply accept him, flaws and all."

A small smile formed on your lips as you looked back at Alfred. "I see your perception rivals your wisdom, Mr. Pennyworth," you acknowledged a tone of respect in your voice.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Alfred’s mouth at your comment. 

"You've also managed to break his usually cold demeanor. I've never witnessed him smile or laugh as much as I have since he met you. You've brought a lightness to him that has been missing for a while." He paused, studying you, the look on his face becoming more serious. "But I must ask, are you aware of the life you’re stepping into? The dangers that come with his world?"

Your smile faded slightly, a hint of gravity entering your expression. "I am," you replied, knowing full well the implications of Bruce’s double life. "I’m aware of the risks and dangers associated with being with someone like him." You paused for a moment, considering your words carefully before continuing, "But I believe love isn’t about avoiding risks. It’s about finding someone worth taking those risks for."

Alfred nodded a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Wise words, Miss Y/N. Love isn’t for the faint-hearted, and loving someone like Master Bruce requires a level of patience that not many possess." He paused, studying you once again. "But love alone isn’t enough. You must also understand that there are aspects of Master Bruce’s life that will always be outside your reach. His crusade as Batman will always come first, no matter what.. unfortunately. Are you prepared for that?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of Alfred’s words settling in. You had come to terms with this part of Bruce and had accepted it as part of who he was the moment he revealed his identity to you. 

You met Alfred's gaze, your eyes holding confidence and determination. "Yes," you replied, your voice unwavering, "I’m prepared for that. I understand it’s a part of who he is, and it’s a part of what makes him the man I fell in love with."

A satisfied look crossed Alfred’s expression as he observed your response. "You’ve given your answer much thought, it seems," he noted, his tone holding a note of approval. He leaned forward slightly, a new determination in his eyes. "I need to ask you one final thing, Miss Y/N.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, your gaze fixed on Alfred, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation in your eyes. 

"What is it?" 

“Can I trust you with his heart?” Alfred asked.

You felt the question strike a chord within. It wasn’t a simple question, but rather one that held tremendous importance. But you didn’t hesitate. “Yes," you replied, your voice firm and resolute, "You can trust me with his heart."

"I believe you," he said simply, his tone softened. "Your dedication to him, your love and acceptance of him, they’re genuine." He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "I want you to know that I will make it my priority to ensure he treats you with nothing less than the utmost respect and admiration. You deserve to be cherished, loved, and valued, and I won't stand by and let anyone, not even Master Bruce, treat you otherwise."

You listened to Alfred's words, touched by the depth of loyalty and concern. The thought of someone like Alfred, who knew Bruce so well, standing up for you, made you feel both humbled and protected. 

You offered him a small smile, your eyes filled with gratitude, "I appreciate your pledge, Mr. Pennyworth. I’ve never felt more cared for."

He returned your smile with one of his own, the lines of his face creased with both solemnity and happiness. "Please, call me Alfred," he insisted, his tone a mixture of insistence and warmth. "You're part of this home now, and in my eyes, that means you're part of the family." He paused, the fire cracking in the fireplace the only sound in the room for a moment. "And family looks after their own."

The words "part of the family" hit you with a sudden wave of emotion. Growing up, you had never known what it was like to truly feel like you belonged, not even with your own family. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes, but you fought them back, a small, choked laugh escaping your lips to fight the urge to cry. 

"Thank you, Alfred," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion, "That means more to me than you can ever know."

Alfred's facial expression softened further as he leaned in, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Family means everything," he murmured. "It’s a bond that binds you together through good times and bad. And you, my dear, have made Bruce a better man. You’ve made this place brighter, warmer already." He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I can’t wait to see what the future holds for the two of you."

Your emotional turmoil heightened with Alfred’s reassurance, your heart swelling with a mixture of joy and melancholy. But this time, you didn’t fight it. You let the tears fall, the emotional release providing a moment of catharsis.

"Thank you, Alfred," you repeated, your voice catching in your throat. Your tears continued to fall as you wiped them away. "For everything."

Alfred reached into a nearby drawer, got a handkerchief, and handed it over to you. He gave you another soft smile, his eyes filled with understanding. 

He waited patiently for you to gather your composure, the room quiet except for the crackling fire. 

After a few moments, your tears began to subside, your emotions slowly returning to equilibrium.

You looked up at Alfred, your eyes red and puffy, a small sheepish smile on your lips. "I'm sorry," you mumbled, "I didn't mean to get so emotional."

Alfred dismissed your apology with a wave of his hand. "No need to apologize, my dear," he said gently. "Raw emotions are nothing to be ashamed of." He leaned forward, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "What do you say we return to the dining hall," he suggested, "before Master Bruce begins to worry."

You nodded, wiping away the last of your tears. Getting up from your chair, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace and determination settle over you. 

Alfred led you back to the dining hall, opening the doors to reveal Bruce waiting patiently at the head of the table. His expression changed from slight concern to relief as soon as he saw you, a soft smile spreading across his face. He stood as you approached. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his gaze shifting between your tear-stained face and Alfred’s calm demeanor.

"Everything’s fine," you responded, your composure now returning. You could see the flicker of concern in Bruce’s eyes, and you wanted to assure him that there was nothing to worry about.

You took a seat beside him, forcing a small smile. "It was just a heartfelt conversation, that’s all," you added, casting a quick glance at Alfred.

Bruce eyed you for a moment, the concern in his gaze lingering, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he reached for your hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Alfred took his seat as well, his expression holding a hint of satisfaction, a silent statement that the discussion you had was more than just a heartfelt exchange.

“Y/N," Bruce began, his voice steady yet warm, as he gestured towards you. "I want to introduce you to my sons. They are Damian, Dick, and Jason, and they will be joining us shortly. It’s important to me that you get to meet them." He paused a hint of pride in his expression, knowing how much they all meant to him.

You nodded slowly, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness at the thought of meeting Bruce's sons. It was more than just a social occasion; it represented a significant step in your relationship, a tangible sign that Bruce was ready to share a deeper part of his life with you—a facet that you knew must be important to him.

"I look forward to meeting them," you replied, your voice laced with sincerity and anticipation. You bit your lip, glancing down for a moment as you considered the potential implications of this meeting. “But are you sure about this? What if it feels like too much for them at this point? I mean, is it too soon?  I don’t want to overstep any boundaries."

Before Bruce could respond to your concerns, the door swung open, and Jason Todd strode in, his demeanor confident and lively. “No, trust me. This is way overdue!” he exclaimed, a playful grin spreading across his face. “We’ve heard so much about you, Y/N. It’s about time we finally put a face to the name. We’ve been curious.” His enthusiasm seemed to dissipate some of your worries, making the prospect of meeting the boys feel a little less daunting.

Damian and Dick followed close behind. Damian, the youngest, eyed you with a mixture of caution and curiosity, his stern expression giving way to a subtle interest in his eyes. Dick, on the other hand, greeted you with a charming smile, a warm glimmer of amusement in his gaze. 

"I must say," Dick began, a hint of good humor in his voice, "The mystery surrounding you has been quite the topic of conversation, especially amongst the family gossip circle."

You managed a smile, your nerves still evident but eased by Dick’s lighthearted introduction. You glanced at Bruce, who was watching the scene unfold with a stoic expression, but you could sense a trace of worry in his eyes. With all three of his sons standing there, each with their own distinct personalities, you couldn’t help but find it slightly intimidating.

"I hope the conversations were all good ones," you responded, your gaze flickering towards Damian, who was studying you intently.

Jason laughed, clearly amused, as Dick joined in, both of them finding your comment entertaining.

"If only you knew,” Jason quipped, “Half of it was just speculation, rumors, and wild guesses."

Damian, still serious and unwavering, spoke up, his voice cutting through the banter. "Father hasn't been this... interested in a woman in a long time." 

His words hung in the air, the room momentarily silent as the others chuckled softly at Damian’s bluntness.

You felt yourself blushing slightly at Damian’s straightforward comment, your nervousness returning as all eyes fell on you. You glanced at Bruce again, his expression unreadable, but you could sense a subtle change in the room’s atmosphere. 

"Well, I hope I can at least live up to the mysterious hype," you tried to keep the mood light despite your increasing anxiety.

Dick leaned against the table, a grin still lingering on his face. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll exceed all expectations," he replied, his tone light and friendly. 

Jason added, "Or at least make things a lot more interesting."

You smiled, appreciating their attempts at breaking the tension, but then Damian spoke again. 

"So, Miss Y/N," he began, his scrutinizing gaze never leaving your face, "What exactly are your intentions with my father?"

His question took you by surprise, but before you could reply, Bruce spoke up, his voice calm yet firm. "Damian, that’s enough."

Damian shot a quick, defiant glance at Bruce before shifting his gaze back to you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. 

Jason chuckled at the exchange, his amusement evident. "Classic Damian," he muttered.

"I think what Damian’s trying to say," Dick interjected, his tone softer, "is that you seem to mean a lot to Bruce, and we just want to make sure he's in good hands."

You felt the weight of the question, sensing the protective nature of the boys' concerns. You glanced at Bruce, his expression stoic yet filled with understanding. 

Taking a breath, you met Damian's gaze and, with as much composure as you could muster, responded. "I care deeply for your father," you began, your voice steady, "I'm committed to him, to our relationship." 

You paused, looking around the room, meeting each person's gaze, including Bruce's. Your next words came from a place of genuine care and sincerity. "I want to be a part of making him happy."

Damian's expression remained stern, his eyes locked with yours, though a hint of something almost resembling approval shimmered in his gaze.

"Sounds like we've got our answer," Dick noted, a small smirk on his lips. 

Jason quipped, "As long as you make him laugh more. The brooding has its limits."

You smiled softly at Jason’s remark, the hint of humor in his words making you feel a little more at ease. 

Bruce spoke up, his voice steady and firm. "Let’s just enjoy dinner," he suggested, his tone suggesting that the conversation about you was now closed.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension easing as everyone took their seats. Bruce sat at the head of the table, with you to his left side. Dick sat beside you, and Jason and Damian took the seats opposite to you. 

The dinner proceeded, the conversation flowing with a mix of casual banter and the occasional playful jab, yet you couldn’t help but feel the lingering presence of the questions Damian had posed.

”Y/N,” Dick snapped you out of your thoughts. “The Manor is lively for the first time in years. It's never decorated for any holiday season. So this is a rare sight.“ Dick observed the decorations as they enjoyed their meal. "Bruce usually isn’t one for festive tidings."

Jason, never one to hold back, quipped, "Yeah, the Bat is allergic to anything resembling joy.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, a scowl on his face. "Don’t trivialize his dedication," he grumbled. 

Alfred interjected thoughtfully, his voice tinged with a soft nostalgia that seemed to echo through the grand halls of Wayne Manor. "It is indeed true, Miss Y/N. The last time this home was adorned in a proper fashion for the season was long ago when the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were still with us, filling these rooms with their warmth and affection. The whirlwind of responsibilities and escapades has left us little room to indulge in the kind of celebrations that this home truly deserves.”

Curiosity flickered in your eyes as you turned to Bruce, his expression a mix of contemplation and nostalgia. Even Alfred, the ever-observant butler, seemed lost in thought, a faint shadow crossing his face. 

“So, what changed?” You inquired, your voice soft yet probing, as you sought to unravel the mystery behind the contrast of the manor’s festive charm and the weight of the past that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well, your welcoming presence in Master Bruce’s life did, Miss Y/N,” Alfred remarked with heartfelt sincerity.

“But also, Bruce mentioned that your apartment resembles a scene straight out of a holiday disaster film, as if Santa and his elves had a chaotic celebration and left the aftermath everywhere,” Dick added, a teasing smirk on his face.

You chuckled softly at Dick's depiction and smiled at Alfred's response.

Meanwhile, Jason chimed in. "True. Bruce said you literally live inside a snow globe."

Damian, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly spoke up, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "I fail to understand the appeal. Holidays are overly sentimental and commercialized," he scoffed, "A waste of time and resources."

Jason rolled his eyes at Damian's cynicism. "You just hate anything remotely cheerful and joyful, don’t you, D?"

"I merely appreciate practicality and efficiency," Damian replied with a cool indifference. "Holidays are unnecessary distractions, especially for someone with responsibilities like my father."

"Right, because having a holiday tree and some lights totally takes away from his ability to fight crime," Jason retorted sarcastically.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Bruce intervened, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Alright, that's enough," he said firmly, casting an amused yet warning glance at his sons. He then turned to you, holding your gaze with a mixture of affection and resolve.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable tonight,” Bruce said.

Your heart warmed at his words. You reached for his hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I already feel at home, Bruce," you replied sincerely, your voice slightly quivering with the weight of your emotions.

The boys, despite their banter earlier, couldn’t help but notice the subtle tenderness between you and Bruce. 

"Seems like Bruce has got it bad," Jason murmured to Dick, a sly smirk on his lips. 

Dick laughed, his eyes flickering between Bruce and you, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and something that hinted at both protectiveness and genuine happiness.

Damian, ever observant, studied you carefully before shifting his gaze to Bruce. His expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that could be interpreted as a hint of acceptance. 

Bruce squeezed your hand lightly in response, his touch conveying the depth of his feelings for you.

The warmth of the moment was interrupted by Alfred, who had quietly refilled a few wine glasses, except for Damian. 

"It seems that Christmas has indeed brought us all together," he said sagely, a rare hint of contentment in his usually composed demeanor.

Jason, always first to lighten the mood, picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "To Christmas, and all the sentimental nonsense that comes with it," he declared, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Dick, following suit, joined in the toast. He smiled warmly, his glass raised high. “And to new beginnings," he added, his gaze flickering towards you and Bruce.

Even Damian, reluctantly, lifted his glass, his expression still slightly guarded. “To the holiday season, may it pass swiftly,” he grumbled before taking a small sip.

Bruce followed suit and raised his glass. His eyes met yours, the depth of his feelings for you evident in his gaze. "To us," he said quietly, "and to new traditions."

The boys' eyes widened slightly at Bruce's words, clearly not expecting such a sentimental toast from the usually reserved man. 

Dick smirked, his eyes darting between the two of you, while Jason elbowed Damian, who rolled his eyes but said nothing further. Alfred smiled softly, clearly pleased and perhaps a little relieved to see Bruce opening himself up in such a way.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a mixture of surprise and joy at Bruce's words. You held his gaze, your own affection for him mirrored in your eyes.

"To us," you repeated, echoing his toast, your voice filled with both tenderness and promise. 

The boys, perhaps silently acknowledging this new chapter, clinked their glasses together, a gesture of support and acceptance. The atmosphere in the room was filled with a subtle sense of hope and change. 

Bruce nodded, taking a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving yours. The bond between you grew deeper with each shared moment, the holiday cheer seemingly bringing a new level of intimacy and understanding.

Jason started speaking with a warmth in his voice, his excitement palpable. "Since this is our very first time celebrating Christmas together, I thought it would be fun if we all wore matching pajamas, just like what normal families do during the holidays." 

The word "family" lingered in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. Your thoughts raced as you reflected on the significance of that word. Did they truly see you as part of their close-knit group this soon? The idea sent a flutter through your chest, mixing hope with a touch of uncertainty. You glanced around at the others, wondering if they felt the same way, and what it would mean to be included in this new family tradition.

The boys' eyes widened in unison, a mix of surprise and perhaps a slight bit of horror plastered on their faces at Jason's unexpected suggestion. 

Dick, the first to recover, responded. “That’s... different."

Damian was the first to protest, a scowl on his young face. "Absolutely not. I will not be seen in such an absurd and infantile get-up."

“I'm in,” you said excitedly.

Jason, his eyes bright with delight, smiled widely at your enthusiasm. "Looks like we've got one taker," he announced, his gaze flickering to the others. 

Dick smiled, his initial surprise giving way to amusement at your eagerness. "Well, if Y/N is in, count me in too," he proclaimed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Damian's scowl deepened, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. "I refuse to participate in this buffoonery," he declared firmly.

Bruce, who had been silently listening to the conversation, cleared his throat and spoke up. "I think it would be nice if everyone joined in," he said, his tone brooking no argument. 

Jason, Dick, and you smiled, knowing that Bruce's word was final. Damian, still reluctant, rolled his eyes but nodded grudgingly. 

Alfred, who had been quietly observing, piped up, ”This shall be fun."

As Jason vanished from the room, no doubt to bring the pajamas, everyone exchanged glances, a mix of resignation and reluctant excitement on their faces. The thought of wearing matching Christmas pajamas was definitely unusual, but the prospect of having a new tradition with you was undeniably appealing. 

Jason came back with a stack of flannel pajamas. 

Everyone eyed the pajamas, each lost in thought. 

Dick spoke with a hint of resignation in his voice. "I guess we're really doing this." 

Damian held up his pajamas, his expression a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "These are hideous."

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. You grabbed your set of pajamas, holding them up against you. "I love flannel," you grinned, already imagining how cute they'd look. 

Bruce accepted his pair, studying them for a moment before speaking. "It’s just for tonight," he reassured, his tone serious yet with a hint of surrender.

They all dispersed to change into their pajamas, each returning to the main room at different times. 

Jason was the first to come back, his pajamas sitting perfectly on his frame. "Not bad," he smirked. "I could get used to this." 

Dick was next, his face a mixture of amusement and resignation. His pajamas fit him nicely, the flannel soft against his skin. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands in defeat, "It’s not as bad as I thought."

Damian was the last to emerge, looking decidedly unhappy in his pajamas. The soft flannel contrasted with his usual no-nonsense attitude, but he managed to maintain his aloof expression. 

As Bruce entered, your gaze traveled over his firm and toned body, your cheeks flushing slightly as your eyes roamed over his torso. You quickly tried to compose yourself before anyone noticed your lingering gaze.

Bruce caught your lingering gaze as it traveled up and down his body. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, silently amused by your reaction to his casual, albeit still fit, appearance.

Bruce walked towards you and went in for a hug. “You always look stunning,” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled at Bruce's compliment, your heart fluttering. 

"And you look quite handsome yourself," you replied, your voice soft as your arms wrapped around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Jason interrupted the moment. “Anyway, I will choose the flicks for tonight.”

Everyone settled in the large living room, each finding a comfortable spot on the couch. As the movie started playing, you and Bruce sat close together. 

Dick, ever observant, noticed Bruce's arm casually around you, silently marveling at Bruce's open display of affection. 

Damian, seated next to you, remained silent. The sight of Bruce’s open display of affection, so unlike his usual stoic demeanor, seemed to have taken even the usually unruffled Damian by surprise.

As the movie flickered across the screen, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room, an air of drowsiness began to settle over the group. Dick sprawled comfortably on the plush carpet, his head resting against the cool surface, while Jason sank deep into the cushions of the recliner, his eyelids growing heavy with each passing minute. Across from him, Alfred sat in his own recliner, a classic movie poster gently illuminated behind him, dozing off with a serene expression etched on his face. Meanwhile, Bruce, you, and Damian nestled together on the loveseat sofa, your bodies cozy against one another, the gentle warmth of their comfort lulling you all into a state of relaxation as you watched the film. The combination of the riveting narrative and the peaceful atmosphere made it increasingly difficult for anyone to stay awake.

Bruce's eyelids grew heavier as the movie progressed. His arm, wrapped around you, instinctively drew you closer, pulling you into a comfortable position against his chest in the cozy loveseat. 

Jason was the first to surrender to the drowsiness. He let out a long yawn and closed his eyes, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

You shifted slightly on the sofa as you felt a warm weight settle against your arm. Glancing to your side, you discovered that Damian had dozed off, leaning comfortably against you. His brow was relaxed, and a hint of a smile played on his lips as if he was lost in a pleasant dream. 

With a soft sigh, you reached for the cozy blanket draped over the back of the sofa that Alfred had placed and gently unfolded it. You carefully draped it over him, wanting to ensure he stayed warm through the night. Your fingers brushed against his cheek as you tucked the fabric around him, feeling the softness of his skin against your hand.

Leaning in closer, you whispered tenderly, “Goodnight, Damian,” your voice barely above a whisper, filled with affection. The room was quiet, save for the soothing sound of everyone’s breaths, and in that moment, all felt right in the world.

Bruce's heart swelled as he watched you tend to Damian, tucking him in with gentle affection. Your tenderness towards Damian, despite his thorny demeanor, warmed his heart fiercely. 

Bruce, too, was slowly succumbing to the drowsiness that filled the room. He fought against it for a moment, not wanting to miss a single second of this unexpected moment of tranquility.

Bruce kissed the top of your head and stroked your hair, cherishing every touch, every sigh, every moment he could spend with you in his arms, until finally, you drifted off to sleep. The warmth and comfort of the room, coupled with his fatigue, were starting to overpower him.

As he gave in to the pull of sleep, he smiled faintly, his voice barely audible. "Good night, princess, and Merry Christmas."

[thelovelywriteress]

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It's been a while since you and Sakura started to date each other. Though you both were still awkward with each other. Most romantic gesture you exchanged was handshaking. You know this all was WAY too new for Sakura but still sometimes you wished your relationship to be more daring, atleast more than handshake.

You were walking with your hand in your arm. You were in your own lands of wondered, you didn't notice the Bofurin was on their daily patrol, especially not Sakura though he did. He always managed to find you even when you DON'T, he always DID.

"Isn't that (Name)-san?" Neirei catch where Sakura was glancing, on hearing his name Sakura almost hissed like a cat. He was fine silently staring at you when you were in your own thoughts, he find that cute but no wait, point is he didn't want his companion to point it out.

He just fasten his pace, acting like he wasn't interested in your presence but Suo wasn't having his ignorance,"Sakura-kun shouldn't you go and say hi to her?" He offered with his usual smile as Sakura let out a embarrassed reaction to his suggestion. Sakura was about to give some excuse but Suo already throw his attack,"(Name) noticed your presence, how sad she will when she will realised you don't even care enough to─" And before he could complete his sentence, Sakura already dashed pass the Suo towards your direction.

Guess boy take no chances when it comes to you.

You still didn't notice the boy approaching you but your cat sure did as she jumped out of your arm,"Hey─" You stopped when you realised she stopped in front of your dual hair boyfriend. Sakura looked down at the cat who seems to be excited upon seeing him. He picked it up and come closer to you.

"H-Hey Sakura!" Damn why you have to stutter and say it loudly. You probably looked like you didn't notice him coming. He return your greeting AND your cat back to you,"You should hold her tightly." He suggest while you give a small laugh,"Yeah. She almost made me drown yesterday." You intended to share your experience as joke but Sakura was concerned by your words and ask you to explain it further,"Well she keep running around and I keep chasing her like crazy, at same point she reached the bridge and almost made herself and me fall." You laughed at the memory but Sakura didn't,"B-BUT I am f-fine now." You exclaimed nervously while Sakura didn't looked convinced, he just ask you to see your surroundings better.

"I will go now." He said as he put out his hand, you know what was he expecting and return his gesture. Oh how you wished instead of hand meeting hand, it was lips meeting lips. Even though you wanted to experience it, mere thought of it made steam coming out of your eyes.

"It's embarrassing but I still want to experience it already one." You pouted a bit as your gaze fall on your cat in your arms. You hold her in front of her and demand her help,"I take care of you so goodly, shouldn't you return favour by using your cat power and made me and Sakura kiss?" What were you expecting a legit yes from her? Well too bad it didn't happened. You soon realised too how much crazy you sound and put her back in your arms but suddenly she jumped out again and started to run,"Hey wait!"

Sakura was getting fed up now. Neirei keep him asking about how things between you and him work while Suo just keep him teasing.

"Shut up!" "Meow."

"Sakura-kun see your yell got us getting us complained by cat." Suo state as Neirei giggled in back, Sakura was about to yell again but cat meowed again. Sakura turn towards it and remember this familiar cat,"You are (Name)'s cat!" Sakura exclaimed while other two sweatdrop at him. Why was he sound like he just find out her identity as some suspect. Cat just meow again and started to walk away,"Where are you going?" Sakura walked behind the cat, followed by his other two companions.

Suddenly cat increased her speed and so does Sakura. It keep going on until it become official─"Sakura chasing a running cat." Sakura called the cat to come back, he imagined how worried you must be. Your worried face boost his speed. Cat started to jump on bulidings and walls but Sakura still keep with it untill at one corner he lost her sight but even though he keep looking for her.

"Come back I promise I will expensive food this time." You said, hoping for it to work,"Meow." Guess it did. You saw your cat at a corner and run towards it. Though when you reached she was already out of sight, you followed the sound of her meows.

"There you are!" Sakura also noticed her and run towards it to chased while cat quickly run on your side and after making sure you saw her she started to climb tree,"No don't go there." Last time she climbed a tree, you had to use ladder to bring her down. You climbed behind her and when you thought you finally catch her she jumped on other tree,"AND NOW YOU'RE NOT SCARED?" She keep jumping while meowing as you followed her behind, Sakura was also coming near by following soud of meow.

Cat quickly jumped down and landed in front of Sakura who quickly launched towards him but at same moment you jumped in front of and you both collide with Sakura falling over you. You both feel pain through you body but that quickly vanished when you realised the approximately between each other.

When you were collide, Sakura knew he couldn't prevent the falling so he instinctly wrapped his hands around you to protect you. That was quick reflex of movement but now when it's stable you guys started to blush like crazy. When if he wanted to pull his hands, he can't since they were beneath you.

"S-SORRY!"

"Don't move!"

Your eyes turn spiral as you tried to wake against Sakura's comment which end up you putting hand on your shoulder and forcing him downwards, towards you and that's where whole scene take unexpected turn.

If this whole situation wasn't messed, the fact you made Sakura's lips crashed on you sure was.

Both of yours eyes widened. It wasn't romantic kiss like on dates. It wasn't hot kiss that make you forgot your surroundings. It wasn't quick kiss you give out of love. It was were merely his lips meeting yours for mere seconds but still it was the FIRST KISS you shared with each other. You both stare at each other as Sakura pulled back his face while your cat meowed. You both brought your gaze towards the cat as she meowed again, with a hint of delight.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!"

And now some reason you both separate from each other without any accidentally kissing, just to yell at the innocent cat with red hues rising on your face. Such ungrateful beings humans are.

You both accidentally catch the each other's gaze as yell of flusteration left your mouths.

"SORRY!"

Neirei and Suo soon catch up and Suo quickly grabbed the cat. He check the collar and found you were the owner, no wonder why Sakura was chasing it like crazy.

"Hey where is your owner and her boyfriend?" Suo said with his usual playful tone while Neirei laugh at his tactics before walking further on the way.

"SAKURA-SAN! (NAME)-SAN!" And there Neirei find the two familiar unmoving bodies laying at opposite sides. Neirei check the Sakura he seems to be black out with his face being red as tomato while Suo check the owner of cat who's eyes seems to spin like spiral.

"What the hell did we miss?"

"Meow~"

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