#but i’ve become more open minded and less ignorant about him

[psychotic-nonsense]

The complexity of accepting how wrong you were, but being far too late to change it.

You are simply left to wonder.

[ Vecna's Generals AU Masterpost ]

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

Lesson 3: Human Reproduction

Series masterlist

Prev parts: Lesson 1: Female anatomy Lesson 2: Male anatomy Extra Credits 01: Communication skills Extra Credits 02: French Independent Study 01: Art Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Series summary: Eddie’s failing Biology class, so you decide to offer two different styles of tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

Chapter summary: Grades, feelings, and a practical lesson in human reproduction

WC: ~14.6K (oopsie/I’m not sorry/you’re welcome)

C/W: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MDNI! Fluff, smut, fluffy smut, smutty fluff, fingering, clit stim, nipple play (M+F rec), p in v sex (protection is discussed; always wrap it irl), pantie stealing (consensual), aftercare, feelings, slight cream pie, brief mention of food and eating, reader wears a short skirt, Wayne Munson. I’ve tried to keep physical descriptions of reader as neutral as possible, lmk if I need to change anything. 

My masterlist

You and Eddie have decided it’s best if you keep your whatevership between the two of you, at least for now. Neither your friends nor family would be thrilled to discover you were giving ‘extracurricular attention’ to the boy the whole town regards as a lawbreaking freak. (Technically, you suppose he is actually both - weed dealing and his general style and demeanour make that statement factually correct, but you don’t see him in the negative way they do.) Furthermore, your teacher may be reluctant to come through on those agreed upon extra credits if he finds out that the lessons you’re offering veer significantly more towards the ‘practical’. So, keeping it on the down-low it is. 

However, that hasn’t stopped you from thinking about your study sessions with Eddie. In fact, he’s on your mind almost constantly. You’ve also both become more brazen in your interactions, and neither of you look away now when you catch each other’s eye in the halls. And you’ll both stare dreamily and smile across the cafeteria as he nibbles on pretzels and you mull over a thorny problem in a notebook, chewing on the end of your pencil.

You’ve spoken on the phone again too. For the most part it’s just as… stimulating as the first time, if not more so, and you're both gaining confidence and are able to articulate your needs and desires with increasingly elaborate and creative language. But to your surprise you’ve also ended up chatting too, and more than once you’ve devolved into fits of hysterical giggles. You’ve never been able to be so open with a partner before, and you’re revelling in the intimacy.

But, he’s not your partner partner. You didn’t mean it like that. You’re fully aware of Eddie’s… situation, and you’re pretty sure he’s not ready for any kind of official commitment. You really need to be careful with your language, or you're going to slip up one day and mess up whatever the hell this is…

On the day of your usual Biology class with Eddie, everyone’s milling around the science lab, waiting to get their test results. It’s the final class before the end of the semester, and Mr Clarke knows better than to expect anyone to do any work, so nobody’s in their seats and the room is filled with general murmur and chatter.

A steady stream of students collects their papers from Mr Clarke at his desk. Yours is near the top of the pile - you being you, you’re always one of the first to head up to find out how you did, and generally, the less… academically inclined students hang back until the end, wanting to delay the agony and prolong their blissful ignorance for as long as possible. 

Mr Clarke passes you your paper, and you spy a large, red ‘A+’ in the top corner. You pinch your face into a scrunched up smile, and you can feel your cheeks heating. Yes, it’s one of your favourite subjects, but you never want to assume anything.

“No surprises there!”, Mr Clarke jokes, as you proudly yet somewhat bashfully look over your work as you head back to your desk.

You’re dying to know how Eddie did, but presume he’s going to wait it out like the other ‘cool kids’, and you don’t really want to rub your success in his face in case it didn’t go well for him, so you slide back into your seat without looking in his direction.

A few moments later, there’s a sudden loud whoop from the front of the class. Everyone turns to face the clamour, and to your surprise you see Eddie standing next to Mr Clarke’s desk, arms aloft and eyes wide, grinning as he shakes his paper above his head like a Tusken Raider.

Wait, did you just make a nerd reference? What the fuck is this guy doing to you?

You try not to stare as Eddie’s gesticulations make his torn Iron Maiden shirt ride up to expose the smooth planes of his abdomen and the dark sprinkling of hair leading down beneath his waistb— You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, this feat seemingly significantly more difficult for you than passing a science test.

He changes position, hunching over now, and punches the air with one fist, wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth as he stares down at the paper he’s crinkling in the fierce grip of his other hand.

“Yeah! Goddamn B minus! B fuckin’ minus, baby! Wooo!! I am fucking walking that stage, I can feel it!”

A few of your classmates start to clap, and soon most of the class is applauding Eddie, a few even joining in with the whoops and hollers. He bends at the waist and gives a theatrical bow, still grinning, much to the delight of the whole class.

Even Mr Clarke is clapping, ignoring Eddie’s profanity for once and with a broad smile on his face too. Eddie smiles back, extending his hand to the older man, who takes it happily, shaking it and slapping Eddie on his bicep as he says, 

“Congratulations, Mr Munson. I knew you could do it, son.”

Before you’re fully cognisant of what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and rushing towards Eddie, colliding with his chest with a thump as you fling your arms around his ribs, hugging him tightly. He freezes for a moment, stunned, before his arms move around your shoulders, gripping you tightly, crushing the document even more, before his empty hand flattens over the centre of your back, gently but intensely rubbing up and down.

He drops his chin onto your shoulder, and turns his face so it’s nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You hear him take a couple of deep, slow inhales, and his warm breath fans out over your skin and trickles down the back of your shirt as he adds a contented hum that almost short-circuits your brain. Quietly, you mumble into his chest, 

“Congratulations, Eddie."

Just as quietly, almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, Eddie replies, voice slightly cracking,

"I couldn't have done it without you, Princess…”

You remain there at the front of the class, embracing, rocking slightly, neither of you seemingly wanting to let go. Eddie's palm continues to make patterns on your back, and you keep your arms around his middle. The heat from his chest seeps into yours, and you begin to get lost in his heady scent of cigarettes, spicy cologne and weed, something so quintessentially Eddie.

Behind you, you hear Mr Clarke clear his throat, and you and Eddie break apart as he proclaims, 

“Well, I think that proves that the student-to-student tutoring project is a success! Well done, both of you. Okay, who’s next?”

Keen to minimise further attention from your classmates, you both make your way back to your seats. He sits behind his desk, and you pull your stool to face him over it. 

Eddie’s lab partner offers him a fist bump, adding, “Nice work, dude,” to which Eddie reciprocates and replies, “Thanks, man,” before the guy wanders off to chat to his friends across the room.

You and Eddie stare at each other across the workbench. All you seem to be able to do is grin goofily, and you see Eddie’s cheeks pinken to an even darker shade. Eventually, you manage to speak.

“Well done, Eddie. Seriously. I’m so proud of you, all your hard work paid off!”

He glances down at his paper again, seemingly needing to keep checking it to make sure it’s real, that he actually passed. A slightly incredulous look on his face, he replies, chuckling,

“Fuckin’ B minus. Wayne’s gonna wanna frame this shit, I swear!”

You bark out a laugh, before responding,

“You should let him. This is a big moment!”

You both laugh again before Eddie continues, more seriously this time,

“I meant what I said, you know. I couldn’t’ve done this without your help.”

“I appreciate that, thank you. You know I wouldn’t’ve done it if I didn’t want to, though, right?”

“I know, I know. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am, is all…”

His face suddenly drops, and his eyes fall to the tabletop as he says, more quietly,

“Uh… I guess this means we won’t be studying anymore though, right?”

Something twists in your stomach. You hadn’t considered that this might change things. Thoughts roil in your mind. You don’t want whateverthisis with Eddie to end, that’s for certain, and from his tone you surmise that’s not what he wants either. So you make him an offer.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I could go for at least one more lesson. Call it a celebration! If you wanted to, that is?”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before Eddie’s almost-yelling, 

“Yeah! I mean, yes, if you want to as well, I mean…”

You try to suppress a smile as you reply,

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I’m free after school, if that’s any good for you?”

Later on, when Eddie gives you a ride to his place, things feel different, and it’s not just the residual adrenalin from this afternoon’s test results. The anticipation is palpable. It’s like you’re both more relaxed, but somehow also more on edge, as if the air itself is charged and your skin is buzzing. You know where you’d like to take things, but you’re not sure how far Eddie will want to go, so you have a vague plan of offering suggestions but ultimately being guided by him.

You sit on the edge of his sofa feeling uncharacteristically nervous. Eddie brings drinks, clearing his throat as he sits stiffly next to you, occasionally glancing in your direction.

“So, uh, what’s the subject for tonight, Teach?”, he says with a nervous chuckle.

“I, uh, thought we could do some revision. Maybe bring everything together, and go over human reproduction?”

You raise your eyebrows as you say the final two words, hoping Eddie might catch your meaning. He gulps, and his cheeks tinge with a blush.

“That’s not a subject I have a great deal of knowledge about. But, you already knew that, right?”

He titters nervously, the pink in his cheeks deepening in intensity.

“Yeah, I know, Eddie. Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal there? I mean, you’re young, fit, good looking. I don’t wanna pry, I’m just curious, I guess?” 

Fuck, really fit. So good looking... Wait, did you just feel butterflies?

Realising your curiosity might have outrun your mouth, you attempt to backtrack.

“You totally don’t have to tell me. God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No, Princess, it’s fine, really. It’s not like I never, um, had the opportunity. Mostly cheerleaders wanting free weed, or drunk wives or bored moms wanting a bit of illicit fun at The Hideout. For my 18th my dad even arranged a couple of female performers for me. He’s in jail, you knew that, right?” 

You give him what you hope is a sympathetic nod.

“He got a message to a buddy of his, and they turned up after a gig. He instructed me to, uh, take my pick, or have both, if I wanted. So after we’d played, we went backstage, and we talked, and they were really nice ladies, but, uh, it just didn’t feel right somehow. They didn’t say anything afterwards, apart from how I was such a nice boy and if I ever changed my mind I should totally give them a call. And the guys just assumed what had gone on and acted like I was some kind of dog, and I guess I didn’t correct them, and, well, here we are…” 

He’s bashful again, embarrassed at his own apparent reluctance as well as his lack of experience, and you see him picking at the skin around one of his thumbnails. Looking at the floor, he continues,

“I guess I wanted my first time to, I dunno, be a bit more special? Must sound pretty stupid, coming from a hot blooded male, or whatever.”

You both smile as you remember one of your previous conversations and what you’d said. You want to reassure him.

“No, that’s not stupid at all. It’s not just girls who deserve a special first time, you know. Everyone deserves to feel comfortable, and if you haven’t felt that way yet then that’s totally okay. I’m actually proud of you for not feeling pressured into doing something that didn’t feel right.”

He turns his head sideways and looks at you at a quirky angle through his hair, a broad smile threatening to emerge.

“Yeah? Thanks, Princess, that means more than you know.”

You smile back at him, that warmth in your chest spreading throughout your torso. Breaking the moment, Eddie asks, with more than a little trepidation,

“So, what exactly d'you wanna do..?”

Your mind churns with possibilities, and you open your mouth, not entirely certain about what’s going to come out. But before you can say anything, Eddie jumps in.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

He reaches over to the side table next to him and returns with a lightly rolled piece of paper. Unfurling it, he somewhat nervously presents to you.

“You said you wanted a picture. So, I, uh, drew this for you.”

You take it from him and open it fully. It’s an illustration. A human brain, seen from above, one half of it beautifully rendered in graphite pencil and exquisitely shaded and detailed. The ridges and bumps look like you could almost reach out and touch them. This is incredible enough, but what really catches your attention is the other side. It’s a riot of flowers in different types and colours, overlapping and clustered in a formation that perfectly matches the silhouette of the other half. It’s beautiful.

Your hand comes to cover your mouth and you gasp a little. 

“Oh, Eddie, this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Did you really do this for me?”

Bashfully, he pulls a strand of hair across his cheek as he replies, 

“Sure did, just for you. I chose the subject for that big, beautiful brain of yours, and then I added the flowers ‘cos, y’know, you’re beautiful. You’ve got it all, Princess.”

Now it’s your turn to feel embarrassed. You really weren’t expecting something so amazing, or to feel like this about it. Or to feel this way about him.

You lift the drawing to look closer at the divine detail, and it’s then that you focus in on the background. It looks like a page from a book, and as you scan the words you see dictionary and thesaurus entries under ‘beauty’, spotting beautiful, beauteous, charming, attractive, lovely, alluring... You’re absolutely stunned.

It’s then that you notice the raw edge on one side of the paper.

Wait. 

“Eddie…” You turn to him, brows furrowing with a mixture of concern and excitement. 

“Tell me you didn’t steal this page from the library!”

“Uh, I may have.” He chuckles lightly. “Hey, it’s not like people use it much. It just seemed so appropriate, and I just, kinda, liberated it for an artistic cause.”

You can’t deny that a vehicle for Eddie’s amazing artwork is likely a far better use for this page than it mouldering away in a dusty school library. And it’s not like you could return it now, anyway. 

Everything about it, from the intentions to the execution, is beautiful. 

You tell Eddie so as you run your fingers over the lines. 

“It’s wonderful, Eddie. I’ll treasure it forever.”

Tearing your eyes away from the art in front of you, you lock eyes with him, and the atmosphere in the room seems to thicken. You’re not sure how Eddie’s feeling, but there’s a quiver in your belly and a heat in your core that’s demanding a significant proportion of your attention. You place the paper carefully down on the coffee table before murmuring quietly,

“Would you like to, uh, do that revision now?”

Eddie shifts in his seat, his cheeks pulling up as he tries to stifle a grin and maintain his composure.

“Okaaaay?”

You shift on the sofa and Eddie can’t help but allow the grin spread across his face. He twists his upper body and turns towards you, and puts one hand beside him on the seat as he drops his chin and peers up at you through his lashes. He looks adorable, a little timid but eager to please, like the world’s cutest puppy, and you let out a quiet giggle.

Coyly, he pulls another strand of hair across his upper lip (he really has to stop doing that) as he broaches,

“Are you gonna test me?”

A sultry smile spreads across your face as you recall the first lesson you had together.

“I taught you a lot of terminology in our first lesson. I wanna see how much you can remember.” 

The tip of your tongue peeks out and teases your upper lip.

You can tell he’s still not sure exactly what you mean, but you help him understand as you shuffle forwards and, perching yourself on the very edge of the sofa cushion, you slowly drift your hands up under your skirt, slip your thumbs into the sides of your underwear, lift your butt slightly and begin to pull them down your legs.

Eddie gets it now, and to your surprise he rushes quickly off the sofa and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you.

“Oh shit, please let me help?”

You smile broadly and allow him to take over. 

His fingertips lightly brush the skin of your thighs. They’re rough, calloused, you presume from years of guitar playing, but the feeling is certainly not unpleasant. You experience a frisson of excitement, imagining how his rough hands might feel running over other parts of you.

He gently hooks your underwear with his fingers and, slowly, continues their descent down your legs. He’s careful, reverent almost, like you’re a porcelain doll and he’s scared you will break. You’ve never been treated with such care before. You feel like a precious jewel, and his nickname for you, Princess, suddenly takes on new significance.

He’s concentrating more now than he has the whole time you’ve been helping him study, seemingly taking in every detail of your thighs, your panties, and, especially, the patch of damp fabric that’s already soaked with your arousal. When his eyes flick up to yours he realises he’s been caught staring, and he gives you a little bashful smile.

He removes your underwear by gently lifting each of your feet. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he quickly pushes the ball of material under the sofa. You don’t let on that he’s not being nearly as subtle about that as he thinks he is. 

Placing one foot on either side of his knees, you part your legs. Then, tantalisingly slowly, you move the hem of your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. 

You’ve never seen anyone have a religious experience, but you think the expression on Eddie’s face might come close. His eyes, fixated on your centre, are blown dark and opened wide, and his mouth is slightly open. His eyes are furrowed upwards in that almost-surprised look you like so much, and you see him swallow, hard. 

You feel your cunt clench gently. Yep, you still like him looking at you.

“So… what can you remember, Eddie?”

“I— I—”

You give him a moment, taking the opportunity to drink him in, and watch as his tongue comes out to slowly wet his lips. The edges of his mouth curl in the slightest half-smile, and he huffs out an incredulous breath. He’s close enough to you that you feel it on your inner thighs and core. He looks so good like this, kneeling in front of you. Adoring, pliant, submissive even. Oh, this is new.

You lean forward to lightly hold his wrist, and guide his hand up towards your centre. You can feel him trembling slightly, and remember that this is likely the first time he’s ever touched anyone so intimately.

“Okay, let’s try this a different way. Do you remember what this whole area is called?”

As you ask the question you trace his fingertips lightly across your mound and the soft skin of your inner thighs. You place his open hand against you and curve his fingers to cup you gently, his palm pressing featherlight against your hidden clit and his fingertips nestled in your trimmed pubic hair. He lets out a trembling hum.

“Umm, Volvo. No, wait, vul-va?”

“Yes, that’s so good Eddie.” 

You put on a lilting, singsong voice, letting him know how well he’s doing, and he puffs out another tremulous breath.

You hold his first two digits and direct him to curl the rest out of the way. You guide his fingertips between your folds, and they glide easily through your silky wetness.

“Okay, what about this part?”

Eddie lets out a long, low sigh, and swallows deeply. He’s completely fixated on what he can see and feel. You slide his fingers up and down your soaked slit a couple of times, and Eddie’s jaw drops open further.

“Eddie, are you still with me? Can you remember what these are called?”

“Huh? Uh, l— lips, I think?”

“Good enough.”

You smirk at him, though he doesn’t notice, he’s clearly far too focussed on where his fingers are to care about anything else. You revel in the attention. No one else has ever been this gentle with you, this adoring, attentive, tender. And he’s fucking mesmerised. It’s a far cry from the back-seat fumbles and quick pokes in study rooms that you’re used to. You’re definitely not going to be able to go back to that now.

Desperate for Eddie to touch more of you, you continue his education.

“Next, I want you to find my clitoris. Do you think you can do that?”

You let go of his fingers and settle back onto the sofa on your elbows, processing Eddie’s shocked and nervous expression as he glances up to your face.

“You, uh, want me to do this by myself?”

“Yes, I trust you. If it hurts, or you’re way off, I promise I’ll help. But I think it would be good for you to try. Also, I want to see if you can work out when you’ve got it without me having to tell you.”

His brow furrows very slightly at this; he doesn’t seem convinced that this is possible, but you’re in front of him, spread and waiting, so who is he to question it. He moves his wet fingertips slowly through your folds, gliding easily, studying his path but also flicking his eyes up to your face episodically. You close your eyes and hum, enjoying the sensation. 

As he moves further up you can feel a growing uncertainty in his movements, but just as you think he’s about to give up or ask for help, one of his calloused fingertips glances the side of your clit, causing you to inhale sharply as your eyes spring open.

He freezes, terrified he’s done something wrong or hurt you, but you smile down at him and reassure him,

“That’s so close, you’re almost there.”

He smiles, confidence buoyed, and you notice he’s watching your face now as he moves his fingers experimentally. One sideways movement has a rough fingertip connecting perfectly with your sensitive nub, and you let out an abrupt whine.

Eddie presses a little harder, testing, his mouth still open and the tip of his tongue teasing his front teeth.

You moan, loudly, and your head tips back and connects with the cushions of the sofa.

Boldly, Eddie begins to move his fingers, up and down to start with, which makes you hum with contentment. But when, unbidden, he then starts to draw tiny circles around his newly-discovered treasure, your whines turn to full-on moans.

“Is this it? Am I getting it, Princess?”

You glance down at him again, at that beautiful face now adorned with a smirk that seems to be a mix of experimentation and new-found cockiness. Breathlessly, but smiling, you manage, 

“Yeah, you’re definitely getting it.”

And you let out another long moan as he continues to trace those tiny patterns. You could definitely lose it from this alone, but you want to teach him a little more.

“I want you to do something else as well. Do you remember where my vagina is?”

“Uh, I think so.”

Eddie swallows, as he moves his other hand up towards your centre. He pauses, and, looking from your face to your cunt again, he begins to slowly push one fingertip between your wet folds.

You wince as you feel a slight discomfort, and offer, helpfully, 

“Try going a little lower.”

“Oh, okay, sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry, Eddie, nobody gets it on their first tr— ah!” 

He’s definitely getting it.

You want to reassure him even more, tell him that this is the best you’ve ever felt when anyone’s touched you, but the words dissolve as his index finger easily breaches your sopping hole.

You sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the subtle stretch and finally having some part of him inside of you. But Eddie’s stilled, and you realise he needs more guidance. 

“You can go in further, if you want?”

That’s seemingly all the encouragement he needs, as he pushes further, all the way to his ringed knuckle, and you feel the knobbled metal against your lips. He closes his eyes and begins babbling,

“Oh, g-god, you feel so good. You’re like silk, like velvet. You’re so fucking warm, and so goddamn wet, Jeezus!”

You allow you both to enjoy the moment, before deciding to put your musician’s fingers theory to the test.

“Can I give you some more instructions, Eddie?”

He looks up at you, blinking, seeming to come back to himself.

“Yes! Tell me what you want. Please tell me what to do to make you feel good. I’ll do it, I’ll do all of it.”

Oh, this is gonna be fun…

“Okay, add another fing— Oh fuck, that’s it! Shit, that feels so nice.”

Your hips buck forwards as Eddie slides his middle finger in to join the first, pushing them deep and coating his rings in your abundant slick. He lets out a shuddering hum as your walls clench gently around him and you gasp at the sense of increasing fullness.

“Okay, keep your hand so your palm is upwards. That’s it, I know it’s a little uncomfortable but I promise it’s worth it. Now curl your fingers, like you’re beckoning me. Just gently, not too fa-ah— Oh fuck!”

Eddie’s deft fingertips brush that most sensitive spot inside of you, and your legs tense as your back arches off the sofa. You reach down to grab his wrist. You chuckle, smiling down at him. 

“Okay, stop, just for a moment, otherwise I’m not gonna be able to speak. Congratulations, you just found my g-spot.”

“I— I did?”

He grins, huffing out a breath, and experimentally curls his fingers again, his eyes glued to your face.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” is all you can manage, as your hands move to grip the sofa cushions.

Eddie pauses for a brief moment, glancing down to look at your sodden core, and you take the opportunity to give him one final instruction.

“If you keep doing what you were doing to my clit at the same time, you’re gonna make me cum. Do you wanna do that?”

Eddie’s voice drops almost to a growl as he splutters, the words tumbling out in a rush,

“Oh fuck yes, Princess. Please let me do that!”

He adjusts his position, shuffling closer to you, his eyes scanning between your face and your cunt. You notice the substantial bulge in his pants and how he’s occasionally shifting his hips, bucking them up into the seam of his sinfully tight jeans.

“So… I just keep doing this, and… this?”

He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, curling them as his rings touch your soaking lips, and continues to draw tiny circles around your clit. His wide eyes meet yours, his level of concentration evident. You nod, smiling, and relax back onto the sofa. You lose yourself in the sensations, enjoying Eddie’s ministrations and letting yourself drift away on a sea of warmth and pleasure.

Before long a familiar pressure builds in your abdomen. You let out a loud sigh and your hips buck forward again of their own accord. You hear Eddie’s breath become louder and more ragged, and his movements speed up, his fingers pumping deeper and the pressure he’s placing on your clit increasing just a fraction. It’s enough to start sparks flying along your nerves and have your back arching and your thighs trembling.

You start groaning, almost letting go before you realise you should probably give Eddie some warning.

“Shit, I’m so close. Don’t stop, dontfuckingstop, ohshitohshitohshii—”

The universe stops. Time ceases to exist. Your vision goes black before being filled with a million tiny stars, and a supernova of euphoria erupts from your core and spreads throughout your entire body. You think you hear yourself moaning, possibly Eddie as well, but the sounds seem so far away. 

You don’t notice that you’ve arched your back even further until you regain some sense of reality and realise the top of your head is now against the back of the sofa. Gradually, feeling comes back into the rest of your body, a bone-deep warmth suffusing you as your contorted limbs gradually return to their usual positions.

Your vision finally comes back into focus, and you glance down to see Eddie staring at you, wide-mouthed and somewhat stunned. Propping yourself up on the heels of your hands, you grin as you comment, voice syrupy and possibly a little slurred,

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re good at that. Screw the B minus, you definitely deserve an A plus!”

He gives you a lopsided grin, one dimple popping, and chuckles lightly as, watching your centre, he begins to slowly withdraw himself from you. Your body seems to have other ideas, as your walls clench around his fingers and a small aftershock makes you tremble. It definitely doesn’t want to let him go.

He pauses as he examines his soaked digits, moving them apart and studying your slick as it covers his palm and runs over his knuckles. You think you spot a minuscule drop of his jaw as his hand twitches, but then he stops himself. You’re slightly nervous that you may have misread his movements, but you decide to be bold anyway.

“Do you wanna taste me?”

His eyes snap to yours. They’re wide, like a kid that’s been caught trying to steal cookies. Sitting up a little, you gently take hold of his wrist and move his hand closer to his mouth, giving him permission. His eyes don’t leave yours as he drops his jaw, lolls out his tongue and pushes his sodden fingers into his mouth. Only when his lips reach his knuckles does his gaze falter. His eyes flicker closed and he hums loudly, licking and sucking, cleaning up every speck. He eventually pulls them out, mumbling low,

“Christ, you taste so good.”

You heat at the praise; no one’s ever told you that before. Feeling bold again, you continue,

“You wanna taste me properly one day? Put your mouth on me? I gotta admit I’m keen to see what else you can do with that tongue…”

Eddie gulps audibly as he shuffles forwards and grabs hold of your knees, looking like he’s kneeling at an altar. The altar of you.

“Oh holy shit, please let me do that. God, I wanna get my tongue inside you so bad.”

He’s practically drooling, and the sight of him literally on his knees and begging to taste your cunt has you clenching all over again. But as much as you want that (and you really, really want that), there’s now an aching need inside you that only something larger can satisfy. If Eddie’s willing to give it to you. Keen to bookmark this for another time, you proffer,

“Whaddaya say we make that a whole lesson all to itself?”

He grins at you, seemingly pleased with this proposal.

Eddie rests back on his heels and places his hands in his lap. He’s not ushering you to leave, which is good, but he seems a little unsure of himself. Conscious of how exposed you still are, you start to straighten yourself up, lowering your skirt and checking your hair in case the sofa cushions have done a number on it. 

You have no idea what the protocol is for this situation. You’re aware that there’s likely an issue in his pants that could use some attention, but you’re not sure how to broach it. You know what you’d like to do, but are suddenly nervous and can’t look at him, and start fiddling with the hem of your skirt. He seems to be having the same dilemma, as he asks,

“So, what do we do now?”

He could be expecting a suggestion like watching a movie, or ordering pizza. But you decide to ask for what you want, whilst also giving him an out just in case this is too sudden. You fiddle with your hem again and catch his gaze as you blather,

“Well, I know we’ve kinda talked about this before, maybe not as much as we could have. But I, uh— I’d really like to, um, have you inside of me. If you wanted to. An— and it doesn’t actually have to be now, or even soon. We can totally go at your pace, and I realise I’m asking to be your first, but—”

He cuts you off with a single syllable. 

“Yes.” 

It’s the shortest sentence you’ve ever heard him utter. And in this moment it’s the most beautiful. His face is almost blank, completely serious with an edge of hopefulness etched in his brows. Your chest fills with pride and gratitude. He really does trust you enough to want to do this with you. But what happens next is a surprise. 

“Umm… would now be okay?”

You grin broadly. 

“Uh, no, not at all. Shall we, um… take this to your bedroom?”

He smiles softly before breaking out into a wide but bashful grin.

He stands and, offering his hands, helps you to get up. Eddie makes sure you’re okay to move and, at a pace you can cope with on your shaky legs, gently leads you across the trailer and down the narrow corridor to his bedroom, repeatedly looking at you with an incredulously dopey look.

He pauses with his palm against the door. Looking at you ruefully through his lashes, he warns you, quietly,

“Just so you know, it’s a mess in here.”

You reassure him,

“I don’t mind. Frankly, so long as you’re not storing a rotting corpse or running a meth lab, I couldn’t care less.”

He swings the door open and leads you inside. You step through and take a brief moment to glance around the room, noticing the posters on the walls, piles of clothes, D&D paraphernalia and various bits of band equipment. It’s almost exactly as you’d pictured it. 

Standing in the middle of the carpet, he turns to face you, holding one of your hands in his and fiddling with your fingers. His hesitancy is adorable.

“Soooo… What do we do first?”

You take both of his hands in yours, squeezing them lightly, and through a soft smile you say airily,

“Well, it’s usually customary to do a little kissing. I know you know how to do that, because…”

Your cheeks heat as you remember your library lesson. Eddie’s throat bobs as he swallows, and his gaze flits around your face, settling on your lips as he tries, and fails, to get his breathing under control. 

You gently place his hands at your waist and then loop your arms around his neck, finally getting to sink your fingers into his long, luscious locks. They’re much softer than you thought they’d be, and you feel him tremble as you lightly drag your fingertips across his scalp.

You step towards him and slowly lean in, moving your face closer to his, pulling Eddie ever so slightly to indicate that he should do the same. There’s the briefest of pauses as your lips hover, your breaths mingling, before you both close the minuscule gap.

It’s a little uncoordinated, you two never having done this standing up before, but none of that matters as your mouths connect. Eddie’s lips are soft and pillowy, and the feeling of his hands on your waist, his mouth against yours and that familiar faint vanilla scent completely invade your senses. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow, and you feel his scruff scratch softly against the sensitive skin of your face. You know it’s going to leave you red and puffy, and you relish being able to take a reminder of this away with you. 

It’s chaste yet passionate as your lips meld and release and find a rhythm. You muss his hair and he hums, and the ache between your legs grows vivid again. You press your front against his, and he breaks your kiss with a soft,

“Oh!”

Wow, he really does want this. A whole lot. You nudge against him again, relishing the firmness you can feel in the front of his jeans. The seam of his zipper only adds to the sensation, and you feel his obvious and substantial erection swell and kick towards you through the stiff fabric. You’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life, but for Eddie’s sake you’re determined to take it slow.

Okay, maybe not that slow. You thumb at the hem of his shirt, and with what you hope is a cute pout, ask,

“Can we take this off?”

He grins, dimples popping adorably, and takes half a step back. You think your own smile might rival his as you grasp the bottom of his shirt and peel it up and over his head. Not teasing, not rushing, the speed is just right, and you bite your lip when his arms lift and his hair fluffs, and you drop the garment to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way it affects you. Eddie catches you staring, and for a brief moment you worry that he’s self conscious, or nervous of your opinion of his physicality. But instead, in a cheeky show of burgeoning confidence, that you hope is somewhat down to you, he murmurs,

“Do you… like what you see, Princess?”

Your eyes continue to scan his chest as you hum in approval.

“Oh yes, definitely…”

You bring one of your hands up and run the tips of your fingers over the tattoos on his pec. Eddie shivers and inhales a shaky breath, and then whines a little as you flatten your hand over the muscle.

Your other hand traces up his waist and abs, making him stutter out a bashful giggle as you hit a ticklish spot, until both hands come to rest on the upper part of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms. You look over his torso, his shoulders and throat, before your gaze flicks over his lips and reaches his eyes again.

“I meant what I said before, you know. You’re really pretty. Has anyone else ever told you that?”

“Uh, nope. No, they haven’t. But from you, I believe it.”

You smile softly at him, and run your hands over his collarbones and down the sides of his pecs. Experimentally, you allow the pads of your thumbs to gently skim his nipples. He hisses in a breath, and his responsiveness increases the throb in your core.

You let your hands travel lower, and they come to rest at his belt line. You can’t help but salivate at what you know is beneath as you work his belt buckle open, and then his button. You look up and smile at him as you pull gently on his zipper, lowering it, and he smiles back, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. 

You hook your thumbs over his waistband and start to tug. He helps, easing the fabric over the soft swell of his ass as you pull his jeans down until you’re crouching on the floor before him. He sighs as his member is released from its denim confines, tenting obnoxiously in his briefs, and you miss the fond smile he gives you, accompanied by another imperceptible head shake, as you concentrate on freeing his feet.

Once he’s standing in just his boxers, you rise and sit on the edge of his bed, gently pulling on his hands and guiding him to sit next to you. You swivel to face each other, fingers still linked. The two of you somehow manage to make some of the most innocent of gestures seem the most intimate, and there’s a peculiar moment of bashfulness between you. You huff through your noses, chuckling, and you can see Eddie’s cheeks have pinkened again as he looks down at your joined hands, fingers intertwined.

Finally, his gaze meets yours again, and his face is suddenly serious. His eyes flit to your lips, and you take this as your cue to lean forward.

Your noses bump, and initially neither of you are sure which way to turn your head. It’s awkward and sweet and adorable, but when your lips finally connect all of that melts away. You soon both get into your stride, and it’s even hotter than it was in the library. You don’t have to worry about noise, or getting caught, and there’s no time limit - this time you can do this for as long as you want, and the thought of it fills you with a warm sensation that you can’t quite identify.

Eddie’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, and as you run the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip his mouth opens instantly, allowing you access to him and he to you. Without hesitation he plunges his tongue into your mouth, and deftly swirls it around your own, moaning as he moves his hand to grasp the back of your head, just like he did in the library. It’s messy and hot, and with no fear of being discovered you're both much more vocal, sighing and moaning as you move against one another. Eddie’s free hand comes to rest gently on your waist, but you can tell he’s tense and holding back. You don’t want him, or you, to hold back anymore. 

You break the kiss and look at him. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and his lips are parted, reddened and glossy with your shared spit. In one swift motion you twist, lift one leg, and position yourself astride Eddie’s thighs. Then, to his complete surprise, you teasingly fiddle with your hem for a moment before lifting your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra. You chose it especially, the delicate lace cups leaving your nipples visible through the sheer fabric.

Eddie’s eyes widen and his jaw goes slack and he’s just… staring, like he’s seeing colour for the first time. You allow him to look at you for a little while, and his awestruck, hungry gaze is almost as effective as his touch for increasing the arousal at your core. You run your hands down his arms until you reach his wrists, which you lift gently, bringing his hands towards your chest. Eddie realises what’s about to happen, and quietly mutters,

“Oh, fuck…”

You guide his hands and his palms are hot as you place them over your flesh, and the heat between your bodies increases as Eddie huffs out an open-mouthed,

“Haaaaaaah.”

His eyes are fixed on your breasts, and he seems momentarily frozen in place. He swallows again, but before you can offer words of encouragement his eyes flick up to yours, an almost pleading look on his face. You nod carefully, slowly, hoping to convey your meaning: go ahead.

You’re successful, and you moan with delight as Eddie’s gaze drops again and he begins to squeeze and mould your heaving bosom like he wants to memorise every curve, every feature. He pushes them together slightly, then up, then apart, all the while massaging them gently with his palms and fingertips. At one point he accidentally grazes your slowly hardening nipples, and it causes both of you to let out startled whines.

He’s humming involuntarily, and more than once you feel his hips roll upwards, positioning the substantial tent in his boxers closer to where you need him. You drift your eyes up towards his pillows as you ask,

“Shall we… get a little more comfortable?”

His nod is swift and it bounces his curls as he immediately begins to shift position. You stand as he shuffles to the centre of his bed and flops down, his hair splaying out over his pillow and his hands clutching mindlessly at the comforter, perhaps to ground himself.

You manoeuvre so your thighs are astride his, your naked cunt not quite touching him and shielded only by the drape of your skirt. You wonder whether Eddie might be catching the scent of your arousal. He’s staring at your chest again, and you surmise he’s got a better view now, with more space between you and the light from the window illuminating you from the side.

His eyes rove your form, and you can’t wait to see what happens when he views a real pair of actual tits for the first time. Locking your gaze on his face, you reach behind you and unfasten your bra. The small jolt as you undo the clasp makes Eddie jump slightly, and his eyes flash up to your face, his eyes saying, is this really happening?

You cover yourself with one arm and slowly slip the straps of your bra off your shoulders before performing a dramatic reveal, dropping the lace to your lap and then sweeping the flimsy garment off the bed and onto the floor.

Eddie’s eyes widen to the point where you think they might leave his skull, and his jaw drops and retracts a couple of times. A strangled sort of noise leaves his throat, and it sounds a little like he’s being gently choked. You check in with him.

“Eddie? Are you okay? Are you… still breathing?”

He inhales, loudly. Nope, he’d definitely stopped breathing. His arms lift a little and his hands hover over the bedsheets. His eyes haven’t left your chest, and you let him know that whatever he wants to do, you’re okay with.

“You can touch them, if you want?”

Eddie huffs out a long exhale, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your sensitive skin brings your nipples to hardened peaks. His fingertips tentatively brush at the sides of your breasts as his thumbs trace the undersides. It’s like he’s examining a precious artifact, and it’s the most reverence anyone’s ever shown your tits, or any part of you. You hear yourself gasp as your centre spasms.

This gives Eddie a little confidence, and he moves to cup your flesh in his hands, his fingers squeezing lightly. This time though, he’s looking at your face, assessing your reaction, seeing how he’s doing. You very much appreciate that he’s ensuring he’s not hurting you, or making an ass of himself, but it’s actually quite the opposite. You let out a tiny moan, and gift him with a louder one when the pads of his thumbs graze your peaked nipples. He does it again, with more intent. The combination of the roughness and heat of his skin feels wonderful.

Unbidden, he brings his forefingers and thumbs together on one side, and pinches lightly. Your abrupt groan surprises both of you, but in a delightful way. He does it again, to both nipples this time, and you groan again as your belly clenches and you involuntarily roll your hips over his thighs, the heat in your core intensifying. 

You let him play for a while, enjoying how he moans and swallows and moulds your flesh. His hands feel so good you’re reluctant to pull them away, but eventually you do, softly placing his arms beside him on the bed as you murmur,

“It’s my turn to touch you now.”

His nervous expression quickly dissipates as you gently lay your hands onto his chest. He’s so beautiful, like an alabaster statue, and he’s warm and responsive to your touch. You run your hands lightly all over his torso, tracing the planes, dips and curves of his musculature, and the designs of his tattoos. It’s simple, almost reverential, though the increased heat in your centre and the breaths stuttering beneath the pretty pink bloom flushing over Eddie’s skin suggest your touch is anything but holy.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to investigate for what feels like a very long time, and you’re delighted that you’ve finally got the opportunity. You run your palms over Eddie’s chest again, but this time allowing your fingertips to skim over his nipples. 

He twitches beneath you, almost flinching at the sensation, but from the gasp he inhales and holds you don’t think this was from discomfort. You repeat the action. His flesh feels soft and velvety, and they’re smaller than yours, but seemingly just as sensitive, and you hear him whimper as they peak beneath your touch. You had no idea a guy’s nipples could react like this, your previous partners never giving them any consideration or allowing you to explore like this. Eddie’s stuttering breaths and the way he’s trembling make you think they were missing out on something really special.

You draw tiny circles around each nipple with the pads of your forefingers, and you feel the bedsheets shift under you as Eddie grips them in his fists. Bravely, you experiment, and you move your thumbs to join your fingers, Eddie’s flesh between them. With the lightest amount of pressure you pinch, just a little, and release quickly.

Something guttural leaves Eddie’s chest, and his breath comes out in a rush. Buoyed by this, you squeeze again, with more pressure and for longer, and this time Eddie’s groan is accompanied by an upwards buck of his hips into the empty air in front of yours.

This is new, and you like it very much. From the deepening pink tinge appearing across Eddie’s cheeks and torso, you think he’s liking it too. You squeeze once more, and release. Leaning forwards and sticking out your tongue, you lick at one of Eddie’s peaked buds before delicately clamping down with your teeth and sucking gently, moaning quietly at the sensation of his delicate flesh in your mouth.

Above you, Eddie splutters,

“Shit! Oh shit! Hnnn!”

Oh yeah, those other guys were definitely missing out.

You decide it’s time for him to experience yours up close too. You lean forwards, bracing your arms either side of his head, the swell of your tits now hovering above his face. His gaze flicks between them a few times before flashing up to yours. You give him a soft smile and nod your head, and he hums as he slides his hands up over your waist, up your sides and over the warm flesh again. 

He moulds them in his hands, making you moan, and to make it all the more obvious what you want him to do you shift so one of your nipples is positioned directly above his mouth. He takes the hint and flicks out his tongue, just grazing your peaked bud at first before gaining in confidence and taking it fully into his mouth, sucking gently at first and then flicking his tongue over it.

You feel a jolt head from your nipple up to your jaw that ignites the entire side of your face with static electricity as another journeys to your core. You let out an involuntary groan, and, buoyed by this, Eddie suckles harder, simultaneously running his thumb over your other nipple. You moan again, your hips rolling over his thighs in search of friction. Shifting beneath you, he pops off one breast and latches on to the other, giving it equal attention and, daringly, pinching the first between his fingers. It’s intense, and glorious, and that electric spark is back, heading directly between your thighs. This is definitely something that’s never happened before.

He unlatches, and you’re a gasping, breathy mess as you move down to kiss him. He lunges up a few centimetres to meet you, and as you deepen the kiss your nipples brush against his chest. He whimpers, and grabs the back of your neck with one hand and between your shoulder blades with the other, pulling you down so your chests meet. You drop your elbows down onto the mattress to get closer to him, and rake your hands through his hair, grasping it and pulling at the roots gently as your hands ball into fists.

There’s no more reverence or holding back now, and your kiss is messy, wet and noisy as Eddie holds you to him, squeezing you together and shoving his tongue seemingly as far down your throat as he can. Your tits are squashed between you, and the pressure of his heated chest against yours is divine. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever done, and you can’t quite believe you’re having this effect on each other. You feel the stiff length of him pressing into your abdomen, and he feels so, so ready for this.

You hum as you kiss him for a while longer, feeling his length kick up between you and the dampness between your legs increase. You break the kiss and sit up, smirking at Eddie’s blissed out face and reddened, kiss-bitten lips. Watching him watch you, you open the side fastening of your skirt and peel it off, discarding it to one side, leaving you fully bare on top of him. His face is almost unreadable, such a mixture of emotions passing over it, but you think he might be a combination of reverent, horny and amazed.

You move yourself further up his thighs, finally settling your hips flush across his, settling down close to the substantial wet patch that’s been made by his leaking tip. Your naked centre sticks to the damp fabric as you drag it across his boxer-covered crotch. Ordinarily you’d be embarrassed at making a mess, but something tells you Eddie won’t care.

You were right. There’s no resistance from him, and he groans beneath you as you feel his hefty bulge press against your folds. His hands grip the bedsheets again as he mumbles out in a low breath,

“Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

His tone and his words only get you wetter, and you can’t help but roll your hips slightly over him, earning you another groan.

You don’t want to waste your slick on this fabric, and rise up onto your knees. With a playful snap of his waistband, you urge,

“Take these off.”

Eddie shuffles beneath you as quickly as he’s able, There’s the rustle of cotton and you look down in time to witness the slap of his hard member against his stomach. His cock’s flushed a deep pink, almost magenta, is more swollen than you’ve ever seen it, and is already drenched and glistening with precum. It smears across his happy trail as he shifts until, moments later, he’s naked beneath you. 

Still kneeling up, your cunt hovers over his bare form. His eyes scan your whole body, from your eyes to your tits, all over your torso, the soft hair covering your cunt, back up to your eyes again. Bravely, you think, he places his hands on your thighs, and you feel them tremble a little as he rubs and strokes gently. 

Slowly, you lower your hips. You feel your pubic hair brush first, before your warm lips make contact with his shaft and your most personal areas touch for the first time.

Eddie’s brows furrow as the slick warmth of you settles onto him, and his abs tense as he breathes out, low,

“Oh, shiiiiit.”

You’re both still for a beat before you brace yourself, palms placed flat on his chest, and begin to rock your hips, just gently, getting you both used to the sensation of having him pressed against your folds. His cock is hard, yet warm and soft, and Eddie huffs out heated breaths through his nose as you slide yourself along him. His hips start to subtly cant beneath you. By the tense look on his face you think it might be involuntary, that he’s holding himself back. 

You move for a little while before one particularly exquisite movement allows his cock to slip between your folds, and his swollen tip unexpectedly nudges your clit. You gasp and curl in on yourself, involuntarily closing your eyes and clenching your fingers, letting out a soft whine. 

Below you, Eddie makes a strangled hnnng sound before his breath hitches and he inhales quickly, his grip on your thighs tightening. 

Worried there’s something wrong, your eyes flash open. You’re relieved to see Eddie seems to be okay, though his eyes are blown even darker and his jaw is softly parted. You glance down at your hands on his chest, and notice a collection of angry-looking red lines where your nails have dug into his flesh. Horrified, you stammer,

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

Echoing your words from your second lesson, he smirks, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and he bounces his eyebrows as he admits,

“It’s okay, I kinda liked it.”

Smiling, you lift your hands to his pecs and lightly drag the nails of your pointer fingers further down his chest and ribs, down to his abs. Eddie moans again, and his hips roll upwards, his cockhead nudging your clit with more pressure and causing you to whine along with him.

Fuck, this feels so good, and he’s not even inside of you yet…

You don’t know how Eddie’s doing, but you can’t take much more of this. Feeling that it’s definitely time for his final lesson, you sit up, resting your palms gently on his belly. You’re feeling really good, but also nervous, which you know makes you verbose, and you can’t help but babble out too many options. 

“Okay, so, I’m more than happy for us to go all the way right now. But if that’s not something you want I’m obviously totally fine with that too. But… Shit. I guess I’m asking, do you still wanna… I mean, how far do you wanna go, really, with me?”

Eddie’s eyes search yours earnestly, and the gentleness of his reply instantly soothes your frayed nerves.

“I want it, Princess. I want to do it… all. With you.”

You smile warmly down at him. It’s the best response you could’ve had. He swallows before gesturing to his nightstand.

“Should I, uh… Should we…?”

You realise he’s asking if he should get a condom, and you’re grateful for his thoughtfulness. But you’ve been considering this, and you have an alternative suggestion. 

“Well… I’m on birth control for a period thing, and I'm pretty sure I’m clean because I’ve never not used a condom. I know you’re clean because, well, y’know. So… if you’re okay with it, we could, uh, do it without?”

He’s looking up at you, wide-eyed and mouth agape. All he can manage is a tiny, squeaked,

“Holy f—. P— please.”

Again, it’s the perfect reply. You’re still slightly incredulous that he’s trusting you to be his first, but you’re also excited to take on such a responsibility. You calm your breathing before kneeling up a little, glancing down and reaching between your legs to take ahold of him. You already knew he has the most exquisite cock you’ve ever encountered, and it somehow looks even more beautiful right now. You grasp him reverently, angling him upwards and dragging him through your folds to gather more of your slick. 

He’s hot and solid in your hand, and flashbacks of everything you’ve done so far flood your mind. Touching yourself as he watched, taking him into your mouth, getting each other off over the phone, your first kiss... It‘s all combined to lead you to this exquisite moment. 

Eddie sighs lightly and lets out a nervous hum, and then both of you hold your breath. You lower yourself a tiny amount, and his tip pushes in a little further as you notch him between your folds. He gasps. You lean over him, and stabilise yourself with your hands either side of his head.

“You ready?”

Eddie’s voice wobbles as he confirms,

“Fuck, yes, Princess. Please f-fuck me.” 

You take a steadying breath, and, keeping your eyes fixed on his, you begin to lower further. His fat head breaches you, and you bite your lip as you feel the stretch of him for the first time. Slowly, so slowly, you slide down, inch by delicious inch. You’re so wet he glides into you easily, although the size of him is something you’ll need to get used to. You relish the sensation of him stretching out your walls as they slowly envelop him.

You pause, and Eddie mumbles your name, barely audible, the hot huff of air filling what little space there is between you. It sounds like a prayer, or perhaps a spell. There’s a moment of silence and absolute stillness, yet it’s weighted, the implications heavy in the humid space between you. You both know how much this means, how things will never be as they were, especially for Eddie. As you slide lower, letting him fill you, his jaw drops further, and his grip on your thighs grows stronger. You sink down until he’s plunged completely inside your warmth, and immerse yourself in the way you’re accommodating him. Your hips finally connect with his, and as you seat him fully inside you already feel him nudging against that spot that he so deftly located earlier. You mumble out a stilted,

“Oh, god.”

It’s followed by a long, deep sigh from Eddie as he mutters,

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck— Ooooooooh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkk!”

He’s closed his eyes, and you can feel the tips of his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. You enjoy the moment, savouring how he looks, how he feels. His hair splays out around him on his pillow like a chestnut halo, and his head is tilted back, exposing his broad, thick throat. His eyes flash open again and fix on yours; wide, dark mahogany pools that are somehow simultaneously a million miles away and boring into your very soul. His mouth hangs open in awe, shallow, trembling breaths emanating from his throat. He looks like an angel. 

He strokes your thighs for a moment before his large hands move to settle lightly on your hips. Placing your hands over the backs of his, you stay seated, tilting your hips ever so slightly to push down even deeper onto him. He practically growls,

“Fuck, Princess. You feel so fucking good.”

The growling nature of his voice sends an electric heat straight to your core, and the stretch you feel quickly morphs into a fiery need. You gaze into Eddie’s chocolate orbs as you warn him, 

“I’m gonna move now, okay?”

He swallows in preparation, and you brace your hands on his lower ribs. You tilt your hips, rolling them. It angles him differently inside you, his swollen head hitting harder exactly where you need it. It also brushes your clit against the dark, glossy hair at his base, and your walls spasm as a low moan leaves your chest and you feel Eddie’s cock kick up in response. He mumbles, voice low and lasciviously gravelly,

“Do that again.”

So you do, again and again. You find a rhythm, slow but satisfying as you rock back and forth. Eddie’s jaw drops open again and his lips form a soft ‘o’ as you move above him.

It occurs to you that everything feels subtly different. Of course, you’ve never been treated with such care before, never been brought to a point of such arousal, plus you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want Eddie in this moment. But you swear you can feel the flared edge of his cockhead as it drags against your walls, and every ridge and vein as you move atop him. You’d never previously considered how a lack of barrier might affect things, it always being a hard boundary for you, despite whining and cajoling from previous partners. You’d assumed it was mostly a ‘guy thing’, and you had no idea how it could affect your pleasure. But it’s abundantly obvious now. 

Eddie's lips are pursed, and his grip on your thighs intensifies again as you watch the muscles of his abdomen subtly tense. Perhaps it’s time he became a bit more… involved. You’re sure he can take it, and you know he won’t hurt you.

“You can move too, Eddie. Just do what feels good.”

He‘s tentative at first, tilting his pelvis subtly and pushing up into you with such care, as if he might hurt you, or something might break. It’s incredible, the small movements feel so good, and somehow more intimate and passionate than anything you’ve done with anyone else. You reward him with soft sighs and moans in time with his movements.

Gaining confidence, he begins to move faster, pulling out further and thrusting back in with more vigour. When you join him, moving and rolling your pelvis with larger movements in time with his, your breath coming out in increasingly loud rhythmic gasps and moans, his breathing quickens, his whole body flushes, and you can't help but close your eyes and drop your head back in ecstasy until Eddie’s hands clamp onto your hips and—

“Ohmygod, ooohmyGOD.”

He’s suddenly still.

You open your eyes to check in on him, and see Eddie’s screwed up face, his eyes and mouth twisted shut, his cheeks even redder than before.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

He babbles, quickly,

“Don’t move Princess, pleasejustdontfuckinmove. This is fuckin’ amazing and I don’t wanna ruin it!”

You want to reassure him that everything he’s doing is perfect.

“I’m close too. It doesn't matter how long this lasts, just that we both enjoy it. And I’m really, really enjoying it. Please, keep moving, Eddie. For me?"

From his beautifully wide eyes and flushed face, this definitely isn’t going to last very much longer, but you mean it, you don’t care. You’re still puffy and sensitive from his earlier ministrations, and you know it won’t be long before you fall apart all over him. You both begin to move again, quickly rebuilding a rhythm. The soft thrusts of his hips keep perfect time with the subtle rolls of yours, the lewd sounds of your mingling juices only adding to your mutual enjoyment. 

Eddie lets out little uhs and ahs in time with your movements and you adore that you’re having such an effect on him. After a particularly deep thrust followed by a vociferous grunt, he grits out, through clenched teeth,

“Does it— Christ— Does it always feel this good?”

You reply, truthfully,

“Honestly? It’s never been this good.”

He stutters out a high-pitched chuckle as he confirms,

“Holy shit, I’m in fucking heaven!”

You lunge forwards to kiss him again, brushing your nipples against his chest as you slip your tongue between his eager lips. Once again Eddie’s hand grips the back of your head and he moans loudly as his tongue plunges into your mouth. You feel the warmth of a broad palm against your lower back as he pulls you flush with his chest. The shift in position arches your back, subtly changing the angle and spreading your centre even further. 

All too soon, Eddie’s thrusts become faster and less controlled, and you match his pace, rolling your hips and pushing down onto him with increased vigour. You break apart and move up just enough so he’s in focus, wanting to see him at this perfect moment. His eyes are glazed and seem to only be half-focussing on yours, and there's a tell-tale furrow in his brow. You wonder aloud,

“You gonna cum? I wanna feel you. Let go, please.”

His hips seem to take on a life of their own now he’s not holding back. His thrusts become more fervent, and his swollen member pummels that spot inside you. You feel his pelvis slam against your clit with every stroke, and your own release careens towards you, spots of light beginning to appear in your vision and the warmth in your core reaching a heated crescendo.

With a deep, rumbling groan, easily the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard, his final thrust pushes him even deeper and his cock begins to pulse inside you. You’ve never felt anyone’s release before, and the divine sensation makes you jam your hips down, triggering your own release, and you throw your head back in ecstasy, emitting a disjointed high-pitched whine. There's more low moans from Eddie as you clench around his still-pulsing member, and you barely register the bruising grip as he digs his fingertips into your hips. 

Eventually your movements still and, spent, you pitch forward on failing arms and collapse onto his chest, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck. After a moment he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and nuzzling into your hairline.

There’s a minute of stillness, and you revel in the post-orgasmic haze. Your cunt spasms with aftershocks, eliciting contented hums from deep within Eddie’s chest. You’re warm, satisfied and feel cosy and safe with his arms wrapped around you, and you wonder whether he’s feeling the same. You hum into his skin as he traces one hand over your shoulders and back. It’s bliss.

Eventually, Eddie chuckles lightly as he mutters,

“Fuck, Princess. That was… I, um… Fuck.”

He snorts a truncated laugh, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his curls bouncing on the pillow as his head shifts to look at you. All you can manage is a dopey grin as you reply,

“Yeah. Fuck.”

You chuckle in unison, shifting until your noses touch, both tilting your chins until your lips connect in a series of soft pecks.

You’re a little nervous to ask, but something in you has to know.

“How did it feel? Fucking for the first time?”

“Shit, it was goddamn heaven, I swear! Although technically, I think you did most of the actual fucking.”

“Oh no, you did absolutely your fair share! But we can change that, if you’d like. Are you up for doing most of the fucking another time?”

Eddie’s eyebrows snap up his forehead and he looks straight at you with surprise, and just a little disbelief. 

“You, uh, want there to be a next time…?”

You roll your lips together and consider your words carefully before replying. He really has no idea how good this was for you, or that he’s already so much better than literally every guy you’ve ever slept with. But you don’t want to stroke his ego too much, at least, not just yet. You hum and fake a look of disinterest.

“Well, I guess I could make time in my schedule, to, y’know, give you a few more lessons. Purely for your benefit, of course.”

His jaw drops in faux shock.

“Hey, I know I’m not exactly an expert, but if I’m reading this right you seemed to enjoy yourself.”

You can’t keep a straight face and burst into giggles, and Eddie follows you, his fingers snaking to your waist and easily finding your ticklish spots. You huff and wriggle, but make no real attempt to disengage yourself from his grasp. If anything, you end up more entangled, and from the contented sounds that emanate from you both, it’s not something either of you mind.

You lay together for a few moments, enjoying the peace and your shared heat. But eventually your hips start to ache, and with a groan of discomfort, and more than a little reluctance, you slowly start to move. His mostly-soft cock slips out easily, and as you roll off of him you feel your combined juices run out of you, dribbling over his abdomen and coating the inside of your thighs.

You sigh as you wriggle yourself into the crook of his arm, and lay your palm on his chest, tracing lazily up and down with your fingers.

You figure Eddie must feel the cooling stickiness, because he starts to move and asks,

“Umm… Do I— Uh… Should I…? D’you need anything?”

You keep it simple.

“Umm, something to clean up with would be nice. And could I, maybe, get some water?”

The mere fact that he’s asked the question already puts him leagues above others, but you’re briefly concerned that Eddie will see this as annoying, or demanding. To your relief, he seems entirely unfazed. 

“Sure thing. You get comfy here and I’ll just be a minute.”

He wriggles sideways and backs off the bed, his beautiful grin lighting up his glowing face. His hair’s a dishevelled mess, his torso is still tinged pink and the scratches you left on his chest are an angry red, but you’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. Unable to break your gaze, he doesn’t turn until he’s already partly through the doorway. It’s sweet, and lovely, but as he leaves you’re almost sad that he didn’t turn sooner, as you’re treated to the glorious sight of his pert, peachy butt bouncing slightly as he leaves the room.

You swallow, thinking that’s a sight you could definitely get used to, but then chide yourself. He’s obviously happy to do this again, but you have no idea whether he’s… feeling the same way you are. But at that moment you make a decision - you’re absolutely going to broach the subject before you leave. Definitely. 

Probably. 

Maybe...

There’s the sound of running water and minutes later Eddie returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a small towel, and promptly disappears again. You clean yourself up as best you can and then take him at his word and get comfy, wrapping yourself up in his sheets before rolling onto your side and perusing the myriad objects atop his nightstand. There’s a full ashtray, loose keys, a lighter, a couple of rings, an empty pretzel tube, rolling papers, a creased music magazine and a lot of dust. A battered copy of a Tolkien novel catches your eye, and you pick it up and start to flip through it. There’s folded corners and pages marked with scraps of paper, notes and doodles in the margins and words written in runes in Eddie’s messy scrawl. You imagine it must be one of his most treasured possessions.

Just as you’re halfway through deciphering a short runic message, Eddie enters with snacks clasped in his hands and between his teeth. There's water, cold soda, pretzels, potato chips, a bowl with a few grapes in it, and half a bar of chocolate. His soft, but still pretty, cock swings with abandon as he heads towards you and dumps his haul onto the bed in front of you.

It’s all perfect. He’s perfect…

As the final packet leaves his mouth he spots what you have in your hand.

“I brought snacks too, I hope that’s okay. Whatcha got there, Princess?”

You drop the paperback like it’s burned you, blustering,

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“That’s alright, you can look. There’s nothing incriminating in there. Not gonna tell you where that stuff is, mind you."

He pulls a comical face as he flops down onto the bed, the old springs squeaking in protest, and you giggle, thinking about your journal and wondering whether he does indeed have any similarly incriminating stuff anywhere, as you admit,

“I read The Hobbit once. I liked it, but I found the other books too heavy going. Is that awful? Are you gonna throw me out now?”

You wince and add a deliberately over-expansive pout. Eddie’s hair shakes wildly as he responds emphatically,

“Oh, god no! You’d have to do a lot worse than that for me to ever let you go…”

You think he’s just being funny, but then his eyes soften suddenly, and you wonder whether, deep down, he actually means that. Your tummy flutters at the thought. But before you can dwell, his face brightens, and, breaking your thought process, he continues excitedly,

“Maybe I could read them to you sometime? I could explain it as I go. And I promise to skip any really dull parts.”

You smile and nod eagerly in agreement, imagining lazy days spent cuddling with Eddie reading aloud to you as you play with his hair and memorise his tattoos. You can’t pass this moment up, you have to say something. And, in just a minute, you will. You’re almost certain of it.

You sit up and lean back against the wall, and Eddie joins you, pulling his sheets and comforter around you both. You lean in close as you snack on your impromptu and welcome picnic, sometimes feeding each other small morsels, and he makes you giggle as he kisses crumbs from the side of your mouth and fake-bites your fingers. 

Food devoured, you snuggle against him with his arm slung around your shoulders. You bring a finger up to trace his ink, and he hums contentedly as you run your fingertips through his soft chest hair again. 

Okay, girl. Just do it.

Gathering yourself, you take a deep breath, holding it for far too long before the words tumble out of you.

“I’ve really enjoyed this, Eddie. Not just, y’know, this, but also the tutoring, and getting to know you. Shit, I’m probably messing this up so bad. I guess what I’m trying to say is… and I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but… we could carry this on. Properly. If— you wanted to.” 

Eddie stares at you for a moment, before he stammers, 

“We— we could?”  

A goofy smile appears on his face.

Bolstered, you gather your nerve and continue,

“And… I could be more than just your tutor. If you wanted me to be?”

Eddie replies, with a little trepidation, 

“Are you serious? You’d wanna be more than, y’know, this?” 

He gesticulates over both of your pelvises.

“Yeah. I was thinking… Fuck, I hope this isn’t too much. Will you tell me if this is too much? I thought… If you like… I could even, maybe… be your girlfriend?”

Eddie inhales quickly and his chest puffs, you hope with joy, but fucking hell you hope you haven’t overstepped and it’s actually horror.

“If I’d like? Shit, I would absolutely like that. Very, very much...”

He brings one hand up to stroke the side of your head, and then runs it lightly down over your shoulder and the side of your arm. He places a firm, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back, smiling.

You stare into each other’s eyes, the gravity of the moment not lost on either of you. The nervous pit in your stomach is completely dissolved by a warm, honeyed sensation, as you slowly process that Eddie said yes, and that you’ve just snagged yourself the cutest, sweetest, sexiest boyfriend ever. 

You lean in, capturing Eddie’s plush lips in another chaste but oh-so-meaningful kiss. He presses forward to kiss you back, relaxing and heaving out a low sigh before his lips quirk into a devious-looking smirk, failing to hide his mischievous tone as he asks,

“I do have one question. If you’re my girlfriend now, do I still have to wait a whole week before we can do this again?”

You snort at his silliness.

“No, Eddie, you definitely don’t. In fact, what are you doing this weekend? Would you like to come over to my place? I’ve got plenty of ideas for more lessons, and I’m sure there’s lots we can teach each other.”

Eddie growls playfully before enthusiastically agreeing, prying excitedly for details like dates and times and possible activities. Although he seems more than fine with your company, you don’t want to push things too far or outstay your welcome, so when you glance at his bedside clock and see that it’s already way past the time you’d usually leave you turn to him with a resigned huff.

Eddie responds, 

“It’s that time already?”

You give him a glum little nod, and he continues,

“Do you really have to go? I mean, couldn’t you stay a little longer? I’d really like that.”

Smiling, you nuzzle in closer to him. 

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that boyfriend.”

In a surprising display of both strength and newly-found confidence, Eddie pushes your shoulder and flips you onto your back, scattering the empty packets and bowls across the bed and onto the floor. His pretty curls frame his face and tickle your cheeks as he looms over you, and his burgeoning erection feels hot as he presses it into the crease of your thigh.

He leans down, and his beautiful nose brushes yours as he murmurs,

“You know these lessons you’re talking about, Princess. How about we start right now?”

You hum into the kiss he plants on your lips and roll your hips upwards into him, making him moan. But before this particular lesson can go any further, you’re both disturbed by the sounds of the trailer door loudly opening and closing, and the rustle of fabric as someone removes what sounds like a heavy coat.

You and Eddie freeze, eyes wide and locked on each other's. 

“Oh shit, it’s my uncle!”

You gasp, and then both frantically sit up and scramble off the bed to get dressed, nervously giggling and flinging each other’s clothing across the room.

You’re almost done, and in record time too. But as you bend to retrieve a sock, Eddie's treated to the sight of your skirt lifting, revealing your bare cunt, a little of his spend leaking out of you. He’s momentarily struck dumb, and his jaw drops. But another noise outside snaps him back to reality. Stuttering, he mumbles,

“You don’t have any… uh…”

He waves a hand in the vague direction of your lower half, his cheeks reddening as he remembers what he did earlier on with your panties.

“It’s okay, Eddie. After that first time, I thought it would probably be a good idea to keep some spares in my bag.”

Standing, you wink at him. He pulls a thick lock of hair over his cheek, embarrassed, screwing up his eyes and realising he’s been completely and utterly caught. He tries to apologise, his words clipped,

“Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

“You know, from anyone else I’d have found it creepy, but from you I find it oddly flattering.”

He grins widely, and is just about to pull you into an embrace when there’s another noise, a gravelly voice this time, 

“Is this paper yours, son? You didn’t steal this from another kid again, did’ya?”

Eddie looks slightly bashful for a moment but there’s no time to dither. It's time to face whoever’s out there. Eddie opens his door and leaves first, beckoning you encouragingly to follow him. Standing in the narrow hallway by the kitchen, you come face to face with Eddie’s uncle for the first time. He’s clutching Eddie’s test paper, and his deep frown, grizzled features and broad frame cut an imposing figure. When he eyes the pair of you, you can’t help but feel a little nervous. 

Eddie speaks first, and addresses his uncle, a little sarcastically,

“Yes, that is indeed my test paper. And I’ll thank you for not looking quite so surprised.” 

The big man’s brows furrow a little deeper, and you can’t tell whether it’s with consternation or amusement, as his gaze flicks between the two of you. Eddie clears his throat and introduces Wayne to you, and tells his uncle your name. You think that’s it, until he straightens up a little, and with a confidence you weren’t expecting he slips an arm around your shoulders. He grips you tightly before adding, with a little nod, as if he’s practicing the words and still convincing himself, 

“And, uh, she’s my girlfriend.”

Oh. You like how it sounds coming from his lips.

Wayne’s forehead crinkles as his bushy eyebrows raise, but before you have time to worry his face splits into a wide grin. He extends a work-grizzled hand and shakes yours powerfully as he says, in a much lighter tone,

“Well, ain’t this the nicest news for this old soul to come home to. It’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’.”

His voice is warm and kind, and you believe it. Looking between you and his nephew, Wayne adds,

“Do we have the pleasure of your company this evening? You caught us at a good time, I’ve just been huntin’n’gatherin’.”

He gestures towards the kitchen area. You see full bags piled onto the counter, mac’n’cheese boxes, eggs and a few vegetables peeking from the tops, and realise it’s a dinner invitation. You gape a couple of times, far from expecting this level of domestic intimacy, and Eddie seems to pick up on it and answers for the both of you.

“Not tonight. I’m gonna drop this lovely lady back home, and then I’ll come help you chop veggies, ‘kay?”

He sweeps an arm wide, directing you towards his front door, and you pad over to collect the rest of your belongings, careful when you bend so as not to reveal your lack of underwear to anyone who wasn’t expecting it. You clasp Eddie’s divine drawing to your chest, handling it with especial care. Behind you, you hear the two men mutter-whispering, Wayne speaking first.

“Is this the tutor girl you’ve been talking about non-stop these last few weeks? You finally asked her out, huh?”

You can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds,

“Keep your voice down, old man. Um, that’s not exactly how it happened, but yeah, that’s her.”

Eddie looks over to you with a fond smile on his face as you pick up your backpack, and he comes over to you and helps you with your shoes before you leave ahead of him. The last thing you hear before the door closes behind you both is Wayne speaking once more.

“Good for you, son. It’s about damn time!”

Series masterlist General masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! (And for sticking with me through the longest update gap I think I’ve ever had, ILY 🙏💗) This completes our main ‘lessons’, but don’t fret - I have some more Extra Credits planned for these two 😉

If you liked this please, please like, comment and, especially, reblog - it’s the only way fics stay alive, and it means so much to writers to get your reactions and feedback, it’s what keeps us sharing our work 💗💋

“It’s that time already?” is a prompt from @promptsh20, it fitted so well with this section of the story I just had to include it 😊 The “It’s never been this good” lines are adapted from a film, the name of which I’ve now forgotten 🙈, and the “Do that again” was inspired by a Ryan Reynolds line in Green Lantern (if I can’t have him say it to me IRL I’m damn well gonna have Eddie do it in a fic 😛)

I proofed this as much as I could but my brain turned to mush, so if there are any errors or anyone grows an extra limb or something please tell me 🙏😅

Taglist part one: @airen256 @bimbotrashcan @urlbitchin @guiltyasquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @rustboxstarr @bl4ckt00thgr1n @bexreadstoomuch @cozmiccass @yujyujj @cluz1babe @thunderg @aysheashea @paleidiot @cadence73 @eddie-munsons-wifey @siriuslysmoking @neville-is-my-husband @aestheticaltcow @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lightcommastix @ungracefularchimedes @spenciesprincess @joejoequinnquinn @freshoutthewomb2 @sunshinepeachx @tlclick73 @hellfirenacht @yourdailymemedelivery @wendyxox @madaboutmunson @80s-addict @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @eddiesxangel @bunny7232 @starksbabie @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @abellmunsonmovie @sheneedsrocknroll92 @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @wonderlanddreamer @leatherfaceologist @munson-blurbs @paradisepoisons @lokidokieokie @rcailleachcola @fckyeahlames @kurdtbean PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU CHANGE YOUR URL OR DON’T WANT TO BE INCLUDED ANYMORE

[worldheadcanons]

☆ receiving a kind note!

requested by anon! fem, sister to al & mattie!reader. starring . . . america, russia, & canada. fandom masterlist found here. 📌 . . . author notes: al + mattie’s parts are familial, ivan’s is open to interpretation! i don’t usually write familial stuff but this was really fun to think of. sorry if i butchered canadian hiking culture, also.

alfred f. jones!

— he’s not surprised to see a note from his little sister taped loosely onto his chair. it’s something you’d done forever, ever since you first learned how to write. you were fascinated with leaving little notes and messages for others to read. it was a cute habit and still is now that you’re older. setting down his briefcase, he picks up the note and gives it a read.

— “hey, al! i hope your meeting goes well today. i was thinking for lunch we could go to that burger place we both liked, but i wouldn’t mind eating whatever you’re in the mood for. just text me what you’d like. i know that meetings aren’t the most fun but try to pitch your best ideas. i love you, see you at lunch! P.S. you’ve got to stop leaving your socks all over the house, i’m tired of picking them up! — your super sidekick sister!”

— after reading, he just chuckles to himself. yeah, that’s his little sidekick, for sure. thoughtful, energetic.. he takes out his phone right away to text you the details for lunch. “i’m feeling hotdogs today, actually. care for a chili dog instead? side note, my socks are NOT all over the house. just all over my room.”

— your reply is almost immediate. unlike alfred, you don’t have a busy schedule. there were no huge meetings to attend considering you were a micronation. “chili dogs sound good :) i’ll come by at lunch to pick you up!”. after a few moments, you sent another text, “also, your socks are EVERYWHERE. i’m your sister, not your maid!”

— he rolls his eyes, hearting the first message before replying to the second one. “alright, alright. don’t go all arthur on me.” with that, he shoves his phone into his pocket. other countries were starting to trickle in so he had to wipe the smile off of his face. still, the whole meeting seemed to be less torturous after having a nice conversation with his sister.

ivan braginsky!

— oh? what’s this? a message from alfred’s little sister.. ivan’s surprised by the appearance of a cute note on his chair. he knows it’s from you because he’s seen how you leave notes for others. never did he imagine you’d leave one for him, though… he thought for sure that alfred would’ve forbid you from such a thing. then again, you’re his sister, not his prisoner.

— “to mr. braginsky. i’ve heard a lot about you from my brother, but i’ve yet to meet you in person. let’s change that! if you’re interested, i’d like to meet up with you after this meeting and go out for lunch. i’m fine with anything. don’t worry about al! he’s triple booked with meetings today, so he won’t see us. i eagerly await the chance to acquaint ourselves!”

— his brows furrow as he reads. this could definitely be fake. alfred could be luring him into a sort of trap, waiting for him to take the bait. the penmanship is definitely similar to the loud american’s, as is the type of speech.

— even so… would he ever go through all that trouble, just to get the jump on an enemy? they could easily fight out in the open; no one would mind. ivan takes the sticky note, folds it in half and slips it into his pocket. the meeting starts but his mind is still on the message. it’s rare for anyone to be interested in him all on their own. perhaps he should go for it. ah, the more he thinks, the more it vexes him. if it’s causing such a headache, maybe he should ignore the note…

— he leaves the meeting quickly, grabbing his things and heading out the door. with each step, he becomes more convinced. ignore the note and go straight home. ignore the note and go straight home. ignore the note and — oh? on the way out the building, though, he spots a young woman busy on her phone — you. without thinking, he walks over, asking if you’re alfred’s sister. when you say yes, you smile at him. a big, radiant smile, one that’s actually for him… he’s glad he didn’t ignore the note after all.

matthew williams!

— the notes that you leave really brighten his day, even if he doesn’t often say it. you’re one of the few people who notices him and asks him things; you ask about his day, you care about the things that excite him — sure, you might be annoying at times, but so is alfred. he doesn’t love either of you any less for it. that’s just having siblings.

— all that to say, his eyes light up as soon as he sees the familiar sight of a sticky note stuck to the meeting table, right where he sits. he’s one of the first countries to make it into the room, though it’s not like he has to be careful in reading the note. there are some benefits to not being noticeable.

— “mattie! don’t forget, we have that trail we’re walking in between your morning and afternoon meetings! i took the liberty of finding a good trail. we’ll be hiking up the hamilton falls trail, since you’re always talking about taking me hiking in your home country anyways. it says online that it’s only thirty minutes round trip, so you’ll probably be fine! — your sister!”

— oh! hiking in between meetings… you did bring up the idea a few days ago when you noticed that the next few world meetings would be stationed in canada (this was after you begged him to let you come with). he didn’t say no then but he hadn’t said yes either. but.. could it really hurt? this time of year was a good time to see the waterfall, anyways, if you’re careful about the mud.

— you know what? hell yeah. it’s not like anyone will care if he comes in clean in a suit or messy from hiking. he takes out his phone and sends you a short text. “can’t wait to go hiking with you :)”. who cares what anyone else thought? he’s gonna have a fun time with his sister.

[fatcatlittlebox]

I had an ask about my analysis of Galadriel’s mindset during the season finale and I’ve been avoiding it because I f*cking hated the dialogue they gave her. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense to me. Galadriel doesn’t want to believe that any of what she shared with Halbrand was real. She doesn’t want to allow that possibility. As others have said, she didn’t just want what he offered. She wanted him. If “he” doesn’t exist, it makes it easier to “shut the door.” She may go her whole life convincing herself that it was a farce to him. Even if that’s how she comes to terms with it, is that really being healed?

From the beginning of their reunion, you could see Galadriel avoids facing Sauron. She doesn’t turn around when he approaches her from behind. She’s frozen. It’s because she doesn’t trust how she will react when she sees his face. Especially if he has the form of Halbrand. She’s terrified of him and she’s terrified of herself. Her mistrust is well placed as we see later. Then, it is only when Sauron faces away from her that she tries to strike him down. Because in confronting him this way, she won’t actually have to face him.

But of course, it doesn’t work. They both knew it wouldn’t. She won’t get off that easily. It’s also an attempt on her part to keep him at a distance. It’s her way of telling him, she’s not here to talk. Sauron flips it on her though. Because Galadriel isn’t a talker anyways. She’s a fighter and violence is a language he is fluent in. He turns their duel into a physical and symbolic conversation. And Galadriel hates it. She hates that he can singularly access her this way and the way no one else can. So she keeps pushing him back and shutting him down. The rest of their confrontation Galadriel volleys a series of sarcastic replies whenever Sauron tries to be sincere with her. She sneeringly asks if he wants to heal her. He says he wants “to heal…” and pauses.

The truth is in that silence. He wishes to heal. Sadly, now it’s established that they’re both going to be lying to themselves so why be honest and open with each other going forward? I think that’s for a multitude of reasons. One, if she deflects his entreaties with sarcasm, she’s not letting his words hit their mark. He can’t worm his way into her mind again. And after having heard Adar describe his own relationship and feelings with Sauron, then watching him get brutally murdured, she feels entirely justified in cosigning that Sauron is an insidious manipulator. That she is no different and would end up exactly as the fallen elf.

Sauron, she tells herself, is the embodiment of evil. She’s not wrong. However, evil can love. It can be twisted and fucked up but no less real. However, that kind of gray area would spell the collapse of her defenses. So she makes him to be this generic evil and responds to him with generic platitudes. It’s impersonal, detached. Business as usual. It’s survival. She has declared in her mind that Sauron is not Halbrand. Ignoring the fact that her mind is not where he slithered his way in. He found his way through her heart.

And Sauron, for his part does a shitty job of convincing her otherwise. There are moments of earnest vulnerability sprinkled in there but in the heat of her anger and outrage, she cannot see it. Their fight tells a story in itself and he toys with her. She knows it too. What’s more, the fight becomes a microcosm of their relationship. She pursues him and he bats her away. He nicks her in precise places on her body - her shoulder, where he saw Valandil pierce her with his sword and then her left flank, where Halbrand was injured - like he means to recall their shared history. But instead of a caress, it’s a cut.

Then he morphs into Halbrand, then Galadriel, then Celebrimbor. He’s telling her that he sees and remembers everything. What she feels is ridiculed and used like a puppet. Finally, the last place he cuts her is over her heart. An unhealing scar will be left. Still he sees and remembers everything. That wound is for the both of them.

By the end of their fight, Sauron has unintentionally reinforced what Galadriel had set out to prove in her mind, if not in her heart. Halbrand never existed. She feels triumphant over Sauron and over the darkness that haunts her. She believes she is “healed.” It’s a parallel of her leap from the ship bound for the Undying Lands. Instead of turning it away, she’s embracing her death and her closure. At the same time, Sauron reaches an epiphany that is similar to her own but fundamentally different: Halbrand is no more. As I had stated before, Sauron likely associates Halbrand as the most vulnerable version of himself even if it is the closest to the truth. It is the version of himself he saw ruling with Galadriel. But he sees this as a failed effort, so it wouldn’t serve a practical purpose to be Halbrand anymore. It was a risk he would rather avoid and he probably wants him gone as badly as she does.

However both of those premises are faulty. Because we, the viewers know what they deny: Halbrand is Sauron. He always will be. They are both lying to themselves. Which begs the question: Was Galadriel healed and reborn in light? Or was she rejected by death because her sacrifice was built on a half-truth? Had she been sent back because she had not completed her mission? She had said her task was to remove the stain of his evil from Middle Earth. Halbrand is Sauron. Even though the door to her mind is shut, the door to her heart is a different story. And his stain is still there.

[thinkingboute]

would you? | harry styles x model!oc

summary: The show goes off without a hitch, but Lina's interaction with Harry before clouds her mind. At the after party, she takes one for the team when Gigi tries to get in with other One Direction member, Zayn Malik. Ironic meetings lead to a first date. Part 3 of the Masks series.

part 1 here! part 2 here!

warnings: mentions of drugs, disordered eating, vomit, anxiety, alcohol, allusions to sex

a/n: This one was so much fun to write! The parts are getting longer from here.I hope you like it!

word count: about 2.4k

Holy shit these were some high heels. 

Lina danced in place, shaking the nerves that wracked her body as she prepared to walk the stage. Sweat accumulated beneath the bra and underwear---if you could even call them that. Gilded Angels was the theme this year and, goddamn, did Lina feel absolutely gilded. 

The set she wore was less fabric and more faux metal. It appeared that gold had been molded to cup her breasts, pushing them up beyond what she ever thought possible. Her wings were white, like Biblical angel wings, with gold dusted tips. Gold heels wove their way up her calves like Greek sandals. She felt holy. And really fucking hot---in both ways. 

Taylor Hill, who was opening the show, shimmied behind the curtains, lost in the heavy fabric. It was clearly go time, which usually spurred Lina to focus and quit her nervous movement. Today, she couldn’t calm herself down. Pictures of that messy haired Brit flooded her mind. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little excited to walk past him in this outfit. 

You look good. 

That’s what he said to her just an hour ago. Her head was covered in curlers, robe disheveled, eyes closed. She was giddy at the thought of him seeing her all done up. I look better than good now.

Lina squealed as two strong hands shook her shoulders from behind. “Let’s fucking go, Li!” Gigi shrieked, smacking a kiss to her cheek. The girls laughed, jumping up and down. Gigi had a way of making everything seem like just a game.

“Don’t fuck up my hair, Gi,” Lina said, giggling. Gigi’s hands spun Lina to face her. 

Ignoring her comment, Gigi grabbed her face. “I don’t walk until Taylor’s on stage,” she said, clearly excited to walk while her friend performed. Lina had become quite used to being surrounded by stars, but she was a little too excited at the thought of talking to Taylor Swift. She and Gigi had become close since the Oscars earlier that year, and Lina was hoping that would give her and in.

“I walk in…” Lina searched the room for a clock. “Four minutes.”

“I saw you talking to Harry Styles earlier,” Gigi whispered, wiggling her brows. “You seemed to be laughinggg and smilinggg and…” she lowered her voice even more, “flirtinggg…”

“Ugh, leave me alone,” Lina rolled her eyes. “We met at that masquerade thing in October.” Gigi covered her mouth with a hand.

“Why didn’t you te---”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” Gigi started again but Lina put a hand up. “Really, it wasn’t my best moment. He was just teasing me about it earlier.” Gigi wiggled her brows again. “I was puking in the men’s bathroom, Gi. If there was ever a chance in hell he would be into me, it’s long gone.”

“I’m going to pretend that’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard today,” Gigi said, a crease appearing between her brows. “Anyway, if he really thought you were that weird, he probably would’ve stayed far away from you today. But he didn’t.” Her laugh was more of a hehe.

“I can barely look him in the eye. God, that was terrible, I---” Lina was interrupted by her name being called by the show’s producers. “Time to go. I talk to you later, baby.”

Lina’s hand was pulled towards the curtains. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to center herself as hand flew all around her, adjusting her wings, tousling her hair, and freshening her gloss. 

Lina recognized the song she was set to walk out to. Rock Me. She didn’t think One Direction would have songs that would fit a VS show. They were so…teenage girl. But this song was a bit dirtier, and it had a nice beat. She put on her super sexy and poised model mask and stepped out from behind the curtain. 

The band members were scattered about the runway. Her eyes found Harry at the end immediately. Her shoulders thrown back, she began her walk, smiling and winking at the boys she passed by. She thought one of her wings may have wacked Niall in the face, but she tried not to think much about it. 

She reached Harry after what seemed like a decade of walking. She was too nervous to look him in the eye. She wondered if, when he looked at her now, he still saw the puking corpse he saw a few months ago. 

Harry was certainly not hurting for confidence. He grabbed her hand and spun her around, leading her to walk back down the runway. Lina, as hard as it was, kept up her flirty persona, looking back over her shoulder to wink at him before slowly letting go of his hand. The walk back felt a bit like flying. 

The rest of the show went by in a blur. It was Gigi’s first time walking the show, but no one would’ve been able to tell. Her confidence oozed through every pore of her perfect face. When she got off the stage, she was bouncing off the walls, ready to find some sort of shit food to consume ASAP.

But there was an after party to attend. Lina peeled herself out of her outfit, carefully handing it to the women who surrounded her, ready to rip it from her hands. It wasn’t strange to be naked in front of so many people anymore. She’d been doing it since she was 16. She tried not to think about that part too much. 

Her new outfit consisted of a vintage VS slip, of course, with some artfully ripped tights, and heeled boots that cut off just below the knee. With her hair thrown back loosely into a pony, she felt sufficiently prepared to face her first celebrity party since the ball. 

Darren congratulated her on (his words) another fantastic show. She smiled, mind elsewhere, and got into the car, whose door he held open. 

The ride to the venue was not more than 15 minutes, but for all Lina knew, it could’ve been hours. Her mind was set on exactly what she would say to Harry when she saw him, because she knew she’d see him. His band was full of a bunch of 20 something boys. They would not pass up the opportunity to go to a party full of drinks and models. 

Darren noticed her not-quite-on-Earth-ness and waved a hand in front of her face. She swatted at it, rolling her eyes.

“Thinking about that One Way kid?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Darren?” Lina snorted. 

“Whatever, the British kid with the hair. I don’t care to know more about him that I have to.”

“You don’t have to know anything.”

“When he comes to your room tonight, or you go to his, it will be my job to know about him.”

Lina blushed and buried her face in her hands. “Darren, you perv!”

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to think about these things. But I saw him leaning on that table earlier, like he’s some sort of Elvis. It was embarrassing how hard he was trying, honestly.”

“I told you about our…run in in October, right? He was just making fun of me,” She said still not looking at him. “And, not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t make it a habit of going to any guys room before I’ve been taken on a proper date.”

It was Darren’s turn to cover his face. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we please stop talking about this? It feels like discussing my sex life with my father.”

Darren winced. “I’d love nothing more.”

The car pulled up to the hotel the party was taking place in. Although it was dark, it was hard not to spot it. A massive crowd of paparazzi was piled on the steps to the entrance. 

“Fucking perfect.”

Darren slid out of the car, opening the door for Lina. She stepped out, careful not to let any of them snap a picture underneath her dress. She smiled and waved, but didn’t stop for pictures. Darren cut through the crowd, leading her to the door. 

The bar and room surrounding it was strangely reminiscent of the hall that held the masquerade ball. This time, thankfully, Lina was sure she was not going to puke on anyone. She was sure to stop Darren from grabbing her bag before she stepped closer to the bar. She wanted a Cosmo. 

“Liiiiinaaaaaa,” a singsong voice called from behind her. Gigi appeared at her side, face flushed. She seemed to be a few drinks in already. Lina was excited to catch up. “We’re gonna be sisters-in-law!”

Lina’s eyes widened at that. “My brother is 14, Gi. That’s a little gross.”

Gigi snorted, limply swatting at her shoulder. “I didn’t even know you had a brother, idiot. I mean that I have my eye,” she used two fingers to gesture at her eyes, “on tall, dark, and handsome.” She pointed at Zayn Malik, who chatted with a couple guys across the room. 

Lina laughed, “Oh, do you?” 

“Yes, I do. And you’re gonna get with the other one, right? Then, we’ll be sisters! Metaphorically, anyway.” Lina didn’t bother dismissing Gigi’s suggestion; she just laughed. “C’mon, c’mon!” 

“My drink---” Gigi pulled Lina across the room before she could finish her protest, not too close to Zayn, but near enough that they could see him. They leaned against the corner of a wall, observing. “Do you plan to summon him with your mind?”

“No, no, I’m just waiting for my moment,” Gigi whispered. Lina laughed, glancing around the other corner of the wall. There were a few doors lining the walls, but it was otherwise pretty empty. A gasp had her turning her head back to her friend. “He’s walking this way! Go, go, go!” Gigi pushed Lina around the other side of the wall and followed her. “Wait, wait, you can’t be here! Get in there, just for a minute before I get him to come with me somewhere else.” Lina didn’t have a second to say anything before she was shoved into one of the rooms. 

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Lina turned around, taking in the room around her, her eyes catching on the pearly urinals. 

Harry was looking at her, paper towel clasped in his hands as he dried them. He laughed at Lina’s widened eyes. 

“Are you planning to keep your head out of the toilet,” he asked, tossing the paper towel into the bin. “The sink too, I supposed.”

Lina groaned turning to brace herself on the cool, wooden door. “I swear, this was not my idea.”

Harry laughed from behind her. “I should hope not.” He made to move towards the door to leave, but Lina whipped around, placing a hand on his chest.

“We can’t leave,” she whispered. 

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, this isn’t the most sanitary place, and I don’t have a condom but---”

Lina made an ‘ack’ sound before lightly pushing him away from her. “Don’t be weird.” Harry put his hands up in defense. “My friend is out there…with your friend.”

“I’m sure we can come up with a reason other than sex to explain us leaving the bathroom together.”

“Harry, I’m being serious!” Lina said, exasperated. “She pushed me in here because she wants to…talk to your friend.”

“Which friend?”

“Zayn.”

“He doesn’t say much, so that conversation should be over now.” He moved towards the door once again, but Lina grabbed his wrist this time. “She’s pretty drunk, and she’d be pretty pissed if I interrupted her shot. She said she’ll try to get him to go somewhere else as soon as she can.” Harry stifled a laugh. “We can leave soon. Just, I don’t know, be quiet and don’t, like, do anything weird.”

“Me? Do something weird?” he exclaimed, faux defensiveness causing Lina to roll her eyes. “I’m not sure I’m the one to worry about here, woman in the men’s bathroom.”

Lina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Not on purpose.”

“Last time, sure it wasn’t,” Harry said lowly. Lina was keenly aware of her grip that remained on Harry’s wrist. “This time…I think you just wanted to get me alone.” He was closer now, breath fanning her face, alcohol and mint filling her nose. 

“I could get you alone in a less…strange way if I wanted to.” Lina couldn’t look at him, so she examined the holes in her tights. 

“Would you, though?” His voice lowered even more. She wasn’t sure how much lower it could get before it was more of a growl. 

Wow, these tights really were artfully ripped. The perfect place for a tear really is just above the knee. She liked her knees, she supposed, but knees were a little weird overall---

“Carolina.”

“Lina.”

“What?”

“I prefer Lina.”

“Alright, Lina. Wanna answer my question?”

Lina’s breath hitched in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. She would not sleep with him tonight, especially not in this bathroom. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about it. She was starting to feel a little warm. 

Harry made to ask her again, but the door banged open, causing the both of them to stumble back and away from one another. Gigi’s eyes widened before she smiled mischievously.

“I am leeeaving, LiLi!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Gi.” She was maybe a little too drunk to go anywhere with any man. 

“No, no, I don’t mean like that,” she giggled. “Zayn said that if I got some rest tonight, he would see me tomorrow.” Lina was a bit surprised at that. “So! I’m leaving!” 

“Why don’t I go with you? Just to be sure you’re alright,” Lina asked, hopeful it would get her  out of answering anymore questions tonight. 

She felt Harry’s eyes on her as Gigi replied, “Oh, sure. Only…” her eyes flitted between the two of them, “If you want to.”

“It’s no problem, really, honey.” Lina felt a little guilty for leaving like this, but really, she was nervous. She’d had a few flings here and there after her rise to fame, but she never had the time to pursue them further. She was a bit rusty, now.

“Alright!” Gigi turned to leave the bathroom as Lina looked in the opposite direction, towards the man behind her.

“I’ll answer your question after dinner, Styles.”

He smiled a small, amused smile. “It’s a date.” 

[wheresmycontent]

Pieces [Windbreaker]

Wooin x Reader [afab]

Note: random hcs that came to mind about this boy.

C|TW: mention of dub-con, nsfw,

★ Nobody knows you and he’d like to keep it that way! You’re his! He’s not going to flaunt you around like a trophy. The less eyes on you, the better. Sure, Wooin wants you all to himself but he does this since people would love a chance to humble him. It’d really suck if you got caught up in his mess. The thought alone makes him want to eat glass!

That doesn’t stop Wooin from taking you out though. He’ll just take you to places away from his usual scene. Your dates can be more private that way.

★ As much as he loves a good rush of adrenaline he isn’t too eager to put you in danger. Yet he can’t seem to stop with the public quickies. The thought of someone seeing you indecent excites him. He genuinely tries not to ruin your image with his reputation. So it’s funny to think it could all go to waste because of a quick fuck in an empty stall.

The way you fidget and jump at every little sound makes it even better. You can hardly appreciate the way he rolls your clit between his forked tongue, too scared to relax. But you have no choice but to loosen up since Wooin isn’t stopping until you cum twice on his tongue.

★ Don’t ever bring Wooin into those jealous boyfriend trends. Any joke about you cheating or flirting with other guys is enough to fuck up his whole mood. It’s the best way to get him to disappear for a couple of days without a word. It’s not funny to him and never will be since he’s very possessive and just hates the thought of you being with someone else.

★ Have your friends, have your family, be social, be merry! Do whatever you want! Just don’t forget who you belong to and what he’d do if you ignore him for too long. He’s never been the clingy type but there’s something about you that has him in a chokehold. He can’t go more than two days without you. When you’re apart he’s texting you often and if you don’t respond he’s going to blow up your phone.

★ Sends nudes and videos of him masturbating to the thought of you. You’ve made the mistake of opening the messages around people, his obnoxious groaning filling the room the minute you clicked on his name. You don’t have to send them but he does love taking pictures of you. Some are off guard and unflattering, few are heavily suggestive, and a handful are videos of him playing with your pussy.

Just to have when he’s not around.

★ He loves thighs. He smacks them any time he passes you and usually bites them when he’s laying in your lap. He has plenty of pictures of your thighs covered in hickeys and or cum. They’re so soft and warm, he can’t get enough. You could make his day by walking around in nothing but a shirt and panties. Even better when you sit on his face and smother him between those luscious thighs.

★ Wooin never becomes less annoying. He teases you a lot and is quick to bother you when the opportunity comes. It’s lighthearted and sickeningly domestic though. Not meant to really upset you so if you hate something he does let him know. Don’t expect him to read your mind then blow up on him months later when you finally reach your breaking point.

Note: I’ve never read windbreaker, I don’t plan to. So I’m sure this is ooc, but then again most -if not all- hcs are.

[ilovegeorgie]

who knows how long i’ve loved you?

george harrison x reader

genre: confort / fluff

warnings: self harm !

summary: george becomes concerned for a friend who has been struggling.

a/n: please be aware that this fic mentions self harm, i personally have been struggling with this for a while and know how bad it can get. if you are going through this, you are not alone, there’s a lot of people that care about you, my dms are open if you need to talk to someone :)

the soft hum of the guitar strings echoed through the quiet room, george’s fingers moved his guitar. it was a quiet evening, george has been playing for a while, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was missing.

lately, he has been worried about one of his closest friends who was slipping further away from him, but he couldnt figure out why. He had known her for years, long before all of this "beatlemania" stuff was even a thing. they shared everything with eachother, but recently she has become distant, her pressence less vibrant and her laughter was quieter. george had come to realize that there was something different about her when she stopped acompanying the band to rehersals, she loved going and messing around with john and ringo.

it was late when george decided to visit her, he was seriously worried about her and despite the late hour, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was wrong. he grabbed his coat and stormed out of, heading to her flat, hoping that just seeing her would help put his mind at ease.

when he knocked on her door, there was no answer. he knocked again, a little harder this time, hoping that she was home. a few moments later the door opened slightly, and he finally saw the eyes he was long awaiting to see.

"george..?" her voice was soft, and there was a hint of surprise in her eyes, but there was something that george couldn’t place.

"darling" he said full of concern. "i was worried about you, can i please come in?"

she hesitated, looking down at the floor for a moment, then turning to see into the flat before nodding and stepping aside. "sure, come in" she said.

george stepped into her small apartment, the lights were dim, casting long shadows across the room. she had always kept her place neat and tidy, but it this time it seemed quieter, emptier. the silence between the two of them was thick, but george couldn’t just stand there, he knew something was wrong, and he needed to know what.

she sat down on the couch, loking down to the floor avoinding his gaze. her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and george noticed her trembling. "darling.." he began, his voice low but full of concern. "ive been woried about you lately, i dont want to offend you or anything, but you’ve been acting... different lately. you know that you can talk to me about anything right?"

she stayed silent staring at the floor, biting her lip until she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"look george, i’ve.. i’ve been going through some stuff" she admitted, her words trembling "i know that you and the boys have been recording lately and.. well, i just dont want to bother you with my stuff"

george sat down next to her, he wanted to say something to make her feel better, but didnt know what. he then gently placed his hand over hers. "darling, you will never be a bother to me" he said softly. "whatever it is, i’m here for you"

they locked eyes for a second before she quickly looked away again. "it’s just... its all too much right now, everything feels so heavy" she said, her voice cracking. george felt how his heart broke in that instant.

he placed his hand on her arm, trying to confort her. it was then when her sleeve shifted slightly, revealing a few marks along her wrist. george froze as his heart his clenched even more in his chest. her arm trembled slightly under his touch, as if she feared he might pull away, or worse, pity her, but he didn’t. instead, he tightened his grip on her arm, not wanting to let go.

“my darling, you don’t have to go through this alone, please. whatever’s going on… i’m here. you can trust me with everything, i’ll always be here for you” he said as her eyes filled with tears "i didn’t want you to see them… i didn’t want anyone to know"

george gently turned her arm over, his fingers tracing the scars. "you don’t have to hide them from me" he said quietly, his thumb brushing over her wrist "you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. whatever it is… i want to help you"

she took a shaky breath "its just that.. sometimes.. i have all of this thoughts and it just becomes too much and... by doing this... it’s.. its the only way I know to make it stop. to feel something other than all of that".

"you’re not alone in this, okay? i promise that we’ll figure it out together. i’ll always be here with you no matter what”

she turned her head away shaking, george could tell she was trying to hold herself together and without thinking, he reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around her as she cried. "i’m sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest "i just don’t know how to stop it"

"oh darling.." george whispered, his hand stroking her hair gently. as the night stretched on, her tears began to subside as she remained curled into georges embrace, her head resting on his shoulder. he gently shifted so they were lying on the couch, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

"i’ll stay with you. i’m not going anywhere." george whispered softly, his breath warm against her hair. she them turned her head slightly, just enough to look up at him. "why?" she asked softly. "why would you stay with me?"

"because I care about you" he said quietly. "i always have, and i know that i always will. you dont know how important you are to me"

[azurbright]

So this is my Grumbo, creative writing assignment for my course. My teacher liked it, and I got many compliments from my peers. It's based on another Grumbo short story I made for this class. Generally, though, you should be able to gather what's going on.

I only had 200-300 words per entry, with a 5 entry maximum, so that's why they're so short. For everyone who said they wanted to see it.

@oso-bigback64 @raylaismad @not-a-boot @crispycheeto364 @a-sociopath-do-your-research @endaisgayandtrans @auseryoumayknow @ghost-er-toast-er

Blog entry number 1: Day one

Many months ago I began my search for the key to immortality. Although I have yet to find it, I am sure that I am going to get there soon. Nobody has done what I have been able to do, technological advances have not come as far as this yet. Today, a boy fell from the sky, he claims his name is Grian, he has yet to indulge me in where he has come from but I will inform once I become aware. As of now I have brought him back to my lab and we’ve begun testing. He doesn’t seem to feel any pain at all once so ever. He claims not to be immortal but something does seem off. Only time will tell. We got along easy, I don’t mind having the company around, he's a bit of a pessimist but I can make it work. Later today I plan on taking him out to town, he says he hasn’t had a meal in days which simply just can’t be good for him. Now, however, I am in my office whilst he naps on my couch, writing this entry here. The testing went well, his blood and hair samples are currently in the lab, I am awaiting results. What I do know now though is he seems to be sprouting these sort of purple feathers along his back. When I asked him about them he didn't know. Will do more research on those.

Blog entry number 2: Day fourteen

Today, I have a lot to say. I have made a technological breakthrough. The feathers were the answer, the stem of these feathers that come from him hold a sort of liquid, the chemical compound is something that I have never seen before. It's simply extraordinary. Grian has opened up to me more, he's talked about the sort of tortures the Watchers put him through. When I asked him what a Watchet was he also wasn’t quite sure. They claim to be gods, but he believes that they are something so much worse. I have tried to find books and papers about them but they seem to be mostly mythological creatures that random people have written about. Grian looked over the books with me but he doesn’t think most of the information is correct. I've claimed him as my patient, and I believe he has claimed me as a sort of patient as well. He refuses to sleep unless I do. I believe it's just the kindness he carries with him, he's less pessimistic than I had originally gathered but he had just fallen from the sky after being held captive for an unknown amount of time. All that being said, he continues to stay in the lab seeing as he doesnt have any family, or doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even necessarily think he's from this world. Which, opens up the idea of multiple dimensions, exciting stuff for a man like me really. Once again I will report back soon with more information.

Blog entry number 3: Day thirty

Something strange has started to happen, perhaps it's due to the stress but Grian seems to be strangely concerned about it. The fronts of my hair have begun to grey out, nothing too serious, I feel perfectly fine. It's probably because I’ve been working too hard. On another note, I think I’ve figured it out. Grians DNA from the feathers mixed with the chemical compounds of CH4 and CHN2OPS, must be injected through the skin directly into the vein. I believe it is possible I have found it. A test subject is all I really need, I’ve sent Grian out to find and catch rats to test on. He's found one, and it hasn’t died yet. Thinking about it now, I don’t know why I made immortal rats. Ignoring work, Grian and I have been getting closer, I think we must be connected somehow. For someone like me, a scientist that is, it is surprising for many to hear that I believe in a predetermined destiny, and that destiny has brought Grian to me for quite a few reasons I don’t think I’m ready to disclose yet. Not to him, or whoever is reading this blog here. Besides, I need to do more research and distractions aren’t necessary.

Blog entry number 4: Day sixty

I’m starting to fear that the greying isn’t normal. It has spread from the beginnings of my hair to the very roots and all over. I feel older somehow, my bones feel lighter? Grian says he does not truly believe I am okay and has begged me many times to stop my work. But how can I stop now? When I have already come this far? I know the immortality shot works and I can just give it to myself, the first human test subject. He says he's worried about me, about what will happen. He claims that the Watchers are punishing him, through me. Although, I’m not sure why they would do that because I haven’t even known him for long but maybe it ties back into the whole fate thing. I am a little bit worried about how this is all affecting Grian, especially because he hasn’t been talking much, I’m sure he's just feeling a bit under the weather. Right? Today though, I think something happened between us. I'm not an experienced person but there was a moment where everything felt okay, we were just sitting together, me on my stool, and him in his small chair in the corner. He's found a way underneath my skin. I’d be lying if I said I want him to leave. I have thoroughly enjoyed his company more than I’ve ever enjoyed someone else's company. I'd usually consider myself a loner but I don’t want to be alone again. I think he feels similarly, I think that's why he's so worried about the greying. I don’t know.

Blog entry number 5: Day eighty-seven

I was supposed to die today. I should’ve listened to him, I really should have. Science isn't meant to mess with the laws of nature. People die and I've passed my prime in a short time. As of a few minutes ago my body was roughly around the age of seventy-five or so. Grian is gone now, he traded his life for mine. I can’t even thank him. He came here just to bid me goodbye, and through the crack in the door I caught sight of the Watcher, it was beautiful in a sick kind of way. I'm young again, I’ll die one day but not now. For the rest of my life I’ll be mourning somebody who fell out of the sky, and anybody could hardly believe me. All I can keep thinking is about how I shouldn’t have done this, I was so insistent, and wrong, and right at the same time. I did figure it out but the cost was what mattered. I’m back to being alone, I caught a glimpse of my appearance in the mirror. My hair is back to dark, it doesn’t feel real. Even running my fingers through the thick hairs on my head. I’m stressed, I want to forget this all. Every last second.

[harmonyrae]

A Sovereign is Born

Synopsis: A story he never thought he'd tell, his own. How did he become the Abysm Sovereign, a monster to so many? Who was he before?

My submission for the Where Drakeshadows Fall Fan Art Contest

Content Warnings: Spoilers for Sylus's Myth, Grief, Death of Loved One, Physical Pain (mentions of the horn/tail transformation), Sylus POV

Word Count: 5.9k

It’s not unusual for Sylus to sit up and read for an hour or so after waking up. He enjoyed waking up slowly and starting his day, or rather his night, challenging his mind. Leaning against his headboard, he propped his book up on his knee while he sipped his tea. However, the peace and quiet was short-lived. 

“That’s it! I can’t do it anymore!”

Her voice echoed down the hallway. A smirk spread across Sylus’s lips as he listened to her footsteps making their way to his bedroom door. The door swung open, but Sylus kept his eyes glued to the book before him. He felt the bed shift heavily beside him. He looked over to see she had face planted right into the plush black comforter. Her hair was tossed into a messy bun, her usual Hunters gear replaced with a pair of red sweatpants and a t-shirt three sizes too big. Sylus’s smirk turned into a full blown smile.

“Is that my shirt?” 

She lifted her head and blew a strand of hair away from her nose, completely ignoring his question. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep for the past 2 nights. I’m - I don’t know what to do…”

“So you came here?”

“I’ve tried everything - warm milk, ocean sounds, meditation, no caffeine or screen time after I get home from work, melatonin gummies. Nothing has worked. So yes, I came here.”

She dropped her face back onto the comforter. Sylus tilted his head, clearly enjoying seeing his kitten in such a desperate state that she came to him for help. As various ideas floated through his mind, one stuck with him.

“Do you know why I love reading so much?”

“Hmm?” She didn’t bother to lift her head to respond. Sylus could tell she was past her breaking point. He had already decided he would do everything he could to help her relax and fall asleep tonight.

“Stories take me to far away places or back in time. That escape, no matter how brief, eases my mind. Stories speak to the soul.”

She lifted her head and looked at Sylus with wide eyes.

“Tell me a story!”

Sylus chuckled. She sat up on her knees and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Sylus, I never beg. But… please? Please tell me a story?”

“On one condition.”

She scooted closer to him, seeming to agree without knowing the terms.

“You tuck yourself into this bed and call out of work tomorrow. You need more than just one night to recover from insomnia.”

“Sylus! I’m not- I’m…”

“Sweetie, I just woke up, remember? You’ll have the bed to yourself all night.”

“Oh… uhm…” She sighed heavily. “Deal.”

She rolled off the bed and kicked off her slippers. Peeling the comforter back, she slid between the sheets and let out a contented sigh as she settled in. Turning on her side to look at him, she smiled. “Story time!”

Sylus closed his book and set it on his nightstand. He pressed his lips thinking about the story he was going to tell. Would it be too much for her? Would it be too sad? He cleared his throat in an attempt to smother the anxiety.

“Are you sure my story will interest you? It’s not a happy story. Quite sad actually. And it involves dragons.”

“Ooh dragons! Yes, tell me, tell me!” 

Her excitement made his heart swell. His nerves, much less troublesome. 

“I just have to decide what to name the main character.”

“Sylus.”

“Yes?”

“No, name them Sylus!”

“You want me to name the main character after myself?”

“Why not? It’ll be like you’re talking in third person.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose and forced a smile. The story he was about to tell just became infinitely more challenging. But he nodded.

“Okay, they’ll be named Sylus then.”

He crossed his arms and braced himself, prepared to tell a story he had long ago promised to never tell a soul.

“In a time before humans, dragons occupied the land. And before Sylus - well, dragon Sylus that is -  was born, a great war was being fought between clans. His father was fighting on the front lines, while his mother protected her egg. She never left her nest, even as news from the front took a turn, she focused on taking care of her unhatched child.”

She smiled and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Sinking deeper into the plush mattress.

“Sadly, Sylus never got to meet his father. When word reached his mother, she immediately flew to the front. Leaving her egg to search for her lover to say a final goodbye. The war had already ended and the spring flowers had started to bloom when she arrived. She couldn’t find him, all she could do was roar into the night sky, mourning her lost love. And as quickly as she flew to that datura covered field, she returned to her child. The egg showed the first signs of cracking during the days she was away. She was terrified that leaving the way she did would mean her child wouldn’t survive.”

“But they did.” She whispered.

“Yes, they did. When the egg broke open, she was shocked to see a creature unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It didn’t look like a dragon. Pale skin, tufts of white hair.”

He winked at her and she giggled in response. Her eyes softened as her imagination took over.

“She was shunned by many mothers in the clan. They believed she had been cursed for leaving the egg the way she did. But she didn’t believe that, not for a moment. She saw him as a blessing. Even if she didn’t understand why he was so different. She would make a pilgrimage to the field every spring to pay respect. Eventually, Sylus wanted to go with her. And here, kitten, is where the story really begins.”

Sylus clung to his mother as she flew. Her ebony scales shimmered in the sunlight. Her crimson wings outstretched, steady and fluttering gently in the wind. Spring had started early this year, the air was warm and the floral scent washed over her, bringing tears to her ruby eyes. 

“Will I ever be able to fly?”

His small voice broke as asked. He’d been asking the same question for years. The only dragon-like features that he had were his talons and scales, which had slowly started to spread across his arms in spare patches, chest and up his neck when he had turned 5. There’ve been no new developments in the past 5 years. He still had no horns or tail, and of course, no wings. 

“I hope so. But remember what I told you?”

Sylus collapsed onto his mother, his arms swayed against her neck as his face pressed into her back. She felt the chill of a tear run over her scales. She flapped her wings hard, pushing them higher into the sky above the clouds. Sylus squealed in response.

“Mother!”

She smiled, she could hear the excitement in his voice. She flew higher and higher until the clouds lay beneath them like a fluffy meadow. 

“Stand up.”

Sylus didn’t hesitate. He dug his claws into her scales, anchoring himself before he placed his feet firmly on her back. She leveled out and let her wings spread wide to allow them to glide. He removed his claws and eventually let go completely. She looked over her shoulder to see his arms outstretched and his face painted with a smile. The fabric of his tunic billowed in the breeze, the arms cut loose to imitate wings.

“Better?”

Sylus giggled and flapped his arms, feeling the fabric flutter.

“Better.”

“We’re almost there, you think you can hold on for a dive?”

He looked down at his mother with wide eyes, his sharp teeth on full display as he smiled. He nodded and dropped to his knees to cling to his mother ready for the descent. She tucked in her wings and angled her nose downward, diving through the clouds and straight for the ground. Sylus laughed and shouted as wind nearly deafened them and the ground grew closer. His mother finally flung her wings out and the updraft pushed them upwards before slowly descending to the field.

Sylus slid down his mothers wing and rolled onto the ground. He lay on his back, savoring the feeling of solid ground beneath him. As much as he loved flying, it made him appreciate the safety of the ground. He rolled over on his stomach and watched his mother walk into the field. She settled at the top of a hill and wrapped her wings around herself before lowering her head to the ground. Sylus frowned. The excitement of the flight momentarily made him forget the purpose of the trip.

Sylus jogged up the hill to his mother. He sat down next to her head, which was nearly three sizes larger than he was. If he was a normal dragon he might be half her size by now, but whatever “cursed” him made sure he would always be tiny in comparison to his kin. He shoved those thoughts away for now, leaning against his mother and using the ends of his tunic to dry her tears. It was always a hard trip, his mother mourned the loss of his father as if it was only yesterday she lost him. 

“Tell me the story.” Sylus nudged his mother. She let out a soft growl in response. 

“Sylus…”

“Come on, you know it helps. Tell me!”

She sighed, her breath blowing the petals off of hundreds of flowers that sat before her. 

“When I first met your father, he was just a young dragon learning how to fly. I was, of course, performing better than he was in class. He would antagonize me during class, but during the journey home he would stay close to me, telling me stories about far away cities he had heard of and wished to see. When we came of age, he never gave any indication he liked me in any way. But when our first mating season began, he approached me and I was rather shocked.”

“He had a crush on you and you didn’t even know it. Embarrassing.”

“For me or for him? Being direct is always better. Don’t be embarrassed about what you desire.”

Sylus scrunched his nose, but nodded before settling back against his mother.

“It was rather impressive at first, but I think he got too cocky. He tripped over his tail and rammed his nose into a boulder. Everyone laughed and my friends urged me to ignore him, a better mate would present themselves. But –”

“But you didn’t want another mate, you wanted him!’ Sylus finished for her.

“I did. I wanted your father. Everyone thought I was crazy and mocked me for choosing a weak mate. But in just a few months he –”

“He proved himself to be the fiercest warrior and became the commander of all warriors in our clan!”

“You know the story better than I do it seems.” She laughed. “He wasn’t just strong, he was brave. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him. I loved him dearly and miss him everyday.”

She nudged Sylus with her snout. 

“And you remind me of him.”

“But I’m not even a real dragon. And I’ll never be a warrior.”

“You are stronger than you know. Being different doesn't make you weak and it doesn’t mean you can’t be a warrior. You have a purpose Sylus. I know it.”

Sylus stared at her, tears filling his eyes. 

“I just want to be like you. Like father.” 

“And you are. You don’t have to look like us to share our heart. Our strength.” 

Sylus never stopped wanting to look like a normal dragon, but over the years he started embracing his natural strength. Stubborn like his mother and cunning like his father, he proved himself to be a respected and valued member of the clan.

Sylus was 16 when the humans came. Tension in the clans grew as new inhabitants moved closer to their valley. And then they invaded. Clan after clan fell, their weapons were strong enough to pierce scales and shred wings. His mother protected him, but she wasn’t able to keep them away forever.

The afternoon sun cast a red glow across the valley, Sylus clung to his mother as she flew. Her strength was dwindling, her wounds were deep. Sylus had tried to treat them, but she wanted to get away from their army as quickly as possible. 

“You have to stop, you’re hurt!”

He felt her drop several feet, her wings refusing to hold them up. She straightened her neck, pointing herself in the direction of the cave they had called home for the past few years. But when they finally approached the entrance, she couldn’t make it inside. Her claws scraped along the mountain side and Sylus could barely hold on. She came to a halt on a small ledge, her body collapsing, her wings draped over the edge of the cliff. Sylus crawled over her body, tugging off his tunic to press into her wounds.

“We have to get you inside, they’ll see you. Mother?”

Sylus couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. His hands shook as he treated her wounds. His mother let out a strangled roar. She was in too much pain to be quiet, Sylus knew they’d have heard her. They’d come for her and soon.

“I know it hurts, but you have to be quiet, you have to try, please.” 

Tears stung his eyes, his heart pounded in his chest. The headache he’d had for the past few days had become so much worse. His mother struggled to open her eyes, a haze muddying the usual red shimmer. 

“Be strong, my love. Always be strong.”

“Stop. Stop it! Don’t talk like that!” 

Pain washed over him as his scalp split open. His talons clawed at his head as he screamed. His mother shifted, with her remaining strength she wrapped her wing around him protectively. He fell to his side as his back arched, his tailbone transforming and his tail extending. His body calmed, but fear settled over him. He lifted his hands to feel the spiraling horns. He felt his body sway and he looked over his shoulder to see a tail sweep against the rock beneath him. 

“Mother?”

“I see them, my love. They’re beautiful.”

Sylus didn’t have time to process this sudden change. He’d waited 16 years to have horns and a tail, to be remotely similar to his kin, and now he would be hunted for having them. He resumed treating his mothers wounds, moving to the dagger stuck in her side. 

“I need to remove this, hold still okay?”

His mother let out a deep growl. He gripped the hilt and pulled with all his might. The blade shook as her scales scraped against it. He placed it on the ground and moved the cloth over the new wound. She wasn’t getting any better. With tears streaming down his face, he finally knelt next to his mother, trying to meet her eye.

“Mother?”

She looked at him through weary eyes, her breathing slow. 

“Please don’t leave me… I can’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

“You will never truly be alone. You are my beautiful warrior–”

Her chest shook as her eyes closed. Sylus collapsed beside her, his body shaking as he sobbed. He forced himself to sit up and run his hands along her face, her scales rough and shattered. He rested his forehead against her, the pain of his new horns and tail mingling with his heart breaking.

Then he heard it, shouts in the distance. He looked over the ledge and saw the humans. They were climbing the mountain towards him. They had seen his mothers body, he had to hide. He looked up at the cave entrance. He picked up the dagger before digging his claws into the rock and pulling himself up. 

“I see movement!”

Sylus swore under his breath, they’d seen him. He hauled himself up the mountain and rolled into the entrance to the cave. He stood and raced to the furthest corner, searching for a way out or a hole he could hide in. There was nothing. The shouts were getting closer now. He looked down at the blade in his hand. He looked down at his tail. It felt foreign to him, like it didn’t belong, like it wasn’t meant for him. Maybe it wasn’t….

He didn’t have time to talk himself out of it or think up another plan. He wanted to live. 

He pressed the dagger against the base of his horn, the cool metal made him shiver. He grit his teeth, a sob breaking free as he began to cut. The horn came loose and he held it in his hands. He threw it to the other side of the cave and began on the other horn. The pain was almost too much to bear. The horn fell away and blood trickled down his face. The stream poured into his eye and he blinked away the sting, but not before feeling a strange warmth spread through his mind.

He heard the sound of blades and more shouts. They’d reached his mother. He held his breath to stop himself from screaming in anger. 

He blinked back more tears as he placed the blade under his tail. Bracing himself against the wall of the cave he sank down. His tail fell away and Sylus collapsed. He crawled to the opposite corner of the cave, leaving a blood trail behind him. He pulled his legs to his chest, his heart aching, his skin stinging, his eyes burning. The shouts are right outside the cave now. He didn’t have any strength left, if this was it, he couldn’t stop it. He felt an inexplicable exhaustion take over and he slipped into darkness.

Her face. Bright, soft, sweet. The dress she wore. The dark fabric flowing and fluttering in the wind. She held red datura flowers. She reached out a hand, a flower held between her delicate fingers. Sylus felt a subtle touch, as if the flower was tucked into his hair. And then darkness, once again.

Sylus opened his eyes slowly, the room spinning around him as he woke. He stared at the blank ceiling above him, a faint scent of herbs wafting through the air. He turned his head to see a man crouched next to a small fire, mixing something in a cauldron. Sylus coughed. The man looked up and gave him a small smile. He scooped something into a wooden bowl before approaching Sylus.

Sylus tried to sit up, a combination of fear and curiosity settled over him. The man offered him the bowl with a wooden spoon. Sylus cautiously took it.

“Root soup, it’s not much, but it’s all we’ve had for the past few days. Should help with that cough too.”

The steam from the soup warmed his face. He took a spoonful and sipped, the warm broth soothed his throat. He dropped the spoon onto the blanket beneath him and tipped the bowl back taking large gulps. The man laughed.

“You’ve been asleep for two days, I figured you would be pretty hungry. There’s plenty left.”

Sylus finished the soup before looking over at the man properly for the first time. He shifted uncomfortably, his back still tender.

“Where am I?”

“You’re with Judicator’s finest - his dragon slaying army! We are a day's journey away from the city.”

“The city?”

“Ivory City! You must be from a neighboring village, taken by those beasts. It’s good we found you when we did. Seems you fought off the beast and kept yourself from being a meal! The Judicator was impressed.”

Sylus clenched his fist. They’re calling his mother a beast. They think he killed her? That he is human? He suddenly reached up to his head, but felt no horns, only fabric.

“Your head was bleeding pretty bad when we found you. A doctor in the city will get a better look at you tomorrow. For now, the bleeding stopped.” 

The man took the bowl from Sylus and returned to the cauldron to ladle in more soup. Sylus heard blades clash outside and the faint sounds of hooves against gravel in the distance. He realized they’re in a tent. He’s surrounded by humans. The humans that killed his kin. Who killed his mother. A heat rages beneath his skin, his chest heaving. Sylus closed his eyes to calm himself. 

“More soup?”

Sylus opened his eyes and took the bowl eagerly. He sipped slowly this time, still not bothering with the spoon. He took in the man’s features. Old, black hair speckled with white, a long beard, silver armor, a long sword hung at his hip. He wondered if all the men in this camp had weapons like that. Sylus straightened his back, becoming acutely aware of how defenseless he was. No weapons to defend himself. No wings to escape. 

“Thank you.”

The man nodded. 

“I must report to the Judicator, he wanted to know when you woke up. Get some more rest or explore the camp, but don’t go far.”

With that, the man left. Sylus set the bowl down and reached behind him to feel the base of his spine. The skin is tender, but no tail. He felt his head one more, the skin smooth where the horns once were. He sighed in relief. They thought he was human, maybe he had a chance. 

Sylus spotted a set of clothes in the corner of the room. He stood and held up the clothing before him. They appeared to be his size and made of quality fabric. Much better than what he could find to clothe himself in years past. He stripped off his dirty clothing and pulled on the black pants and sleeveless tunic. The pants were a few sizes too big, but the buckles on the waist secured them nicely. He stepped out of the tent and squinted against the setting sun. At least a hundred men are camped here. There are dozens of tents propped up across the field and horses grazed nearby.

He strolled through the camp, taking in the humans gathered around campfires. Like his kin, they varied in appearance greatly. Some tall, some short, some thin, some wide. Some with hair on their face or no hair at all. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, feeling no hair, only the ridge of the patch of scales that ran up his neck toward his ear. He covered the scales with his hand, panic settling over him as he wondered what the humans thought of his scales. 

Sylus quickly ran to a stream just on the outskirts of the camp. He crouched and looked for his reflection in the water. The moonlight lit up his face, making his silver hair glow. The water settled and he gasped at his reflection. He appeared… normal. He looked like all the other men in the camp. He ran a finger along the scales on his chest, feeling their rough texture, but seeing nothing but smooth skin. He lifted his hands, his talons appeared to be replaced by slender fingers. When his gaze returned to his face, he saw himself smiling. 

“I look like them?” Sylus whispered.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sad or angry about his appearance. He’d wanted horns, a tail and wings for as long as he could remember. But now, he was surrounded by creatures that looked like him. And his “curse” had, somehow, masked the remaining features that set him apart. He leaned back on his heels and looked up to the moon. 

“What do I do now?”

His heart ached. Could he really stay with these humans? The ones who killed his own mother? Learn to live like them? Embrace his appearance and suppress his draconic desires? He stood up and walked further from camp, toward the steep slope leading back into the valley he had called home his entire life. As he gazed out over the horizon, he saw a flicker of firelight, the faintest hint of smoke rising into the sky.

“We burned the bodies. We didn't want to risk some kind of filthy disease washing its way into the rivers and streams as they decayed.”

A deep voice rang out behind him. Sylus flinched.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, young man. I was concerned when I didn’t find you in your tent.”

“I’m sorry, I just… I wanted to take a walk. I didn’t know…”

“It’s perfectly fine. I was surprised you strayed so far from camp. Given all that you’ve been through.”

Sylus nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling cold and uncertain in the man's presence. 

“I’ve built my army to fight even the most foul of beasts. You’re safe now.”

Sylus looked back to the valley. This man must be the Judicator, the one who started all of this. Who started the war against his kind. Sylus had a thousand questions, questions he never thought he’d get the answer to, let alone ask. But one gnawed at him and he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Why?”

The man walked up beside Sylus, looking over at him with a brow raised in confusion.

“Why did you want the dragons gone?”

The man laughed, his voice deep and cruel. He slapped Sylus on the shoulder. Sylus bit his tongue to avoid saying something he would regret.

“Because those beasts only know one thing. Desire. And desire leads to corruption and greed. They were evil and it was my duty to rid these lands of their kind. I am proud of what I’ve accomplished.There are no dragons left to destroy the souls of my people.”

Sylus felt his chest tighten, his anger and disgust making it hard for him to breathe. His heart felt like it was breaking yet again. The pressure behind his eyes building as he pinched them closed. His eyes flew open when he felt a familiar twinge of pain tickle his scalp.

“Why do you ask boy? Did they fill your head with their lies?”

The pain was so intense Sylus couldn’t speak. Fear paralysed him. He silently prayed to the only one he ever believed in. 

Mother, please. Don’t let them come back. Please…

But it was too late. He felt the flesh of his scalp split open once again and his body shook. He fell to the ground with his head in his hands. The man beside him lurched backwards, watching in horror as Sylus transformed. Sylus heard the footsteps of several men run toward them. His spine extended, his tail sweeping across the ground, knocking the Judicator off his feet.

“He’s a beast!” “How can this be?” “Is he a dragon?” “He doesn’t look like one, but he has horns! And a tail!” “He’s a horror!”

The Judicator stood over Sylus, peering down at his slumped form. He unsheathed his blade and kicked Sylus over onto his back.

Sylus groaned in pain, his tail coiling around him in a weak attempt to protect himself. He held his hands out, tears stinging his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing to speak.

“Please… don’t…”

“You disguise yourself and lie your way into our camp?! You intended to destroy our city! You foul creature!”

Sylus tried to crawl away from the crowd now gathering around him. His elbows sunk into the mud and his heels scrambling to gain traction. Other men were retrieving their weapons. Sylus gathered his remaining strength to dig his heels in and straighten his back, his legs shook as he stood. His hands still in front of him, shaking his head as he backed away from the men.

“We will not be fooled by you! You are a fiend. An evil, vile creature! You will not corrupt our souls!”

The Judicator lunged forward, Sylus reached out to try to stop the blade, but the man was too fast. His blade pierced Sylus’s chest. Sylus held the blade, as he stared into the eyes of the Judicator, the man sneered, pleased to see the fear in Sylus’s eyes.

Sylus gasped, the tears in his eyes spilled over, mixing with the dirt and blood across his face. He placed a foot behind him, trying to steady himself, but his tail swiped at the crowd viciously. Men went flying and some tumbled over the edge of the cliff into the valley below. 

“Stop him!” The men shouted as they rushed towards Sylus.

In a flash, a dozen swords were thrust toward him. Sylus felt every jab, his body weakening with every blow. The Judicator stood before him, watching his men attack the dragon boy. A prideful smile plastered on his face. Sylus kept his eyes trained on the man, he became numb to the pain, only feeling his body being shoved. 

Sylus fell to his knees, his hands crashing to the ground before him. He looked down to see half a dozen blades pierced through his chest. A sob broke free from his ravaged chest. He saw boots before him, the Judicators booming voice louder than his men's victory chants.

“The final dragon has been slain.”

He bent down and took the hilt of his sword, placing a foot on Sylus’s chest to gain leverage, he yanked the sword free kicking Sylus backward. Sylus tumbled backwards, his foot caught the edge of the cliff. He didn’t try to stop himself from falling, he closed his eyes as the wind howled in his ears. He felt the rocks of the cliffside against his back, his legs, his arms, his face as he rolled. The blades dislodged themselves and clanged against the rocks as they fell with him. 

Sylus hit the rocky base of the valley with a brutal thud, the metallic clinks of the swords falling all around him. He had no strength left. He forced his eyes open when he heard the sound of shouts above him. Men poured over the side of the cliff, making their way down using rope, some swinging from rock to rock. Their quick descent stirred something in Sylus. 

He was familiar with rage, but this was different. The pain his body felt transformed into something white hot. His legs burned as he stood. He stared up at the men climbing down to him. His right eye watered, it stung with every blink. Sylus wiped at his eye, but felt no tears. His vision darkened as his chest shook with something akin to laughter. Then everything went dark.

Her face, once again. Framed with silky strands of white hair. Her hand. Clutched a weapon of some kind. A sword? A faint golden glow swirled around her fingers and arm as she lifted the blade. Sylus felt the same searing pain in his chest. Blood splattered across her skin. Tears fell from her eyes. 

“Sylus…” She whispered.

A gust of cold air swept across his face and he shivered in response. His eyes fluttered open, a blue sky filled with soft white clouds floating above him. Beams of sunlight broke through the clouds and shone down upon him. He felt the warmth and took a deep breath, that’s when he felt it, the pain. He lifted his head to see the wounds scattered across his body. He sat up, clutching his chest as he looked around. 

Bodies surround him, men he saw at the camp. Sylus crawled to a boulder and used it to help him stand. Did he do this? How? And why did he feel so free and happy at the sight? A laugh bubbled up through his throat, catching him by surprise. The memory of his mother teaching him about the ancient dragon curse flooded his mind. Rage. Anger. Hatred. Something stronger. It took over and now…

Sylus walked further into the valley. He looked down to see a black red mist swirling toward him from the corpses. The mist felt refreshing, like a burst of cool air on a hot summer day. The mist swirled around his tail, up his spine to his horns, across his face and down his arms before funneling into his chest. The wound the Judicators sword had created glowed. He felt the wound close, but what replaced the flesh is bright like a ruby. The other wounds closed and his strength slowly returned as the mist continued to swirl around him.

With his wounds healed he felt the tension in his back grow. He hunched over and lurched forward, bracing his hands against the cliffside. The skin of his back split open, the pressure finally released and Sylus threw his head back letting out a roar. Crimson wings burst forth from the wounds. They stretch outwards, the breeze dusting over the newly exposed flesh. Sylus' chest heaved as he looked over his shoulder at his wings. He has wings. Wings. 

He stood up straight. His tail swayed and his wings fluttered, eager to take flight. He hadn’t seen the Judicator among the bodies. He also hadn’t seen that girl. He didn’t know why he dreamt of her, but he’d seen her twice. She wasn’t there. Who was she? 

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, shaking the image of her from his mind.

“If humans want a monster, they’ll get one.”

Sylus took a breath and flapped his wings hard, allowing instinct to take over.It was a foreign sensation, but as soon as his feet left the ground he sighed. Years of wishing to fly and here he is, flying over a valley filled with bodies. 

He soared over the valley and towards the fields he had visited so often as a child. Tears sting his eyes as he lowered himself to the ground. He sat among the datura flowers, most withering in the summer heat. He picked one up and held it between his claws, allowing the tears to finally fall as he mourned the loss of his kin, his mother and the person he was. Only the monster remained. 

“You were right. That is a sad story.”

Her words are slurred, fatigue finally winning the war. Sylus shifts slowly and leans towards her, lifting his hand to gently brush the hair out of her face. 

“Is that really the end? Who was the girl? Did he find that judi-ma-cator guy?”

Sylus chuckles under his breath. His thumb moves to her cheek, stroking her soft skin. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She was nearly asleep.

“He did find the Judicator. And the girl… she was very important to him. The most important actually. But that’s a story for another time. Sleep. I’ll turn out the light.”

She lifts her hand to cover his, trapping it over her face. 

“Wait.”

She stares up at him, her tired eyes glistening.

“At least tell me if he had a happy ending?”

Sylus gently removes her hand from over his. He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and leans over to press a kiss to her temple. She closes her eyes once more, finally letting sleep take her. He smiles as he takes in her delicate features. He carefully stands and turns off the lamp beside the bed. He strolls to the door, but turns back to look at her before leaving.

“His story isn’t over yet.” He whispers.

He opens the door and gently closes it behind him, leaving his beloved to sleep peacefully.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

AN: I have no idea if this will be allowed to compete because it is pretty intense, but I wanted to write this regardless. I always crave the boys POV so this was a must. I hope you guys like it - and cry with me... If you want to give the X post some love, it's linked below.

X Post: (posting now)

[laniemae]

An analysis on Ojima’s backstory and [Brusie]

Since the topic of Ojima’s trauma has been explored in the story more recently, I feel that this is a good time to do a proper analysis on it. Ojima’s trauma is a very heavy and taboo subject to talk about, so I figured that this’d need to be done, as you have to take it into consideration when trying to understand his character. Keep in mind I am not a victim of or know anyone who has been subject to abuse, especially not of this nature, so I can’t properly understand what Ojima has went through. I’m trying to be respectful and keep an open mind while doing this analysis.

[TW for discussion of: CSA, Rape, Incest, Physical/emotional/sexual abuse, gaslighting, derealisation]

I’m not exactly sure where to start with this, but I feel like we should take into consideration Ojima’s family situation. As we all know from now Ojima grew up in an incredibly abusive household. The majority consensus before [Bruise] was that Ojima’s father (Ojima Shigeo) was the one who was sexually abusing him. Even though we know that isn’t what happened that doesn’t make him any less of a horrible person, as in [Purple] when talking about the Ojima family Hiroaki mentioned that one of the charges Shigeo was arrested for was beating his kids along white collar charges relating to the company. We don’t know too much about Ojima’s mother, but since it’s been said that she was arrested as well despite not being part of the company it’s very likely she was abusive. Recently we learnt that Ojima’s uncle was the one who was raping him, from when he was three years old to fifteen years old, which is also around the time his parents were arrested.

It’s absolutely disgusting that Ojima was only three years old when this started, he was a toddler. Three years old is when long term memories start to form so it’s very likely that being sexually assaulted would’ve been Ojima’s first memory. He could barely even talk at this age and with how he put it he couldn’t even tell anyone for years, let alone have the slightest comprehension of what was happening to him. And when he did become able to tell his brother what was happening, he told his dad and as we know he got extremely angry and started accusing Ojima of lying, and even gaslighting him into believing that it never occurred while the abuse was very much still ongoing and was still putting Ojima with his uncle. Deliberately being ignorant of all the psychological and physical damage that he would’ve shown. So for almost his entire life Ojima was either stuck between being emotionally and physically abused by his father or being raped by his uncle.

Abuse like this, especially coming from a family member who you were supposed to trust is incredibly traumatic, and how Ojima remarks trusting his uncle when he was talking about his experiences. As even though the adults in his family have done horrible things to him, I could imagine it being a point of conflict for Ojima internally still craving his parent’s and his uncle’s love, as that’s what family members should do. And how horrific it was of them to take advantage of a child like this. It comes to me as interesting that Ojima said that he first told his brother about what was happening to him, rather than directly telling his parents. But even with how his brothers legitimately care for him it would’ve been hard for them to help Ojima specifically, as they were all under an incredibly abusive household.

Ojima’s maladaptive daydreaming as a trauma response is something to consider a lot. Maladaptive daydreaming doesn’t always occur as a trauma response and can just happen but in this case it is. It was a type of environment where he went through so much abuse that his mind had to split off into another world where he could feel safe and have control just to survive. Maladaptive daydreaming can start at a very young age (as young as 5 from what I’ve read) so Ojima has probably been living this way for a very long time. As with lots of trauma responses this which would’ve kept him safe throughout his childhood is now heavily hindering Ojima with his life after escaping the abuse. Ojima has talked about how much his daydreaming affects his life with missing out on deadlines and lots of his life in the real world from it. And even in the secret logs we see how he can go for days only daydreaming and how his grades are slipping, likely due to it as well. One thing that is particularly sad is that it definitely seems that Ojima’s daydreaming and his inattentiveness towards reality can be physically dangerous with him. As in [Two Truths and a Lie] we learn that he has broken a ton of bones, which likely comes from his dissociation causing accidents.

There’s also one thing I have been thinking a lot about with Ojima’s trauma response of daydreaming and ignoring all his problems. That perhaps one of the reasons why he developed derealisation and another world he can go to without thinking about his suffering specifically was influenced by how his father was gaslighting him into believing it wasn’t happening. And trying to repress the trauma that he went through and bury it down while being told he was lying when it was constantly happening could’ve lead to this. So if he could just not think about it, it’d feel easier for him. As I can’t believe how damaging psychologically for Ojima, who would’ve been really young and susceptible, to be told by his father that he was lying about the abuse his uncle was inflicting on him while constantly being subject to it. That he was made to blame himself for what was happening to him and believing he’s crazy, and since the abuse was happening throughout his entire life eventually it would’ve been normalised. I keep thinking back to [Lettuce] and [Breathe In] where in the auditorium Chiba accidentally triggered Ojima’s derealisation when she suggested that everything may just be a dream which lead him to have an anxiety attack. Ojima’s reaction here makes sense as it’s common for people with dissociative disorders or stuff of the liking to be triggered by the prospect of unreality, but I can’t help thinking that part of this could’ve gone back to how Ojima’s father was telling him that the abuse wasn’t happening, probably even telling him it was a dream as well. That what Chiba said could’ve set him off in both ways relating to his fear of unreality and his trauma relating to what he was told.

Ojima’s whole relationship to the idea of opening up to people definitely seems to have also been heavily influenced by the gaslighting as well. As he’s so against telling people about his problems as he’s been taught throughout his childhood that trying to talk to someone would only get you hurt more, and this must’ve internalised into him being so shut off I can imagine. There’s also what would’ve made things worse when how his parents were arrested and he was finally able to escape from the abuse. Due to coming from a rich and influential family his situation was highly publicised across the media and we’ve been shown how he’s been constantly pestered for interviews because of that. That not even being able to try and properly heal and with people trying to get an insight into his life would’ve made Ojima’s mentality on this even worse, and how he struggles so much to get help. With how he’s dropped out of therapy eight times from how he’s worried about telling all his feelings to a stranger, and as well his hatred of being pitied for his trauma and treated like a little kid. I’m also thinking back to a scene in [Tech Support] where when Ojima was trying to help Wada fix his computer he noticed how he was hurting. Wada panicked and said that he can’t talk about it when Ojima asked if it was Okazaki who hurt him. And how Wada should tell someone if she was hurting him. And interestingly enough when Wada said “I’m not supposed to tell” we saw Ojima flinch for a second then told him that he can always tell. And with the further context we have on Ojima the way he reacted here makes sense with what he know about his past and telling people. I find it interesting how even though Ojima is adverse to talking to people and opening up about his own struggles, he acknowledges that it is the best thing to do as with how he said Wada should tell someone if he’s being hurt.

Even how with Ojima is always very close to Hiroaki and even from their relationship we’ve seen, Ojima has a hard time opening up to him, often panicking and shutting him down whenever he gets close to bringing up his trauma. [Young Forever] was the closest we’ve seen to Ojima opening up to Hiroaki, but we still see how affected and scared he is of doing so. How they were talking about how Ojima must’ve felt when his parents got arrested and how he’s worried about everything suddenly changing in his life and how things happen too quickly, and how he never got to be a kid. That he’s missing his entire childhood which was stolen away from him and how he can never get back. That Ojima is stuck as a seventeen year old who never got to live as a child, whose innocence was stripped away from him so young and was forced to grow up too quickly. But simultaneously from his lost childhood you can still see that at heart he’s just a kid. How even as a teenager he takes comfort in illustrating and reading books meant for very young children and his daydream world is implied to be childish as well. That Ojima is stuck in the limbo between these two conflicting sides both having never been a child yet yearning for a sense of kindness and innocence still in his teenage years. That he’d just rather stay forever young in the safe space he has made for himself in his mind where he had nowhere to go in his childhood. And how the parallels of him painting a beautiful sky on the balcony shutter that is keeping him locked inside the school to how metaphorically he painted on the walls of the cage which was his home life into the view of a free, happy world. Such as he draws on the walls of his own room at his home.

In the same episode, Hiroaki suggests that Ojima really should talk to someone professional about his trauma and Ojima remarks how feels as he’s not ready to do so, that he just can’t and doesn’t want to think about it. That even opening up to a therapist or whoever is so scary to him from having to face his trauma head on instead of repressing it like what he’s been doing his whole life. But the only way you can properly heal from trauma is to face it and acknowledge it and to learn from there. It comes to me as it being incredibly impactful that Hayashi was the first person Ojima properly opened up to regarding his trauma surrounding sexual abuse as in that episode we also learn that Hayashi is a survivor of it as well. Everyone already knew about Ojima’s trauma from all the way back in [Confession Game] where his secret was leaked to everyone else. Hayashi had suggested telling Ojima her story in which I could see as even though they’re not close and have rarely talked to each other, that it comes from the understanding that they have been through the same thing. In which turn lead Ojima to properly open up to someone about his trauma.

Ojima envies Hayashi for feeling that she’s become so strong. That when Ojima figured out that Hayashi had killed the man who raped and abused her he started calling her incredible and looking up to her, and stuttering for a second that he could never [do something like that himself]. That Ojima jumped to viewing Hayashi as everything he isn’t, someone who was strong and able to fight back against who hurt them, to not let themselves submit to and be broken by someone who hurt them so badly and had a home to go to. He starts feeling bad about himself for how he can’t understand how she can just decide to be strong. That he feels so small and can’t let his trauma not overtake every aspect of his life. Ojima says he’s not strong, but in my opinion I really don’t think so. Despite how he views himself Ojima has an incredible sense of willpower. The fact that he’s been able to sign up for therapy on eight seperate occasions and keep going with the knowledge that he needs help and is actively seeking it out despite how closed off he his, just shows how strong he is despite how psychologically shattered he may be. That there’s still hope for him to keep reaching for.

Hayashi isn’t necessarily stronger than Ojima for how she’s learnt to heal as what Ojima thinks. Hayashi as a person has had a loving family who was able to support her and help her heal through her trauma and wouldn’t let it take over her entire life. And how she’s opening up to Ojima about her experiences, and how she sees that Ojima is still very much new to a life without abuse and is broken and suffering after everything. Hayashi hasn’t completely healed from her trauma, it’s impossible to properly recover from that. But she’s had a supportive system who has allowed her to come to a point in her life where she can feel strong again. And how she tells Ojima that despite how he had nowhere to go in his life, if at this point in time he’s living with his brothers who are very supportive to him that he should open up and let them help him. I think Hayashi said it best herself in this part.

“Y-you’re… so much stronger than me…”

“I’m not. I’ve just had more practice. You’re still you, Ojima. Even after all the shit you’ve gone through. You’re always gonna be you.”

This episode helps as a massive step in Ojima’s direction to help and begin to heal from the trauma he’s been through. For 12 whole years of his life he’s only known rape, physical abuse and gaslighting, but he’s not a lost cause. He remarks how he feels as if he can never be okay after that, that he can never feel strong and how he can never feel like he doesn’t belong in his own body anymore, describing as feeling infected. It’s hard to imagine how mentally and physically scarred he is from everything that happened to him. Ojima is 17 now, so he only had 2 years of his life that he could remember not being abused. I feel like that’s something not talked about enough, how scary it must’ve been when his whole life was flipped when his parents were arrested and he was taken into custody of his older brothers. Living a life where you only knew being abused, it eventually starts to become normal. That Ojima would’ve been so used to the abuse that the moment he was in a pain free environment it would’ve felt incredibly unknown and scary. It’s not that abuse victims would’ve preferred the abuse, it’s that they’d start to miss it because it was at least something familiar. That if they aren’t used to feeling comfort and love, it can feel alien to them. Ojima is still very young, and even though he can seem so put together and mature at times, it can really show how much he’s still adapting at times. That he’s afraid of getting older but mourns never being able to live the innocent life of a kid. And how he expresses himself through drawing illustrations for children’s books, manifesting art of kind and safe worlds which he years for.

Ojima is such an incredibly interesting character and he is so tragic yet so human at the same time. It was hard to write this type of analysis going over Ojima’s traumatic childhood and how it has affected him from what we know at this point, but it has to be done. I’d really love to see other peoples thoughts on this subject as well, that even if it’s upsetting to think about it, if you want to analyse Ojima’s character like this that you can. Ojima is a character very close to my heart so properly going over his life does make me sad, but I feel as we should appreciate how Tetro has written his character so well and realistically. I hope if you’re reading this you have a good day, as stuff like this can be tough at times.

[belovedspector]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (At Least, It Used to Be)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Jake can’t help but notice you when you become a regular at his favorite diner.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: Title is from “I Never Planned on You” from Newsies. I’ve never written for Jake before, and I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t have much to go off of, but I figured I’d give it a shot. I hope I did okay! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

Jake Lockley knows his place. He’s the protector of the system, keeping Marc and Steven out of harm’s way and doing Khonshu’s dirty work. He doesn’t have time for “earthly pleasures,” as Khonshu had once put it. He doesn’t really have a life outside of protecting his alters and the travelers of the night, and he’s fine with that. He’s content to lurk in the shadows if it means Marc and Steven getting to live their best lives. He treasures what interaction he does get, when he’s driving his cab through the city or getting food late at night after a mission. He tries not to dwell on it, though; there’s no sense in mourning what he can’t have.

Jake notices everything. It’s his job, to always be on high-alert, even when he’s not the one fronting. So, when you start showing up at his favorite diner every Friday night like clockwork, he notices. He observes from afar. From that first time you walked in, the bell tinkling to announce your presence, he’d been…interested in you. He’s not sure why—it’s not like you pose a threat. You should fade into the background, just like everyone else.

But, you don’t.

Jake can’t help but take note of everything you do—the way you always say your “please”s and “thank you”s to the waitress, your soft laugh, your sweet smile, the ungodly amount of sugar you put in your coffee. He’s good at watching people; it’s part of his job, after all, so he’s able to absorb you and your habits without drawing suspicion from you or anyone else. Some might call it creepy, but Jake means no harm, and he can’t help his…infatuation with you. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

One night, he finds himself rambling as he drives around the city. He likes to talk out loud to himself in the safety of his cab; it gives him a chance to make sense of his thoughts, and it’s not like he has anyone else to share them with.

He starts off by talking himself through the details of his upcoming mission, but he soon finds his mind wandering to bright eyes and the scent of coffee. You.

“She’s really something, huh?” Jake says to himself. “I—I don’t know what it is about her. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I think you humans call it a ‘crush.’” Khonshu suddenly appears hunched over in the back seat of Jake’s cab, and, if he was a less skilled driver, Jake absolutely would have crashed. As it is, he jumps almost imperceptibly in his seat, swerving the tiniest bit before regaining control of the vehicle.

“What?” Jake asks, not even sparing Khonshu a glance in the rear-view mirror. He’s used to the god’s antics by now.

“It appears you have a crush, Jake Lockley.”

“I don’t get crushes,” Jake protests. “Don’t have time for that shit.” He grips the steering wheel more tightly, the leather of his gloves straining against his knuckles.

“You’re right; you don’t have time,” Khonshu agrees, “so I suggest you nip this little problem in the bud, before it interferes with our work.”

“What, you want me to kill her?” he deadpans.

“No, nothing that extreme. I was going to suggest finding a new diner.”

“But I like that diner.”

“Then you’d best find a way to ignore the girl.”

With that, Khonshu disappears, and Jake mutters some choice words about the bird in the quiet of his car.

It’s Friday night again. Jake sits alone at his usual booth—in the corner, with his back to the wall, so he can continually scan the entire diner for any threats. He alternates between sipping at his coffee and taking bites of his blueberry pie while scanning the newspaper.

The door opens, the bell ringing along with it, and Jake instinctively looks up.

It’s you.

Jake casts his eyes back down to the sports page. Khonshu had given him orders, and he intends to follow them.

His plan is going great. He’s not thinking about you, not even a little bit. But, shit, now he’s thinking about how he’s not thinking about you. Does that count as thinking about you?

Jake returns his coffee cup to the table with a little more force than necessary. He can feel a headache coming on.

Get it together, Lockley.

He looks up again to do another sweep of the interior, when he notices you’re not sitting in your usual spot. No, you’re…walking towards him. Surely, you’re just going to use the bathroom past his seat, right?

No such luck. You stop at his booth, standing awkwardly with your hands clasped in front of you.

Slowly, Jake moves his eyes from his newspaper and allows them to find yours. He’s never seen you up close before, and, God, you’re even more breathtaking when he can see the sparkle of your eyes and the way your lips curve upward into a soft smile.

“Um, hi,” you start, rocking a little on your feet. “Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you had a pen?”

Jake’s not very well-versed in pickup lines, but he’s pretty sure that can’t be one, right? He stares at you for a few beats, dumbfounded that you’re really speaking to him, before he pulls himself together.

He clears his throat and answers, “Uh, yes.” He reaches for the pen he always keeps in his jacket pocket and hands it to you.

He can’t help but notice the way your soft, warm fingers brush against his as the pen exchanges hands.

“Thank you!” you say, and you sound so sincere. “I just wanted to do today’s crossword. I’ll have this back before you know it.”

“Sure,” Jake forces out as you turn on your heel, back to what he’s begun thinking of as “your” booth.

He goes back to his own paper, definitely not thinking about you and your sweet smile and soft hands. It’s by complete coincidence that the next page he turns to has the daily crossword puzzle. He’s never been much for puzzles; that’s more Steven’s thing. Still, he takes a look.

Across 1. An infatuation with another person

It’s five letters. It can’t be anything other than “crush.” Jake groans. He scans the rest of the clues and notices they all seem to revolve around love. It dawns on him that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. So, maybe the universe isn’t totally fucking with him, after all.

Jake has just about finished his pie when you come bounding over. You don’t wait for him to look up before you’re speaking.

“Thank you again!” you say, placing his pen back on the table near his coffee cup.

You’re already turning to go back to your booth, but Jake can’t just let you go. Screw Khonshu’s orders, he thinks.

“Wait,” he calls to you. He half-expects you to ignore him, to keep walking away, but you do turn around and take a step closer to him. Shit, now he needs to think of something to say to you. “That was, uh, fast,” he says lamely.

You beam at him, and it’s just about the prettiest thing Jake has ever seen. “Oh, yeah, I used to do them with my dad all the time, so I’ve gotten pretty good at them.” Your eyes drop to his newspaper that sits forgotten on the table, still open to the puzzle page. “Oh, do you do crosswords, too?” you ask, and you look like you’re genuinely interested in his answer.

“Oh, uh, not really.” Jake’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck nervously. Since when does he get nervous?

“Ah,” you say, nodding wisely, “you must be more of a Sudoku guy.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Great conversation skills, Lockley, he chastises himself.

“Well, thanks again for the pen. I hope I didn’t keep you from your Sudoku for too long…” You trail off, and Jake realizes, belatedly, that you’re waiting for him to offer his name.

“Jake,” he provides, putting on his most charming smile.

You smile right back, telling him your own name.

“Pretty name,” he remarks.

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday.”

Jake just stares at you for a moment before the joke lands, and then he’s laughing—like, genuinely laughing. He can’t remember the last time this has happened.

He notices you seem a little flustered. Maybe he laughed too hard? Maybe it wasn’t even a joke, and he just totally misread the situation? Maybe—

“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever actually laughed at that one,” you say with a slight chuckle of your own.

“I liked it,” Jake says honestly, as if you couldn’t already tell. Before he can second guess himself, he’s asking, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh!” A look of surprise crosses your face. “Um, yeah, I’d like that. May I?” you ask, gesturing to the bench seat across from him.

“Please,” he says with a wave of his hand.

You slide into the booth as Jake gets the attention of the waitress and orders two coffees.

“Anything else?” the waitress asks, looking between the two of you expectantly, pen ready against her notepad.

“The pie’s really good,” Jake tells you. “My treat.”

You seem hesitant. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Come on,” he encourages with a smile.

“It is really good,” the waitress chimes in. 

“Well, okay,” you relent. “One slice of”—you look down at the table to scan the menu briefly—“chocolate cream pie, please.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress says with a smile and a click of her pen.

The time passes quickly, and the conversation between you and Jake flows as freely as the coffee. All that’s left of your pie is an empty plate with a few stray crumbs. You’re laughing at some comment Jake made when you glance down at your watch.

“Shit,” you say, your brows furrowing together in worry.

“Everything okay?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, I just didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” you say. An apologetic look crosses your face.

Jake checks his own watch. 2:53 am. He really should be getting back home, so Steven and Marc can wake up in the morning without suspecting anything.

“Can I drive you home?” he offers.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You shake your head. “I’m just a couple blocks over.”

“It’s late. I’d feel better if I knew you got home safely.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not at all,” he says with a smile. He’s smiled a lot tonight.

“Well, lead the way,” you say as you both exit the booth.

Jake throws a wad of cash on the table—more than enough to cover the coffee and pie—and walks you to his cab parked out front.

“You’re a cab driver?” you ask, sounding intrigued.

“I am,” Jake says as he opens the passenger’s door for you.

You pick up right where you left off at the diner, intermittently giving Jake directions to your apartment. He doesn’t want the night to end, but, soon enough, he’s parking in front of your building.

You start to unbuckle your seat belt but pause and turn to him. “Hey, can I borrow your pen again?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Jake says, digging it out of his pocket and handing it over once more.

You take it with a smile and reach into your pants pocket. You pull out a crumpled napkin and quickly write something before handing both the napkin and pen to Jake.

Jake looks down to find your name and phone number written on the napkin.

You smile, looking a little shy. “In case you want to see me before next Friday,” you explain.

Jake doesn’t even think about the implication that you’ve noticed him at the diner every week, just like he’s noticed you. No, he’s too excited about the fact that you want to see him again, maybe even to go on a proper date. He hopes you can’t tell that he’s blushing in the dim glow of the cab’s ceiling light.

“Good night, Jake,” you say, finally unbuckling your seat belt and opening the door.

Normally, he’d do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for you, but he’d been too caught up in this surreal moment. Next time, he thinks, because there definitely will be a next time.

“Good night,” he echoes, still in a bit of a daze. He watches as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, making sure you’re safely inside before he pulls away from the curb.

Jake will deal with Khonshu’s wrath over disobeying orders. It will be more than worth it, if it means getting to see you again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[woolysubset]

Just watched the death in the family interactive movie endings (the endings off YouTube I can’t afford the actual things man). I’ve been a fan of Jason a while but haven’t managed to watch it yet. I’ve Seen majority of the clips before without seeing the entirety of the ending possibilities, but… my god.

The scene where it’s technically Red Hood facing the joker on the bridge. You just destroyed my life in 4 minutes. Wtf.

The looking of growing horror on Jason’s face as the Joker speaks about the actions he committed. The fact that he didn’t even realize he was the person doing it. You could see as the realization crossing Jason’s eyes as they flashed back between the scenes of his murders, crimes.

I’m under the assumption this one probably takes place in the version where Batman dies based on the way the Joker talks about ‘missing’ him in past tense. And that just adds to the entirety of Jason and him finally acknowledging that , yes, it was him who did all that. Because not only did he do all that, he did it all while failing Bruce’s final wish. It’s not like the ending where he acknowledges the fact that he is unable to follow it, where he makes the conscious decision to go against it, to do what he deems ‘right’. He was unaware of himself doing any of it until the Joker pointed it out. “I don’t kill” he says as the Joker laughs at him, breaking the entire image he had of himself. He’s forced to face the reality of what he has truly done, the almost in a way ‘failure’ to what he thought he would never do. And he finally hears himself after that, voice whispering to him about killing.

Not to mention the Joker calling Jason his creation, claiming himself as a father to what he’s become. The final kill it shows with Black Mask, where before the window shatters and cuts him open the confetti, the flag saying boom, it was an action taken with a morbid humor attached. It breaks through, shattering, Jason’s belief that the Joker isn’t creating what he is just learning he is. And once again, the horror twisting on his face as he’s forced to acknowledge all of it.

Also, additional note, I believe this version of him in the Red Hood mask is a great parallel to his utrh storyline. Cause it wasn’t, child who lost their life at 15 and when they returned learned everything had moved on without him, where he feels that his life and death wasn’t impactful on those around him, that his life was so insignificant his own father chose his killer’s life over him (thats a whole other rant). In this it’s a parallel where his father is the one who dies, he hears the final wish that avenging him isn’t what Jason needs, that its a path his father doesn’t want for Jason or himself. And Jason recognizes this, believing that he’s doing what Bruce wanted. Not following the bloody path. Then he learns he has, he learns that without knowing he did the exact opposite. Under the Red Hood, and Red Hood stories he decidedly takes this path, twists it into his own thing of significance to himself, giving his renewed life meaning. This parallel version (idk what to call it), the path more or less chooses him. He views his own actions differently, although the same things (give or take some ppl he killed), because of the experience the two versions of himself lived through.

I just ughhhhhh. All it took was 4 minutes for me to have my jaw dropped, staring at my screen, my mind repeatedly thinking about it. This will never leave my head.

Lowkey probably gonna delete or ignore this thing exists. I just rlly needed to get my thoughts out somewhere.

[pippin-katz]

Some Thoughts About Queer Platonic Relationships In Dead Boy Detectives

So, something that a lot of fans have been talking about is whether or not they think/want Edwin and Charles to be dating, or be queer platonic friends.

Side Note: it’s refreshing to see something like this being talked about by fans in a respectful and chill way. I think it’s because there’s no “loser” or “bad” option out of the two.

It’s been on my mind, and I wanted to share an idea I had! I would personally like to see Edwin and Charles become lovers; I’m just a sucker for pairs that are so devoted to each other like they are. But I wouldn’t have a problem with them being queer platonic friends either, especially since there’s less representation of those in visual media.

That’s when I had the thought!

I’ve been blabbering to my parents and friends who have seen the show that I really want them to bring Monty back if we get a second season. It would be so fun for him to turn back into a human and join the gang permanently now that Esther’s gone, but that’s a separate post.

But the concept of having Monty back opened a whole new door in my brain.

Bring Monty back, and make him and Edwin queer platonic friends!

At first I was like, yeah that would be cute, but then my brain did some more turning. I realized that it’s actually a brilliant, perfect idea for them.

Monty was a crow. He’s inexperienced in the human world aside from what he learned to blend in. Edwin is the first human being he genuinely connected with, in any capacity. Edwin is as much his first friend as he is his first love.

Monty was going along with Esther’s plan after he thought Edwin didn’t care, but as soon as Edwin says that he genuinely does and that he is his friend, he crumbles. Monty can’t do it.

Look at me, making my own GIFs with a little watermark and everything :3

He’s willing to directly betray Esther by getting Edwin out of the forest. Even if the Cat King hadn’t shown up, he was screwed. There’s no way she wouldn’t have found out if he had literally helped them escape her plan rather than complete it. It took Monty only a few seconds to decide, and his decision was a death sentence. He knew that, and still tried to get him to safety.

Monty then betrays Esther a second time after she kidnaps Edwin and Charles. He hears Edwin’s screams, sees Charles struggling, and chooses to help. Who knows how long it would’ve taken Charles to get his backpack by himself?

Since Crystal apparently couldn’t just fucking hand it to him, but that’s also a separate post.

All this being said, Monty does care about the squad. When he confronts Esther, he says, "You didn't tell me that mushroom thing was gonna completely eradicate them."

Key word: them. He could've said "him", referring to Edwin since he's the one Monty's in love with, but he says "them", as in both Edwin and Charles. He doesn't want to see that happen to either of them. He also asks Esther about her plans for Crystal after she's gotten the ghosts, showing thoughtfulness rather than ignoring her fate entirely. So, he would make a believable addition to the group outside of his crush on Edwin.

Speaking of his crush on Edwin, Monty knows that Edwin is in love with Charles. He knows that he and Edwin aren't going to happen. He knew that even while he tried to get Edwin to safety, but only brought it up when Edwin accused him of pretending to care. He's freaking out and terrified, but it doesn't feel like he brings up Charles out of malice. He seems genuine about it, almost as if he's trying to help Edwin realize it. Monty knows that he's struggling with his feelings; that's what they talked about on the swing set.

Honestly, I think he only runs away because Edwin lashes out and calls him a crow, like an insult, like just being a crow is unforgivable rather than him being Esther's crow. I don't think Edwin actually cares about him being a crow since he's not literally a crow after being turned human. If Monty had gotten to talk to him again after the forest before he was turned back, I think he would've forgiven him. Plus, he's fine with the Cat King and his ability to shift between the two forms, and with Tragic Mick, who once, was a mighty walrus, king of the deep- sorry, couldn't resist.

That all being said, Edwin is the first human being he's truly connected with. He really likes him and enjoys spending time with him. He also knows his romantic feelings are one-sided, but that doesn't stop him from being his friend (after he gets his hurt feelings out of the way).

I think it would be incredibly sweet if Monty got turned back into a person, and now that he's free of Esther's control, join the group, and be besties with Edwin. This little crow-boy who's new to humanity and freedom, truly getting to learn and experience the world, with the help and guidance of the first person he ever connected with?

Tell me that's not the sweetest thing ever! That would be the my preferred QPR 🥹

(ko-fi)

[sukuna-ryo]

The Best Friend

Chapter 2

(2.6K words)

———

You open the door to your office, expecting the usual quiet, routine of the day’s clients. But the moment your eyes land on Gojo, a sense of unease settles into your chest. It’s hard to describe the pull he has on you—like gravity, only far more complicated. He’s lounging casually in the chair across from you, grinning like he’s the only one in on a joke no one else understands. The extravagance in his presence isn’t just physical, it’s in the way he fills the space with his energy, turning what should be a professional session into something entirely different.

“So,” he begins, his voice breezy as ever, “What’s on the agenda today? More of my genius insights, or should I let you work your magic?”

You sigh, trying to maintain a semblance of order in the chaos he constantly brings with him. “Let’s keep it focused, Satoru. This is a therapy session, not a show.”

You decided to call him Satoru after he told you to in your first session. You noticed that he was more cooperative when referred to by his first name rather than Gojo.

“Ah, right. Therapy,” he chuckles, leaning back so casually that it almost makes you wince. He crosses one leg over the other and shrugs. “I’m just here to make it more interesting for you. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying my company.”

You’re careful not to let your annoyance show. His antics, while often amusing, make it hard to concentrate on anything else. Yet despite the frustration, you find yourself intrigued by him. There’s something oddly captivating about his constant push-pull, as if he’s trying to see how far he can go without breaking something.

As the sessions continue, Gojo flirts with the boundaries of professionalism, his comments laced with teasing remarks that are half-joking, half-serious. He sends extravagant gifts between sessions, sometimes a bouquet of flowers, sometimes a bottle of rare wine, each one accompanied by a note that’s more playful than it should be.

Today, however, there’s a slight shift. As Gojo talks about his experiences, something in his tone changes, becoming less playful, almost reflective. It’s fleeting, and you almost don’t catch it, but when he speaks again, it’s clear he’s trying to share something with you, albeit guardedly.

“I don’t talk about this much,” Gojo admits, his voice quieter than usual. “But there’s someone… a person who really gets me. A friend. Someone I’ve been through a lot with.”

You lean in slightly, trying to read the rare vulnerability in his expression. “Who is this person?” you ask, genuinely curious, your voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, then smiles, though it’s not the usual cocky grin that you’re accustomed to. Instead, it’s something more genuine, though still veiled in mystery. “Someone I trust. More than anyone else. But… let’s just leave it at that for now.”

The mention of this person—his “best friend”—sticks with you long after Gojo’s smile fades back into his usual playful demeanor. There’s something behind that statement, something more, but it feels as though he’s unwilling to reveal it. You’re left with a sense of curiosity that you can’t quite shake.

It’s almost like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something more. But he never does. Instead, he laughs, clearly trying to steer the conversation back into familiar territory.

“Well, enough about my secrets,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s talk about you. I bet I could diagnose your entire life in one sentence.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, even as the unsettling feeling of his unspoken words lingers in the back of your mind. This is Gojo, always the enigma wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how much you try to keep your distance, it’s hard to ignore the pull he has on you.

Later that week, you find yourself walking through the office corridors after another session with Gojo. You’re still mulling over his words, the glimpse into his rarely exposed vulnerability—a side of him that seems almost foreign when you’re used to his larger-than-life personality. You feel a weight, a tug of something deeper, and it’s making it hard to ignore the budding attachment you’re trying so desperately to avoid.

Turning a corner, you almost bump into Nanami, who’s just finishing up his own shift. His ever-steady presence seems like the perfect contrast to Gojo’s erratic energy. While Gojo consumes every bit of space around him, Nanami exudes an easy calm, the kind of person who doesn’t need to say much but still manages to make an impact.

“Another round with Gojo?” Nanami asks, his eyes meeting yours with that quiet, almost knowing look he has. You nod, adjusting the papers in your hands. “How is he today?”

“Still himself,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation neutral. “Same as always.”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as always. “I see. You know, you shouldn’t let him distract you too much.” He pauses, the hint of concern not lost in his voice. “He has a tendency to do that.”

You know he’s right. It’s hard to concentrate when Gojo’s on your mind, his chaotic presence lingering in every corner of the room. But you don’t voice that. Instead, you simply nod. Nanami’s advice is rarely anything but straightforward and sensible, and for some reason, his words always find a way to settle in your thoughts long after the conversation ends.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though even you aren’t sure you believe it.

Nanami gives you a small smile, almost like he understands something you’re not willing to say out loud. “Just make sure you take care of yourself. You can’t help others if you’re losing track of your own needs.”

There’s a long moment of silence as you both stand there, the world moving on around you. You feel a weight in the air, a quiet, almost imperceptible shift that happens every time Nanami speaks—like he’s not just offering advice, but an anchor in the ever-shifting sea of your daily life.

“Thanks, Nanami,” you finally say, offering a small, appreciative smile. He nods in response, then turns to leave, his steady footsteps echoing in the hallway behind him.

You glance at the clock, silently dreading the evening that lies ahead. Your break is almost over, and you’re mentally preparing yourself for the remainder of the day when your phone buzzes. It’s Nobara. Her name lights up your screen, and before you even answer, you can already hear the animated lilt in her voice.

“Hey babe! What’re you doing?” she chirps, her voice brimming with infectious energy.

You can’t help but smile, her mood lifting yours almost instantly. “Not much,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “I’m on my lunch break, just taking it easy before my next session.”

She hums mischievously. “I knew it! That’s why I called. Got some juicy office drama for you.”

“Nobara, I swear,” you laugh softly. “One day, someone’s going to overhear you, and I’m not bailing you out when you get fired.”

“Pfft, please. Like they can survive without me,” she says with a mock scoff. Her confidence is endearing, as is her knack for making every conversation a blend of gossip and heartfelt chatter.

“Oh, by the way,” she continues, her tone turning conspiratorial, “we’re meeting tonight, and I want you to wear that tight red dress I bought you. You know, the one that screams, I’m here to slay.”

You groan audibly. “Nobara, that dress is too much for a casual bar outing. People will think I’m headed to a nightclub.”

“Exactly! You never know where the night might take us,” she quips. “No arguments, Y/N. I want to see you in that dress. Okay, love you, see you tonight, bye!”

Before you can protest, she hangs up, leaving you staring at your phone with a mix of fondness and exasperation. With a resigned sigh, you go back to your notes, already anticipating the long night ahead.

The hours pass quicker than expected, and soon, you’re gathering your things to leave. You’re halfway to the exit when you run into Gojo in the lobby, as if he’s been lying in wait. His signature grin stretches across his face, and you can already tell he’s about to make your life more complicated.

“Heading out early, huh? Need a ride?” he asks, his tone as casual as ever.

“No thanks,” you reply, trying to sidestep him, but he matches your movement, effectively blocking your way.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he insists. “It’s dangerous for a gorgeous therapist to wander the streets alone. Let me be your knight in shining armor.”

“Satoru, I’m perfectly capable of getting home on my own,” you say firmly, though you know by now that arguing with him is futile.

Your exchange turns into a lighthearted tug-of-war, with him refusing to let you leave without accepting his offer. By the time you finally escape his persistence, you’re nearly late to meet Nobara. You rush home, hastily pulling on the infamous red dress, its snug fit and bold color reminding you exactly why you tried to avoid wearing it.

When Nobara picks you up, she whistles appreciatively. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she pulls you into the car.

The place she takes you to is unlike your usual haunts. It’s a high-end bar that oozes sophistication, the kind of place where the lighting is dim enough to feel intimate but bright enough to show off the polished surfaces and designer interiors. As the clock inches toward 11 p.m., the atmosphere shifts, the bar morphing into a lively club.

You and Nobara find a cozy corner to settle in, sipping on overpriced cocktails as she fills you in on the latest happenings at her office. You’re halfway through your second drink when she leans in closer, her tone turning teasing.

“So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” she begins, twirling the straw in her glass. “I have this friend—well, a friend of a friend, really—and I think you’d hit it off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh no, Nobara. Don’t even start.”

“Come on! He’s handsome, well-mannered, and a philosophy professor,” she says, emphasizing each point like it’s a sales pitch. “His name’s Suguru. Geto Suguru.”

“Philosophy professor? Really?” you ask, your skepticism evident.

“Yes! He’s smart, charming, and apparently, very easy on the eyes,” she says with a wink. “I already set up a date for you this weekend.”

“Nobara!”

“No backing out,” she declares, her grin mischievous. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

The weekend arrives quicker than expected, and you find yourself nervously stepping into the coffee shop where the blind date is supposed to happen. The soft hum of conversation and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee greet you as you scan the room.

Then you see him.

He’s seated near the window, absorbed in a book, his reading glasses perched delicately on his nose. His long, dark hair frames his face, the strands catching the soft light in a way that highlights his sharp features. Even from a distance, you can see why Nobara was so insistent. He’s breathtaking, effortlessly drawing the attention of others in the room.

You hesitate for a moment, acutely aware of the other women stealing glances at him. But then he looks up, as if sensing your presence. His eyes meet yours, and he smiles—a slow, mesmerizing smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

He stands as you approach, his movements graceful and composed. “Hello,” he says, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Geto Suguru. But you can just call me Suguru. You must be Y/N.”

You nod, momentarily at a loss for words. His presence is both comforting and magnetic, a balance that instantly puts you at ease.

“Nice to meet you, Suguru,” you manage, returning his smile as you take the seat across from him.

———

Likes, reblogs and feedback is appreciated <3

Do not copy, plagiarise, translate or repost any of my content.

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

“°• the good dye young •°”

❀° ┄───╮

a little bit of domestic nanami for the soul ignore the title it’s just the hair dye brand im using (not sponsored), whipped this up based on true events… the events being me currently waiting for my hair as i dye it for the umpteenth time and delusions

y’all i love this man so much it’s not even funny

╰───┄ °❀

“nanamin~ pleeease?” she whined invading his space

“lovely, i told you not to call me that.” he sighed lightly swatting her with his book

he just wanted to start his day off with finally opening one of the books from his massive collection, but of course his needy wife wanted his attention elsewhere. not that he could complain, he loved her with all his heart.

“you let yuji call you that.” she huffed holding his face in her hands as she perched on his lap

“you’re not yuji.” he deadpanned

“oh so you love yuji more than me— i see how it is.” she dramatically sighed as she splayed herself over him

“you’re such a child.”

“well yeah if my competition is one—“

“y/n—“

“im kidding im kidding!” she snickered pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw as he looked less than impressed

“you’re not funny.” he couldn’t stay annoyed with her, her bounciness and more or less lack of a filter made her very refreshing

“it was a little funny.” she pouted as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, humming his disagreement

“you’re gonna give me grey hairs love.” he sighed massaging the crease in his brows

“and you’ll still look very handsome.” she gave him a cheeky smile

he couldn’t help but break his stoic gaze with a soft smile and chuckle, she sighed at the smile that was often only reserved for her— and then she remembered.

“ah! i almost forgot what i was bothering you about!” she snapped back up, knocking his glasses from his face

“y/n..” he frowned

“sorry sorry!” she picked up the glasses before wiping off any smudges on the lenses with her shirt, “i didn’t want to forget what i was gonna ask you again.” she gave him a sheepish smile

“what did you need dear?” he sighed taking the glasses from her hands

“ah! yeah— can you part my hair?”

he blinked once, then again.

“you need me to part your hair?” he repeated as she nodded eagerly

“the underside yes! i can never get a proper part on my own,” she pouted a bit before pulling out a parting comb seemingly out from thin air

“so i need you to do it! pretty please?” she batted her eyelashes

“i don’t mind lovely…” he murmured, plucking the comb from her hands, gently running it through her hair

“but why?”

“oh, i want to dye it!”

he paused his combing, running his fingers through her long locks— he knew she was a bit on the impulsive side but dying her hair out of nowhere?

“y/n… is there any particular reason?” his tone became very serious, he remembered hearing from the students if a woman dyes her hair out of the blue, she must be going through something

“i want something different and pretty.” she hummed looking at her current hair

“but you already are pretty.” he murmured, thoughts running through his head.

was she doing this out of a moment of insecurity? god forbid— did he make her feel inadequate with her natural hair color?

“you’re doing that thing again.”

he was snapped from his thoughts

“huh?”

“that thing where you like get stuck in your head— you furrow your brow and your eyes become all pensive.” she hummed massaging the crease in his brow gently

“when did you become all observant?” he cracked a small smile pressing a kiss to her chin

“excuse you! i’ve always been observant!” she huffed dramatically

“i just happen to talk a lot of nonsense.” she pouted

“true, but i wouldn’t have it any other way my lovely.” he mused peppering her face with kisses

“you’re so corny it’s sickening.” she chuckled

“you love it.”

“i do.”

it fell into a comfortable silence between the two.

“so, what has my darling husband thinking so hard on his day off?” she hummed

he sighed a little.

“did i do anything, to make you feel like you need to change your hair?” he asked her very seriously

she blinked, it wasn’t long before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“im being serious love, you said you wanted to feel pretty— did i do something to make you otherwise?” he gave her a pleading look as she continued to laugh

“oh you poor thing, kento dear— you didn’t do anything.” she continued to laugh, draping herself over him in a hug

“i just wanted a change that’s all! not even that much, im just doing a peekaboo color. im not going all in hence the hair part.” she chuckled softly

he visibly relaxed underneath her as she soothed his worries.

“you’re so sweet to worry, it’s never that serious with me you know that.” she pressed a kiss to the side of his head

and she was right, it usually never was that serious with her. she was a free spirited, unfiltered woman who loved to laugh and smile. many wondered how she was able to chip away at his stoic and cold demeanor when in reality she practically bulldozed her way in, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

she gave him a home and a place to be himself while he grounded her into reality reminding her that someone loved her flaws and all, that was their dynamic and why their love was able to thrive.

“actually— you want to know what would be fun?”

“hmm?”

“if we both dyed our hair! you have the perfect base!”

he immediately pulled away and gave her a look.

“absolutely not.”

“oh please? just the tips?” she started to giggle at her own words

“you are such a child.”

she opened her mouth but he immediately put his hand over it resulting in muffled protests.

“do not do the same joke again—“

she licked his palm and he retracted his hand giving her a look.

“oh come on nanami! think of the possibilities! we can dye it pink or something for like a gender reveal—“

he froze, his hands immediately tightening around her.

“gender reveal— love… are you..?”

her face dropped into a face of mortification at his insinuation.

“oh— god no! seriously? if i was you really think you’d be finding out like this? i can do so much better!” she was offended

his grip on her body didn’t relent as his hands started to trail her stomach.

“there’s nothing in there i promise!” she huffed

“but what if i put one in there?” he murmured, burying his head in her neck

she gave him an incredulous look.

“you better wait until after you help me dye my hair!”

❀° ┄───╮

if you squint you can tell when the fumes start to get to my head lolz

╰───┄ °❀

[the1975attheirverybest]

Birthday Surprise

A/N: can’t sleep and it’s technically Sunday so here you go. Second piece for Matty’s 35th festivities.

Warnings: smut adjacent I guess

Matty rolled his body off of hers, landing in the place right next to her. He panted for breath, staring up at the ceiling, sweat dripping down the sides of his body. “That….was…amazing” he blushed, laughing. “Some of our best work.” He added, “and that’s saying a lot cuz…we’ve had some memorable moments.”

She sat up, slowly, and winked at him. “Wanted to make your birthday special.”

“Everything I’ve ever done with you’s special.”

There was a moment of silence. She let his words hang heavy in the air, making a point of ignoring them.

“I got you a present!” She reached over to the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and finding his birthday gift. “Go on, open it.”

“Here? Now?”

“Yeah, I wanna see the look on your face.”

Matty had a pretty good idea what it was. But that still didn’t make it any less funny when he unwrapped the record and saw that it was Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.” He chuckled loudly. “Just what I needed”

It had become something of a tradition, an inside joke between them, over the years. Started out silly, when they were together. Neither of them really remembered how, but the song came on one day, and they danced to it, playfully, joking about how they’d want it at their wedding one day. From then on, it stuck. And she took it to the next level by gifting him this record on more than one occasion. He now has various copies of it in different formats. On this occasion, though, he couldn’t help but find it a tad ironic, maybe even cruel, given that she did give him up. Still, he’d take anything that he can get from her. “Thank you, my love.” He kissed her.

“Happy birthday, Matty.”

He put aside his gift, pulling himself closer to her “ready for a second round?”

“Yeah, are YOU ready for a second round? We kinda went hard just now.” She struggled to hide the laugh in her voice.

Matty rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to be a snide comment about my age?”

“I mean, sure. You’re geriatric now. 35 years old.”

“Geriat- I beg your fuckin pardon?” He hovered over her. “You know, just for that….im gonna fuck you until the sun comes up. Until you can’t stand up on your own two legs.”

Her giggles echoed through the room. It worked. She had him right where she wanted him.

***

When her breathing had finally mellowed, she reached for him with shaky hands, pulling his face up, and off of her heaving chest, where his sweaty cheek had glued to her breasts, and caressed his face. He looked tired. They were both officially spent. She leaned forward, kissing him sleepily. “I love you, Matty.” She whispered.

Matty’s eyes shot wide open. Suddenly, a jolt of electricity awoke something within him, he was no longer on the verge of passing out. “Wha- what? Did you just say - You….love me??”

“Matty-“

“You love me.” He repeated.

Shit. She’d fucked up. Perhaps letting him know wasn’t the sweet and intimate moment that she’d imagined in her mind. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

“No, no. I heard you. You said that. I heard it. you love me.” Matty wished he’d felt joy or relief or something akin to satisfaction at her confession. But all he felt was profound grief.

“yeah and? Why are you acting so surprised anyway….”

He sat up straight. Rubbing her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

“Ummm….how about….because it’s been two years? Because you were the one who ended it. You broke up with me? Because…when you did it, you said you no longer felt anything for me? Now you say you love me?!”

“C’mon, Matty. Surely you didn’t think any of that was true…” she spoke softly, but only because the lump in her throat made it difficult for her to match his volume.

“I- begged you!” He reminded her. “And you walked away. I was willing to do anything. I said — I’d do anything. How- how many times since then have I pleaded with you to give me another chance? You always said that sex was the only thing that we ever got right. So- yes, I’m sorry, if I fuckin believed you.” Matty looked down at his chest. The red lines that her nail scratches had left all over his body were proof that they did get the sex part right, at least. “You said you fell out of love with me. And - and I believed it.”

She shook her head, tears running down her face. “You’re stupid.” She whispered. “How could you be so stupid? I- I only did that because I had to.”

“Had to?”

“Our relationship was killing you slowly. And- I knew you were never going to be the one to leave first. So-“

“So you took it upon yourself to do it for me?!!!!” He half yelled, running his hand through his hair and pulling at it painfully.

“Oh, don’t you look at me like that! Don’t act like that’s crazy. I saw how much your work matters to you. You were killing yourself trying to dedicate your entire being to both your job and to our relationship. You were trying to will yourself into splitting in half. I didn’t want to do it to you anymore.”

He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Fuckin ridiculous.” He looked into her eyes. “Absolutely ridiculous.” He mulled it over in his head for another quick moment. “That’s absurd.”

She burst into tears, and it killed him to see her cry.

“I- didn’t know. I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.” His own tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes. “If I’d known….i wouldn’t have let you go. I would’ve tried harder.”

He sniffled, reaching out to wipe her tears from her face. “Baby, please don’t cry. I hate to see you cry….”

“Can you please kiss me?” She asked, her cheeks still wet with tears.

He kissed her. Hard. Needy. Desperate. Worshipped every inch of her skin, making his way down her body. From her lips, to her neck, then her chest, her stomach. Lower and lower, leaving a trail of hot, wet, open mouth kisses everywhere. He listened for her moans and repeated cries of his name, spurred on by her voice. The more she needed him, the more he gave her.