#for some reason i had such a hard time fighting with Tumblr post this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sp0o0kylights · 29 days ago

Text

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better.

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood.

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman.

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters.

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children.

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting.

This was about their relationship with Harrington.

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache.

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted.

That makes him easy to take advantage of.

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip.

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him!

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry.

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there.

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well.

Eddie was here to break it.

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit.

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks.

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “What are you--hey!”

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house.

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue.

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--”

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day.

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall.

It doesn’t take long to find the kid.

Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame.

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font.

(Baking puns. Disgusting.)

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen.

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding.

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?”

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen.

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles.

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes.

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here.

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple.

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”

He cuts himself off with a hiss, eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt.

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.”

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie.

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!)

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.”

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers.

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,”

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.”

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.”

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest.

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!”

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.”

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb.

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.)

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment.

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona.

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.”

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes.

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?”

“Guys.”

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!”

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter.

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction.

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over.

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.)

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.”

“Steve--”

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.”

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him.

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury.

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style.

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink.

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine.

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit…

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that.

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.”

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach.

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.”

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!”

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.)

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely.

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things.

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here.

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.)

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,”

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice, already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it.

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help.

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once.

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.)

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?”

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even.

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…”

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating.

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely.

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does.

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house.

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest.

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly.

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!”

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked.

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth.

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen.

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine.

Typical.

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?”

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.”

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere.

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer.

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches.

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right…

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly.

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way.

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming.

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door.

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them.

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.)

He could leave now.

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?”

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud.

“What?”

Thank God for Harrington’s headache.

“You look terrible, man.” Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.”

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party.

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.”

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie.

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.”

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened.

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.)

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.”

Harrington grimaces.

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter.

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole.

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers.

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.)

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety.

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.”

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.”

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face.

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me, I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch.

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead.

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment.

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?”

“....are you offering me drugs?”

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket.

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?”

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it.

“How is that going to help?”

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.”

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount.

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him.

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning.

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him.

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja.

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.”

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.

“I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him.

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people.

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game.

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains.

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart.

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.”

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.”

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that.

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit.

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on.

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out.

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.)

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom.

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room.

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.”

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it.

Fucking rich people.

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.”

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed.

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers.

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute.

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.”

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie.

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.”

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having fun destroying one's own ego.

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had.

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed.

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom.

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist.

It freezes him in place.

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own.

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment.

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.

“Anytime, big boy.”

Anytime.

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it.

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday.

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days.

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington.

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life.

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices.

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer.

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking.

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well.

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.)

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe.

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.

“Would you just let us in?”

“No.”

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.”

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.”

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily.

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness just isn’t cutting it anymore.)

“And why would I do that?”

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control.

Checking up on the guy was overkill.

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground.

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.”

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head.

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on.

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it.

Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces.

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning.

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly.

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.)

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not.

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh.

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread.

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday.

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one.

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.”

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe.

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead.

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!”

Which gets Eddie’s back right up.

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents.

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.”

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you.

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most.

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one.

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.”

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark.

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark.

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer.

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face.

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

389 notes · View notes

janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

Text

bedtime with mike and abby ( mike schmidt x reader)

hi guys! this is my first ever lil fic/imagine/blurb here!! if y'all like this, I'll keep it up. I'm also new to tumblr, so please please be patient with me. in the future i'd love to do requests.

also if someone wants to help me with formatting/be friends, just shoot me a msg :p

this is just a quick lil imagine/blurb. I've seen so many smutty fics and i wanted to spice it up w/ some fluff. just sleepy time on mike's night off! on w the fic :p

*edit* this isn’t revised!! i threw something together last min and posted cause i felt like writing lol. don’t mind the typos

word count: 1,633

warnings: none! just fluff, angst if u squint!!

summary: nighttime with mike and abby on his day off!

Most of the time, you, your boyfriend Mike, and his little sister Abby were on entirely different schedules. Mike worked nights at a shitty gas station job for the time being after his job at Freddy's was... well.. no more for obvious reasons. Even though he swore off the night shift, this was necessary until he could find something better. Jobs were sparse at the moment, and Mike's history didn't exactly make him a star candidate.

A typical night would consist of you making the three of you dinner, slowly forcing Abby to venture out when it came to her taste buds. Recently, she'd taken a liking to tacos. You and Mike would make a joint effort to get her ready for bed earlier together, as Mike was more particular about being there for her since the incident. She'd get a bath, get into her jammies, and the two of you would tuck her in with a bedtime story. You'd both kiss her little forehead goodnight, then kiss your boyfriend on his lips before sending him off.

Most nights, you tossed and turned in your sleep, unable to rest properly without Mike by your side. A painfully dull feeling would rest in your stomach, the lack of his warmth beside you agonizing. You'd spend all night waiting for 6am to roll around as you felt the bed dip on his side, barely stirring you from your sleep. You'd have thirty minutes until your alarm went off, thirty minutes to wrap yourself up into him before you once again went on your separate ways... living your separate lives until you could have your few hours of union later on.

But tonight, you were lucky. Mike had gotten the next few days off. His job was being extra kind as they actually recognized the hard work Mike put in, something he wasn't used to. They'd told him someone would take over for a bit, to enjoy himself, to rest. It may have been a low-paying, trashy, borderline dangerous job, but his boss was nice, and the customers were certainly safer to deal with than those at the pizzeria.

You called out sick from work, not wanting to miss a single second with your little trio. You'd both even made the decision to pull Abby out of school for the day, spending it building forts, watching movies, and eating ice cream. The three of you even went out rollerskating, Mike awkwardly tumbling every few seconds on the rink as Abby would bust out laughing at him. The three of you were now sat around on the couch, Mike smooshed into the far side of the armrest as your entire body lay on his, Abby's head resting in your lap as she sleepily blinked her eyes. She'd already had her bath, brushed her teeth, and all three of you were in your pajamas.

"So, everyone have a good day?" Mike asked, turning his head to the two of you with a small but sleepy smile.

"Mhm," Abby hummed quietly, slowly nodding her head against your lap. It was clear that she was moments from passing out, and once Abby was out, she was impossible to get up without a fight.

"Okay, I think it's time for bed," you giggled, slowly lifting your own head up from Mike's shoulder. Mike nodded in agreement, a laugh of his own escaping his lips.

You both slowly pulled Abby up, getting her up on her feet, her half asleep state making her delirious as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staring back at the two of you in confusion.

"C'mon, Abs, it's time for bed," Mike muttered, standing up. He grabbed your hand, pulling you up with him. You stood as well, following Mike as he led Abby to her room. She crawled up into her bed, her little body tucking under her blankets as the two of you sat on both sides of her.

"Want a bedtime story?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows as he leaned down to press a small kiss to Abby's forehead. Abby's lips parted to answer, but before she could, her eyes were closed and she was out. A sincere and quiet chuckle escaped underneath Mike's breath, his eyes full of love for his sister as her stared down at her. You couldn't help but stare, the edges of your mouth turning up into a sleepy smile of your own. He was so majestic, his messy but soft brown curls were laying in every which way on his head. Even though he was much more rested than usual, his eyes were still somewhat sunken in, but to you, that just made him more attractive. His scruff was messy, unshaven, but it managed to highlight his jawline. The sparkle that remained in his eyes, even through it all, after everything that he'd been through, warmed you to your core, your love for him overwhelming.

"What?" Mike asked quietly with a smile still plastered on his lips, his eyes now locked on yours. A blush crossed your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught, your eyebrows raising.

“Nothin’,” you hummed, shaking your head. “Just admiring you.” Your hand reached out to his as the two of you went to your own bedroom, the only light now lighting up your house being the moonlight and street lamps peeking through the blinds. You both crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

There was nothing but silence other than the sound of the fan in your room, the hum almost hypnotic as you wrapped yourself up in his arms. Your head rest against his chest as he instantly tugged you closer, his back flat on the bed as his hand cradled your side. His thumb drew small figure eights on your shoulder. Your body felt fuzzy, a type of relaxation you hadn’t felt at night in a while. Mike made you feel safe. On nights where you two were able to just snuggle up, nothing could buzz in your mind. Anxious thoughts disappeared, even the ones that seemed to be a constant in the back of your brain. There was nothing but a warmness in your mind and a beam of love in your heart.

“Hey, baby?” You heard Mike ask softly, his voice cracking from his sleepiness. You were broken from your train of thought by this, looking up at the man with the sleepy eyes. “Hm?” You hummed in response, your eyes fluttering, but he couldn’t see due to the lack of light. Mike sat up, pulling you up with him as he grabbed your hands, both of your faces now lit up by the light peeking through the cracks in your curtain.

“I- I know we don’t get nights like these much, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m never home, I’m sorry you have to do so much for you and Abby alone. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess with Freddy’s, got you involved in so much of this,” he said, his voice seeping with sadness and regret. His eyes held an even softer emotion than they did earlier, one that felt like a knife to your chest. “Most importantly, I’m sorry I can’t be the boyfriend I should be. I mean, we should be spending our nights out at clubs, going out on special dates and vacations, and I hate that I’m unable to give you that,” he sniffled, a tear now falling down his eye.

You leaned forward, a frown on your lips as your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes locked on his as you placed your hand on his cheek, wiping away the tear with your thumb as you shook your head. Mike’s own two much larger hands were now placed on both of your cheeks as he continued. “But listen, Y/N, I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone, okay? I- I’m not good at this shit, I know I’m not. I’m clumsy and I’m bad at emotions. I don’t always know what I want or what I need, but I know I don’t only want you, but I need you. You came into my life and you brightened it where it was the darkest. You brought happiness back, you made me understand what joy was again, what it was like to feel.. complete. You saved me, but..” he trailed off again, full on tears falling down his cheeks now. “Most importantly, you saved Abby, made her feel whole again too, gave her somethin’ like a mother, something I couldn’t give her,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. Before he could say another word, you wrapped around arms around him, pulling him into a massive bear hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, your mind not even focused on the salty tears and the snotty nose that was leaned up against your shoulder. Your hands rubbing his back as you kissed the top of his head.

“Oh, baby..” you whispered softly, squeezing him like if you let go he’d disappear. “You know I love you so much too…” you finished, pulling his face up by his chin, pressing a soft, gentle but electric kiss to his lips. The two of you then settled back into bed, curling up in each other’s arms as he played with your hair, occasionally leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, small sniffles still leaving his nose from the emotional moment. He was right, it was rare you got moments like these together, but when you did, you cherished them. It took about thirty minutes of sweet nothings and cuddles before the two of you drifted off, in your own little dream worlds filled with many nights like these.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #michael schmidt #michael schmidt x reader

1K notes · View notes

moonshynecybin · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, new to motogp and i’m a sucker for friends to enemies to lovers and relationships drama and pain so obviously i love marc/vale, i am also think marc is fascinating, but I haven’t found much info detailed info vale’s smear campaign against him/his media savvyness/his entire personality, like i think i grasp the bare bones but, are there any tumblr essay that are required reading to you? Also any good posts about this arm injury (aside for the documentary that i will be watching this weekend)

i love arm. ummmm his documentary is pretty much the story. like the central conceit/plot of the whole damn thing is to chart this latest operation on the injury he sustained in jerez 2020 its GONNA give you most of the information on that. now, that being said. marc is a liar sometimes, so i'm gonna try and gather some resources that might give a better idea on where his arm is NOW, because its something he kind of contradicts himself about !

simon patterson interview with The Race podcast: shockingly candid tbh. i think lil homie was having a bit of a crisis. standing on the edge of a cliff facing down possibly the end of his career. what if the move to gresini sucks ass kinda moment. couching his chances this year pretty aggressively. he ALSO says some stuff about how fucked up his arm still is that hes since tried to mildly walk back cuz hes funny. anyways because im insane i transcribed it:

SP: Did you have to switch teams this season? Did you have to change to something that gave you more of a chance to win after the last few years after how difficult everything has been? MM: Yeah, of course if I change teams its because it was something that I need. And yeah, of course it was a risky movement, but at the same time it was a movement thinking on my career, not on results in a short time. Its like thinking if I have the motivation, if I’m competitive again. You know, I had— three years ago, four years ago I had a very big injury, a hard injury in the arm. And yeah, now its working well, but still is not— I mean its the arm that you open four times. If you ask to a doctor, of course its performing in a good way, but its not the same arm. But I have many question marks inside my head. So, the best way to answer to myself is— do what I want. And yeah, its a risky movement. Why? Because the comfortable movement is to stay where I was, with my people, with my friends, with a big salary, the project. But I decided to jump to a new project and at the moment we will see if I can answer the many questions that I have. SP: It sounds like the reason you did it, the questions you have to answer are all for yourself. It's not about– MM: No, no no no– it's just for me. Because for me— I say many times in my interviews— if I don't feel competitive– and competitive doesn't mean win or win, it means be in that top five top six, and yeah five four podiums, five four victories. Win a championship is super difficult. And especially it becomes more and more difficult when the years are passing and the younger [people] are coming. So the life is the life and every athlete has his moment, and then step by step it goes down. But yeah I need to feel again competitive to continue with my career. Especially these last four years, has been, I mean– has been a nightmare, but is like it has passed super quick. The other years I was competing. I mean in the last four years I’ve completed half the championship, because I had many injuries, so now I need to find this stability, this pace. To start to create again a good base to fight for some races to the top positions— this is my intention. But to fight for the championship? This is something that still I’m not ready for. SP: You said that you learned a lot, during all of this. Is there things that have made you better? Are there things that youre gonna come back now with like new skills because of the experience? MM: No. I will not be better than before. Because– Yeah, maybe I have more experience, but before I was 100% in physical condition, and I was fresh. People say ‘No, he will come back stronger.’ When you have an injury, of course it's— injury is an injury. When you have an injury like two, three years, you lose the rhythm, you lose the feeling sometimes. And then it's super difficult to repeat all those things. But especially because your body— I mean they say the body is super smart, it can adapt. The body is super smart to adapt to new things, but it also is smart to remember what’s going on there. So yeah. I will be different, maybe— but not better.

theres also this similar quote from jan 2023:

theres also this recent statement from mat oxley talking about his arm and his sort of. show no weakness when it can be used against you philosophy

SO. following with that observation. he's started also kinda. being more noncommittal and vague in interviews/presscons now that he senses blood in the water. show no weakness expose no underbelly type stuff. so theres this in preseason which is actually around the same time as the patterson interview where he's still couching it a bit but hes also very adamant that his arm is working:

and then the BIG change comes around mugello this year, when he was fishing HARD for that ducati 2025 seat and changed his tune uh. QUITE a bit:

finally just some posts psychoanalyzing his ass about arm/injury, MOST of which are fairly recent. here, here, here, here, here, and here. ive also aggregated some recs for content good for learning about him in general here! go with god

#as for the rest of it. kind of a big ask i would recommend just goin through my marc tag and vegging outtttt #but in the meantime as meredith brooks says: hes a bitch hes a lover hes a child hes a mother #callie speaks #motogp #marc marquez #him and vale both use the press as this fun little tool akjsdfl

76 notes · View notes

di-42 · 29 days ago

Text

October's Oh, Wow! Fictions

Only WIPs and fairly short stories this month, hopefully I'll have more time next month. But a lovely selection of them, nonetheless! If you are checking out this list, don't let yourself be fooled by the number of kudos some of the fictions received: there are some real gems among these recs that for some obscure reason don't get the interaction they deserve, be the person who looks past the numbers!

As always, I'll tag the tumblr usernames I know, if you are on this list and you'd rather I didn't please let me know!

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon (Rated E, chapters 13/?)

I swear, every time I get a notification for a new chapter of this fiction, I do a little jump. I can't wait to have a little break to start drinking their words. This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Human enemies-to-lovers where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but, while we know they do from the beginning, we don't know what it is. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies.

You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula (Rated E, chapters 16/?)

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP And I Did (Rated E, chapters 12/15)

This is a story about faith. This is a story about love. This is a story about loss. This is a story about being apart and about being reunited. This is a story about fighting. This is a story about choices.

Where do we choose to place our faith? Will a god we have faith in come and save us? Will a friend? A loved one?

When do we start doubting our faith? How long before we snap, before we raise our head? How far can we go before we crumble under the weight of our own misplaced faith? Under the weight of our choices?

What does it take to make us feel betrayed, abandoned, left behind? What does it take for us to turn our back on what in which we had faith?

Who are we loyal to, and who is loyal to us? Who do we trust, and who trusts us?

What are we ready to risk in the name of faith? What are we ready to lose in the name of loyalty?

When are we going to take our lives into our own hands? What are we going to fight for?

This is a story about unbreakable faith. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

OR:

Yet another Good Omens post season 2 fiction.

Complete works:

Be Still, My Love, Be Still, by entanglednow (rated E, 26,766 words)

AU where Aziraphale is a human and Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon. Aziraphale is hit by spells of sleep paralysis and is curious about the man shaped being he sees in his room when he's in between sleep and wake, when his eyes are open, but he can't move a muscle. So, he does the thing any decent human being would do, he introduces himself. and leaves books around for Crowley to read. Oh, this fiction was so good. Potential for great angst, but with a beautiful happy ending. All my comments from chapter 1 to 5 read something on the lines of: "I'm going to cry so hard, god, I'm going to cry so hard." My comment on chapter 6 was: "I knew I would cry, but I cried happy tears." This is an E rated fiction where Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon, please read the tags and notes and mind as you go.

Until (Little) Death Do Us Part by Mimsynims (Rated E, 30,066 words)

Follow up to the equally great A Little Help From A Fiend, this story is hot, funny, and fluffy. And it has a happy ending. Aziraphale has summoned a demon. For reasons I won't spoil, this demon is accompanying him to a wedding in Paris as his plus one. Need I add more? Of course it's only for the weekend. This could never last. Crowley is a demon, after all.

Pay Per View, by IneffableToreshi (rated E, 22,050 words)

Set after season 1. Aziraphale has an event to attend in Canada and asks Crowley to accompany him. Crowley is delighted to oblige of course, until some additional reasons for Aziraphale's trip emerge. This story features fanon!Crowley at his best! The fiction goes from tender to heartbreaking to smutty in a heartbeat and it's great.

Something Good And Right And Real by @foolishlovers (Rated T, 30,884 words)

Lovely, delicate human AU where Crowley is a famous singer tired of fame and being on the road. He goes back to his hometown of Tadfield for a break, and there he finds something he thought he had lost forever. This is a story about love, about friendship, about finding a home and about happiness.

One shots:

One Conversation And Several Moments, by Angelica_Tree (Rated Teen, 3311 words).

This lovely fiction is set after season 1 and is not season 2 compliant. After the failed Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley are free to be themselves and to be together, but after spending 6000 years avoiding certain subjects, some conversation may be difficult to start. Or, in Crowley's case, difficult to take part in with ore than a monosyllable and a blink every couple of hours. Aziraphale is not deferred, of course. Sweet and funny in equal measure!

You Can Stay In My Bed, If You Like, by AppleSeeds (rated Teen, 3294 words)

Lovely human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley wake up together in Crowley's bed after Aziraphale's birthday party. Alcohol was involved. And Gabriel. Should they be alarmed? Mortified? Thrilled? Did anything happen? Let's find out while the two roommates snuggle a little closer to each other.

Will You Ever Stop Surprising Me? by @curiouspupsicle (Rated M, 1,077 words)

This fiction is a little gem. Set in a hypothetical future after our heroes averted the apocalypse again, it focuses on Crowley wondering if he might ever get bored of life on earth with Aziraphale. and then spending the rest of the story trying to catch up with all the ways the angel still surprises him. In the words of the writer, this is a story about Aziraphale being sex-positive. But it's that and so much more. It's joyful, it's clever, it's funny. The characterisation is spot on. I would have loved to have more of these two in this fiction!

A Little Help From A Fiend, by Mimsynims (Rated E, 2,615 words)

Sweet, funny, and, goodness me, so hot! What more can you ask of a fiction? AU where Aziraphale is human and in need of help, so of course he decides to summon a demon, who wouldn't? Did I mention it's hot? The just as good follow up to this fiction is also on this list in the multichapter section.

The Chains That Freed Us, by angelsnuffbox (MrsCaulfield) (Rated E, 6,747 words)

Set during the event of season 1. Crowley accidentally finds a way to go back in time and when and where would he accidentally go if not to 1793 in Paris? smut and sweetness ensue.

The Exponent Of Breath, by possibilityleft (Rated Teen, 8,566 words) Edit to add tag @possibility-left

This is another absolute gem that I loved so much this month! It shows us moments in time when Aziraphale and Crowley have attended weddings. It's a mix of past, future, better times, warm feelings and happiness. Deep and beautiful. Some fictions you can clearly put it into words why you liked them, and some just speak to you at a deeper level, they just touch something inside you, and this is one of those.

My own one shot, An Angel And A Demon Go To A Halloween Party, (Rated E, 4,575 words)

Just a silly little thing to try my hand at smut (and end up in fluff. And a little humour, hopefully.)

Art:

Good Omens Art Therapy To Get Me Over Season 2 by Beet_Feet (Rated G)

Amazing Good Omens drawings and paintings, check them out!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic recs #good omens fanfiction rec #good omens fanfiction recs #good omens fiction #good omens fic rec #good omens fic #october's fiction #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #human au #good omens human au #one shot #short fiction

55 notes · View notes

feelmyskinonyourskin · 1 year ago

Text

Fight Club

Pairing: Matt Murdock x (AFAB)Reader (with platonic Frank Castle x Reader)

Summary: @hellskitchenswhore is killing it with the prompts lately. Per her request: Matt's freaking out thinking you might be cheating on him because for the last few weeks, you’ve been coming home smelling like Frank. What he doesn’t know is that you asked Frank to teach you how to fight and didn’t tell Matt.

Warnings: 18+/SMUT. No use of Y/N. Female/AFAB reader (use of terms like girlfriend and female anatomy.) Established relationship. Brief mention of an active shooter at an office, Frank and Matt using pet names like sweetheart, mentions and accusations of cheating but no actual cheating, Unprotected sex, Fingering, P in V, Creampie, and Possessiveness from our dear Matt. Sort of getting caught after the fact.

Notes: I started taking kickboxing like three weeks ago, so I like to pretend that qualifies me to know what I'm talking about (It doesn't lol). So apologizes if I got any of the terminology wrong. UPDATE DEC 2023: I wrote an alternate ending to this fic that ends in a threeway with Frank that you can read here

WC: 5,000

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

“That’s it sweetheart, last round I promise.” Frank encourages you as you take swings at the bag in front of you.

You’ve been at this for at least an hour and your arms feel like jello. You can’t remember the last time you were breathing this hard that wasn’t from Matt bending you in half. Jumping directly into the Hudson would have kept you drier than the amount of sweat currently pouring down your face and exhausted body.

“Atta girl, atta girl!” Frank praises as you take your last few swings, arms too weak to make any real movement of the bag

“Alright, you’re getting the hang of it now. Few more sessions and you’ll be out there with Red every night.”

“Pfft I don’t know about that, Frank. I’m just trying to make sure I can protect myself is all.”

“So remind me again why you didn’t ask him to teach you this?”

It started last week. One of your favorite coworkers was going through a bitter divorce and her estranged husband decided to confront her at the office and pulled a gun. You heard two shots ring out from your desk and feared the worst - all the active shooter situations you'd seen on TV were happening live in your life. Fortunately, as you fled for safety, Jerry from accounting was able to disarm and tackle the guy before he could hurt anyone thanks to his black belt in Jiujitsu.

Even though the incident ended okay, it had spooked you enough to get yourself some defense classes, for all those times when your vigilante boyfriend was too far uptown to protect you at a moment’s notice and Jerry wasn’t around to save the day.

Matt was always overprotective of you and you hated to think how he’d react to the incident, so you hadn’t told him. When the story hit the news, you lied (via text so he couldn’t detect it) and said it happened on a different floor and you didn’t even notice.

You also didn’t tell him about your decision to learn self-defense. Matt was more than qualified to teach you, but for some reason, you just didn’t feel comfortable asking for his help with this. Maybe it was his propensity to throw himself into helping those he cared about, you especially, that gave you hesitation to give him another thing to prioritize over himself. Maybe it was just how good he was at fighting that made you not want to “be a beginner” in front of him (not that Matt would ever judge you about anything.)

In fairness to you, you hadn’t intended to learn it from his frenemy and former client, but you’d showed up at the boxing gym near your work and the gruff men inside intimidated you so much, you bolted out the door before signing up for a class, tears welling in your eyes when you quite literally bumped into Frank on the street.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, nodding towards the door of the boxing gym

“I thought… Look I want to learn how to fight. Or at least how to defend myself. This place is close to work but um… might not be the right fit for me.”

“Why don’t you just ask Red?”

“It’s a long story,” you replied with a sigh “but I really don’t want to ask him. Or for him to even know about it. So can you please not mention you saw me here or we had this conversation?”

“Okay, can I ask why not?”

“You can but I’m not gonna answer.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head

“Well if you want to learn to fight, this isn’t the best place. I know Vinny the owner and he’s a shit teacher. But if you want to learn for real, I’m happy to teach you.”

“What? Wait really? Wait, Frank you know how to fight?”

“Sweetheart, I was a Marine for over 15 years, ‘course I know how to fight.”

“And you’d do that for me?”

“Course. You’re Red's girl. What times’ he leave for his little night job?”

“9:00”

“Great, meet me here at 9:30. Tonight.”

And that was how you ended up here, collapsing on the gym mat beneath you with a groan.

“Not bad for your first time. We just gotta get you in the habit of resetting your hands after every hit, and you’ll be golden” Frank praises again

“Oh yeah, I forgot, always protect the face so I don’t end up lookin like you.” you jest

“Ouch” he feigns hurt with a smirk on his face “Red teach you to swing low like that?”

“Nah Castle, that’s all me. It’s part of why he loves me. Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure. See you then.”

By the time Matt returns home, you’re showered and in bed, sore muscles pulsing every time you twist and turn in your sleep. Between the smell of sweaty clothes in the hamper and the scent of your freshly washed skin rubbing against silk sheets, plus the heat radiating off your sore muscles as he crawls into bed silently beside you, Matt figures it out pretty quickly.

‘She started going back to the gym. Hmm. Have to ask her about that in the morning.’ he thinks as he drifts off beside you.

You awake in the morning to gentle hands rubbing at your back.

“Mmm morning Matty” you mumble, still pulling yourself out of sleep

“Morning sweetheart.”

“What are you doing?” you ask as he works a little lower down your spine

“Giving you a massage. I can tell you’re sore. When did you start going back to the gym?”

“Just yesterday. And you’re right I’m super sore. Thank you, this is a nice way to start my day.”

“Of course sweetheart. What gym did you go to? Did you have fun?” he inquires

His innocent prodding has you waking fully quickly, trying to cover your tracks without outright lying and getting caught.

“Oh this gym near work. Couple people in the office recommended it. And yeah I had fun.”

All truths.

“That’s nice. Mmmm do you want to start the coffee or shower first?” he asks, seemingly letting the subject go

Perfect.

As you rush around to get ready for work, Matt grabs the laundry hamper from the bathroom, walking it over to the washing machine. Your dirty workout clothes from the night before sit on top, now less potent that they have completely dried. But he can’t help but feel like something smells off.

Sure it smells like you - natural scent mixed with your fading sweat, but there’s something else. Something familiar. A very subtle hint of spiciness mixed with… is that gunpowder?

‘Weird’ Matt thinks to himself, but brushes it off a moment later, the smell not strong enough to really garner more than a passing thought.

But three times he does the laundry in a row, he smells it. It’s so subtle, he might not even give it another thought, but it’s just so damn familiar.

It takes another week for him to ask you about it.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ve been going to the gym a lot lately,” he mentions over dinner

“Mmmhmm. Yeah, can you feel my muscles growing? I’m feeling stronger.” you reply

“Yeah. What exactly are you doing at the gym? It’s really working.”

“Oh a little cardio, a little strength, you know…” you skirt around, being intentionally vague

“That’s good. Is it like a class or?”

“Um sort of. Just this guy at the gym, he’s been helping me. You know, walking me through the exercises.”

Also technically the truth.

“That’s good. Well, I’m glad you found something you like.”

‘Okay, so that guy must smell like this. She’s close enough to him in a warm sweaty gym, so there’s a little bit on her clothes. Makes sense.’ Matt thinks to himself. But he still can’t shake the feeling that that smell is so familiar.

Two weeks later, Matt is out on patrol when he hears a familiar heartbeat on the fire escape a few floors down from where he’s perched.

Frank.

“You just gonna sit there all night, listinin’ Red?” Frank asks

“Very funny Frank.” Matt says, hopping down to Frank’s level

“Haven’t seen you in a while” Matt comments

“Been busy. Madani’s been usin’ me more.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re going legit Frank.”

“Not a shot in hell, Red. But gotta pay the bills somehow.”

And then a strong breeze blows. Frank’s signature blend of sweat, aftershave, and metallic mixed with gunpowder from all the weapons he handles overwhelms Matt’s nose. Matt cocks his head in confusion. It’s so damn familiar. But of course it is, it’s Frank. How many times has Matt been on a rooftop with him like this, bs-ing the night away while monitoring the city?

After catching up for a bit, they go their separate ways, the rest of Matt’s evening turning uneventful.

He returns home to you shortly after 3 am, your soft breathing as you sleep calms him as he strips off his suit.

You hadn’t met with Frank tonight. He said something about following a lead and you were perfectly fine with that, you needed an off day.

Matt curls up in bed beside you, resting his head on your back and falling asleep quickly.

The next night, Frank is really putting you through your paces and you swear you’re ready to collapse when he finally calls it for the night.

Per usual, Frank offers to walk you home when you’re done and for the first time since you started coming here, you accept the offer since you stayed a bit later than usual tonight. At least until you can make it to Hell’s Kitchen and within range of Matt.

You and Frank make small talk as you go and eventually, the chill of the autumn air has you shivering in your still-damp-from-sweat workout clothes.

“Here sweetheart,” Frank says with a lopsided smirk, slinging his worn jacket over your shoulders.

“Thank you Castle. Always a gentleman.”

“Course, ‘specially for Red’s girl.”

You make it to 35th and 10th, close enough to home and hand his jacket back to him, parting ways with a nod and a polite “goodnight.”

The later hour coupled with the particularly intense session has you collapsing into bed without even removing your shoes, let alone your gym clothes.

When Matt returns a few hours later, the smell hits him like a truck.

‘I swear to god Frank, if you’re bleeding on my couch again…’ Matt thinks to himself.

But when he enters the apartment the only heartbeat he can hear is yours. He inches slowly toward the bedroom and rolls the door open gently. He reaches down to feel the soft lycra of your leggings on your body, careful not to stir you from your slumber. The smell of your sweat clinging to your clothes fills his senses, way more potent than normal plus that other scent you’re bringing home from the gym. Matt pauses to wonder why he thought Frank was here but then it hits him.

Oh my god. The mystery smell from the gym you’ve been bringing home is Frank.

But how could you smell like…

And then the gears in his head start turning. And he feels like a goddamn idiot.

You had been going to the gym. But not to work out. You were cheating. With Frank of all people. And you’d made the critical error of not showering when you got home.

Matt begins to pace the apartment, rubbing at his chin as his thoughts move a million miles a minute about what to do.

Did he confront you? Did he confront Frank?! What should he even say?

The sun rises and he’s still pacing and contemplating when his alarm rings out. He shuts it off before it can wake you too. He needs more time to think about his next move. He gets ready for work quietly and slips out the door before you awake.

You find it odd you haven’t heard from Matt all day. When you woke up you saw his Devil suit in a heap in the living room and there was no damage to it or blood on it. So you knew he had come home and was relatively okay. But it was so odd for him to leave without a goodbye kiss or go this long in the day without so much as a text. But he had been busy with a heavy caseload lately. You finally break shortly after lunch and text him first.

“Hey Matty. Know you’re busy but I miss you and I love you. Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t. Working late. Don’t wait up.” He responds

That was… oddly curt. But again you figure he’s stressed and busy.

Matt on the other hand has been wracked with stress all day. It only took an hour of his constant pacing and fidgeting for Foggy to break and finally ask.

“Matt. What’s up?”

“I think… I think I’m being cheated on.” Matt confesses. He leaves the Frank part out of the equation, wanting Foggy to be as objective as possible about his response.

“What could possibly make you think that?”

“She’s been going to the gym like every night for a month now right when I leave for patrol and she came home last night smelling like… another man. And she’s been smelling like it a little the whole month but last night it was all over her”

“So did you ask her?”

“Well no but…”

“Matt you are literally a human lie detector and yet here you are jumping to conclusions instead of doing the rational thing and just asking her.”

And maybe Matt would have taken Foggy’s advice if he thought you were just cheating with your gym trainer. But this was Frank. And that made it all the more complicated.

Matt decides finally what he’s going to do. He’s going to follow you tonight, catch you in the act and confront both of you together.

Matt still hadn’t come home when you depart for your nightly workout session, but little did you know he’s there. Pacing on the roof, waiting for you to leave. As soon as he hears the lobby door shut behind you, he springs in to action, taking the stairs two at a time into the apartment and changing out of his lawyer suit and into his devil suit as quickly as possible, making sure not to lose your heartbeat now a block and a half away. He makes up for the lost distance quickly and is practically on top of you by the time you enter the gym.

“Hey Frank” you call out as you enter

“Hey. I’ll be over in a second.” he replies from the locker rooms

Matt crouches down by the side of the building, just close enough to the windows to hear everything going on inside.

You’re almost done wrapping your hands when Frank emerges from the locker room.

“Alright let’s start with our usual, then you can have a go at me again.”

“I don’t know Frank. You really wore me out last night. I woke up still in my clothes and shoes.”

Matt knew it. He fucking knew it.

“Tough shit sweetheart,” Frank responds with a chuckle. “And what did your boyfriend think about that huh? He got any idea what we’re doing here yet?”

“Honestly I don’t know. I didn’t see or hear from him at all today. Which is weird even for him. And no I don’t think he’s figured it out yet.”

“You’re gonna have to tell him eventually”

“No, I don’t”

“So what you’re just gonna keep sneakin’ around, becoming a prize fighter without him gettin’ suspicious? Shit even a regular guy would raise some alarm bells by now, but especially Red and all his … shit”

“Frank, I am not here trying to become a prize fighter. I’m just trying to get strong enough to defend myself if he’s not around to do it. That’s all”

Matt’s heart drops.

How could he possibly think you were cheating? And with Frank of all people. He felt like an idiot. Like a total asshole. Sure you had lied, well, technically withheld the truth and he’s sure you’ll explain why. And he’s hurt if you wanted to learn to fight that you didn’t come to him. But this was not nearly as egregious a stain on your relationship as he thought it was.

“I don’t know. Think you should tell him. Show him your moves. Shit, you’ve gotten a couple good hits on me these last few days I’m sure you could give Red a run for his money.”

“I am not fighting Matt, Francis.” You say with an eye roll

Matt listens for the next hour as Frank talks you through a few hitting drills, then the two of you sparring. Frank is clearly taking it easy on you, but Matt is still impressed by what he could tell of what you were doing. He absolutely would need to take you on to really gauge your skills.

Franks's phone rings out just as you’re cooling down with some stretches.

He answers and speaks for a few minutes.

“Alright sorry to jet out of here but Madani has somethin urgent for me. You good to get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks Frank. See you tomorrow.”

Frank gives you a fist bump and then disappears through the front door. Matt uses the opportunity to sneak in just before the door slams closed behind Frank.

You’re sitting on the floor undoing your wraps as he finally speaks up.

“If you wanted to opportunity to hit Frank, I’m sure I could have arranged it some other way”

Your spine goes icy cold at the sound of the voice behind you.

“Matt… I” you stumble to explain.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Matt says, hands up in surrender before reaching up to remove his mask

“What are you doing here?” You ask, ready for him to chew you out for your little secret.

“Alright if I’m honest, do you promise you’ll be honest?” He asks

“Yes.”

“I followed you here because I thought you were cheating. With Frank. And I know now that’s not what’s happening. And I’m sorry for not just asking you.” He confesses with a sigh

“Oh Matt. I’m so sorry that I did anything to make you think that. That’s not at all what’s happening here.”

“I know. Been listening all night so I know. But I have to know why. Why are you doing this and why didn’t you tell me? And Frank? Really?”

“It’s a long story. Can I tell you while we walk home?”

And so you do. By the time you make it home to your apartment, you’ve come clean about the incident at work and running into Frank and how he’d been coaching you the last few weeks, and why you were so hesitant to ask Matt to be the one to do it.

Matt is oddly quiet through your explanation but nods as you speak. He finally speaks up just as you’re unlocking the front door.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t ask me. But now that I know, I am curious…”

“You want to see how much I’ve learned?”

He nods enthusiastically

“Fine. I guess since now you know you can join us tomorrow. If you want.”

“Perfect, I’ll be there”

He tucks you in to bed with a gentle kiss before heading out on patrol again, no longer clouded by doubts about your relationship.

—

When you arrive at the gym the next night, Matt is already there, looking extra adorable in his gray sweatpants and messy hair.

It’s all so familiar to him - the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the smell of sweat and heat, the gym mat sticking beneath his bare feet with every step. Just like Fogwells when he was a kid. He feels at home here.

“Hey sweetheart” he greets you with a kiss

“Hey Matty” you can’t help but smile whenever you see him after a long day “Frank texted me, he’s running late, but um do you want to help me warm up?”

Matt’s face lights up with excitement. “Yes. Okay. What does Frank normally have you do?”

“Two rounds of jab crosses on the bag. Three minutes each.”

“Okay, have at it”

You wrap your hands and begin hitting the bag. Not even thirty seconds in, Matt speaks up.

“Woah woah woah. Frank has been letting you hit like this and not correcting your form?”

“Yes. Wait, what the hell is wrong with my form?”

“You’re too far away from the bag. I can hear your shoulder joint rubbing every time you jab, which means you’re over-extending that left arm. Makes you put way too much energy into each hit, you’re gonna wear yourself out way faster. Here. Step closer.”

Matt moves behind you to help you correct your position, then lets you take a few more punches.

“See? More power, less effort.”

“Yeah. Any other pointers?”

Matt places his hands on your shoulders and places his feet right beside yours, pressing his body tight against your back. You never thought of boxing as particularly erotic, especially not with Frank teaching you. But with Matt’s breath against your ear, you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine straight to your core.

“Go ahead, gimme a few more, I want to feel how your body moves. See just what else Frank has been teaching you wrong.”

“Matt…” the words die on your lips. You want to speak up and defend how kind Frank has been these past few weeks to spend the time to teach you, but Matt’s sweet whisper of encouragement has you forgetting anything else but him.

“C’mon sweetheart, don’t get all shy on me. You hesitate like this for Frank?”

“N..no.” you stutter, then weakly throw out a few more punches

Matt chuckles, knowing just how much he’s winding you up with so little.

“Put a little more power behind them. Don’t let me being here hold you back.”

You try to do as he says and throw some real hits, but Matt is still pressed right against you.

God, his body is warm usually, but being flush behind you as you move and hit, he practically feels like white-hot iron against you. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, and it’s not just from the few minutes of warming up you’ve done. You know Matt can hear it and is going to play you like a fiddle. His own wicked form of punishment for not telling him about your training.

His hands drop from your shoulders, running down your back lightly and coming to rest on your hips. He plants a soft kiss right under your ear.

“You’ve been working hard. Maybe Frank does know what he’s doing.”

He places a second kiss a little lower down your neck.

“You throw any actual punches at him yet?” he asks

“A few. Landed some of them too.”

A third, fourth, and fifth kiss down your neck, working his way toward your shoulder. His stubble is coarse against your skin, sending goosebumps across your flesh, your toes curling into the squishy mat beneath you.

“Mmm that’s my girl.” he says, as he begins sucking on your neck, his right hand snaking around to your front, tickling at the top of your leggings.

“Matty” you chastise

“What?” he feigns ignorance

“Matthew. Do not start something you can’t finish. Frank will be here any minute.”

“You said he’d be late.”

“His text said ‘a few minutes’ and that was already several minutes ago.”

“Well I can’t hear his heartbeat yet, so we’ve got at least five.”

You want to protest more, you really do, but you just can’t resist Matt.

Laughing low, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his steady breath against your exposed skin a stark contrast to the growing labor of your exhales. You spread your legs a little wider. He takes the invitation and reaches his hand fully into your leggings, using a finger to circle your sensitive bud.

You throw your head back onto his chest with a moan, his name falling from your lips in a breathy whisper.

He continues to suck on your neck as works at your core, finally sliding a finger inside you, then another.

You reach forward to grab the boxing bag for stability, Matt’s touch causing you to writhe enough that you’re not sure you’re able to stay standing without it. As you thrash against him, he inhales deeply, a mix of your natural scent and your arousal consuming his lungs.

In order to get you exactly where he wants you, he keeps a quick pace, knowing he does not have a lot of time. His rhythm never falters, stroking you over and over in that perfect spongy spot inside you. It’s not long before you're coming apart with a cry of his name.

Just as your head stops spinning and you’re returning to earth, Matt is turning you around and connecting his lips with yours. So hungry to have you, he guides you back a few steps, never breaking his lips from yours, and pushes you against the wall behind you.

His kisses grow more and more desperate, sending an electric tingle down your spine, though that could also be because the wall behind you is made of mirrors and the glass is cool against the heated skin not protected by your sports bra.

As soon as you make contact with the wall, his hands are back on your hips, pushing your leggings and panties down in a heap on the sticky mat beneath you. His clothes soon follow.

You throw your leg up and around his hip, opening yourself to him. An offer he quickly accepts. A soft gasp simultaneously escapes both your lips, the relief between the two of you as he guides himself slowly into your wet and eager core until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Restless fingers reach down to wrap your other leg around him, now fully holding you in the air against the mirrored wall behind you.

He repeats the pace of his fingers only moments ago and slams into you harshly and quickly, over and over again, desperate to feel you release around him again, knowing Frank could appear at any moment.

God, your familiar warm heat is absolute perfection, he thinks as he continues to bury himself into you over and over again. You’re still incredibly worked up from your previous climax and it takes just a few thrusts for you to be close again. The way your body is clamping around him and tensing lets him know just how close to ecstasy you are again.

Matt leans forward and you can feel his quickening breath against your ear once more.

“Damnit sweetheart, you scared me so bad. Made me think I was sharing you with someone else.” he grunts as he continues to drive his hips against yours.

“No Matty. I’m yours. Only yours — oh God. I promise.” you whimper back, arching into him further.

“Good. But to make sure you don’t forget, I’m gonna cum inside you, right now and every single night before you leave. So I’m dripping out of you after every hit, every kick. No matter how much Frank trains you. So you remember exactly who. You. Belong to.” he growls lowly against your skin, pushing you even more firmly against the cool glass with every thrust.

“Yes. Please Matt — Fuck. I’m all yours. I promise. Please.”

He thrusts one more time before he cums with a rumble of your name, his arms tightening around you, holding you impossibly close as he releases inside you just as he promised.

As he grinds against you in just the right way to hit that perfect spot one more time, your own orgasm sweeps over you. Your nails dig into his back, holding on to him as you let go, his harsh thrusts now slowed just enough so he can keep the both of you upright.

He feels you release, causing a final low groan from him, slowing down his pace, as your molten pleasure fades away. Still consumed by him and the feel of him holding you close, you lean your head back to rest against the mirror behind you as you catch your breath. Just as you feel like fully slumping against him, he sets you down gently.

You don't even really register him pulling away from you until he speaks.

“Might want to put your pants back on. Frank’s a block away and I don’t think you want him to know how I warmed you up before he got here.”

You open your eyes and see that Matt is already dressed, a smirk painted across his face as he listens to you scramble to put your clothes on.

Just as you’re adjusting your leggings back in to place, Frank and his large frame enter the gym.

“Hey –” he pauses at the sight of you and Matt in front of him, both sweaty and still panting a little.

“Hmmm. Guess Red knows now.” Frank grumbles

But then his eyes go wide.

“You wanna tell me what that’s about?” he asks with a point of his finger.

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you turn behind you to see what he’s asking about. The mirror is covered in smudges that look vaguely like the outline shape of your body.

“We don’t talk about what happens at fight club…” Matt jokes as you bury your face in your hands in embarrassment.

My Masterlist

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #frank castle #frank castle x reader #charlie cox #nmcu fic #mcu fic #daredevil fic #matt murdock x you #marvel daredevil #daredevil imagine

611 notes · View notes

strwberri-milk · 2 years ago

Note

Just read one of your ao3 fics and immediately came here. Could you possibly do Kaeya's first reaction to reader squirting for the first time?

ooo nice!! i didnt konw if people would really see my tumblr from my ao3 so im glad to hear that <33 also i. literally just accidentally posted this so people who sent asks before this/a few days ago YES i have your asks i just forgot to save this as a draft im sorry ;-;

One thing about Kaeya is he is incredibly diligent in whatever he does. He does everything to 100%, even if it doesn't seem like it. What his priorities are is an entirely different matter.

This is doubly so whenever it comes to you. He adores you with every fiber of his being, loving to be around you and spend time with you and learn what makes you laugh and smile. Making you happy is the only thing he thinks he's okay with doing for the rest of his life.

When you first began to spend nights at his place he liked to try and rile you up, see what kinds of things get you going and how to make you a flustered mess. It was a fun past time of his and he really quite enjoyed it.

Once you started having sex with him you realised fully the true extent of his devotion to you. He used his body to make you melt under his hold, desperate for more and more of him. It didn't matter how much you pushed against him, as long as you didn't tell him no, he had no issues working over the edge over and over again.

His favourite was to see how much overstimulation you could take after a bout of edging before the only thing you could say was his name, body shaking as sweat ran down your skin that he couldn't help but kiss. The way your hands trembled in his as he held you could make him rock hard in an instant, gently nosing against you with the light ask of "again?" in that soft husky voice you could never resist.

All of his experimentation paid off one night in a big way, and the only way you could describe his reaction was excited. You knew in you'd never rest again after this joint discovery, but the way he pulled you into his chest made you not mind too much.

"Fuck, you're doing so good," Kaeya pants into your ear, ramming into your used hole over and over.

Your nails are scratching against his chest, pressed up against him in a way that would be uncomfortable were it not for him stealing any coherent thought you could have with the way he's fucking you. It's endless, almost maddening but you can't help the way your body reacts. His hands hold your hips still, forcing you to take whatever it is he wants to give you as your knees weakly rest against his waist.

"Mmn, Kaeya -" you keen, feeling another orgasm beginning to crest.

He was fighting for this one, feeling you on the precipice for a while now but for some reason, he wasn't yet able to push you over the edge. Now that it was coming again, he had to just have it. Your walls were clenching so tightly over him and you were biting your lip again, trying to hide your moans from him but he would just have to ignore it for now.

Kaeya is relentless, sitting up and pushing your thigh towards your chest so he can mount you better, watching as your body bounces against the sheets hungrily. There's nothing he loves the sight of more and when your expression begins to shift he knows he has you.

He fucks you through the orgasm, chasing his own peak as he feels your arousal soak his pelvis. The sound you make and the feeling is so erotic it makes him cum on the spot, almost collapsing onto you as his hips continue grinding into you slowly.

"You fucking squirted," he huffs into your ear, almost offended you held out on him.

"Why are you mad at me?!" you retort, brain too fuzzy to think right as you smack his face in retaliation.

"Have you never done that before?" You shake your head and an evil grin spreads across his face as he flips you over, pulling your back into an arch as he manages to get his half-hard cock inside of you.

"Really? I'll see how many times I can make you do it then," he practically growls at you, brutal pace starting up again.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut

702 notes · View notes

mmmichyyy · 11 months ago

Text

🌸 gallavich fic rec list 🌸

welcome to my 2023 fic rec list! i went through my ao3 bookmarks and my tumblr tags from this year so here's some (not all, or else this post would go on forever) of my fave (new & older) one-shots, completed multi-chaps, wips & ficlets <3

make sure to check out my 2021 list & my 2022 list ! since i'm not going to include fics i've mentioned before in this year's list :)

& don't forget to check out @gallavichfanficlibrary @gallavich-fic-club @gallavichthings @thegallavault for more recs plus @galladrabbles & @gallavichmeta too ✨ let's go!

one-shots:

doesn't matter where we go by @heymacy (The boys take a road trip.)

to think that we could stay the same by teatrolley (post-breakup au, but Mickey gets out of prison, Caleb doesn't exist, and we get really into their past and Ian’s (struggling) head)

of going home by @lalazeewrites (Valiant has taken the greatest fall from grace the superhero world has witnessed in years. The Shrike is an unregistered vigilante who doesn't even ping the radar of Chicago's crime fighting scene. Ian is forcibly put on leave from his job and returns to the Gallagher house, a failure all over again. Not only does he not know what Mickey does when the world goes dark, he doesn't know that Mickey is still living southside at all. Not since the events of eight years ago.)

quiet by @babygirlmickey (In the quiet of a perceived absence of scrutiny, Mickey can be incontrovertibly tender. Or: 5 times Mickey lets his guard down, as observed by various third parties.)

all i need in this life of sin (is me and my husband) by literatii (As embarrassing as it might be, Ian is not only his husband but also his best friend, and Mickey is pretty damn okay with that. Why the fuck would he find other people to do the exact same shit with that he already does with Ian, minus the fucking, when he can just do that shit with Ian plus the fucking? It makes no sense. Or: Ian wants the two of them to have more friends. Mickey doesn’t.)

thirteen hours by @crossmydna (Ian has known for thirteen hours that he’s not crossing the border with Mickey, so he makes the most of the time he has left with him.)

queen of decatur by jaxington (“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.” Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head. “No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”)

like strings of fire by @gardenerian (mickey finds a safe and colorful way for ian to indulge himself when hypersexuality rears its ugly head.)

the needle and the burning body by squash (jesuisgourde) (Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.)

some fucked up romcom by godisthedice (Two years after they locked him up, Mickey told himself that he was done with Ian fucking Gallagher for good. Two years as a free man and he's marrying him for all the wrong reasons.)

when the sun goes down by @sam-loves-seb (super cute and fluffy lifeguard au!)

lava java by @stocious (He's being really unprofessional. Mickey might not even be gay. He might be hitting on a straight man through takeout cups.)

here's to hoping i'm not what kills you by @crestfallercanyon (After a confrontation gone bad, Mickey and the Gallaghers get Ian to the hospital. And look, Mickey always knew that if the Gallaghers had a will they'd find a way, but being roped into their schemes himself wasn't something he'd planned on signing on for. All the Gallaghers need to know is Mickey's helping out because he's not pure fucking evil. They don't need to know Mickey was scared shitless when Ian got knocked unconscious, Jesus, he can barely admit that to himself. Once Mickey knows Ian's not dead and not dying, he's out of there. Except he can't bring himself to leave.)

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian (Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.)

i'll come meet you where you are by @crestfallercanyon (Mickey comes back from prison with a ring of vicious bruises around his neck and an edge to him Ian doesn't recognize. But he came back. He came back, and now it's time for Ian to meet him halfway.

closing in walls and ticking clocks by c_cups_bitch_u_wish (So, this is happening. Mickey is sitting in the corner of the bedroom on the comfiest fucking chair he’s ever sat in, and his adult self and adult Ian are about to fuck. And he’s going to watch. What's most odd is that this doesn't even feel like the weirdest thing to happen to him today.)

a spark of fire by @lingy910y (“You wanted us to finally have some time alone. You wanted to keep me safe, but you didn’t really care as long as we were together. You didn’t want it to end.” Mickey swallows a lump in his throat. “I…I don’t fuckin’ know.” “But can I, uh, ask you something else?” Ian rubs his thumbs together. “You like me, Mick. You fucking like me.”)

flip fuck? by @gallawitchxx (Mickey’s always thought that Valentine’s Day was fucking gay. But then some dramatic, ginger fuckhead had to move into the room next to his, and steal his hole, his heart, and the attention of his tumblr mutuals. Mickey decides to keep it lowkey when he asks Ian to spend the evening together: You wanna hang out on Tuesday? Ian’s response is quick and gives absolutely nothing away: Sure thing! That big-dicked idiot better remember it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.)

completed:

prelude motel by @whatthebodygraspsnot (When Mickey’s secret spot is infiltrated by an intriguing stranger, all the warning signs are there. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to disengage, he can’t help but bite off more than he can chew, running straight back to the spot and the stranger when a job leaves him injured. Enter: the Prelude Motel - where, for the next three days, Mickey finds himself hiding from more than just his pursuers.)

garden song (series) by @gardenerian (two gorgeous fics about ian's bipolar, about hope, healing, and tomatoes)

better by anomalously (It's been ten years since Ian's seen Mickey.)

in your love by @sgtmickeyslaughter (Mickey had been out of prison for 2 years and Ian never would have known until they ran into one another on a random night in May. Ian fights for the love they shared while Mickey fights for the life he built, as they both struggle with shame and guilt from their shared past it becomes clear that they cannot help but be drawn to what is bright and beautiful between them.)

whumptober 2023 (series) by @sam-loves-seb (21 beautiful fics of angst & hurt/comfort)

out of nowhere by @suzy-queued (Ian should have never offered to hide his father's stash of gold. Now he's stuck living on a deserted piece of land in the woods, alone, losing his sanity. Mickey wants nothing more than to disappear — from prison, from his family, from the entire world. If only he knew where to get his hands on a cool million. The Gallagher gold. Mickey wants it. Ian will do anything to protect it. Who will cave first?)

all these things i have left to say to you by @crestfallercanyon (After all this time that Ian's been missing, he leaves a tape recorder on Mickey's pillow. And on it? An hour of pure, unfiltered, Ian audio that is all, apparently, dedicated to him.)

wips:

keys to my heart by @milkovichrules (Ian finds his stable college life getting difficult when a new neighbour moves into the dorms.)

intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar (another college au) (one of my fave fics of all time!!)

the ink is a witness to this by @palepinkgoat (six chapters about the stories tattoos can hold and hide.)

order up by @heymacy (Ian and Mickey work together at a Chicago diner. They like to push each other's buttons - all their buttons. How long until the dam finally breaks?)

second chapters by @squidyyy23 (When Mickey’s PO assigns him a job at the local library, he’s pleasantly surprised—not that he’d ever admit it. Practically lived in the prison library, and what better way to start his new life than with a career he might actually enjoy. And when he meets the charming, clever, utterly fuckable, redheaded children’s librarian, well, shit just keeps getting better and better. Mickey’s definitely not interested in anything serious right now, but what’s the harm in a little fun?)

electric blue by @goodkwuestion (Paramedic Ian Gallagher knows true love exists. He's not going to settle until he finds it either, no matter how much his friends and family roll their eyes at him. Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, isn't sure about all that stuff. He's an engineer with a long to-do list, and chasing rainbows isn't on it. He'll never say no to a good time and a pretty face though. When they meet, it will feel like kismet, something inevitable that neither of them can shake. Honestly though, who would want to? Falling in love can be the easiest thing in the world, especially when the whole universe is rooting for you... That's if the whole universe is rooting for you.)

ficlets:

all of @heymrspatel's drabbles, especially this one of ian being self-conscious about his body

docks scene & birthday suit gardening ficlets by @metalheadmickey

all of @lupeloto's sweet & domestic ficlets

@sam-loves-seb's meta about ian being the moon and mickey being the sun

ian's birthday ficlet & 31 ways we never meet (a.u.gust 2023 ficlets) by @callivich

airport confessions by @dynamic-power

gallavich drabbles by @whatthebodygraspsnot

all of @howlinchickhowl's a.u.gust 2023 ficlets!

(if you made it this far, i also write fics occasionally too so here's a self-promo lol)

#gallavich fic rec #gallavich fic #ian and mickey fic #gallavich fic recs #ian x mickey #gallavich

225 notes · View notes

nachosncheezies · 3 months ago

Text

In defense of late-canon x files (including the revivals)

I was thinking about this poll after I commented on it, and I kinda want to be brave and say more.

Short answer to the poll's question before I go any further: If you're a new fan and a sensitive sort who thinks you'll struggle with your blorbos Really Going Through It and you really need a happy ending, I suggest you stop at the end of season 8. Do not pass go, do not look at spoilers. Disregard this post entirely, close the internet, and go look at something that makes you happy. (Also fuck every part of society that characterizes sensitivity as inherently weak and bad and some kind of personal failing, you are valid.)

That said, "quality" as a concept is entirely subjective, and the question of whether or not there's a decline in quality for any story is wholly subjective, too. In the case of x files? I'm not convinced there is a decline. I am going to be upfront that I haven't yet watched past season 8, though I am almost completely spoiled on events after that - and the reason I haven't watched yet is not because of how I know events are going to unfold, but simply because I don't want it to end!!! Ohh, the tension between "I CAN'T WAIT!!!" and "Nooo don't be over D:"

When I first came to txf fandom on tumblr and gradually became spoiled about what happens in late canon though, I was often left uncomfortable and tbh kinda queasy about it. As I said in my comment on the poll, the hate for especially the revival and IWTB, or to a lesser extent even seasons 8 & 9, is very well documented. But! There are other takes to be found here on tumblr if you figure out where to look, and my feelings have changed!

The thing is, I have yet to find myself in any fandom where there isn't a vocal subset of fans who dislike the story after a certain point. I am not joking when I say that no one hates the things they love as passionately as sci-fi and fantasy fans. In my experience, it often hinges on the extent to which a viewer has strong notions on where they would like the characters to end up. In particular with series where shipping is a dominant component for the bulk of a fandom, I have almost universally found that there comes some turning point in the story where "let them be happy you cowards" is the dominant view, and things that compromise the attainment of a degree of romantic stability and/or domesticity are, to many fans, annoying at best and despicable at worst. But! As one tagset on the linked poll said:

and I think for any fandom, that last tag especially is so so so important. (I think that's harder for people watching a weekly series live, bc you have so much time to analyze and speculate and dream before the next breadcrumb drops, but I digress.)

So why am I saying this and how do I apply it to x files? Well, I eventually found that there are also a subset of fans who find redeeming things right up to the very end and actually quite like the whole thing! The things that I had seen people rage and ventpost so much about honestly never quite sounded to me as "out of character" or "untrue to the story" etc as those same ventposts made them sound. And I've discovered I'm not the only one who felt that way. Do I love that the spooky squad had to go through all of those things? No, those poor guys D: Life is hard and they have been through so much trauma. But do those events and their choices make sense to me in light of everything that came before? Yes! And I honestly can't wait to see them fight to overcome those things, breaking, healing, always learning, always growing, always getting better.

So if you're wondering "where does it go wrong"... well, I'm a completionist, as many people who've answered that post are, but also my personal opinion is that I don't think it does go wrong. If you're new and interested in exploring why I've gone from "vaguely queasy" to "excited" about the whole thing, or want to maybe balance out the impressions you're getting about the later seasons before deciding whether or not you want to see the whole thing, I'll put a few blog names in the comments.

Final admission: even once I started feeling a little more confident in the possibility that "actually ok maybe I'm not crazy, maybe this all kind of is in character and does make sense", there was one big plot point that I was NOT looking forward to and I thought I would never be comfortable about. In hindsight, I think my discomfort came from the negative responses being SO seemingly universal that I hadn't stopped to let myself truly consider other possible interpretations on that point. (I mean my initial instinct when I first read about it was, why are we mad about this?? CSM is literally the most unreliable narrator in history???? it's obviously fake news?????? this must be either a fever dream someone's having or it's a misdirection ploy against whatever shadowy forces might still be lurking?????????????? but for whatever reason I guess I had halfway written that off.) Happily, just last month there's a new post-s11 novel out, and although reviews for the book as a whole are mixed, it seems to have laid the groundwork for resolving that plot issue in a way I think most fans would be broadly happy with. If you're interested in being spoiled about that and seeing how, I recommend searching #perihelion on @agent-troi who liveblogged reading it with receipts, scroll back chronological-style to the first post on the subject and see how it unfolded. (And never forget that Dana Katherine Scully is the queen of denial as a coping mechanism lol)

Everyone's mileage will vary. Each person can feel however they want! But for anyone new, I wanted you to know that the very many ventposts you might be seeing are not all there is to this show or its fandom. Some of us love it despite - or even because of - all the things that went "wrong". I think we just don't talk about it as much.

#i don't talk about it much because tbh it can get *fraught*. and i've had that in other fandoms too.#i added and deleted so many qualifiers from this post over it lmao #people are passionate about fandom which is great! as a concept #but it sucks feeling like most people hate the thing you love or that - however diplomatically it's phrased - you should hate it too #or that folks think maybe you *would* be mad if you just looked at it a certain (sometimes seemingly cast as the 'correct') way #basically it's insane that half the time when i see people standing up and praising the revival i'm like 'damn bruh. you brave'#and feeling that way is partly a me thing. but i've seen posts that also lead me to believe it's not JUST a me thing yaknow?#i always wonder whether the 'vocal subset' in any given fandom who hate a thing are really the majority that they appear to be #or if they just appear to be the majority because they've needed to be vocal about it as a sort of internet support group thing lol #which fair enough i mean anyone's entitled to be disappointed or have feelings #for me? i don't think i can remember ever being mad about a series i liked #i'm just here for the vibes man i very rarely have fixed notions #i say to the writers: go ahead and surprise me. i'll make sense of pretty much anything they throw at me #i also think about a dd quote i saw ages ago that as an actor you (paraphrased): can't say 'the character would not do that'#...because if it's in the script then by definition they *did* do that. it's right there on the page.#and that's kind of me as a fan too.#p.s. i fucking love season 8 i love angst and holy shit it delivers. the new characters are fantastic the journey is *chef's kiss* and #yes i consider certain temperamental even assholeish behavior to also be *chef's kiss* there's so much trauma so much reason for it #it's be-yoo-ti-ful 💕 season 8 my beloved 😍#anyway watch it all watch none do what you want. just know that there are people who would cuddle the whole damn thing from start to finish #like a floppy wet lil raggedy ann doll if only they COULD #x files #the x files #txf revival #txf thoughts #i love you floppy wet raggedy ann doll

61 notes · View notes

cyberfanzz · 3 months ago

Text

About Cyber + Masterlist‼️

Cyber

Hey! I’m Cyber, I’m a smau creator only here on tumblr lol. My main fandoms include Jjk and Bsd (though I don’t really write for bsd anymore), I occasionally make art content and just silly posts!

Some more about me

I’m 18+ (not telling my specific age for privacy and safety reasons), but that does not mean my content is. If I ever have a post that’s 18+, I will mark it as so and give a warning. I love reading, it’s my favorite thing to do to unwind at the end of the day. I honestly get overstimulated and stressed pretty easily, but this is probably because of my sensory issues :P

My favorite color is blue, but I usually use a pink divider and pink highlighted texts, I don’t know why. (Maybe it’s bc I just love the color- idk)

I love writing but it’s honestly pretty hard, I won’t lie. It sometimes makes me shut down since I sometimes blank and don’t know what to write lol :]

I hope my posts are enjoyable to the people who already view them, but I try to get better over time. (Sorry if anything I wrote seems wonky currently still sick and struggling 😡😢)

Master list

Jjk Smau

“Not the Plushie:((”

“What’s the word…”

“I had a Dream.”

“Dress up! :D”

“Surprise‼️“

“Flower Surprise! <3”

“Aren’t you funny?”

“Overworking⁉️😡”

“Bf! Toge Inumaki Texts‼️“

“Can you get me some… 😔🙏”

“I’m asexual‼️😁”

“Boys and Girls ❤️“

“Contacts?? 😡”

“Meet My Parents!”

“Workout! :D”

“Workout! :D Pt. 2”

“FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!”

Questions

“Are your requests open?”

Yes, they currently are! I just haven’t been making them because as of 8/20 I am sick sadly 😭 but I will get back to making these as soon as I get better!

“Do you allow Angst?”

Once again, yes. But angst is hard for me to write because I honestly have trouble thinking how different characters would react + being able to make a response that makes sense from the reader. Which is why I may not write an angst request! 😭 (but if you send me one and I don’t respond in like two days, please don’t think im ignoring you! I might be working on it or just busy atm)

Those are kinda the only questions I get asked lol :p

Hope this helps with stuff- idk-? 😭 I’m so tired bro

Goodbye from Cyber! Have a good day :D

Cyber has left the chat…

74 notes · View notes

atimesfeeler · 1 month ago

Text

I loved @twilightkitkat 's post SO MUCH I just had to add to it. It reminded me of a fic I'm working on rn.

I especially liked the part with Vanessa because I don’t think she just left him because of the reason Wade thinks. She didn’t just want him to be a superhero or whatever- in the flash back, she’s begging him to open up to her, to be present, to let her help him and I don’t thinks Wade could do it.

He felt like, incorrectly, that he couldn’t burden her with it. He has so much baggage and pain and issues, and he can’t corrupt her with that. He had cancer and instead of spending his last days with her, he left her. And when he survived he avoided her until she was literally kidnapped.

Everyone thinks Logan runs but really Wade does. He doesn’t want the people he loves to know he’s in pain. At his birthday party, he’s obviously miserable but everybody’s together! And smiling! So he’s going to be happy and pretend he’s just fine. But he’s not even very good at hiding it bc, like mentioned before, it’s a little bitter. His jokes don’t land or they come out passive aggressive and tense. But nobody calls him out for it except Logan. Logan who tells him in the meanest way that he’s a clown but that he’s sad, pathetic, and attention starved. He’s not buying the clown act.

And when Logan moves in, I love the idea that he starts noticing Wade when his mask falls or he gets too tired to pretend.

I’m writing a fic where Wade deals with chronic pain in less healthy ways and, of course, he tries to hide it. It's more brief and censored on tumblr bc I don't want to get my account terminated again, but it will be more detailed on ao3.

…

He dealt with it in other ways. The pain.

After all, a little bit of death couldn’t hurt, right?

Treating himself gently only sometimes worked. If he did everything right, if he did all the steps then maybe, maybe it would ease up. Sleep well, wake up at the right time, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, draw a scalding bath, and take some hard hitting drugs.

Most days, Wade was much more impatient. Most days, Wade failed. It was too hard to take care of himself when waking up felt like dragging himself up from glacier water and pounding on the underside of the ice. Cooking was a nightmare he didn’t even want to consider tackling, and he was rarely patient enough to wait for the bath to fill or for sleep to take him as his body wracked with pain.

There were faster, easier, more instant ways of relieving the pain.

Any pain that didn’t stem from his own body was good.

With Vanessa, Wade had tried the healthy way. The three meals, ten hours of sleep, and taking his vitamins. The whole mile. There was this urge he constantly resisted that told him it would release the tension in his skull if he carved under his eye into his cheek where the migraine pulsed, like he was some sort of fucked up carpenter with voices in his head.

Vanessa didn’t understand it. If he was in pain, why would he want to be in more? She understood his masochistic tendencies in bed where they mixed pain and pleasure, but just pain? Just harm for the sake of being harmed? They got into a lot of fights about it.

He resisted the attempts. Hid them from her where he could. Sometimes he’d miscalculate, and she’d walk into the bathroom before he could heal and clean up his brain splattered on the bathroom tile. She hated it, and Wade hated that he was hurting her.

He reeled back any anger or snippy comments that stemmed from the sheer newness of having his body feel like it was dying all the time. It was so hard to interact when pain rippled through him like a feedback chamber. It made his fuse short and curt. His witty remarks turned snappish and bitchy. People asked stupid questions and made even stupider comments when he was having a Bad Pain Day, and everything felt a bit more raw and oozing. Wade didn’t have the energy to keep up the act and while his mind rarely stopped running, it shifted into something darker when pain was on his mind. His jokes fell flat, laced with a bitter ending. Sometimes, Wade didn’t even want to talk. He wanted to punch someone. Maybe even himself. And every time he snapped or said something he didn’t mean, he wanted to hurt himself even more.

Quickly, he grew exhausted putting on a brave face, and he had never been good at letting people help him. There was this awful clash of wanting to be comforted by the people he loved and hating that he needed comfort. It made him feel weak and pathetic, and Wade already hated so much about himself that he didn’t want anyone to see the twisted, fucked up parts of him. How ironic that he always had an audience anyway. He couldn’t hide it from you or whoever was watching him those days, but he could hide it from the people he loved. Shield them from it, almost.

On Bad Pain Days, Wade didn’t want anything to be different. He didn’t want to acknowledge the pain he dealt with, and seeing that pity on her face set his teeth on edge. It both hurt to be babied and, later, it hurt to be ignored when he stubbornly insisted he was fine.

Obviously, it didn’t work out.

It was better with Al.

Al tried to help. Once or twice. Her motherly instincts kicked in, maybe, Wade didn’t know. He shot himself once in front of her while they were watching the Bachelorette together, and she cursed him out and told him to stop and never do it again. Wade took his little attempts to the bathroom after that. He cleaned up after himself. He went out. Wade tended not to do the more dramatic methods that draw attention.

Wade had it down to a science. A decent chunk out of his frontal lobe sent Wade into a pleasant, almost subspace-like place. He would just… float and forget that his body hurt all that bad. It was good for Bad Brain DaysTM too when Wade’s thoughts were louder, faster than normal, and the voices stopped sounding like himself. When the fourth wall was a little too easy to see, and it got to him, being the doomed comic relief, when his head was trying to split his consciousness in two.

If his temporal lobe was nicked, then Wade would start hallucinating and hear a banger of a song while time, space, and movement sort of fucked up for a second. It felt like getting high, but he didn’t need an entire bag of cocaine and to hot box weed to get there.

If something happened to his parietal lobe, the pain wouldn’t know where to go. A bear could literally be eating his insides, but the pain signals couldn’t register if they had nowhere to go.

He did most of his questionable coping methods in the stereotypical bathroom spot. It was private, and Al got onto him for getting blood and bits all over the apartment. He once left his liver or his kidney in the kitchen sink, and Althea threatened to call the cops on him - her coke stash be damned. Now he’d drape himself in the empty tub, play music loudly, and expertly deal with the pain.

The system he had was fine. Regulated. It was working. It was fine. It wasn’t going to get any better.

Until Logan.

...

I haven't posted it on ao3 yet, but it will be apart of the series for my fic where Wade cries in the Honda instead of fighting.

#my writing #chronic pain #wade wilson #poolverine #poolverine fics

45 notes · View notes

x-press-it · 18 days ago

Text

Devilish Desires - 3/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers. I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. This chapter was hard to wrestle with, but I won! Mention of legal stuff but I'm no lawyer so there might be inconsistencies ^^" Also brace yourself, power shift incoming.

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 3/9?

Word Count: 7.1K / 50K+ for now

Sunlight filtered through the wide windows of Charles' office, casting a warm glow over the mahogany desk and polished floors. Logan paused in the doorway, feeling the familiar tension coil through him even before he fully entered. His gut twisted as he took in the sight of E leaning casually against the desk, one hip propped up, her head already turned toward the door, watching him approach. The calm, focused look on her face set him on edge, like she was always one step ahead, pulling unseen strings. Every time he saw her, it felt like she dug her claws deeper into his space, into him, without even trying.

"Logan, come in." The professor’s voice was warm, though there was a hint of tiredness to it. "We were just finishing up. Have a seat."

Logan ignored the invitation, his arms crossing over his chest as his eyes locked on E. “What’s this about?”

Charles gestured to the papers on his desk. "As you know, the school is growing, and with that comes more scrutiny from the government." He glanced at E, then back to Logan. "That’s why we worked on some contracts—to make everything as official and seamless as possible. We want things above board, so no one has any reason to be suspicious of us."

Logan’s pulse quickened as Charles spoke, each word digging into a place he’d thought had scarred over but never truly healed. He could feel the weight of the documents between them, a weight pressing down on his chest, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. Just the mention of those papers, the mere sight of them, was like a trigger pulled—snapping him back to shadows he’d fought to bury. Contracts meant control; control meant deceit. Old instincts roared awake, instincts that told him to fight, to claw his way free. His mind twisted back, unbidden, to the sharp crack of a pen against paper, his name signed under false pretenses. Faces flashed before him, cold and detached, each one using him as if he were nothing more than sharpened adamantium, each one an anchor dragging him back to glimpses of a past he desperately tried to escape, yet crave to piece back together at the same time.

Memories slammed together—soldiers' cries, the dead weight of bodies, his own silent rage coiled like barbed wire around his gut. Promises broken, betrayals… He could barely register the room around him, the walls that meant safety and acceptance. All he felt now was the past closing in, like a cage—restrictive, suffocating. And then a single thought broke through, a rough mantra, ringing into his head, so loud it pulled him from the spiral: “Today is victory over yourself of yesterday…”

Logan blinked hard, shaking his head as he forced himself back to his senses, the slow ache of his claws tearing through his knuckles breaking through the fog. With gritted teeth, he pulled them back before they became visible. After a short sigh, his eyes flicked from the papers to E, then to Charles, his scowl deepening. “This is bullshit. I’m not some soldier you can pin down with paperwork, Chuck.” His voice was low, the ghost of past betrayals still burning in his chest as his hand clenched tightly at his side. “I don’t belong to anyone, and I sure as hell don’t need to be tied up in a contract like this. I’ve been here long enough, and I’m not about to start following rules that don’t make sense to me.”

Charles clasped his hands together on his desk, his voice soft but firm, trying to ease the distress he saw in his friend’s behavior. “Logan, you’re right,” he validated, calm yet earnest. “You’re no soldier here—you’re a mentor, and you’ve proven that. But this contract is necessary. You know the risks; despite Raven’s actions, the government is still watching mutants closely after all these years. These contracts are for the teachers’ protection, for the students, and for the school itself.”

His expression was calm, deliberate, like he was teaching a class. Logan could see the weight of responsibility on Charles's shoulders, a reminder of the burdens they all carried. “It’s a formality to ensure you’re recognized as part of the staff. If they start asking questions, this contract might be our best defense.”

He held Logan’s gaze, the tension building in the air between them. In a quieter tone, he added, “This isn’t about control; it’s about security. If something were to happen, this paperwork could mean the difference between staying under the radar and drawing unwanted attention.” Logan felt a flicker of unease at the thought but pushed it aside, his feral pride refusing to let him show any weakness in front of E.

He shook his head, the tension in his shoulders thickening with each word. “A formality? Security? It’s a damn leash, that’s what it is! And I know she’s behind this.” His tone was sharp, the accusation clear as his chin jerked toward E, his eyes still on Charles.

E raised a brow, a slight smirk dancing at the corner of their lips. “They,” they corrected smoothly, their voice slipping in like silk over a blade.

Logan’s eyes snapped to her face, his brows knitting in confusion, anger swirling in his glare. “What?”

“You said ‘she,’” E explained, their tone lilting with amusement, not even flinching under the weight of his gaze. “I prefer ‘they.’”

For a second, Logan blinked, caught off guard. The shift in their demeanor—so detached, almost playful—disarmed him. It was a rare response to his fury, and it chipped away at the anger bubbling in his chest. He gave a quick, gruff nod, like a student getting a slap on the wrist for falling into a master’s trap. “Right. They.”

His lips pressed into a firm line, the weight of the situation settling like a stone in his gut. Yet, that primal part of him refused to fold so easily. “But that ain’t the point. The point is, I’m not signing a damn thing before I’ve read it. I’m not some teacher that punches a clock. You know me, Charles.”

Charles nodded, like he expected this. “I do, my friend. And I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. But it’s necessary. If you’re going to keep mentoring, you need to be recognized officially as part of the school’s staff.”

Logan’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked from the papers back to E, who hadn’t taken their eyes off him. His fingers twitched, itching to pull at the collar of his shirt, the weight of the contract already tightening around his neck.

A metallic muffled sound came from under E’s jacket’s sleeve as they shifted, leaning into their stance with one hand on Charles’ desk, the other resting on their waist and Logan’s eyes were drawn, almost against his will, to the subtle curve of their chest beneath the deep red blouse. The top few buttons were undone, revealing just a hint of cleavage, a thin golden chain that held a delicate white pearl, resting against their skin. For a second, his thoughts strayed before he forced his gaze back up, catching the faint hint of their dark horns just peeking from under their hair—a sharp reminder of exactly who he was dealing with.

“It’s just official paperwork, Logan,” they said, voice smooth with a playful lilt, enjoying the ripple of energy they felt from him as his thoughts wandered, though their expression stayed composed. “I can help you with the legal mumbo jumbo if you’re having trouble. I’d be happy to give you a private lesson… walk you through all the fine print, personally.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed, just for a second, barely noticeable beneath his hardened exterior, but it was there. E could feel the familiar tingle coming from him, that want simmering beneath his anger. His jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides, and he shot them a glare, willing the heat away as if it’d been nothing. “I ain’t havin’ trouble with anything,” he growled, his voice low and rough. But E simply watched him with an amused, knowing glint in their eye, a faint laugh catching under their breath.

Charles, observing the exchange, raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with the slightest bit of humor. Clearing his throat gently, he spoke up in to ease the rising tension. “E, let’s not push too hard. Logan’s cautious, but we need to find a compromise. And Logan, I’m afraid that until we reach an agreement that satisfies both sides, I’ll have to ask you to step down from your teaching position. I can’t risk the school’s safety.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Logan stiffened, his fists clenching harder, knuckles now white. Stepping down? It felt like an ultimatum, but Charles wasn’t wrong. The safety of the school had always come first. E’s gaze softened just slightly, though he could still see that flicker of amusement in their eyes. “You’re right, Professor. My apologies.” They turned to Logan, offering a nod. “I got carried away—it was unprofessional of me. I understand where you’re coming from, and I’m willing to collaborate with you so we may find a solution that works for both parties.”

As E pulled away into their composed demeanor, he felt the thread coiling in his gut relaxing, leaving him more room to breathe.

Logan wasn’t used to them backing down that easily, and it threw him for a second. He shifted, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, his faint scowl deepening as he muttered, “Huh?” It was as if a switch had flipped, and he couldn’t help but wonder what their angle was. “Okay?”

And E could have left it there, but something inside urged them to add, a spark of teasing in their gaze, “After all, you’re not one to play by anyone else’s rules. So why not help shape the ones that work for you?”

Logan shot them a sharp look, their words sinking in slowly. He hated how they got under his skin, how easily they seemed to read him. But they weren’t wrong, either.

He took a breath, unclenching his hands, though he still felt like a cornered animal. “Fine. We’ll work something out. But I’m not signing anything that tries to box me in, Charles. I need enough room to be me.”

Charles’s expression softened in relief, giving a small nod of approval. “Of course, my friend. Take your time—I want you to feel comfortable with this. We’ll reconvene when you’re both ready.” He paused, glancing at the papers, before adding, “In the meantime, I’ve got other work that requires my attention.”

Logan barely registered the Professor dismissing them, his mind still tangled in the strange feeling of the interaction. E pushed off the desk gracefully, straightening the black jacket of their suit before gathering their things with practiced ease. When they finally stepped out of Charles’ office, Logan followed them out into the hallway. They walked in silence for a beat, the air between them still buzzing, though less tense than before. Yet, their scent still lingered—smoky, with a hint of spice—reminding him of their presence. And E, in turn, felt the simmering conflict inside him—the push and pull of resistance and attraction. It wasn’t enough to satiate them, but it would have to do for now, even if it left them wanting more. They allowed a brief, satisfied smile to ghost across their lips before tucking it away, resuming a more reserved expression.

“When do you want to go over the documents?” E’s voice was professional once more, all traces of their earlier playfulness gone, though a flicker of something else remained behind their eyes, like they were holding back.

Logan glanced over at them, still surprised by how quickly they’d shifted gears. This side of them—focused, efficient—was easier to handle. He could deal with this.

“Tomorrow, maybe. Got some time around three.”

E nodded, a hint of consideration in their gaze despite the reluctance in his tone. “I could make that work. We’ll go over everything, step by step. No surprises.”

The calm confidence they exuded kept catching him off guard, and against his better judgment, he found himself watching them differently. Was there more beneath that troublemaker act they put on around him?

E must’ve felt his gaze because they turned slightly, offering a small, almost sincere smile. “I’ll see you then.” Their voice was all business, but a hint of warmth slipped through—without the usual edge of teasing.

Logan grunted in response, but as they walked away, something lingered at the edge of his mind. Yes, there might be more to them than the predatory front they’d shown since they met. And maybe, just maybe, they weren’t as much trouble as he thought.

Or perhaps it was a ploy to lure him in, to make him relax and step willingly into their web. In any case, he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Not yet.

The library was quiet in the mid-afternoon light when Logan arrived, the subtle scent of aged paper and polished wood mixing with the now too familiar blend of spice wrapped in smoke. He pushed the door open with a soft creak, eyes immediately scanning the room, and sure enough, there they were—already seated at one of the large tables, surrounded by hefty open books, scattered documents, and a legal pad filled with meticulous notes.

E barely glanced up as he approached, their focus sharp on the papers spread out before them. The soft scratching of their pen on the smooth surface filled the air, the fluidity of their movements mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. Every action was deliberate, from the graceful lines they traced to the calm demeanor they carried.

Logan stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the precision and quiet focus they exuded. He couldn’t help but notice the neatness of their work: each point laid out clearly, with little diagrams and annotations. It wasn’t just thorough; it was methodical yet beautiful, almost like an art form. Even their handwriting, flowing effortlessly across the page—a blend of sharp angles and elegant curves—was damn near perfect.

He cleared his throat, and E, still writing, held up a finger, brows furrowed in focus. The gentle chime of their bracelets—three in total, one gold and two red—sounded as they moved, the soft music an elegant counterpoint to the silence. They needed to finish that thought, not wanting to lose their concentration. Logan waited for a few heartbeats, struck by the command in their motion, a powerful yet silent order that stoked the embers they had nestled in his chest during the last couple of weeks. When E finally looked up, their gaze met his with calm professionalism, but there was a flash of something else—an interest that sharpened their eyes, just for a heartbeat, before it vanished.

"You're early," they noted, their voice soft but steady, carrying just enough weight to catch his attention. "I wasn’t expecting you for another…” They quickly glanced at the delicate golden watch on their wrist. “… half hour, at least." There was a pause, and E gestured toward the chair on the other side of the table. "Please, sit."

Logan obeyed reluctantly, still unsettled by the way they were behaving—cold, detached, like they were someone else entirely. The tension between them had loosened so much he could hardly feel it, as if it might vanish entirely if he tried to reach for it. “Figured I’d get this over with,” he mumbled, his eyes not leaving their face.

A small smile played at the corner of their lips, and they flipped one of the hefty books closed to make room between them, before pushing a section of the contract toward him. "Well, I’ve already gone through most of the legal terms and highlighted the parts you might find concerning. If something still doesn’t sit right with you, we can discuss… adjustments."

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been busy.”

“I don’t like wasting time on work.” Their eyes flicked to the stack of notes they had assembled, before neatly setting them aside. “Let’s just get through this.”

Logan picked up the contract, flipping through the pages slowly. The neat little annotations caught his eye—small, concise memorandums in that same precise handwriting on flashy sticky notes, guiding him through each clause. As much as he hated to admit it, the thoroughness was impressive. “You really did all this?”

E leaned back slightly in their chair, crossing their arms, a faint smile playing at the corners of their lips, like they were enjoying something only they understood, and he felt a subtle pull inside, a tension stirring. “I told you I’d help you with the legal stuff, didn’t I?”

Logan’s eyes drifted to the pages again, unable to ignore how… perfect their handwriting was. Every sentence was clear, fluid, each letter delicate, intentional. They hadn’t just scrawled down information in a rush—not only they’d taken the time to make it legible, but it also felt like they had crafted something meant to be appreciated, drawn with careful control, patience, like each and every stroke mattered.

“You write like a damn artist,” he muttered despite himself, half impressed, half irked by the precision of it all.

E’s soft chuckle was barely audible, but he caught the faintest hint of satisfaction in their expression as they watched him linger on the page. They were absorbing his reaction, almost savoring it, letting his admiration wash over them like a silent, steady current. “Years of practice,” they replied, eyes glinting with a subtle satisfaction. “Didn’t expect you to notice details like that.”

He grunted in response, still staring at the page before flipping to another section. “I don’t miss much.”

E leaned forward again, the light jingle of their bracelets accompanying the movement as they tapped a finger on one of the highlighted paragraphs. “This part, in particular, is important. It’s a non-disclosure clause. You might want to pay special attention to that.”

Logan followed the motion of their finger, noting the cleanly filed nail that glimmered faintly under the light—maybe some sort of transparent polish? Even that was meticulously done, and the thought made something simmer in him before he blinked it away, refocusing on the contract. “So I can’t say anything about… what, exactly?”

“About the students. The curriculum. The specific ways the school operates,” they clarified, their tone even and clear, leaving no room for confusion, even as a subtle ripple passed between them. “It’s a precaution to ensure no one leaks sensitive information.”

Logan scowled, the idea gnawing at him. “I get why, but it feels like a muzzle.”

E’s gaze softened slightly as they leaned back again, folding their hands neatly on the table in front of them. The metallic sound of their bracelets chimed softly, a delicate accent to the motion. “It can feel that way, yes, but it’s standard for any organization handling confidential matters, especially one like this school. It's about protecting everyone here—especially you and the kids. Though, we can amend the wording if that’ll make you more… comfortable.”

Logan studied their face, taking in the sincerity behind their words. For once, it didn’t feel like they were toying with him or trying to play some angle. They were just doing their job—and a damn good one at that.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like bein’ locked into something I don’t trust.”

E’s eyes softened as they nodded slowly, their expression understanding. “That’s fair. We can tweak the language so it’s more gray, more aligned with what you’re comfortable with. To give you room to adjust? You don’t have to feel trapped, Logan.”

Logan’s hand rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed. “You’re makin’ it real hard for me to argue, you know that?”

Their smile was faint, their fingers gently drumming on the wooden desk between them. “I’m not trying to make it harder. Just easier for you to see that this isn’t about control. It’s about protecting what you’re building here.”

Logan dropped his eyes to the contract again, that tight, familiar knot in his chest loosening just a bit. He didn’t trust easy—but they were making a damn good case. He couldn’t deny that. He could see how carefully they’d worked through the details, the amount of care they’d put into making this whole thing understandable. It was… reassuring, in a way. As much as he hated to admit it, they had a point. It wasn’t about locking him into anything—it was about making sure everything stayed secure. The kids came first, always.

He met their gaze again, something shifting between them. He still wasn’t ready to trust completely, but at least they were giving him a reason to reconsider. “Alright,” he muttered, almost grudgingly. “Let’s go through it.”

E smiled—this time, it was genuine. Not playful, not teasing, just… genuine, content. They slid a few more papers toward him, their focus back on the work, but Logan couldn’t help but notice the shift in their energy. As they started explaining the finer points, guiding him through each legal term with that same sharp professionalism, he couldn’t help but admire the way they handled things. They were focused, sharp, and professional.

Maybe this was the side of them he could start to respect.

For now.

They’d been at it for hours, bending and reshaping the terms until each clause balanced protection with freedom. E kept their demeanor professional, drawing on every ounce of restraint to keep their voice even and their gaze measured, ignoring the familiar hunger snapping at their focus now and then. And the more they worked, the more they could sense Logan beginning to relax, perhaps appreciating this side of them—this businesslike efficiency that gave him room to breathe, rather than the tension they used to stir in him. He was still sharp and guarded around them, but in the subtle shifts of his body language, they sensed they were both easing into a more comfortable exchange, his trust inching closer as they tweaked the terms to help him maintain his independence.

In his careful consideration of each clause, they saw how deeply he valued his autonomy. His desire to protect the kids and guide them through a brutal world was unmistakable, yet he seemed determined to do it on his own terms. Watching him was like seeing a reflection of their own drive: the same visceral need to resist being anyone’s pawn, to forge a path where people like them weren’t turned into weapons or tools for the powerful. E knew what it was to navigate that treacherous line, to have allies rather than be a pawn, to be indispensable but never owned. Becoming a lawyer had finally allowed them to create partnerships, to protect their independence in a way they hadn’t had in the past.

They looked at Logan now, the way he was part of something great without letting it absorb him, and felt a twinge of resonance. It was like looking into a rippling, distorted mirror: his methods protective where theirs were persuasive, his presence blunt where theirs was all charm and deliberate control. But that difference made sense, considering their mutations. He had claws; they had…this. This carefully wielded hold over emotions. Had they been born with claws, would they have protected instead of manipulated? They weren’t sure.

Their gaze drifted from the paper to his handsome face as they sank into those thoughts, the realization dawning—slow and unexpected—that he wasn’t simply a source of energy, or the toy they’d wanted him to be at first. He was a potential ally in a way few others could be. Someone who might amplify their strength instead of being drained. Not just a meal to be consumed but something rarer—a piece that, in its own strange way, completed the picture of who they could be. As if they were two sides of the same coin.

Lost in thought, they almost missed the slight cough as Logan cleared his throat, his voice breaking through their haze.

“Need a break?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, catching them just off guard enough that they had to recompose themselves, reassemble that mask over their features before their thoughts slipped any further into the open.

“No, I’m good,” they replied, eyes turning back to the papers in front of them. “We’re almost done, anyway.” But as they looked away, a thought slipped in—a terrifying, persistent thought.

What if, just for a few moments, they let him see behind the surface?

The more they considered it, the more it tugged at them. Curiosity twisted into need—a need to be seen fully, not just for what they could do or the games they played, but for every scarred, layered piece that made them who they were. Logan was unique, after all. He understood the weight of living too many lifetimes, of carrying too many pasts. Maybe he, of all people, could handle the person they kept buried underneath.

They wrestled with the urge, every instinct resisting, their armor honed by years of experience and necessity. Something deep inside warned it was dangerous—unnecessary. But then again… maybe not. Because the thought kept tugging, whispering that maybe, just maybe, it could be something greater. A partnership that didn’t hinge on pretense or servitude but on something raw and real, something powerful.

Their gaze returned to him, lingering. He was relaxed now, waiting, not pushing. And maybe that’s what finally broke their resolve.

“You know, Logan,” they began, the words slipping out, edged with a subtle amusement that curled at the corners of their mouth. “You’re… an interesting case.” Their tone was light, but Logan could feel the weight behind it, something sharper. “In a world full of people pursuing causes, you stand apart. You’re here, fighting for something, part of a team, a mentor—yet you keep a step back, like you’re in it but always on the edge.”

They took their time, choosing their words carefully. “Not interested in becoming anyone’s weapon. Not about to let anyone make a puppet out of you.” They paused, their smile fading as their peculiar eyes locked with his, earnest, with a hint of challenge. “I respect that about you.”

Logan’s expression shifted, his relaxed posture tensing as he regarded them with a sharp glance. Crossing his arms, he studied their face, searching for their angle. There was no mistaking the twinkle in their gaze, a glint that almost dared him to see through it. He furrowed his brows, but his voice was steady. “Yeah? Well, I don’t dance on anybody’s strings. If I’m fighting for something, it’s because it matters to me. And I do it my way.”

He watched as something flickered in their eyes—a veil lingering for a few heartbeats, like his words had pulled something deep from the shadows of their mind. When their gaze met his again, it was steadier, as if a quiet understanding had slipped between them. “I get that,” they replied, voice low, the words hanging in the air with a quiet finality.

Logan studied them, suspicious of this sudden transparency. “So what? You’re saying you’re the same?” he asked, his tone guarded, almost testing.

“Maybe.” Their mouth curved in a smirk, one that seemed to bare their teeth as much as it smiled. “Let’s say I’ve had experience balancing independence with… affiliations.” They leaned forward slightly, the light metallic sound of their bracelets chiming with the motion, drawing his attention and making his senses sharpen. Their gaze glinted with something that hinted at danger, at control. “When people see power, they get ideas. They get greedy. Sometimes, we have to show them who’s in charge—decide where the lines are, or blur them if it suits us.”

Logan’s brows knit, eyes narrowing. “So, you’re tellin’ me you dance along the line but won’t let anyone hold your strings.” He leaned back, gaze sharp. “How’s that working out for you?”

They gave a light shrug, a glimmer of amusement in their eyes. “You’d be surprised. Charles, for one, respects it—but you already know that.” They smirked, as if holding back a bigger truth. “There are others, too. Equally powerful… Stark, for instance.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up at the name, genuine interest breaking through his cautious demeanor, crumbs of energy swallowed by E’s greedy hunger. “Stark? As in the Tony Stark?” He couldn’t hide the hint of curiosity in his tone and leaned in, almost imperceptibly. “You actually know the guy?”

They lifted their brows, a small pout on their lips, playing down the significance of it with an offhand shrug, though Logan noticed a spark of pride in their eyes. “Worked with him, actually. Fresh out of law school. I had a friend—blind attorney, good guy—who mentioned Stark needed someone sharp to help… clean up a few things. Secure patents, keep his tech out of the wrong hands.” They kept it vague, partly out of client confidentiality and partly knowing that Logan wasn’t likely interested in legal specifics.

“Not exactly glamorous, but it was an exhilarating start,” they added, the flicker of pride now shining in their voice. “Let’s just say that navigating the minefield of a billionaire’s reputation certainly kept things interesting. And it was good for the notoriety.”

Flecks of emotion brushed against something deep within E—a faint thrill they quickly stifled but couldn’t entirely ignore—as Logan muttered something under his breath, a note of respect edging his tone. He’d always seen Stark as the kind of guy who didn’t trust anyone but himself—and maybe his assistant, or whatever she was now. “Bet that kept you busy.”

A chuckle escaped them, eyes glinting as the soft chime of their bracelets accompanied the sound. “Busy? He kept me on my toes. The man’s got a mind like wildfire; it was a challenge keeping up. But it was… refreshing.” They leaned back, an almost nostalgic look slipping over their face. “I guess it taught me to walk the line, to make a difference without being tied down.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, intrigued despite himself. The story felt like a glimpse into the puzzle of their past. “So how’d you end up here?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Not that I’m sayin’ this place is a downgrade or anything,” he added with a smirk, resting his arms on the table.

They sensed his interest like a pulse, faint but unmistakable. It seeped into them, stirring that familiar, alluring rush, and they let out a soft laugh, an edge of amusement in their eyes. “Did you know Charles and Stark held a gala a few months back to fund the school’s new equipment?”

Logan nodded, some recognition flitting across his face. “I remember hearing about it. Charity thing, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Their voice stayed casual, but their eyes sparkled with the thrill of memory. “That’s where I met Charles.” Their gaze flicked back to him, pausing just long enough to let the moment breathe. “We got along right away. He needed someone to navigate the legalities and ensure the school’s mission stayed protected. A few conversations later, and here I am.” Their eyes held his, a glimmer of interest that wasn’t easily brushed aside, as his curiosity continued to fuel something deep within them.

Logan could feel it too—a pull he couldn’t resist, a delicate pressure building inside him, different from the sharp pull of their first exchanges. This was smoother, quieter, sinking in with each new glimpse he got of E’s story, drawing him in until pulling back wasn’t an option. He sensed the quiet power behind everything they revealed, and it stirred something deeper in him—a mix of respect, intrigue, and the surprising comfort of recognition, that kept the tension going.

He leaned back, crossing his arms again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So, you just go wherever the cause suits you, huh?” His voice held a challenge underlined by curiosity. “If Stark showed up again tomorrow, you’d be right back in his corner?”

E nodded, unfazed by the edge in his tone. “If his goals align with mine? Yes. Of course I’d work with him again! Without a second thought! Same goes for Charles.” Their gaze softened, a glimmer of conviction breaking through their usually controlled demeanor. “I want to be part of something that matters, Logan.”

Logan studied them, catching just how much they meant it. He’d known E wasn’t anyone’s puppet, but now he could see they weren’t waiting around for someone to hand them a cause, either. They were carving out their own path—fluid, adaptable, going wherever their instincts took them. And he found himself respecting that: their drive, mixed with that fierce independence. Hell, he could relate to it—maybe even admire it a little.

E felt it, the ripple of his respect, like a quiet current feeding into them. For all their control, a spark of satisfaction slipped through their gaze, their mask almost slipping as they met his eyes. His admiration, rare and guarded, felt potent—dangerously so. The energy coursed through them, lingering like a hidden pulse beneath their skin. They shifted slightly, regaining composure before his steady gaze could pierce too deeply.

They looked calm, in control, continuing their previous thought. “I’m loyal to a cause.” Then, their eyes took on a sharper edge, something deeper flickering beneath the surface. “But I’ll never let myself be chained to anyone ever again.”

There was a flash of anger, fierce and unyielding, sparking in their gaze. The quiet chime of their bracelets sounded as they leaned forward, their voice steady but intense. “There’s too much to do, too many ways to make a difference—like what you do here with these kids.”

Logan didn’t miss the brief fire of fury that had slipped through the cracks in their cool confidence, just enough to reveal a scar, raw and unhealed. They didn’t merely have a preference for freedom; it was a need, born from something that had burned them hard and left its mark. That kind of wound didn’t heal easy—he’d know.

He held their gaze, his expression softening with a rare flicker of understanding. E might play at being dangerous and unpredictable, but he was beginning to see past the games, past the mischief. Beneath it all, they weren’t half as threatening as they liked to seem—not to him, anyway. And now he wondered if their determination to make a difference came from more than just ambition. Maybe they were out here carving paths so no one else would have to walk through the fire alone.

Just as quickly, E’s eyes narrowed, the hint of vulnerability vanishing as they pulled themselves back. Their lips curved into a knowing smirk, that easy, predatory edge sliding into place. “What’s with the look, Logan?” they purred, voice rich with playful menace. “Didn’t think I’d have you figured out that quickly?”

He tilted his head, a low chuckle rolling out as his eyes held steady, watching them with newfound clarity. “Long way from that, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice as rough as the smile he wore. His stare cut through their guarded expression, tracing that hidden spark they were still trying to shield. “But I’ve seen enough to figure out there’s a hell of a lot more goin’ on with you that what you let on.”

They scoffed, dismissive as ever, though Logan’s steady gaze didn’t miss the faint, almost imperceptible shift in their eyes, the way they lingered on him just a second too long. They were good at playing the part; he could give them that. And hell, he had to respect it—the way they held their ground, defiant but calm, ready to take on whatever came next. But he’d caught a glimpse behind their guard now—just enough to give him a way in, a thread he could pull if he wanted, evening the power balance between them. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips; they’d shown him more than they intended, and he planned on playing that to his advantage.

E met his stare, the faintest crease of tension at the edge of their mouth as they spoke. “There’s not much going on with me,” they said smoothly, though their tone carried an edge, a warning, like a line drawn firmly in the sand. “At best, you’ll see someone who’s lived long enough to know that, at some point, we’re just the sum of our own burdens—regrets, pain, and the constant battle to find a place in a world that sees us as either weapon or threat.” They shrugged, gaze cooling as if daring him to contradict them. “I know you know what I mean.”

Logan’s mouth quirked, and he offered a subtle nod. Oh, he knew. He knew that weight, the feeling of being something both feared and useful, but he also saw how tightly they held onto that defensive edge, like armor too important to set aside. And it made sense. If they’d been through even half of what he had, especially as a woman with power, that sharpness was more than just for show—it was a primal instinct born from necessity.

“So, you play the part of the predator, huh?” he asked, his voice casual, almost challenging. “Gotta keep everyone on their toes, or they might see more than you want ‘em to?”

Their gaze hardened slightly, something flickering before they smoothed it over. “It’s survival, hun,” they replied, tone measured with a hint of sarcasm, the nickname sharp on their lips. Their fingers moved up to toy with the delicate golden chain around their neck, the single white pearl shifting gently between their fingertips. “I wasn’t raised to be anyone’s prey. I’ve always been powerful in a way, even before my true nature revealed itself. Living as a mutant in this world means learning to navigate perceptions—people don’t always take well to what they don’t understand. You know that too. So, yes, most of the time, I have to play the predator. It’s how I keep my place in this society.”

Their eyes gleamed, that familiar guarded edge slipping back into place, like steel settling into a sheath. “And maybe it’s the only way I know how.”

The words settled between them, carrying an honesty that almost surprised him. Beneath the mischief and sharpness, he could see the echoes of past battles that had molded them into someone who walked the line between danger and glamor, between freedom and guarded solitude.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” he asked, tone light but edged enough to make it clear he wasn’t just making conversation. “Playin’ that part all the time, keepin’ everyone at arm’s length?”

For a split second, something flickered across their face—an almost imperceptible crack—but they smoothed it over with a cool smile. “It’s only exhausting if you don’t know how to handle it,” they replied, looking down at him with a hint of mockery, as if to suggest he wouldn’t know. Leaning back, they reclaimed control of the moment. “Besides, I didn’t walk this path to blend in with the crowd. The world makes demands. I learned early that if I wanted a future worth having, I’d have to shape it myself—alone.”

They straightened with a subtle chime of their bracelets, a glint of pride in their stance, fierce and unyielding, making Logan’s respect tick up a notch, teasing E’s hunger with a rich, electric thrill. They felt it brush against their senses, fueling the simmer beneath their calm. For a fleeting moment, their expression softened, indulging in the warmth of his regard. But it didn’t escape him that beneath their carefully crafted façade lay a quiet kind of fatigue, a weariness he knew too well. They might be used to the role, but that didn’t mean it didn’t take a toll. With a practiced flick of their eyes, they returned to their cool detachment, meeting his gaze with that same untouchable allure, even as their hunger urged them closer.

Logan shifted, crossing his arms loosely, gaze steady as a teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes glowing with playful challenge. “Sounds to me like someone’s after more than just puttin’ on a show.”

Their smile froze for the briefest moment, a flicker of tension before they rolled their eyes, snapping the mask back into place. “And you think you know what I’m after?” They raised an eyebrow, voice slipping into that smooth, predatory edge that reminded him just how much they hated being read—just like he did.

“Maybe,” he replied, holding their gaze with that same easy smirk. “Seems like a part of you might want somethin’ more. Connections. Someone to reach out to, now and then. Make it feel less… empty.”

They scoffed, laughter low and guarded as they leaned in, the slight sound of their bracelets punctuating the motion once more. Their voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t flatter yourself, Logan,” they said, eyes glinting with challenge as they inched closer, the whisper turning almost venomous. “I don’t need anybody, pretty boy. Especially not you.” Both their words and gaze sharpened, a teasing yet defensive spark behind it, though something unspoken lingered there. The faint chime followed their movements, an echo of tension and warning. “You might think you’ve seen through me, but trust me, there’s a lot more here than you’re ready to understand. So, stop digging. You might not like what you find.”

Logan’s smile barely shifted, but he didn’t push further, didn’t try to peel back any more layers. He didn’t need to. He’d seen enough to know that behind the sharp edges and fierce guard, E wasn’t so different from him. And the thing they made him crave these last few weeks might just be the thing they’d craved themselves for a long time.

Silence stretched between them, charged and unbroken, as they sized each other up—E, guarded and fierce behind their confident exterior; Logan, settled and a little more at ease than he’d been since they first met.

He chuckled, a low, quiet rumble that broke the silence and hung in the space between them. A confident smile played on his lips, almost as if he were savoring his small victory. “So,” he murmured, leaning in. “We done here, or… you need me for somethin’ else?” His tone carried a hint of something deeper, something suggestive.

They bristled, the calm mask slipping momentarily as irritation flashed in their eyes, but they regained composure, sliding smoothly into a clipped, professional tone. “If you don’t see any more changes to make, I can take care of the rest. I’ll give you the documents once they’re finalized.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady as he rose from his chair, towering over them for a brief moment. “Alright,” he said, his voice warm but resolute, like he was sealing an unspoken agreement. “See you around then.”

With that, he turned, heading toward the door. And as he left, he took with him the solid rythm of his presence, that subtle weight of connection they’d woven into him over the past couple of weeks. The room felt colder, emptier without it. The quiet settled in, hollow and gnawing, the sharp hunger suddenly surging in as the connection broke, slipping from their grasp like sand between their fingers.

Alone once again, they could almost feel it—an ache beneath the calm exterior, an unsettling reminder of what he’d managed to stir to life, only to take it away.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

24 notes · View notes

nyrasbloodyclover · 1 year ago

Text

hypnotic (kai anderson x reader)

cw: breeding kink, eating disorder (it's really really bad), mommy issues, mentions of suicide, parental abuse, cults, kai is his own warning really, murder, overstimulation

a/n: if you're not into this pleaseeeee leaveeeeee i don't want tumblr to delete my blog again. also you can read this fic on ao3 if you'd like, link is in my pinned post. and if, by any chance, you relate to this i am so sorry.

What I wanted right now, was to get out of my house, go anywhere, just so I could stop listening to constant fighting and screaming from my parents. I couldn't bear it anymore. I had one year until college but it seemed impossible to survive that long.

"Oh, look who locked herself in her room!" My mother bursted in and a pit started forming in my stomach. I didn't move. "When are you going to start being useful? You're in here all the time, you could start paying rent."

Now, what was I supposed to say to that? If I told her that the reason I spent all my time in my room was because they wouldn't stop screaming at each other and I would just be their punching bag, she wouldn't listen and the situation would only get worse.

"Or maybe it's time for you to find a job. Now you're just living like a parasite." I stared. My mother was a very complex character. I think she would be capable of pulling Gone Girl on us. She has the mentality. Just saying.

My father on the other hand, he's weak. Or she made him weak. I don't remember the last time he stood up for himself. He's tired, I can see that clearly. I just wish they would get a divorce. It's so draining to wake up everyday and live in fear that your every move is going to be a mistake, something to criticize.

I don't remember the last time I felt truly at peace, but I could afford myself distractions. That's how I ended up scrolling through Tumblr 12 hours per day and forgetting to eat because the skinny girls I came across were just so pretty. Food was my enemy. We couldn't stand each other. And the guilt simply because of eating was the worst feeling ever.

Empty is pretty. And I wanted to look pretty, so I starved. It was my sport. It still is. The joy of seeing my hipbones and ribs after some time was indescribable. I loved to lay awake at night and touch my bones, feel them as I tried to fall asleep. Of course, there were many times when I just couldn't take it anymore and I binged. I would regret it immediately and restrict even more.

"Alright. I'll find a job." I stared at her with empty eyes. I was dizzy, almost like I got drunk. She exited the room and slammed the doors behing her. I think I'm never going to fully understand her.

I stared at my ceiling, having no energy to move, even though I had unfinished assignments hanging above my head, screaming at me to do them, but I just wanted to sleep. School can wait. I think my red lipstick was smudged, but I had no energy to take it off. My hair was a mess, too. I tried to straighten it but my natural waves were too stubborn. I fell asleep.

A week passed. My life stayed the same except for my new job at the restaurant—The Butchery On Main.

The two sweet women who own it were kind enough to let me work even though they don't employ people under eighteen. I worked mostly after my school, until the closing. I didn't mind since I got to leave the house and get a break from my parents.

People were nice, I took their orders, served their food. The restuarant was mostly empty during my shifts, but nonetheless it was almost hard, working with food. All those calories around me made me want to puke. And I wasn't much of a puker. I had the urge to binge. It was disgusting. But I wasn't going to throw all my work out of the window just like that.

I had my diet coke and if I got hungry Ivy said that I could eat whatever I wanted, and I wanted cucumber. With pepper. They had those.

Today, I had much free time so I was just sitting at one of the tables and doing my homework while scrolling through Tumblr and eating freshly peeled cucumber with some seasoning on top. I was thriving. I was almost happy. It seemed impossible.

The door opened. A man walked in. He was dressed in black from head to toe and what stood out the most was his blue hair with grown out roots. He walked like he owned the building and everyone in it. I immediately stood up, while he was pulling out his chair, fixing my uniform. I let him read through the menu for a couple of seconds and then decided to approach.

"What would you like to order?" I smiled. I was nice. I am always nice. Why hasn't he looked at me yet? Why is he ignoring my presence? His head was bowed down until he raised it and I was met with black pools that stared at me, or rather through me. I felt dizzy and it wasn't the diet.

"Surprise me," he cocked his head, "I would love to see what you liberals like to eat the most. Maybe it'll make me change my political views."

"Al..right," I dragged on, "Is that all?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Everything will be done in a minute." I wanted to get away from him, as soon as possible. He was probably some Trump obsessed republican who's most likely to tell me to make him a sandwich. Which I am practically doing right now. But I couldn't deny it - He had a beautiful face. I wouldn't consider him that attractive if it weren't for his dead, piercing eyes that silently commanded you to obey every one of his rules.

The food was ready. I had a feeling I would fall on my face next time I locked my eyes with his, which wasn't good. I didn't even know his name! Rachel, one of the cooks, handed me the best steak they had, house's special, "Who is it for?"

I didn't dare look at him. "The one with the blue hair. Just please don't stare. He's creeping me out."

Her eyes went wide, "That's Kai Anderson."

I looked at her blandly. The name didn't mean anything to me.

"You seriously need to watch more television."

"I'm fine, thanks. And if he's some menatlly deranged politician, then I'm not really missing out."

All the politics drained me, and don't get me wrong, I loved to be informed, but when I had to argue with someone about basic human rights, I'd rather not know anything.

I walked over to his table, and put the food on it. "I hope you're not vegan. Either way, enjoy your food." I kept my eyes everywhere, just not on him. He was so unsettling. I had to get away.

"I certainly will," he said and I walked away without a second glance. Jesus Christ, his mere presence was intense.

My shift ended in half an hour and that's when the restaurant was supposed to close. Ivy left early because of some family emergency, so she asked me to close and lock everything for her. I changed into my regular clothes—denim skirt and a white button down with my favorite black sweater, docs and a pair of knee socks. I untangled my hair and tried to brush it out with my fingers.

The tables were empty. Well, mostly. So-called Kai Anderson was still here, not even eating, just looking at some papers and flipping them over, for a while now.

I needed some extra balls to approach him and ask him to leave. Why did I accept to be the last one here? I could've been home by now, sleeping or watching a sitcom, but instead I'm stuck in this building with the strangest and the scariest man I've ever met. But then again, If I were home, my mother would be screaming at me. So I guess it's a win? Also I had to thank Kai for occupying my mind and not letting me think about food. I seriously needed to go to bed before I ended up eating something. Or worse- binging. I think I had less than 200 calories today which is a sign that I am slowly approaching danger zone. It isn't a diet anymore. I can't eat normally. I thought I could go back, but I guess my body won't let me. Or was it my mind?

"Miss?" Someone waved before my eyes.

"Yes? Sorry." Kai was standing beside the table that I occupied.

"Are you closing soon?"

Should I lie? But then again, he isn't stupid. "Yes. Do you want to pay?"

"Oh no. I already did. I just wondered what occupied your mind that much." He had no idea.

"Nothing much. Just tired I guess. Can't seem to balance school and work."

"Ah. You see," he sat across me, "I don't believe you."

"Okay? I didn't try to be persuasive."

He smirked. Dear God, why was he so creepy but so hot at the same time?

"I still want to know what made you zone out for that long." Has he been staring at me the whole time?

"That's creepy. I don't even know you."

"What's that got to do with anything? I just asked you to tell me what's been botherung you. You looked fucking stressed."

"It really doesn't matter." I just wanted him to leave.

"Wait. Here, I'll give you..." he reached into his back pocket, "Fifty bucks if you tell me."

My lips curved. Come on, you can't blame me. Extra cash at my age isn't something you just don't accept.

"Ah! I knew it," he smiled, "Come on, doll, speak."

"It isn't anything interesting. My mom is just being a bitch, nothing unusual." I gave him the least I could and snatched the cash from his hand.

"She isn't letting you sleep over at your boyfriend's or something?" He laughed like I had the dumbest reason for not liking my mother.

"Not really. She just...Wants too much, I guess? And I'm not able to give her that." It felt weird saying that out loud. I think I never said it.

He stared at me for a second.

"I want to show you a trick." He put his right hand on the table. "Don't worry. It's something me and my older brother always used to do when we were little."

He reached with his pinky finger over to my hand. We locked fingers like we were making a pinky promise.

"This is weird. And please hurry. My shift ends in fifteen minutes."

"We have enough time. Okay, listen. Pinky power. Once the skin contact is made, no lies can be told and whatever we say, stays between us," he narrowed his black eyes, "Trust me, if you lie, I will know. Ready?"

When did I agree to this? Well, fuck it, I'll do it anyway.

"Do you love your family?" He asked, his expression serious.

"Yes." His mouth twitched.

"Do you like your family?"

"Absolutely not." I shook my head.

"Why is that?"

How do I explain this to him without sounding like a total maniac? "My father is weak, he doesn't know how to stand up for himself. And my mother screams at me for merely existing. Her favorite hobby is emotionally draining me, then pulling my hair or slapping me because she feels like it. She regrets having me. I think she wants me to kill myself. It would be easier to have a dead daughter." My mind went blank. I felt nothing in that moment. Whatever he asked, I was going to tell him.

"Did you ever try to kill yourself?," he asked with a flat voice.

I thought for a second. Should I tell him the whole truth? He said he's going to know if I lie, but that doesn't mean...

"Don't think too much." His eyes went dark while I was literally choking under pressure of his gaze.

"No. I was never suicidal. I like living. But I..." words were stuck in my throat, "I...Sometimes, she would starve me. Saying I didn't deserve it. I had no money to buy something to eat. So I made a game out of it. I developed a disorder. It was the only thing I had some control over. I started it out of spite, but now it's real. It's worse than ever. But I don't want to stop."

His expression never changed. Not once. "Do you hate your mother for that?"

"You have no idea."

"I think I do have some idea about hating one of your parents. So, from experience, I need to ask you one more question."

I nodded. "Have you ever dreamt about killing her?"

I wanted to pull back from him, but his hand wouldn't let me. He pulled me even closer. "We can't break the contact," he gritted through his teeth.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," I exhaled, "Yes. And no."

"Elaborate."

The restuarant was silent. I couldn't even hear the sound of cars outside. Lights were practically out.

"I...I wanted her dead. But I don't think I would be able to do it. I had a," I inhaled, "A fantasy about someone killing her while I watched. It's so fucked up, but I just couldn't help it. It brought me relief that she was gone and someone cared enough to get rid of her for me."

I was scared to look at him. He was going to call the mental ward and lock me there. I was fucked. Why did I tell him all of that?

I looked up.

He was smiling. It wasn't a sympathetic smile, or a sad smile, or anything similar to that. He was grinning like a maniac. He released my hand and I realized my eyes were filled with tears. I blinked them away.

He shook his head with closed eyes, "You're perfect. Perfect."

My voice was low, weak. "What? How could you think that after what I just told you?"

"Don't ask too many questions. I have a solution for you because I know you're destined for greater things. Tell me, do you wish to never be under your mother's thumb again?"

"I mean, yes? That's going to be when I turn eighteen, so I have to be patient."

He laughed. "Oh, no, baby, no. She's never going to let you go. She'll suffocate you until there is nothing left but a shell. No matter the age or what the law says, you'll always be controlled. While she's alive, at least."

"What are you saying?"

"Do you want my help? Do you wish to be finally free?"

This was so fucked up. I never met this man in my life. Why was he offering me help?

"What's in it for you?"

He cocked his head, "I get to keep you by my side."

My mouth was dry. I was scared, but...excited. Thrill rushed down my body as this psychopath was staring at me, offering me a sick escape. I was supposed to say no. I was supposed to save my soul.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"I want your help."

He looked so happy, it made me happy.

"Good. Then, we're leaving now." I was hypnotized by him. I just nodded, not asking where or why, my mother taught me I shouldn't get in the cars with strangers, especially men, but my mother was also the reason for many of my problems. I'll do something that'll piss her off.

I got into Kai's car and shut the door. I was okay with the fact that he might end up killing me.

He said nothing for the most of the ride, but I noticed him glancing over at my skirt that rose up to my thighs. I didn't bother pulling it down. I mean, I wore mini skirts for a reason, right?

I pretended not to notice as I looked at my reflection in the closed window. Hollow cheeks, red lipstick, pale face. I was obsessed. I always wanted to look like a corpse with make up. My face was perfect, lipstick untouched, mascara a little smudged, dark circles under my eyes from sleepless nights.

"You know you could eat a burger." I looked at him. I almost wanted to hug him. His words made me feel proud, like I achieved something big. And I guess I did.

"Really? Do you know that you're the first person ever to tell me that?" I felt weird happiness in my chest.

"Well, yeah. Why do you look so surprised? I didn't mean it as a compliment. You have a problem. I'm not even sure it's supposed to be a compliment." He frowned, not taking his eyes off the road.

"It doesn't matter if it's supposed to be a compliment or not. Thank you for saying it." I didn't give two fucks if he thought I was some anorexic lunatic that needed years of therapy. I was happy. And he wasn't my parent or my guardian to tell me what to do.

"Just think about it. What's the point of being so skinny? It's not even attractive."

"The point is in being clean. I don't want to see a pound of fat on my body. It's disgusting. And I am to do with my body as I please. I don't give a fuck if someone likes to eat like a fucking pig because It's not my body, and certainly not my problem." I was so angry. Who the fuck he thought he was?

"Just saying. You look sick. And I mean really, really sick."

"I am aware. Like I'm also aware that I'm fucked in the head. And that's the reason for all of this," I gestured over my figure.

I could feel his anger. He didn't like that I disagreed with him and stood up for myself, even if I was wrong.

"We're here." He suddenly said, getting out of the car. I followed him into the house I guessed was his. The whole neighborhood was silent. Lights were off everywhere.

We got into his house and I didn't even got to see it clearly because he practically dragged me into his basement and started changing. He put on a black leather coat while looking for something. His phone? He called someone.

"I'm expecting you'll be here in five? Well don't try to make up excuses. This is a perfect opportunity. I don't care— No, drag yourself and your pathetic wife here." He called two more people and I just stood in the middle of the room staring at him.

"What's your adress?" Was he really doing that now? "You know what, never mind. I found it." I wasn't going to ask him how. He looked like the person who instead of Instagram browsed dark web.

"Okay, let's go. They're here." I had to ask him because he said nothing about it. I had to be sure.

"Why are we going to my house?"

Beat. A moment. "To kill your mother, of course."

There were other people with us, but I couldn't see their faces because of the creepy clown masks. Kai had one too. I felt like I was drugged. I didn't know what happened to me. I suppose I had enough. I know Kai is not the answer for my problems, at least not all of them. He's going to get rid of her and then what? No. Stop thinking.

I listened to my brain this time. It was late. My parents were probably asleep. Probably in separate beds. It's going to be easier for Kai and the others to do the job. They kept their mouths shut and I didn't blame them. I still wasn't sure if I was part of this sick cult or whatever it was. I read enough about them to recognize a cult leader when I see one.

The car suddenly stopped. We were in front of my house.

"This played out so good, little lamb. I knew you were perfect." Kai's voice was muffled under that mask and his words made my heart flutter. He was so sick. "Don't just stand there, baby. Be a good host. Invite us in. Come on," he gestured with one gloved hand towards my house. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I turned my back and started walking towards the door. What did he mean by this playing out good? Did he plan this before? It certainly did not matter.

We got in, doors creaking, but not enough to wake anyone up. My father was downstairs, in the guestroom, but my Satanic mother was in their bedroom. I went first, up the stairs, one by one, they followed me, Kai first, then the rest of them.

I showed them the doors.

Kai got in and they followed him. I shut the door behind me. I felt like I was seeing things through someone else's eyes. I didn't feel guilt and I wasn't regretting my decision. I remember everything through a coat of blur. Knives, a lot of them. They killed her in her sleep. Stabbed her too many times, I lost count. Sheets were soaked with red and the room started smelling like iron too. Kai used her blood to draw some sign on the wall that was facing the bed. It looked like a smiley face, but I wasn't sure. The job was done. I was free. I was free of any charges, since I wasn't home when it happened. I was going to sleep in my bed and wake up in the morning, shocked, petrified, screaming for help, calling the police, my father is going to be terrified too, but relieved. He would never admit it thought.

We were in the car again. Then in front of Kai's house. "Leave. I want some time alone with our newest member."

"Kai, no. You can't drag her into this. She's just a child—" A feminine voice scorned him under her mask.

"Don't tell me what to do, Winter. Now leave," he raised his voice and I flinched. "We have much to talk about." He took off his mask and smiled knowingly at me. I wasn't scared of him anymore, though I knew I should be. He killed my mother for Christ's sake!

We went into his basement again. The lights were already on and I watched him as he took off his mask and black coat. His shirt was soaked with my mother's blood.

"What did you want to talk about?" I cocked my head.

"You were so good. I knew you could do it. Next time, maybe you'll even be the one holding the knife. You didn't even flinch!" He paced through the room and laughed, like he was talking to himself.

"You didn't do this for me, did you?"

He stopped, then looked at me, "I already told you. This played out perfectly. And I've been watching for quite some time now," his eyes darkened "When I found out that the woman who's been talking shit about me over her social media had a daughter, I had to see if she was as bitchy as her mother." Oh, so he did this to save his reputation. Of course.

"And," I swallowed, "Is she?"

He didn't answer me. Instead he marched to the other side of the room and pushed me against the wall, slamming his lips on mine. I was out of breath, not being able to process everything. Oh my god, he was kissing me! This insane, sick in the head, narcissistic, 30-something, psychopath was kissing me and I opened my mouth to him like the whore I was. I wanted him to touch me. No, I needed his blood stained hands on me right now.

I pulled one of his hands and put it on my chest as his tongue continued to explore my mouth. He took off my sweater and shirt. I was left in a black bra and skirt.

"Aren't you scared of being arrested for fucking a minor?"

"I commited far more monstrous crimes than fucking a seventeen year old and you know it, " he breathed into my mouth. Red lipstick was smudged over his lips. His hand that was on my chest slipped under my skirt and found my panties.

"You know it," his fingers entered me with ease, "And yet, you're still so fucking wet for me." My mouth fell open as he buried his fingers deeper if that was even possible. I wasn't a virgin, but then again, I've never been with a man. I took my own virginity so that I didn't have to bother.

"Kai—" I breathed. I needed more.

He sat on one of the chairs beside the circular table and pulled me onto his lap, his thigh between my legs. My clit was aching for some king of friction so I started rubbing myself against the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Aren't you desperate?" He pushed me on the floor, between his legs, he pulled out his belt and unzipped his pants. His intentions were clear and I was happy to oblige, but I had to touch myself or I'd go insane. I started stroking his already hard dick and rubbing my clit at the same time.

He noticed. And he wasn't happy about it. "I thought you were going to be patient. But I guess not." He took his belt and with one move he tied my hands behind my back while I was still kneeling in front of him.

"Please, I just need to—"

"Yes, yes, I know, but you have to deserve it. Am I right?"

I nodded hesitantly and he scooped up my hair in his fist and used it to pull my head down. I took him into my mouth as the wetness and ache grew between my legs.

Kai continued to pull my head down until his tip hit the back of my throat and I gagged. He chuckled.

My eyes teared up as I sucked his dick like my life depended on it.

He grunted and raised his hips, so I knew he was close. And I knew he was going to either come in my mouth or...

He pulled out and finished on my tits, painting my chest with his cum.

"You were so good," he said with his head tilted back and eyes closed. He let my hair fall down my back and over my face. Kai dressed and got up, then pulled me with him, still tied.

He slammed me on the desk and I was able to just lay there and let him do whatever he wanted to me. Not that I minded.

"I feel like I'm going to break you," he said as he traced my very visible ribs with the tips of his fingers. "Break every bone in your body."

I could feel my stomach sinking in and his words made me even a bigger mess than I already was. "Do it, please, please," I cried out as my hips rose towards him.

"Since you asked so nicely...And the skirt stays on. Do you know how much willpower it took me not to bury my hand under your skirt and make you beg for more while we were driving?" He pulled my skirt up and didn't even bother to take off the panties, he just ripped them. He towered over me as I layed on his table, feeling the cool air on my swollen clit.

Kai's fingers went over my aching pussy and my back arched towards his touch. He did nothing for a split second and then came the first slap. I yelped as the burning spread between my legs, but I didn't tell him to stop. He slapped me even harder and I cried out, most ungodly sounds coming from my mouth.

"Don't worry, you can scream as loud as you'd like."

He slapped my dripping cunt once more and after that I was sure I was going to feel his hands on me days after. He didn't wait for me to recover from his brutality, instead he buried two fingers inside me and started scissoring, wanting to spread me even wider. I threw my head back as he added one more. He buried them knuckle deep inside me and began curling them.

"I feel like you're a big girl. You can take one more." He didn't wait for my agreement. His four fingers were inside, making my pussy burn with pleasure. I wasn't able to form words. He spat on me and started massaging my clit while almost his whole hand was thrusting in and out of me. I felt pressure deep in my lower stomach and started panting and moaning for him to continue, but he did exactly the opposite.

My cunt was left empty without his fingers and I could almost cry. I just needed a bit more.

"Don't look so upset. I'm not finished with you."

Kai untied me and took his belt. He spread my legs as wide as he could and started spanking my pussy with it. I screamed more in pain than surprise, "Kai, no, stop, please stop-"

The pain was unbearable, but it was just enough for my clit to start pulsing more and that pressure in my belly to grow. I screamed in pain as he continued to hit me with no mercy. I could feel my walls clenching and my back arched as I came undone. Orgasm hit me and I came down from my high, but Kai didn't stop.

He started rubbing my abused cunt, overstimulating it. He was deaf to my begging and crying. It was too much. There was no pleasure anymore, just pure pain, but he continued to massage it and after a couple of minutes I was shaking with another orgasm. I knew I was too sensitive, but when I tried to close my legs, he stopped me. Then I noticed his rock hard dick under his jeans and my heart dropped. I was going to pass out. He was going to use me, not caring for my pleasure anymore.

"Just hold still a little more, doll." He pulled his dick out and slammed himself inside me, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. Everything hurt, but he didn't care. His thrusts were fast and rough, I couldn't keep up. I could feel his orgasm building and he had no intention of pulling out. Kai continued to slam into me until he reached his peak. He filled me with his seed and when he finally pulled out I could feel it dripping from my pussy.

Kai helped me get up and as he was untying his belt, his hot breath was on my neck. "Welcome to the cult, baby."

#kai anderson fanfic #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #ahs cult #ahs fanfic #ahs coven #ahs #american horror story #kit walker #tate langdon #james patrick march #jimmy darling #evan peters fanfic #evan peters #evan peters x reader

266 notes · View notes