#good soup mentioned

[pretty-batty]

Ere the Sun Rises

Eddie x Judy Part 13 of Eldath's Priestess 3414 Words

No warnings for this one. Lucky 13! Thank y'all for the amazing ride! This isn't the end my dears, just a rest. A new start to a new year. Now on ao3 Thanks to @anakinkshamer for being my beta reader through all these chapters. Love you, sweets!

Summary- Judy fulfills her and Eddie's dreams of escaping Hawkins for the final time. And not alone.

Judy opened her eyes once again to the blaring sun streaming through her window. Her fractured skull was healing. Though it took a few nights at the hospital to get that that point. She’d be happy if she never saw that place again. The things in those halls. The thing hidden in her for weeks. Since Eddie’s frenzy. 4 weeks.

It was gone now.

Two weeks since Venca was defeated, to heal from the D&E, for the earth to heal. Eight weeks total since mass hysteria stuck the town of Hawkins, Indiana for 48 hours. That was the official explanation, anyway.

Hysteria following the tetanus toxin deaths of 3 high school students in late March of 1986. Deaths which were wrongfully pinned on a local youth in an act of religious intolerance. It was easy to name an entire honky town as zealots.

Gillespie did as he said, getting his story published through the Associated Press while Judy was in the hospital. The people who threatened to kill Edward Munson were labeled as Christian extremists. The actions the town took against this young man were so inexcusable that anything but the most fervent disavowing of their actions was seen as fundamentalist ramblings.

Judy and Wayne were glad to receive the official apology from Hawkins’ law enforcement. This act of repentance came with a posthumous clearing of his name and an expungement of his record. From the town came his honorary diploma from Hawkins High School, and a settlement of $50,000.

There was one thing Judy prided herself on, and that was being bitter. For years, she feared being the annoying Jew. The pestering, scheming Jew. But after what Hawkins did to Eddie, she was happy to become the villain. She’d cover them in vinegar and ash, take their money, and run.

Of course, not all the money. That was all Wayne’s by right. That didn’t stop him from shoving a check for ten thousand dollars in her hand and saying, “for y’all.”

Now came the running part.

She couldn’t stand to stay here anymore. The only thing that brought her back and kept her was Eddie, and now. Well…her boxes were packed completely. Her shelves and closet were empty. The walls of her bedroom were bare for the first time since she was five.

Judy’s footsteps thundered down the carpeted stairs one last time. “I can’t believe you let me sleep in!” she said with a smile, her final box of clothes in under her arm.

Steve immediately ran to the stairs to take the box from her. “You had a skull fracture. I know a little bit about head stuff…well…like injuries, and things.”

“You really don’t have to do everything for me. But-”

Dustin interrupted her, coming back from the kitchen, half-finished glass of orange juice in hand. “Skull fractures can take months to heal.”

“Buuuut…I appreciate that you are doing so. I really do.” She smiled, patting the top of Dustin’s head, ruffling his hair. “Is the moving van here yet?”

“Yeah. You sure you can trust him? I mean, he’s a stranger driving you up to Pennsylvania.” Judy and Steve did not know each other well before she had returned to Hawkins, so his concern was less than warranted. Or, at least, it would have been under different circumstances.

Judy smiled, moving her hand from Dustin’s head and on to Steve’s shoulder, “Wayne knows him very well. He’s a good guy.” She joined the others outside, assisting in loading the rest of the boxes and furniture into the van.

Some of the kids had volunteered to help her move. A group of world-saving superheroes, and they were loading Mr. Mumble into the U-Haul. The makeshift bugbear plushie sitting in his box. Once the job was done, the goodbye train began.

When she reached Dustin and his demeanor changed, like he had resigned himself to ask the unspoken question.

“Eddie didn’t make it?”

Judy’s pleasant smile dropped. “We had to stop chest compressions, and he came back for a moment when he was free from Vecna, but it didn’t last” her eyes darted to the patch of grass over Dustin’s shoulder, two blinks, then back to him. “…I think there was time between when he was wounded and when he was possessed where he was still…”

“Still alive? When I was holding him, doing nothing, I could have done something?” Dustin’s pitch lifted.

“You couldn’t have stopped the bleeding in the first place without surgery. Besides, his brain had been without oxygen for too long. There aren’t enough chest compressions in the world that could’ve brought him back. There was nothing you could have done.” Judy sighed, taking Dustin’s hand, chasing his gaze as it drifted down, catching it, “Hey, there was nothing you could have done.” One squeeze of his hand, “You have my number, and if you consider Carnegie-Melon for college, you will always have a place to stay during the summers. You and I wouldn’t be the only ones in the house though. Just a heads up.”

The moving van blasted its horn, the capped figure motioning to her to wrap up her goodbyes. Her gray bug hitched to the back, the trusty steed awaiting the journey to Evans City, a hamlet north of Pittsburgh, where her uncle and his boyfriend had a vacation home. Far off from society, but close enough to access necessities.

It was never something Judy would have considered, but that was before.

She rushed through her departure, quick hugs and broken smiles. Robin and Steve, Argyle too. Andrew, Gareth and his parents, that was the hardest. She knew Gareth for almost as long as Eddie. And Andrew…the last of the original Hellfire.

“Does that invitation go for us too?”

“You all are welcome in my house.” She rested her chin on Andrew’s shoulder, “especially you. You will always be welcome.”

The last was her aunt Margie and Wayne Munson, both of them clutching her closely.

“You take care of yourself. Oh, and uh, tell our mutual friend to trim his nails outside.” Wayne said.

“Naturally,” she smiled. “How did you find us, by the way? I never asked.”

“Rick told me where you were. He was in the middle of the street when I drove back to the house.” Wayne said it like it made sense. “It’s tragic that he didn’t make it through the night, something must have happened when I went after y’all.”

Judy looked past the two at her old home. She didn’t want to get into the confusion his statement caused. The tree beside her bedroom window creaked one last time, waving to her. With the wind at her back, pushing her to the truck, she strode to the passenger side door as it opened to greet her.

“Let’s get moving, buttercup. I know how nervous you get when we drive at night.” Eddie smiled, stitches no longer pulling as much, hidden behind a shapely beard. The yellow in his eyes had faded even further, hidden by his aviators, claws straining behind the tips of his work gloves. Hair tied back and topped with a trucker hat. He reached his hand out to help her into the cab. Judy closed the door behind her, buckling herself in.

She fished her sunglasses out of their case, swapping them with her regular specs. Eddie proceeded to release the parking brake, shifting gears, slowly pulling out of the driveway before turning and starting the journey towards northern PA.

There was a calm silence between the two of them. Eddie was the first to speak, “What did you tell him?”

“I just explained your brain had been cut off from oxygen for too long.” Judy answered, resting her right ankle over her left knee.

“It almost was.” He added.

“Five minutes and some change, close call. Surprised your brain didn’t suffer more damage. Guess that Vecna magic regenerated your neurons too.”

“What was your name again?” Eddie teased, “Smoody, Judinda…”

“Haha,” Judy rolled her eyes, pausing before returning fire, “you mean Yudit Mountain-Song? By the way, Ye-hu-dit, not just Yudit.”

“I took artistic liberties.”

“I can’t believe you canonically shipped us in your little campaigns.” She snorted, head resting on the headrest, “talk about pussy whipped.”

“How could I not be?” Eddie reached for her left hand, bringing it to his lips, eyes still fixed on the road.

The two of them held their breaths when they left the border of Hawkins. Finally exhaling soon after, Eddie was still alive, no longer tied to that little town. They continued down the highway until they crossed into Ohio, parking at the welcome center.

They sat in silence, breathing in the no-longer-Indiana air. Eddie took off his hat and gloves, throwing his sunglasses on the dashboard, and crashing his face into Judy’s smile. Their lips tangled with each other, separating in drawn-out smacks. His claws dug into the meat of her thigh. “I’m so fucking mad I can’t fuck you in this thing.” Eddie grunted, pressing his forehead against Judy’s as she chased his lips for one more chaste smooch.

“You gotta wait five more hours. Can you do that for me, Eddie?” She cooed, her finger running along his facial hair. She had to admit how sexy he looked with it.

He pouted playfully, “maaaybeee.”

“Maybe?”

“If I can fuck you raw over the countertop you told me about. And you run around naked while I bring our stuff in.”

“Is that all?” she asked, rubbing her nose along his.

“Is there more you want?”

“Oh, my sweet paladin,” Judy kissed up his cheek, resting her nose against his temple, whispering in his ear, “I want you clothed on the couch. I sit on your cock, completely naked, watch tv, and have you play with my clit for hours.”

His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering closed, letting out a stifled moan, “holy God in heaven, woman.”

“Now we’re on the same page.” She pressed a kiss where her nose had rested, sitting back in her seat. “Who’s the freak now, Munson?”

“You were always the freak, baby.” He said and flashed her a blissful smile.

Judy watched as he turned the key again, starting the truck back up. “Did you pull into this rest stop just to grope me?”

“No…” The coy lilt in his voice said otherwise.

“Perv.”

“What’s wrong with wanting to touch my future bride?” He asked with a slight giggle, his claws running down the side of her head, combing through her bushy hair. Just as gently, he pulled away. “We gotta get moving anyway, though.”

Judy napped intermittently during the drive. Between those, she joined Eddie in terrible renditions various pop songs. When Sheena Easton came on with her thinly veiled song dedicated to her vagina, written by Prince himself, Eddie immediately cranked the volume up to unreasonable levels with a “Oh FUCK YEAH!”

He knew every lyric, wouldn’t be caught dead singing it anywhere but with Judy. Eddie out carrying out the long high pitched “Ahh!” in Sugar Walls was only outdone by his subsequent fruity “ooh”.

Judy caught his gaze, just once as it tore from the road, her warm husky voice beckoning to him, “Come spend the night inside my sugar walls.”

“You can-NOT sing that part when I’m driving.” He laughed, “hard enough as is.”

Judging by the massive amount of potholes and the encroaching city, Judy discerned they were nearing Columbus, traffic slowing to a casual stroll. “Want me to help?” She purred.

“Please don’t, baby. I’m a little on edge.”

“On edge?”

“This truck, your beetle on the back that could be knocked loose with the wrong pothole. Me looking like this. My face being plastered on papers again. Baby, if we get in a wreck I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just…” He let out a calming breath, slow and tight, “I just need to get to where we need to be. And I can lay you down on whatever surface I can. And I can just kiss you until I’m safe.”

Judy’s long slender fingers gently ran over his right hand as it gripped the wheel, relaxing it at the slightest touch. “Do you not feel safe, Eddie?”

“Not yet, baby.” His pointer claw tapped impatiently against the steering wheel.

“Why don’t we find a motel?”

“Hm-mm,” he shook his head, “nope, gotta get home.”

“Okay.” Her voice barely came out, a click in the kay. She was about to loosen her grasp before Eddie stopped her with his other hand. Just a pat, then back on ten. Ten and two, and two.

They had made a few more stops since Columbus. But not until they crossed state lines, at Judy’s insistence. “I’d rather stop in Wheeling than make two stops in oh-ho-ho.” Then the truck crossed the Neville Island bridge by late afternoon. The familiar homes and terrain of Judy’s childhood brightening her outlook. Eddie’s exhaustion was beginning to show.

“A little less than an hour, baby.” She stroked his arm, “you can make it.”

“Yes, I can.” He reiterated.

They reached Evans City by 6pm, the house proper at 6:35. In the pink and orange sunset against the grass, setting it alight. The gravel path like white marble, leading to the Victorian style house. Mauve with white trim, the black roof tiles glistening slightly.

Judy broke into a skip as she went to unlock the front door, switching on the lights as she kept her pace. “Just as pretty as I remember!” She laughed. The clanking of the u-Haul door rang from outside, sliding open, the ramp coming down with a thump. She quickly joined Eddie. But there were no kisses, not yet. The two began picking up box after box, carrying them into the foyer, pushing them across the parquet floor to make more room until the trailer was empty, locked up.

Covered in sweat, Judy turned to speak to Eddie only to be caught in his arms. His beard rubbing at her cheeks with each sweet kiss from his lips. The melodic hums that echoed from his chest as he grasped at her curves, pushing her further into the house. Judy’s legs hit the arm of a couch, Eddie’s force pushing both of them over as they fell on to the sheet covered cushions.

“Fuck baby,” he growled playfully, “they knew we’d get messy right away?”

“It’s for dust, big guy.” Judy laughed, “you wanna get messy?”

“Wanna keep suckin these lips…maybe the other ones too if you let me.” Another kiss, gathering her into his mouth, his hips threaded between her thighs, dipping and grinding against her. He swallowed her whine, born from the friction of him against her covered mound. “That’s my good girl.” His eyes closed, but hers remained open, watching his face ease into a state of peace as he rocked himself against her. Her concentration broken by another kiss, feeling only the heat of his breath and the weight of his body as he continued to grind against her.

Her hands clutched at him, squeezing him close. There was something in his desperation that she knew came from pain, fear. Eddie pulled away to take a breath, lifting just enough for Judy to reach up and caress his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffed, face red and glowing from sweat, “we’re safe.” Another deep breath, fanning her with his stale cigarette breath. “We’re safe.” He repeated. His head nodded, regaining his previous demeanor, rising off her slightly, “And I’m horny. Since…that first stop in Ohio. And judging by how hot you’re getting right now…” His loving claws stroked along her shirt hem, “I’d say you’ve been waiting just as long.”

“I think the guest room has less dust. And…oh my God.” Judy wiggled from beneath Eddie, pushing him off until she was on her feet. “You gotta see the master bathroom. I know we’re probably relegated to the guest room and the shared bath but still…baby…”

“Am I gonna like it?”

“Well, they kept almost everything intact. Even the shared bathroom…but the master…” She leaned in, voice barely a whisper, “double headed shower.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “I’ll race you.” With a flash of that smile, he took off up the stairs, Judy jogging far behind.

She called from the middle of the stairs. “You don’t even know where it is. And the towels are still in the hall closet.” Silence. “Babe?” Silence. A twist in her stomach, but nothing too real. Hand on the railing, she slowly crept up the rest of the stairs. “Please don’t sneak up on me, I’ll fucking cry.”

She heard a sigh from down the hall, then a yielding voice, “I’m coming down the hallway.” Step, step, step. “I am still coming down the hallway.” Step, step. “I am approaching my” he stopped, turning, “oh hey it’s my wife.”

“Not quite yet. We’ll need to work on your Hebrew, find a local Rabbi who will lead you through the conversio- AGH!” Judy’s spiel was cut short as Eddie lifted her up, hands gripping under her thighs as she wrapped them around him. Once settled and stable, she continued. “Then we do your beis din, then the mikveh, then you do your first aliyah if you want. I think you’d be amazing at it.” She pressed her lips to the tip of his nose with a mwah. “We can even do it together.”

“Mmmm…I’m thinking about the shower.” He started down the hallway he had emerged from. Judy’s hand following the walls, switching on the lights as she passed. “Which door?” He asked.

“Hm…” Judy’s fingers slightly lifted from his shoulders. Sticking her thumb to horizontally, index finger up. “Right.”

Eddie turned left.

“Wait wait wait shit no, my right.”

He turned heel, going down the shorter hall to the master bedroom. An empty four-poster bed, dark wood fitting perfectly with the deep teal wall. “Ve-ry nice.” He muttered, letting Judy’s legs down his hips as she quickly darted back down the hall, and across to the linen closet, opening it and fishing out two towels.

Eddie, meanwhile, grabbed either side of the mattress that was leaning against the bedroom wall, pulling off the plastic before walking it over to the bedframe. Using the power in his legs to waddle himself and the mattress across the floor.

“What are you doing? I said we were taking the guest room.” Judy sighed from the doorway, flicking on the overhead light.

He let the mattress fall on to the frame before adjusting the corners. “It’s just for tonight. It’ll be easier after we fuck in the shower to fuck in here. Less walking time.” He smiled, kneeling down to the bedside table and opening it, looking for sheets. He immediately closed it. “Not in there.”

Judy wiggled her eyebrows, “ooh, did you find something salacious?”

“No more salacious than your drawer.” He said, rising to his feet and striding to Judy, another kiss on her already kiss bitten lips. “Where are the sheets?”

“The guestroom is already prepared, baby. Please…” She folded her hands around his face, “I don’t want to get in trouble. They’ll be coming here tomorrow to help unpack.” The anxiety from her gaze bristled against his skin. No founded fear, but that lingering need to impress.

“Okay, okay,” another kiss, this time on her forehead, “I’ll put the mattress back.”

“I’m sorry, lemme help.” She insisted, following Eddie as he walked back to the bed. She moved the mattress until it was horizontal on the frame, pushing her side up as Eddie brought the other down, walking the thing back to the wall, draping the plastic back again. They both sighed in tandem, Judy rounding the furniture until they were together again. Her arms wrapped around him, cheek to his shoulder, his neck to her lips. “Sorry.” She whispered.

“It’s okay, buttercup.” He whispered, holding her close, “you don’t need to be sorry.” Another kiss on her knuckles, one she returned against the skin of his neck. “Show me the shower?”

“Mhmm.” Another kiss, she parted from him only enough to fetch the towels and washcloths before coming back. One more kiss, hotter than before, parting his lips to taste his tongue. She pulled away, his hand in hers, dragging him into the spacious bathroom.

“Holy shit!” Eddie shouted. The giggle from Judy’s lips bounced off the tile as she closed the door behind them.

Here we are. Oh course I had to give them a happy ending! Like I said, this is the end of our main journey, but not the end of them. You'll hear from them again. No worries.

Vocab list:

Beis din, or Beit Din- tribunal of Jewish adults that agrees to and witnesses the conversion.

Mikveh- Ceremonial pool used for ritual cleansing.

Aliyah- Calling to the Torah for reading or reciting the blessing.

Tag list: @loserboysandlithium @userchai @secretdryrose

[weirdofish]

Nice apron, Shadow

It's not quite cold here yet (it's actually hot and sunny where I live right now), but I'll definitely make cream of mushroom soup once it is. I use this recipe, for anyone interested (though I make some substitutions for various reasons.)

Can you tell I love making fun of Black Doom?

[books-and-dragons]

I'm so sorry, I'm kinda drunk and dropping another idea, do with it whatever ye will.

Yknow how in the beginning of the game, Sojiro tells Ren he won't take care of him when he gets sick?

Consider: he's not used to city germs/being that closely shoved against other people on the train. He DOES start to get sick around Kamoshida's Palace, powers through it, and then is SUPER sick just after it's over.

He plans on sucking it up and hiding it, but Futaba hears his hacking coughs over her bug even when he's upstairs, followed by wheezing, maybe even a little weeping. He's constantly in and out of the bathroom, and he's starting to run out of tissues.

Futaba nervously texts Sojiro that the kid they took in sounds awful. Sojiro is gruff at first and says he's not a baby, he can take care of himself. She responds by sending him the audio and suddenly Dad Instincts kick in

y/n

obviously it's a YES, our brainrots continue because early-game ren and sojiro dynamics break my heart every time how dare you get me so invested in this idea, this post got too long so it's going under a read more

listen listen look i love sojiro and the coffee family okay, but early-game?? sojiro could catch these hands

ren has already been though so much by the time he arrives in tokyo, to then be put into a dusty old attic like a spare part would absolutely fit in with ren's own perception of himself at that stage. it would be almost too easy for him to put his own health on the backburner kinda like he's already used to it

very used to not taking up space, 'not being a bother', and then sojiro really reinforces this message when ren first gets to leblanc- so when ren inevitably gets ill a month into his probation, it's already doomed for maladaption

tokyo would be such a breeding ground for sickness compared to the countryside, and ren just doesn't have the consitution to deal with it. the dusty attic and poor eating habits don't help matters, and then we have the stress of kamoshida and the metaverse?? ren is not having a Good Time™

at first it's something he thinks he can shrug off, and is adamant that ignoring it is the way to go. a cold, it's nothing, he can handle this alone, no need to bother anyone else with it.

inevitably, he gets worse, because that's what happens when you don't rest and let yourself recover. a tickly cough becomes a tightness in his chest, mild congestion shifts into an attack on his senses and blurriness- but maybe that's the dizziness. he's not really sleeping, either.

it's something that's becoming increasingly difficult to brush off and hide, he even relented to finally getting some medicine (nothing as strong as he needs by this point, that would eat too much into his limited funds, but some painkillers to take the edge off). once or twice he's tempted to stay off school, at morgana's insistence, or a too close call where he definitely blacked out for a minute, but then sojiro's voice will ring in his head 'i won't be the one looking after you if you get sick', 'your parents got rid of you for being a pain in the ass', and all his worst insecurities come rushing back and he's resolved to deal with it on his own

meanwhile, futaba's been making use of her hidden audio bugs- normally they're a comfort for her in the daytime, but since the new kid- ren- has been staying at the cafe (part-timer her ass, how gullible does sojiro think she is?!), she's been listening more frequently. when ren gets sick, she figures it out quickly.

time goes on, he's not getting better- he's actually getting worse- and futaba starts to wonder if she's the only one who knows

(there's something in his sharp contrasts- the quiet kid who shuffles through the cafe and takes sojiro's scolding, to the coughing kid who cries into the silence of night when he thinks there's nobody there to see it- that stabs through her numbness. it feels like a companion to her own ghost)

one night she swears the kid gets up to be sick, and there's hardly any sound heard from the attic all night. if nobody's gonna help ren, then she will (futaba used to like helping, once upon a time).

she texts sojiro the next day, when ren doesn't say anything again, and goes off to school with what she bets is a fake assurance on his face

and you're so right, sojiro dismisses her concern really easily, claims the kid can 'take care of himself' and he won't 'baby' the part-timer. insists ren needs to learn some disipline, then maybe he'll stay out of trouble

frustration wells in futaba- if she was less fixated on what was going on with ren, she'd register it's one of the first changes of mood she's had for months- and she responds with nothing but an audio clip, an attached explanation that this is just from the past few days- it's been going on for weeks, then she waits, and hears the distant sound of her compilation through one of the bugs, a hitched breath from sojiro, curse words under his breath-

for all his earlier postulating about not helping ren if he gets sick, sojiro is immeditely struck with a pang of concern- it sounded bad, and if futaba's words were anything to go by, this had been going on for a while. the kid's at school now (at school, being as ill as that and he was still going to class-), so sojiro will talk to him when he gets back. there's a chance he goes a bit too over the top, between the variation of medicines he purchases, supplies he grabbed from home- if you accused him for over-compensating after maybe being too harsh on the kid in the beginning, you'd be right

and you just know ren would be so resistent at first to help, or even just the offer of staying off school. in his sickness-induced fugue, ren's filter-less in rattling off how he can't stay off, what will the students and teachers think, and he has work that afternoon, and a test soon, and he doesn't want to get in the way-

sojiro's heart just shatters

this kid, whose been silently carring the weight of the world and has apparently been falling to pieces for weeks now and sojiro didn't even notice?

(a part of it reminds him too much of the other kid he's got at home, the countless ways he's already failed futaba, and now ren too? he feels useless)

sojiro focuses on what he can do, and that's making the kid rest. work will understand, school can wait, ren isn't an inconvenience, he guides the kid to bed, calls takemi immediately (who rushes over, despite the fact she's technically closed at this hour, and refuses to take any payment),

even still, there's this stilted awkwardness between them when the quiet pushes on too long- they hardly know each other, afterall. sojiro is still figuring out the 'caring for kids' thing, and ren isn't familiar with any kind of parental affection, so some of sojiro's care veers a bit too close to clinical or mechanic, and ren still struggles to communicate what kind of help he needs, but it's enough for now.

for now, sojiro is there. he's trying, and at least ren's getting some colour back on his skin. for now, ren's willing to take a few days off and have some medicine, but he's over-apologetic and definitely tries to make up for his sickness once he's healed. it's gonna take them both a while yet, but luckily there's always their guardian hacker, ready and able to call them out when needed (and maybe some day she'll be able to keep an eye on ren and sojiro in person)

[gomzdrawfr]

Thoughts during lab work, visualized:

[hanzajesthanza]

the witcher official cookbook is good of course, but i am fully aware of myself that i bought this not for its recipes, but entirely just to read maybe like, a little less than four pages of sapkowski talking about how much he likes making soup

[jovoy]

things i am making this week :

chicken noodle soup recipe i found on tiktok

pesto salmon with roasted broccolini & parsnips (maybe chickpeas also)

green chicken & rice soup

butter chicken w basmati rice +the rest of my chickpeas &maybe an attempt at homemade naan

salmon rice bowl 🍚 avocado cucumber carrots idk the works. maybe some edamame would be good also ooooohh fuck i have shallots maybe fried or pickled shallots

[seventh-district]

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

-

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought.  “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand,  reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

-

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

-

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

-

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

[dysfunctionaldogdude]

Finished the second Deadpool, very nice. I like movies/shows like this, it has its serious moments and well placed comedy

Proves Hazbin is just bad writing... It doesn't take itself seriously... Like ever.

Deadpool has a lot of comedy but also the space for its touching and serious scenes. I also enjoy 4th wall breaks and the calling out Wade did on the lazy writing parts

People who say Hazbin has great writing are crazy cause tbh it's shit compared to other darker adult comedies - Speaking as a fan of adult comedies and dark media.

Anyways Deadpool was great, I've been exposed to so much gore thankfully that I'm not so bothered by that stuff in Deadpool

Hannibal was honestly worse in that aspect and that streamed on live television

[beautyandlifestyleblog86]

Vegetable soup ideas to melt away fat 🤍🤍🤍

[pretty-batty]

Crybaby

Eddie x Judy (ofc) Part 11 of Eldath's Priestess 5754 Words

Warnings- SMUT (18+), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, non-penitrative sex, tiddie fucking, monster fucking, mentions of past gay escapades, mentions of past threesome (hinted to be Billy), MEDICAL MENTIONS: needles, overdosing, drugs, intracardial injections. Mentions of major character death. Now on ao3. Thanks to @anakinkshamer, my beloved beta reader and editor. Notes: not canon compliant, also mungrove as a pairing isn't fully addressed, but hinted at.

Summary- As Vecna's power grows, Judy is faced with an impossible choice.

Samwise was bigger than the rest of the demo-bats, waddling at Eddie’s heels like a medium-sized dog. Eddie could only take walks in the dark since he returned home. The yellow of his eyes reflected any light that would shine near him, so sticking to the deep woods would avoid that possibility. Although, the predatory gaze of his personal horde of demo-bats also kept people far from the trees.

This was Judy’s first time joining him, clinging to his arm to keep herself from falling. She understood why there was a “no flashlights” rule, but with the moon covered by pitch black canopy of trees it was impossible to see. No doubt Eddie’s supernatural abilities gave him night-vision, but Judy’s occasional thump “ow” proved that it wasn’t shared.

“You want me to carry you?” Eddie finally asked.

“No, it’s fine.” A lie. It took another scuff of her shoe against a surfaced tree root for her to relent. “Yeah…yeah I’d like that…”

He crouched down, Judy’s hand tracing along his shoulders, feeling around blindly before mounting his back. His arms formed stirrups for her legs. “Your loyal steed, my lady.”

“Thank you, my precious paladin.”

“Paladin,” he finally rose to his full height, Judy wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Sorry, I thought you’d prefer dungeon master.” She said, pressing a kiss at the crown of his head.

“If I can stay your paladin, that’s all I need. Edward the Stalwart and Princess Nim Hellarad, reunited at last.” He smiled, switching up his gate to provide extra bounce, Samwise chittering in surprise.

Judy rested her chin on his shoulder. “You think they’ll get a happy ending?”

“I’ll make sure of it, buttercup.”

A screeching rang from beyond the trees, accompanied by a torrent of flapping wings. She expected the trees to stir with Eddie’s own creatures as the larger horde passed over them. But they remained, chittering and snapping at each other, none taking wing.

“What’s going on?”

Eddie rolled his head slightly, groaning. “Vecna’s calling.”

“Like the frenzy?”

“Not that bad. It controls the creatures, not me. But my little buddies wait until I give them permission.” He explained. “So, Dustin tried to explain it to me. It’s like those circuits they had us build in school. There are two lightbulbs. The mindflayer is the battery. Vecna is one switch for one bulb. I control the other. If I’m awake, conscious, the connection is possible, if I’m unconscious, then no connection.”

“I’m not even going to try to get you to elaborate.”

“Basically, if I’m asleep, so are the bats. And all I do is take naps so…”

Judy pressed a kiss against the cuff of his ear. “Among other things.”

“My favorite things…” He purred, “speaking of…you wanna go home?”

“Yes please.”

Samwise stayed outside when Eddie continued to carry Judy inside, still on his back. Wayne was at the plant, Margie in bed. Still, they tamped down their giggles as much as they could. Judy reaching back to lock the back door, her hand returned to Eddie’s shoulder, tapping it twice. “Down, please.”

“Nope. This floor is no good, Princess Hellarad. I must find a suitable place for you.” He announced. Swiftly, with new purpose, he moved to the couch, letting her plop down on the cushions. He turned, gazing at her in the moonlight. “No.”

“Eddie come on.” Before she could finish he lifted her bridal style, carrying her up the stairs and into Wayne’s empty room, plopping her on the bed for a moment.

He stood, panting. His face began to glisten with sweat. One more deep breath. “Nope.”

His body hunched over, yanking her over his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her waist, Judy’s arms pressed against the center of his back. She shook her head with a smile, “Goddamnit.”

Eddie opened her bedroom door with one hand, tossing her on her bed. He closed the door, leaning his body against it casually then turning the lock. His eyebrows rising at the click. Judy was halfway done with taking off her pants, shoes already yanked off with the laces still tied. “Eager, are we?” He asked.

“To get my clothes off, yes.” She smiled.

He laughed, slowly quieting as she continued to shimmy her jeans off her legs, panties as well, chucking them to the side. Her thicket of dark hair glistening in the moonlight as it peeked through the branches of the tree outside her window. Eddie’s hand ran down his inner thigh, moving to stroke himself over his zipper. His claws scraped against the denim, eyes soon latching completely to the sight of Judy’s breasts falling from her unlined, wireless sleeping bra.

“You okay, big fella?” She asked.

His top teeth slid across his bottom lip, pulling the bottom stitch taught, releasing a calming breath. “Your tiddies are always so pretty.”

“You have something in mind?” She purred, lifting her remaining clothes over her head, letting them drop to the floor. She laid back on her pillows. Bathing in his gaze as it poured over her glistening skin like honey. She already knew what he wanted, and she’d gladly oblige. Her hands reached down to the meeting of her thighs, her arms pushing her breasts together. Her right fingers stroked along her clit, the left teasing her entrance.

Her breasts were poised perfectly, caged by her biceps, hypnotizing Eddie with each breath she took. He stripped himself bare, climbing from the foot of the bed, over her body. Before he could straddle her waist, cock poised at the bottom of her sternum, Judy raised her left hand from between her legs, running her slick coated fingers down his cock. Just wet enough to slide in with no resistance.

Eddie's cock slid between her breasts, his tip poking from the top, dusky pink against her moonlit skin. Her left hand settled on his hip, her right continued to pleasure herself. After one pass through her soft tits, his tip began to leak. He hissed through his teeth, leaning his head back to reveal his neck to Judy, her eyes latching on his bobbing Adam’s apple.

Her nails gripped his hip just below his scar as he continued to thrust, smiling at the sight of his two clawed hands reaching down pushing her breasts together himself, rolling his dark thumbs over he nipples. Her top teeth dragged over her lip as their gazes met once again.

Her arms relaxed, no longer needing to hold anything in place. She simply focused on her own pleasure, strumming her aching bud. Any sort of orgasm would do at this point. Her other hand migrated up Eddie's torso, running her thumb over his nipple. The friction set him alight, thrusting quicker and shallower. Each time she looked down, she could see his leaking tip, glistening and dripping with need between her breasts.

She gave his nipple a slight roll with her fingers. Eddie's lips parted in a higher pitched moan. But he kept going, closing his mouth with an “mmm” before closing his eyes, Judy continuing the action a few more times. That sound he made was enough, a wave a pleasure spread through Judy's body, leaving her with that gentle buzz beneath her skin.

She pressed her head into the pillow, exposing her long neck. Eddie's thrusts became more erratic. The sight of her, exposed and used, covered in him and nothing else, must have been the last straw. Before he could ask her to stick her tongue out to catch it, his cum spurted from his tip and up her neck. His mouth opened with another cry as more emptied from him. Judy quickly tilted her face down, lips parting and tongue stretched to accept what he had left. He managed a few drops for her before he let go of her breasts, leaving his spent and aching cock bare.

Judy withdrew her tongue back into her mouth, swallowing his spend as he watched, her right hand finally released from under Eddie’s thigh. A combination of his sweat on her forearm and her own juices on her fingers were muted by her aching wrist, wiping her hand and arm on her sheets before bringing it up and rubbing it with her left hand. Eddie reached down with a “here”, taking her wrist in his fingers and massaging it. “Haven’t fingered someone in a while, you’re out of practice.” He smiled.

“I mean…if you’re offering, I can always play with what you have.”

Eddie let out a laugh, “not my thing.”

“Right, Mister Stone Top.” She added, pausing for a second as Eddie fished tissues out of the box on her bedside table. There was a tightness in her chest, nervous about intruding, before letting it go as she asked. “Did you ever try it, before you got with me?”

He gazed at her, gathering his spend from her neck, wiping it away. His expression softened, “yeah…not a fan. It hurt and I didn’t like how it made me feel…like…emotionally.” Eddie threw the tissues away, gathering more as he moved down to the valley between her breasts, now parted to their respective sides. The soft tissues left her skin dry. He continued rambling, “Honestly, didn’t like the head part either. I mean getting head from a dude, great. They go in and like get it done, man. But like…giving head. Depending on the size, it would feel invasive. I would listen to these guys talking about loving big cocks and how they felt in their mouths, and I was like ‘I prefer it not to hit the back of my throat, thanks.’ Just a sensible four is as big as I need.” Eddie tossed the other tissues away, then paused. “You never asked me about that before.”

“You never asked me about my escapades either. Thought it would be…invasive to ask you.” she explained, sitting up and pulling her knees so her chest. She didn’t know why she felt so self-conscious. “Maybe I was scared that if we talked about it, I’d tell you about what I did, and you might get…weird about it.”

“Me? Get weird about that? I think you have forgotten who you’re with, baby. And what we’ve done together.”

Judy’s face felt flush. “Or that I might feel…jealous…of the people you were with.” She continued, “but it’s weird…because I don’t feel jealous. I feel…”

Eddie’s mischievous smile emerged, his nose pushing past her knees and into her face, “turned on.” Judy looked away, lips tight in embarrassment. He let out his signature chuckle, “baby, the image of you going down on another girl has gotten me through many a night.”

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. But when I got with you, and when we did that thing with whatshisname…I realized I didn’t like sharing you.”

“I didn’t like sharing you either. And you didn’t even fuck him.”

Eddie pressed his forehead against hers, bumping their noses together. “So, whatever we did before, it’s fine. Nothing to be ashamed of. We can use it as spank bank material for each other. I’ll think about you being three fingers deep in a cheerleader, and you can think about me fucking jocks in the ass.”

Judy let out a wheeze before reeling back and cackling, quickly covering her own mouth, making sure not disturb anyone else in the house. Eddie smiled, pressing a kiss on her nose. “Only! If I have your permission. You already have mine.”

She nodded with a regal air, “Of course. You may jack off to my lesbo escapades.”

Eddie hopped off the bed, his softened cock bounced in the air before he got on his knees, bringing his fists down in a pump of victory, releasing a voiceless “YES!”

Judy continued to stifle her giggles, as did Eddie. His eyes followed up her bedside to her legs, the little hairs almost twinkling like rhinestones. She hadn’t shaved in a bit, but her comfort level with Eddie made it so that she didn’t need to fret.

He rose to his feet, climbing over top of Judy again as she lowered her legs. He rested his ear against her sternum, bracketed by her soft breasts. Her skin smelled like him, and a little bit of her too. Her heart’s gentle rhythm playing beneath his stitched-up cheek. “I can’t believe you’re mine, buttercup.”

Judy’s chest ached at his sweetness, soothed by a slight kiss from the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Her long fingers ran through his curls, nails softly scratching at his scalp. Eddie, like the large beast he was, let out a purr.

She smiled, “I always was, baby.”

As Eddie finally drifted off to sleep, the horde of deformed bats in the woods grew silent as well. The night was finally still.

-------------------------------------------

Maybe telling Judy their plan was a bad idea. That’s what Judy thought, at least. She could feel the sweat form on the back of her neck as Dustin continued to explain how Rick was the only one who could supply the “sedatives or whatever”. Her face grew hot again, eyes fixed to the cabin floor.

She had no place to argue. These kids were all gifted. Strategic in their planning. But feeling Rick’s eyes on her made the feeling of helplessness worse. Judy finally spoke, interrupting the meeting of the young minds. “You understand that an overdose that size can kill him? We’re just gonna breeze past that. There is a fine line. And we don’t have the equipment that could keep him alive.”

“Under my watch, he’ll be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.” Rick said.

She stood up from her spot on the couch, throwing off the balance of the room as everyone else remained seated. “You? You’ll take care of it? I wouldn’t trust you to water my aunt’s azaleas.”

“You can’t blame me.”

“I can blame you for everything if I want to. You got Joe hooked on heroin, persuaded him not to go to rehab before it got bad. He’s dead. You had Eddie selling the harder shit while you were locked up to keep your product moving, had him selling ketamine, the ketamine that Cunningham wanted, and it ended up with her dead in Eddie’s home and Eddie falsely accused of her murder. If you hadn’t persuaded him to do that, he would be fine, he would be living with me far the fuck away from here.” She reached her limit, “So no, Richard, you won’t take care of it. Because I can’t stand the idea of losing Eddie aga-” She shut her mouth, clenching her teeth.

Dustin stood up, walking himself between her and Rick, his hands up to her in submission. “Okay, that’s fine. You…could do it. Right. You got that training.”

Judy’s eyes stung, realizing she hadn’t blinked the entire time she was ripping Rick apart. She closed her eyes, a rogue tear leaking from the corner of her eye. “Have you talked to Eddie about this?”

“It was his idea.” Dustin insisted.

Thum. It had been years since she felt that. The hallow drum within her chest and the mallet striking it, shaking off the cobwebs. She returned to her spot on the couch, Steve to her right, the arm rest on her left, the door behind her.

Thum.

All she had to do was get up and leave.

Just go. Get up. Get back up.

Steve’s hand moved, resting on her arm. It was softer than she expected, warm. “I’d trust ‘em.”

Her voice came out several decibels lower, “Rick or Eddie?”

“Both.”

The meeting continued the plan being very similar to the one from months back. Separate, go in through different points, weaken him, and send in El for the kill.

Judy finally spoke again, “are we sure it’s just El he wants?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Mike, a slight scoff in his voice, “that’s all he’s been saying.”

“Well,” she continued, “from what I heard, it’s Will too, and Max. And it was the three teens who died in spring. People who were face to face with the Vecna or the mindflayer.”

“When did Vecna see Chrissy in person?”

Judy felt her skin prickle, realizing watching the pieces emerge into a single image. “In 1976, a flu swept through Hawkins. The sickest kids had febrile seizures and went blind. The local bio lab made a treatment. The doctor in charge of it, Doctor Brenner…brought his son.”

“One…” El whispered.

She nodded, “Some of the children who received the treatment were Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney, Barb Holland, Marty Miller, Vicky Blake…and me.” Her last admission was quietest, hanging in the air. “There are others besides me and Vicky that are alive. No one is within twenty miles of Hawkins, except me.”

“So why are you still here?” Robin asked. There was something about her tone, or the ‘still’ that she added that pinched at her skin.

Judy bit back, “Because my boyfriend is here, and now that I know some of you are willing to kill him, again, I’m definitely not leaving.” She knew she was a little sensitive, a nerve had been exposed when Rick arrived. But her bitchiness was surprising to even herself. “Sorry, that was really mean. Maybe it’s the anxiety or something…but all of this,” her hand moved in a circle to her right, “isn’t helping.”

Her stomach started to gurgle, indigestion, again. She reached into her purse, fishing out her Rolaids, unwrapping a disk and popping it in her mouth. As she chewed, her hand cupped her face, rubbing her nose on her own skin in a hypnotic pattern. Their voices turned into a rumble in the back of her mind, rising and falling with intensity.

“Who was Joe?” The voice carried softly over the others.

Judy looked to her right, where Steve once was Max sat. Her ginger braids over her shoulders. She answered, “He was my older brother. Died thanksgiving of eighty-four.”

“I lost my older brother too, well stepbrother.” Max explained.

Judy placed her hand over Max’s, giving a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that. Not something you can get over.”

“His name was Billy. You might have met him. He was an asshole.”

Judy’s gray eyes widened for a moment, grateful that Max could not see her expression. She knew Billy very well…too well…the way his lips pressed against her skin as it spilled over her leather bralette, how his curls looked in Eddie’s fist. She blinked hard to clear her mind.

“But he was your asshole.” she added, shaking her head with a slight laugh. “I know it.”

Max smiled at that, soft, haunted. It dropped. “He was killed right in front of me. This flesh creature shoved its tendril through his chest, punched a hole right through. I can still smell it sometimes.”

“I wish there was something I can give you to make it easier.” Judy admitted, “but there isn’t. You’ll always think of him, and it’ll always hurt. Just each time you do, try to dig deep and find the good memories. Anything to drown out the last thing you saw.” Her mind wandered to Joe’s face, lids half-closed, color seeping away. She shook her head, blinking again. “Sorry about the unsolicited advice.”

“It’s okay.” Max said, “did you know him?”

She took in a breath, letting it out. A little bit of truth was good enough, perhaps his music selection, “yeah. Scorpions, Ratt, Poison. His regular bands. He was nicer than most of my customers, but I think it was to score the eventual discount.”

“Judy!”

Her gaze moved with the nod of her head. The cluster required her attention. Rick had ducked out before she could see him. They had relocated to the kitchen, a map sprawled out on the dining table. She approached. The huddle parted, Robin quickly caught Judy by the arm. “Hey, I just wanted to check on you.” She took a beat, gathering her thoughts before opening her mouth and “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to come off as mean sometimes I just have those tone problem at least my parents say that I do and I can’t really tell when it happens until it hurts somebody.”

Judy managed a smile, taking both Robin’s arms, “hey, it’s okay. I’m in a place where I can’t…” she searched her mouth for the words, finding none. Just managing a, “ya know?”

Robin nodded, “yeah, definitely.”

“But I appreciate that you’d check on me.” She gave Robin’s elbows a soft squeeze before parting, “I gotta go see what curly wants, before he gets mad at me.”

“Keeping him waiting is never good.” Steve added.

Approaching Dustin, Judy found herself approaching a quartet of young men. Shoulders hunched over the map, murmuring amongst themselves. “So, what do you need?”

“You and Rick need to cover Eddie, the best placement is your house.” Will said.

Dustin continued, “Far enough from a gate that if something goes wrong, it stalls Vecna from being able to regain his bat horde to his location.”

“There is a big chance that this will kill him, you understand that? For all we know, Vecna is what’s keeping him alive.” Judy chewed on her bottom lip, “so either the overdose kills him”

Mike concluded. “And Vecna loses control of that horde permanently.”

“Or Eddie survives the drugs, Vecna dies…and Eddie dies.” Judy finished, “God you guys are really dead set on killing him.”

“We don’t know if it’ll kill him. His wounds have healed. You might be able to restart his heart with a defibrillator.” Lucas introjected.

“That’s not how it works. Defibs only reset an abnormal heartrate.” She explained, “It’s not like tv. You’d have to give him epinephrine, either intravenously or intracardially, all the while doing continuous chest compressions. And I’m not trained to put in a line. Hopefully, in that time, Rick would have called EMS. God knows I can’t bring myself to trust that man.”

“You’ll have to.”

The words spat like hot grease, her lip curling in disgust. “I’ll have to talk to him about this.” She meant Eddie. Her Eddie, who somehow managed to assist in concocting this plot that would most certainly end with his death. Judy was beginning to think he wanted to kill himself. Not knowing that Eddie, in fact, had limited time anyway.

His “not yet” had turned into “not ever” as he pushed the inevitable discussion of his death further away. Robbing Judy of solid ground, until she was blindsided by this eventual execution in 36 hours.

By “talk to him about it”, Judy originally meant scream at him about it until she had an aneurism. But when she got home to him, his sad puppy eyes, his guilt-ridden expression. She could only melt into his arms and sob. The two landing on the entryway floor.

“I don’t want you to die.” She managed choke out, another deep sob wracked her body. “Please, Eddie. Just tell me you don’t want to do this.”

Eddie’s chin rested atop her head. “I don’t want to do this, baby.” He ran his cheek along her hair. She had managed to fold herself into the smallest shape possible, curling into his lap. “He’ll kill me, regardless.” Judy let out another wail, muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. “I’m so sorry, Judy. Wish I had told you.” His lips parted in her hair, at first to press a kiss, but only to let out a cry of his own. His chest shook against her cheek. His speech became clenched and difficult. “I don’t wanna die, babe.” He hiccupped, “But I w-will.” He sucked in a breath. “Jst wanna do something right.” His voice ran dry, managing quiet whimpers of “I’m so sorry, Judy.”

Wayne and Margie were sitting on the back steps, each with a glass of whiskey in their hands. While Judy had been told of the plan from the Scooby Gang, Eddie had told Wayne and Margie. Their faces now haggard and pale, carrying the heavy burden of the incoming death of another nephew, another son. Samwise, like the dutiful companion it was, stayed at their feet, purring in an attempt to comfort them, only seeming to unnerve them instead.

Within the next day and a half, Judy and Eddie didn’t leave the house, hardly leaving the bedroom. If they did, it was together. Attached at the hip, or both hips, arms around each other. As if they were teenagers again, finally together after almost a decade of avoiding their feelings. But the reason was different this time. In counting down the hours, neither one wanted to miss a moment. Judy could never get sick of Eddie. And Eddie, riddled with terror and guilt, just wanted his girl close. To smell her, feel her, to open his eyes and see her.

“My princess” “my angel” “my girl”, anything he could call her other than her name would pour from his lips. As for her name, he practically breathed it. Wrapped around her, within her, anything he could do.

While they spent their last moments together, Margie and Wayne made their plans to evacuate, at their children’s behest. Wayne was the more reluctant of the two. But after many tears and pleas, Margie was in the beetle driving to stay with a friend in Indianapolis. Wayne, on the other hand, was much harder to sway.

“You needed me, and I wasn’t there.” The older man insisted, “I can’t live with myself again if I failed you a second time.”

“You didn’t fail me, pop. But if you die in this…” Eddie took in a deep breath, “I need you to be here for Judy when it’s done. And me…if I magically survive. Please, just this once, listen to me.” He reached out, the first time he had separated himself from Judy in hours and brought Wayne into a hug. “Please, I need you to get out of here.”

Wayne’s arms slowly wrapped around his nephew, holding him as close as he could. His eyes shimmered with tears before finally relenting, “alright.” He gave Eddie one last squeeze, “you stink, son.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just…clean yourself up before you do your thing. Don’t want you runnin’ around lookin’ like no one cares about you.” Finally, they separated, Wayne giving his nephew one last kiss on his forehead, ruffling his hair. No doubt something he used to do when Eddie was younger. They said their goodbyes before Wayne got in his car and slowly rolled out of the driveway. He lingered in front of the house for a moment, before raising his hand in one last wave, driving east and out of Hawkins.

6 Hours remained.

Eddie and Judy rarely showered together. Unless they were willing to exert significant effort neither of them could get properly clean. This was their last chance to try again. They got in the shower, bare chest to chest, rotating together in fourths to get properly clean.

“This is so stupid.” Judy laughed.

“Listen, babe, I don’t know what you want from me.” Half of Eddie’s mane was under the water, the other half still white with suds. “This was your plan.”

Judy was in the same situation, a direct mirror of Eddie, water down half her curls, the other sudsy and smelling of oranges. They continued their dance, taking a hour for a normal shower. Taking as long as they needed. Drying each other off gently, peppering each other with kisses when they could.

Attempting to make six hours feel like an eternity. And to their effort, it did. They were cuddled on the couch together when there was a knock at the door. Early afternoon. It was time.

Having Rick inside her home again already set Judy’s teeth on edge. There was only so many times she could stand him patting Eddie on the back, insisting on how happy he was that Eddie was alive.

“I’m not used to this superhero shit, man. You know that.” He reiterated, laughing to himself, “but if it means ridding myself of my stash and starting over in a more legitimate product, I’d call it a win.” Rick paused at the silence, “What? It’s a joke! God, can’t tell jokes anymore with you kids. Always so serious.”

“Garage, by the way. I don’t want that acrid smell in my house.” Judy managed to say.

“No problem, boss.” He gave her a casual salute, gathering his supplies once more and leaving out the back door.

Eddie approached Judy, his claws running down her arms to cradle her from behind. His nose pressed against her ear. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll be alright.”

“No, I’m supposed to be the one doing the reassuring.” She turned in his arms, bringing her hands to stroke his face, trailing her shaking fingers over the crags of his maw. “I just…”

He caressed her wrist, pressing his lips against her skin.

“I don’t want you to die. I can’t do that again. I can’t…” Her voice stopped, hiccupping into a panicked gasp. “Oh God.”

“It’s okay, Judy baby. If anything happens,”

“No.”

“Yes, you need to listen to me.” His hands grasped her by the sides of her face, forcing her to meet his yellowed gaze. “If anything happens, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I love you more than…” He shook his head, no words could express it. “It was always supposed to end like this.”

Judy’s eyes bubbled over with tears, completely obscuring her view. Her back teeth ached from the clenching, holding back any wail that wished to escape. “Please, Eddie.” She whimpered.

“You’re mine, buttercup. You always will be.” He brought her face to his, pressing his lips to hers. She gave way, accepting his kiss, his tongue, his reassuring smile. His hands finally released her cheeks and gripped any inch of her curves he could reach. Holding her as close as he possibly could, and adding another inch with each breath, her sobs finally quieted, dancing across her tongue to him. The more he kissed her, the more he could hide his sobs. Each gasp for air was simply that, a gasp. Every draw of her lips soothing his terror, and the taste of her tongue brought him bliss.

He finally spoke. “Or” they finally parted, “I’ll be perfectly fine, everything will go well, you’ll revive me, and we’ll move to Pennsyltucky,” another quick kiss on her nose, “and raise angora rabbits.”

Judy finally wiped her tears away, finally able to see Eddie clearly. His face was red and wet, a testament to his own sorrow. “Perfect.” She whispered.

“Misses and Mister Sondheim.”

“Still wanting my name, huh?” Judy asked, her face found its way to his. Her hooked nose to his cheek.

“Well, I’m not keeping this one.”

The walkie-talkie crackled awake, Robin’s voice rising above the static. “Bat-Daddy, what’s the status?”

“You gotta say over.”

“Over.”

“Bat-Daddy?” mouthed Judy.

Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, “you know it, crybaby.”

“Wait…. wait am I crybaby? Eddie do they call me crybaby?”’

He shrugged.

“Crybaby are you there? Over.” Dustin.

Her top lip twitched for a moment, snatching the walkie from the table and answering. “No crybaby here, but there are two bat parents. You may call me bat-mother, thank you.”

There was a pause before Dustin added, “You gotta say over. Over.”

“Over.”

“Okay, cool. What is your status bat…mother?”

Judy gave a definite nod, “Thank you. Asshole is cooking up what we need. He’ll get us when he’s ready. Then I’ll reach you during bedtime…over.”

“Let’s get you in a k-hole, big fella.” Rick said with a smile, poking his head around the storm door.

Eddie took Judy’s hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. Then he made his way to the garage, Judy trailing behind.

“Shirt off, big guy. Judy, can you find his entry point? Below fourth rib.”

The two were surprised on his forward nature.

“You said you have emt training?” Rick continued.

“No…just first aid, who told you emt?”

Rick waved off the question, fixing a cap over the epinephrine shot. “Can you do an intracardial injection?”

“I know how, but I’ve never done it before.”

“Okay, cool.” He affixed the shot in the hard leather case, followed by the sound of zippers and clinks of metal. “Here.” Rick’s arms wrapped around her waist, the buckle of the fanny pack clicking into place. “So we don’t lose it. Now,” his attention shifted to a shirtless Eddie, finally getting to see his scars, “fuck bro they weren’t kidding. Uh…belly up on the floor.”

Judy watched Eddie follow the direction. She followed suit, her fingers probing his chest until she found the correct position. The sharpie in hand, she marked it with a heavy circle. “Like those tests say, fill the bubble heavy and dark.” Her hand shook as it drew the marker away, capping it.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby.” Eddie whispered.

She smiled, pursing her lips to blow air on to the mark.

“No babe…over a bit.”

“I’m not blowing on your nipple, you nasty boy.”

Eddie raised his brows again, biting his bottom lip. “Suit yourself.”

“I’ll literally do anything you want when this is over, and you live.” She let out another stream of air, moving her aim for one last puff, gracing over his dusky pink nipple and winking at him as it stiffened.

“You two done? As much as I dig the love, very cool, I do need to knock this boy out before he turns into Carrie or something.” Rick offered Eddie a little cup of pills, rattling off the concoction he had created, comprising of downers and a paralytic.

“Hearing a white guy say ‘dig’ will always be weird.” Judy muttered, watching Eddie sit up and take the cup from his hand. She turned away from both of them before Eddie’s free hand touched hers.

“I love you, buttercup.”

She pressed her lips into a line, swallowing back a sob. “Love you too.” One last squeeze of his hand before he let go, knocking back the pills, following it with a glass of watered-down vodka. Gently, Rick and Judy guided him to the back wall.

“My paladin.” She watched as the medication started to take effect, Eddie’s eyes slowly dulling, lids fluttering closed. Judy rose to her feet, taking the walkie from the table. “Bat-mother to cave, bat-daddy is down. Over.”

It's the homestretch now children. Thank you my friends for reading! See ya next weekend! Ps: don't worry mungrove babes, I got a fic for you in a future. Tag List: @loserboysandlithium @userchai @secretdryrose

[sweeteastart]

I know the titles sound profound and all, but there is also soup and now I wanna know about soup !

But also, Drawing circles intrigues me a lot !!

Ohhhh I put off responding to this ask for so long sorry i got really shy and got stuck in my head for a moment--

MORE IMPORTANTLY IM BACK

First of all !! Have some more Soup content !! 🍲

Soup

I still don't have any good writing for the boy but have a WIP oh him beint absolutely gorgeous as always. I already hear you say : who's that kid in his arms ? Welllll

THAT'S HIS DAUGHTER, LILA :D

Surprise ! Soup has a three year old daughter when he meets the Chain when he's 25 years old. I don't want to reveal quite yet who's the mother. What I'm gonna say is : Soup had an arranged marriage with some nobility in his very early twenties and had Lila soon after.

Currently, she isn't residing with either of her parents as Hyrule (the capital and the country) is dangerous for her to stay in. The kid lives with close friends of Soup from his adventurous years and he visits her as much as he can :D

Drawing Circles

The first writing centric WIP I was asked about ! I'm literally so excited but deathly afraid of sharing my writing in any capacity so be nice to me that's also the very first draft of one scene I'm sorry

!DISCLAIMER!

The TW in hashtags are about this fic !! Beware of that before reading that snippet please.

To put some context around that tid bit : The story revolved around a time loop where only Sky remembers the previous loops. In each one, an unknown entity seemed to pull the string and kill the chain one by one in a predefined pattern. Each time Sky is killed, he comes back to square one. By the time of this snippet, he has seen and experienced very nasty moments which is why mentally he isn't coping well !!

TLDR : Sky is getting his shit wrecked in a time loop where he sees and is killed again and again :)) (I love writing gut wrenching angst I'm sorry--)

Here comes nothing~

"The first sense he regained was always the same. Touch. The hero felt the rugged linen of his bedroll under his fingertips.

Second was smell. The deep scent of burning wood tinged his nose.

Third was hearing. Only the quiet songs of insects broke the all encompassing silence of the woods.

Fourth was taste. The lingering taste of blood and sour potion spread across his taste bud.

That… wasn’t normal.

He suddenly opened his eyes. Only a sky full to the brim with stars and trees shadows responded by its calm infinity to the man. Moved by a sudden surge of energy, he stood up straight as an arrow in his bed. Eyes still glued to the enigma that was the ink black sky.

It was night. The moon was smirking high in the sky but…. It never did before. It had always been day. Dawn. Five in the morning exactly. Always the same day at the exact same time.

His eyes fell back. Lost in a sea of confusion, the chosen one took a long time before understanding what was before him. Drenched in deep shadows was the campfire and…. all his brothers. Sitting. Here. Seemingly startled in the middle of a discussion. All his brothers.

He looked at Hyrule. The brown haired kid looked back at him with a weak smile. Just after this action he averted his eyes. Away from him. Straight to the dirt. Then the hero of the Sky saw a glint reflecting the light of the fire. Steel against the dark.

Immediately Sky looked around him in search of his own sword.

“Whoah ! Whoah !” tried Warriors with a rushed sword. Strangely his tone was soft yet worried. A worry Sky had never been on the receiving end of. “Don’t move so much ! Your wound might re-open !”

….. Wound ?

That’s only then he truly felt the burning, tremendous amount of pain his neck was in. It felt like a bag of bricks fell down on his shoulders. He slouched forwards, hands holding his neck.

Sky didn’t go back to day 1. Fi was nowhere near him. The sky was this treacherous black hue. Eyes glued to the grass enveloped in harsh shadows, he stayed dead silent.

He had been…. saved ?

“... Sky ?” The old man called to him. The chosen one didn't even register the word nor that he was the one it directed to.

He smiled. His brothers had saved him. His smile widened even more. They must have done everything in their power to bring him back. A snicker rolled higher and higher in his throat. Despite their efforts to save him, someone had taken hold of Fi. By now, a distorted, devoid of happiness, small laugh was breaching his lips. Twilight must have seen it. Tonitruous, painful fit of laughter took hold of all his body.

Oh… Kind and helpful brothers of his… who ended up afflicting such a tragic agony to the one they wanted to protect.

“Sky…”

A voice.

A voice was calling his name. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. He was past comprehension and rationality. He couldn’t process anything else but unbound kindness and painful ignorance. Neither of which he could truly be mad at. So he clawned at the dirt by his bedroll. Like it had wronged him. Like it was the all encompassing reason for his pain. Like it was at fault for this endless hellish loop.

And he laughed. Laughed a deeply unhappy laugh. He did so with so much resolve. So much perseverance because for weeks he hadn’t been able to. Because after weeks of this never ending hell, there was no end in sight. A hell in which, even the sweet release of death was refused to him.

Arms held him away from battered and beating dirt that had the unluckiness of being by his side. A high-pitched noise escaped his mouth. He saw without seeing multiple people around him. Shapes and shadows stretching from the dim light of the campfire to the abyss of the night.

“I can’t do it anymore…” he croaked in between two giggles. By now it could barely be described as such. Maybe sobs would have been closer to the truth. Even then, it sounded barely human. Eternally doomed and animalistic. Hands cupped his face. Big and rugged. Heavy too. His eyes searched too long before falling on one single blue iris looking back to him. Not only worried. Scared. Panicked…. Knowing of a truth even he didn’t. Soon he saw his lips. They were moving but making no sounds. Or….were they ? Was it the lips that didn’t produce sounds or he who couldn’t hear them.

The fingers of the hands around his cheeks tensed. And he knew. Something in him knew it had been the latter. So he tried to concentrate. Over the physical and mental anguish and devastation of a failed restart.

“...ky…” he half-guessed, half-heard. “Foc… us … Me.”

Focus.

Focus me.

Focus on me.

And he did. He tried. His mind was a bottomless lake he couldn’t swim back up from. It was trying to drag him down. Down into the depths. He fought the grief. He fought off the need to close back his eyes and forget all about it.

“.. Me. “ it was pressing. “Please focus… Sky.” more words stuck to his brain. He needed time to understand them but they were starting to make sense."

AND THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW-- That little bit of text made me soooo anxious for days but it's not as awful as I remember--

I got so worked up for not much lmao I hope you weren't too jumpscared by the angst my dear friend lmao I've had the idea for this fic for quite some times so I'm happy to share it

Thanks for the ask ♪♪♪♪

[turtleblogatlast]

Perhaps odd question: Is hypothermia a thing for Leo? Considering he's colder than average, in the colder months can he get hypothermia and die? Or frostbite?

Or is he immune somehow?

[ cw: hypothermia mention / death mention / ]

He’s actually more susceptible to it than most, even though he can come back from it. The cold does Not agree with him. There’s a reason his casual outfit is a winter coat, after all! He gets chilly :(

[superbellsubways]

he actually gives me so much cuteness aggression its not even funny

[wildflowercryptid]

i used to be a bean disliker, but now i like eating them a lot. i've become a certified bean boy, baby. ✌️😎

[legallysoup]

11.11.23 - saturday, samedi, lørdag 26/31 of the studyblr community challenge

yass and slay besties

things i did today:

🌼some more of my french vocab 🌼more of my geological time 🌼french assignment research

things i will do tomorrow:

🍃french vocab 🍃research for food tech essay 🍃go through past econs topics covered

things i did for me today:

🌧️played val this morning (yay) 🌧️drank a lot of water 🌧️ate some chocolate

day twenty-six: tag someone you would like to get to know

@fishtacofriday the vibes are immaculate, i love you

today was kinda unproductive but i got a 4k today so all is well

i started a survival horror game at night what's the bet ill have another fun dream (last one i had my ankles were ✨removed✨) i do love meself some violence

sorry for the sudden body horror this isn't very studyblr of me

im not sure how much work ill be able to do tomorrow im going to a fairday with my friends, im excited :D

goodnight lovlies!