#he really has to pretend he doesn’t hear it to keep up appearances...

[fukumeiyonoir]

the plague doctor gets flustered on hearing other bellies growl? *fans self*

Oh, he absolutely does! Granted, this does make his job a tad awkward should either his or the other party's belly start to grumble, but he tries to remain professional despite his flustered state...

[steddiealltheway]

One thing that sucks about fighting monsters from some weirdly dusty and gooey parallel universe to your own… is going back to school. Specifically going back after telling all your friends that they’re actually trust fund assholes and your girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - ends up with the one guy she swore up and down was just a friend.

Not that Steve really blames Nancy for that. Jonathan’s a good dude. Plus, it’s not like Steve was the perfect boyfriend or anything. He tried, but maybe it just wasn’t enough.

Maybe it’ll never be enough.

Steve takes a sudden right, making a detour from all the student rushing into the lunchroom in favor of being anywhere but there. He barely registers walking out of the school until he notices the woods in front of him. Why does everything always lead him back to here?

He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s what Dustin call his “mother hen” instinct, but Steve continues walking into the woods, wondering if maybe there are more monsters lurking about that he can spot early this time. God knows he would do anything for those kids - not that he would tell them that. Dustin especially does not need the ego boost.

So Steve wanders, listening closely for any unusual noise.

And then he hears one.

It’s just the thud of something metal sounding against maybe… a tree? Something solid. Then a crunch of leaves. And…

Singing?

Steve slowly peaks around a tree and finds the source of all the noise.

Eddie Munson.

Steve nearly rolls his eyes but finds himself fondly watching the boy as he drums on a wooden picnic table singing some song Steve has never heard. It’s when Eddie does some type of ridiculously uncoordinated twirl that Steve ends up snorting. It’s loud enough that Eddie ends up hearing it, startling mid turn and head bang that has him misstepping and landing right on his ass.

Steve tries to let some sheepishness bleed through the amusement in his expression. “You okay, man?” He asks, stepping forward to offer him a hand.

Eddie eyes it wearily. “Depends. What are you doing out here?”

“Just…” Steve stares at Eddie for a moment, trying to find a normal answer, but instead he shrugs and sighs, “I don’t know, man.” He takes another step closer and pointedly looks down at his offered hand.

Eddie narrows his eyes at him before taking it carefully. Steve is caught off guard by the cold metal rings but hauls Eddie up easily who wobbles when he gets to his feet. “Thanks,” Eddie breathes out, lingering in Steve’s space.

Steve just nods and wonders if Eddie Munson’s eyes have always been so big and brown.

“So, Steve Harrington,” Eddie starts, drawling out his name while taking a step back and brushing dirt off his pants, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Eddie marches over to the picnic table and gestures dramatically at his lunch box. “I’m assuming you’re here for the goods?”

“The what?”

“Drugs, Harrington. Are you alright?” Eddie asks with a tilt of his head leaning forward as if assessing him.

Steve shrugs. “Fine. And no. I’m not here for your drugs which you evidently keep in your lunch box for any teacher to find.” Eddie’s brows furrow. Steve rolls his eyes. “I know you sell, but Tommy usually does this part.”

“I know,” Eddie replies as he hops up on the bench and crosses his arms. He faces Steve and bends at the waist - Steve ignores the urge to reach out and steady him so he doesn’t fall again. “So what are you doing out here? Are you here to… beat me up?” Eddie asks dramatically, hopping onto the table and pretending to brandish a sword.

Steve simply raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.

Eddie’s arms drop. “Okay. Surprising but I guess you would’ve already taken a swing if you wanted a fight.” He squats down on the table until he’s eye level with Steve. “You’re not here because of the rumors, right?” Eddie asks, dropping his voice and appearing weirdly serious.

As for the rumors, Steve’s sure he’s heard more than he can count - including one about Munson being a vampire - so he’s not sure what he’s talking about. He’s also not sure if he wants to know which rumors he’s talking about. Steve runs a hand through his hair and settles his hands on his hips. “I just needed to clear my head. I didn’t know you were out here.”

Eddie squints at him. “You’re clearing your head by taking a walk in the woods?”

“Yes.”

They hold eye contacts for a few moments, and Steve can’t really tell what they’re silently sizing each other up about. Eddie reluctantly stands up and jumps off the table. “Fine. What are you clearing your head about?”

Steve stares at him.

“What?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Eddie steps closer to him and obnoxiously twirls a piece of hair around his finger. “Because you’re Steve Harrington, and I must be the luckiest guy in all of Hawkins since I’ve got you here alone with me.”

Steve laughs loudly and gently shoves Eddie away. “Shut up.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink, and Steve can almost see him biting back the words “make me.” Then he’s reminded of the rumor that Eddie bats for the other team, and Steve suddenly wonders if it’s true - not that he would mind.

Steve pushes the thought away as Eddie smiles sincerely and pushes some hair in front of his face. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind the company. Plus,” he turns and sprawls back on the picnic bench, “You can tell me anything. I’m great at keeping secrets, and even if I wasn’t, it would be your word against mine.”

Steve considers what he’s said before asking, “And how crazy of a secret would you not only keep but believe?”

Eddie smiles almost manically. “Try me.”

Steve looks around wondering if the government people or whoever they were can hear him out here. He’s not sure if it’s been long enough to guarantee there’s not someone keep track of each of them, waiting for them to slip up. He also wonders how cruel it would be to unload all of this onto Eddie. Steve knows life was much simpler before he knew that demogorgans existed.

“I’ve been fighting… some monsters recently,” Steve settles on, hoping Eddie doesn’t take it so literally.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods and takes a step closer to where Eddie is sitting, gesturing at nothing as he continues, “It started when I was an asshole to Nance and then she ran off with Jonathan and the rest is history there but… they really dragged me into some heavy shit.”

“I can imagine. It’s not every day that your girlfriend runs off with another guy. Which is a shitty thing to do by the way.”

Steve tries to steer the conversation away from his failed relationship without setting off Eddie’s alarm bells. “It’s not that I really blame them. I mean you’ve seen them, everyone has, they’re kind of made for each other. Who am I to get in the way of that? Especially since I was a shitty boyfriend. But that’s not the point. Before Nance left, I was pulled into helping some…” he pauses, trying to think of a way to talk about the kids out of context without sounding like a creep. “Well, there was this guy who needed help and so… I helped him and his friends out.”

Eddie fixes him with a carefully blank look. “Helped this guy out… how exactly?”

Steve shrugs and sits next to Eddie as he figures out how to phrase things. “He… well. His cat… di- escaped! It escaped. And I was helping him find it, and we actually grew pretty close.”

Eddie knocks his knee against Steve’s. “So… you and this guy grew… close.”

Steve nods and smiles. “Yeah, he’s this dumbass genius k-,” he cuts himself off before he can say kid. “Anyways, then his friends needed help, and I helped them fight… their monsters.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “So you helped… multiple guys… fight their… monsters?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. But that’s over and now I have to go back here and pretend that none of that ever happened. It just… sucks, man.”

Eddie nods. “Uh. Yeah. I can imagine pretending for so long is... exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says with a laugh.

A silence falls between them and Eddie glances over at him. “You know… you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Steve smiles and wonders what not pretending means now, but it’s sounds good nonetheless. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Eddie softly smiles and his eyes move down to Steve’s lips slowly. “Yeah?”

And oh. Oh. There was definitely a miscommunication somewhere along the way. And… okay. Fighting monsters and helping guys fight their monsters is maybe not the best phrasing. But Steve thinks he likes Eddie remaining so blissfully ignorant.

So, Steve kisses him.

And yeah. Maybe there are quite literally hundreds of different ways he could’ve let Eddie remain oblivious to the whole vague Upside Down retelling, but Steve can’t really complain when Eddie kisses him back, finding the scrape of stubble against his face surprisingly pleasant.

And Steve finds himself taking his time thoroughly allowing Eddie to believe this story that Steve wishes were true rather than the real thing. It’s only when Eddie’s watch beeps that they finally pull away for longer than a few seconds.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles, resting his forehead against Steve’s, “Time to head back in.”

“Can’t skip?” Steve asks, wondering why he’s trying so hard to solidify his false story.

Eddie sighs and pulls away. “Unfortunately, if I skip anymore, they’re not going to let me graduate. Although right now I think spending more time with you might be more important than my diploma.”

Steve laughs and feels himself pleasantly flushing. He nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own before standing up and offering his hand to him again. “Come on. We can’t have you not graduating again.”

“Again? Harrington, are you keeping tabs on me?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as Eddie takes his hand and pulls himself off the bench. “And what if I am?” He flirts easily.

Eddie smiles giddily and grabs his lunch box. “Then I really must be the luckiest boy in Hawkins.”

Steve doesn’t say anything when Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk out of the woods toward the school. It’s only as the school slowly comes into sight that Eddie drops Steve’s hand and shoves his hands into his pockets. He stops in his tracks and turns to Steve. “Hey, thanks for not pretending with me.”

Steve glances at the school before moving in to give Eddie one final kiss. He lingers in it before breaking away to say, “Thank you for listening.”

They wordlessly separate as the head back to the building, knowing that even with the few weeks of school left and both of their tarnished reputations that they can’t truly risk it all.

As Steve makes it to his class just before the final bell rings, he’s left to wonder if maybe he really does have some other type of monsters to fight. And he really hopes Eddie Munson can be there to help him with those ones again.

[penkura]

Hi x

I love your writing. If you're not too busy could I make a request for some OP men (Zoro, Law, Penguin - you've made me love Penguin) x reader in Wano.

Where Kin'emon (due to the crew's meddling) makes them and Y/n pretend to be a married couple as part of their undercover roles.

Yes wonderful, the Penguin agenda continues to expand! I really love fake marriage plots (*cough* last forever fanfic *cough*), so this was a lot of fun to do!! I hope you like it! :)

Law

Heavily against the idea, Law doesn’t understand how he ended up having to pretend to be married you, a Straw Hat member, in the first place.

Well, okay, yes he does. You’d gotten yourself into trouble, like your crew always does, when one of Kaido’s Gifters got a little handsy with you, instead of running you started to fight him, almost getting captured before Law intervened. You agreed with him afterwards that you would’ve been just fine, though he didn’t believe you and argued back at you.

“Oh so you wanted to get captured and potentially used by those men?!”

“That’s not what I said!”

When he heard about it, Kin’emon said others heard you two arguing as well and assumed you were a married couple having a fight, so that would have to be your role now to keep up appearances. You both are against it even as it’s fully explained to you, but you don’t have much of a choice and end up putting on a façade around the people of Wano. For the first couple days, you begrudgingly let Law walk you back to your base of operation, just so the ruse is kept up. Law keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re far enough away from the citizens, then removes it before you step away to keep distance.

More often than not you both argue when Law comes to get you from the teahouse you’ve been working at, a few of the patrons and other employees wondering if they should step in to stop you both from saying anything you shouldn’t.

One day, when you’re both arguing, your boss at the teahouse calls you back inside, thought you continue to argue with Law for a few more minutes. It’s not even about anything important, you had agreed to taking him to another couple’s home for dinner and he’s not happy about the idea.

“You could’ve waited and asked me first!”

“Well I wasn’t sure when you’d come by, and I know you well enough that you’d just say no!”

Before Law can say anything more, your boss calls you back inside, saying immediately or your pay would be docked. Law takes your arm before you go inside, making you glare at him just a bit, expecting him to keep arguing.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re off work. For now—”

Law doesn’t even get to finish his thought before you grab him by the back of the head and kiss him, just wanting him to shut up for once. He's so stunned that he can’t even finish his sentence when you pull away, looking embarrassed but annoyed with something else there that he’s not sure about. You almost look flustered but also happy?

“Just be quiet and go, Traffy. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re an abusive husband or something.”

Law doesn’t even say anything as you turn back to the teahouse, instead pulling his hat over his face and leaving, trying to hide the blush you’ve caused to cover his face. You’re as stubborn as he is, but he’s finding he doesn’t mind it, he doesn’t even care that you’re pretending to be married anymore. You’re getting under his skin and he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, because it seems he’s done the same to you considering the smile you have the rest of the day.

Penguin

Penguin has dreamed of the chance to take you on a date in the first place, so the moment it’s suggested two of you from the Heart Pirates pretend to be married, he’s throwing his hand up to volunteer as soon as he hears you’ve agreed to it yourself. Law knows very well how much Penguin likes you so he rolls his eyes and says fine, you and Penguin are now pretend married for the time being.

“Just don’t do anything suspicious.”

Penguin promises that he won’t, and makes good on it, just treating the way he would if you two were actually together. You pretend to be a housewife while Penguin finds a job at a pawn shop to help pass out the fliers Kin’emon had made up to recruit samurai. Anytime someone invites the two of you over, you both do your best to make everyone believe you’re happily married, Penguin isn’t even faking how happy he is to be able to hold your hand and tell people you’re married, even if it’s fake. You can’t say you mind it, the thought of really being his wife starts to take over your mind especially at night when you can’t sleep, sometimes even dreaming about it being reality.

If he runs into you during the day, while you’re talking with other housewives of Wano, Penguin has to stop and give you a hug and kiss on the cheek, making your face feel warm as you greet him, hugging him back while he grins at you. The other women whisper or giggle seeing such a display of affection, most of them aren’t used to seeing that in public.

“I hope you ladies are having a good chat with my wife!”

Every time Penguin calls you his wife it makes your heart race and you can’t help but feel like he’s meant to say that, like it’s so natural for him to call you that. When he needs to go back to the pawn shop, he’ll hug you again but this time you give him a kiss on the cheek that makes him blush bright red.

“I’ll see you tonight, husband.”

While you take off again with the other housewives, Penguin is frozen in place with the blush still on his face, to the point Shachi has go drag him away.

“Come on, lover boy, we got work to do!”

Penguin is determined to ask you out on a proper date after everything is settled.

Zoro

Zoro is very neutral about having to fake a marriage with you. Considering you are his girlfriend already, it’s not a big deal, you just have to call each other husband and wife when talking about the other to anyone who asks, but he does believe this will help keep you safe from Kaido and his men while you’re in Wano. If people hear you’re married to a ronin, it might make them think twice before messing with or attacking you.

Of course, you could defend yourself no problem, that’s not what Zoro is even a little bit concerned about.

He’s more concerned about how you seem to lose yourself in your thoughts and want to help people when they ask for it, even if they’re obviously lying to try and kidnap or steal from you. It’s happened so many times that he’s become your designated buddy to keep you from getting into trouble, like how you became his to keep Zoro from getting lost every time you go somewhere.

It's a good trade of you have going with each other, even with your relationship, and keeping it up in Wano is the safest option. No one questions you about it really, the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates keep up the ruse too along with their placements in the country and recruiting all the Samurai you can.

You end up working at a small café that’s frequented, unfortunately, by Kaido’s men who seem unable to keep their hands to themselves most of the time. Zoro has asked every day if any of them tried anything with you, but you’ve denied it every time, the second they heard you’re ‘married’, most of them leave you alone though a few try to convince you to leave your ‘husband’ for them.

Zoro stops there one night to watch and make sure you’re okay, staying in a corner where you don’t notice him as he orders from another waitress and watches when you take an order from a Gifter. He sees you acting nervously but can’t hear what’s being said between you and the man, but he can guess it’s not anything good once the guy grabs your wrist and tries to pull you into his lap, Zoro’s about to jump up to protect you when he sees that.

“Come off, you’re off soon right? You should come have some fun with us!”

“No, thank you, I’m married,” you pull your arm away, giving a fake smile, “Will the two drinks be all for you?”

“Hey, come on now, wouldn’t want your boss to he—”

The Gifter trying to get you to go with him shuts up as a sword touches his neck, you being pushed behind Zoro while he glares the man.

“She said no, and you’re asking in front of her husband, ya know.”

“Love, you can’t use your sword here!”

You end up getting kicked out by the Café owner, Kin’emon only sighing when you tell him what happened.

You are glad to know that if you do end up getting married one day, that Zoro will continue to protect you always.

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 18]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

warning: canon typical violence || vomit

“Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor, lift your open hand - Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling. So, kiss me.”

You hum along with the song playing quietly in your ear as you scrub the bathtub. It is one of your cleaning nights and you are focused on getting everything back to tip-top shape. The tub currently has a bit of a purple tint to it after you tried a new brand of bubble bath for Minnie - you are lucky she isn’t now grape flavored as well - and you would very much like it gone. It is coming off easier than you expected, but it is taking a fair amount of elbow grease. 

It is easy to space out and listen to music as you work. Your cleaning playlist are songs you can vibe to that you don’t really associate with anything in your life - mostly you think about the movies the song has been featured in - but you are finding, as you scrub and romantic lyrics float through your head, a certain name and face keeps appearing in your mind’s eye. 

You know it isn’t wise for you to develop a crush on Matt - just because you have a daughter together does not mean he wants to kiss you. You know you need to squash the feelings down before you get yourself hurt. 

But sometimes it is nice to have silly impossible daydreams while you are cleaning alone at ten at night. Having a goofy little smile while you picture yourself spinning around a garden in a dance isn’t hurting anyone. You have a good grasp on reality - you just sometimes want to pretend to be the lead in a cheesy 90’s teen romcom - is that too much to ask? 

No one else needs to know Matt has replaced the lead actor. It is a secret just for you. 

As you scrub bleach powder around your purple-haze tub drain, you catch movement reflecting in the shine of the spout. You can’t hear anything over your music - even though you only have one earbud in - so you sit up and turn around. Of course, it is Minnie standing in the doorway, clad in her jammies, and dragging Scooby by his big paw.

You pull the earbud out, frowning to your daughter, “Is everything alright, Mouse? Is my music too loud? Did it wake you up?”

She shakes her head, then in the most miserable voice you have ever heard from her, whines, “My tummy hurts.”

Instantly, you set down your sponge and your earbud so you can go to your daughter, “your tummy hurts?” 

You move to pick her up, wanting to comfort her, but it is made clear she doesn’t want this by stepping back and holding up her toy between the two of you. It hurts, but it passes, as you know you don’t like to be touched when you feel sick, so instead, you kneel down to be in front of her and try to find the root of the problem. 

“How does your tummy hurt?”

She sways side to side, face scrunching up as she self-analyzes. You can see the little wheels turning in her head, but then there is a very subtle shift in her eyes that only years of being a mother makes you notice. With lightning speed, you grab Minnie under her arms and spin around to hold her over the toilet just as her dinner begins to regurgitate. 

Your heart breaks as she empties her stomach and you try to soothe her the best you can, rubbing her little back as she coughs and hacks. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, get it all out. Get all the icky out,” you tell her. 

Luckily, her stomach is small and there is not a lot of expel. Once you are sure she is done, you flush the toilet then close the lid, intent on setting Minnie down so you can clean her up, but of course, now she doesn’t want to be put down. She wiggles and turns until she can bury her head into your neck, sniffling and hiccupping, and clinging to you the best she can. 

You can feel bits of vomit on your neck, but since you aren’t completely covered in it, you try to ignore it in favor of your distressed daughter. You begin to rock her gently, humming one of her favorite lullabies as she processes how distressing throwing up is.

You don’t remember when the last time she got sick was, but you have a guess as to what caused this upset - you tried a new ice cream for dessert tonight. It had made your stomach a bit gurgly and you had solved that with a TUMS. 

It hadn’t occurred to you to ask if Minnie needed one, too. 

A lesson for the future.

Minnie doesn’t dissolve into full on tears and after about two minutes, she pulls back and croaks out, “‘cooby?”

She had dropped the toy when you had first picked her up, so you stretch to grab him for her. She quickly switches to clinging to him and you go right for a washcloth. You wipe down your neck first - you can only handle so much - then start on cleaning up your poor Mouse. 

In a blessing from the gods, she only has a little bit of gunk around her mouth and nose. It doesn’t seem like anything got on her clothes. 

Getting her to rinse her mouth out takes a bit of convincing. 

“It will help the icky taste go away,” you promise, but she just clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. You very much get why she wouldn’t want anything in her mouth after throwing up, but you also know she needs a good rinse. She only gives in after you demonstrate what you want of her by brushing your teeth and gargling some water. However, the condition is that you have to brush her teeth for her while she squeezes Scooby for dear life. 

Once her mouth is clean and the only sign she was ever sick is her puffy red eyes, you scoop up your baby and bring her out to the living room. 

“How does your tummy feel now?” you ask as you set her on the couch and begin to cocoon her in the throw blanket you keep there. 

Minnie rests her head on top of Scooby’s, lip jutting out into a pout, “Icky. And Hurty.”

“Icky and hurty?” You sympathize. You know well the aftermath of throwing up and how sometimes the aftermath is worse than the event - your stomach often turns sour and you feel drained. You know certain fluids will help relieve this, so you kiss Mouse’s forehead and tell her, “Let me see if we have any things to help.”

“Blue Pedi-lyte?” she asks and you can’t help but smile over how observant and smart your little one is. She may not have thrown up in recent memory - but other digestive problems have occurred, and she clearly remembers enough that the drink helped. 

“Yeah. Let me go see if we have any, okay? Do you want to put on some Mickey?”

“Goofy,” is her quick, but mumbled reply. 

You turn on the television and bring up some Goofy related shorts, then head to the kitchen, hoping you have some old Pedialyte. 

But you don’t. 

You have leftover drinks Karen brought you and the only thing that is comparable to what you promised Minnie is yellow Gatorade. However, you have nothing to turn it blue. You have the feeling that trying to give it to your little one is not going to go well, but you try, nonetheless. You fill a sippy cup halfway with yellow liquid and mentally cross yourself as you bring it to Mouse on the couch.

She takes one look at it before pouting at you, “That’s yellow.”

“I know, sweetie. But we don’t have any blue Pedialyte. We only have yellow Gatorade. It will help your tummy, too.”

To her credit, she takes it and holds it in her lap, looking down at it with disdain. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then wrinkles up her nose and holds the cup back up to you, “It’s stinky.”

You try to not sigh - lemon-lime is an intense flavor and probably won’t taste the best after vomiting, but it is all you have. You crouch down so you are eye level with your daughter and rub her leg, trying to be encouraging, “I know, but it will help your tummy. Can you try for me?”

She looks between you and the cup about fifteen times, her little eyes full of doubt, before bringing it up to her mouth and taking a sip. She does not swallow - instead she looks disgusted before opening her mouth and letting the drink spill down her chin.

“Oh, no, no, let’s not do that,” you groan. You use your t-shirt - which is luckily your cleaning shirt and gross anyways - to wipe her face and soak up the yellow liquid. 

“Icky,” Mouse informs you, then adds, “I want blue Pedi-lyte. Please?”

You take in your daughter, looking so tiny wrapped up on the couch. How awful it must be to not only be nauseous, but to be so with enhanced senses. You’ve thrown up enough times to know what an unpleasant aftertaste it leaves, so she must be so miserable.

You rub your hands over your face and give in, “Okay, let Mommy go change into real people clothes, and we will go get some for you.”

----

You are no stranger to midnight runs to the bodega two blocks west. You had moved into your current apartment when you were about six months pregnant, and you had spent month seven waddling your way there almost every night for a slice of cake.  The late-night cashier, Sal, practically watched Minnie grow up and he is one of the few people who she will talk to unprompted.  So, you don’t feel embarrassed when you stroll in wearing sweatpants and a band-tank top, with Minnie still in her jammies - Sal has seen you in worse states and at least you aren’t wearing a robe and slippers. 

There’s a couple of college aged boys lingering around the snacks section who smell heavily of marijuana, and they seem more interested in talking about what chips to get than anything, so only your hyper paranoid mind makes you take notice as you make your way to the drink coolers. You pass all the fun things and go to the very back corner of the storefront where the small selection of medicinal goods are. 

Tampons, Tylenol, and band aids are stacked low on the dry goods shelf, and across from them, practically on the floor of the cooler, is one row of Pedialyte. The gods must be smiling on you because it is indeed the blue flavor your daughter is desiring. 

You open the cooler, and with Minnie on your hip, squat down to retrieve your prize. Almost instantly, she starts making grabby hands for it, asking with a bit of a whine, “Mommy, open it.”

“We have to pay for it first, then you can drink it,” you remind her, feeling guilty as you do. You can see the upset in her eyes, and to try and mitigate the damage, you offer, “Do you want to help buy it?”

Mouse, always the eager helper, nods against you, so you hand over the drink, stand, and start making your way to the counter. The stoned boys are debating which chips will leave the least amount of residue on their gaming controllers as you pass them and part of you wants to stop and listen. You don’t have an interest in video games beyond silly ones on your phone, but their passion is intense, and you agree Cheeto dust is one of the worst things in the world. You are lucky Minnie finds them gross and much prefers pretzels as her chip of choice.

As you come up to the checkout, Sal looks up from his phone and gives you a pleasant smile, “Late night snack run?” 

Minnie pipes up before you can, leaning forward as far as she can to hold out the bottle towards him, “I wanna buy this, please, thank you.”

Sal, ever kind, reaches across the counter to get it so you don’t have to try to lean in, “Ahhh, no snacks. Tummy troubles?”

“Tummy troubles,” you confirm. You dig into your purse for your wallet as he begins to ring you up.

Sal clicks his tongue in sympathy, before telling you, “My daughter, Sasha, the tall one, she always had the tummy troubles, too. Turns out, she was allergic to corn. Do you know how much corn is in everything in America?”

You make a face at that because you do, in fact, know how much corn is in everything. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

In your arms, always wanting to mimic you, Minnie gives a solemn nod to Sal, “Sorry to hear.”

Sal laughs warmly, “You are kind. I hope your tummy troubles are not from corn, but too many sweets.” 

That makes Mouse giggle, which warms your heart. When you are told the total, you hand her your card to hand over to Sal. The sweet man swipes it, then addresses Minnie, “Debit or credit?”

Despite not knowing what that means, she instantly replies with, “Credit!” making you smile all the more. 

“Yes, we will charge it,” he says. The receipt prints and he hands that and the card back to you before bagging the Pedialyte in a little black baggie and handing that to Minnie. “Your purchase, little ma’am.” 

“Thank you!” she chimes, and you thank Sal as well. The college boys have finally decided on their snack, so you vacate the counter so they can make their purchase, wishing the cashier a good rest of his night. 

As you exit the bodega, Minnie bonks your arm with the bagged bottle, “Mommy, open it now. We buyed it.” 

“Okay, okay.”

You set her down on the ground, then get the bottle out so you can crack it open. You help your little one take a few careful sips and once she is done, she smacks her lips. 

“Not icky?” You ask and she gives a big nod in response. 

“Not icky.”

“How is your tummy?”

Her fist goes right into her mouth as she thinks over the question. You use the time to recap the drink and drop it back into the bag, then put that into your purse. 

“It feels like jumping dinosaurs,” Mouse finally tells you, “Going ‘bah bah bah’. Like sheepies.”

You have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but you guess that she feels better. She seems more chipper, which isn’t what you need closing in on midnight. If you don’t get home soon and get her back into bed, you are going to have a very grumpy toddler in the morning. 

Which will go great with your expected grumpiness - you still have to finish cleaning the bathroom and who knows how long that is going to take. You’ll need to redo the toilet and throw a load of laundry into the wash. You’ll probably get to bed around two if you are lucky.

So, with the complete intention of tiring your daughter out, you ask her, “Do you want to walk back home holding Mommy’s hand?”

Which completely does the trick and Minnie takes your hand so you can walk back home together, and you begin heading that way. 

Despite being the city that never sleeps, the streets around you are pretty empty. You haven’t come across any other foot traffic and you’ve only seen a few cars roll by, so to you, it seems like a quiet night.

You wonder if that is how Minnie sees it - or in her case - hears it. 

It has been mind boggling learning her range of hearing and how much input she must constantly receive.

Matt is still working on making you his binder - Karen has apparently taken to copy editing it - but he has given you a preview of a few pages and you can barely comprehend it. You think you would go insane if you could hear everyone talking all at once, all the time. Your anxiety would be astronomical, but your sweet Mouse doesn’t seem bothered in day-to-day life.

You’ve been watching her play more and more and you’ve been learning what catches her attention and interests. To your surprise, it has been music. The little wiggles and shakes she sometimes does is apparently her interpretation of dancing and you have been making her a little playlist for her birthday. You think a dance party would be a fun thing to do the night before the zoo trip, to help get out all her energy. You haven’t told her this yet, but you did ask her to let you know when she hears a song she wants to dance to, so you can look into it. 

You don’t want to add anything inappropriate after all. 

You look down at your daughter as you walk, a little smile coming to your face. She’s watching her feet, and it looks like she’s trying to step on her own shadow without making a big deal of it. You’ve seen her do that before or try to walk one foot in front of the other. You aren’t the fastest walker - you tend to stroll - so you never worry about her games slowing you down. 

Plus, if it wears her out, all the better for you. 

You are about half a block away from your building when Minnie suddenly halts and whirls her head back towards the bodega. Curious, you stop as well, wondering what she has heard now. 

“What is it, sweetie?” 

“There’s a hoot-hoot!” She whisper-yells, looking up to you with the biggest, purest smile. 

Your heart practically bursts from your chest with love and your smile grows to match hers, “A hoot-hoot? Can you tell me about the hoot-hoot?”

She nods, then you watch in slow motion as your daughter’s absolute joy morphs into that of horror and before you can even process what is happening, something is ripping you away from Minnie by the base of your neck. 

You are pivoted left and slammed face first into the brownstone staircase you were just walking by. Your vision goes spotty as pain erupts from the center of your forehead - confusion and panic begin to consume you. 

All you can hear is your daughter screaming in fear.

You have no idea what is going on, but all you know is Minnie needs you, and that ignites something deep and primal in your chest.

There is something grabbing and pulling at your top and your purse - which you wear crossbody - and you realize someone is trying to mug you. Fear fills you as you struggle to get away, break free, but whoever it is is stronger than you and keeps slamming you back against the stone.

“Mommy!”

The thing inside your chest bursts to life when you hear Minnie cry for you and you kick backwards best you can, trying to dislodge your attacker. Your foot catches their knee and both of you go tumbling to the ground. You hit the cement hard only to be crushed under the weight of your assailant as they land on top of you. 

You refuse to stay still, squirming and trying to army crawl out from under the mugger, but they easily overpower you. Hands wrap around your throat from behind and you are temporarily overwhelmed by the stench of body odor and filth. You are pressed down into the sidewalk for a split second before being yanked back and you just barely manage to turn your face as you are violently forced back down again. Gravel and glass tear at your cheek. 

Something tangles itself into your hair and your head is once again being pulled back, but you won’t give up. You reach back over your head and grab onto the arm of the person attacking you. You feel flesh, so you curl your fingers and dig your nails in the best you can. 

There is a feral, pained yowl, then your head meets the ground again, but it doesn’t stop. They are trying to push you down into the sidewalk using all their weight, like they are trying to crush your skull.

You kick and buck as hard as you are able to, thrashing desperately in an attempt to break away. The pain is quickly becoming all encompassing, but Minnie is crying, and you need to get to her.

You try to get an arm under you, to try and help to push you up, but there is so much weight and all of it is centered on your upper back and skull.

You can’t get up. 

You can’t get to Minnie. 

You can’t save your daughter.

There is a deep and furious roar, then the crushing weight of your attacker is ripped off of you.  

You gasp for breath as you quickly roll onto your side, terrified you're going to be pushed back into the dirt and smothered. Your vision is swimming, blurry and half black, and everything, everything hurts. 

“DADDY!” 

Your eyes snap open and you try to push yourself up onto shaky arms. You try to turn around to find your daughter, but your body doesn’t want to obey anymore, and you collapse back onto the ground. You force your legs to move the best you can, trying to roll until you can find your daughter. 

“Minnie..” you try to call out but you aren’t sure if any noise escapes your lips.

“Mommy!”

The darkness wraps itself around you and begins to drag you down into its depths. The last thing your mind catches before it switches off is your little Mouse, screaming for you.

“MOMMY!”

“MOMMY!!”

---

:3C

---

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath 

 @allllium

@anehkael

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood@mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

[sunarc]

Best Friend Brother Choso

A/N: Im reposting this because i tried to be different the first time i posted it and i linked a photo but it did not end well lmaooo anyone if you saw this last time pretend you didn't. part two fic coming soon

Best Friend Brother Choso who steals your panties from your bag whenever you come over just so he can use them to jerk off to the image of you dripping wet in your towel fresh out of the shower. You're constantly wondering where all of your underwear is going, maybe it just got lost in the dryer, you think to yourself. 

Best friend Brother Choso who casually waves to you when he sees you entering his shared apartment with Itadori. His heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest, but he tries to keep a calm face as he gives you a half smile to look as if he doesn’t really care.

Best Friend Brother Choso who walks around shirtless whenever you're over because he loves the lingering stares you give him when you think he isn’t looking. Your eyes can't help but stare when he’s wearing gray sweatpants that show a print so big that your mouth can't help but fall open.

Best Friend Brother Choso who can't help the way his eyes linger when he sees you walking around in a tight tearshirt, braless, allowing your perky nipples to show. He can feel his length growing in his sweats. The bright blush that appears on his cheeks sends embarrassment flowing through his veins.

Best Friend Brother Choso who strokes himself to the memory of you. He imagines the way your thighs would tremble with his face shoved between your legs. The way you'd grip his hair while he pulls you impossible closer so he can indulge in the delicious taste of you.

Best Friend Brother Choso who so desperately wants to hear the way you sound when you moan. Would you be loud? Would you whimper his name each time his cock pushed deeper into your hole? Would you beg him to fuck you harder, or would you just take every inch of him and thank him for fucking you so well?

Best Friend Brother Choso who allows you to come into the apartment one day to wait for Itadori to come home from school. Of course, he’d never leave you waiting outside. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who compliments you with a soft blush covering his cheeks. You have on a sundress that hugs your curves so perfectly. His tongue swipes his bottom lip as his eyes scan you up and down.

Best Friend Brother Choso who just absolutely adores the way that color looks on you. Here you are looking like an absolute goddess. “You don’t understand how beautiful you look right now.” The words slip past his lips before he can even recognize what he’s saying.

Best Friend Brother Choso who is absolutely shocked when you return his flirtatious comment with the same energy. His eyes almost pop out of his head when he hears your lust filled words. He craves you so badly, but listening to that precious voice of yours practically beg him to take you almost has him feeling feral. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who isn’t aware of his next actions until after they happen. His hands are on you in a heartbeat. His lips are pressing against yours, and his heart feels like it may burst. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who keeps his eyes on you as he slides down to his knees while simultaneously scrunching up your pretty dress to expose the dripping mess that you are. You're not even wearing panties, it's as if you knew this was going to happen. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who’s tongue feels so warm, gliding against your clit taking in all your juices, tasting every part of you. He’s obsessed with the way you grip his hair, pulling every time he rubs his tongue against your clit. You can barely stand up straight as you lean against the wall behind you while he places one of your legs on his shoulder so he can have a better angle to completely devour you. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who grips so tightly around your thigh, whimpering and moaning as he takes in all of your essence. His breathing is heavy, and the way he sloppily slurps and licks your cunt you can’t help the warmth that rushes to your cheeks. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who wastes no time in making you cum on his tongue. But that simple orgasm isn't enough for him he needs to feel you squirting on his face, to have your dripping down his chin, leaving his shirt a complete wet mess. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who relishes in the way you sound whimpering his name, whining about how it feels so good, begging him to make you cum again. Anything for you. He's drunk on your taste. His eyes roll back as he feels you grinding your hips on his face, desperately craving him to pull another orgasm from you.

Best Friend Brother Choso who is more than pleased when he has your cum dripping down his chin as he sloppily eats you out while you cry out his name. The way your legs tremble against his face has him smirking so hard. All he can think about is how fun it would be to watch you do that on his cock. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who cleans you up so that you don’t look completely fucked out of your mind when Itadori walks in. The way you look completely zoned out, reeling in from your orgasm still as Itadori talks, leaves a smirk on his face. 

Best Friend Brother Choso who promises to finish this with you some other time. He wants to play a little game to see if he can make you squirt even faster on his cock next time.

[hazbinwhoree]

Do you do yandere requests? Because I want to request yandere Adam and Lute with a shy imp reader who's terrified of angels and exorcists because she had a very traumatic experience during extermination day. Maybe he tries to take her to heaven, thinking she's too pure for hell and convincing Sera to turn her into an angel?

Milk & Cookies

Part 1/2 Part 2

A/N: I don’t usually write yandere so I hope you like it! I did my best but Adam might be a little out of character. I can do headcanons if this doesn’t satisfy, just request!

Warnings: Toxic relationships

Adam found (Name) during an extermination. The imp looked so utterly terrified, Adam actually couldn’t bring himself to kill her. She hadn’t seen him, so when she ran, Adam followed her. He didn’t really know why or what was special about this imp, but he was drawn to her.

When he met back up with Lute, he confided to her about the imp and his strange pull towards her. Lute shrugged him off until a year later, during the next extermination. She found an imp that looked so scared, it made Lute pause.

“What’s up, danger tits?” Adam asked, noticing her hesitation. He followed her gaze to the same imp who had been on his mind since last year.

“Her,” he murmured. “That’s her?” Lute asked. “Okay, I get it now.”

Adam pulled some strings to gather intel on the imp when they were finished the extermination. Her name was (Name). She’d been attacked during an extermination a few years ago, leaving her with white scars, and her best friend was brutally slaughtered in front of her. Adam was sympathetic, no wonder she was so terrified.

He decided her quality of life in Hell didn’t suit what she deserved. The poor thing deserved to be in Heaven.

With him.

During the next extermination, Adam and Lute sought her out. When they found her, she screamed and cried and begged, throwing things and kicking in a futile attempt to keep them back. But her small frame was nothing compared to Adam.

“Relax, we’re not gonna fucking hurt you,” he tried to soothe her, but he wasn’t exactly a soothing presence.

When it was clear she couldn’t be reasoned with, Adam just picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, taking flight with Lute close behind. (Name) screamed and cried, pounding on his back and kicking her feet, but she was no match to Adam’s strength.

It was hard to be discreet, carrying a resistant imp into Heaven. But he was Adam, and no one questioned him.

By the time they got to Adam’s home, (Name) had calmed down, accepting her fate. Adam brought her to his bedroom and put her down, blocking the door. She scampered into a corner, curling up into a fetal position.

Adam approached her and crouched down, holding out his hand like she was a scared animal. She blinked at him, her eyes teary, and recoiled. Adam sighed.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice sickly sweet. “You’ll learn to love it here. You’ll learn to love me.” (Name) whimpered.

Over the next few weeks, Adam kept her locked in his room, the only people allowed in being himself and Lute. Adam was slowly breaking (Name) down, getting her to accept her circumstances and accept him.

He even got her to tell him why she was so afraid of him in her own words. He fawned over her, pretending to be shocked and appalled by her story.

She bought it, and for the first time, let Adam touch her with a hug. Adam was ecstatic that she was coming around.

One day, he and Lute were on their way back to Adam’s home, when Sera appeared and stopped them.

“Adam, what is this I hear about you keeping an imp in your home?”

“Oh, (Name)? I’ve been meaning to talk to youuu,” he made meek finger guns at her.

She was unimpressed.

“Fine, she was too good for hell, and I want you to turn her into an angel.”

“She is hellborn. She has to want to become an angel to be turned,” Sera said. “And I have a feeling she doesn’t want to.” She gave Adam a pointed look.

“She will,” Adam declared.

Later that night, he brought the topic up to the imp during dinner.

“I want you to become an angel.”

(Name) stopped eating. “I like being an imp.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, you’re the weakest breed in hell. You have a chance to live in Heaven forever. With me. Don’t you want that?”

(Name) teared up. “No, I don’t, I want to go home.”

Adam had been expecting resistance. “You’ll want it in time,” he said, standing and leaving her in the locked room. He didn’t care how long it took. He would break her down until she loved him.

Then she would stay with him.

Forever.

[eomayas]

cream soda • bbh [req]

pairing: idol!baekhyun x MUA!reader

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! fluff

synopsis: reader is a makeup artist for exo and likes baekhyun in eyeshadow, and he notices

warnings: p in v, pwp (slow burn), teasing, fingering, pet names (baby & good girl), baekhyun being sexy in eyeshadow

a/n: i got 3 different smut requests for cream soda teaser #1 baekhyun 😭 so here you go i hope you all like it! thank you for the requests and support 🩷

his eyeshadow smudges easily due to your hands being shaky. you hope he doesn’t notice, but doubt that he does because he’s busy tapping away at his phone. you swallow and keep working the brush over his eye, blending out the dark colors to create a smoky eye.

you allow yourself to sneak glances at him while he’s preoccupied with his phone. every so often, you’ll glance at him through the mirror, pretending you’re fixing your own appearance but really you’re looking at him.

“okay,” you say, setting the brush down and leaning back from him. “i think i’m done.” you say. he looks up from his phone and gives you a smile. your stomach flips and you swallow thickly, glancing away from him for a brief moment.

“you think? how do i look?” he ask, leaning around you to examine himself in the mirror before settling back with his gaze on you. he looks sexy, edible, and if you had a different relationship, maybe you’d tell him so.

“you look nice, baekhyun,” you say, keeping your true thoughts and feelings to yourself. he smiles quizzically up at you, running a hand through his hair.

“just nice?” he’s playing with you now, you can see it in his features and hear it in his tone. your pulse quickens—he’s figured you out. was it that obvious? you don’t know—you feel caught, cornered. “cause i think i look good.” he adds, the emphasis on the word “good” making you let out a breath. so maybe he hadn’t caught you and figured you out. maybe your thoughts weren’t written across your forehead.

you nod curtly and step away from him, turning around to fix your station. “you do,” you say quietly. you hear baekhyun shift behind you, his presence looming over you. again, your stomach flips and you make the mistake of looking up into the mirror where he’s already looking at you, a smirk on his face.

“what was that?” baekhyun asks, a knowing look on his face. your cheeks burn and you snap the makeup box closed and sidestep away from him, putting a healthy gap of distance between the two of you.

“they’re waiting on you,” you say, not meeting his eye. luckily his name is shouted and he actually has to leave, so you’re able to slump against the counter and catch your breath. you’re always paired up with baekhyun for styling, and recently your interactions have gotten more and more…tense.

you don’t know if you should call it a crush because you’re both professionals, and your job would be on the line. but you’ve always had a thing for him and his silly, flirty ways. he’s always kind to you, asking how you’re doing and seeming truly interested. he’s been like this since you first started working as a makeup artist for exo, teasing and joking with you while you worked on his face. you were bound to catch feelings for him with the way you saw him constantly and the interactions you had.

after cleaning up your station, you assist anybody else who needs their makeup done. the rest of exo has always been kind as well, but you don’t have a similar relationship with them like you do with baekhyun. they’re all polite and professional, and don’t teeter too close to the edge of flirting under the guise of a joke with you.

when you finish helping out, you decide to walk around the set to busy yourself. baekhyun is still getting his photos taken, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you look over at him from afar. baekhyun is attractive, simply put. he’s confident and playful, but right now he’s flat out sexy.

you find yourself skulking over close to the shoot, standing a few feet behind the photographer. you watch baekhyun, unable to take your eyes off of him as he smizes at the camera. he captures the attention of everybody, the other staff members oohing and aahing him as he poses for the camera. if you had half a brain, you’d probably join in, but, professionalism.

you’re snapped out of your baekhyun daze when your name is yelled with authority. “y/n! we need touch ups!” you blink yourself back to reality, looking up and finding everybody looking at you, including baekhyun. he has a smirk on his face, and you feel heat creeping up your neck and face. you part your lips, ready to apologize, but nothing comes out. instead, you rush over to your station to retrieve your brushes.

sidling up to baekhyun, you examine his face, forcing your brain to be in work mode. he talks above your head to one of his members, twisting his head everywhere you don’t need him to be. “baekhyun, could you…” you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “baekhyun.” you say louder and as he turns to you, you catch his chin in your hand to steady his face to do your work.

baekhyuns eyes stay laser-focused on you. you swallow nervously and gently dab at his face, fixing whatever smudges he’s accrued ever since he started shooting. “your hands are shaking,” he murmurs, and you quickly let go of his chin, your grip on the powder press tightening between your fingers. “are you nervous?” he asks, leaning down a bit closer—too close. but legend has it that it makes it easier for you reach him.

“no,” you lie, gently tilting his head to the other side. you go to remove your hand from his jaw, but captures your wrist and keeps it there. your breath hitches in your throat, and you glance around the set to see if anybody is watching. “baekhyun, wh-what are you d-doing?” you stammer, frozen in place.

“helping you. this makes it easier, right? if i move?” he makes a dramatic example of pulling his face away from your hand and moving his head around wildly, before placing it back in your hold, and trying to move to show the differences.

he smiles at you, his cheek resting nicely in your palm. under different circumstances, you feel he might kiss. hell, you feel like he might still, with his close proximity and the way you catch his eyes flick down to your lips quickly.

you blink away your feelings and his gaze, and quickly finish up his face. “done,” you say, letting go of his face and taking a step back.

“do i still look nice?” he jokes, straightening and look down at you. you blush and glance away from him, nodding your head.

“yes, baekhyun, you do,” you say. he chuckles and shuffles away, going back to pose for the camera. you take one last look at him and sigh, your heart slamming against your ribcage.

you’re afforded a break, but before you leave to go out, you pick up your station again. you move slowly so you’ll have more time to yourself, organizing your brushes and foundations by color. you wipe up the counter with disinfecting wipes, even the chair, just to kill time.

picking up the box you keep your supplies in, you walk it over to the storage closet and take your time in there too. it doesn’t need to be organized by any means; any open space on the shelves will work, but you decide to arrange it next to the other staff members items, alphabetizing it properly.

a knock at the door makes you jump and you freeze for a second, praying it’s not your boss or one of the managers coming to yell at you for taking too long to go on your break. you gulp and gingerly step away from the shelf, grabbing the knob to open the door. to your relief, it’s not your boss. but to your surprise, it is baekhyun.

“yes?” you say, gripping onto the door for dear life. you look up at him with wide eyes, shock written all over your face. he smirks at you and you wish he would stop, because all day it’s made you feel things and now that he’s here, in a tiny closet with you and nobody else, you feel exposed.

“i just need some makeup wipes,” he says, leaning forward on his toes. you look up at him, slightly dumbfounded. he could have asked any other person on the set for those—they’re everywhere.

“oh, okay,” you say, turning around and grabbing your box. baekhyun steps inside the closet behind you and you glance at him over your shoulder when the door closes. you two lock eyes and you start to feel hot, chest and face burning now that you’re completely alone.

you clumsily open your makeup box and a few things spill out. “i got it,” he says when you start to bend down. you squeak out a ‘thanks’ and dig pull out the makeup wipes.

when you turn around, you’re met with his exposed chest and the necklaces that rest nicely on it. your feet stay rooted to the floor and eyes stuck on his clavicle, unable to move with how close he is. your chest moves up and down faster than you’d like, nearly touching his with the pace you’re breathing.

“here you go,” he says, his voice low and deeper than before. your eyes drag up his neck, up his jaw to his lip and nose, and finally to his eyes. your breath gets taken away with how he looks, especially with his dark eye makeup.

baekhyun wiggles the fallen brush in his hand, like he’s teasing you. you pluck it from his fingers, the brush shaking between your thumb and forefinger. you offer him the pack of makeup wipes in return, and place the brush back in it’s proper place.

your heartbeat rings in your ears. the tension is thick in the room, and you can’t turn back around to face him. you can barely handle him in public, and now that here’s here with you, alone, you’re not sure you’re going to last.

“y/n,” you feel him behind you, mere centimeters away. if you turn, you’ll bump into him—that’s how small this room is and how close he is to you. you audibly suck in a breath and wring your fingers together in front of you.

turning around, your shoulder comes in contact with his hard chest. he’s closer than ever, looming over you. his makeup is still on, but he holds a wipe in his hand. he extends it to you and you look down at it before meeting his eyes. “you want me to do it?” you ask. you’ve done it countless times before, but it’s different now, because he sought you out. and, again, you’re alone.

he nods. “yes,” he says. you take the makeup wipe and clutch it in your hand. you expect him to lean forward, but he doesn’t so you grab his face like you did before, your eyes roaming everywhere but his. “am i making you uncomfortable?” he asks as you start wiping one side of his face, saving the eyeshadow for last so you can bask in his sexiness for awhile longer.

“no,” you reply honestly.

“are you sure?” he asks.

you nod. “it’s not the word i would use to describe how i feel right now,” your voice is quiet, but he hears you perfectly. you feel him smirk underneath your palm and your stomach flips.

“no?” you shake your head. “what word would you use to describe how you’re feeling, then?” he asks. you slide your eyes to his, your hand stilling against the side of his face. his eyes urge you to respond, to tell him how you feel and you want to, you really do.

baekhyun drags his eyes down to your mouth and let’s them stay there for a moment, making it so obvious compared to earlier when you caught him. “baekhyun…” you say, your voice hoarse.

“that’s my name,” he mumbles, eyes back on yours. your lips part, unsure of what to say, or what’s really going on between the two of you. his face is mostly done, sans for his nose and his eye makeup. you close your mouth and get back to work, ignoring the storm happening in your head.

you let out a small sigh as you get to his eyes, barely rubbing off the makeup. “you like it,” he says matter-of-factly. you only nod and keep gently wiping away at his eyes.

“it looks nice,” you compliment. baekhyun softly grabs onto your elbow, halting your movements.

“then leave it on,” he says. you press your lips together and let your arm fall to your side, the other hand still resting on his cheek. he looks into your eyes deeply, and you manage to keep your eyes on him for the first time today. his eyes go back down to your mouth and he lets out a breath. “can i kiss you?” he asks and the question catches you so off guard that you take a step backwards, dropping your hand from his face.

“w-what?” you stutter. baekhyun sobers immediately straightening up and putting some distance between the two of you.

“y/n, im sorry. i didnt mean to make you uncomfortable—shit, fuck—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to overstep,” he reaches for the handle and you panic. you didn’t step away from him because he made you uncomfortable, you were just shocked at his forwardness. he doesn’t know how badly you want him to kiss you.

“baekhyun, wait,” you say, grabbing his hand. the doorknob stills in his hand as he looks at you, at your hand holding onto his. “i’m not uncomfortable.” you say, looking into his eyes to emphasize that this really is okay. “i… you can kiss me. i want you to.” you say, swallowing the lump on your throat.

baekhyuns shoulders relax, rolling back. “are you sure?” he asks.

“yes.”

he closes the distance between you, taking your face between his hands. he looks down at you with an intense stare that has your knees getting weak. baekhyun strokes your cheek softly with his thumb before dipping his head down and pressing his sweet lips to yours.

you’re breathless again, your hands finding purchase on his forearms to hold yourself steady. he kisses you slowly, like he’s waiting for you to pull back at any second. you want more, so you skip your tongue into his mouth, baekhyun catching on quickly and letting go of your face to grab you by the waist and pull you closer.

your arms are around his neck, pulling him down closer to you. you can’t really believe that you’re kissing him—it feels surreal.

but you know it’s not when he groans against your lips. “you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to do this,” he says, biting your bottom lip, holding it between his teeth for a moment before letting it go and looking at you with dark eyes.

you’re unsure of how to respond; if you should be honest and tell him the same or play it cool. you decide to just kiss him, hoping he understands that you feel the same if you weren’t doing a good job at conveying it earlier.

you and baekhyun get caught in a weird space, his hands sliding up and down your body, groping your ass but never trying to do anything more than that. he keeps his lips on you, never trying to kiss your neck and you do the same. baekhyun is playing everything safe, offering you an out at every chance. a part of you wants to just tell him that he can do whatever he wants with you, to you, but the other wants to keep it in this space, to not complicate it. but you really can’t help yourself, not when you have him like this.

you move your lips from his mouth to his jaw and down his neck, kissing every inch of exposed skin that his open shirt gives you. you silently thank his stylists and whoever created this outfit.

you kiss down his chest, your hands moving to unbuckle the belt that holds his flimsy shirt together. you fumble with it for a moment before you manage to get it off, and baekhyun makes no move to help you. he likes seeing you eager and desperate for him, because he feels the exact same way.

his shirt falls open and you drag your hands down his chest, tracing your fingertips over the ridges of his abs. you drag your hands down lower, stopping at the waistband of his pants that rest an inch below his belly button. “what do you want to do, y/n?” he asks you, pulling your closer to him by your ass.

you only shrug. you’ll do anything. “whatever you want,” you say, meaning it. baekhyun pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head slightly. he can’t believe this moment, you. and he doesn’t know what he wants more, you on your knees or him buried deep inside of you, watching you fall apart on him.

baekhyun reconnects your lips, this time kissing you with more want. his fingers work quickly to unbutton your pants and shove his hand down the front of you, pressing his fingers against your clothed core. wetness coats the center and his chest swells with pride when your lips part to let out a gasp when he starts rubbing the material into you.

he kisses on your neck and pushes your pants down farther so he can have more access to you. pushing your panties to the side, baekhyun slips two fingers between your folds and you widen your stance, desperate for his touch. a quiet groan leaves your lips when he slides his fingers into your soaking core, your gummy walls inviting him in easily.

you pant as he works his fingers into you. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you lurch forward when he adds another finger into the mix, his thumb rubbing on your clit as hell. “baek- shh,” he says lowly, kissing your lips to keep your quiet. your clench around his fingers and moan against his mouth. “keep quiet, baby. don’t want to get caught, do you?” the use of the pet name makes you whimper and baekhyun narrows his eyes at you.

“s-sorry,” you squeak, putting one of your own hands against your mouth to quiet yourself. your strain, but it’s muffled enough for baekhyuns satisfaction and he keeps working his fingers in and out of you. he rubs at your clit and that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach tightens. your grab onto his shoulder tighter, hoping he understands that you’re close to reaching your climax.

you squeeze his fingers and baekhyun nips at your neck. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby? are you gonna cum for me? all over my fingers?” he mumbles in your ear, gently biting your earlobe. his voice and his words, and the fact that he keeps calling you baby are enough to send you over the edge, squeezing your eyes shut as you release all over his fingers. “that’s right, just like that. good girl.” you don’t like to imagine how pathetic you look when you throw yourself around him, resting your face in his shoulder and gently biting him to quiet yourself.

baekhyun pulls his fingers out of you and you sigh at the loss of contact. you manage to stand up on your shaky legs, holding onto one of the shelves for support. he starts to unbutton his pants but sops himself to look up at you. “i’m on birth control. and i’m clean,” you say quickly and he gives you a small smile.

“good to know, and so am i,” he says, pulling down his pants. you can’t help but gawk at the bulge in his underwear, your mouth falling open at the sheer size. you hastily step out of your pants and panties, kicking them over to the side when he’s undressed as well.

baekhyun pushes you into the wall at the back of the closet and hikes one of your legs around his hip. he lines himself himself up with you and pushes himself in, your arousal working as a lubricant and easily letting him slip inside.

you mewl out his name and he clamps a hand over your mouth. “i need you to be quiet for me,” he says, starting to thrust into you. “can you do that for me, baby? fuck.” baekhyun drives his hips into you and buried his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his own moans. unlike you, he’s more successful at keeping quiet.

all to be heard is deep breathing and skin on skin. you pray it’s not loud enough to be heard through the door, for somebody could walk in on baekhyun balls deep inside of you.

you bite down on baekhyuns palm and he pulls his hand back to shove his fingers into your mouth instead, forcing you to suck on them while he slams into you. you look at him with wide eyes and he curses, tossing his head back and hiking your leg up higher to get a slightly different angle.

his fucks into you relentlessly, chasing his own release and trying to get you to your second. you’re losing it on top of him, spit all around his fingers and some on your chin. his dark eyes look down at you and you keen at him, wanting so badly to have his lips on you again. but he can’t risk you being loud, and you can’t hold it back.

“shit, baby, i’m close. are you?” you nod and he grunts as he speeds up his thrusts. you bring a hand down to your messy core and rub at your sensitive clit, more spit leaking out of your mouth as you moan at the overwhelming feeling. “fuckfuckfuckfuck-“ baekhyun clenches his jaw as he releases into you.

he fills you up, ropes of his cum coating your insides as he stays buried in you. “fuck, you took me so well, baby,” you cum shortly after him, your arousal mixed with his own dripping down your legs. baekhyun pants and drops your leg from around his hip and you stumble, catching yourself on a shelf. “shit, you alright? can you walk?” he asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and then removing himself from inside of you.

“i dont know,” you whine, wanting more of him. but you both know it’s time to go back out. your break is probably almost up anyway, and you still need to eat.

baekhyun finds paper towels and cleans you up. you keep your eyes on him as he wipes in between your thighs. you almost sigh at the beautiful sight before you; his soft brown eyes a dark contrast to the dark eye makeup that’s still mainly intact. his hands and gentle beneath you and you wonder if this will last, or if after this moment you two will go back to what you had before, before this moment. or worse, if it’ll be like nothing ever happened; not this moment, or anything that came before it.

as if he can hear your thoughts, he looks up at you and gives you a small smile. he places a soft kiss on your lips and you hold him close for an extra beat. “that was fun,” he says, and just like that he’s back to being himself, not the same man that just stuck his fingers in your mouth and fucked you silly.

you nod, a small smile on your face to match his own. “we should do it again,” he says, picking up your clothes and handing them to you. it’s a silly thing to smile about, but you can’t help it. if this is how you see him again, outside of work, then fine. you’ll take what you can get.

“okay,” you say, stepping into your underwear and pants. baekhyun quickly redresses and waits for you by the door. you look up and see him holding the belt that goes around his shirt, in his hands. it’s not your job, but you take it from him and help him anyway because you would if you were out on the set right now.

“what are you doing later?” he asks as you fasten the belt around his torso. you, i hope, you think. but you just shrug and look up at him. he smiles and places a hand on your cheek. “i’ll pick you up at seven, then.”

and that’s how you get your first date with byun baekhyun.

[tinytennisskirt]

I keep thinking about halloween and I know it's far away but my mind keeps wandering to boyfriend vampire art headcanons or a small blurb about you wanting him sucking your blood for the first time after you begged him to do it (you want to see what it was like) and he was so soft about it "Idk if it's a good idea, I don't wanna hurt you :(" if you wanna write something about that it would be sweet don't feel forced to

vampire boyfriend! art donaldson headcanons with a plot. mostly plot. 🧛🏻

this idea is so cute i did not do it justice but i liked it a lottt

warnings: all over the place, i wrote this while running errands teehee. mentions of blood, scratching, teeth!!! cute vampire boyfriend but a lot of nonsensical vampire stuff idk. SMUT.

MDNI 18+

- he’s so cute he’s so cute! and it’s not sooo bad the age difference. he wasn’t bitten until recently so now your favourite stanford tennis player to watch between classes when you’re bored is just a little bit paler…

- with all my love for twilight i really want to let this boy sparkle because he deserves it, but i’m going to say he’s a day-walking vampire with no sparkle just to keep appearances up.

- vampire art who can hear your heart beat just a little harder than usual when you first walk up to him. you’re pretty, he notes, too pretty. if his heart could still beat the way it used to, it would have been pounding. it’s not an off chance the two of you are finally meeting, but it feels meetcute. nervous laughter at your immediate mutual attraction fills the air. he leans against the wall behind him and you get to talking, really talking.

you start walking down the path behind the courts together. “i’m not a tennis person, but i come here between classes.”

“that’s fair. what are you in?” art asks. he wants to know everything about you.

“media stuff, boring.” you tell him. but he tells you it’s not and he has a lot to ask you about it. you get into other things. movies, music, things he likes, things you like in common. there’s so much.

- you make him forget what he is. for the most part, he hates what he is now. hates how tired it makes him look. he hates having to hide his extra strength in tennis. and now he’s met you, this delicate girl who wouldn’t be so delicate if he wasn’t who he was now. you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and he’s laughing and it slips his mind that touching you is dangerous. you have that same blood running through your veins that he is so hungry for at the end of a day.

- you ask if he wants to get coffee. he’ll be sick if he eats food like yours, but he agrees. he doesn’t know why he can’t say no to you. suddenly your number is in his phone and you have plans to meet tomorrow afternoon.

- vampire art drinks the blood of animals. he hates himself for it. he hates all of it but it’s the only way to get by now without hurting anyone. he tries to be ethical about it, tries to make it so he doesn’t feel like an animal himself, but it’s hard and it’s messy and the bathroom in his dorm is not a good place for it.

- he sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands just thinking about you. it’s not a vampire brood but it’s his own version, thinking about you and your conversation from earlier. he’s so into you. it’s bad. how is he going to date someone so human now? he can be friends with any human, he was one not too long ago, but to date you? fuck, it’s going to be rough. and hard to do. that is, if you let him date you. part of him hopes that after coffee, you’ll lose interest and he won’t have to worry about it.

- he orders a coffee and thank god it has a lid, he can pretend to drink it. it feels silly. you’re sitting across from him and your perfume is all you are. it’s all he can smell. it’s beautiful, smells expensive but he knows it’s just his senses making it smell stronger. you get to talking and he’s a good listener. he’s honed in on hearing you and only you, your words and your heartbeat.

you’re swirling the ice around in your drink. your heart is beating hard in your chest. it’s cute. “i actually texted the wrong number.” art admit to you. “i used a four instead of eight.”

“oh no,” you cover your smile when you laugh. he hates that. you’re too pretty to be doing that.

he smiles sheepishly, “so i said hi to some guy named mark. friendly guy, just… not you.”

“poor guy.” you grin. “missing out. should have invited him anyway.”

“should i have?” he laughs. “you’d be okay with third-wheeling?”

he makes you smile. it’s one of his great accomplishments. “i think i’d be okay.”

- he’s thinking about how he could ever kiss you, his mouth so close to you. it’s not like he had fangs or anything- he got away with slightly pointy canine teeth, nothing out of the regular, but how could he… he’s a little scared of it. and how badly he wants to.

- he takes in and remembers all of your interests, often making callbacks and you like how much he remembers the little things.

- you end up spending the afternoon with him. without anything to eat all day he’s getting hungry and it’s not a good thing. it starts making people feel like good options- an uncontrollable thought to his mind that wants absolutely nothing to do with what the machine that is vampirism tells him he wants. you two walk through the park and dusk and he’s trying not to smell you so much anymore because you just smell good. and it’s disgusting how he feels about doing something so vile to someone who doesn’t know anything.

- nothing scares you away. he walks you back to your dorm. he puts away his thoughts of blood to say goodnight properly- you deserved that. you thank him for paying for coffee and for the afternoon spent with you and you’d think he’d see it coming with the acceleration of your heart, but you kissed him goodnight. a firm, few second-long kiss. and it’s fucking perfect. and it’s sweet. and he finds himself not so worried about it- it wasn’t bad. maybe he could date you if he could kiss you. put the fact you’d become food out of his mind…

- so you do date. or go on more dates. getting friendlier, laughing over stupid things, watching him play tennis, you’re around and you’re this perfect beam of light. he really likes you. like really likes you.

- he kisses you again. this time it’s his doing, he’s practiced being gentle. he used to be gentle. he pulls you in with soft, almost perfect skin, and he’s cold. not ice cold, but cold like a person who had spent too much time in a basement, just a little chilled. but his hands barely touch your skin, he’s maybe too gentle, but the kiss is perfect.

- thing is, you ask him what you are. where this is going and if his mouth could go dry, his would. he’s shy about it. he doesn’t want to get into this but he doesn’t want out. he wants you. and after all he’s been through so far, he deserves to be happy and have something good and he’s sure that’s you. so he asks you what you want.

“i would like it if we… continued to date. i don’t know how you feel about dating, but me, personally… i would want a label.” you say, shy, like you’re afraid he’s going to reject you after all this. he’s not a player, he can’t afford to be.

“i want that too.” he smiles. “i’m not a casual… person.”

“me neither.” you smile back. you’re blushing and you’re so pretty. so it’s decided. you don’t even know you have yourself a vampire boyfriend!!!

- tennis player boyfriend is already one thing. he’s in your dorm room before games realizing he has to go, he has to go, he’s late for practice. he’s fast, so he’s not so worried, but you are. you’re worried for him. you’re kissing him all the way to the door and he’s grinning as you practically kick him out. he stays just an extra second to kiss you more. he’s getting better and better at being gentle. it’s easier when he’s well-fed.

- art is still art so he’s needy. he’s addicted to the way you smell, he’s addicted to how warm you are. he comes right back over after practice, still feeling chilled like he’s straight out of a walk-in fridge and he’s immediately on top of you, head laying on your chest while you stroke his hair. he wishes more than anything for the peace of falling asleep in your arms, it’s his favourite place to be. but he’s not so lucky.

- not eating gets harder to hide from you. you’re his girlfriend, you want dinner and how is he just going to sit with you and not eat? it’s a girls worst nightmare to eat alone. he knows that, you tell him that and you’re kissing his face and he’s apologizing for not eating with you, big grin on his face because it’s hard not to when you’re kissing his cheeks and eyes and nose and lips. it’s the first time he debates telling you what he is. but he won’t. not yet. you’re too busy complaining sweetly about him not eating with you.

“art, please, come on. i hate this.”

“im not judging you,” he laughs. “eat your food.”

“alone? so mean.”

“i’m not-“ you kiss him, “-mean. i just had food before you came over, that’s not-“ you kiss him again and he pushes you away gently, “-mean.”

“it’s so mean,” you tell him. he just laughs.

- when he kisses you, it’s almost like he’s both afraid to let go and afraid to keep you close, so it ends up a little more desperate and needy than a regular kiss would be. you’re a fan of it though, it makes your heart pound in your chest when he pulls you in by your waist, cold hands on your skin. you swear he needs his circulation checked. he kisses you, hand trailing up from your waist to the side of your jaw, gently holding you in place. his kiss over time becomes less gentle and for the sake of what his diet was, i won’t say he kissed hungrily. you kissed him back just the same, hands in his perfect blonde curls, pulling him from the entryway of your dorm room and over to your bed, the door shutting behind him. he crawls over your body and suddenly the kiss is deeper. more. and he’s been in this situation before but never like this. you’re kissing and you start kissing down his jaw, his neck. and in obscure vampire logic, he’s able to reproduce- let’s not get into the details, even stephanie meyer couldn’t explain it right- but he’s hard and he hates it because he can’t fuck you. he’d probably hurt you. it already took some effort to kiss you, fucking you was different. how did he know that what he needed now to get off wouldn’t hurt you? you’re hot, your skin is hot, and you tell him you want him and he wants you just as badly, just as desperately, but he tells you not today, but does ask if you’d take off your shorts for him. cold fingers do their work and he’s so fast… his fingers move so fast it’s almost unreal.

- you’re on the phone with your girlfriend talking about how good he is with his hands, saying you had to call her to ask if she got home from a concert okay. he doesn’t mind the lie- you’re excited about him and he loves it. he’s a little bit proud of himself if he’s honest. he’s glad he can please you without doing it all. it’s cute you called your friend. he chuckles to himself.

- like mentioned before, he almost forgets he’s not who he used to be. you don’t mind that he’s cold or that he never eats with you, you hold him just the same. you fall asleep and he wishes with all his might that he could sleep too. but he’s awake without rest, eyes closed, hands gently tracing over the skin of your upper arm. when you’re asleep is when he gets to think critically about this- about how he’s not going to age as you do. if you choose to stay with him past college, that is. he’s a needy little romantic and he doesn’t want anything else but that. he’s committed.

- he’s debating telling you around halloween. cliche, fucking perfect, but he can’t hide it forever. you’ve been together four months. doesn’t seem like much, but you’re so skeptical sometimes he swears you see through him.

- he’s sweet, pays for things, takes you places, treats you so well. but there’s something he’s keeping from you and you can feel it.

- it goes on. he’s still your perfect boyfriend it’s october 24th, his head is in your lap, your fingers in his hair and he says it straight up. tells you. what and who he is.

“for halloween?” you smile. he shakes his head no. “you have the perfect teeth for it, you wouldn’t even need to buy them.”

“y/n…” he trails, eyes meeting yours, looking up at you.

“i could be one too.” you’re still smiling. “could be hot. let you bite me.” as if he hasn’t thought about that. potentials. but you don’t mean it.

he doesn’t know how to say it. so he just looks at you. soft eyes, begging you to believe him. but so scared that you’ll think he’s crazy or worse, be scared if you do believe him.

- for the sake of writing and for my ease let’s just say it’s believable. so you’re a little taken aback. lose the logic here, it’s an AU. your breath catches just a little. he’s afraid you’re going to run or scream or something, the way your heart picks up. he sits up from your lap, he’s looking at you, you’re breathing a little weirdly.

“i’m sorry.” he says. he’s sorry. he’s really sorry. you’re shrinking away from him and if his heart could, it would feel like it just tightened as if it was vacuum sealed. “i’m sorry, i should have told you.”

“it’s okay,” you nod. your heart is pounding, he deducts it’s not so okay. “are you- how do you- why- how?”

“bitten. late after a game. stupid, changed my life, i don’t even- it’s hard.”

“you don’t look like you’re-“

“it’s not like the movies, i’m me just… different diet and… pale.” he’s trying to be straightforward with you but it’s hard when all he wants is for this to pass over. and it’s not easy. it won’t just pass over. you have a million questions about everything and he confesses the entire truth. he hates it. he hates every second of admitting who he is. you’ve asked the same question about four times over and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

- art isn’t a bad guy. he’s not going to sit there and expect you to just go with it. he looks at you with his eyes soft and understanding, “i know it’s not what you wanted. or expected. i want you to know that if you leave, i understand. i like you, i really fucking like you and i want you to have what’s best and if that’s not me, that’s the easiest thing in the world to understand.” and you blink. you like him a lot. he makes you laugh, he makes you smile, but he’s something else. something potentially dangerous. you smile at him and it’s bittersweet. you tell him you need time. and he understands. he doesn’t ask you to stay, he grabs your bag and your sweater for you and you say you’ll talk to him soon. it’s with a heavy heart that he says goodbye to you. he knows the chances of you coming back are slim. you didn’t run from his dorm, but your pace wasn’t slow.

- he wished he could sleep this off. this feeling. he wished he hadn’t said anything but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to you to pretend he was something he wasn’t so you’d stay. he wanted good things for you. and it was completely fair that you walked away. he thinks about you day in, day out, during tennis, during classes. but he’s got forever to find someone else, he just has to let this pass over him.

- you text him, say you’re coming over. and he’s at the door before you even knock, he heard you coming. “i’m sorry- i just-“ he’s excited but he’s afraid. too excited to see you back here- why are you there? “hi.” he’s so cute, standing in his doorway. he’s wondering if it’s wrong to think of you the way he did two weeks ago. he wasn’t clear on if you’d broken up with him or not.

“hi,” you reply. “can i come in?”

he’s nodding, moving out of the way for you to come in. you sit on his bed. “i didn’t expect you to-“

“come back? neither did i…” you replied. “but i was so… empty, i just- i miss you more than i seem to care about what- who you are. and it’s been killing me.” you admit, almost a little whiny and he’s glad to hear it. “i missed you.”

“i missed you too,” he says, shutting his door behind him. “a lot.”

you tuck your hair behind your ears, “i know everything, i just… how much does this affect everything?”

“only as much as you let it,” he says candidly. “i don’t eat regular food and i can’t have children.”

“what about garlic?” you almost smiled. he missed that. god, he missed you. so fucking much.

“i can have garlic.” he chuckled, stepping closer to where you were sitting. you pat the space beside you and he sat down next to you, thigh to thigh. “i don’t want to scare you.” he says. “i don’t want to hurt you. and i don’t want to leave you.”

“i don’t want that either,” you nod, eyebrows furrowed. “if i stay- am i in danger?”

“i wouldn’t ever hurt you.” he nods back. “it’s animals only. only. strictly. and i brush my teeth fourteen times after.”

“okay.” you reply. “art, i want you. you.”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

“i’m sorry about the two weeks-“

“don’t be.”

“i really am, i just needed-“

“it’s okay.”

“i was trying to wrap my head around-“ he kissed you to shut you up. he was so glad for it. so glad you kissed him back, it was all he thought about when the nights were empty and quiet. you, how warm you were, how good you smelled.

- vampire boyfriend!!!! it’s almost ignorable. you have a reason why he doesn’t eat with you, you know why he’s cold, it’s more reason to keep your arms around him. you can’t brag about it, but it’s a fun little secret so it’s sooo worth it. and it’s hot. you don’t want to admit it, but it’s hot. you’d always admired how sharp his teeth were, it was cute, like a cat. but he had a reason for it and you were finding it hot. your search history was

biting kink

blood kink

vampire smut

that isn’t you!!! but you were curious that’s all. And you like his teeth a lot.

- he’s so pretty and he’s so skilled in making you feel good. he won’t let you do anything to him, swears to god the best thing for him is what he can do for you. you’re making out and his hand slips between your legs, down your underwear, they’re cold but they don’t feel that way after a while. he’s fast, it feels like some sort of toy, it’s too good. you are forever glad you didn’t walk away and never return. you’d miss the proud smile on his face when he makes you finish three times in a night.

- it takes a while for art to do the simple task of kissing your neck. it’s not so simple, it scares him still. but the thing is, the moment his lips are on your jaw, your whole body has goosebumps and you don’t expect it to feel as good as it does. maybe you spent too much time on the internet, maybe you were developing some sort of feeling about it. he kissed gently, close-mouthed down your neck, feeling your body tense and your heart beat hard and fast in your chest. he hasn’t done anything else, he’s only kissing your neck, but what you’re into is a major turn on for him, so he continues. he likes nothing more than it as he continues.

- it gets worse. you’re together almost a year now and it’s going so well but if art touches your neck whatsoever, you’re making out against some wall in some cupboard and you’re begging him to fuck you.

“please, please, please,” you’re on top of him in your dorm room and he’s saying no, but he doesn’t want to. it’s not like your begging is a pressure on him, believe it, he wants you so fucking badly.

“i want you so badly, i can’t- i could hurt you.”

“what if i like it?” you whisper between kisses. your hand down the front of his pants, he’s groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t usually let you do what you want but it’s getting harder and harder to not.

“like it?”

“i want it.” you tell him. “please.”

“i can’t-“ he’s raising his hips to meet your hand as you move it up and down his length. “i want to, i really fucking want to, more than anything, but i can’t. i don’t- i haven’t-“

“we can go slow. i’ll go slow, let me do the work, please?”

he wants it. the imagery in his mind is already killing him. “i promised to be gentle, i could grab you too hard or i could bite, i don’t know what i’ll do, i don’t trust myself.”

“you bite?” you giggled a little, as if the idea wasn��t a little intriguing. as if it wasn’t hot.

he grinned back, kissing you again, “i’m not sure.”

“you don’t… touch… yourself?”

“no, i do, believe me, i do, but it’s different, i can’t hurt myself- fuck-“ he’s trying to get his words out but your hand is good. your hand is perfect. “i could hurt you.”

“what if i want that?”

“me to hurt you?”

“what if i don’t mind it? i don’t mind bruises, art, just don’t break my bones.”

“i wouldn’t- i don’t know if i would or not, that’s what i’m afraid of.”

“and everything you’ve been afraid of,” you pick up the pace of which you stroke him. “has it turned out okay?”

he groans into your open mouth, nodding slightly, soft eyes meeting yours. “mhm.”

“mhm.” you nod back. “you can hurt me, art.” he moans louder. loudest. “i can take it.”

- another few months go by without. he’s taken to letting you grind on him. it’s practice, he says, but really he just finds it hot. you, your little skirts, making it fun for him. but you can’t stop thinking about you fucking him and frankly neither can he. the romance continues.

- he brings you roses on a whim. it’s cute. he knows you like them. he gets the dark red ones for you.

- he’s fast, he can be to McDonalds and back in only a few minutes depending on the speed they make their food. you call him, you mention it once and he brings it to you. and every time, sweet boy, he apologizes for not being able to eat with you.

- he’s so into you. this is it for him, he’s sure. you’re the perfect mix of everything and you share so many interests. you’re kind and sweet and funny and you get him. and understand him entirely. he could not care less when other girls talk to him. usually the first words he says to anyone is something casual about his girlfriend. ‘sorry i’m late, i was at my girlfriend’s debate’, and other things of the sort. he’s cute like that, but annoying to a few other people.

- loses his mind if you hold his face in any way, it’s actually one of the things that makes him think fucking you might be something he could do. you cup his face and he looks at you with those puppy eyes and your thumb grazes over his lower lip and he’s kissing you like he’s not scared. you’re in his arms, he picks you up, crawls over you on the bed. his first instinct is to kiss your neck to drive you as crazy as he is and it’s only a matter of time before you’re begging him again.

“please, art.”

“i want you so fucking badly,” he mumbles, cold hands desperate over the skin of your waist. “i do, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry. fuck me.”

“i can’t. you know i can’t-“ but your hand down his pants is wearing him down already.

“it’s been more than a year. art, it’s okay. it’s no different than grinding.”

“it’s different,” he tells you, he’d be blushing if he could. “come on.”

“come on what?” you grin, stroking him harder. his breath catches for a moment, but he grins back at you. “art. it’s okay. you don’t need to be so afraid, i promise i can take it.”

“and what if you can’t?”

“then we tried.”

“you won’t say that if i hurt you.”

“if you hurt me it’ll be my own fault.” you tell him sternly. “i’ll be in control, i’ll go my own pace, you just lay back, it’ll be good. i promise, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“baby…” his hands on your waist.

“let me.” you say. “with your consent.”

“i said i wouldn’t hurt you… there’s no guarantee-“

“it’s no different than the grinding. i promise.” you begin to slide your shorts off, eyes locking with his. “if not, that’s okay, but i just- i know you won’t hurt me.”

“if i do?”

“i’ll take it.” you tell him. he’s consumed by his own lust. his worries slowly fading out. “let me fuck you, mhm?”

his pants at his ankles, he’s turning slowly onto his back. you climb over him, kissing him hard. the sharp of his tooth grazes your lip and the violence begins. he groans as your hand slides over his own neck, kissing him.

“slow,” he says. and you nod, slowing the way you’re kissing, your hand moving to cup his face in a kiss. you’re everything, how can he resist what he wants so badly? you’re perfect and you smell good and you’re kissing him sickeningly slow and it’s almost sweet. “please.”

“you’re saying yes?”

“yes.” he swallows hard.

“i didn’t pressure you?”

“no, i want it so fucking badly, you have no idea,” he smiles, kissing you again. there’s no escape. “i want you. just… slowly.” he pushes your hair behind his ear. “you’ll tell me if i’m hurting you.”

“maybe,” you grin.

“hey-“

“i will.” you nod. “can i?”

“slowly.”

you looked at him, nodding slowly again, reaching down under him. he was trusting you, he was holding you to this. the tip of his dick slipping against your entrance. it was unreal, it was real, it was cold but it wouldn’t be for long. he inhaled sharply and you kissed you. he was a little pathetic, the way he acted as you slowly, extremely slowly, sank down on him. it was ends meeting, it was waited for. the sound he made was one he didn’t think he’d make, but you were all he’d been wanting. he could have finished right there and then, just at the feeling of you. warm, tight.

- vampire art, with vampiric tendencies, digs his fingers so hard into you that you were sure it would bruise. it hurt in the best way. you moved slowly, up and down, a pace that didn’t scare him. he felt so good, so perfect.

- he’s surprisingly melting under your touch as you slowly ride him. it’s how he is. somewhere towing the line between himself a little bit submissive. he’s letting you, he’s trying to be unafraid, letting himself get lost in how you feel. you’re close, neck kissing distance. his hand slips around the back of your neck and he kissed the exposed skin. you moaned, going slightly faster and he braced your hips, wary. too wary. but he let you continue to rock.

- he controls your hips, rocking you back and forth a little more as he gets a little less scared. and he’s kissing your neck, moaning against it. open mouth, sharp teeth grazing your neck and he isn’t even aware of it. it hurts, its natural, he’s hurting you but it’s not as bad as you thought. his lips send goosebumps over your skin, he’s not aware, he’s lost in the way you’re fucking him. he’s letting you go faster, harder, you’re both moaning. he’s close already. you don’t mind that at all.

- vampire art, poor boy, he’s coming undone already. it’s a little pathetic but in the best way. hes being fucked so good, the way he’s imagined the past year- he’s not aware of his teeth and the reality that he could bite you is too real, when it was only half a joke. he could bite you, he could, he wants to, you want him to, it hurts.

- “please,” you mumble, and he’s suddenly too aware of what he’s been doing and he’s suddenly terrified. he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s been doing it unconsciously.

“oh fuck-“ he tries to pull away, but it’s his downfall, he finishes hard, too fucking hard and he’s pathetic, melting under you, moaning and grabbing you so hard it hurts and you’re close to follow suit, your hand down between the two of you working your clit. your hand moves at his squirming and you forfeit your orgasm as he finishes so pretty. he makes the prettiest sounds, loud and the people in the dorm next to yours must fucking hate you. he was breathing hard, his lips pink, still in a state of desperation. “no- nonononono,”

you slowed to an immediate stop for him. “hey, what’s wrong?”

“your neck, my teeth, fuck- i’m sorry,” his chest still rose and fell, his cum leaking from between you both. “i’m so sorry-i-“ nervous boy. nervous vampire boyfriend!!!

- he takes to your comfort the moment you grab his face and tell him it’s fine. you like it. you want it. his scared eyes soften out again. if that was all the damage done, no blood drawn, it was successful. you liked it. it was more than good. so fucking good.

- you take care of him until he calms down entirely. you soothe him by holding him close, a wet cloth against the scratches on your neck. he’s the kind to apologize softly. he’s always apologetic, he’s good at it. you kiss his temple, stroke through his curls. you can go without finishing. the ratio of his orgasms to yours were uncountably inbalanced.

- after that you end up practicing more. calling it ‘practice’, it’s just sex. it’s good sex. he worships you like you’re the immortal being. he learns to be gentle. doesn’t help that don’t want him to be. it’s another year of being together and you throw it at him. “bite me.”

“hm?” he looks up from tying his laces, his hat on backwards, all cute.

“bite me.” you stand above him, he rises to his feet, arms wrapping gently around your waist. “it’s been two years and i’m not going anywhere. i want you to do it.”

“you don’t want it.” he tells you, swaying into the hug. “i promise.”

“i know. but it’s my choice.”

“it is your choice but it’s also mine if i choose to bite you. i want you and i know you’re not going anywhere, i dont need to make you the way i am just to say that.”

you shake your head, “bite me. or no sex.”

he just grins and shakes his head, “nice try.”

“think about it.”

he nods again, “okay. i will. i promise.”

- it’s another year before it happens. vampire boyfriend is scared of doing it, what if something goes wrong? what if you hate him for it? what if, what if… you make him nervous. you want him, he knows it. more ways than one it would be nice to not have to worry about biting you when you fuck.

- he works up the courage to take the risk and he comes to yours around 11:30pm. you’re up, you were just finishing an assignment. you greet him with a kiss and a long hug. he needs it. he’s never not in need of it. he wants to cry, he wishes he still could. he feels like it because he knows what you want isn’t good but you want it and he wants you do some part of it feels right. and okay. he tells you what he’s thinking and you take all of it in. but you nod.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” he says.

“it’s going to hurt. i’ve told you before i can take it.”

he shakes his head, “and what if i can’t?”

“i’ll heal.”

“baby… “ he almost sits at your feet the way he’s talking to you.

“it’ll be okay. you can hurt me. it’ll be worth it when you’re stuck with me forever.” you smile and he smiles back.

- he can do it. and you kiss him. which is the first step. the second is triggering his weakness, cupping his face. and suddenly he’s on you. and you’re undressing and it’s messy and it’s harsh and it’s sloppy.

- art is usually very sexually calculated he knows what is needed and he does it and he’s fucking perfect at it, but this is messy and desperate and hot and not even he wants to have any sort of control. he just knows what’s going to happen is going to happen. you’ve never been more turned on with anticipation. for the first time- even though it sounds bad, art is on top. he doesn’t need you in control at the moment, he’s fucking into you and it’s hard but not too hard that it could cause harm- it’s good. and it’s got, and you’re kissing him through harsh, sharp breaths and there’s no time to be wasted. he’s ramming into you with a force you didn’t know he possessed that is also so contained. you wished it wasn’t. And his lips graze your neck. you moan, that familiar shiver of pleasure rippling over your body. his body, thrusting, the movement making for perfect friction. he kisses your neck gently, and you feel his teeth graze your neck.

- he’s fucking you but his emotions are strong and he’s rethinking but this is it. he said he would. his hand reaches down to play with your clit as he fucks you, his attention to three places at once is enough to drive you crazy. you’re waiting, skin hot against his, and you don’t expect to like the way it hurts so fucking badly when he sinks his teeth in. pain mixes with pleasure, sharp teeth in your skin. his lips catch any blood, taking it in. it’s good, it’s too good. he keeps his teeth in long enough for him to feel whatever it is that would change you seep into your bloodstream. you’re moaning when he expected a scream and it’s hot. it’s too hot for him. his teeth slowly come out and the wound heals over near-immediately, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing your neck again a million times, new scars instantly formed. you kiss him harder than you ever had, feeling your skin start to burn pleasantly, warm like the feel of being close to an oven on a cold day. and his hand working, his dick sliding in and out, you finish simultaneously, almost.

- he rides out the high. and before cleaning anything he’s checking if you’re okay. you’re blissed out. gone. and he’s watching as you grow paler the next few hours in his arms. you’re telling him he did such a good job. so good. and you fall asleep for the last time. changed.

[senseofnewness]

what are your own like personal headcanons about art donaldson!!! i love hearing about silly thoughts people have <333 (i love your writing btw!!)

(thank you bby <3)

random art donaldson headcanons

• at 31 years old, art donaldson still can't grow a full mustache. it's as if god took all the body hairs meant for him and gave them to patrick zweig instead.

• art wears tom ford’s azure lime, a fragrance that is fresh and crisp, with none of the heavy muskiness you might expect. some might say it smells a bit feminine, but it suits him well, at least, it always smells clean.

• he named his daughter lily after his grandmother, liliane. although she didn't raise him, they shared a special bond. it was liliane who introduced him to tennis.

• he is a secret fan of the lord of the rings and occasionally quotes gollum, much to tashi’s annoyance, who rolls her eyes at the nerdy side of her husband.

• his favorite food is lasagna, but not the kind you'd expect. he doesn't crave the gourmet freshly made lasagna his personal chef prepares. what he really loves is the store-brand frozen lasagna, the kind that comes in a box and is microwaved. tashi only allows him to eat it on his birthday.

• out of all his body parts, hands are probably his favorite. which is why he finds holding hands to be one of the most intimate gestures. he prefers sturdy hands with slender fingers and manicured nails.

• art had never blocked patrick’s number all those years, just so he could one day say "the phone works both ways" if patrick ever tried to blame him for their falling out.

• he has an irrational fear of spiders. if he spots one in a room, he cannot bring himself to sleep in there, even if tashi has killed the spider for him. in his mind, the spider’s family might be plotting revenge, and that thought is enough to keep him awake at night.

• art donaldson hates the taste of coffee, no matter how many times he had tried to like it in an effort to appear more mature. to him, it always tastes like straight-up dirt. he prefers to stick with vanilla milk.

• he has tried the curly girl method countless times, hoping to restore the curly texture his hair once had as a teenager. despite his efforts and the many products he has tried, his hair remains persistently straight.

• art chews his nails when nervous. and he will chew on anything else he can get a grip on as well. tashi tries to break this habit by painting his nails with bitter nail polish but it doesn't stop him from biting them, it just tastes like shit now.

• art rarely swears or gets angry, but when he does, tashi knows he will spend the entire day brooding. it's all about muttered complaints and scowls. the only thing that typically soothes him is a warm bath.

• when lily was born, art sobbed so loudly that the nurses had to ask him to quiet down to avoid disturbing the other babies in the hospital wing. tashi was so mortified that she pretended not to know him.

[nsfw]

• he wears those tiny underwears because he doesn't feel supported in anything else. he needs his pink fuzzy balls to be secured on the court. a lesson he learned the hard way. when he was fifteen, one of his balls slipped through the leg of his loose boxers during a match, and patrick teased him about it for months. ever since that day, he has sworn off boxers entirely.

• when patrick taught art how to jerk off, art waited for patrick to be asleep to look closely at the sock patrick had used. he studied the slimy stains, comparing the cum to his own, just to make sure everything was normal with him.

• he isn’t a fan of quickies. he prefers to take his time with tashi, believing that making love is about enjoying every moment and taking the time to bring her to the edge. to him, it’s not really making love if she doesn’t climax too. however, there are times when he becomes so horny after a particularly intense practice session, where tashi had pushed him harder than usual, that a quickie becomes necessary.

• he has incredibly sensitive nipples and gets easily aroused when they’re touched or teased. when tashi wants to make him shut up during an argument, she just pinches them and he starts whimpering.

• sometimes he can't help but think about the fact that patrick had been with tashi before him, and it turns him on. the thought of them together becomes a driving force, turning into a personal competition. he feels the need to prove to tashi that he is the best sex she will ever have.

• tashi used threats of her strap-on as a way to motivate him during his matches, but now, instead of fear, it has become a source of excitement. art knows that each victory means tashi is waiting for him at home with her silicone cock, ready to celebrate.

[callsign-rogueone]

bruised, but not broken

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 2.0k 🏷: pt5 for sawyer and peach, very mild iron flame spoilers, mild descriptions of injury, soft sleepy sawyer <3 (he's concussed and needs to be held, okay), second squad makes another appearance, peach has a mouth on her, peach getting distracted by his muscles, more will-they-won't-they (they will eventually, I promise), two updates in two days! that's a record for me. ok byeee

Tomorrow comes and goes with no sight of Sawyer or his friends. 

He wouldn’t have forgotten about you, especially not after all that ordeal yesterday with that piece of parchment that’s still burning a hole in your bookbag. Maybe they’re just busy training.

Yeah. Extra flight time, or something. Or they’re out in the woods again. But wouldn’t they have a healer with them, then? None of the third years are unaccounted for. Maybe the second time they send them without a healer, to make it more difficult — not that you really did anything for them when you were there, besides figure out that the two maps were different. 

You probably weren’t supposed to do that, but after passing by the same tree four times, it became abundantly clear to you that most of these city kids had never spent any time in the woods, and you just couldn’t help yourself.

You bring a hand up to hold the little flower charm between your fingers, taking a breath. He’s fine. He has to be fine. Just crack your knuckles and say a prayer, and he’ll be fine. 

The infirmary being full really isn’t helping you relax right now, either. Not when half of the patients are infantry cadets who have just returned from four days of camping in the woods, and James and his twin idiots could walk in at any time. You’ve had it up to here with one of them in particular, who has been mouthing off about how long he’s been waiting to be checked out for a tiny cut on his arm that would need one stitch, if any.

“They’ll get to you when they get to you, but keep whining like that and I will personally make sure you’re the last one to be seen today.” He starts to protest, but you cut him off. “Do I make myself clear?” you ask more firmly. He nods, looking sufficiently embarrassed. “Good. Now sit your ass down, and treat me and my classmates with some respect.”

The squad exchanges a look. “Has she always been like that?” Ridoc asks in a whisper.

“Only when I did something really stupid,” Sawyer replies, his eyes not leaving you. “I haven't seen her that mad since I pretended to drown in the river when we were sixteen.”

“That wasn’t funny then and it still isn’t now,” you chide, turning to face them. Your jaw drops at the sight of the two boys — and Rhiannon, too — all looking battered and bruised. 

“It’s worse than it looks,” Ridoc reassures, giving you a smile that stretches the purpling bruise on his left cheek.

“He means that it looks worse than it is,” Violet corrects from his side. She appears unscathed, but looks exhausted to the bone.

“Isn’t that what I said?”

You point down the hallway. “All of you, exam room, now.” The infantry cadet opens his mouth, but you silence him with your stare. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word out of you, kid.”

You exhale deeply as soon as the door is closed behind the five of you. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”

“All good,” Ridoc supplies. 

“Her first,” both of the boys say in unison, looking at Rhiannon. She doesn’t protest, sitting down in front of you and stripping off her flight jacket so you can take a proper look. 

The first thing you notice is that both of her wrists are circled with patches of raw, irritated skin. “What did they do to you, tie you up?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Handcuffs.”

“For what purpose?”

“Top secret rider stuff,” Ridoc answers around a yawn, and you see an identical mark on him as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth. “Torture training. But we broke ourselves out, ‘cause we’re the best.”

“Gods above,” you swear. “I don’t know how half of what they do to you guys is legal.”

“It really isn’t,” Violet answers tiredly, “but we signed up for it.”

It still doesn’t sit right with you, but you can’t do anything to change it. All you can do is keep patching them up the best you can.

“Ridoc, can you…”

“Gotcha.” He takes the small bowl from you, holding it under the tap, and the flow of water turns into several small chunks of ice.

“Thanks.”

He hums in response, taking one for himself and holding it to the split on his cheekbone.

“What’s your date of birth?” Violet asks quietly, pen in hand. She’d managed to swipe a handful of intake sheets off the counter without you noticing, and is sitting in the corner, dutifully filling them in for you. Scribe habits die hard, you suppose. Nobody will care as long as it’s your signature at the bottom certifying everything, especially when you’re so short-handed and the leadership has a dozen more important things to do than check it.

Ridoc looks deeply offended. “Ow, dude. You don’t know my birthday?” 

“April 23rd,” Sawyer answers for him, not looking up. He’s definitely got some sort of concussion — the unfocused look in his eyes and his unusually quiet, slow-blinking demeanor give it away.

“See? Somebody knows.”

“Only because you made a ginormous deal about it.”

“Excuse me for wanting to celebrate still being alive!”

The room falls silent. You’ve only heard a few things about their squadmates that had passed, but it’s obvious that they were all deeply affected by the losses.

“I didn't mean…” 

“We know,” Violet says gently, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

There’s another moment of quiet before you pull back, assessing your work. “I think that’s about all I can do.”

“Thank you. It feels a lot better already.”

The squad sits quietly, not saying anything as you patch up Ridoc, then turn to Sawyer. “You guys can head back without me,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitation from the others, but they exchange a look and silently decide it’s okay. 

“For the road,” you say, handing them each a tin of bruise salve and a small bottle of pain tonic — and some more stretchy bandages for Violet. “Get some rest if you can.”

They take their leave quietly, thanking you, and shut the door behind them, leaving just you, Sawyer, half a bowl of ice, and the pile of neatly written paperwork. He slowly gets up, moving to sit on the edge of the table — almost at eye level with you now. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Hi.” He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, blinking at you slowly.

You cradle his jaw in one hand, tilting his head up so you can look at his pupils — they’re equal and reactive, with no signs of permanent damage. The few days worth of stubble covering his jaw tickles your palm as he leans into your touch, closing his eyes. “M’ sorry for bailing on you,” he murmurs. “I really was going to come get you, I promise.”

“I know, sweet boy,” you soothe. “Don’t worry about it.”

He reaches out, pulling you closer and resting his head over your heart — and whining like a sad puppy when you don’t return the hug.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say gently. 

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles. “C’mere.”

You wrap your arms around him loosely, resting a hand on his back and stroking up and down gently while you work the other into the hair at the back of his neck, gently massaging away some of the tension. He hums in contentment, settling against you and closing his eyes.

You’ve only seen him like this once, this clingy and sleepy, when he’d caught the world’s worst cold during harvest season and you were tasked with taking care of him while everyone else was out working. Of course you’d gotten the same cold from him, and then the roles were reversed. He would actually have made a decent healer. If only he were safe here with you all the time instead of risking his life every day doing gods-know-what in the name of preparing for war. 

“I worry about you, y’know. All of you,” you admit. 

“Don’t. We managed to escape a literal dungeon together.”

“I wish you hadn’t been there in the first place.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

You feel your stress slowly start to drain away, replaced with the reassuring steadiness of his breathing and the soft tick of the clock. You can finally stop worrying about his name being on the death roll tomorrow.

He pulls back, looking up at you. “Can you check if one of my ribs is broken?”

Your eyes widen. “You really just let me — asked me to hug you, when you thought you had a broken rib?” He winces at your volume, and you apologize immediately. “Sorry, sorry. Take your jacket off?”

He complies, setting it on the table, then tugs his shirt over his head, and your jaw drops — both at the yellow-purple bruises across his chest and ribs, and the definition there. He’s always been lean, but the last year has really toned him. All the muscles you had to memorize the names of are on clear display. You pick them out one by one as your eyes rake over the exposed skin.

“Is it that bad?” he asks after a moment.

Busted. “No,” you stammer. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen. Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

You lay your palm against his side, feeling for an obvious point of discomfort. His skin is warm to the touch, and the muscle has just the right amount of give to it. He’d be nice to cuddle with, among other things.

He inhales sharply, distracting you from your thoughts. “There?” you ask, prodding gently. “I think it’s just bruised. There’s no swelling or evidence of displacement.”

“Ah. And the other side?” he asks hoarsely, his cheeks flushed pink.

There’s no bruises or cuts on his other side, but you humor him anyway, moving your hand down his ribs. Five… six, seven, eight… nine, ten… “Turn a bit?” you prompt. 

You’re very grateful that he can’t see your face right now. You’d admired his chest, but his back… the expanse of his shoulders and the relic stretched across them, the thick lines of muscle there… Focus. Stop being a creep. He’s injured, for Amari's sake.

You smooth your hand over his side, finding the floating ribs… there. Eleven, twelve. “Nothing broken,” you manage. “Anything else to report?”

He shakes his head no. “Just sore.” He pulls his shirt back on, and it takes you every ounce of self control not to look disappointed as his skin is covered in the tattered black fabric. He looks you over like he’s assessing you for injury. “How are you doing? Any creepiness I missed out on when I was chained up?”

You wince at the mental image, but shake your head no. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. Are you going to be okay to get back on your own?”

“I thought I told you to stop worrying about me.”

“You did,” you answer. “But I’m not going to stop.”

He sighs. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”

“I should probably get back out there, but if you want to lay down for a while, I can keep the door locked.”

He shakes his head, standing. “I’m gonna go shower, n’ probably sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Why are goodbyes with him always so awkward? You never know what to do, where you stand. You definitely aren’t in kiss territory. Maybe a cheek kiss, but that’s pushing it. You’ve settled for long hugs a few times, never knowing if it would be the last one you ever get.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For patching me up.”

“Always,” you answer softly, looking up at him. “I’ll always be here for you. Just keep coming back to me, okay?”

“Always.”

[themeraldee]

AY the southern stylist ask was delicious ik that was a while ago but I'm scrolling through lol. But like what if he came in one day, really rough day, madlyn was on him, the media too. Just pissy baby energy. And then she sees him and immediately can tell something is wrong, especially when he doesn't chat or smile like he usually does and before she can think she's cupping his cheek and just going "Sugar, you seem down. What's wrong baby?" Of course in like that southern way where baby can be used platonically but she sees the effect it has on him and goes 'oh mommy issues, that makes sense. Welp gotta lock in now'

[follow up to this - sort of]

Stupid Stan and his stupid fucking lectures. Homelander slams the door to the dressing room open. It leaves a dent in the wall but he doesn’t care as he slams it back shut.

Fucking Stormfront. Where does Stan get off thinking he gets to decide who goes in the Seven for god sakes?! Undermined again, being made to feel like a petulant child—again!

He’s so frustrated there might as well be steam coming out of his ears. And now he has to prance around at a premiere for fucking Tek Night Lives and pretend like his life doesn’t feel like it’s unraveling. 

Homelander sits himself in the makeup chair staring at a reflection of himself. He can’t even contort his face to a neutral state. He watches as his jaw tightens, his Adam's apple moving with a gulp and his tongue pushing his lip out when he runs it across the top of his teeth in frustration. He can’t stop fidgeting and flexing his muscles. He’s doing anything he can to take away the urge to scream and tear anyone nearby piece by piece.

He’s so distracted, stewing in his own persistent thoughts that he gets caught off guard by the two gentle hands that land on his shoulders, jumping a little in surprise.

For a moment he forgot about this. About you. About the only good thing he seems to have left these days. Something positive to come back to.

"Honey, you look all kinds of stressed. What's eatin' at ya? You alright baby?" The honeyed drawl of your sweet southern accent almost does the job at untangling the coil of frustration and anger in his gut.

“It’s nothing.” He raises his hand sweeping it through the air, brushing it off with a tight fake smile. He doesn’t want to appear so frazzled in front of you but he’s so on edge, filled with this angry energy that there’s no way for him to keep calm.

“Now, don’t you go tellin’ me it’s nothin’. I can see it all over your face.” You brush your fingers through his hair as if to expose his face even more, not allowing him to hide behind any loose strands.

“Come here.” You walk around the chair, your hand sliding down from his shoulder all the way down his arm so you can slip your hand into his gloved one, pulling him out of the seat.

Vought always spends too much money on things that don’t matter. That’s why this dressing room is fully decked out. To your advantage now, it also includes a nice couch that you lead him to.

Sitting down on the edge you urge him to follow you. Homelander feels even more lost now but for a different reason. Yet he’s not one to refuse close contact. Grateful that he still holds some respect among Vought employees as the increased time he’s demanded for his hair and makeup prep is coming in handy now more than ever. At first it was a thinly veiled attempt at seeing more of you, at hearing more from you. Now it comes with extra perks he didn’t even think would be an option. 

“Come on now, don’t be shy, sugar. Rest your head here, you need to relax.” You tap your lap, giving him the green light to continue. 

He slowly lays down on your lap, his head facing away from you.

“There ya go. Nice and relaxed.” Your hands automatically slide into his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp, as if scratching the tension right out of him.

Homelander lets himself melt into you, accidentally humming out loud in pure bliss. How can something so simple do him so much good? 

“Feels good, don’t it baby?” The way your fingers manage to melt the tension out of every inch of his body makes Homelander think that you might have a superpower of your own.

“Sure does.” He says in a lazy tone, a dead giveaway to his blissed out state.

He ends up turning around to face you and the ceiling. After a few minutes of pure indulgence he catches your hand before it does another round of running through his hair and stroking down his cheek and instead he brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it soundly, closing his eyes to enjoy the gesture as much as he can. 

He sits back up and you lean in to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. One that gets him all flustered, his once tense exterior now replaced with that cute boyish smile and a carefreeness spread across his face. “That’s better.” You comment on his smile.

"Now, how 'bout we get you back in that chair so I can work some of my magic on your hair after I’ve gone and messed it up some, huh? What do ya say, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

Everyone does a day where they pretend Sephiroth doesn’t exist. How does it go?

The 'Sephiroth Doesn't Exist' Prank

• Zack thinks Sephiroth doesn't have fun and isn't included in enough silliness, so to combat this he has the idea to get everyone in on what he thinks is his best prank yet: pretending Sephiroth doesn't exist. This will end badly.

*Sephiroth approaches Genesis and Angeal*

Sephiroth: Hello.

Angeal: You know what would be nice, Gen? If we had a third friend.

Genesis: Agreed. We make a good duo, but sometimes it gets lonely.

Sephiroth: I'm standing right here.

Angeal: Do you hear something, Genesis?

Genesis: I don't believe I do.

Sephiroth: Have I don't something to upset you?

Genesis: Actually, I think I hear a cat somewhere.

Sephiroth:

*Lazard walks in*

Sephiroth: Good morning, director.

Lazard: Good morning, Genesis. Good morning, Angeal.

Sephiroth: !?

Lazard: So it's just the two of you here today?

Sephiroth: Are you unable to count?

Angeal: Yeah, Zack was supposed to be here but he's busy with a patrol assignment. Go ahead and brief us on the mission.

Lazard: Of course, since it's a very delicate operation that requires both of our First Class SOLDIERs. Since we only have two.

Sephiroth: .....When did I get demoted....? *opens his email to check*

Genesis: It's a shame there's only two of us. The program could really benefit from a third First Class SOLDIER. It's unfortunate that it's such a difficult position to achieve.

Sephiroth: I was the one who recommended you for First. Without me you wouldn't even be here.

Genesis: Do you gentlemen hear something?

Sephiroth: Your envy and petty jealousy are undesirable character traits that showcase your insecurities, therefore making you unlikeable and arrogant, which people gossip about behind your back. You would know this if you actually turned around for once instead of keeping your nose in the air, as if searching for the scent of success like a starved dog.

Genesis: ......

Sephiroth: Did you hear that?

Genesis: ......

*Sephiroth flicks Genesis' ear*

Genesis, fighting back tears: ......

Lazard: Anyway, I was wondering if either of you wanted room #14, as it will be evacuated shortly.

Sephiroth: But room #14 is my office—wait, I understand exactly what's going on.

Sephiroth: I've perished and the lifestream has failed to take me, making me a ghost and therefore freeing me of all responsibilities I previously had under Shinra's command.

Sephiroth: ......no, it's too good to be true.

*Zack walks in*

Zack: Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late, but I was actually in Professor Hojo's lab.

Angeal: Why??

Zack: Oh, he evaluated my physical condition and combat abilities, and then decided that I'm the perfect specimen and will now obsessively take over my life.

*Sephiroth stands up*

Sephiroth: I'M FREE.

*Sephiroth kicks his chair over, throws the stack if reports on the floor and walks over to the glass door, where he proceeds to shatter it with a forceful kick before cartwheeling away*

Angeal: Well that was a—Genesis stop crying—well that was a bad idea.

Zack: No it wasn't! See how happy he was? This prank totally brightened up his day!

*Genesis, Angeal and Zack are standing around when Tseng rushes up to them*

Tseng: We're in the middle of an emergency. Someone has murdered Professor Hojo and no one can locate Sephiroth. Where is he??

Zack: Oh....yeah, we played a prank on him by ignoring him, and now he thinks he's dead.

Tseng: Do you really expect me to believe Sephiroth would fall for one of your pranks?

*Sephiroth appears holding his bloody sword, wearing comfortable clothes, carrying a pet cat, and dragging a suitcase with a Costa Del Sol travel brochure in hand*

Tseng: Sephiroth?? What is the meaning of this??

Sephiroth:

Sephiroth: Which one of you bastards resuscitated me?

[ginho001]

hiiii bestiieee *pretend we're at a sleepover* tell me ur inhun headcanons ur currently obsessed with <3333

sleepover bestie I’m so sorry this took me days to reply to HORRID of me truly HORRID

in-ho’s nervous habit is biting on the inside of his cheek.

despite appearances, in-ho was actually the one who smoked pot in college. the hardest thing gi-hun is touched is liquor

sidenote to above but when in-ho finds this out they have a very sexually charged shotgunning session. (green courtesy of Thanos probably)

I like to think that like LJJ does irl, gi-hun constantly wrings his hands and fingers. However I think he does it while he’s idle. when he’s stressed he’s pretty still, we know from s1 he has the freeze response so boom evidence for ya

ok hear me out for this one chat but I think in-ho would have a tattoo. just a little one from an idiot time in college or like his late wife’s favorite flower or something, something he just slaps a bandage over in a bathhouse and is good. Maybe on his obliques or smth

as in-ho is a fan of reading, I think he is secretly a very big fan of heavily rehearsed and role-played sex things. for example like meeting gi-hun in a bar and acting like strangers and having a “one night stand” despite being married for like 3 yrs lmao.

alr gi-hun back to u hunny no u ain’t escaping me. I think gi-hun has a really sensitive nose. Like not hannibal lecter nose but like leftovers in the fridge that smell fine to in-ho gi-hun will throw away based on smell. Just a lil quirk he has 🤭 bc of this I think he has a lil bit of in-ho sweat kink he will take to the grave

gi-hun wears flowy shorts sometimes when he’s like mopping or cleaning shit and it looks like a skirt and short circuits in-ho’s brain

despite the show in s2 showing in-ho with virtually no fallout from the shoulder gunshot wound, I think realistically he would have some fallout from it considering his age. it’s not debilitating or anything for him, but when the weather changes or he grabs something a tad too heavy it flares up and hurts him. most the time he keeps it to himself but occasionally gi-hun catches it and treats him for the night w/ a hot bath and massage. in-ho is rlly not a big fan of this at first bc he’s so used to being the caretaker for his partners, but eventually he gets over it and when probed will just tell gi-hun if his shoulder is bugging him.

AND SLEEPOVER BESTIE. NOT THAT YOU ASKED BUT I HAVE SOME ABO ONES TO SHARE. these r a little more nsfw so if that’s not your thing dw about it and scroll! I’ll leave it under a cut ❤️

alpha or beta in-ho is valid to me. in my psycho abo head im a proponent of any bitch can get an omega pregnant idc.

gi-hun has fertility issues, i like to think because of overusing suppressants at some point in his life. all the more surprising for his geriatric ass when in-ho knocks him up 💀

gi-hun wasn’t really aware nests were supposed to take up as much space as he needed, so when in-ho walks into the bedroom one day when gi-hun’s in preheat, he like busts a gut laughing because gi-hun has built his nest on his side of the bed with like a very distinct pillow boundary. They figure it out after tho dw

In my world omega gi-hun has the gihussy and therefore he is a squirter. I said what I said. In-ho loves it idc what y’all say about NONE OF IT

after the 2nd games gi-hun doesn’t cut his hair again, and bc of that gihun baby always gets a hold of it and tugs. It drives him nuts but he can’t bear to cut it because the baby always laughs their head off abt it, which makes in-ho smile too.

in-ho, especially in the case that he’s an alpha, is a hovering nervous parent. Gi-hun has the experience of ga-yeong, but he doesn’t. He got so close to it but never quite got the opportunity, and for the first three months he can hardly let go of baby, he’s so scared something is going to take them away from him. he doesn’t express it verbally ever because he KNOWS he’s irrational, but gi-hun can always get a sense of when he walks in the room, sees gi-hun and baby and gets uneasy. at those times gi-hun always offers to let him hold, or if baby is eating to let him come and watch and support the hold. my precious fuckin babies all of em SOB.

anyways thank u pookies that is all for now ✌️ AGAIN IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY IN REPLY

[queennightingale]

How to Troll the Justice League into thinking your not human: by the Batfam

“So… who’s your kids mom?”

Both bats looked at the GL like he had lost his mind, and the man had to elaborate

“Well, spooks, it’s pretty damn obvious that all the other little bats and birds you have running around Gotham are your children, so… who’s their mom?” He asks.

Tim looks at his father, a wicked grin curving into his face as Bruce looks at him, begging for mercy on his team, right before Tim blurts:

“Bats is our mom! He birthed us!”

——

2 hours later, and the entire family was gathered, laughing their asses off at the camera footage of GL’s face as Tim said that.

“Oh god- B, can we prank the Justice League?”

“Oh- I wanna be born first!”

“No, Dicks the oldest, he’s first!”

“Wait- would we already not be human?”

The silence was deafening, until Cass signed 2 words.

“Cryptic Bat”

And the children grinned evilly. Bruce felt a headache coming just by seeing the matching grins

——

The next day

“Hey… ‘wing?” Asked Flash as he passed the bludhaven vigilante.

“Yeah?”

“Um… is it true, what R.R said? About bats being your mom?”

“Um… yeah. Why?” Dick said, thankful he had years of training helping to hold back the shit-eating grin on his face.

Flash’s eyes widened. “But- how?! It’s- it’s not scientifically possible!” He blurted. Nightwing chuckled, and just responded. “Well, we aren’t human.” Before walking away, leaving the speedster in silence.

——

Robin was sitting at his dads chair, waiting for him to finish his talk with Wonder Woman before leaving to go home- he had school tomorrow! Thankfully, he felt the wind of someone approaching before they reached him, and coldly spoke up.

“What do you want.”

Aquaman was skeptical of the rumors- confirmed by 2 of the bat kids- that Batman was the kid’s mom, so why not ask a third, KNOWN biological kid?

“I just wanted to ask-“

“If father was actually mother, yes? Well, he is.” Said the boy, smirking if only for a moment. Though, he’d deny it until he’s in the ground.

Aquaman blinked for a moment. “Well… that confirms it, but I also heard that you all aren’t human?”

“Why of course. After all, males cannot hold children in humans.” Robin scoffed, as if it was obvious.

“Well, then what are you?”

“Non of your business.”

—-

Steph was skipping in the watchtower, going to change shifts with Damian, before hearing footsteps, heavy ones. ‘Must be Superman’ she thought, slowing her steps and pretending to fall.

“Gah- stupid tail-.” She blurted, before pretending to stuff a “tail” (that doesn’t exist) under her cape as Superman rounded the corners, eyes widening for a split second.

“Oh! Hi Superman!” She said cheerily as she continued her way, only staying within ear shot long enough to hear him mutter confusedly, “was flash right?”

——

One by one, this continued. Duke wore fake fangs and pretended to hide his smile because he “forgot to shave them down”, Jason (in my AU the JL knows about Red Hood, and they don’t really care as long as he’s helpful and keeps the patrols in Gotham. They think Batman has a hold on his violent tendencies) got a bit mad at Hawkgirl when she was flying by and accidentally yelled “Do you Mind?!” While his eyes glowed Via Lazarus pit madness, Tim was on a caffeine high and mentioned in passing that the whole family can stay awake for a week (on caffeine and spite, but he didn’t mention that) and Cass signed to Dick asking how he hides his ears without a Cowell.

—-

Eventually, this all came to a head when one of the leaguers (your choice) saw Batman drinking Herbal Tea, (Alfred grounded him from Coffee because he stayed up for a week and 2 days on a case), and exploded

“YOUR KIDS WEREN’T LYING?!?

Bruce put his tea down, and rubbed the headache that suddenly appeared, and glanced at the hero who said it, staring them directly in the eyes, before smirking.

“My children don’t lie, [Hero name]. Why on human earth do you think that?” He asked, rubbing his stomach. The Hero fainted.

That night, the whole family laughed at the security footage of the justice league freaking out, preparing to take their prank even further

This post was inspired by Boucing Baby Bat, or so the Justice League is lead to believe by EmpressGeek on AO3. I don’t know how to link things but 🤷‍♀️ oh well.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Oh! Hi! Requests open! Can I request twst freshman bois, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Ortho spying on twst MC who's out having their first date? They're all friends and completely platonic, they're just keeping an eye on their friend in case anything goes wrong since MC got asked out by an RSA student.

Ace Trappola:

Ace is just nosy, and he doesn’t exactly get why you’d want to date some from RSA, anyway. He tried to convince you that they could be using you for personal gain but that only seemed to hurt your feelings, telling Ace to stuff it before you went to get ready for your date. He didn’t understand why you had a reaction like that but since you were being stubborn he’d have to take it upon himself to keep an eye on you, rationalizing to Deuce that he has to do it because clearly your feelings had stopped you from seeing sense.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce didn’t want to invade your privacy and spy on you, but Ace put conspiracy theories in his head that he just couldn’t ignore. Deuce didn’t know if this RSA student had pure intent or if they intended to use you for some greater purpose, like hurting you simply because you attended their rival school of NRC. He couldn’t just wait around until you got your heart broken, he had to be at the scene to rectify the situation immediately, but it’s hard to keep his emotions in check. He ended up glaring at the person you’re with the entire time he’s secretly supervising, drawing unwanted attention as your date is suddenly sweating profusely for no reason they can explain.

Epel Felmier:

Epel has a bit of a competitive spirit in him, having to wonder why you chose an RSA student of all people to date. He doesn’t really think it bothers him until a ‘big brother’ instinct kicked in, suddenly making him feel on edge. As much as he tried to focus on other things he worried about how the date would go for you, and if that RSA jerk might be too aggressive with you… He followed you into town to quiet his anxieties, just wanting to see the person you’re on the date with to give him peace of mind. He didn’t think he’d end up staying the entire date, glued to his seat with an annoyed look on his face as he thought there was no way that RSA student was good enough for you.

Jack Howl:

Jack had said he wasn’t interested, not knowing why you even told him about your date plans. He started to wonder if maybe it was an ask for support, or a worry that you were confiding in him for a reason. He does remember what you said, including the date location, and he tries, poorly, to blend in with said location when you inevitably catch him. He pretended he didn’t hear what you said originally and that he definitely intended to come here on his own free-time, a shop that has zero things that are of any interest to him.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho is set to kill. He’s not necessarily worried about you physically taking your RSA date on, but he did consider your emotional state in not hurting someone you liked (even if they deserved it). He’s very noticeable to you in public, so he tried to convince Idia to give him a stealth mode, a way to spy on you without getting caught and while still appearing intimidating. He keeps a close eye on your vitals and jots down mental notes for later when you get to talk, asking you all kinds of questions that make it seem like he had been sitting right next to you the entire time.