#here is the note I should have written you

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Hi, here is an idea for a plot : marcus is send to kidnap a women because Greta has heard that she is the most beautiful women on earth. He does it but during the travel back they both fall for esch other. Thank you I love your work

Note: Thank you very much for the request, sweet anon. I don't know if I fulfilled it completely, but I hope that I could give you at least a little pleasure with this scribble. I managed to find a moment of time and I wanted to do it. thank you!

Warnings : some violence but not literally, some weird stuff, some romance, some kissing

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

General Marcus Acacius [masterlist]

witch. l General Marcus Acacius

"General!" the young man rushed into his tent and quickly bowed his head. "Forgive me, sir, but we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" he muttered without even looking up from the map he had spread out on the plain table.

Marcus, out of the corner of his eye, noticed that the man shifted restlessly, until words finally flowed from his lips that forced General Acacius to look at him.

"I think we have some kind of witch in the camp."

His head had been hurting unbearably for several hours. This journey had been completely pointless. Emperor Geta had heard rumors, whispered among other men, that somewhere on the territory of his country was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Greed and lust made him want to possess her, enslave her. After all, only the Emperor should be able to possess someone like that. He deserved it. She was his due.

General Acacius, on the other hand, believed that these rumors were nonsense. A well-concocted tale to mock the Emperor and his stupid greed. He also didn't believe that any woman would consciously and willingly want to enter a cage and be locked up with such a man. 

But Marcus had no other choice, because when Geta invited him to his chambers and assigned him this mission, his views no longer counted.

Just as he had done during the war, so now, he found the woman, captured her and was on his way to Rome. However, it was a hard road. And you made sure that each of the soldiers who enslaved you would remember you for a long time.

So you were locked in a carriage, part of the walls of which were bars so that you could at least enjoy a little fresh air or sun. You used it as much as you could.

Marcus stopped in front of the carriage and looked sternly at several men, one of whom threw a bucket of icy water straight at the post standing inside.

"By the gods! What's going on here?!" he roared.

"General!" the men bowed quickly. "This... This is a witch! Ever since we stopped, she's been deceiving our heads and senses, telling such things..."

"I'm telling the truth!" the woman's voice was strong and stubborn. It clearly reached Marcus despite the dull pain in her temples. "And the gods will punish you all! You will grovel under their feet like worthless, filthy vermin!"

Someone splashed water again and they heard a distinct snort. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The soldiers looked at their commander. A mixture of fear and uncertainty was written on their faces, but Marcus knew perfectly well that in such a state, further travel would be an even more difficult task. Finally, he nodded to the man who had brought him here.

"Release her and bring her to my tent." he ordered.

"But, sir!"

"That's an order. She is to appear there as soon as possible." he added and then went back to his place.

You appeared after a few minutes. The clothes you were wearing were completely soaked, and strands of hair stuck to your face. And although you were shaking like leaves in the wind, rebellion and stubbornness did not disappear from your face. You twitched nervously when he tried to put a rough blanket on your shoulders.

"Calm down, I won't do anything to you." he said quietly. "Sit down, have a drink of wine."

Slender fingers tightened on the material, but finally, with quite a confident step, you moved to the place he indicated. Sweet wine and a few bites of bread occupied you enough that Marcus could calmly look at you. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do so before.

When he took you from your home, chaos reigned. The appearance of a detachment of Romans worried the inhabitants of a nearby village, and you... 

Acacius couldn't remember if he had ever seen a woman defend herself so well. One of the soldiers lost a tooth when you hit him in the face with a saucepan you had at hand, and more than one of them had marks from your nails on them. It was only when someone dared to put a cloth bag over your head that your curses and swearing stopped. 

Only now could Marcus look at you. Indeed, you were beautiful. However, he didn’t think that your beauty was only in your face or body, you had something in you that he hadn’t seen before. 

Incredible stubbornness, pride, but also recklessness since you were not afraid to challenge a group of men on whom your life depended.

"You're staring, soldier." You mumbled, washing down a bite of bread with wine.

Marcus came closer and sat down on a chair close to you. "I'm a general." He said.

You shrugged, though. "You're a soldier. A puppet in the hands of a man who thinks he's a god."

"That man sent me for you." He noticed that you looked at him nervously, like a scared animal. "He's heard rumors about you."

"Rumors." You repeated, dusting off your hands and wrapping the blanket around yourself tighter, because the wet clothes were sticking to your body. "I've seen many more beautiful ones."

"I don't..."

You shook your head, biting your lip. "Don't say that."

You noticed how the general tilted his head, looking at you closely. His dark eyes didn't tear themselves away from you and you didn't like what you were feeling. From the beginning, you felt that something was wrong with this man. He was different. Different from those you knew.

"You expected us to come." The general's voice was low and melodic, a warm shiver ran through your body. "How is that possible? Who warned you?"

"Nobody. Soldier."

You wanted to insult him. You wanted to draw a line and show that you weren't afraid of him, that you despised him. But he just smiled. He stretched his long legs in front of him and folded his arms across his chest.

"My name is Marcus." he said and ignored your snort. "And yours? Or should I call you a witch?"

He noticed how your eyebrows drew together. "I have a name." you replied and gave it to him.

The general played with it for a few moments, rolling it on his tongue, and you hated how good it sounded in his mouth. Finally, he sat up and held out his hand to you. You flinched.

"I won't do anything to you." Marcus smiled gently.

"I'm not afraid of you." you replied. "Neither of you nor any of your soldiers."

When your hand clenched in his, he felt something strange in an instant. A strange warmth flowed through his skin and veins, it hit him straight to his heart. He wanted to relax his fingers and withdraw his hand, but he couldn't. A hot feeling filled him, clearing his mind and thoughts, and the headache... He realized then that he hadn't felt it for a few moments.

You must have felt the same, because your lips parted and your face brightened as if you had suddenly understood a huge secret.

"It’s you..."

"Me?"

You slid off the chair and knelt down in front of him, your eyes fixed on him as if he were the greatest treasure. "I've seen you before. In my dreams. I didn't understand it until the seeress in the temple told me..."

Marcus wanted to touch your face. Colossal fingers clumsily brushed the skin of your cheek, but you didn't seem to feel it, because you were so focused on him.

"She said a man would come and take me away by force. I thought it was a curse..."

"And it isn't? I took you by force, you fought like a lioness."

"But I didn't fight you, I fought your men. And every other man who tried to. That's where the rumors started, which were just nonsense. The gods made fun of us..."

The tip of his finger moved across your lips. They were soft and warm. The thought of tasting them was born in Marcus' head, but he fought it.

"Emperor Geta... That's where I'm taking you."

"Are you sure?"

He wasn't. Geta wouldn't be happy if he met your resistance and Marcus knew that this would quickly turn into a terrible tragedy. He just didn't know who would lose their life first because of this. Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, but behind his eyelids he could still see your face and your eyes fixed on him.

"You know perfectly well that I'm not for him... The gods didn't destined me for him. However, they used him to make our paths cross."

You let go of his hand and stood up. A gentle touch on his cheek, your breath on his lips. You were so close that the air around him burned.

"I had a dream." he whispered quietly. "I felt you in it, but I didn't see you. You were like a wild animal, but when you looked at me we both knew that we were no threat to each other. That we were looking for each other."

"That's how it was..."

He felt your lips on his. The gentle and tender touch of lips that tasted of sweet wine. Each kiss was a promise of eternity, endless love and sensations that only souls truly dedicated to each other could experience. 

Strong arms pulled you to his broad chest, and his lips became more violent, more greedy. But you weren't afraid, not of him. You already knew that Marcus would do everything so that you wouldn't appear before the Emperor. 

You were his, by the will of the gods.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[myloveer0]

''Dream at first lust''

(Ambessa x reader NsFw)😭🥵❤️

(Part II is here..!!)

18+ Read it at your own risk!

---Imagine waking up in the middle of the night, only to find Ambessa standing before you. What would you do?---

I want Ambessa so bad guys! I'm scared of myself!!

Note: Thanks for waiting, everyone! I've been busy with college lately, but I still made time to update this story. I’ve already finished drafting the next two chapters, and all I’ll say is that—the next chap is where the spice gets even spicier! I can’t stop giggling Ugh! 🥵🔥🔥🔥

“I-it’s not what it looks like,”. It was all you could think to say.

Ambessa only looked at you, her lips curving. She tossed the phone back onto the bed with a casual flick of her wrist, the screen landing face down. The flashlight blinked off, plunging the room into darkness again.

Your heart raced as you scrambled, crawling across the bed to switch on the lamp beside the bed. Warm light flooded the room, but it only made things worse.

You froze, a curse slipping from your lips as your eyes found her once again.

Ambessa was still standing there, proud and tall, but the warm light didn't make things better it only made the room sensual in your eyes—the way the warm light illuminate her silk robe clung to her figure, the deep plunge exposing a delicious, taunting glimpse of her cleavage. The loose folds of fabric shifted just enough to expose her long, toned leg, smooth and strong. God! Help! Why is she so fine...

Your face burned, your breath hitching as heat rushed through your body. Can't believe your eye fucking her. You knew you should look away, but you couldn’t. She was a goddess made to attract everyone and you were one of it's victim.

Ambessa noticed. Of course, she noticed.

“I’ve seen enough, child,” she said smoothly, her voice cutting through the silence. Her lips curved into a small, wicked smile, her gaze locked onto you. “I was wondering why you couldn’t even look at me properly. But now... I think I understand.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong…” you said weakly.

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Ambessa murmured, her voice dipping into a sultry purr. Her mind was set—no excuse you gave would change her mind.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she continued, stepping closer. Making sure to have a good look of you. “A mix of fear and… hunger.”

Ambessa's words hit you like a thunderclap, and you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She leaned forward slightly, her robe shifting just enough to reveal half of her cleavage as if teasing you at more of the skin you already couldn’t stop staring at.

“You have a fascination,” Ambessa continued, her voice soft but deliberate and inspecting how you stare at her chest. “In ways you shouldn’t.”

Your chest tightened, your head spinning with embarrassment, arousal, and desperation.

“I—” but nothing else came you. Words failed you completely under her gaze. Ambessa knew exactly how much power she held over you—knew the effect she had, the way her presence alone unraveled you. And from the way she reacted, she wasn’t denying it for a second. She liked it.

She chuckled softly, “Don’t worry, child,” she said, her voice wrapping around you.. “I find it... amusing. Endearing, even.”

“P-please, just stop talking for a minute,” you stammered, your voice cracking as you buried your face in your hands, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

Ambessa’s chuckle was soft but unmistakably amused. “Besides,” she said, her tone sharp yet teasing, “you already look guilty enough.”

You glanced up at her, confusion written all over your face. “What… what do you mean?”

Ambessa didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and began to pace the room, her steps deliberate and calm. Like she didn't transported in a strange place. Her movements carried a grace, her robe shifting slightly as she walked, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her powerful legs. She stopped at the curtain, her hand pulling it aside. The city unfolded before her—a glittering sea of lights and towering skyscrapers against the night sky.

You watched her closely, noting the way her expression flickered between confusion and curiosity. Her sharp eyes scanned the skyline, taking in the overwhelming modernity before her. She looked like someone completely out of time, out of place. She was as confused as you on how she mysteriously appreared in a strange place.

Ambessa gaze didn’t leave the window. Before she continue, “You’ve delved into yourself deeply tonight. Shamelessly, even.” She turned her head slightly to look at you, her piercing eyes finding yours once again. “Enough to present yourself with such… confidence.”

Her words carried a weight you didn’t fully understand, but the way her gaze shifted—her dark eyes trailing over you—made your stomach twist. You slowly glanced down at yourself, your heart stopping your eyes widen in disbelieve the realization hit you like a freight train.

You were naked.

Oh shit!

H-how can you be so clueless! You’d forgot how you fallen asleep in nothing but a tight red strap tube, the fabric clinging to your skin and leaving absolutely nothing. No bra, Your nipples, hard and proudly percking clearly visible, pressed against the thin fabric, announcing themselvesto the person infront of them aching for her attention. You were dressed slutty and downright scandalous and Ambessa wasn't shy to stare at you.

Heat rushed to your face, your entire body burning with humiliation as you let out a startled squeal, grabbing at the bedsheet and pulling it over yourself in a panic.

“No. No, no, no, no,” you muttered frantically, wishing this was all a horrible dream. You’d completely forgotten that you’d fallen asleep like this—after… that. You were just flashing yourself with your legs wide open in front of Ambessa, completely forgetting you were naked. Now you want to hit your head for being so stupid.

Ambessa’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched you flail, her lips curving. Your assumsion leading she already knew what you did before she appear. Her gaze lingered on you, and it was clear she wasn’t going to let you escape the moment. Your breathing were harder now, and you reaches around the sheets for support.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice low and teasing “Was this all for yourself?” She tilted her head, “Or were you hoping for… company?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Your throat felt tight and all you could do was clutch the sheet tighter around yourself. The trembling in your body betrayed you, every nerve alight under the weight of her piercing gaze. Mortification mixed with want and needs.

You wanted to admit it. To agree with her, to give in to the pull of your arousal. Every instinct screamed at you that this was the moment—the one your fantasies had been wishing toward.

Your mind wrestled, whispering that maybe this wasn’t real, that it was all a dream your subconscious had conjured to torment. But if it was a dream, why fight it? Why resist? You should enjoy it. Take advantage. Surrender to the magnetic pull of her dominance.

Ambessa chuckled, starting to walk toward you closer this time, making your eyes widen. She stop beside you looking down at you like you were a feast infront of her. Stepping so close to the bed. that you could feel the heat of her presence. Her sweet smell and your arousal getting wild.

“Relax,” Ambessa said, her hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. The moment her skin brushed yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

Her touch was firm, but not rough. “I’m not angry. or anything... I’m flattered”

Your breath hitched. “Y-you are? ''

“Of course.” Ambessa smirked, “How could I not be? You’re only human, after all. And humans are so predictable when faced with power and lust, aren’t they?”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper against your ear. “Tell me... what is it you fantasize about?”

You froze and avoid gaze, your mind a storm of panic, desire, and sheer disbelief. It feels dirty and wrong and your shaking with need.

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She pulled back just enough to look at you again, her expression one of amused curiosity. Her face was so close to yours that you could see the finest detail of her face, and it was enough to make you weak. “I want to hear it. Or...” Her thumb brushed your jaw as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “...should I guess?”

Please, don’t… You knew she already knew what you were thinking, it was all inside the phone and she was just teasing you, fascinated by your reaction. Before you could stop yourself, a question slipped out.

“Do you even want to do it with a woman! ” you blurted out, instantly regretting how uncertain you sounded.

Ambessa paused, one brow arching. Like you just asked a dumb question. She knew exactly what you were doing—grasping for a distraction, anything to shift the tension away. But from the way her lips curled into a smirk, it was clear she wasn’t irritated. If anything, she was entertained.

Arms crossing over her broad chest, she leaned back slightly. Then she chuckled.

“You mean, do I fuck women?” Ambessa repeated, her voice laced with mockery. “Is that what you’re asking, child?”

Your breath hitched at the boldness of her words, and you could only manage a small, mortified nod.

Her dark brown eyes gleamed as she leaned forward again, closing the space between you, suffocating you in the sheer weight of her presence.

“Oh,” she murmured, dragging out the word like a tease. “You don’t know just how much I do.”

The smirk on her lips widened, “I fuck every woman I can get,” she said, her voice thick with unshaken confidence. “Strong, soft, bold, shy—it makes no difference to me. They all have their… charms.”

She tilted her head, watching your reaction before adding, “The only thing that matters is whether they can keep up with me.”

Ohh god please.. you can't take her teasing anymore..

But if it really is.. does she want it to a stranger like you. Why haven't she questioned your identity or be suspicious. On how she mysteriously transported in a whole new dimension. "W-why are you doing this...?'' You asked ''What if I'm really one of the Black Rose, and I dragged you here?" you pressed.

Ambessa’s brows meet and hardened, and her once calm expression turn anger that made your chest tighten. You just made a big mistake. Regret, you didn't just keep your mouth shut.

"Don’t fool me." She straighten “I know the Black Rose. I know what they’re capable of. But you?” She gave you a look of pure contempt, "You are no threat to me. Not by a long shot. You are just a helpless, deluded woman—so desperate to fantasize about being used and discarded by someone like me."

You shifted back, your heart pounding with fear. You hated to admit it, but you were starting to fear her. This was the warlord standing before you. Yet, deep down, you knew you like this side of her.

“You don’t get to play me, child” Ambessa said, her voice sharp, “I’m not as nice as you think I am.”

Her eyes locked onto yours “Don't ever mention and use those words again or else you might not like what i do to you. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you remember exactly who you're dealing with.”

Your throat went dry. You tried to think of something to say, but the words stumbled from your lips. Your eyes started to blurry. You didn't want Ambessa to hate you. “I-I’m sorry, Ambessa. If I upset you… I just love you so much. And all of this feels like a dream come true. I have this thing, a-and I’m curious ab—”

Ambessa grabbed your jaw to make you look at her. ''No more blabbing child. And when did i permit you to use my name as you please. For now call me my lady.''

You shoke your head in agreement ''y-yes my lady medar-'

Without warning, something thick and long plunged deep into your throat—her fingers, moving in and out, mimicking fucking. Gag you tell your breath hitch. The sensation was intense, almost too much, stealing the air from your lungs. You couldn’t quite catch your breath, the pressure and pace pushing you to your limits. Making your eyes rolled in your eyelids.

F*ck! This is really happening...

Your wide eyes locked onto hers, pleading silently for a moment to process, of the overwhelming intensity. But she offered none—no pause, no mercy. Her remaining fingers clamped tightly around your chin, holding you firmly in place as though daring you to pull away.

"Is that all you can do? Beg for mercy, only to be treated like the whore you’ve always desired? Tell me, this is what you want? right." Ambessa's voice was low, steady, laced with a dangerous kind of softness "Just one word, and I’ll stop all this..." Her gaze bore into you, there was no unspeakable mistake in her eyes, dark and hungry.

You shook your head slowly, trembling not in disagreement, but in desperate plea. You didn’t want her to stop. You couldn’t. Every nerve in your body screamed for more, even as the sensations overwhelmed you. It felt so good it was almost unbearable.

"Use your words, little one," Ambessa murmured, each word sinking into your skin. And just like that, every ounce of restraint in your body dissolved. Her fingers slid out from your mouth, trailing to the corner of your lips, leaving a glistening smear of saliva. You look up at her smitten all over over face.

Oh, God.

"Yes!" The word tore from your lips, trembling with desperation. "F*ck, yes—keep going, don’t stop. My lady... you can do anything you want with me..." you pleaded, clinging to her arm desperately, like a kitten afraid to be abandoned. All that mattered in that moment was your need for her.

A victorious smirk appeared on Ambessa's lips. “Then prove it, little one. Show me how much you want me,” she said, her voice with a mix of seductive.

For a moment, you thought Ambessa might close the distance between you, but instead, she stood up straight and stepped back. Confusion flickered across your face as she dragged your desk chair toward you, the sound of it scraping softly against the floor. Placing it firmly in front of you, before she sat down.

Her legs spread wide, shamelessly confident. Her hands rested casually on the arms of the chair, her fingers tapping lightly as if she were waiting for you to entertain her. In this moment, she looked every bit like a queen surveying her subject, and you were utterly captivated.

“W-what do you want me to do?” you stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to hold yourself together under her piercing gaze.

“Straddle my thigh,” Ambessa said smoothly.

Your heart pounded in your chest as her words settled over you, heat pooling low in your stomach. But still, you hesitated, your body frozen in place, overwhelmed by the intimacy of her command.

You swallowed hard. “Your thigh isn’t what I want, my lady,” you whimpered softly, barely able to meet her gaze. “I want you. Please. Touch me more”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, a glint of amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “My thigh is all you get right now,” she said, her tone teasing yet firm. “You’ll have to prove yourself first. If I’m satisfied, then i may be nice enough to grant your wish..”

[fireheartpages]

don’t burn the way you’d expect | l.m. + r.g.

masterlist

notes: is this ambitious? yes, do i have way too much already written that i’m going to have to stop myself from posting it all at once? also yes. listen, all im saying, is prepare for a wild ride okay. my outline is crazy and long as hell so welcome to my brain. all part and chapter titles are taken from songs! i'll link each song at the beginning of each ch, and each part title is linked with the song. here's the title :)

each part can be read as a series or on it’s own, but i’d recommend reading chronologically for context sake. that’ll probably make a little more sense once i get a little more into it.

warnings: spoilers for every empyrean book through onyx storm. warnings are listed at the beginning of each chapter in the notes, please proceed with caution. this is a love triangle so if you’re a hater move on bc im a love triangle defender and writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet. i'll put big ones here as well as more are added!

coming soon

part one: a million little times

i. like they do in babylon ii. no other sadness in the world would do iii. i shouldn't have called iv. darlin', everything's on fire v. the end if near

part two: what should have been you

part three: we'll pay the price, i guess

[pixiedurango]

Hello! When your time allows, may I request: A series of written 'friendly reminders' by Lucanis to the rest of the Veilguard on what they should and should not do in the kitchen. (i.e do not wash the cast iron, do not put out grease fires with water, do not let Assan into the pantry unsupervised, do not let Manfred climb into the oven, any others etc) Thank you for your consideration :3 (bonus points if the notes successively get more agitated in tone or are directed towards specific people)

Ding Dong, Antivan Postal Service with a special delivery.

It's more like an open letter to the team this time. And I hope you are ok with how it turned out. Enjoy!

Transcript:

To whom it may concern. That means everybody at the Lighthose! I kindly ask you to (in no particular order):

Put things back to the spot where you took them from (I use to have a system designed for efficiency)

Don’t throw away the used coffee grounds. (They are natural fertilizer for Harding’s plants. Collect in the pot next to the coffee station)

Don’t let Assan roam free in the kitchen.

In fact, don’t let Assan into the kitchen at all.

Same goes for Manfred. (Not for hygienical reasons, but we don’t want him to climb into the kindled oven again)

Don’t leave mushy, half rotten fruits in the baskets if you happen to find one (Fruit flies are a menace to get rid of)

Don’t leave food uncovered (same reason)

Don’t cut meats on the vegetable board and vice versa (Out of respect for Emmrich and because its gross and unhygienic) The boards are labeled!

You are very welcome to drop by and study, discuss and write at the kitchen table (as long as you don’t leave and forget your things there. Looking at you Bel and Emmrich)

May I suggest, that we agree on storing the new bought goods BEHIND the ones we already have in the pantry? Otherwise the older things will never be used and it would be a shame to waste good food

We don’t make out in the kitchen! (Looking at you, Taash and Harding! Give a man some peace, I beg you!)

No mixing poisons in the kitchen! (It’s an honorable craft, but please, Rook, just don’t)

Carving is a fine hobby, but please clean up after yourself (That means you, Davrin)

Yes, my kitchen knives ARE sharp. Always! I tend to them. You don’t have to test before using them. You’ll end up hurting yourself.

On the same note: Don’t throw used knives into the sink with soapy water. Remember they are sharp and you can’t see them under the foam. You’ll get hurt.

I appreciate your help, Taash, but please refrain from kindling the fires like this… (you know what I mean…)

Wash your hands after chopping Chillies. Especially BEFORE using the BATHROOM. (I will explain if I must, but try to use your imagination before asking.)

It is never a good idea, to pour water into hot oil. (Ask Harding, she knows!)

Never cook bacon naked. (1. For obvious reasons 2.The flaming hot grease drizzles might seriously hurt you)

The RED cloth is for drying dishes

The GREEN cloth is for drying fruit and vegetables (you wash your fruits and vegs before eating and cooking them, right? RIGHT?)

The BLUE cloth is for cleaning surfaces.

DON’T MIX THOSE CLOTHS!

Don’t eat anything that has grown a white or green fur! (That goes for you, too, Rook! No discussion about toxins and immunity.)

Cookie dough and cake batter is not a treat. Don’t eat it raw. You will end up sick. Wait for the baked goods. (Looking at you, Bellara, Neve, Harding and Rook!)

I noticed, some of you use the same oil for everything. Don’t do that. You can’t heat the Antivan cold pressed extra virgin olive oil the way you need in order to grill meat or fry chips. I will label the oil-carafes accordingly.

Thank you! Sincerely, your friend - Lucanis

Read the other letters here

[magicbeings]

How I added "instant translation" to the non-english text on my fic: a very easy 3 step guide

Hello!

I recently posted a Wolfstar fanfic called Instance of Happenstance and received a lot of compliments on a small piece of code I used. Both @marigold-hills and @leavesthatarebrown suggested I share how I did it, so here I am, finally explaining it in a Tumblr post!

Before diving into the details, I want to clarify that I didn't write this code myself.

Initially, I tried following this tutorial, but I stumbled upon a better solution in the comments of that post. The code on the tutorial itself does work, but a) it's harder to use and b) it doesn't work as well if you're planing to have multiple paragraphs that you need to show the translation on the same fic.

The solution someone presented on the comments, however, is very simple and easy to use for as many paragraphs as you need, but the explanation there wasn’t too clear, so I decided to expand on it to make it easier for others to implement.

All credit to Ao3 users La_Temperaza (who wrote the orginal post) and Nikkie2571 (who posted this code on the comments).

What Does This Code Do?

This code adds an interactive feature to your fanfic, allowing readers to hover over a specific paragraph (or tap on it if they’re on mobile) to instantly change the text to something else — also set by you.

While this can be used for various purposes, I think it's particularly useful to display instant translations of non-English dialogue/text directly in the story. The code offers a much smoother alternative to the clunky “see end notes for translation” thing—which, let's be honest, can be a pain for readers, especially in long chapters.

For example, in instance of happenstance, Sirius discovers an old journal written entirely in French. I wanted to maintain the sense of mystery and intrigue that would be lost if I simply said the journal was in French, but wrote the text in English.

This solution let me keep the best of both worlds—retaining the authenticity and the immersion of the French, while still making the story easy to follow for the readers.

Now, I know this sounds complicated, but I assure you, it's not!

Down bellow is a quick, 3 steps tutorial on how to do it. I hope this is helpful! (:

(I'm doing this on the computer, if you're doing it on mobile, the layout of the website might be different from my printscreens)

Step 1 - Create The Work Skin

I'm gonna go right to the point here, but if you want to know about Work Skins in detail, I suggest this Ao3 Article.

On your Ao3 Dashboard, click on the fourth link on the sidebar, which is "Skins".

Then, on the page that opens up, click on "My Work Skins"

Then, on the top of the page, select "Create Work Skin"

Now, you'll see the form to create your skin, which looks like this:

Leave the "Type" as "Work Skin". On the Title, you can give any name you want to your skin, but I suggest you choose the same title as your fic or something like "instant translation", so you'll know what it's about later.

You don't have to worry about any of the other fields, except for the CSS one, where you should copy and paste exactly what I'll put bellow:

#workskin .change_on_hover:not(:hover) .on, #workskin .change_on_hover:hover .off { display: none; }

So, now, you'll have something like this...

... and you just have to click "save" on the bottom of the page, and this step is done.

Step 2 - Apply the Skin you created to your fic

For a new work, click on "New Work" as usual. If it's a fic you're already posting, you can add this as well, just click the "Edit" button.

Now, on the form of your fic, on the "Associations" tab, right under the menu where you select the language of your fic, you'll see a "select a work skin" option.

On this field, you should select the workskin you just created on the previous step, searching by the name you gave it on the "Title" field.

Step 3 - Insert the text

The code we're gonna use is this one:

<p class="change_on_hover"> <span class="off"> paragraph in foreing language </span> <span class="on"> paragraph in english </span> </p>

If you have no idea what this means, hold my hand, we're gonna get through it together!

First, copy your fic’s text into the AO3 text box as you normally would. Then, switch the text box to HTML mode so you can see the underlying code.

Now, scroll down until you find the paragraph you want to translate. After pasting, it will likely look something like this:

Note how each paragraph in HTML starts with <p> and ends with </p>. These tags indicate where a paragraph begins and ends.

Our goal is to modify that first <p> tag so it tells the browser, “Hey, this paragraph is different from those other ones. It should change when hovered over or clicked.”

To do this, we’ll change <p> to <p class="change_on_hover">. This marks the paragraph as special—one that should switch text when interacted with.

Now note how instead of having a single paragraph, we need two versions of the text:

In blue, the original (non-English) text, which will be shown by default.

In red, the translated (English) text, which will appear when the reader hovers over or clicks on it.

For the original text, wrap it inside a <span class="off"> tag, ending with </span> like this:

<span class="off"> insert here the whole text of the paragraph in the foreign language </span>

For the translated text, wrap it inside a <span class="on"> tag, also ending with </span>. This will replace the original text when hovered over or clicked:

<span class="off"> insert here the whole text of the paragraph in english </span>

And don't forget to end the whole thing again with </p>

Again, here's how it looks on my fic:

With the paragraphs that come before and after the translated text, just leave them as they are. They should still start with <p> and end with </p>. No changes needed!

You can use this method for as many paragraphs as you want, whether in the same chapter or across different chapters. As long as the Work Skin is active, the effect will work seamlessly throughout your fic.

[activesplooger]

HOOTERS | Adam x Reader | Hazbin Hotel

summary: hooters worker encounters a recently divorced Adam at work.

notes: this is so funny to me idk why America core fr. also if you don't know hooters is a restaurant in America where guys go and the woman wear like short shorts and low cut tops. usually, the woman who work there will pretend to be "into" the guys so they tip em better. ig its kind of a human au idk this is being written in like 30 minutes and also this is centered a lot on adams thoughts idk

cw: adam, harassment, hooters

Adam sat hunched over in his chair, hovering over his beer, his brow furrowed as he stares blankly in front of him. The divorce between him and Eve had just been finalized, and tonight, Abel and Caine were at her house, leaving Adam completely alone for the first time in over 30 years. "Why did I even come here?" he grumbled under his breath.

In his twenties, this place was forbidden paradise. He was married early on in his life, he didn't have time for Hooters— and no way would Eve let him ogle at skimpy waitresses while she was at home taking care of two kids. Something about it being "unfaithful". Ironic.

Now that he's finally here, it's not all he made it out to be. It just makes him miss his wife. Who cares if 20 girls have their ass and tits out? He wants his Eve back.

He huffs, ready to get his stuff and leave before seeing you stride up to the table with a big smile on your pretty face. "Hi!" you beam, puffing out your chest to make your breasts seem bigger, "Welcome to Hooters, I'm Y/N! I'll be taking care of you today. What can I get for you?".

Big doe eyes stare up at you in awe, his mouth agape yet unable to utter out any words. You chuckle softly and smile, this happened a lot here. 'Mid 40s, recently divorced,' you think to yourself, unknowingly clocking his situation to a tee. Should be an easy table! Middle aged divorcees were basically a pot of gold at this establishment.

"Sir?" you say softly. Adam blinks out of his tranced state and turns away, covering his mouth with his hand to cover his heavy blush, "Uh yeah sorry I don't usually go here so-". "No worries," you grab a menu and point to various meals, "our most popular things are our fries, hot wings, and nachos! My personal favorite are chipotle honey wings though!". Adam wasn't listening at all, he's too busy staring down your shirt to hear anything. He realizes you finished talking and snaps his head back up to look at you, "Oh uh- I'll just have... All of that, yeah.".

"You got it!" you grab the menu off the table, "I'll be right back with your food.". "Thank you," he says. "Aw you're so sweet!" you gently grab his arm, "you're welcome. I'll be back!". You walk off, leaving Adam a hot mess. He's frozen in place, eyes fixed on where you touched his arm.

You called him sweet AND touched him. That was the most affection Adam had gotten in months. Not to mention the face that your tits were totally out, begging for his attention. And fuck, the words "I'll be taking care of you today" sounded so sweet coming from those pretty little lips. Your curves, your ass that hung out of those skimpy orange shorts, the gentle sway of your hips as you walked... Your- Your- "Fuuuucckkk," Adam groaned quietly, feeling his pants grow tighter the longer he thought about you.

He quickly crossed his legs and stretched his oversized hoodie to cover the massive bulge stretching the fabric taut. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt and unwanted arousal. Just last year he had a family, a wife. And now look where he was, sitting in a hooters covering his raging boner because of that slutty fucking waitress.

You walk back to his table and set down the plates of food, "Here you are! Enjoy.". He says nothing in response, staring at the untouched plate of wings and fries you had brought him. "Everything alright?" you ask softly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Adam jerks his shoulder at the touch, "I'm fucking fine!". "Oh, Jesus," he sighs, "I'm sorry I- I'm going through a rough time.".

Ah. You figure he must have recently gotten a divorce. You offer a gently smile toward him and remove your hand, "It's okay, I understand. I've been having a rough time too... Enjoy your food.". Adam stares at you as you walk away. This must be fate. The two of you meeting while your both going through a shitty time?! Fuck all that guilt, he didn't need that shit anymore. He needed you.

__ Adam had been coming in the past few weeks, requesting you each time as a server. Whenever you weren't available, he'd walk out in a huff and slam the door behind him.

Each time he ate here, you had greeted him with the same warm smile, taking his order with practiced efficiency, and making sure his glass was never empty. But there was no spark in your eye, no hint of the same longing that gnawed at Adam.

Tonight, after an argument with Eve, he was particularly upset and pretty drunk. Upset about Eve, his family, his life, you. You. His eyes narrowed in on you as you bounced from table to table with the same cheerful and very friendly attitude— the same attitude you had showed him. The one that made him feel special. "Fucking slut," he mutters under his breath. How could you?

You walk up to his table, "Hey, Adam! Hows the-". "Shitty!" he interrupts, his words slurred as he speaks. "The food was shitty?" you tilt your head, "I'm sorry.". "No! you!". "I'm shitty?" you raise an eyebrow, stepping back incase he "over steps" his boundaries.

"Yes! With your slutty little outfit and- fuck!". Adam reaches out and grabs your waist, trying to pull you back to him. "Hey!" A security guard intervenes and stands in between you two, "everything okay over here?". "I-Its fine, just get him a new server," you walk away and go tend to your other tables, begrudgingly feeling a bit guilty for the guy. He was just so pathetic.

Adam groans loudly, a loud whiney moan that turns the heads of other people in the establishment. A new server tends to him, he only asks for more beer. He stays there until its after closing and he's passed out.

"Should I call someone-?" the replacement server asks you. "No no," you sigh, "I'll deal with it. Go home.". She nods and heads out. You look at him and groan, "Oh my God...".

__

You had dragged him out of from the table and all the way to the parking lot. He was just hauled through the rough roads and he was still passed the fuck out. It took all the strength in you to move him, you hoped he would've woken up but somehow he didn't. After finally getting his giant body into the back seat, you tied him down with the seatbelts and made your way to your house. It was stupid, bringing this old guy that was obsessed with you into your own home. He just seemed too stupid to do any actual harm. You made sure to lock your bedroom door though while you were sleeping. __

Adam wakes up, his head throbbing as the memory from last night comes back to him. "Fuck," he rubs his eyes. Once he looks up, he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. He wasn't home. He wasn't at Eve's either.

"Good morning," you greet him, grabbing your things as your about to leave for your morning shift. "Where- How did I get here?". "I took you here after you harassed me and passed out," you reveal, eliciting a groan from Adam. You open the door. Adam sits up and calls out to you, "Wait! Where are you going?". "Work." you state flatly.

"No no no," Adam gets up and makes strides till theres no space between you two, "no way in fucking hell I'm letting you leave now.". "I can't leave my own apartment?" you shoot back in a snarky home. "Don't be a brat. You wouldn't have brought me home if you weren't into me," He takes your hips into his large calloused hands, "so your either into me, or your really fucking dumb.".

"I guess I could call in sick to work," you bite your lip, contemplating on what you really wanted to do. Why did you bring him home? Fuck maybe you did want him.

"Good girl," he brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face and tilts your chin up to face him, "why don'chu go make that call, sweetheart.".

__

uhh so i lost steam at the end if u wanna like take this idea and rewrite it go ahead sorry im not feeling well right now

[junkerratesalbums]

I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love- My Chemical Romance

Buckle up, this might get a little long. To be honest I’ve been avoiding rating any My Chemical Romance albums because I don’t know if I can be normal about it. I certainly know I can’t be unbiased, not that that has ever stopped me before. However, I’ve been on a bonkers MCR kick these last few days and after listening to every album, plus singles, plus live albums, plus demos, I just had to do one on Bullets. Guys… it’s so good. I’m always a bit hesitant to decide on a favorite album with this band because it really depends on my mood, however, this might take the cake. I’m always a bit of a sucker for the first albums a rock band does, mostly because I really love the dirt and grime of a more unpolished album (for example, I’m a huge fan of Bleach by Nirvana). This is not to say that the songs are not well put together, because they sound meticulously put together, with a sort of wildness that balances it out really well.

Everyone adds so much to this album. I know bass doesn’t always get as much love as it should, but Mikey Way really kills it on the bass (not to mention his backing vocals), especially on Early Sunsets Over Monroeville. It adds a really sweet layer of depth to it. Not to extrapolate too much but Mikey and Gerard Way are so clearly brothers when you listen to them play together. They just blend really well, and while they have different styles, they are super in-sync. Gerard’s vocals on this album are so insanely passionate and super powerful, which is something that he maintains and always does really well. I won’t go too much into the writing/themes/etc. of the album because I could talk about it all day and this is already too long, but long story short: super raw, really impressive. I think that Ray Toro is absolutely integral to this album (and to the band as a whole). To start, his backing vocals blend so well with Gerard’s. Now, I know exactly nothing about guitars, but he has a really incredible ear for interesting chords and harmonies and everything else that a guitar can do. He seems to know exactly when to lay it down and when to pick it back up. Plus, the way he plays is just so technically incredible. MCR gets a lot of (deserved) credit for the impressive vocals, but the rest of the band, especially the guitars are just so so good and skilled. This is a totally biased take, but I would go so far to say that Ray Toro may be one of the best guitarists of the past 25 years I’ve ever heard. I’ll leave it at that. I would go on but this is already the longest thing I’ve ever written and I don’t think anyone is still reading. Clearly I have Too Many Thoughts on MCR and this album. Let’s land this plane. The songs that made it onto my daily rotation were: Honey This Mirror Isn’t Big Enough For The Two of Us, Vampires Will Never Hurt You, Drowning Lessons, Headfirst for Halos, Skylines and Turnstiles, Early Sunsets Over Monroeville, and Demolition Lovers. So… almost all of them. My favorite song was Headfirst for Halos. Here is my totally biased rating: 10/10. No notes on that score please.

TLDR: this album is so, so good and I need you all to listen to it for your sake and mine.

Damn.

[jimmyjimjimjimmy]

Here's the fanfic you people asked for! ENJOY💖

You had been in the Resistance for quite a while now, about four years or so.

So you'd think you would have known that when you were running a fever of 103° that you should have stayed at the base instead of going out to fight, but here you are lying on the ground unable to pick yourself back up about to be shot in the head by a First Order trooper.

So this is how you die, pinned to the ground by nothing because you were too damn stubborn to take a sick day. It’s kinda ironic you didn't want to not help the Resistance by staying back but by going out you might have just given the First Order someone to get information from. But before the trooper could finally stun you you heard a yelling voice in the distance getting closer quickly.

“WAIT DON'T SHOOT THEM! PLEASE! OR I’LL FORCE STANGLE YOU!” That couldn't have been who you thought it was…. Could it?

You hardly had the strength to lift your head up to actually see who it was, but based off, of the trooper’s response you were pretty sure of who it was. Unless the trooper had a tendency to call everyone he didn't want to listen to ‘Darth Tantrum’ before being force strangled… To death. It was definitely Kylo Ren, the sith who was pretty damn sure you were best friends with. You had seen him in battle a few times and many of those times he had been waving and yelling hello, along with that he seemed to know your name, but he had never once gone after you or those you seemed to have been close with, not that he wouldn't go kill Resistance members but not any of your friends. Recently it was almost like he was going after people you actively didn't like or get along with. Which made you a little uncomfortable and meant you tried your best to get along with everybody you worked with.

At that moment your ‘friend’ Kylo Ren was picking you up very carefully, muttering something under his breath about First Order troopers being good for nothing, and how bad he felt for you, but by that point your eyes couldn't be bothered to stay open any longer.

~

When you finally woke up you didn't know where you were nor how long you were out for.

Well your first guess was that you were probably in a First Order base prison cell, but looking around the room you were in you decided it was far too nice to be a cell. I mean you had an actual bed with a pillow, and not just a metal block. Plus you had a nightstand which had many a thing on it already.

The first item that caught your attention was a small note with your name written on the front of it, you unfolded it and it read:

I hope you get well soon!❤️ Please enjoy some of my favorite secret chocolate granola just don't tell anyone about it it's a secret so ssshhhh

-Love Kylo Ren❤️

Ookkk weird, but nice nonetheless.

The bowl was overflowing with granola so much that there was a bit on the nightstand itself and on the floor, not to mention in the tissue box he had left for too.

You were a little worried to eat food given to you by Kylo Kriffing Ren but he was so oddly attached to you, so screw it. You took that risk and boy was it worth it because that granola tasted damn good, although it did feel horrible on your throat, but still worth it. After hardly making a dent in the granola you decided to go back to bed.

~

This time you woke up to Kylo Ren himself staring at you.

“Aaaaaah!*cough**cough*” You had fallen into a coughing fit, and before you knew it he was right by your side rubbing circles into your back and trying to hand you a cup of tea. It was a bit before you could actually take a sip of the tea, but you wish you didn't because it was the most bitter tea you had ever tasted, it was just awful. So awful, in fact, you had to spit it out.

“Oh.” Kylo said softly, “Sorry… I've never made tea before, is it really that bad.”

He sounded hurt, and when you turned to face him, there was a certain bit of melancholy in his eyes. You couldn't tell him the truth, for several reasons but the most important one being how sad he looked- And holy kriffing hell you could see his dumb apparently hot face… Jesus Christ of hell was he attractive…… Wait, what were you doing? Why were you staring into Kylo's eyes? Kylo's deep romantic eyes…. Oh yeah, the horrible tea.

“It's just terrible, but you're really hot so it balances. Wait no… Uuumm.”

“Really?”

“...Yeah.” At that moment you were very aware of how close your faces were, and how they were only getting closer-

BLAM!

The door was suddenly open and in the doorway was a First Order officer,

“Kylo Ren, what in the galaxy are you doing?!”

“Nothing.”

“Who is this?”

“The love of my life.”

“Is that a member of the Resistance?”

“No… And get out, Hux!”

“Wha-” but before he could finish his sentence he was force pushed out and the door slammed shut.

“Sorry about that. Granola?” He took the bowl of granola from the nightstand and switched it with your cup of tea. Kissing you gently on the forehead before wrapping his arms around you resting his head on your shoulder. You didn't know what it was about him but you felt weirdly safe… Or maybe it was the fever talking, Oh well who cares

you're comfortable nonetheless.

Which Villain would you most want to look after you when you're sick? 🤧

[gonzodangerfeels]

How many times did I drive three minutes ahead of you like a gangster and never realize it

🤔

Maybe I did notice

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[beannoss]

Hi Bean!

I have a question for you! I have noticed in your writings that Twilight and Yor begin a romantic relationship after their secrets are revealed. Are you opposed to any romance between them before they find out? I assume if so, it’s because it’s morally questionable, though a lot of fans find romance before compelling as it raises the stakes considerably. I’m not suggesting one is right and the other is wrong, I’m just interested in your take on this! I love your writing! Thank you! 😊

Hello you! I'm always chuffed to see your name pop up 🫶😊!

Oh boy! Thank you for this ask — it's a big question but also I do have thoughts XD Sorry it's taken me a few days to get my ducks in a row!

I want to start, though, by emphasising that my thoughts and preferences here are exclusive to Spy x Family as a canon enterprise; they don't pertain to fanworks or other fan theories, I'm not out to yuck anyone's yum ✌️ ditto for even my own writing! You're right that I don't really have an interest in exploring that dynamic but I reserve the right to change my mind ;)!

[Reference herein to manga chapters not yet animated]

Right, so. There's lots of things I love about SxF, but one of the things that interested me early and keeps me engaged is that it operates under an interesting and complex morality. Spy work and contract killing are obviously an ethical minefield, and in the real world, generally to the bad. Within the world of SxF, Endo takes pains to write Twilight and Yor both firmly on the morally right side, even if Twilight’s tactics or Yor’s actions in a vacuum are frequently questionable. With Twilight especially it seems Twilight is currently (resisting) working through the impact and ethical implication of his actions on Anya. When it comes to Yor, I expect that’s where we’ll see him wrestle with similar questions through a romance lens. I think it was quite deliberate and important that Twilight specifically articulated that he’d been wondering if Yor had previous romantic relationships, and that it was now confirmed she hadn’t. As far as I can remember, it’s the only time he’s had that sort of reflection on Yor's life before the Forgers; I mention it because it mirrors times he’s reflected explicitly on Anya’s history and trauma and her needs as a child, with implication that his actions and motivations for adopting her could/probably will hurt her. I hazard that his observation about Yor will be similarly indicative of an arc down the line.

When it comes to canon, if the Yor x Twilight romance were to firm up while Yor still believes Twilight is Loid, I admit there’s a high chance I’d nope out. I want to emphasize firm up though… I tend to think Yor already has feelings for Loid (Twilight?) whether she’s fully aware of them or would necessarily articulate them as romantic (and I think this is being really interestingly conveyed and explored through her current feelings about kissing, though I may differ with some on how I think that may shake out). I also think there’s a… less high but not impossible chance that Twilight is aware he has or is developing feelings for Yor. I’ve argued before that he knows he has formed/is forming an attachment to her and that he knows he trusts her. I don’t think it’s too far from there to romantic feelings for Twilight: after all, attachment and trust (intimacy) are not things he's had in a long, long time. And given his current pseudo-short temper and general malaise comes out most with Anya, with Yor he’s been notably softer and more receptive. In my view, this is partially because so far he hasn't really done much that would really hurt Yor and nor has she done anything that would really hurt Twilight. So far, Twilight and Yor are on a fairly even footing.

This is a very long way of saying that I trend toward thinking we’ve got at least a few toes into the romance already.

The reasons I’d be a squicked by the firming up of the romance, pre-reveal, are related to its being morally questionable as you pointed out (I'll talk a bit more about that in a moment.) But it's also because I think it would undermine character arcs and dominant themes.

Twilight’s arc involves finding and forging a new pack, a new family. Somewhere safe and loving that he’s been denied essentially for his whole life (I don’t dispute that his mother loved him deeply and did her best to protect him: living with an abuser and then with her under war was never going to actually be or feel safe). A big part of this safety and love for Twilight is about being accepted, warts and all. Twilight started lying because he wasn’t accepted by his father as he was. There’s a fair bit to work through by way of accepting Twilight’s warts already — I think Yor will be fairly understanding as things currently stand, and that’s part of why they’re a good match. Their moral compasses, their sacrifices, how they see the world and how they want to try and make it better, align and/or resonate in foundational ways. However, given their current standing, pursuing deeper intimacy of a romantic/sexual relationship with Yor before reveals, I think would take it past the line. And particularly when considering Yor’s character arc.

Yor’s arc is also around finding love and security, but centred less around acceptance (although that obviously also explicitly features!) and more around self-worth and understanding her value. If the romance were to firm up pre-reveal, the false pretences are… I mean, to me, they lob a Molotov cocktail into that theme of self-worth and being valued, as she really would just be being used: the intimacy could never be real because Twilight is not Loid Forger. To expand a bit on an earlier point, perhaps ironically, Yor’s relationship with Loid is mostly on the up-and-up: they both know any marital connection they demonstrate is fake. They may be (are) friends, and also they’re under no illusions that it’s something of a tenuous friendship (at least for now). They co-parent Anya but are clear that this co-parenting comes with clear lines around and between their relationship otherwise. I want to tread mindfully here, because I also really like and appreciate aroace interpretations of Yor and Twilight and their relationship: I think this discussion around firming up their romance actually also holds true in the case of attempting to substantially deepen their platonic bond, pre-reveal. In the same ways, Twilight needing acceptance and Yor learning self-worth would be severely undermined by a pre-reveal apparent and false deepening of their commitment to one another.

On the point of it being morally questionable generally, yeah it is. I mean, look, it's fiction and they aren't real people who can be hurt by those actions. So in principle, Endo can write what story he wants, I wouldn't think it reflected poorly on him or anything like that. I just don't really want to read a story that goes to that place; it’s a squick. I'm sure this has been discussed before in fandom, but my read on the moral dubiety centres around the idea that it isn’t possible to actively choose or meaningfully consent to emotional or physical intimacy when one person is lying about who they are (and in this case, they're both lying about who they are... Although Twilight to a greater extent). This does tie back into SxF themes as well, as choice and consent are also… maybe not big themes of SxF exactly, but active choice and informed consent are things which have come up more than once (I have my thoughts as to why: for a character whose choices drive so much of the narrative, Twilight is actually also a character who’s shown to have little actual choice or control over much of his own life. Considering his motivations for a world where children don’t cry, imo valuing active choice and meaningful consent are important factors required for that world. And I also actually suspect the theme of choice will become more important the more we learn about Donovan, and his role as foil for Twilight.)

Also, honestly for me, it would be too close to a common trope in a lot of popular western fiction/media that I don’t like: a woman being taken advantage of by a man in some way, shape or form, and then through the magic of her non-specific womanness, forgiving him his gross transgressions under the thinnest of pretences. Particularly as Endo has already taken pains to sidestep that as a foundation of their arrangement. To be fair, I wouldn't be surprised that were Endo to take the pre-reveal romance path, it would be a deeper interpretation of that trope, but as with other sexist tropes utilised in pop fiction/media, I have to ask why the choice couldn’t have been for a more interesting path, rather than retreading that one. And particularly given everything he's established for Twilight and Yor: it goes against much of what Twilight stands for — and indeed goes against much of what he meaningfully brings in his current relationship with Yor, that of encouraging her, supporting her, and shoring up her thoughts, opinions and self-image, particularly when she voices upset or doubt about them. It also goes against much of what Yor stands for: while the power imbalance would lie firmly with Twilight, it remains true that Yor’s lies in an apparently deepening intimacy would also undermine the safety and security she ostensibly creates for Twilight. She also so obviously hates lying, the prospect of her keeping her secret into what she believed was a real relationship would wreck her. Doubly so, given the weight Yor puts on Loid's acknowledgement of who she is and what she believes: something she hangs her self-worth on, a recognition of her value. And I'd argue here that it would actually, conversely, be impossible for Loid Forger to acknowledge or accept Yor's truth: that's only something Twilight can do.

And so I guess there’s also just the bare fact following from the above that I think a pre-reveal firming up of their relationship is the less interesting choice for what is a major franchise that has otherwise done innovative things. Another reason I love SxF is that it subverts tropes and complicates cliches. One of which includes communication: for a pair who have crossed lines as a foundation of their relationship, Yor and Twilight actually do a lot of communicating. That’s a subversion of many heterosexual romantic tropes and norms, at least in a Western context, and, to put it sort of flippantly, it would bum me out if it failed at the final hurdle.

I just want to emphasise one more time, my opinions and preferences here are strictly related to Spy x Family in an official canon capacity, and nothing to do with fanworks or fan theories or what fans want to explore in whatever fashion. Part of my feelings here are also honestly because of the tone and pacing of SxF. I think it entirely possible to do interesting things with those tropes and actually think Endo is the type of writer I would trust to do so. But the way SxF is written by way of tone, pacing, narrative priorities and audience demand, I don't think even Endo would be able to do them within SxF in ways that wouldn't squick me out and make me lose love for Twilight, specifically, pretty entirely. I'd rather he just didn't 😂

Tl;dr: in canon exclusively I’m not into a firming up of their romantic relationship pre-reveal! Their situation is complicated enough as it is; give these goobers the love they want and can share with one another, kindly and gently, when the world has been neither kind nor gentle with them. In my view, it’s already primed in their character and thematic arcs 🫶

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[kittykatninja321]

On both a watsonian and doylist level Dick Grayson is white passing

[whoslaurapalmer]

gonna reread one of my old middle school fics, oh it's gonna be a time

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU