#his 12 centimeters.... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkrelish · 2 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..

"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 6/20 [wc: 16k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?

Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.

He’d be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..

————

Eddie disguised his crisis well.

He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, “Hey, can you make me another pot of coffee?”

It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. “Sure!”

And later, he came to you again–diverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.

“Do you mind if I eat alone today?” he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.

“Fine, but you owe me.” And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.

Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.

You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, “Did Eddie leave somewhere?”

“Awh, he’s probably out on a smoke break,” he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.

“Another one?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. “Been takin’ alottavem the past couple’a days.”

You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.

Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You weren’t about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.

After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.

“Hey! I’m going out for a sec. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, and–

“Bye!” You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.

~~~

Back in record time–beating the previous record by default because you’d never had this idea before–you hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didn’t want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.

He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one another–most likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud he’d surely lose his hearing one day.

The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.

Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.

It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.

But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.

You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. “Hey there, handsome.”

He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t hear you come in.” He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. “Food?”

“The burger place down the street messed up my order,” you replied in soft amusement. “Do you want the extra?”

He didn’t need convincing.

~~~

The sounds of your togetherness filled the open room–wheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.

Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.

You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.

“Child support is late again. Happens every December, but it’ll come a day or two before it’s officially considered late in January.” Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrie’s mom, “She has the money–her and her husband have good jobs–so it’s just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I don’t even speak to her.”

“Eddie..”

He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. “Doesn’t matter. Money’s tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so that’ll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.”

Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. “I want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,” he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.

“It never crossed my mind she wouldn’t.” You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. “I know you’re a good dad” –He glanced away– “You are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.”

“But I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever they’re into.”

“I know you do..”

Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, he’d make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.

You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didn’t earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. “Maybe they’ll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robin’s mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if that’s okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.” No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touching–in this case, it was your shoulders again.

The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each other’s comfort.

Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, “Uhm, when we were at Adrie’s school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.” You gestured vaguely as if you weren’t eavesdropping the entire time. “And I’d been meaning to ask if I’m–uh?–too affectionate with her? Like if it’s weird, or something I shouldn’t be doing? You’re the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, and–”

He cut you off.

“No, no, no.” His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. “How you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. It’s–It’s–Seriously, it’s great having her look up to someone who isn’t me.”

“What about what her teacher said?”

“I don’t care,” he scoffed. “I know she means well, but it’s not like Adrie’s going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I don’t want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrie’s life, it’s just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, she’s all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.”

“You have me now, too.”

You heard yourself say it.

You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.

“Just, you know, it’s not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasure–blooming–from his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I think after this, you’re my friend,” he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. “No qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. We’re friends.”

Yeah, definitely friends.

Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the other’s smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.

————

And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.

He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. “Shit. Don’t we have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Oh! I left it in the women’s restroom after I got a paper cut.” You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. “Is it bad?” you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. “Just one of those shitty surface cuts that doesn’t stop bleeding.”

The moment Eddie’s hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.

The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimson–same color as his cheeks–and he remained silent. He didn’t deny your doting. Didn’t disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.

It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.

“What’s that look for?”

While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, “Oh, nothing. Just.. y’know.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.”

“Nice!” He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didn’t get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.

“So now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.” You drew your eyebrows in. “Whatever organizing payroll means.”

Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you said.

Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.

Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.

He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.

Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, “That’s stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.”

Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, “If Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesn’t get one too, she’ll be upset.”

“That’s not fair.” Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, you’d give him the entire tin, and he knew it. “You play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.”

He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.

In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.

“Who’s the pushover now?”

“Considering you’re robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?” You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. “Still you.”

He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.

“Wear your gloves next time, idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

————

Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.

The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant he’d pass by Mr. Moore’s office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charm–his larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.

It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.

You missed Eddie.

Eddie missed you.

————

It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.

Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.

“Man, it’s freezing in the lobby,” you complained loudly upon entering Eddie’s domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.

The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.

Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.

He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. “I thought you left for the day.”

“Did you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?”

After waving the tool at the underside of the truck he’d been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, “Do you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?”

“Yes.”

No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacket’s pocket before coming out here.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.

Eddie’s groan rose above the plucky piano keys. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to Christmas music.”

You shushed him, “It’s just jazz.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you weren’t ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.

“May I have this dance?”

Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.

“My hands are dirty,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You urged in all gentleness, “Don’t turn me down because you’re shy. I’ll teach you.”

Teach me, he mouthed.

A delicious secret emerged.

Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitating–eager–sincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearing–Eddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribs–I’ve Got a Crush On You–and the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkins’ reject, the town’s outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotation’s completion, you sank into each other’s embrace like a released breath.

You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.

Eddie didn’t lead.

He demanded you follow.

His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.

Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.

“You’re not the only theater kid,” he said softly. “It was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, I’m not half-bad.”

You laughed, “Wh-Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. “Mm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. It’s more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.”

“Eddie,” you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? “I didn’t even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Why–didn’t–you–tell me?” Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it’d be relevant,” he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.

“We could’ve been dancing this whole time.”

Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. “Mmm. You make it sound like you’ve been wanting to do this since we met.” His hum, his words sent his Adam’s apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.

The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.

Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, step– With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didn’t smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didn’t find it as gross as you should, either.

Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, “Dip?”

Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fu–.

Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.

Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.

He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand again–the other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.

You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didn’t object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.

He shivered.

A car passed by.

The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his boss’ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each other’s eyes, and sway.

The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.

The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.

Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didn’t matter. The embrace was the point.

“As Office Administrator,” you started, “I wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. It’d be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?”

Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, “Please? I promise it won’t be boring. Mr. Moore said no one’s thrown a work party before, and I’m terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.” You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. “Please don’t let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.”

The bottom of Eddie’s two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, “I thought he only had two.”

You whispered dramatically, “It’s three now.”

He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.

“Eddie.”

As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. “I’ll go,” he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. “And of course I’ll bring Adrie.”

You celebrated by punching up your linked hands–yours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.

“Would you help me decorate too?” you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. “And maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.”

“You’re not sweetening the deal.”

“But it’s a ‘yes,’ isn’t it?”

Another dissuasive grumble.

Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.

“Do you really listen to jazz?” he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.

“I listen to a little bit of everything,” you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. “Are you asking because of the music you listen to?” At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. “The kinda stuff you blast when you think I’m not around.”

“You’ve heard that?”

Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, “Well, I’m not exactly competing in the Tour de France, y’know. You don’t wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ‘nd everything when I’m gone, like a dork.”

Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust it’d come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. “Yeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?”

“Unsurprising. Suits your image.” Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. “I recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..” You shrugged. “Accept?”

The tip of Eddie’s nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. “I wasn’t even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, don’t get too excited,” you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. “I’ve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. I’ve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.”

Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persisted–and if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.

Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.

“Wait here–!”

And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.

You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.

“Got it,” he said in his stride to the stereo.

“Got what?” It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldn’t read the front from how he held it in his palms.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.

The speakers crackled with static.

You startled.

It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.

Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.

Though he wasn’t watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasn’t offensive in the least, but it was loud.

After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.

The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.

The vocals began.

The vocals..

The lyrics were spoken–sung–with the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.

Perfectly matching..

You snapped your attention to Eddie’s face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.

“This is you,” you expelled in pure infatuation. “Eddie!” You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. “Eddie, this is you!” He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.

You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. “This is you singing, isn’t it? This is your band.” The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween.

The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didn’t know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.

When he continued acting far too humble–shrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasn’t that cool–you wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.

Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.

“I appreciate the groupie attitude, but it’s not like we’re a big deal, or anything,” he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. “About once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesn’t pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..” he trailed off upon making eye contact. “We only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.

He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. “It’s not like we’re famous or anything.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re in a band,” you stressed. “How come you never told me?”

Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. “Being you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands who’ve made it big. I’m sure you’ve met way more impressive people.”

Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.

“Who cares who I’ve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. It’s uniquely yours, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Eddie sighed.

Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, “I also didn’t want to, ah–I don’t know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didn’t like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.”

“Scare me off?” At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. “Oh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,” you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. “If you didn’t scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I don’t think your very obvious music taste would.”

He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, “So, you don’t think it’s lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?” There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.

Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. It’s totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isn’t a turn-on at all.”

Too far, too much, too inappropriate–

The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.

The garage went viscerally quiet.

He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Not just the vocalist,” he said, voice cracking on the whisper. “I play lead guitar, too.”

You spat out, “Very cool,” desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.

But no, Eddie didn’t grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. “It’s pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.” He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.

The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.

“I need my jacket back,” he reminded you.

“R-Right.”

You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. “Here.” Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffin’s first recording session. “You take mine. I’ll take yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” And as he dragged his feet backwards–avoiding the space heater without looking–he said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, “We should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.” He gestured with the tape. “I’ll pick the music next time, too.”

With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

“You never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,” you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.

Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.

The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. “You know, I thought with all the life lessons I’ve had to learn over the past five years, I’d be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.” He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “But when they’re as beautiful as you, I just can’t.”

His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.

“Alright, Casanova,” you let out in a shaky breath. “I’ll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.” You left as fast as you could.

No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddie’s voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.

————

Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:

“The fourth one–uh–Solivagant, is definitely my favorite!”

“That one’s instrumental,” Eddie pouted. “And here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.”

You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. “I do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was just–Eddie! You did that on purpose.”

Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasn’t higher by a few inches.

“Sorry,” he said weakly between his snickering. “Let me.”

There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your face’s height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.

His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. “Am I supposed to dress up nice for your party?”

You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. “Only if you feel like it,” you guessed. “The dress I’m wearing is pretty casual, but you don’t have to do anything special if you don’t want to.” After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. “I think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.”

His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.

You stared. “Do you really not have one nice shirt?”

“I might still have the one from my job interview,” he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.

The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.

If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. He’d be gone.

“Sorry!”

Eddie made his swift retreat–three, no, four steps away.

You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, that’s all. It wasn’t something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.

“I, uhm– Y-Yeah, the shirt.” He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. “It’s–I’ll wear it.”

Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. “Eddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesn’t matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. It’s just a casual thing.”

Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.

“Uhm–”

“So..”

You both started, and ended.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore’s gruff greeting came from the hallway.

Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your boss’ appearance as he walked into the room. “Good morning!” and “Salutations!” To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddie’s unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.

After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.

Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.

“Should we–?”

“Wanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ‘nd do it tomorrow?” you spoke over him.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, “Tomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.”

A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.

“We’re still having lunch together later, right?” you asked.

“Duh. You’ve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I don’t know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..”

Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his music’s lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.

There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.

————

Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.

You garnered Eddie’s help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.

Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at you–at your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one hand–it was as if his worries melted away.

The boy calmed down.

Though Kevin didn’t come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.

~~~

Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.

The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.

Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.

Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddie’s arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.

The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.

Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.

“You sure those two ain’t datin’?” he asked.

Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. “Apparently not. Ed said they’re just friends.”

At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.

Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carl’s eyes.

“But David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.”

“Did he, now?”

Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, “Yep.”

Kevin suggested, “Maybe the holiday spirit will take over, and they’ll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.”

“Uck,” he replied with a disgusted noise. “You’re always such a romantic.”

“You’re the one starin’ at them,” Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. “Besides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.”

————

Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.

Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.

“Guh–” You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.

This outgoing message thing wasn’t going well.

Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. “You’ve reached David’s Auto Shop at..” you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. “We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–”

The smell of cigarettes should’ve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back should’ve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all should’ve been the third.

Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.

“You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..” Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.

He cackled on his way to the garage. “Hey, since you’re not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?” Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for him–before you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheek–before the door could hit him on the way out–he spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. “Oh! Don’t forget your policy. Can’t say no to helping me, huh?” On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.

“You are the absolute worst.” You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. “And you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.”

“Really? I’ve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. I’m loving it!”

~~~

Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that would’ve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.

You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Moore’s wife was bringing later.

Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Moore’s office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.

~~~

Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.

He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.

~~~

One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.

————

The evening began trepidatious.

Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Moore’s daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carl’s teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Moore’s wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.

You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what must’ve been the hundredth time..

Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. “Your date’s still in his car. Probably workin’ up the nerve to come see you.”

“He’s not my date,” you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping he’d buy it. “We’re friends.”

A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. “Look out.”

Look out?

A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasn’t for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.

“Adrie!” You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.

“You made it,” you said, staring, staring, staring.

Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t withhold his praise. In gradual seconds–each longer than the last–he beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.

The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.

It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Really beautiful,” he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.

Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.

“And what about you, handsome?” You signaled it was his turn to show off.

So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.

Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his back–no rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirt–just thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.

Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. “Think I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.”

Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.

While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.

Jesus..

“You look good,” you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual way–too wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. “Should’ve known you’d be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“You hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.”

“I didn’t say extra–”

“Who cares,” she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. “My outfit is way, way, way cuter,” she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.

You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?” Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.

Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.

“Santa’s.. Widdle helper.” The pronunciation wasn’t her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell ‘little’ as ‘wittl’.’

“And who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.

“Tweety Bird!”

“Alright!” You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.

Thrown back into reality at a dog’s yip, and Mr. Moore’s survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.

“Everyone here?” Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, “Let’s eat! Game starts soon.”

The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddie’s present.

“I got something for you,” you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. “You have to promise to wear it. Or else..” You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didn’t comply.

“I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,” he mumbled, eyeing you.

“Too bad. Here.”

Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. “Really?” he asked, and laughed, “Would’ve worn it anyway.”

After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, “Wanna put it on for me?” She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, “Not real Santa, right?”

“No, you’re Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And he’s bringing me lots of presents because I’ve been good.”

You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. It’d be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped he’d fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.

Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.

A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.

“Ow, Adrie..”

Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, “Don’t think I forgot about you, cutie pie.” From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way you’d only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.

“You can’t coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,” he told her in a playful tone. “You’re a big girl now, and only Daddy’s strong enough to hold you.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” As if your tongue wasn’t already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.

Now, if he were wearing less..

You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversation–the type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.

You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddie’s amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing he’d be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.

Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)

Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddie’s thigh, and his sly grin over Adrie’s head, they faded away once more.

Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Just saving memories!” Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable camera’s film cog.

And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. “Hope we looked good, at least,” you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.

He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.

A moment you’d like to remember. Including..

“Here,” you giggled.

He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. “Oh.”

In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.

~~~

As predicted, it didn’t take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevin’s dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didn’t want.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread, listening to you talk about nothing.

“And as you can see” –You pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your desk– “I’m all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.”

“Very cool,” he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking ‘you’re adorable’ kind of way, and not a ‘wow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, that’s very cool of you’ kind of way.

You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.

Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrie’s head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.

Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!”

You both turned to Adrie.

When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didn’t give more context, nor information, she got impatient. “Come on!” she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddie’s sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.

After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.

“What’s the mission?” he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.

She didn’t speak. Only grinned, and giggled.

Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, “Is it a riddle?”

More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.

Slowly–slowly–slowly–

You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddie’s clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.

There was silence all around.

From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddie’s. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting.

You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.

“I didn’t hang that, I swear,” he whispered.

“I didn’t either,” you promised just as quickly.

It didn’t matter who did.

There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.

Quickly–quickly–quickly–

“She.. We’ve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she must’ve seen it in one of them.” Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. “She doesn’t understand.. The meaning, and everything.” He paused. “Us.” Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. “Working together, and stuff.” Voice almost mute. “That w-we can’t..”

As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldn’t, or shouldn’t kiss, (you’re at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Moore’s shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasn’t into you like that, oh god–), you had to get out of this situation with grace.

“No, yeah, I get it. Uhm.” Think fast, think fast, think fast. “You know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?” you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.

Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.

“Can she have one of these chocolate snowmen?”

“Only if you’re willing to tire her out before we leave,” Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.

He warned her in a stern tone, “If you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, you’ll never have another dessert again.”

She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. “You’ve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.”

Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, “You got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.” He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. “The consequences are steep. He’s very strict, you know.”

Adrie’s frown was serious.

Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.

“Aw, don’t listen to him,” you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, “Well, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.” She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.

You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. “I’ll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. I’ve got her.”

The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, “Oh, aren’t they cute together,” and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrie’s leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.

While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didn’t say.

“You two have fun,” he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.

~~~

A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.

Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didn’t mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasn’t some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldn’t listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingered–for a millisecond–on his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.

Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.

A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby weren’t to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.

Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.

The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.

“You don’t always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,” he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.

You pointed a pirate’s cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. “I’m the Rat King.”

The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.

Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. “Ooh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.” You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.

There was a pang in Eddie’s stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrie’s life, the grief of when things don’t work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.

He had no other job options.

And yet..

“Hey.” Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. “Ah, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. D’you guys wanna watch them with me?”

Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passé position, you asked, “Don’t you want to hang out and watch the game?” When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nah. Not really. I’d rather be in here.”

~~~

The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.

It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner.

Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..

But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?

Fuck–

The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevin’s distinct shuffle came down the hallway. “Well here’s where you three gone off to,” he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. “Don’t mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isn’t that right, Coop?”

Cooper panted at his name.

Adrie mumbled around her fingers, “I love your puppy. He’s the best.”

“Yeah, she adores him,” you added.

“Aw, you’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and the–whatever else he said.

Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistance–and wouldn’t you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddie’s forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddie’s arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.

His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasn’t supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.

Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.

It’s not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.

He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didn’t show it. You remained poised as ever.

You didn’t mind, outwardly.

So he didn’t either.

It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrie’s hair around his finger.

And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.

The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each other’s lead and did nothing. Subconsciously–or consciously–finding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.

Time went on like that.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumb–only once–over the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.

~~~

The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting you’d take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.

Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.

In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didn’t matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.

He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.

Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.

“Ready?” you asked, holding Adrie’s hand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just these two containers, and we’re good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?”

“Nah.” You waved him off. “We can take them down after the break.”

More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full night’s sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.

He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.

However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.

“Uh, there’s uh,” you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. “There’s actually one more thing inside.”

“There is?” he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.

“Yeah, if you could just help me real quick.”

He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.

Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..

He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.

You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. “I, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if that’s okay..”

“You..?” He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.

Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, “If it’s not okay, I can, I guess–?”

“No, no,” he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. “No, that’s, that’s so nice of you. I-I don’t even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didn’t have to do something like that.” He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.

“I signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. Uhm.. wow.”

He was doing his favorite trait–where his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirty–and he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.

And you kept the presents rolling.

“As Office Administrator,” you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, “I have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like you’re getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.” There was no mistaking who. “And I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isn’t interested in running the family business, so he’s seeking out a new owner,” you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.

You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. “Anyway, do with that information what you will.”

Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.

“That’s Robin,” you said.

He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.

The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldn’t kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldn’t handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the other’s existence if things went bad.

New year, same old coward.

Except.

An idea.

An impulse.

A vicious desire.

He rejected the rejection. “Wait!”

You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.

Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. “I’m doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,” he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.

“Then thank me,” you replied, curling your fingers around his.

His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, “Words don’t feel good enough anymore.” The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. “You’re too sweet, and I don’t even get to drive you home.”

You encouraged him in a laugh. “Then think of another way to thank me that’s not transportation based.”

A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. “I will,” he promised, nodding. “I’ll find a better way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Adrie. Something good.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. “Speaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.”

He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I should probably go start the car.”

“Have a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.

You reached for the door handle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.

Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.

“Goodnight, handsome,” you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.

The evening ended spectacularly.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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rel124c41 · 6 months ago

Text

BACK TO CHEST (SOUL TO SOUL). jade leech

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter.

tags: main character death (permanently tho?), dark magic, family dynamics, survivor guilt, established relationship, malleus’s unrequited crush on reader, & happy halloween

a/n: jade & floyd's mother's name siphon from @mochinomnoms

word count: 12, 802

When Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, overblotted, you were beheaded.

Jade has been rolling that sentence in his head for the entire month. He has been trying to make sense of it. Like a student retyping a sentence, he changes it up every so often; when housewarden Malleus Draconia overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, born January 18th, 202 centimeters tall, green eyes, a hundred or so years old, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, nicknamed Tsunotaro, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia overblotted, Jade had to watch you be beheaded from Diasoma’s dormitory barbican. The facts do not seem real no matter how much he edits them.

Part of him deducts that it might be because beheaded is the wrong word. Beheaded implies decapitation: the head fully cut off from the body. You did not resemble a cleanly-made dullahan. The slashing, void magic Malleus Draconia sent out cut from your frontal bone diagonally down to your occipital bone.

Jade hopes more fiercely than a child wishing on a star that it felt like a painful flick to your forehead than nothing else. He does not want to entertain the thought you might have been conscious, wondering when your hair caught fire as you suffered through incomprehensible pain. Visible brain matter stuttering with a few painful last thoughts as you were cut apart.

So, with that said, it has not really registered in Jade Leech’s own brain that you are really dead. He can find the words perfectly fine. He cannot find the meaning of that mysterious poetry, no matter how embellished or how nudely plain.

Which is why his brother has to say certain words to him real slowly. Make sure the meaning sticks. Elongating them, sometimes repeating, “Today’s (Name)’s funeral, Jade. You have to get up.” Which comes out as fuuuh-neeer-al, yooo-u, and uuuh-puh.

Floyd has to repeat ‘get up’ four times because Jade refuses to. As he has been for the last month, he rots in bed. Luckily, Jade has always been an exemplary student so he will still be able to graduate his second year with all his high marks. Thank the Seven for small miracles.

“Cooome on, Jade. Jade, please, get up. Jadeee.”

Roughly, and then softly and sorrily, Floyd tries to shake Jade out of his pretend sleep. His brother has been doing that a lot – sleeping and then, not sleeping, but still laying in bed with his eyes closed. Who knows what is so alluring about the ebon made from flesh-shuttered windows. A week ago, Floyd had a thought that turned his stomach rotten. What if Jade has been sleeping so much so he can pretend he is still under Sea Slug’s spell, before anything happened?

He does not like to think about it. To be frank, he has been hating thinking this entire month. It makes bile poke its tiny fingers on the muscles in his throat, watching his mirror reflection lie somnolent in bed, looking halfway dead. Which is why Floyd shifts back to shaking Jade at a harsher pace – which he will eventually slow down again, feeling regret for being rough.

“Jaaadiooo, waaake uuup. Jade. Jade Jade Jade!”

Floyd wonders if he has to get Azul to assist him in picking up Jade. It is not that Jade puts up a struggle when getting dragged out of bed; it is just that his weight feels like dead weight and that makes Floyd queasy. He likes having Azul there. Azul dresses Jade; Floyd brushes Jade’s teeth. They both take turns taking cups of water and rinsing shampoo out of his hair.

However, Azul is not needed because Jade voluntarily opens his eyes a moment later. Dull, rusted gold and olive peers through black eyelashes. Lifeless eyes flicker, registering what the waking world is showing him.

Shoes that are worth a king's ransom crease because Floyd decides to crouch rather than kneel by Jade’s bed. His hair is neatly slicked back, gel fixating his black strand behind his piercing. Dressed in a simple black suit, Floyd gives a shy smile and whispers, “Hey.” Jade notices something that makes him close his eyes.

Floyd did his tie correctly this time.

“Hey, no goin’ back to sleep. Ya gotta get up today, Jade, c’mon. I’ll eat one of your mushrooms if ya get up. You can decide which one, whatever works for me. Hehehe, how does that sound? … Jade, please. Get up.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re gonna be pissed at yourself if ya don’t. Ya gonna hate yourself more if you don’t get up.”

“Not possible.” Jade’s nose wrinkles when Floyd starts to run his fingers through his hair, combing back black hair.

“You have to get up today. If you do, next week, Azul and I’ll leave ya alone.”

“Leave me alone now.”

“Ya have to get up to say goodbye. Come on, (Name) deserves you there. You have to get up for (Name).”

Jade does the only thing that allows Floyd to know his brother is not a corpse - he sheds a tear. Dried-up, pruning corpses cannot shed tears. It comes with a double edged sword of relief and pain; Floyd watches the tear escape from Jade’s left eye, descending down over the bridge of his nose, and onto his pillow.

Emptied of one of a thousand tears, Jade whispers back, tormented, “I can’t.”

In your absence, Floyd’s verbose brother has turned into a man of little words. As if the action of talking is just as strenuous as getting up. It is unnerving for Floyd who is so used to his brother talking so much.

Grief shackles a body like an anchor. So used to swimming through life with dexterity, grief has tangled itself upon Jade like cutting, tangling fishing gear or stabbing, soda-can-holding plastic. Each limb is ten times heavier than it has ever been. His tongue is an iron paperweight.

And, Floyd knows. That weight has been crushing him too.

Floyd still looks towards your designated seat in Mostro Lounge by mistake. Waits with a heavy heart to see you sitting there, ordering one of their chocolate-or-caramel themed drinks. Waits for your voice to just suddenly be in his ears talking, asking about basketball practice or new menu items.

But, he has been brave for his brother’s sake. Which is why he requests, touching their foreheads together, “Then, get up for me. Get up for me.”

For the first time in the month, Jade brushes his teeth without help. He cannot manage to do his hair but Floyd gives no complaints, slicking his own hands up with opaque green gel.

Only one month after death, a body fully liquifies. Life deflating, the soft tissue starts to decay. Oval holes in the skin appear with the ease of stretched dough. Flesh’s solidity fails and melts like candle wax. In a month’s time, a cadaver is expected to expose its vulnerable skeleton.

Against all physical laws, you have not rotted away like an apple attacked by fungi and bacteria. In fact, it would be appropriate to say you look alive. It is inappropriate though because of the downward, diagonal scar across your forehead. Magic keeps your body fresh but your grave-ushering wound remains.

They stitched you back up? Jade wonders which friend of yours had picked the top part of your cranium off the rain-soaked ground.

Even though Ace and Deuce were the closest to you – both physically, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack and emotionally, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack –he cannot picture them picking it up. Neither Grim; paws are too small. Perhaps, aspiring not-yet-doctor Riddle Rosehearts had the guts in his tiny stature to scoop up the top half of your brain. Holding a hand under like one does with a napkin full of broken eggs, making sure nothing drips onto the floor. Jade grows too sick to think of the hypothetical of who stitches you back up.

Jade only remembers shaking, cold due to the rain and the sight. A hand reaching up to his breast pocket to grab his magic pen. Then, Floyd grabbing his shoulders to stop him from making the awful mistake of firing a spell at THE Malleus Draconia. Jade forgets the rest.

Apparently, he screamed himself hoarse. Apparently, Floyd got a broken wrist from their tussle. Apparently, Azul knocked him out with a powerful sedative spell. Apparently apparently apparently.

The following memory goes like this: waking up in bed the next morning, throat sore, thinking about what tea you might generously brew for him to fight off his evident illness. Usually in good health, Jade is a bit surprised that morning to wake up with a flu. Then, his world is torn apart. Then, Azul and Floyd explain to him slowly – they are always talking to him slowly now – why his throat burns. Not from bacteria-made illness, from screaming, from losing you.

Sometimes, just for a span of a few moments, Jade wishes another thing with childish ferocity — prays to a shooting star.

He wishes he could have stayed in that peaceful dream — “There is no need to shed tears nor are farewells necessary! … A new world in which none shall ever experience the pain of loss!” he had said — that Malleus was bestowing upon them. I wish Malleus had succeeded in his overblot. With a similar vehemence, he wishes Malleus Draconia died.

There is no graveyard on the northside of Sage’s Island. No one expects to bury a student. So, someone, perhaps Dire Crowley or your trio, has chosen to bury you just a bit off the hiking trails you and Jade use to venture on. A glade chosen by someone to put a coffin smack in the middle of, still on land owned by Night Raven College.

Your dead body rests ahead, laid in a virgin’s coffin. A tree line formed by an expanding corpse of trees marks a clean circle. Him, Floyd, and Azul come upon the funeral last. Right at the start of the column and rows of seats, Jade’s feet suddenly grow roots into the ground, on par with a neem tree which has the strongest taproot system. He is paralyzed by the sight: you, arms resting on your abdomen, laying in a fairytale’s glass coffin.

The casket is elegant beyond elegance. Silica sand dug from Al-Asim’s numerous deposits was smelted for the glass. Inscribed with gold, your name playfully stretches its arms across the coffin, bordering angels and swans kneeling before it.

Your head rests on a pillow-bouquet. Speckles of white daisy, ivory white carnations, and eggshell white spider mums kiss your hair. The centerpiece flower is Easter lilies, though. Trumpet-shaped, with shooting stars of pollen branching out from the center of them, Easter lilies crowd the bouquet like purple prose in a literary work. They crowd around your resting, stitched head with delicateness. Another bouquet of identical pattern rests too in your hands.

The fairytale ensemble makes you look like a martyr.

You are not a martyr. Jade hates the very thought that that could become your legacy. Wrongly transcribed and reprinted, a publisher who does not know you writes you as martyr. It makes his stomach rot. Neither hero or villain, you are not to be idolized. Bread should not be broken in honor of you and wine should not be drunk in honor of you.

You were wonderfully simple, with flaws and strengths. Now, you are gone.

“Jade, come. There is a spot up at the front for us,” Azul says softly and slowly.

A gentle hand pushes on Jade’s back — Floyd’s hand. “They’re not goin’ to start without us.”

That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that —! Jade, not really thinking well, rips himself away from his brother too fast.

“Woah,” Floyd shouts like a cowboy whose horse has started acting erratic. His gold and olive-brown eyes flicker with concern. Once more, Floyd goes to put his hand on the back of Jade’s suit, only to feel more like he is touching stone rather than flesh. Hm?

Out of Floyd’s knowledge, students, close friends of yours, have started to turn around, and one of them happens to be Malleus Draconia — who makes direct eye contact with Jade Leech.

I can’t breathe.

Eyes that shimmer like Sheecle’s green take their poisonous green hands, stealing oxygen from the eel-mer’s body.

Jade finds himself breathless. In his chest, his heart grows in weight tremendously. All of the hurt in his bones is pulled towards his center, acceleration like fire. Heavy as osmium. Heavy as tungsten. He feels like something is crushing him with a sleep paralysis-esque weight. Out of his nose, his last breath slithers away; out of his brain, all his thoughts file out of the building in fire-drill-fashion. Buh-bye, Jade! his thoughts wave as they go. His breath walks out like a scorned lover, never to be heard from again.

I can’t breathe.

Suddenly, Jade’s motionless chest is grabbed by a wayward arm. His spine collides into a breathing, functioning chest. Over his shoulder, Floyd whispers to his brother, lazy drawl slithering in Jade’s ear:

“Follow along to my breathin’ pattern. Try-a match your breath to mine.”

The words are spoken carelessly, with a lazy drawl, but the intent is vigilant. Seeing his brother needing help, Floyd reacts. He holds him close enough to feel the bones of his ribcage.

On Jade’s back, he can feel the rise and fall of Floyd’s chest — Floyd elongating his breaths to gather deep oxygen in the very bottom of his lungs. They come in slow, constant waves. An inhale causes his chest to expand. An exhale causes his chest to flatten. Each slow rotation hits Jade’s spine in measured breaths — that I’m supposed to follow along to. Match the tempo of.

Jade closes his eyes so he can focus upon the rise and fall of Floyd’s living lungs. It proves difficult to hear the sound of breathing over the ringing in his ears, like detecting a single scent in a saturated perfume store. Earth makes itself into a curlicue of sensations. Amongst the raging riptide, Jade tries to grab his brother’s hand. Grab onto it and share the same breath.

It takes a few moments, a continuous rise and fall. Deeper lungfuls of oxygen push at his spine; heavier exhales stir through his three-piece earring. In. Out. Jade is trying. In. Out. In. Out.

He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth until he can complete the cycle of in and out with a skip between the steps. When he takes his first complete breath, eyelids fluttering open, he sees only the back of Malleus’s haircut and curling horns that hook up like antlers. As he studies ebony locks cascading into layers, Floyd whispers in his ear, “We don’t gotta go up. I’ll stay back with ya.”

A coward down to the bone, Jade nods his head. Well, not always a coward; he is quite a capable eel-mer. In this particular setting, he finds himself to be as cowardly as the lion in The Wizard of Oz. For this month, he has felt that only the worst traits of his personality have survived the aftermath of a torrential blot-storm.

He lets Floyd push him down to sit at the last row on the right. Your friends in Savanaclaw and Pomefiore are in the back rows as you are not too close to either. Diasomnia and Heartslabyul are gathered close to the front. The remaining dorms are in the middle.

Ebony locks styled into a jellyfish cut sit in the second row, left side. If Jade looks straight, he can completely dispel Malleus Draconia from his eyesight. Azul moves up to the front, perhaps to tell Dire Crowley or your friends that everyone in attendance, time to start. Jade is beyond grateful for the hand rubbing circles into his spine, as if the touch keeps his breath circulation working.

There are a few moments of talking. Deuce Spade shuffles a bit closer to hear what Dire Crowley is saying; Azul gestures with his hands and when passed a paper, passes it back in rejection; Grim, who now attends in Heartslabyul, starts to grow louder in volume but so far Jade cannot catch a word. Eventually, it is Riddle Rosehearts who stands up. In his hand, the paper that Azul recently rejected.

Even though it is given an introduction, explaining the contents, Jade would have known it without prelude. Off Riddle’s tongue, your poetry falls like a meteor shower, silver fish-tails stretching with warm tenor. The title and author already given, Riddle reads:

“In a sea of nightmares, I spy a rock

Smooth, with a thousand freckles of fresh rain

The maelstrom brings inky monsters and villains

When I place myself upon your shore, I stop drowning

Across the water, you and I are on a rock, braving the storm.”

You wrote a lot of poetry. You were never good friends with Rook Hunt though; you clashed a lot with Pomefoire, unable to make friends with them. Perhaps because your poetry and beauty is different. Not very often did you string words together amorously, rather the words were desolate.

Your persona – the cultivated, embellished image of the artist you were – was always sort of tortured and damaged. That worst of you created poetry with the rigorousness of an inventory. This one Jade knows well – you wrote it for him. You were embarrassed about it but brave enough to tell him: “I wrote something. I feel … I feel it describes us.”

He misses those nocturnally active times in the botanical gardens. Transcendent music playing between the spaces of silence, filling you with his feelings, sharing feelings like they were heat and you too were cold-blooded. Under a gazebo of stars on the edge of the universe, you once said. A pocket of paradise stolen was found in the moments creating and cultivating with him, you once said. It feels like a dream, you once said.

Jade stands up from his seat, not able to withstand hearing another word. This gross, wrong interpretation of your work feels like dirt and maggots grinding his mouth. It is not a poem meant for a funeral. Between Floyd’s knees and a chair, he squeezes himself tight to escape.

Bystanders expect him to do just that: escape. Floyd anticipates it too. He takes those expectations and breaks them. In a domino effect, row by row, people notice Jade drawing closer. Murmurs start to rouse awake the sleepy, forlorn crowd.

Undeterred, Jade walks closer and closer. When he briefly passes the second row, he lets his gaze flicker over to his left. Eyes pinched together in small slices, gold and brown irises catch just the briefest glimpse of rotating horns and a sharp nose. The curious quirk of Malleus’s lip has his heart electric with lightning bolts of hate.

Across the water, across the wave, Jade approaches you on that lone rock. He is going to save you from the grave and help you weather this maelstrom. The divide between you and him in life and death is a thin, easily breakable glass barrier.

“Jade,” Riddle questions.

Back to him, Jade responds, “You should sit, Riddle. Your words were very courteous but I have a few of my own to say. Can I ask you to forgive my gross impoliteness?”

“No,” Riddle fumbles with his words, “no, no it is quite alright. Go ahead … I’m - I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Your sympathy is much appreciated.”

The crowd watches on with gross intrigue, wondering what your boyfriend could possibly be thinking of or what his next move might be. Is it not obvious from your poetry – he is going to outstretch his shore towards you. He does this through violent action.

Jade brings up a fist. Jade brings down a fist.

Though it does not give easily, the glass still breaks in fractures. Triangles and rhombuses branch out from underneath Jade’s fist. Jagged, uneven connect-the-dots shapes make up a circular pattern that splinters from the point of contact. A little less than ten pieces fall into the tomb, landing on your ebony dress and bouquet.

Steeling himself, Jade turns his attention to your face. Gloss from the glass makes you look angelic, like a shimmer of makeup glitter. Someone has painted your lips in a dark, blood red – (“I can’t stand bright lipstick! It makes you look like a clown. Jade, you’ll catch me dead before you catch me in dark lipstick”) – which boils up Jade’s month long, hidden away anger.

His second punch causes glass to land on your dress like snow knocked off a branch, heavy with volume. The plummeting glass is also followed by a trickle of blood. Jade pulls back his bleeding hand, hooks it underneath a section of glass, and pulls it up like one might do with rotten floorboards. Glass pierces through the material of his glove, hitting bone. He grabs another part of the coffin, snaps it off like it is a mere graham cracker, and forms a fist with shrapnel of glass embedded in fingers. Fragile glass hovering over your face breaks and showers down like freckles. Steadily, he keeps punching and breaking off glass until none remains.

When he pulls back his right hand, the leather is thoroughly drenched in a red flood. Instead of spraying bloody water in thin sheets, it flows off his fingers like a spilled milkshake. Black and red combined, Jade adds the last color to the Snow White triptych.

Avenging, he takes the bouquet of white flowers from your hands. The stems crunch in his harsh grip; the flowers sway in their downward descent. He brandishes them down by his thigh like one might hold a sword in the midst of battle. Nitroglycerin sweat bubbles and propane sweat pops on his palm. His black gloved hand catches fire, enveloping the bouquet in a blaze that rises vindictively up to his shoulders.

As the last bits of a fire spell, done without the conductor of his magic pen, start to shimmer away in ash and smoke, Jade lets the incinerated, curled inward, black flowers fall to the ground. He takes his dominant hand and slowly places it upon your cheek.

Soft. You are so soft. I should have taken off my gloves. His bleeding hand infects your skin with a new paint. Jade puts his thumb over your lips where someone has put clown lipstick on you. When your lips part slightly under his ministrations, no breath hits his thumb.

His precious pearl, breathless. He wishes nothing more for you to open up your eyes and dispel his worries.

“Jade!” Ah, it seems people are starting to come out of their stupor at the display Jade is presenting. He looks vexatious over his shoulder, briefly catching eye contact with Azul. “What are you possibly doing!” Jade also manages to catch his brother breaking comatose to stand up.

“There is no need to fret about me overblotting. I have a secure lid placed on my emotions. Unlike others.”

Hurt flashes in Azul’s eyes. Jade cannot stomach to check if his insult hurt who he intended it to hurt. Instead, he gingerly lifts you in his arms. Limp, you tumble into his embrace with gravity-obeying limbs. Your neck tilts back and your toes point down in Jade’s careful hold.

“Jade!”

This will prove difficult with both my hands holding them and no magic pen as a conductor. It is the only thought in Jade’s head as his brother shouts his name. Worry rarely crosses his twin’s face with such an intensity; most would judge it as anger. Ah, I am really being so impolite today. Sorry Floyd. The starting sparks of a teleportation spell start to pop around his shoulders and torso like fireflies.

With a deep breath, Jade disappears in a supernova.

More or less, Jade Leech has returned to being himself. Verbosely polite and formal; eager to lend a helping, subservient hand; jumping right back into the schedule he has: classes, duties for Azul, Mountain Lovers club activities, etcetera. He is a different picture of the man laying in bed, stricken with your absence; now, he has returned to the man he was in your presence.

Is it because you two are reunited in presence? That old tale of Hercules and Meg, interlocked souls, finally touching again? Are you reunited? Azul cannot be certain that is true. Nobody has been able to locate your body since that day.

Behind his glasses, Octavinelle’s housewarden traces the motions of his vice. He cannot see Jade’s expression, only scrutinizing over his back as he pens the order of a customer. It is a week after your uncompleted funeral. Azul’s stomach turns sick, watching Jade work effortlessly in Mostro Lounge, not knowing where Jade keeps your corpse.

Corpse … All his limbs shudder at the word. It could be hidden under his own bedroom’s floorboards or locked away in Ramshackle with your three ghost companions. You could be anywhere.

Every thought Azul has on the situation makes it feel like salt and ice are colliding in his abdomen in a hissing burn. So, he decides to stop thinking about it. Which is why he is almost grateful when Jade comes up to him, distracting his mind from slipping into darker speculation.

Hand on his heart, Jade says, “Table Fifteen is requesting your presence. They have a question about one of our discontinued menu items – the salmon and lemon-ricotta pasta. I already divulged about the excess supply getting thrown out because of low demand. However, your presence was requested nonetheless.”

“Ah, thank you, Jade,” Azul says. It is just the distraction he needs before he thinks about anything more ghastly. Stock issues and dining will not haunt him with goosebumps and night terrors. He starts towards Table Fifteen.

“Though … I can return and take care of it, if need be.”

It is that odious sentence that gives Azul pause. Because that is exactly what the old Jade would offer, using a bit of rough, predatory treatment to de-escalate an issue. Same old Jade Leech, hiding a corpse somewhere on campus … who even knows if your body is on campus.

“No … No, you are dismissed from the issue. Do whatever you please for the rest of your shift.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

I have to go make preparations, Azul thinks as he goes to greet Table Fifteen. I don’t see it as necessary but, Azul glances one last time at Jade as the distance between them grows, Jade’s spine once again all he sees, I should prepare for the event of him overblotting.

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter. Fungi, bacteria, and water molds all have an exclusive diet of nature’s cadavers. In the simplest of terms, they eat death to sustain their own life.

Not all mushrooms are saprotrophs. After all, mycorrhizal and parasitic and endophytic mushrooms have a different diet; it is just that a majority of the mushrooms one finds, one will find them living among them dead. As active decomposers, they refuse to let death be finite. As Jade opens his terrarium, chip-esque mushrooms that mimic the look of a body’s heat signals, he recalls fondly how saprotrophs are the easiest to cultivate.

He takes out the turkey tail mushrooms, ripping them from their roots. Well, mushrooms have no roots but the image is still true. Turkey tail mushrooms are fascinating – they look so much like thermal heat vision, little branching waves of red, yellow, and white, thus making them look alive. And, they have a history of being used as medicine.

So vigorous with life yet bloated after a meal of death.

Jade opens the book on his desk in the botanical gardens. People always chastised him for his love of mushrooms. If he had an affection towards flowers or perhaps even pretty yellow weeds, he supposes it would not be as frowned upon. He has always been this way, preferring the ugly duckling over the swan. You were of a similar disposition.

Around his work station, an incense holder burns wisps of Worm’s Wort – which can dull the odor of anything. He flips through pages at a languid pace. From the window panes, moonlight slithers down a thousand maggots and makes their congealing home on Jade’s desk. Interlocking light lies down to rest as Jade stays awake into the night.

I’m so tired. The thought seeps in like a maggot in the ear of a cadaver. Numerous times, Jade changes his pair of nitrile gloves to rub at his eyes, warding off sleep. Moonlight maggots crawl over his skin.

It is only after his sixteenth failed potion (eighty-first if you count the others he has made in the past six nights after your funeral) with the wrong color, wrong texture, or wrong smell, does Jade’s head start to slip off his neck. On the verge of burning out, eyes blinking close, the desk rushes towards him like ground to a meteor, about to kiss his nose and face with pain, and – you catch him in your hand despite the smoldering sting of touching a meteor.

“You make and pick the strangest beds to fall asleep in. I can’t take my eyes off my Jade for a second, can I?”

Jade blinks to see you resting next to him, forehead on your forearm which lies on the table. His cheek is warmed by your right hand which acts as a bridge between his flesh and the desk. Even though some of your hair is in the way and the left side of your face is shielded in the cradle of your arm, Jade can see it clear as day. There is no scar threading itself across your forehead.

You give him a warm smile and Jade, who is a cold-blooded creature, replicates that warmth. The last exhausted fuses of energy left in him lift up his lovestruck lips. “Tired, baby,” you ask him.

“Mmmmh, just a bit. I have been at this for quite some time.”

“We should head back to Octavinelle then. Can’t have you knocking over a potion in your sleep.”

“No, no. Let’s stay here a little longer.” To bask in your presence, Jade needs that to a higher degree than he needs water or air. “Don’t go so soon.”

You are dressed in your school uniform. It has all of your soul’s idiosyncrasy in each article. Not really enrolled in Night Raven College, therefore lacking a uniform, you wear a leather jacket without pockets and a grid pattern collared shirt. The sleeves of your button-up gently pull away from being sandwiched by his cheek and desk. You busy yourself with brushing strands of black hair into its correct placement.

“Okay, okay. We can stay here for a while, but you’re definitely going to have a sore neck and sore shoulders in the morning.”

“Pamper me tomorrow?”

You hum, considering it. By now, most of the mismatched, colored tresses have been tucked gingerly behind his ear. You follow the diamond outline of a single sturgeon scale with your finger as you say, “If the price is right.”

Jade's smile grows stupid at that, showing just a sliver of his teeth. You always did like poking fun at his Octavinelle habits. Allowing himself to melt under your ministrations, he murmurs, “Anything for you.”

“Happy to do business with you then, Mr. Leech.”

You move the nail of your index along diamond scales’ edges, content to do as he says. Stay here a little longer under a gazebo of stars. Sevens, it might have been cheesily poetic what you said in the past, yet Jade agrees in totality with your poesy. The universe has collapsed, burnt away worries and responsibilities, and all that remains of creation is you and him.

Jade lifts his face so the hand playing with his earring falls over his mouth. With pouting lips, he plants a field of kisses on your palm. Such a warm palm. Your hand smells of raspberries and whipped vanilla from a foam soap you were particularly fond of. Jade can even smell it over the Worm’s Wort. And, Worm’s Wort – that is meant to keep his potion-making a secret – is an overwhelming, astringent scent that blankets other smells with high efficiency.

Everything, even his nose, narrows down to you. It is not an unpredictable feat. Azul once said your voice drags him out of any task with the ease of a siren working to drown a sailor. Which is why he hears you clearly even as you mumble, “Oh, I have this poem I want to workshop with you.”

Jade mourns the loss of your hand when you move energized. Leaning back in your stool, both hands fall behind you to grip under the seat. You throw back your head, conjuring all the verses up in your head. When you tilt your eyes to look at Jade, you have this grin on your face that balances on the fence of being sleazy with gross intent or being liberative with genius intent. Like you will either tell him you found a dead animal or you found the cure to cancer. He is all ears for whatever you throw.

He is only thrown for a bit of a loop as you swing your feet to the side and leap off the stool. Not perturbed over your body but rather an article of clothes. The noose around your neck is a blood-red tie with a stark white pattern of skulls upon it, mimicking the look of cut-out paper snowflakes. Patterned by two distinct rows: skulls connecting forehead to forehead then skulls facing the viewer. It vanishes from his sight as your back faces him.

Out of your mouth, poetry diffuses in the heavy, wet air of the botanical gardens.

“Wake up. (your feet carry you out towards the stretch of cobblestone, then playfully, you turn and disappear behind large, flowing leaves and unusual flowers)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (“(name)?” jade springs up, a deep fear swimming through him because you are out of his sight)

I ask the eternal question (when he pushes back the large leaves and peculiar flowers, you are no longer in that same spot; his head moves on a swivel, looking for you)

Has my life all been a dream? (your voice carries on the eastern air)

Has all my life been a dream? (your voice carries on the western air)

The eternal question unanswered (pressure falls over his eyes and heart, where are you!)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (a finger taps his shoulder-blade)

Wake up.”

When Jade turns, your embrace retreating slowly, you are holding out a solitary Easter lily out towards him. The gesture plainly tells him to take it. A white trumpet-shaped mouth yawns at him, five or so tongues of yellow pollen sticking out. It looks so correct in your hold that Jade almost doesn’t want to accept it.

Heart knocking with lingering desperation, he takes the Easter lily in hand all the same. In replacement to his palm, he rests his knuckles to his avalanching chest, careful of the flower in his caress. Before he can comment on the verses, you beat him to the punch. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret; my Jade isn’t stupid.”

He chuckles at that, eyes squinting with mirth.“Don’t I always say you should set your expectations upon higher platforms when with me?”

“My expectation towards your stupidity or your intellect?”

“Oya? I’d prefer the latter.” A teasing eyebrow is raised.

However, you grow grim like this is a matter of life or death. You twine arms around his neck and ensnare him to lean down to your height. In your eyes, a maelstrom of mental unease rages and causes your hues to appear milky-gray with worry. Under the concern of your bruised eyes, Jade responds, “You think I’m making a rash decision? Or perhaps, one that is not fully educated. I assure you that I have rigorously studied this.”

Your mouth quirks. “I think you are choosing the wrong method.”

“Then, enlighten me please.”

You lean close to him, nose to nose. Unlike the sweetness of raspberries and vanilla, your breath is something foul. Cadaverine and putrescine scent that he can only compare to the smell of his mushrooms at peak rot. Jade cannot focus on the scent because your voice hypnotizes him.

Slowly, you recite a song like it is poetry. “A dream is a wish your heart makes; when you’re fast asleep; in dreams you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for, you keep.”

Whatever dust of happiness is holding Jade’s lips blows away. The frown cuts his features. It takes a great deal for him to respond over the commotion of rain and lightning storming around in his ribcage; he only manages one word, perfumed in hurt and hate. “Him?”

Your next breath smells like mint. He imagines it would be something lovely to taste in a kiss. “I trust him. He is dear to me.”

Hate and hurt dull Jade’s casual loquacity. “But he hurt you.”

“So have you.” Now only hurt remains on Jade’s tongue. You do not let him refute, listing off, “So has Riddle, so has Leona and Azul, so has Jamil, so has Rook, so has Vil and Idia, so has Sebek, so has everyone that has known me. What is one more scar?”

It is the harsh truth, Jade knows. Magicless and fragile, you have been in the infirmary as often as an alcohol back to the liquor cabinet. Nothing worse than scratches and one broken wrist, nothing like this, Jade wants to desperately argue but your eyes silence him.

“So please,” you continue. “Please, give him a chance … You know, I’m still so sad that I never got to arrange that joint club meeting – Mountain Lovers and Gargoyle Research Studies. I think it would have been a peaceful walk at night, looking out for mushrooms and gargoyles.

“You two are so alike. It amuses me.” This truth takes its knife and thunders itself into Jade’s gut. Maneuvering with incredible dexterity, truth stabs into the eight tic-tac-toe regions of his abdomen, cutting deep red mouths into pallid flesh that tell him: yes, this is a truth. We love the same person. Jade does not voice this growing pain.

“I assure you, it is beneficial to have full faith in me. Have I ever made a split -choice decision? Do I not map out everything ahead of time? Besides, failing to my weaknesses in magical areas is not something I’m inclined to do, my dear.”

“Consider it. Anything for me, right?”

Ah, how villainous you are. To use his own words against him like that is a quality he both adores and loathes. Jade maneuvers the Easter lily so it sits in his hand like a cigarette. A loving hand raises up to one of the arms entwined around his neck, rubbing along the sleeve, as he slyly objects, “Surely you can understand my hesitation. After his -”

“I almost died –” Jade’s heart stops beating, fear is a powerful clog to all his heart’s arteries. You continue softly, “ during Azul’s overblot. What happened –”

“Let’s not talk about it. Just trust me.”

“Jade.”

“(Name).”

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream you wish will come true … Please, consider it for my sake.”

“... I will play around with it in my head … No promises that I won’t crush it like it’s a bug.”

The tone of the conversation turns light. “I hope the sound of it buzzing annoys you.”

“How cruel of you.”

“Ah, NRC has really rubbed off on me. I’m just too wicked.” A laugh breaks your lips.

“The worst. Worse than the worst. Vile.” Smiling with a mouthful of glass, shark-like teeth, Jade finally closes the gap between the two of you. The scent of mint too enticing and the sight of you too dopamine-inducing, he has to kiss your lips until you cry or moan. It is in his biological nature.

The gazebo of stars rebuilds itself. Each cedar wood paneling falls back into perfect placement. Yours and Jade’s lip find all the old familiar spots of pleasure; first just lip fat smooshing together until you both in perfect sync open your mouths to each other. It might be seen as tedious already knowing the moves but Jade thinks it is a testament to how truly made for one another each of you are.

And, of course, he never allows it to get boring. Tongues like magma flowing in combining rivulets, Jade takes to moving his hands down past the curve of your shoulders to the side of your cheeks. He tilts your head in the opposite direction of how he moves his, deepening the kiss.

You grip the back of teal strands and real pain ignites on his skin. Pain made by your physical grip. Jade follows along to mimic that harshly loving gesture. However, when he rests his fingers to cup the back of your head, he stumbles upon a scar line. A few inches above your nape. It lies like a jagged river cutting apart two pieces of land.

A warning bell blares in Jade’s mind. The sound causes him to break away. It is not buzzing though, like you were predicting.

Night Raven College’s clock chimes twice, deep in the bowels of dark, interlocking hallways. It knocks on Jade’s skull and pulls him away. When he lifts his head off the desk, blinking at the sight of potions, his shoulders and neck are incredibly sore. 2 A.M. Two chimes after all mean 2 A.M. The air is so thick with Worm’s Wort that he almost chokes on it.

He does end up choking. Not on something as flowy as Worm’s Wort smoke. Rather, he chokes on something rather salty and dangerously watery.

At 2:47 A.M, Jade Leech walks into the Diasomnia dorm.

At 3:08 A.M, Jade Leech walks out of the Diasomnia dorm, a deal made.

Floyd wakes up facing an empty bed. This is not entirely odd; Jade has a scheduled A period while Floyd opts to keep his first period free. With thick fog still lingering in his brain, it does seem a bit odd not to see Jade because for the past month he has remained in bed. But – Jade is doing better. What gives Floyd pauses is the lingering thought: did I hear Jade come in at all last night?

Floyd is a light sleeper, always has been, so he should have been able to hear him at least enter the dorm last night or exit the dorm this morning. He doesn’t even think he heard a ladybug on the creaking floor; all of Octavinelle was unnaturally still last night like a graveyard. Before he can ponder longer on dead silence, his phone rings.

What Azul hisses over the phone has Floyd kicking his covers like they have caught fire. “Tell me you know where Jade is. Tell me right now; where is your brother?”

From point A to point B, Floyd and Jade Leech’s dormitory to Mostro Lounge’s VIP Room, the distance is about eight minutes for a normal person. Due to their longer strides, Floyd and Jade can cut this measurement by two minutes while Azul takes the full eight. It takes Floyd three minutes to point B, as while Azul curses his ear and Floyd curses under his breath.

Floyd knows it bad when dogmatic Azul does not scold him for walking through numerous hallways and his precious Lounge without a pair of socks, and it gets worse when Azul does not scold him for still being in his pajamas – an XL shirt with poetry in a downward pattern saying: “®, 40S & SHORTIES, BAD DECISIONS. GOOD TIMES., WORLDVIEW” with a pair of white striped, blue cotton pants – at nine on a Tuesday morning. Two Azuls speak in unison, one on the telephone receiver and one in front of him, “I think he has sealed it up with magic.”

It is a book. Just as Floyd’s hand had fallen on Mostro Lounge’s VIP door, he had inquired why Azul Ashengrotto of all people was having such a hard time getting a single book open. A book is easy to open; a book sealed with magic should be easy too, for a mage of Azul’s talents.

“Well, can’t ya just break it? It can’t be anything stronger than what we learned in Practical Magic?” Floyd disconnects the call as he talks; he does not need two Azuls in his ear.

“If the charm was something from that course then of course. This is more on par with the third year Conjuration course … or Ancient Curses.”

Though only seventeen, one would think with the maturity etched in Azul’s features that he was nearing twenty-seven instead. He has a hand depressed on his face and his eyes drawn into a sharp squint. Behind the shield of his glasses, a dozen speculations and calculations dance like sparks of lightning. Floyd hates it as much as he is glad to see that incisive prowess.

“But … it’s just a book about mushrooms.” Which is entirely true. The book that Azul’s stare is burning a hole through has written plainly on it: Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares.

When considering current events, the title causes Floyd’s stomach to turn inside out. However, it is something Floyd has seen Jade read before Malleus’s overblot. It is just a boring book. A boring book that for some reason won’t open.

Azul verbalizes Floyd’s inner doubt, “A book that Jade left behind. A book that is not opening no matter what elementary magic I throw at it.”

Left in the botanical gardens. Left there overnight when Jade said he was going to be right back after tending to his terrariums. Getting back into hobbies was a sign of healing from trauma, right? Floyd feels like the skin of stomach is not only inside out but being torched by fire.

“I‘ll open it. I’m on the same level as Jade. Can’t be too hard.” Just as Floyd starts walking up to Azul’s desk, he is stopped.

“No! No … we shouldn’t risk your health if this takes something more to open.”

Vexation falls on Floyd’s face. His teeth displayed and brow crinkled, “Huuuh?” He stomps over to the desk. “It’s Jade magic. It ain’t gonna kill us.”

“No, but it might drain one of us. And,” Azul hesitates. But when Floyd slams his hands down on the VIP desk, determinate coals burn in his sky-blue eyes. He stares down Floyd without a single flinch. “And you run the fastest out of the two of us, so we cannot risk your energy.”

It takes a moment for him to back down. Reading the map of the plan on Azul’s expression, it comes to Floyd’s attention what exactly Azul is hinting at. “Fiiine.” Floyd’s dominant hand still crosses up to rest on his right shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ma be happy about it though.”

“Trust me, neither am I.” And he really isn’t. This entire situation leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

On the ledge of Azul’s desk rests his staff. The octopus’s bulbous head keeps it steady on the surface. Authentic silver shines elegantly under the expensive lighting. Between the nest of curling tentacles, Azul’s gray gemstone sits, ready to be utilized. White gloves wrap around the sleek black handle.

When Azul holds his staff above the book, Floyd interrupts, “Ma called me two nights ago and said – (Floyd sits in his bed, stricken by the sound of his grown, emotionally shielded mother crying. The sound of her sobs feel so artificial in his left ear, like hearing a creature trying to mimic human speech patterns. Something so visceral wrong laced in the vocal cords of it.

“Mama, Mama, what’s wrong,” Floyd pleads, about one breath away from grabbing a transformation potion and rushing to the Mirror Chamber.

“Tell – Tell Jade to pick up his phone please – I just! I – auh – Floooyd,” his mother sobs.

“Mama, he’s in class. He can’t pick up his phone right now. He’s in class. What’s wrong? Ma?”

That seems to soothe something in Narissa Leech. There is a slick sound of her wiping away tears, probably bringing talons under her eyelids and probably bringing her forearm across her nose. After a few tearful breath, she whispers, “He’s not sleepin’?”

“No, he went to his A period class. Mama, what’s wrong?”

“I,” she sniffles, “I had this awful dream. You and Jade were tiny and still sharing your bedrooms. I went to wake up both of you for breakfast but Jade wouldn’t wake up. I kept shaking and shakin’ him. It was like he was in a coma and just wouldn’t get up. He looked like a tiny corpse.

“I kept calling for you and Dad, but neither of you would come help. My little baby. I kept trying to wake him up. I just tried and tried. Then, I pried his left eye open and ah!” His mother cries once more. “He looked so dead in his sleep!”). – and I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Floyd finishes.

It is very rare for either of the twins to show their fears. Fear is a delicious seasoning that gets you devoured in the Coral Sea. Though it wears a mask on Floyd’s face, fear is still evident in his voice despite the steadiness of each syllable. Sometimes friends can just measure how much fear the other has, even when it is not shown.

Azul frowns sympathetically. He has only really had his mother and step-father; worrying about a sibling is uncharted territory for Azul. However, if he had friends with a bond as close as a sibling relationship, it might be Floyd and Jade. It just might.

It probably is not though. Probably.

“Since we were little, your brother has always been capable. Both in his magic and in his wit. Even … even in this instance, I doubt Jade will ever make a decision hazardously.” Which is exactly what worries them; Jade is brilliant, who knows what an odious mixture of intellect and grief could end up making.

Azul touches the octopus’s forehead to the cover of Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. In reaction, the room explodes with the power of a violet tornado.

“Fuck,” Floyd shouts as wind body-checks him like a obese linebacker.

Azul’s hat flies off his head. His glasses would risk being magnetized into the same wind-polarity if he tilted his face away from the shimmering violet. However, Azul does not wither even once at the tremendously powerful locking spell. The violet that stains his face like grape only hones him into the irrefutable fact that this is Jade’s magic. Despite being on the verge of being knocked over by it, the realization fills Azul with relief.

Floyd’s violet nails scrap lines into Azul’s desk but Azul does not twitch out of his resolve. Papers lying on his desk go airborne. The housewarden grits his violet teeth so hard that he risks breaking his jaw, his mole stretching down with the shape of his grimace.

C’mon, c’mon! Slowly, the tentacles on Azul’s staff start to unfurl from their comatose state. His gem stone and the octopus head remain fixed to the handle unlike the squirming appendages. Silver metal moves fluidly and wraps itself around the cover of the book like a starfish.

Then, with a burst of brighter violet that fades away to nothing, chanterelle dreams and amanita nightmares reveal their faces to the two of them. Well, not to Floyd. Temporarily blind due to the atomic explosion, he is wiping his eyes with his knuckles, blinking away little spots of endless black and blinding white. Which is why for a vital moment, Floyd misses the look of absolute horror that paints Azul’s face.

“Th-This –.” As the tentacles of his magic staff congeal back into their normal state, Azul sets the handle’s end down on the ground. Uncoordinated, it tumbles to the ground just as Azul picks up the book, holding it close to his chest.

“Wha? What’s in it? Shit, this kills,” Floyd hisses, hunched over. A stray tear falls down Floyd’s left eye as he slowly straightens out. “Stupid Jade.”

With each page flip, Azul’s face turns a lighter shade of white. When a hand reaches out to grab the book, Azul slaps it with so much force that Floyd groans in pain.

“C’mon, let me see,” Floyd whines. It is not a childish whine but more of a warning, he is going to get violent if Azul does not hand over the stupid book now. Floyd grabs the desk and leans over the top, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Azul is hiding. All he sees is paragraphs of text and a block where an image is drawn.

He does not get to know what the image is because Azul slams the book shut and demands with urgency, “Where is your brother, Floyd?”

A dragon’s treasure is guarded and hoarded with a shield-and-sword-heart acting as its knights. Malleus has found his treasure to have become his memories of you. If each recollection was a shiny ruby or bright diamond, Malleus puts them all in an isolated, inaccessible cache. In times where comfort is needed, he returns to roll a precious gem in his talons, moments of just you and him unshared with others playing in his mind. Right now, Malleus rotates a rose quartz.

This particular rose quartz was formed by magma crystallization as all are. The time period it was formed in was before you knew his true identity.

You two are perched miles above the ground, on one of the eastern turrets of Night Raven College. You curl into your notepad as Malleus takes in the scenery.

He took you up here by teleportation. You have improved in leaps and bounds from your first time being maneuvered about the earth by a teleportation spell. Unlike your first time, you only gag now rather than puke. After a spell (not performed by his hands) of dizziness, you two took your seats upon the roof. Meters in front of you lies a single gargoyle. Wingspan extended out and the spine facing you.

He has already explained it to you in great detail, and you listened. Really listened. So used to be stared through, Malleus has recently been finding his ears turn pink at how you look at him. Tonight, he has cut off his presentation earlier than normal. Bashfully empty of words burnt out from your smoldering eyes.

Malleus welcomes the reprieve with gratitude. Chirping crickets and grinding graphite is the only music playing in his ears – though he can sometimes hear the jazz notes of you going no, no, that line does work, no, what’s another word for … no, too pretentious and has to keep himself from chuckling fondly.

Soon, the crickets find themselves without any further accompaniment; you have stopped writing. Curious, Malleus looks away from the stone he has been studying. His neck rolls. Rejuvenated, his pulse pounds in the taut muscles found in his throat at the sight of you. What a sight you truly are, unafraid to be here with him.

You catch onto his unshakable staring. Tongue in cheek, pencil clenched in hand, you announce “I.” The pencil weeps under your strength. “I think I got it now.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You tap your pencil on the edge of your notepad anxiously. Then, taking a deep breath, you read your haiku:

“Apathy on stone

My prince, do not reveal tears

Gargoyle, keep your face.”

The look you give him is uneasy. He imagines you are anticipating harsh criticism, writing a poem on a subject matter he is so endowed in. Rather than criticism, the only thing in Malleus’s heart is a quick skipping beat.

You have such a way with words that it leaves his spellbound despite the unequivocal fact that you are very magicless. The words seem so knitted together for his especial heart. His own face of stone. However, knowing you do not know he is a prince, he considers the five-seven-five syllable poem and covers up his growing blush with one inquiry , “tears?”

“Because gargoyles are waterspouts. So, I wanted to layer an emotion to the functionality, the rigid job.” For a moment, you consider the poem in your hand then your mouth moves a mile a second. “Ugh! Truthfully, I wanted to say ‘a prince must never cry’ so it can keep the chain of commands like ‘keep your face’ but then the line would only be six syllables! Ugh, I hate haikus! I can’t write a single good one.”

You look about ready to crumple up and toss the note away with hatred. It would not be surprising, you do this a lot. Enough to the point where Malleus has a collection of crinkled up poems — “If you want them, you can have them. They fucking stink though,” you had first bemoaned when Malleus first asked to keep your workshopping words. This one though, Malleus wants you to be proud of it.

“I happen to think it is quite beautiful, spellbinding almost.”

The way your eyes shimmer when looking at him leaves Malleus choking on the night air. He continues despite his temperature rising in his gut and nape.

“The first and third lines feel impersonal, but the middle line is soft. It is the gentleness sandwiched and withered away by the stone. Despite the cold exterior, there is a heart in there.”

The way you look at him — all the ways you look at him, but even more so now — has him falling helplessly in love with you. Stars blaze in your eyes like he has opened up the jaws of the universe and plucked your favorite part of the cosmo down for you. He would do so for you. He would do so much for you – divide the ocean down the middle, change the phrase of the moon, or tear the sky in two. Wounded so tightly across your finger that it surely cuts off circulation. You look at him so sweetly, bathed by the night’s glow. Malleus bites his tongue bloody to keep from telling you that you have the prettiest eyes.

“That’s — That’s actually really a revolutionary way to look at it. I —,” you glance down at your work, “I really didn’t have the optimism to see it that way.”

“You should be more prideful of what you create. Your work too has a heart despite its cold exterior, even at its most tortured.”

“Stooop, I’ll blush.” You raise a hand over your eyes but a sleazy grin is underneath your fingers. You enjoy praise a lot.

“I am just being honest with you, Child of Man. You always asked me to be.” He pauses then asks, “however, may I inquire why use the word prince?”

“I don’t know. Don’t they seem regal to you at times?”

“Hm, there seems to be a resemblance.”

“They remind me of you a lot. Regal. Ah, not that you’re a prince though … What’s that grin for? Don’t tell me I inflated your ego.”

“Nothing of the sorts, Child of Man.”

“Ah, whatever.” Despite your grumbled tone, you flip to the next notebook page. It is the first one he has seen you save rather than tear up.

Rain pitters on the building, starting out soft like the languid pop of popcorn in a microwave. No, not on Night Raven College’s roof. Rainfall taps like fingertips on Diasomnia’s dormitory, and Malleus realizes it is time for him to put this rose quartz back in his treasure hoard. When his and Jade’s eyes meet across the room, his breath grows thorn in his lungs. Now is not the time to reflect.

From the towering polygon windows, the icy clouds heavy with rain are just barely visible through the shower sticking to the panes. Worser weather is certain to come like an expected guest. Malleus, tongue heavy, announces, “All that is left now is to retrieve their body.”

Diasomnia’s lounge has been cleared of all its furniture and rugs. Tables teleport away and rugs roll themselves up. Black leather couches and chairs are depressed tightly on the southern wall behind Jade and Malleus, blocking the entrance. Not that they are necessary barricades when the bombay blackwood doors are locked firmly with ancient magic.

It is set in motion to take place in the lounge’s heart. The nook bordered by two grand staircases and twenty feet below where Diasomnia’s throne resides. Upon the cement ground, illuminated by no light, lies a circle of complex patterns and symbols made of thorns. In the middle of linking sigils, Octavinelle’s vice-housewarden stands with an apathetic, stone face. The same expression he had worn when he and Malleus made their contractual deal.

He keeps his cards so close to his chest, you once bemoaned on your nightly ventures. Malleus remembers it well; you were reaching tear-out-your-hair hysteria due to cooking a meal for Jade Leech and not receiving a clear glimpse into his opinion. He’s impossible to read! Your teeth flashed with frustration.

It is an appropriate analogy. Like an experienced gambler, Jade knows not to leave his hands vulnerable to any ill-intent strikes. At first, he was incredibly suspicious of your kindness until evolution changed your kindness to a craving. With Malleus, Jade hides his cards behind his back and then shields them with an illusion spell to change the faces of the playing cards.

Making this shrewd deal was one of Jade’s finer moments. Like an experienced brain surgeon, he knows where to pull with roughness or push with softness in the intricate webbing of nerve-endings. Using survivor’s guilt as keen forceps and using his own signature spell as hooks, Jade performed a deal Azul would have been praiseful of.

Which is why he will comply with the terms, because he has already prematurely agreed to them. Green eyes watch him pull black gloves carefully from his hands. He folds them once, pockets them, then unclips his magic pen from his breast pocket. A collision of two stars bursts in bright colors on the surface of Jade’s pen.

From out of thin air, you appear. You fall into Jade’s arm with all the grace of a dead body. Jade catches you in a dancer’s standard dip. Limp, your neck stretches as far as it can while dangling strands of hair point down at the ground like a thousand knives.

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek. Mourning and love mix in his heterochromic eyes. Jade takes to silently brushing away the pieces that cover up your forehead’s scar as if to almost say to Malleus who watches Jade lift you bridal style: look at what you did to them, look.

Malleus’s otherwise imperative stare moves to a window. The rain is starting to get gradually heavier. When Malleus looks back, Jade is kneeled in the middle of the circle of thorns, as was pre-planned. The stone-faced prince of Briar Valley interlocks his gloves underneath the gem’s handle base instead of just holding it in one hand.

“No matter what you see or hear, your focus must never flicker from the Child of Man. A single interruption is a breakage in a dam of irreversible consequence. I ask you to heed these words carefully … Jade.”

“Of course.” Curt and clip, Jade’s confirmation is nothing more than contractual obligation.

The vines from the head base to gemstone bring to shift. Two interlocked vines rotate in a downward spiral, dancing around one another.

“Then, let us not waste another second.”

The spindle’s wheel starts to spin. Slowly at first, it moves at a pace where one can keep track of the mismatched sized spokes. Gradually, the spindle picks up pace. Inner spokes start to move in a heartbeat-esque pattern, up and down from long to short to long to short. Bombay blackwood twirls; the natural grain melts together into one smooth surface. It keeps picking up pace, twirling faster and faster. It is now impossible to distinguish where the spokes lie as they all melt into nebulous black. Accumulating to its peak, Malleus’s spindle moves so swiftly that it appears to slow down, moving counterclockwise.

Wind picks up in Diasomnia as if a tornado is tearing through the stone ribcage. Malleus’s hair flies around him like ebon seaweed caught along a boat’s racing hook. The obsidian markings on his forehead stay relenting to the fierce winds, tight upon his increasingly crinkling brow. Behind his pointed ears, ebon strands whip back and forth with a vengeance.

Jade’s and your hair move in tandem, blown in the same direction. Despite the discord around, despite when Malleus starts to chant, nothing tears his gaze from you. His eyes are intent on you like a mere blink would cause you to dissolve into seafoam. Despite the lighting hitting the ground, he keeps his stare.

A breath later, the lounge is plunged into green.

On the tongue of a stone bridge, Floyd and Azul appear out of thin air. Not entirely out of thin air though; around their shoulders, the shimmer of the transportation mirror into Diasomnia fades over their bodies. Rain smacks them in the face with a grievous scorn. Azul loses his footing temporarily but Floyd catches him by the elbow.

He pushes up his glasses, rain falls so hard and fast that they become more of an obstacle than a helper for sight. Getting drenched by the second, Azul stops with Floyd to watch the show of dancing lightning. “By Sevens, do you really think Draconia is overblotting again?”

Diasomnia staff and students in Mostro Lounge had started checking their phones as Floyd and Azul stepped out from the VIP room. Apparently, there was a storm brewing in the Diasomnia dormitory. Apparently, the main foyer was closed off and the vice-housewarden was evacuating students. Apparently, Malleus Draconia is overblotting a second time. Who knows if the information is reliable. All that is important is Jade was seen days ago, walking on this very stone bridge past midnight.

“I don’t care. I know Sea Slug knows where Jade is.” Floyd’s lips pull into a beastly snarl. “C’mon.”

A cold sweat breaks on Malleus’s forehead. From the two connecting diamonds imprinted on his forehead, sweat drops. It trails down over his nose to his lips which are harshly breathing air in and out.

Malleus Draconia has to minutely remind himself how breathing works as the tornado rips through Diasomnia like a savage bear. Pressure stomps on his chest with an iron boot. Through all his wild chase to keep oxygen in his lungs, he recognizes it not as pain but rather a deserved punishment. I’m sorry, Child of Man. It is an unheard sentiment; even if said, it would be torn from his lips and thrown yards away by the wind.

There are many unheard sentiments chopped by the furious air. Most of them come from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, behindthe barracked door, drowned out by turbulent winds. Harsh air chops up the syllables like a knife, turning them into incomprehensible poetry. The sentiments matter little until among them a single voice shouts, “JADE!”

Stricken, Jade tears his hell-bent gaze away from you. He does not answer loud enough to be heard over the maelstrom but the sentiment is still sincere. “Floyd?”

“Ignore it! Focus on them!!” Under Malleus’s instructions, Jade fixes the nucleus of his sight back onto you. A resurrection can only be completed with the kiss of true love. Without that passionate embrace, the body will lose the returning soul it momentarily holds. A true love’s kiss seals it back in the body. He waits for the predestined moment where he can connect your lips together with unwavering focus.

“Just a little longer now, my love.” Jade’s lips pull into a lovestruck grin. “Soon.”

Among the wind, voices converse:

“Pry open the door!”

“We have been trying to!”

“Your hands are not broken or bloodied! You obviously have not!!”

“Malleus, this could kill you! This could kill you both!”

“ Malleus!!”

“Jade, you fuck!”

Azul shouts with all his remaining strength, “Jade, don’t do this!!”

A black star forms silently over Jade’s head.

All of his life, he has been unapproachable. All of his life, people have found his teeth nightmarish and his eyes ghoulish. All of his life, he has waited for someone like you. You mean the universe to him; driven to the point where he would do something as forbidden as this. Malleus grips his staff tighter and Jade grips you tighter.

The black star is an abomination. Quantum processes work in rotation, lapping over each other like yin-and-yang. Ebony water shimmer in the middle of the black star while the outer ring strangles the air atoms with thorns. Atomic particles split into twos, going smaller than scientists thought possible, with the strength of the semiclassical, gravitational abomination.

It thumps like a grotesque, wet heart and churns with the sound of visceral tearing. From the black thorns, the atmosphere collapses into blue-gray dust, destroying the atoms in its way. The black star gives a pained groan before it expels what it has taken.

From the inky depths of a black star, wisps of smoke start to seep down like water from overhead greenhouse hoses. The plumes of cloud hiss with head-splitting volume. Slowly, those misty clouds spiral back into a congealing mass. A split tornado swirling back into its original shape. Smoke tightens and arrows down before erupting into a cloud over your face. You swallow it; from your eyes, to your nose, to your ears, to your mouth, you swallow all the mist until there is nothing left in the collapsing air.

Perhaps you are not swallowing; perhaps it is entering.

Jade watches intent each centimeter square of your face with glassy eyes. He waits until each wisps of vapor diffuses into the very pores of your skin. When the air is clear of the smoke, he brings up his right hand to move hair that has fallen over your features.

Onto the skies of your lips, Jade Leech whispers his heart. “I love you. I cannot live this life without my heart and soul. Come back to me; where you belong, my love, is with me.” Under a gruesome black star, he kisses you.

It is an unreciprocated kiss. When kissing a corpse, one should never expect to be greeted with tender amorous sensations. This is why Jade does not despair when he feels nothing, suctioning your lifeless lips in two kisses before pecking harshly for the third and final kiss. It is alright – he can have his real kiss soon – because the black star is killing itself.

Collapsing air closes in a snap. Leftover blue-gray powder hangs in the air like dust particles seen from the sunlight’s rays. Slowly, green light starts to slither away, dimming in quanta measures. All is so tranquil; even the tornado winds bottled in the lounge start to dim away. Then, like your heart is trying to jump from your chest, you start to hyperventilate in Jade’s arms.

“(Na-Name) … (Name),” love washes over Jade’s tongue. You twist violently in his arms, throat and chest pounding up and down with irregular breaths. Like a cornered prey, your eyes are wild with confusion. “It’s okay … I got you. You’re safe … Oh, you’re so beautiful. My love.”

Neck rolling back, seizure-like eyes go white and you cough out a mushroom-shaped cloud of blue-gray dust. Black blood drips down your left nostril and trails like a tear off your cheek. Exhaustively, your chest continues to punch in and out with air that misses their connection in your lungs by centimeters. If you do not find a way to breathe, you will surely die a second time.

Not that Jade would let that happen after just getting you back. Jade maneuvers you with ease. He moves your back so it lies on his chest and whispers, “I know it will be difficult but follow along to my breath. Feel it go in … out … in … out … in … out … there, there … out … in … good, so good.”

Your chest beats wildly like the tempo of a metal song while Jade’s chest beats with the measured drum of rhythm and blues. Ungloved skin rests, fingers spread wide, on your chest. Each groove of each other’s bones are felt. Past the layers of muscle, skin, and clothes, your lungs touch together in a kiss. Jade depresses his chest on your back, bending you into a hunch. His words are almost delirious.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you, please see it and believe it. I would do anything for you, (Name).”

Slowly, the tempo of your lungs start to dim like the lightning, green lights, and wind do. Jade moves his hand from your chest to your left shoulder. He depresses his lips on your neck, holding onto you painfully tight.

“ … Right where I want you to be again. Be here with me. Be awake with me. I love you.”

You capture your first real breath as the door to the lounge bursts open.

You turn, eyes wide as saucers. Behind you, Jade’s timid smiling face greets you from your eternal sleep. Another string of black blood drips down your face, this one coming from your right nostril. Your brows creases then flattens out, recognizing the face after a moment of hesitation..

“Jade?”

In response, Jade smiles with all his teeth.

Separate from you two, Malleus lies on the floor. His own heart and lungs beating erratically, panting like a dog on a smoldering summer’s day. Lilia may put his hand on his shoulder to try and vanquish the tidal wave of breathlessness but Malleus shrugs it off. His staff is knocked by his side from the explosion of the black star collapsing. Malleus uses it to push himself up on his knees.

His heart floods with relief and love at seeing the sight of you breathing in Jade’s arms. Besotted beyond belief, he whispers lovestruck, “Child of Man.” Then, the calm expression melts off his face and reveals panic. Because that is not –!

“Jade!”

Floyd breaks into the room like a storm; shoulder-checks Sebek who is trying to reach Malleus; jumps over the furniture that prove to be useless barracks. “Jade,” he shouts again when he notices his brother has yet to turn away from you.

Their eyes find each other across the room easily. It is incredibly hard to see in the Coral Sea, biological and environmental factors working double-time together to ensure they stayed in the middle of the food chain. Their shared beacon of gold keeps them tethered together in the sea and on the land. No one else, not even their parents have an eye similar to theirs. That’s my brother is what that single ring of gold means.

Floyd can recognize Jade as such even now at the worst of times. However, a marginal note is stapled onto the thought. That’s my brother and, right now, I’m terrified of him. It is an odious thought. Sevens, Floyd can feel the tap-dancers of bile make their merry way up his throat at this very moment. What keeps them tethered together feels more like a chain than a security line to use.

“Bad decisions, good times,” Jade reads off his t-shirt. “Hm, Floyd?”

How can he speak so calmly with that in his arms? Perhaps, that too is part of why Floyd feels goosebumps on the back of his thighs. A prey or lower predator has signals receptors to recognize danger. A cat shows its fear in a twitching tail; Floyd wonders how he must be showing his own fear. Call it animal insight but a part of Floyd knows deep down, that is not you in his brother’s arms.

“Ja-Jaido.”

“Florido.”

Do this for me, Jade’s eyes seem to implore. Ah, you asshole, Floyd’s eyes respond.

He walks forward through a graveyard of thorns. “They probably can’t walk that well. Gotta be winded.” Floyd outstretches his left hand; Jade’s eyes squint in gaiety and your own gape wide in curiosity. The grip Jade has around you is protective. “C’mon, get up.”

“Thank you, Floyd,” Jade says, placing his hand on his brother’s.

#twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #twst jade

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sallage · 5 months ago

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Apologize

One Shots

Warning: This is an (intense?) tickle fic!

Summary: Kidnapped for ransom, Bakugo's captor desired a peaceful coexistence, but his own temper led to a loss of leniency, making his captivity… less tolerable.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler ? (OC)

Words: 2,989

Reading Time: 12 Minutes

A/N: I wrote this yesterday at 1 am so it might be whack but I was totally inspired by @wreckingtickles most recent fic, Say The Line, Bakugo! Hehehe Enjoy!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

“Fuck you, FUCK you, FUHUCK YOUUUU!”

Spittle sprang from Bakugo’s mouth as one set of hands dug into the bottom of his stomach, right above the waistline of his shorts while a pair of writhing tendrils squirmed over the upper part, occasionally dipping teasingly over his quivering flanks.

The tendrils seemed to have been shape-shifted hands, as they were connected to a pair of normal looking wrists, but he currently didn’t have the ability to make sense of it.

He glowered down at his powerful body with spiteful eyes as hands and tendrils pulled undignified sounds from his throat.

His body was pulled taught in an X position on an oversized metal table with holes spaced a few inches apart, dotting either side of his limbs and outlining the length of his body.

His hands were forced open, fingers trapped under custom made pieces of metal that curved around them like rings, preventing him from closing them into fists.

A straight and horizontal pole jutted outwards from the holes placed along the edges of the table, parallel to his knees. It had the appearance of a slender clothing rack or rod, featuring a long indent running across the bottom and stretching over the entire length of the table. The pole stood a few feet above the flat surface, its purpose stumping the hysterical blonde.

His feet were bare with long soft strings woven around each of his toes which were attached to a strange, cog like machine that rested on a custom made shelf welded onto the table. Two machines were placed a few inches above both of his ankles.

He pushed his head back, and attempted to shift his body from side to side, despite how useless it was with how tightly he was restrained.

A voice echoed throughout the large, presumably empty room.

“Are you gonna be nice to me now?”

Bakugo writhed and growled, the pair of hands steadily squeezed and fluttered their nails all along his lower stomach, scratching at the sensitive spots above his hips and using all four nails to hold, scratch, and undulate across his sides.

“Count your fffffucking days, you dumbass! You’re gonna rr-regret this!”

Bakugo had woken up in the dark, unable to move and quizzically, unable to use his quirk. Before he could muster enough cognitive function to form a coherent thought, light dimly brightened his form, leaving the rest of the room shroud in darkness.

A voice informed him that he’d been kidnapped but no harm was to be inflicted. They both would wait patiently for the ransom money to arrive, then Bakugo would be released shortly after the person behind the voice was granted a generous head start.

Bakugo, of course, couldn’t just lay there without initiating some sort of provocation.

As a result, he’d bite his bottom lip so hard it could split when random hands and tendrils shot out of holes on either side of his torso, automatically working his sides and belly.

He shifted a few centimeters to the right when the hand on his left used their nails make infuriatingly ticklish grabbing motions at his flank, then shifted back to the left when nails on his right lazily did the same, trapping him in a weird interpretation of horizontal salsa.

Tendrils writhed along the upper part of his stomach, each individual one spreading out to tease, pinch or wriggle against the heated skin, his black tee stripped before he’d woken up.

Bakugo exhaled loudly through his teeth, spit flying from his mouth.

“An answer would be great!”

“Shut UPP!” He demanded, yelping not even a second later as both hands pinched the skin above his hips.

“Yeeeesh, I’ll take that as a no.”

Bakugo sucked in a large breath when hands poked out of every other hole, staggering themselves along either side of his arms.

A pair of hands were stationed at his hands, another by his forearms, another at his elbows, and another at his biceps. Each hand was holding a stiff feather, hovering threateningly.

Bakugo chuckled, more out of arrogance than from the ministrations of his tormentors.

“You think fucking feathers are going to do shit to me, motherfucker?”

There was no response except for the hands, who used their fingers to maneuver the feathers, brandishing the quill instead.

Before Bakugo could release another string of obscenities, all of them started lightly scribbling, dragging, and swirling the quills all along the length of his arms.

Bakugo spluttered, a strangled noise forced out of his throat.

The points at his hands traced across the stretch of his fingers, taking turns scraping at each individual one while the other traced the creased lines of his palms.

He tried desperately to use his quirk, but he couldn’t ignite a single spark.

Quills squiggled down the hardness of his forearms, drawing light cursive shapes up to his wrists, then softly and maddeningly drag them back down in tight zig zag motions.

The ones at his elbows attacked the sensitive inner part, while also branching out and swirling around to outline the skin above and below.

And finally, quills traced and outlined the contours of the twitching muscles that made up his biceps. They teased all over the flexing muscles, lingering over the sensitive skin just above his armpits and using repetitive motions to outline the top rim.

Bakugo’s struggling increased, as did the volume of his instigations. He hatefully glared at the hands as they found sensitive spots all along his arms.

“How about neeeoooooww?” A pause. “You gonna be nice to me now?”

Bakugo shook his head. “You- y- Geh!” He flinched and jolted, grinding his teeth in frustration, unable to even curl his hands into fists to expel some of the ticklish energy.

“Geh- get these damned things- aH-ooffah me!”

The quills posted at his biceps and hands were causing unexpected problems. They lightly teased at the skin above his pits, only occasionally lifting away to prevent desensitization. Every time they came back, he jumped and bit the inside of his cheek.

The ones at his palms weren't any better. He couldn’t believe how the sharp scrapes and flicks made him writhe in mirthful frustration as they followed the creases that fanned out across the top, center and bottom of his palms.

His scrunched face bore the resemblance of someone who’d stepped on a Lego after they’ve already stubbed their toe.

“What’s the magic wooooord?”

“J-jump ahahaff a fuckin’ bridge!” Bakugo spat, angry and strained veins visible and pulsing along his neck.

“That was definitely more than one word. And none of them were magic.”

Startlingly, two grey medium sized balls resting on a short and skinny flexible rod popped out of the holes on either side of his neck, the hole being perfectly fitted by their circular base.

Bakugo jolted and pushed his face to the side, watching as the ball slowly spun around, revealing only one thing on its glossy surface.

A realistic looking mouth with a tongue lolling out of it like a dog.

“W-Whuh-”

He was cut off when, like a bendable lamp, they craned down on either side and began kissing, licking, and nibbling along the sensitive skin.

One nibbled a ticklish path up from the base of his neck, under his jaw, and just below his ear, while the other nipped and licked up and down his collar bones and the base of his neck.

They each attacked their respective spots, punching an embarrassing high pitched squeak out of Bakugo. He writhed and tried to shrink and scrunch his neck, but only managed to push the side of his face to his shoulder, which consequently left the other side open to a more precise attack.

“NeeyaHAHAhaha WHAhahat theha- NahaAHAHahah! f-fucking grohohoss! STAHahahahap!”

Bakugo was caught in ticklish limbo. He jerked his head from side to side, the action yielding not one second of relief.

“Well, you told me to jump off a bridge! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Juhuhump AHAhahaff it!” Bakugo spasmed and pushed his hips the few centimeters that were allotted off the table, trying to get away from the prodding hands that tore his attention away when they veered off course and pinched his hips. He jolted with yell when tendrils squirmed and drew small, probing circles over the bottom of his ribs.

“That’s pretty bad advice. If I jumped off a bridge, then who would press this button?”

Two claws erupted from the holes at the edges of the table, smoothly gliding up the metal pole. The indent allowed them to move effortlessly along the length, mimicking the motion of a makeshift claw machine.

As they reached the position above his legs, the claws wavered momentarily before awkwardly attempting to pivot their five, hand-like pincers over his knees.

Bakugo's curses echoed loudly throughout the room as the claws painstakingly adjusted themselves, each movement slow and methodical, akin to an arcader angling a claw machine over a coveted prize, before slowly descending.

Despite Bakugo's efforts to avoid the inevitable, his squirms and wiggles proved futile. With a final touch, they gently landed on his bare knees, their up and down jellyfish-like movements sending a wave of ticklish spasms through his legs.

Bakugo would have done a spit take if he was drinking… Well, anything.

“PPFFFTNhahahHAHA! oOOooh fahahk! AGHH Waah- NOHOHOHO!” That last "no" was punctuated with a guttural growl as the assault to his knees worsened, the claws now spinning and scratching over his convulsing skin.

He was having so much trouble keeping it together, and none of these spots were overly ticklish in the first place.

Individually, at least.

“Y’know, I was okay with enjoying a quiet night while we waited for the pros to wire the money, Maybe share a laugh or two, but you couldn't go a single dang minute without insulting me.”

The voice paused. The only sounds echoing in the room were of Bakugo’s struggles, restrained giggles, grunts, and huffs.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you apologize, I’ll pull everything. sound good?”

Bakugo shook his head, mostly out of mirth and perseverance as the mouths relentlessly attacked any open spot they could find.

“Ihihih- AGHH! Ihihihm not ApohohoHAHAhlogizing to you, fuhcker! Eat shihihit!”

A sigh of faux disappointment.

“Alrighty then.”

Two hands shot out of the holes on either side of Bakugo’s hips. His eyes widened.

“No! dohohnt you fuckin’- NOHOHOH, YOU FREHEHEAK!”

Two hands, armed with massager guns, ran the vibrating, punching tips all over Bakugo’s pelvis.

They pressed the tools onto his hip bones and rounded to the sensitive spaces on top and underneath, even expanding to the quaking skin below his belly button and back again.

“OHO FUCK! SHIHIHIT! SHIT! STAHAHAP! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!”

“Apoooologize.”

“NOHOHOHOHO!”

"Okie."

Hands shot out of every hole along his thighs.

They bent and and squeezed along the pressure points above his knees, scribbled over the lower inner muscles, scritched all along the middle, moved up to tease the skin along the legs of his shorts, and pressed their fingers and thumbs into the tendons of his upper inner thighs.

Despite the threat to his neck, Bakugo threw his head back, guffaws pumping out of him like an out of control fire hose.

“FFFFFAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAK! WHAHAHA! OH SHIHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP! AAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! HAHAHA!”

“A! - P O L O! - G I! - Z E!”

The voice spelled out the word in a cheerleader chant, sounding like they were busting a move with each letter.

“FAHAHAHAK YOU!” Bakugo screamed, face cracked in half with ticklish glee.

“Woooooooooow, you’re a glutton for punishment, arent you? Dont worry, buddy, I got you.”

Two hands shot up from the holes, one over each of his armpits.

Bakugo blanched.

“NUH- NOHOHO! FUCK NO! DOHOHONT YOU FUCKIN’ DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHO NONONONO!AHAHAHAHAHAH! WAAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHP! STOP STAHAP STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAP!”

Bakugo absolutely lost it when the hands descended, pressing portable electric back massagers with rotating bristled feet against the center of his armpits, furthering the overwhelming sensations by rotating them slowly over the expanse of his slick, sweating hollows.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAD! AHAHAH! STOOOOOOP! STAHAHAHAHAP, YOU FUCKING BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

Bakugo thrashed against the restraints. His knees twitched, his hips bounced and his head whipped from side to side, up and down, spraying small droplets of useless sweat.

“STAHAHAHHAP! GEHEHET THEM OFF! GEHEHET THEM- AHH! WHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! HAHAHOW MANY OF YOU FUHUHHUKERS ARE DOWN THEHEHEHERE?!”

“You’re truly doing this to yourself, man.”

Bakugo was too hysterical to pay attention to whatever nonsense they were spewing, his mind hell bent on getting the tickling to stop.

“YOU MOHTHERFUHCKER! STAHAHAHAHAHAP! ILLKILLYOU! ILL FAHAHAHAKING DRAG YOU OUT OF- AAAAH! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“Now you’re just being impossible.”

“WHAHAHAHAHA WHAHA- WHOA WAIT! WAHAHAIT WAITWAITNOWAIT!”

Bakugo helplessly thrashed as hands shot out of the holes on either sides of his ribs.

A wide array of probes varying in length and size stuck out from a mechanical saucer like disc, attached on a rotatable silver ball on a short metal handle. The hands positioned the disk so the probes hovered menacingly over his ribs.

To his absolute horror, the hands pressed a button on the side of the handle, and the probes whirled to life. Circling, jabbing, and wiggling in all different directions. The whole thing looking like some whack, tortuous hair diffuser.

“Aaaaaand~”

“NOHOHOHOHO! FUCK YOU! DONT! DOHONT YOU FAHAHAHKIN- WAIT! WAITWAITWAIT-"

The hands pressed the evil diffusers onto Bakugo’s ribs, the mechanical terrors covering most of the tortured blonde’s ribcage.

“Touchdoooooown!”

Bakugo threw his head back and arched his spine, a high pitched scream ripping out of his throat before the intensity turned it silent.

“WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHA————————————-————————————————!”

His voice gave way to raspy desperation as he ran low on air, but had more than enough laughter to give.

With a resentful scowl, Bakugo watched as chaos gripped his body, tormenting him with unforgivable precision.

He let out a frustrated, gravely scream and tossed his head back once more when the hands started moving the mechanical diffuser over the entirety of his reddening ribcage.

He felt the little probes dig, wiggle, rotate and goose his skin, the sensation like a million marching ants frantically scattering all over him.

They moved again, settling at the top of his ribs. They pressed the saucer down so the protruding rim was flush against him. The moving probes sunk into his skin, torturing the nerves from top to bottom and between the bones.

“NAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA! OKAYSTOP! OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYYYYHAYHAYHAAAYYYSTOOP! STOPSTOPSTAAAAAAAAHAAAAHHAP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I'M SHAHAHHARY! I'MFUCKINGSORRY! JUHUHUST- PFFFTTT! STAHAHAHAP! GEHEHAHAHAHA AHAHAHFF HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GEHEHEHEHEHEH IHIHIT- AAHH————————————————————————————————-“

“Hmmm, I dunno. You’ve been really mean to me since you woke up. For like, no reason.”

“WAHAHAHHAHAHAHAT?! FAHAHAH- I FAHAHAHHAAKIN SAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH———————- I SAIHIHIHAHAHAHAHHAH—————ISAIDIWASSAHHRY!”

“Yeah sure, but you really hurt my feelings. I might need some time to really think about it.”

“OHOHOH MAAHAHAGAHAHAHD!! SHIT SHIT SHHIHIHIT! AAAAHHHH! NAAAHH FAHAHAHK YOU! YOUFUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT! ILLFUCKINGMURDER- NOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUUHUHUHU! STAHAHAHAP THIHIHIS! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA————HAAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“See, why would you say all that when I’m trying to forgive you?” A loud sigh. “I guess you’ll just have to lay there and think about why that wasn't a good idea.”

Two pairs of hands shot out from the holes on either side of his feet.

Through his uncontrollable tears, he saw his life flash before his eyes.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHO WAAHAHAHIT! I'MSORRY! IM FUCKING SAHAHAHAHRY! PLEHEHEHESE! PLEASE DOHOHOHONT! DOHOHOOOOOOOONT!”

Two hands on either side held oval shaped wet-hair detangling bushes while the others were adorned with grooming gloves.

He expected them to attack, but was caught off guard when the mechanical cog devices over his ankles whirled to life. He could only shake his head as the string looped around his toes went minimally slack, only for all of them to start threading through his toes.

“WAHAHAHAHAHA! OOOOOHOHOHOH FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!! HOLYSHIT! FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA————-HAHAK! PLEASE! PLEHHEEEE———"

“Don’t worry, I’ll try you again in an hour or so. Then we can revisit your attitude problem. Ciao!”

“WHAHIT! WHAITWAITPLEASEDONT-”

The hands struck.

The grooming glove scrubbed and waved vigorously at the top of his foot, scrubbing and scratching at the sensitive balls and undersides of his toes. The wet hair brush took care of the rest, brushing wildly against the arches, heals and the sides of his feet. The other foot wasnt better off, dealing with the same ministrations but in opposite positions.

At some point, a hand popped up behind his head, equipped with a flexible metal pronged head massager that to the blonde’s utter bewilderment, tickled like hell and sent goosebumps roaring all along his skin.

Pushing his head up only maneuvered the massager to slink its torturous prongs down the back of his neck, up the back of his head, and behind his ears. Which was arguably, so much worse.

So he forced his head down, in control of it for about two seconds before he lifted it up again in mirth, the sloppy kisses, licks and nibbles from the mouths never ceasing their unrelenting attack.

Amongst all the calamity, he jumped out of his skin when he felt hands tracing and scratching up and down his spine and along the outer edges of his lower back. His eyes widened in painful disbelief as he realized there were holes underneath the ungodly table.

His back, sides, and hamstrings were targeted from below, successfully clouding his comprehension of reality.

All he could do was take it,

“WHOOAAAHOHOHOHOMYFUCKING GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD! PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEMAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAP! MAKETHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHP IMFUCKING SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY! IMSOFAHAHAKINGSORRY!"

And laugh,

“PPFFFTTNAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—————————-ICANTFUCKINGDOTHIS! OHMYGAD I CHAHAHAHNT! ICANT! OHOHOHOHOOO, I CAHAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA--------!"

And laugh,

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! WHOOAAAHAHAHAHAHA! KAHAHAHAH! WAAAHAHAHAH! PLEEEHEHE—————HEHEHEHEHEHE———————HEHHESE! AHAHAHA——————! FAAAAAA———————HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

And laugh.

"H-----------HAH---------------! AAHHH-------------------HAHAHAHAHHAA! FAHA---------------------! PLE--- PLEHE------------------!"

Bakugo’s mind rolled. His red, raw, and sweaty body buzzed with electricity as the tools glided across his abused skin with ease.

He wailed and apologized, cursed and thrashed, but none of it was enough.

More often than not, his laughter turned silent, reminding him that he would continue to lie there, forced to take it for the next hour, completely at the mercy of his own damn sensitivity.

#tickle blog #tickle community #bnha tickle #mha tickle #t word community #tickle fic #lee!bakugou #ticklish!bakugou #sallage mha #intense tickling

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vestaignis · 8 months ago

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Колючая кустарниковая гадюка (Atheris) — род ядовитых змей, обитающий в тропических лесах Южной Африки в таких странах, как Конго, юго-восточной Уганде и западной Кении. Считается одной из самых красивых гадюк, благодаря впечатляющей изогнутой чешуе в форме колючек, имеющей яркий разноцветный окрас. Благодаря такому необычному строению чешуек, придающим змее щетинистый вид, она становится похожей на сказочных грозных драконов, поэтому сильно ценится среди владельцев искусственных террариумов. Ярко окрашенные колючие гадюки (желтые, красные или серые) редко встречаются в дикой природе.

Самцы колючей кустарниковой гадюки достигают в длину до 75 сантиметров, а самки — до 60 сантиметров. Колючая гадюка — живородящее пресмыкающееся, в среднем самка рожает до 12 детенышей за один раз, длина которых составляет около 15 сантиметров. Змея отлично лазит по кустарникам, небольшим деревьям и крупным цветам. Охотится, в основном, в ночное время на лягушек, ящериц, жуков и мелких млекопитающих. Человеку лучше избегать встреч с этой гадюкой, поскольку она относится к ядовитым змеям. Яд этой гадюки содержит нейротоксин с большой порцией цитотоксина. Поэтому, если колючая кустарниковая гадюка укусит человека, то его мышцы не только парализует, а приводит к сильному кровотечению внутренних органов.

The spiny bush viper (Atheris) is a genus of venomous snakes found in the tropical forests of South Africa in countries such as Congo, southeastern Uganda and western Kenya. Considered one of the most beautiful vipers, thanks to its impressive curved, spine-shaped scales, which have a bright multi-colored color. Thanks to this unusual structure of scales, which gives the snake a bristly appearance, it becomes similar to fairy-tale formidable dragons, and therefore is highly valued among owners of artificial terrariums. Brightly colored spiny vipers (yellow, red or gray) are rarely found in the wild.

Males of the spiny bush viper reach a length of up to 75 centimeters, and females - up to 60 centimeters. The spiny viper is a viviparous reptile; on average, a female gives birth to up to 12 young at a time, which are about 15 centimeters long. The snake is excellent at climbing bushes, small trees and large flowers.It hunts mainly at night on frogs, lizards, beetles and small mammals. It is better for a person to avoid encounters with this viper, since it is a poisonous snake. The venom of this viper contains a neurotoxin with a large portion of cytotoxin. Therefore, if a spiny bush viper bites a person, then his muscles will not only paralyze, but lead to severe bleeding of internal organs.

Источник:https://prajt.livejournal.com/468465.html, https://t.me/+fxNu20lM26MwYzhi, vk.com/wall-149472484_824944, //www.zoopicture.ru/atheris-hispida/,/bogatyr.club/6936-koljuchaja-kustarnikovaja-gadjuka.html, //kartinki.pics/pics/1748-koljuchaja-kustarnikovaja-gadjuka-art.html,//livt.net/info/2017/07/09/kolyuchaya-kustarnikovaya-gadyuka/, dzen.ru/a/XLu9R3Ii0ACzPYI-.

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werewolfghoul · 1 month ago

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Ghoul teeth headcanons anyone? (Hey tag spam and long post! Sorry ^^') - 🐕

ALPHA: Alpha's teeth are large and dull. They were once sharp and pointed, however, because of his terrible chewing habit, they have gotten marginally duller. Despite his duller canines, he has a throat and tongue similar to a penguin, covered in backwards pointed spines.

OMEGA: Omega's top teeth are flat, and so are the majority of his bottom teeth. However, he does have two tusks that peek out from his bottom lip in an orc-like manner. They are about 5 inches or 12 centimeters in length and need to be kept maintained.

CHAIN: Chain's teeth are similar to a shark's, all of them being sharp and regenerative. However, Chain only has one row of deadly teeth, but frequently gets them knocked out or loses them. He can be missing teeth one day and have brand new ones the next.

BIG EARTH: Earth's teeth are entirely flat, resembling a goat's or other grass eating field animals. This is also an evolutionary result of his extremely long tongue not having enough room in his poor mouth.

LAKE: Lake has no teeth. He is completely nonverbal and cannot speak if he tried, he can only make small noises. Unlike other water ghouls, he is most closely related to his element. He does not need food, so he has no need for teeth to chew.

AERO: Aero's canine teeth are retractable, but aside from that feature, his are most close to human teeth in the cast of Opus/Infestissumam ghouls. Similar to Vampires in modern media, he can retract and detract his fangs. However, this is for intimidation and not sucking blood.

IVY: Ivy's teeth are also very similar to a goat's mixed with that of a human's, his underbite leaving him a bit of a snaggletooth exposed from his jaw. It's very rarely seen from stage because of his mask, but without it, it is one of his most distinct features.

RIVER: River's teeth are piranha-like. Unlike Chain's, they are not thick and sharp. His teeth are small line needles, opening his mouth to reveal a line of unevenly sized sewing needles. He was evolved to eat smaller creatures, hence why he does not have massive and tearing teeth.

DELTA: Delta's teeth are flat and hidden in the back of his throat like a goldfish's. However, he does wear dentures since he worries about scaring the Papas or his human fans and friends. Whenever he eats, he takes them out and seemingly swallows food whole, chewing in his throat.

COWBELL: Cowbell's teeth are more adjacent to an actual cow's. He only shows the bottom row of his teeth when he talks, because he does nor have an upper layer of teeth. He is a pure vegetarian simply because he is not evolved to eat meat.

MIST: Mist's teeth are sharp, jaded like the spine of a porcupine. She has to wear protection under her mask considering they scrape the inside of her mouth when she plays. She also needs her mouth guard to sleep. Because of the way she evolved, it makes her having her mouth closed very uncomfortable.

IFRIT: Ifrit's teeth are nearly identical to a wolf's, just featured in a smaller maw. He has long canines on his top and lower jaw, a gap between his front teeth and his canine so his lower canine can comfortably place in his mouth. His back teeth are also extraordinarily sharp, his mouth was made for ripping and tearing.

AETHER: Aether's teeth most closely resemble a human's out of the whole cast. He has regular molars and slightly sharp canines but not to an inhuman extent. He is the one who manicures Omega's tusks!

DEWDROP (WATER): Dewdrop's teeth are varied and also resemble a human's, but with the unfortunate twist that they are completely retractable. He usually is toothless whenever he is by himself, but unleashes his teeth on stage or in questionable situations. Similar to how cats use their claws. Sometimes they go away or come out on their own without his say, which annoys him deeply.

ZEPHYR: Zephyr's teeth are normal as well, but he has two layers of them. This is because he has evolved to open his mouth and protrude the outer layer to make himself seem scarier despite his dull teeth (considered dull to other ghouls). He can also unhinge his jaw like a snake! Which lets his mouth look bigger and scarier than it is as well.

PEBBLE: Pebble's mouth is almost a beak if it wasn't for the sharp teeth circling around the inner part of his mouth, just bordering his throat. Unlike the other Earth ghouls, Pebble's mouth almost comes off as more of a predator mouth than that of prey.

MOUNTAIN: Mountain continues Big Earth's legacy with the flat teeth, still akin to a goat's. This is more fitting considering Mountain's body resembles a goat strongly as well. However, his teeth are rather crooked, so he currently has braces to fix their appearance.

CUMULUS: Cumulus's front teeth are much sharper than her back teeth. Her front row of teeth can be mistaken as a carnivore's, but her back molars are very useless for chewing meat as they are just as dull as Mountain's. She does like to use her bitey front teeth to spook her friends, though.

CIRRUS: Cirrus has the sharpest teeth out of the ghoulette's, even rivaling Mist's. However, she evolved to avoid Mist's plight of uncomfortable teeth. Her two large canine teeth are constantly exposed, poking out from under her lips. They look like the fangs of a Sabertooth, if not as long, length and thin but extremely sturdy. They are venomous when she chooses them to be, but work as a sedative and not a poison.

SWISS: Swiss is... Well, his teeth are very regular on the surface. His teeth are rather normal, a bit sharper than your average ghoul. His special feature regarding his teeth and mouth is the fact he can show his gums similar to a threatened dog. His gums are black, like most ghoul's, but contrasting with his pearly whites can be a frightened sight if you are in the middle of a dark room.

RAIN: Rain's teeth are sharper than a normal person's, but not quite shark level like Chain's. It is very clear that Rain descended from the same generational evaluation that Chain and Mist did, his teeth being thick and sharp, and he has two long canines right beside one another.

SODOMIZER (FIRE): Sodo's teeth are still somewhat retractable, but other's have permanently stuck in place. His fangs got sharper after the element transformation, making it much more difficult to retract them or the surrounding teeth. Overall, his teeth just got much sharper and similar to Ifrit's but not quite as canine-like.

SUNSHINE: Sunshine has a row of sharp teeth on her upper row, her lower jaw being much duller. She has a bit of an overbite as well, leading to her mouth being open a lot of the time. Her canines are her sharpest teeth, thick but sharp on the ends. She has kind of the "classical monster" mouth.

AURORA: Very similarly to Swiss, Aurora's teeth are not her main attraction. She is a snarler, even unintentionally. Her gums go farther down onto her teeth than Swiss's, so even when she smiles, it gives off the ominous impression of a grimace. Her teeth themselves are quite sharp, only a tad sharper than other ghouls, but duller compared to most.

PHANTOM: Phantom's teeth are very human-like since he is very evolutionarily close to Aether, he didn't really have a need for large fangs or harsh bites.

PHIL: Phil is a shapeshifting ghoul so his teeth are pretty varied. However, for interviews, he usually sticks with the classic human look, or sharp canines and nothing too excessive.

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kuro4thegays · 5 months ago

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- Happy birthday to my favorite architect

[Word count: 1.7k] [Kaveh x gn!reader] [Content: picking sunsettias on a vast field and playfighting, not much more]

“Stop wiggling around. I could fall, you know?” You did your best to steady yourself, but it was becoming clear that if Kaveh doesn't stop moving your faith might be sealed. “Maybe if you were to grab that sunsettia a little quicker we wouldn't have to worry about breaking my back!” Kaveh was fast to make his issues with this little setup of yours known as salty beads of sweat started to collect on his forehead. You sighed, quite harshly at first, but obliged, reaching your hand as far as it could go. “Just a little more…” That’s it, the branch was just within your reach, just another stretch and that sweet, juicy reward will be in your hands. You could practically taste it, the juice of the ripe fruit trickling down your chin as you bit into its soft flesh. That’s it, so close, just the last push and…

“Nope.” Kaveh tumbled onto his knees, quickly removing your body from his already sore shoulders. “No more…” As soon as the weight was gone he fully let his body give into exhaustion, letting the soft grass soften his fall. “What?! It was literally in my hands and you just… ugh!” You stood up on your own two feet, leaning over the man’s worn out body. Kaveh couldn’t even breathe, let alone answer, but his bright red face told you everything. “You have said that 12 times in the last ten minutes we’ve been trying this.” The artist struggled, but managed to utter those snarky, but truthful, words.

He wasn’t getting up.

“Oi! Kaveh!” Your attitude evaporated within seconds, like a water droplet landing on hot metal. You dropped to your knees, leaning directly over Kaveh’s weak frame as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Did he really overexert himself? Does he need a medical professional? Oh God, what have you done? Not knowing what to do, you straddled Kaveh, not fully wrapping your legs around his waist to leave room for him to breathe, before pointing up your ring finger. “What finger am I holding up?!” You looked at the exhausted architect wide eyed. Awaiting his response with a heavy breath. “You…” Kaveh extended his hand. “Yes?” You leaned closer, your face only centimeters away from his. “... are an idiot.” Just like that you felt him lightly slap your shoulder. “Huh?” Blank face. Evidently, it took you a moment to process the hit. Only when you heard Kaveh’s light chuckle did it finally register.

“You!” You were quick to straighten your back, now leaning away from the male. “I should have seen this coming.” Of course, you could have just gotten up, but truthfully you still had some of that pettiness left inside. “You got riled up so quickly, I couldn’t help it.” Kaveh chuckled, completely unaware of your new intentions. “Oh, yeah? Seems like you got me wrapped around your fingers. Maybe I should try taking some control back, hmm?” You looked at him like you were going to pounce, now tightening your hold over the other male’s body. You wrapped your thighs around Kaveh’s waist, no fear of suffocating present now as you prepared yourself for an attack.

“What are you planning on doing?” Kaveh gulped, readying himself for whatever was about to come. He could sense the want for revenge in your eyes. He might have started to reconsider his actions. A shame that it was all in the past now.

Suddenly, you grabbed Kaveh’s sides, your nimble fingers ready for a counter attack. Just a single move of your digits and Kaveh knew what he was in for. Tickling. “Wait!” He tried to push you away, but before he even got the chance to raise his hand his body had already started to squirming with laughter. He tried desperately to shove you away, but you already got him by his weak spot. You really did have many ways of stealing his breath away. “Too late.” Your attack on his sensitive spots was relentless, oh that revenge might have been sweeter than that fruit still standing out of their reach. “Stop it!” Kaveh tried to grip your teasing hands, yet they were too damn fast. “Maybe I’ll consider it if you apologize.” That should have been easy enough, well, it would have been if you had stopped. Obviously Kaveh was too busy trying to catch his breath to even begin to form a sensible sentence. His mouth was wide open, but no words were coming out. “No?” You raised an eyebrow, directly challenging your victim which seemed to have only agitated him further. “No… f- fair.” Kaveh choked the words out, his lungs fighting for their dear life. He kicked his feet at you, throwing his hands in a feeble attempt to catch one of yours. Though stamina wasn’t one of your strong suits either. Sure, tickling was easy enough, but having to dodge Kaveh’s wild moves proved to be quite tiresome. You faltered and even if it was just for a second Kaveh too found your weak spot. “Sorry not sorry.” And your waist seemed just within his reach.

“My turn.” Using all of the strength he had left inside he flipped you on the grassy field beneath. But, unfortunately for him, you were not a quitter. “Hey!? You grabbed both of Kaveh’s hands, blocking his tickle attack while trying to reverse the roles yet again, using only your lower body force. “What are you trying to do?!” Despite the losing battle, Kaveh laughed from the very bottom of his soul, no tickling required. At this point the both of you were pushing past the exhaustion.

You wriggled out of Kaveh’s grasp, yet as soon as you turned around to crawl away he had already caught you by the foot. Things grew blurry from then. The only safe thing to say was that the two of you were now just two idiots rolling in the grass. Perhaps it was that familiarly sweet scent of early summer that was influencing you or the lingering taste of the equally sweet sunsettia lingering on your tongues. The only thing you knew for sure was that in that exact moment Kaveh was only yours. Be it his body that so beautifully glistened with sweat under the setting sun, his ever so witty tongue that threw teases your way or simply the fact that his eyes were only looking back at yours. In that sense you were fully his too. Your words were equally teasing, your body equally vulnerable and your gaze fixated on one man and one man only. “Take me.” Your body so painfully screamed, yet your mouth was already preoccupied with wild laughter. And even if you could speak it wouldn’t be necessary. You found your answer in the way Kaveh looked at you.

“You done? Already?” You chuckled, but you really weren’t any better. Your body gave out, falling on top of Kaveh in a way that could only be described as the opposite of graceful. You were now very sweaty, awfully so, and the dirt lingering on the fabric of your shirt wasn’t really complimenting the look. “You’re a mess.” Kaveh was quick to point out, ignorant to his own disheveled state. “Look who’s talking.” But you shut him up rather quickly. The two of you just laid there, feeling the cool shade embrace your hot bodies as you let your lungs relax for a while. Admittedly, you never knew one’s cheeks could hurt from smiling, but somehow after experiencing it you don’t think it’s all that bad. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind feeling it again someday. “Can I kiss you?” You asked. You were far past the point in which this question would be necessary, but just looking at Kaveh’s peaceful face made you want to make sure that you weren’t being too needy. “When have I ever said no to that?” You took that as a yes. You didn’t waste time before planting a tired, but plenty affectionate kiss on Kaveh’s soft lips. Even in your most worn out state there was that last bit of strength reserved specifically for Kaveh. You slipped your tongue in, barely, just enough to have the briefest taste. It was enough for you, enough to give you all the energy in the world you would ever need. Because if there ever was anything you wanted more from Kaveh than his love was for him to accept your love, for him to be on the receiving end for once. He has enough trouble in his life already, why would you ever want to add to that?

You leaned in for another, opening your mouth wider this time, hell, you were even feeling bold enough to stick your tongue out just the tiniest bit, but were stopped in a rather comedically painful way. “Ouch…” You stopped right in your tracks, hands swiftly searching for the place of the impact. You rubbed your head before noticing something coated in that familiar shade of orange. A sunsettia, that damned sunsettia. “Mehrak!” Kaveh giggled, pointing at his trusty, sentient workcase. “How has it charged so fast?” You questioned, not that impressed by the robots ability to pick fruits. “You’re just being salty.” Kaveh retorted. “Perhaps.” And you weren’t exactly trying to deny it. You grabbed the ripe fruit, the best one they have found this entire season, before offering it to your love. “For you.” You smiled, placing it securely into the man’s hands. Kaveh bit into its hard surface before suckling in all of its sugary juice. He took the time to savor it, but eventually returned it into your hands. “Are you sure? I want you to have it.” You shook your head, but the architect was as insistent as ever. “[name].” The call of your name spilling from Kaveh’s lips was enough reassurance. You too bit into it, the same spot Kaveh previously did. It was heavenly, the juice slowly trickling down your chin and onto your shirt. Truly one of a kind. The artist really did have the eye for good fruit. The gentle summer breeze reminded you of home and the sunsettia in your hand of that first pang of love you felt all those years back.

“Kaveh.” You murmured, lips still attached to the orange sweetness.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday.”

[Writer’s note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY INDEED. Anyways, it was a good one. I'm absolutely in love with his birthday art, he really is the prettiest man there ever was. Now I'll probably be working on the next part of What does freedom look like without you? The only thing that I'll say is that it'll be a backstory bit, so do with that what you will. Have a great rest of your day and say happy birthday to my favorite boy. Bye bye]

#kaveh x reader #kaveh x male reader #kaveh #genshin x male reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #kaveh x gn reader #archive

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orimuraa · 3 months ago

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ʚɞ So let's go see the stars - Nishimura Riki

(synopsis) ｡𖦹°‧late nights are full of starlight when you're with your wonderful boyfriend ᡣ𐭩 non-idol!Ni-ki x fem!reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ fluff .𖥔 ݁ ˖ oneshot .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wc 620

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆˙✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

you and riki had been dating for just over a year now, but you knew right away, that he was the one. riki was the one who was always there for you, who comforted you in the toughest of times, who could never even think of hurting you without it hurting him. in your eyes, he was perfect.

"psst! y/n!" you woke up to the sound of taps to your window and a little voice calling your name. slowly turning to your left and looking out the window, you could see nishimura riki, standing in the freezing cold night, with tiny pebbles in his hand, trying to get you to sneak out again with him. you opened your window to ask what the hell he was doing here at 12:09 am. "riki! what are you doing here??" you whisper-yelled, trying not to wake your parents who were just down the hall. "i came to get you, dummy." he teased, wearing his signature smirk. you rolled your eyes and motioned for him to meet you at the front of your house. you acted like you were annoyed with him, but you and him both knew very well that you were just acting. in fact, your heart was beating way too fast for it to be normal. even after a year, this boy still managed to make your heart go crazy just by doing the simplest of things. you tip-toed down the stairs, and made your way over to the front door, opening it just a teeny bit to make sure the freezing air didn't get in but also just enough to let your boyfriend in. in the blink of an eye, you were wrapped up in his arms, and his head burying itself into your neck. "missed you," he mumbled into your neck. "jay hyung wouldn't let me see you until i finished my homework." he pouted, pulling away to look at your face. your eyes met his, and you felt your heart leap. "well, did you at least finish it?" you said, giggling at his little pout. "not at all," he smirks, taking your hand into his. "stupid homework won't keep me away from you." "riki!" you jokingly-swatted him. he let's out a tiny yelp but you're quick to shush him. "we have to be quiet or else my parents will wake up." you frown. "so let's go see the stars right now," he smiled, grabbing your jacket that was hanging on the hook and leading you out the door.

the walk to the park was full of comfortable silence and the reassuring feeling of riki's hand in yours. as you two arrived at the park, he pulled you over to the grassy hill and lied down. you quickly adjusted yourself to lay next to him, snuggling into his side for some more warmth. "i'm glad i met you y/n," riki says, turning to face you. "i'm glad i met you too ki," you said, not being able to control the smile spreading onto your face. the stars shined above you as he slowly leaned closer to you. tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, he delicately placed his hand on your right cheek, almost as if you were made of porcelain. just when he was mere centimeters away, he whispered to you: "i love you. you're my sun, moon, and stars, princess." and with that, he closed the gap, connecting you lips together. it was a kiss filled with forevers, promises, sweetness, but most importantly, pure love. and that's when you knew, both of you under the stars, that you wanted nothing more to be with nishimura riki for the rest of your life.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆˙✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

eep! my debut as a writer here on blr!! i'm super excited for what's to come and i hope you enjoyed this! ૮꒰ ˶• �� •˶꒱ა ♡ likes and reblogs would be so appreciated ♡ i also want to give a huge thanks to @flwrstqr for all the help and advice she has given me to start up my blog!

#₊˚⊹♡𝖄ᥱȷі's 𝖂᥆rks #enhypen #ni-ki x reader #enhypen fluff #ni-ki fluff #nishimura riki #enhypen imagines

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physics-of-one-piece · 5 months ago

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Welcome to Doffy's Physics Lab.

In this post, we'll calculate how big Doflamingo's hands are and how long his fingers are.

Let's dive right in!

Okay, so the thing Oda did very very well is capture how long Doflamingo’s limbs are. He has a very strong chest, and his arms are as previously calculated 1.5m. What I say Oda captured well is actually (after some checking) that the proportions of Doflamingo’s body are not THAT bad compared to irl logic.

The man who has the largest hands in the world is Sultan Kosen (Turkey). His hands are 29 centimeters, but his height is 250 centimeters. Mr Kosen has gigantism and acromegaly, this is why he’s so tall and this is why his hands are bigger. Hands are usually 10% of the body height, so his hands should actually be 25 cm, but biology comes into play here, and after seeing some pictures, his hands look very normal for his size. They fit him. When I say how large the hand is, it means the length of the hand from the wrist to the middle finger.

So, this means, taller people’s hands most likely are not 10% of their height, but 11%. You may be wondering why I only heightened it for 1% percent. 1% proportion increase is about 4 cm increase on the real hand already. This fits for how big Mr Kosen’s hands are and follows bone structure that he has, which we can use to then calculate Doflamingo’s.

Also, body mass and body build goes into account. Even tall people have bigger hands than they should sometimes. Skinny people who are tall may have hands that aren’t 10% their body height, so the mass influences the proportion. The reason behind this is genetics and the aforementioned body structure. So, yes, it can depend! Not everyone has 10%! It doesn’t mean you are not healthy, it varies from person to person!

So, for tall people with a larger body mass, let’s put 10% for now; he is weighty but he is also lean in the arms and legs.

This is how we calculate:

10% proportion

Hand = height • proportion

hand = 305 • 0.10

hand = 30.5 cm

This is already huge. Absolutely huge. His hand is bigger than an average human’s head. His hands are 1.5 cm longer than an A4 paper. Yeah. Awesome! That’s awesome.

Sorry, geeking out and fangirling, please stand by.

Okay, we’re gonna do it with Oda’s proportions now. We’re gonna make it 11%.

The anime makes his hands so big. He a big boy.

This with 11% is the most accurate I like to believe.

0.11 • 305 = 33.55cm

We’ll call this next one the extreme but still possibly accurate version

With 12% body proportion (this is extreme of extremes I think this is too much, but fuck it, One Piece doesn’t follow rules so neither will I)

Hand= 305 • 0.12

Hand = 36.6 cm

These are all big.

Okay, now for the fingers. The anime keeps them good on proportions! Oda, as well! They look outta proportion to us midgets but they’re normal size for Doflamingo.

(rubs hands giddily) Hehe, I wanted to know this for AGES.

For this, we use the length of the hand and then anatomical proportions.

Middle finger is 35-40% of the total hand length

Index finger: 30-35%

Ring finger: 30-35%

Little finger: 30-35%

Thumb: 22-27%

Yeah, for normal people.

Not for One Piece, me thinks. I always imagine Doflamingo’s middle finger is half the length of his entire hand. Big boy has long fingers.

But fine, we’ll go with this first. And THEN we’ll have fun in the One Piece proportions.

Okay, so this is where we need to know the finger-length type classification of the hand. There are 4 types.

Most artists, Oda included, draw the hands with the mountain type ie middle finger is the longest. If there are any artists who can confirm/deny so I can later fix it, that’d be great.

Based on this study with men, their index finger is longer than their ring finger, and only by a few mm. We’re gonna put everything in the middle. We’ll make his index finger 1 cm shorter from his middle finger. Ring and index finger are gonna be the same length to get that “mountain” curve.

Now we will go with his hand being 30.5 cm ie with 10% proportion.

Warning, I am breaking dreams with this one, and once again, I like to think his middle finger is 15 cm long! Is it too long? Maybe. Do I care? No. The fun thing about knowing rules is knowing how to break them.

Formula:

percentage • hand length = finger length

30.5cm hand

Middle finger = 0.40 • 30.5 = 12.2 cm

Index finger = 0.35 • 30.5 = 10.67 cm

Ring finger = 0.35 • 30.5= 10.67 cm

Little finger = 0.325 • 30.5 = 9.91 cm

Thumb = 0.27• 30.5 = 8.23 cm

To put his thumb into visual, 8 cm is the average length 180 cm tall men have of their middle finger.

Okay, now onto the official One Piece proportions the 11%. We just need to have his big hand size, he has HUGE hands. Okay.

33.55 cm hand (most likely to be Doflamingo’s hand size)

Middle finger = 0.40 • 33.55 = 13.42 cm

Index = 0.35 x 33.55 = 11.74 cm

Ring = 0.35 x 33.55 = 11.74 cm

Little = 0.325 x 33.55 = 10.90 cm

Thumb = 0.27 x 33.55 = 9.05 cm

Last Possible Version (Extreme Version)

36.6 cm hand

Middle finger= 0.40 • 36.6 = 14.65 cm

(chokes) Holy Mariejois and celestials. Okay. Okay.

Index finger = 0.35 • 36.6 = 12.81 cm

Ring finger = 0.35 • 36.6 = 12.81 cm

Little finger = 0.325 • 36.6 = 11.89 cm

Thumb = 0.27 • 36.6 = 9.88 cm

Woah, his thumb is huge 🤣🤣🤣 (I have a 30cm ruler sitting on the paper rn so yeah these are crazy numbers)

And there you go.

Okay, now width of fingers, we have no way of calculating it except to use known information.

For example, palm width of a hand of 19.3cm long is 8.9cm. let’s cut our losses and divide that to see how much smaller is the palm (this is cheating btw but it gets the job done). Usually your fingers are half the length of your palm. Sth like that. The palm is drawn mostly as a square or a curved parallelogram depending on the angle in which it’s drawn in. I am going with the easier option where all sides are equal.

We got 2.16

So we can say…

Average Palm width without adjusting for OP proportions

for 30.5 cm hand = 30.5/2.16 = 14.12 cm

Doflamingo’s Palm Width (adjusted for OP Proportions)

33.55 cm hand = 33.55/2.16= 15.50 cm

(I just realised I can just go minus his middle finger because that is how we got the length of his hand omg I am an idiot, no need for complex stuff)

33.55 cm - 13.42 cm = 15.13

(Okay, this is the better and easier way and makes good sense!)

(Whispers) Jesus fucking Christ

Extreme Palm Width

for 36.6 cm hand = 36.6/2.16 = 16.96 cm

Dear fucking GOD.

I really like the 30.5 cm from an accuracy standpoint but also, usually, hands are bigger than the average, and the taller you are, basing on your body type & genetics, that proportion can shift slightly.

So 33 cm isn’t a far reach at all for Doflamingo. He absolutely can wrap his single hand around a woman’s throat depending on the circumference of the woman’s throat. He cannot wrap them around a man’s neck fully to enclose it. He can, single-handedly with a 33 cm hand, absolutely completely envelop a woman’s neck.

There’s that. His finger thickness is probably 2-3cm.

And that's it!

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

#donquixote doflamingo #op doflamingo #op doffy #one piece #one piece fandom #physics of one piece

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blkdaddie · 5 months ago

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What to Expect When You're a Trad Husband Expecting: Active Labor and Delivery

It's showtime! As your baby gets ready to enter the world your contractions will get closer and stronger, and you will be forced to turn your full attention to the process. Most of you have likely chosen to deliver at home. If you will be going to the hospital or a birthing center by choice or a doctor's recommendation, grab your bag and get rolling.

Your strong, handsome husband will be by your side. Take this time to enjoy your last few moments as a couple before expending your family. Try putting on your favorite song and "belly dancing" as the baby settles low in our hips.

Breathe, and visualize yourself opening up these last few centimeters. Move into whatever positions feel comfortable for your body - squatting, kneeling, doing pelvic tilts., etc.

Your husbands arms are your comfort, his strength is your strength. This is the moment you were both made for. You may find that you become erect from prolonged pressure on your prostate (or from scent of your HoH skin to skin with you). It is also common to vocalize with moans, grunts, and cries. These may not sound unlike the sounds of your passion. If you feel your man growing hard take comfort in knowing that his lust for your knows no bounds.

Your body will tell you when you're ready to push. The urge will be undeniable. Bear down; the ring of fire as your baby's head crowns is the flame of your old life burning away. This is your life now, dedicated to your husband and children.

Engage your pelvic muscles and push. The more children you have, the easier this will be, but the first will require some effort as your body learns to open up.

Before you know it you will be holding your baby, the both of you secure in your husband's arms. Start kegel exercises within 12 hours of delivery; both you and your hubby will feel better knowing you will be tight for your mutual pleasure and continued breeding. Congratulations, you are officially a Daddie!

#pregnant man #mpreg #mpreg story #mpreg kink #mpregnancy #mpreg birth #mpreg belly #satire #tradblkdaddie #tradhusband #mpreg labor

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blueiscoool · 2 months ago

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Mysterious 1,800-year-old Roman gladiator tomb discovered in Turkey

A significant archaeological discovery has been made at Ayasuluk Hill and the St. John Monument in Selcuk, Izmir. Researchers have unearthed a tomb believed to belong to a Roman gladiator from the third century B.C. This tomb later reused in the fifth century A.D., contained the remains of 12 individuals.

The excavation, authorized by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism with support from various institutions, is led by associate professor Sinan Mimaroglu from Hatay Mustafa Kemal University’s Department of Art History.

Who is Roman gladiator?

The team recently discovered a Roman tomb featuring twelve skeletons. The tomb, studied by associate professor Ertan Yildiz, has been identified as belonging to a Roman gladiator named “Euphrates.” It features epigraphic inscriptions and three cross reliefs added during its later use in the fifth century.

This tomb is believed to date back to the third century B.C. and is similar to imperial tombs found in Istanbul, Marmara Island, and Syria.

Surprising discoveries beneath the surface

Mimaroglu expressed astonishment at finding a water channel, a drainage system, mosaics, and several tombs just 20 centimeters below the surface.

“We found one tomb and three tomb-like structures, with 12 individuals inside. This indicates a collective burial,” he stated. He emphasized the importance of this Roman tomb, which has exquisite epigraphic inscriptions and Christian symbols added during its later use.

Insights into church and its burials

Mimaroglu provided information about the church associated with the tomb. Initially a small burial structure, it was later converted into a wooden-roofed basilica and eventually into a domed church during the reign of Emperor Iustinian I.

He noted, “The burials inside the church likely belong to the upper class or clergy, as it’s unlikely an ordinary person would be buried in such a meticulous manner within a church.”

Initial findings suggest the crosses inside the tomb were carved in the fifth century, while the crosses on the tomb’s lid might have been added in the seventh and eighth centuries. Archaeological evidence supports that the mosaic beneath was also altered after the time of Iustinian I.

Comparisons to similar finds

Regarding the cross reliefs within the tomb, Mimaroglu remarked that similar examples are found in imperial tombs in Istanbul, but this tomb was constructed with higher-quality materials.

He noted that similar tombs have been discovered in Marmara Island and Syria, though the cross designs differ. The team continues to search for comparable examples for publication.

Evidence of early Ephesus

Mimaroglu mentioned the site’s significance, stating it contains evidence of early Ephesus dating back to the second millennium B.C., with ceramics from the Early, Middle, and Late Bronze Ages.

Excavations began in the church of St. John in 1921-1922 under Greek archaeologist Soteriou and have continued under his direction since 2020.

New discoveries from georadar studies

In 2023, georadar studies were conducted in the area, confirming findings from previous excavations by Hormann. Mimaroglu explained, “These excavations revealed a marble floor, dating back to the 6th century, consistent with the period of Iustinian I. This year’s discoveries affirm the presence of a marble flooring from the 5th century.”

The discovery of this ancient Roman gladiator’s tomb not only sheds light on the burial practices of the time but also enriches our understanding of early Ephesus and its historical significance.

By Koray Erdogan.

#Mysterious 1800-year-old Roman gladiator tomb discovered in Turkey #Ayasuluk Hill and the St. John Monument #Selcuk Izmir #Roman gladiator named Euphrates #Roman gladiator’s tomb #ancient tomb #ancient grave #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #ancient roman sarcophagus

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st0rygirl3 · 5 months ago

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Hottest Killer part 2 - Matt Sturniolo ༊*·˚

══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══ ═ ═ ═ ══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══

*HEAVILY BASED ON GHOST FACE AND THE CRAZY STALKER VIBE*

Part 1

What are you supposed to do when there’s been reports of crazy killer running around your neighborhood and once he finally gets to you, decides murder isn’t the right plan?

⚠️Warnings⚠️:

🔞MDNI 🔞 but I’m not ur mother

fem!reader x ROUGH!dom!Matt Sturniolo Suggestive content, smut content, stalker content, stalkerish, talks of being crazy, talk about murderers, kinda r8pe but overall consensual. Full filth, choking, spanking, and hair pulling kinks, P in V, unprotected sex (please be safe) {kinda cheesy cutesy fluff} aftercare!

A/N: o.m.g. I didn’t not expect part one to get 33 notes!!! That is so completely insane to me, thank you so much for liking my story and interacting! So ofc I had to make a part 2, and maybe a part 3 depending on where this one goes and what yall want! Thank you so much again and enjoy! My writing is still improving but I hope you enjoy!

It had been a few weeks since your interaction with Matt, and god you could not get him off your mind. Staying up till 12, waiting for his return, holding the note in your hand, but he never showed. It was Friday, 8pm and you’re sitting on your bed laid back with your laptop resting on your lap.

Your phone began to buzz, and your head snapped over to look at it. Confused, you grabbed the phone and looked where the name or phone number of the person should be, but all it read was ‘Unknown’. Immediately part of you hoped it was Matt, but the other half prayed it was anyone but. Yes, he said he’d be back, but back for what? To kill you for real this time?

You took in a deep breath and clicked the answer button, to which a darker voice than you remembered from that night came through. “Comfy gorgeous?” The dark voice said, laced with an uncomfortable feeling. Your stomach sank at the voice, it sounded somewhat familiar, but not familiar enough to be Matt. “I’m sorry who’s this?” You responded nervously. The caller was like a dog, able to sense your nervousness and fear, answering with a dark chuckle. “You know who it is, sweetheart.” The voice lightened up more, still holding an uncomfortable dark tone, but the voice almost warped, into Matt’s voice, like a voice filter had been turned off. “The one you’ve been touching yourself to. Can’t get me outta your head after that night can ya princess?” The voice said cockily. You were speechless, unsure of what to say. How did he know that? You looked up and saw your large bedroom window, with curtains dripping down the sides, not fully closed. The sky was pitch black. “Matt?” You asked shakily. “Yes princess?” The voice answered. You got up and walked to your window looking outside, where you saw Matt standing in your backyard, looking up at you with piercing blue eyes, just as you remembered. He had his hat on and mask covering the bottom half of his face. He had his phone up to his ear, and a brown bag in the other hand. “Brought food for you. Care to come open the door?” The voice said as you stumbled back in surprise. You somehow dropped your phone on the floor but didn’t mind it. You grabbed the knife under your pillow just incase.

Creeping down the steps you turned left, walking to where your back door is. You walked to the back door carefully, placing your hand on the handle as you saw Matt began to calmly approach the door from the outside. You began pulling the door, shaking but a weird excitement seemed to counteract that. As you fully slid the door open you backed up, and Matt walked forward, until your back was pressed against the counter, and he was centimeters away from you. He placed the brown food bag around you on the counter. His gaze directed to the knife in your hand, making you nervous. “Gonna try and kill me?” Matt said with a raised eyebrow, sounding almost amused. “I-it was just for self defense.” You said defensively. “I already told you, you are way too pretty to murder.” Matt said placing his thumb on your chin, and curled his pointer finger and placing it under your chin, tilting you to look up at him. You guys stayed there, making intense eye contact for a solid minute, questioning eachother through gazes. Having a conversation with our talking, but Matt cut the silence. “Would you like to eat?” Matt said releasing your chin. You walked away from him and towards the brown bag, which you approached cautiously. You grabbed it quickly, opening it slowly. Inside you saw sealed sushi rolls. Your eyes widened, you loved sushi. You quickly smiled grabbing out a roll and chop sticks. You ran to the living room and sat down on your couch, excited to eat. Matt hung up his hat and mask on the coat hanger, grabbing the bag and following you to the living room. When you saw his face again, with stubble of his beard your stomach turned.

You shook your head, he was a murderer, a criminal, you can’t like him- no way. But fuck those eyes, that perfect jawline…it killed you.

You looked back up at him as he had a hand on the back of his head rubbing it awkwardly, awaiting an invitation to join you. He looked almost flustered? You sighed and patted the seat next to you, which he quickly took, resting his arm on the top of the couch behind you. Spreading his legs wide enough to make you feel some way. The postion he was in made you wet at the sight. You pushed down the emotions and looked at the tv, fumbling with the remote to find something to watch. You finally decided on some 2000s movie. You set the sushi on the coffee table and turned to Matt who was already staring at you with a smirk, and his head leaned back on the couch. Your face grew red, you could feel it heating up. The dirty thoughts started clouding your mind, filling your eyes with lust. Imaging his veiny hands holding your neck as he pounded yo- “Y/N.” Matt interrupted. You quickly snapped back to reality, finding his gaze again. “Y-yeah?”you said nervously. Matt wasted no time, “How bad do you want to kiss me right now?” He said with a smirk, leaning in closer. “More than I want to…” you spat out. “Yeah?” Matt said voice laced with lust and need. “Then what are you waiting for?” Matt said getting even closer, your noses almost touching. His hand began running up your thigh causing you to gasp. You placed you hand on his cheek, and before you can talk yourself out of it you smash your lips onto his. You fight his tongue for dominance, and once you begin winning Matt grabs your hips and moves you to his lap, never breaking the kiss. You put both hands on either side of his face, just to bring him as close at possible. You begin rocking your hips against him growing erection, causing him to let out a groan in your mouth. He tangled one hand in your hair and kept the other planted on your ass, squeezing ever so lightly. He broke the kiss, letting you catch your breath. “This wrong…you’re a criminal, I should have you arrested.” You said shaking your head. “Oh sweet girl, I am not a murderer. I’d never hurt a soul.” Matt smirked. You just sighed, against your better judgement leaned back in for another more passionate kiss. “I think I’d let you hurt me.” You sighed. Matt lifted his hand and wrapped it softly around your neck, causing the heat between your legs begin to pool. “Yeah? Thing is..I could never hurt you.” Matt said as he began kissing your neck, leaving hickeys. “Shorts and panties off.” Matt demanded. You quickly got up and removed your shorts and panties as he removed his sweats and boxers. You got back on Matt, hovering above his throbbing cock. He looked up at you, “Do you wanna do this Y/N?” Matt asked sweetly. You nodded quickly, “please.” You begged. Matt placed his hands on your hips and began lowering you down, stretching out your walls inch by inch. You let out whines as his thick long cock spread you out slowly. Desperately you sunk quickly in his cock, taking him in full. Causing him to let out a groan, burying his nose in your neck. Matt lifted you up a little, supporting you wait. Matt began railing you upward, starting slow. “That’s it baby, taking me like a good girl.” Matt praised keeping his eyes on yours.

“Faster Matt please!” You begged. Matt took your request and began thrusting harder, grunting with each thrust as you moaned uncontrollably. You couldn’t control the sounds slipping out. “Go on, tell me what you’re thinking beautiful girl.” Matt demanded with breathy moans in between. “I’m thinking how fucking….” You gasped with a moan. “How fucking sexy you are…how bad I need you.” You confessed. Matt flipped you on all fours, gripping your hips he began mercilessly slamming into you. You began screaming his name, his dirty words praising you. He grabbed your hair in a pony and pulled on it. You felt your stomach began to tighten, your worlds colliding. “G-gonna cum!” You screeched. “Cum for me baby.” Matt urged. Your walls tightened, begging for his cum. Matt’s thrust began getting sloppier and you could tell his was close. “Inside of me…” you begged. Matt groaned as he sunk his cock fully inside of you, filling you up completely. Matt fell onto your back, his chest crashing with your back. Matt put in a few more thrusts, finishing you off completely. As he pulled out and you crashed down he sat up next to you catching his breath. You flipped over quickly and sat up on your knees on the couch. You grabbed his cheeks turning him to face you. “You’re not leaving again.” You demanded. Matt smiled softly. “Anything for my princess.” Matt smirked before carrying you bridal style up to your bathroom. Setting you in the stand up shower he turned on the hot water, climbing in next to you, finally fully naked. You clung to him as he held your waist, he began rubbing in soap all around your body. “God you’re beautiful.” He praised you smiled putting your forehead against his upper chest. He kissed your head sweetly.

After the shower he dried you off, taking you to your room and throwing you on the bed with a laugh. You giggled as he came to hover over you, his hands on either side of your head.

You felt something touching your stomach, looking down to see his hard erect penis. You began palming him as he let out a groan.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish Y/N…” Matt warned.

People who asked for part 2 !!! (I’ll make a tag list thingy soon❤️)

@vschrissturn @townofangels

#matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo smut #sturniolosmut #matt sturniolo x you #horror #smut

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vibratingskull · 3 months ago

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Yandere Thrawn x F!reader chapter 13

Yandere AU - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12

Tags : Yandere behaviors (duh), gaslighting, delusions (on both sides), victim blaming, dub/con, foreplay, butt job, fingering, wet humping, Thrawn obsession's for darling's pussy starts to worry me...

The bathroom door opens and you cannot help the shiver down your spine, trembling in Thrawn’s arms. Why do you have to live through it again? You accepted Thrawn’s reasoning but you still feel... dirty.

Thrawn kisses your forehead, “It is all right, Ch’acah. You will feel fresh and clean, like a new person.” He says sickly sweet.

He is over the moon, having you again in his arms, entirely reliant on him. Vulnerable, fragile, helpless... You absolutely need his protection, help, care, and neverending attention. You are wounded, you are disoriented, lost in life, you need his gentle gaze on you at all times to make sure you do not make any mistakes.

And he is more than happy to oblige

He gently sits you down on the bathtub’s edge and starts undressing you, letting his hands roam your skin freely this time. He doesn’t have much to take off, he dresses you very lightly. But he takes his sweet time, and savors it. He pulls your little shorts down, grazing your naked skin, kneeling before you. He takes the leg not in a cast and grabs your ankle gently, he lifts it and lowers his head to kiss your feet reverently. The kiss is soft, like butterfly wings, his lips barely touching your feet. Like a prayer.

He softly kisses his way up to your knee before grabbing them both in his hands to open your legs wide for him. Your stomach clenches tight and your throat dries, you hold on to the tub’s edge and dig your nails into the ceramic. He takes a slow and long lick on the inside of your thigh with the flat of his tongue, trailing his way towards your oh-so-desired clothed pussy as his hands take a full grip of your thighs’ flesh.

Mere centimeters before reaching his most desired prize he feels you shudder and tense in his hands and hears you hiss a breath through your gritted teeth. He stops, his lips still on your skin to raise his rubies to observe you.

You look at him with an uncomfortable expression, breath short and a lingering panic in your beautiful eyes.

Too soon. He cannot proceed yet, which displeases him.

Immensely

He wants to kiss it, to bite it, to lick it, to smell it, to suffocate on it. He wants you to sit on his face and let him get drunk on your nectar. He wants you to ride his face selfishly until his lungs are burning and threatening to explode with the lack of air, but even at that moment, he would not release his grip on you, forcing your hips down against his hungry lips.

And you are refusing him such pleasure?

He looks at you darkly, a low discontented growl escaping his throat, making you understand that he may, very generously, abandon it for today, but you will not escape it forever.

That is not something that he is ready to give up.

But he decides that he may wait a bit longer for your comfort.

After all... The more he waits, the more satisfying the moment he tastes you will feel... This is such a delicate balance. And he is a delicate man at heart.

You wince and gulp under his gaze, he is devouring you with frustration and hunger in his eyes. His face remains calm and aloof, but his gaze is... terrifying.

Heavy and dark, full of threats...

He kisses your inner thigh one last time and releases your thighs to grab your waist and kiss your soft tummy. “Ah! It tickles.” You protest. It makes him chuckle and he keeps kissing your stomach, a light smile on his lips a hum of appreciation escaping him.

He takes your hips in his large hands as he presses his eager lips on your tummy, he slowly goes down until he reaches your venus mound, which he fondles with his mouth lovingly.

Right behind this lovely layer of tissue is your womb.

The house of your future children, the nest of your babies...

He simply cannot just not pay his respect to that jewel of nature and not praise it! He brushes his cheek against it as his arms circle your waist to hug you tight. Thrawn starts purring, having his face pressed against your womb makes his heart go into a frenzy, and makes him feel closer to you in a way never experienced before!

To think that soon your child will be growing inside of you... That he will have the privilege to see you getting round and heavy with his baby. It is almost like he would already feel their little kicks against his cheek... Ah, this is simply so lovely! Unbeknownst to him he starts cradling you gently in his arms, closing his eyes to savor that magical instant.

A baby with you... A familly with you... A fresh start at your side... He could almost become sentimental at that thought, but he cannot deny the frenzy of his heart at those fantasies. Family is everything to a Chiss. They are nothing without one, and he had to left the Ascendancy behind to better protect it.

But you...

You can give him a new one. A blood family. Just for him. Not for the Chiss glory or the Empire’s ambitions. A loving family, to hug, love and protect with all his soul. He is a family man, meant to be a father and a husband. But none of his past ‘lovers’ were worthy in his eyes...

With you, it is possible. The dream gets more and more real each day.

You hesitantly caress his hair, your lips pressed in a thin line, confused by his actions. First, he looks at you like he is about to get your throat, and after he presses his cheek against your stomach while purring? This man confuses you terribly, and you cannot predict anything he is about to do or say.

Thrawn kisses your mound a final time before opening the buttons of your top, one by one, slowly, revealing your cleavage to him like a tease, like a provocation. He pulls on the edge of the fabric, barely discovering your bosoms to tease himself, he leans forward and kisses them each, cupping them in his palm.

He feels you tensing up under his touch, clearly uncomfortable.

He gives a lick at one of your breasts. He will not spare you everything either! He needs his relief too.

You accepted his point of view, Or at least acknowledged it for now, so let him work his magic on you!

He will prove you he’s right. As always.

He finishes to open your top, leaving you in your bra and panties, slightly shuddering in the cold bathroom. He kisses your cheek and starts running the bath.

While warm water slowly fills the tub he opens your bra expertly. By reflex, and by fear, you cross your valid arm over your breasts to hold it against your skin, in a desperate effort to save your modesty.

“Relax, Ch’acah.” He purrs, his large hands caressing your naked exposed back eagerly, delighting himself in all of this softness available for his pleasure. Your skin is so smooth, absolutely perfect, “I will take such good care of you, Ch’eo Ch’acah.” He encourages, pecking your face all over, without taking your grimace into account. “Trust me...” He lets his desire fill his tone.

Which makes him sound so dangerous in your ears. You gulp with a shiver, eyes closed as he kisses your eyelids tenderly.

He very gently takes your hand in his own, pulling it off of your chest to let the bra fall and reveal your glorious nakedness to his feverish eyes. You resist, rolling your hand into a fist, and tensing your muscles.

His sudden low growl makes you shudder and cave in, allowing him to pull your hand away. It dissolves back into a deep purr, visibly pleased by the current situation. You shudder as your bra falls off and hits your legs, exposing your breasts.

You gulp, terrified and embarrassed, your stomach in knots.

Thrawn presses his forehead against yours, kneeling in front of you again, as his hands cup your round breasts again, this time without the fabric protection, allowing him to play with your perky mounds. His thumbs rub your nipples in a circular motion as he gently kneads your rond flesh. He lets out a deep pleased sigh, not believing he is allowed to touch you so intimately, to have the right to toy and play with your nervous and reactive body.

Air gets stuck in his throat, shortening his breath as he explores your body freely, discovering his newfound freedom and privileges over you.

He wants to devour you

To leave absolutely nothing behind

To eat out your flesh and drink your blood until nothing is left, and the ache of his heart is finally appeased and the pain subsides at last.

Because he is in so much pain.

How you stood both so close and so far away from him at the same time. He extended his hand to you so many times, in the hope you would take it and squeeze it in yours with a gentle smile.

But you never noticed him... Always preferring your human males.

Letting him drown in the murky and dark water of his sentiments and desires, suffocating to death while you just stood on the riverbank, back turned to him, not even blessing him with a single glance.

Ignorant

Untouched

Innocent

So infuriatingly blind to his suffering...

It is so new to him. He always has been the one on the bank observing the others drown, reaching for him desperately... And he stood there, observing them like curious insects before turning his gaze to more interesting things.

Is this how they felt for him?

But it is in the past now. Now you are his, and he is yours. You CANNOT escape him, not in this state. He made sure of it.

Now he has all the time in the world to feed his cravings and mend his pain in your warm embrace.

He cannot help but take your nipples between two fingers and pinch them, earning a painful squeal. He smiles at your reaction fondly, so nervous and reactive... Your body will be a real delight to use and play with.

With an anticipating gasp, he lowers his head to take one of your bosom in his greedy mouth. He lets out an uncontrollable moan of pleasure as he starts sucking and lapping at your mound, massaging the other.

He simply cannot believe he gets to do it. After so long, you are at his entire disposal, to do as it pleases him... Or mostly how it pleases him, he thinks back sourly at your afraid gaze when his mouth approached your delicious cunt.

Blast! He was so close!

And you refused him!

You gulp, eyes closed shut, frowning, your teeth greeted. He loudly licks your breast, taking long laps with the flat of his tongue, titillating your excitable bud, drooling all over your tender flesh, letting it roll messily on your mound to your stomach.

He looks up feverishly at your face in the hope of locking eyes with you, having you look down at him honoring your body as it is his most sacred duty...

But your eyes are furiously closed, refusing him to witness your inner turmoil and burgeoning desire. Denying him the most important and most exciting part of his fantasies.

Your haughty, heavy gaze on him...

In retaliation, he bites down your nipple. Not too hard, just so you wince in mild pain.

Thrawn is a patient man. He knows you will back down before his superior perseverance and strategy. He knows he will inevitably win.

Hold on to your little fears and modesty all you want, Ch’acah. He will find a way to put your mind upside down until you are begging for his caresses...

He will make you love him, without fail.

Or he will break you entirely in a million pieces to rebuild you as it pleases him...

He has all the time in the world...

He gives a last lap and a kiss to your breast with a satisfied moan before letting both his hands caress their way down your body, caressing your rib cages, grazing your waist, and teasing your hips.

He hooks the sides of your panties in his fingers and you shudder with pathetic wail. You grip your panties in a last hope motion to protect yourself.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh... Rest easy, Ch’acah.” He murmures with a low tone dripping of honey and deep, raw hunger, “We have done it a million times already.” He remembers you.

Like it made it easier!

You feel dizzy and on the verge of tears. You very slowly and hesitantly let go of your last thin rampart, your palms sweaty.

Is it really what you need to heal? You do not know if you have it in you to go through such treatment...

Thrawn very gently pulls on your panties, rolling them down your thighs. He feels his eyes rounding up and his breath getting stuck in his throat as your pussy appears before his eyes.

You close your eyes in despair and dig back your nails into the ceramic of the bathtub’s edge.

He saw your sweet pussy plenty of times by now, but each time is like a first time. He cannot help his heart pumping blood furiously and his mouth drooling at that view. This is all he ever wanted, all he ever needed...

He had pussies before, but they always appeared... grotesque to his gaze. Not appealing. Meaty organs he had to take care of with or without enthusiasm...

But yours...

He wants nothing more but to dive his face into it, licking until you uncontrollably squirt on his tongue, crying in debilitating pleasure, or bullying his cock into your dripping sex, squeezing his girth mercilessly.

He wants to honor your pussy all night long, rever it like a holy relic. Like the rest of your body.

He gets rid of your panties and takes advantage of your closed eyes to hide them in his back pocket. You take the opportunity to close your legs shut, hiding yourself from him.

He mentally tuts, but he understands your shyness.

Plus it isn’t like you can actually escape him now...

He tenderly kisses your knees, softly caressing the flesh of your thighs.

You reopen your eyes, hesitantly to discover Grand Admiral Thrawn, cheek pressed against your thighs, his thumbs caressing your flesh as his carmine gaze looks at you without any shame. He sighs deeply, letting you drown in his hypnotizing shining red gaze. “Is everything all right, Ch’acah?” He asks casually.

You bite your lower lips with a dry mouth. “I... I don’t know...”

He smiles tightly, kissing one of your thighs before standing up, “Enter the bath, Ch’eo (y/n), it will relax you.”

He gentlemanly helps you stand up and enter the tub, sitting down in the warm and delicious clear water. You sigh at the soothing sensation, even if you never really relax while Thrawn cleans your body up so thoroughly.

At least you will be clean... At least being in the tub will limit his actions on your body.

“Please advance in the tub, Ch’eo Ch’acah.” Thrawn demands. You turn to him with a wondering frown and yelp as you see him unclothing himself.

Is he...?

You gasp and hide your eyes behind your hand as he takes off his pants. You look at the water, incapable of enduring such a spectacle. Surely he doesn’t actually intend to...?!

You tense up as you feel him enter the water behind you, sitting comfortably in the tub, his legs on each side of your body. “Hmmm, it is really pleasant, isn’t it, ch’eo Visahot?” He asks, pulling your shoulders to have you lay against his large chest.

His hand wraps around your tummy to force your lower body back against himself. You gasp as you realize he is fully naked behind you, you somehow hoped he would remain in his boxers.

But no

He didn’t

Your sanity is holding onto a spider thread right now...

“You are so tense, my sweet. Relax, you are safe in my arms.” He promises in your ear, making you shiver.

Of... Fear? Or excitement? Both?

You do not know

And that distraught you terribly.

He hums satisfied as you are pressed against his tall and thick body, he dives his nose in your hair to inhale your scent deep into his lungs. This is so pleasant and delectable, having you in his arms, in a naked embrace, to hug and squeeze you tight. He takes your chin between his fingers to tilt your head and allow him to kiss your cheek, purring sweetly.

He takes the shower gel and squeezes some soap on your breast, letting it run on your skin before starting to lather your body with it. He chose this gel specifically for you, with honey and tea notes that compliment your natural body scent so deliciously.

His large hands resume their caress of your body to spread the soap on your flesh. This time he doesn’t deprive himself of groping your breast as he always wanted to, teasing your nipples again.

“Thrawn...” You try, putting your hand on his to take them off. But they remain firmly on your bosoms, twirling your nipples between his fingers with a dark chuckle, “I am simply cleaning your body, my sweet. Are you not used to it?”

You groan in response, trying harder to take his hand off, to no avail. He has way more strength than you. You slouch back in his embrace, defeated with a displeased growl. “You can’t maintain proper hygiene with an arm in a cast. Your bruises could get infected with germs and I would hate for you to get a fever, or worse...”

You can hear the smile in his otherwise neutral voice.

He keeps massaging your boobs by the handfuls as he kisses his way down from your cheek to your shoulder. He lets a trail of soft, light kisses. His hands finally release them to caress your tummy while you feel his purr resonating in the skin of your back through his large pecs.

This is such a deep and... Raw sound.

You never knew Thrawn could make such sounds... Impossible for humans.

It is so primal and animalistic, so far away from his usual cultured and elegant behavior.

“I didn’t know Chiss could purr.” You say, trying to forget how he is touching your body right now. Anything to shield you.

“I can do so much more.” He promises, nibbling at the shell of your ear. You cannot help the little gasp from escaping your treacherous mouth. “Li-like what?” You try to recover control over your trembling voice.

You keep the conversation going to forget and to convince him, and yourself, that you are stronger than that. That you are unbothered by what’s happening and not in complete shambles...

He chuckles again, “Oh no, Ch’acah. I am not revealing that, you will have all the time to discover it for yourself.”

He will let you play with his body as long as you want and all of his Chiss skills and capacities. He can do so much more than a mere human male, he will get you addicted to his Chiss body, ruining you for all the other species.

Once you taste Chiss love, you cannot go back...

“Humor me.” You insist trying to keep calm as you feel his hands leaving your stomach to go lower.

He tuts you, “That would ruin all the fun, Ch’eo Ch’acah.” He shuts you down, “Just know that I am full of surprises and resources.” He whispers sultrily.

He entangles your legs together to force your thighs wide open making you squeak, indignant. “Now be a good girl for me and let me work.”

You look with eyes wide open as his hand travels to your exposed and vulnerable pussy. By reflex, you cover it with your valid hand, your heart in a frenzy.

“Ch’eo Ch’acah? Please remove your hand.” He politely asks but his tone is deadly cold. You shake your head, pressing your hand harder against your sex in a desperate act of protection. “Ch’acah, we talked about it. Remove your hand.” the tone remains courteous and polite, but the authority is unmistakable.

Oh no Ch’acah, you are not denying him at that step of the process...

“I... I can’t!” You force the words out of your mouth, trembling in fear.

Fear of the act

Fear of the pain

Fear... Of Thrawn himself...

The purring stopped, letting only silence and your pants resonate in the foggy bathroom. His hand that stopped on your venus mound starts sweet circles on your sensitive skin, trying to relax and ease you.

But you can feel his dangerous aura irradiating from him, behind your back. You cannot see his eyes, and you are grateful for it. Whatever gaze he has right now, you do not want to see it.

“Explain yourself.” He orders regally.

You gulp, “It feels wrong! I am... Terrified! I feel dirty...”

Thrawn tilts his head, squinting at the back of your head. Dirty? He felt dirty in the arms of his lovers for years, isn’t it part of the game? Sex is messy. Sex is dirty. Love destroys. He gently pushes one of your strands behind your ear with the tips of his fingers while you try to calm yourself down. “I explained it to you, Ch’acah.” He patiently lectures you, “This is an unhealthy coping mechanism. Do not trust it. It is unreliable.”, “I... I know, but I don’t see how it is unhealthy or anything, I-”, “Because it is isolating you, Ch’acah.” He cuts you with a sharp tone, making you shiver in his arms.

He smiles darkly, hidden from your eyes. He soothingly kisses your shoulder, “It prevents you from having meaningful social interactions.” He explains, “Cutting you from your fellows. It pushes you to cut short all bonds you have to avoid any possible pain.”

He will repeat it to you again and again and again tirelessly until you can repeat it backward and believe in it without a shadow of a doubt.

“I do not feel that way, I-”, “Because you are in the middle of a breakdown right now.” He stops you again, tightening his grip on you ever so slightly, his second hand slowly rising up with the intent to grip your vulnerable throat, “You are simply not in the right headspace to realize it, my sweet. In several weeks, when the crisis will be over you will understand.” You open and close back your mouth searching for your next word when his hand reaches your throat and wraps around it, very slowly, sneakily, squeezing it ever so slightly. “From my point of view, it is evident, Ch’acah.” He insists, “You are in no shape to know what is good for you right now. Why do you think everyone turned on you? You were not treating them with respect and decency. You were too lost in your mourning and pain.”

You froze in shock at the memory of your beat-up, gasping as if you could still feel the hits on your skin. Is it... true? Did you end up in this situation because of a maladaptive reaction to your loss? To the point of non-realization that you disrespected your colleagues and teammates? Did you actually said or did a thing that would have turned everyone against you?

You... You must have, yes? People do not falsely accuse someone else of pedophilia without deep hatred, no?

He squeezes your throat tighter, not enough to cut your breath or anything, just a subtle reminder that he has the upper hand. “Remember that you also wound me...” he whispers in your ear, a sadistic reminder to deepen the wound.

You let out a broken sob, feeling shame. He never revealed to you what happened, but he lets it hang over your head constantly.

“I am trying to help, Ch’eoh Ch’acah.” He repeats, like a litany, pressing your two naked bodies together and delicately kissing your cheek like he was feasting on honey, “Do you want it to happen again?” He demands with a thin threat in the tone. “No!” You shout, trembling and shaking, “I almost died...”

“Then let me help.” He concludes assertively, “Now, I will not repeat it again : Remove. Your. Hand...” He lowly growls as a warning.

You will not escape it, Ch’acah.

You will not escape him.

You greet your teeth so hard it hurts and remove your hand, hesitantly, leaving him access to your pussy. He hisses in your ear and kisses it, “That is more like it, good girl.” The hand caressing your venus mound stops and reaches for your sex.

He trails your fold with a finger, feeling air escaping his lungs to finally be able to have it. You bite into your lips hard, until you can taste blood, hissing, tensing up in his arms but that doesn’t stop him, he trails it from one end to the other slowly, teasingly before spreading your folds open and starts rubbing your clit with a third finger. “It is all good, Ch’acah. Let me take care of you like I did until now...” He murmurs with his melodious voice in the shell of your ear.

So many of his past lovers praised his voice, surely it could come to use with you...

He already knows how to manipulate his tessitura to obtain obedience or manage effects, surely he can modulate it to make you wet your panties. He only has to let his tones go deeper and let his Chiss accent peak through, like an exotic lewd song...

“I can blow your mind.” He keeps whispering as he caresses your nervous pearl until he can hear the first undeniable tremors of pleasure in your gasps, at how you gulp with difficulties, how your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Oh that sounds so lyrical to his ears... All your little uncontrollable mewls of pleasure, just for him to hear. Yesterday he silenced you but today he wants to hear you sing, everything you have to give, he will take it all.

He flicks your pulsating clit with a mischievous pleasure, delighting himself in the small cry of pain you let out. He immediately resumes his gentle caress to say ‘sorry’, he rubs, caresses, circles, and crosses your bud, giving it all the care and attention it deserves.

Isn’t it a marvel? How such a petite thing can give you so much pleasure if you know how to touch it? How utterly powerless you become in his arms with how skillfully he is at touching you? How he can easily bring you to your knees if he plays the right cords, like a delicate and elegant instrument.

He fondles your clit patiently, lovingly, with reverence... He could make it his religion. Especially when you shake so deliciously in his embrace like that! What an honest body you have! So easy to read and please.

He rolls your pearl under his fingers, twisting it gently before he accelerates his ministrations, getting a bit rougher, and starts to undulate his hips against your bum at your moans.

He rubs it at high speed like he learned to, his other hand lazily resting around your delicate throat. You squeal and mewl under his care, trying to catch your breath but he doesn’t let you, applying sweet, torturous pressures, teasing you mercilessly. He suddenly slap your clit and you let out the most lecherous sound he ever heard in his life.

Oh that was glorious.

“Very interesting reaction, Ch’acah. I take note.” He lets you know, resuming his caresses until you are audibly gasping and convulsing. He feels his cock hardening at your obscene moans, making him crave more friction with your body. But for now, he focuses on you!

With a final flick of his skillful fingers, he pushes you to completion and you cum with a pitiful cry and a dramatic shudder, compressing deliciously his swelling cock between your two bodies.

He licks his lips, deeply contented by your demonstration. How... delectable, how ravishing, how absolutely marvelous and lyrical. How satisfying it is to have you come undone with only one finger, how powerful he feels.

He commands your entire body with a simple gesture. How rewarding it feels.

He keeps rolling your little clit under his finger’s pads, rolling your orgasm longer as you are struggling to catch your breath. You cannot contain your little moans as he keeps the pleasure waves going a little longer.

He gently squeezes your throat in his large hand as you shake with the remnants of your explosive bliss, kissing your cheek softly.

“Ah...! Thrawn....” You mewl pathetically, your hand holding the one toying with you, trying to get him to stop... Or simply holding him desperately to remain grounded in reality.

“Yes my sweet, yes.” He praises, kissing right behind your ear, licking its shell, and nibbling the lobe. “Give me everything. Do not hold anything back. I am here to catch you. Sing me your pleasure.”

He rolls your pearl under the pad of two fingers, resting his chin on your shoulder, letting you feel the vibrations of his purr as your back is pressed against his wide pecs.

A pity humans cannot purr too. He would like nothing more but to hear yours and purr in unison with you. But you make such cute and delectable mewls he is not at all disappointed.

His hand gives a final rub at your clit and pursues its travel mere centimeters to the south. He spreads your pussylips open again and probs your tight entrance with the tip of his finger. If you weren't in a body of water he could feel your slick leaking out your sweet cunny, dripping on his hand.

And he could taste it...

He cannot repress a shiver of pleasure of his own at that thought.

He gently pushes a finger inside your little entrance, he feels the ring of flesh stretching open to let him pass and welcome him in your most sacred place. He takes less than three seconds to find your G spot and immediately gives it sweet attention. He can feel your entire body contracting at his invasion with a strangled gasp. You are clearly still uncomfortable with his touch but your body knows what it wants...

It is alright.

It will take a little bit of time but you will learn to associate him with security, comfort, love, and hearth-shattering orgasms.

Soon he will witness you crawling toward him, begging for his attention and gentle love. And he will indulge in this glorious sight and your new cravings...

He curls his finger inside as he brushes your sweet spot so delicately. “Ah...! Maker, Thrawn...” you squeal at the end of your rope. He circles the sweet spot so gently, so lovingly, so soothingly that you just cannot help yourself but mewl, terrified and aroused.

He takes great pleasure in your reactions. Your former orgasm lowered most of your defenses and now you are too lost in the sensations to try to stop him anymore.

Serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins, ... All of those hormones work in concert to weaken your senses and smooth your dispositions, easing his work tremendously. Aren’t female human bodies a marvel? When you know the correct partitions to play them, everything follows naturally, with a tender brush and a well-placed caress he can make you kneel down to his will.

Of course, he can only apply the generic partition for now with you, he doesn’t know your tastes yet. He has to try everything to know what makes you come the hardest, what renders you as docile as a nightkitten, what makes you cream the most and drench your cute little panties.

He promises he will take looooooong hours to study each of your reactions to know all your preferences, sweet darling.

And when he knows everything, all your preferences, and deviances...

Oh Ch’acah... It is over for you.

He delicately pushes a second finger inside your sweet cunt and unhurriedly grazes your gummy spot, towing with your nerves.

It is to torture you, he knows your body craves so much more, that it isn’t enough to bring you to orgasm. As it is his intention...

He needs to push the mind games a little further to tighten his grip on you. It is simple tactic, to create more divides between your perceptions of reality and your own actions.

“Thrawn...!” You hiss, panting terribly. “Is there a problem, Ch’acah?” he investigates, lightly amused, kissing your cheek. “What... What are you doing?”

This isn’t what you want to ask and he knows it. You want him to penetrate you deeper, to finger you rougher, to caress your spots swiftly and relentlessly for the pressure to go up, for the tension to tighten up.

Until you explode gloriously.

But your conscience will not let you ask this question to him, not yet.

“My, I am simply taking care of you, of course.” He chuckles. “This... this isn’t... I need...” you stutter.

“You need more?” He purrs deeper, pressing the side of his head against yours, sharing his warmth with your naturally cooler skin, “But you are doing just fine by yourself.”, “What are you saying?” you groan, too on edge and frustrated to keep your tone polite.

“Look at yourself, Ch’acah.”

You gulp and reopen your eyes, only to notice that unbeknownst to you your body started moving on its own, raising your hips up and down on Thrawn’s fingers. You yelp, but your body keeps going against your will, chasing the high.

“Look at yourself.” He whispers with dark satisfaction, “Fucking yourself gloriously on my fingers like that. Keep going, do not stop my sweet.” He licks your cheek with the flat of his tongue, “You who told me you were not on board!” He cruelly mocks.

“I don’t want to! I-” You try to explain but he cuts you, “Aren’t you a greedy little thing? You cannot satisfy yourself with what your Grand Admiral generously offers you? No, you always need more, fucking yourself in such a way! My, my, I did not know you like that.”

And what’s also marvelous is that you are also grinding yourself against his hard cock right now. This isn’t spoiling anything, truly...

“Thrawn, I swear I don’t mean to, I am sorry!” You present your excuses, unable to stop your own body from rising up and down his long fingers. His dark heart pumps harder at your words, once again you are the one apologizing to him, blurring the borders between what you want and what he craves a little bit more, fucking up your perceptions a little bit more.

“That is all right, Ch’acah. Do not stop under any circumstances.” He enjoins you as he feels you slowing down, “No, no, no, no, no. Keep going, ch’eo Visahot. Chase that high, earn your orgasm. Use me. Use my body to your pleasure, it is at your entire disposition.” He promises breathlessly. “Be greedy!”

He is satisfied. His plan worked to perfection. Now he can give you what you want without restraint.

He enters you with a third finger, making you gasp as you are almost too full and he accelerates his caresses drastically. You cry out loud a delicious sound, of surprise, fear, and undeniable pleasure.

Truly a wonderful combination.

He hooks your little cunt as he harshly brushes your G-spot, his three fingers constricted in your tight pussy.

Oh, how will you manage to take him? He will need to dedicate a lot of energy to prepare you or he will never be able to enter your sweet cunny... He can’t help but lick his lips at that thought.

You tremble dramatically in his embrace, your hips trying to move away from his touch, desperate to get away from the source of those obscene sensations of pleasure as it gets to powerful. His hand releases your delicate throat to circle your waist and forcefully hold you in place.

“We are too far gone for you to escape now, sweet thing.” He whispers like a threat in the shell of your ear, “Now be a good girl and take it.”

He fingers you harshly, adopting the motions that make you whine the most. He tries different styles and settles for the one earning the most reaction from you. Your hand that desperately held down his arm tightens its grip, your nails digging into his blue flesh, so much he can see a little cloud of red dissolving in the warm water of the bath

You cannot stop the flow of moans from escaping your lips and you throw your head back over Thrawn’s shoulder as the pleasure is rising dangerously high. He scissors you open with his three fingers, testing the flexibility of your sweet cunt, judging how difficult it will be to enter you with his thick cock. He needs to train you to take him if only to make it easier on your poor little pussy.

He doesn’t want it to hurt... Or at least not too much

Chiss are already bigger than humans, but even he is an exception among his kind.

He spreads his three fingers wide open to stretch your inner muscles to their maximum. Hum... That will be difficult. You poor little thing...

He resumes his strokes, leaving no surface of your delicate pussy untouched. He regrets again being in a body of water, he wishes he could see your slick drip off his fingers, running along your luscious thighs, and be able to taste your creamy nectar. But water dissolves it away immediately, much to his distaste.

In fact... It infuriates him!

With a pissed-off growl, he forces your body up. With his arm circling your hips he raises you both up above the water level, impelling you both on your knees. He restarts his fingering at high speed, feeling the drops of water running on both of your bodies. Instinctively he starts humping between your two cheeks with his girthy length, compressing it between your squeezed tight bodies.

You gasp in despair and utter powerlessness before the waves of pleasure he forces you to endure. Your whole body trembles, all your nerve endings are in complete fire, pleasure coursing through your body like electroshocks that shake your limbs dramatically. Your thighs’ muscles tense and contract repeatedly under each precise caress he gives as your inner walls, all puffy and fluffed up by now.

He can already feel his fingers collecting your essence as he rubs your sweet spot. He holds you firmly in place, knowing that you cannot stand on your knees on your own with your leg in a cast, pressing you against his needy body.

He feels his blood beating furiously in his cock and every inch of your skin in contact with him is such a sweet torture, such delightful agony. He is deeply aware of every nerve endings in his shaft pulsating as blood courses through his hard flesh.

He growls, kissing your neck and shoulder obsessively, refraining from sinking his fangs in your supple flesh and tasting your blood once again.

He wants to bury himself deep inside of you

It would be so easy in this position and you could not do anything against him....

So easy

So tantalizing

He just has to bend you over and with a swift motion, penetrate your sweet pussy. What could you even do?

You are at his complete mercy

He just has to prob your tight entrance with his tip and push forward!

He just has to...!

He lets out a raspy breath, berating himself. He is not that cruel. He is not that type of man, he is above that, of course!

But the thought lingers... It remains deeply seated in the bottom of his stomach, tying his entrails in knots.

He can now feel your sweet slick running on his hand, dripping off your cunt. He resist the desire to take them out to taste you on his tongue, you are so close to a new orgasm, he cannot possibly deny you!

He feels your entire pussy waving, compressing and massaging his fingers inside as the waves wash over your helpless body.

Your delicate ring of flesh suddenly contracts all around his digits’ trio and you lunge forward uncontrollably with a loud, long, delectable cry of his name.

This is the only name you will shout in bed from now on, the only name you’ll think about everyday.

He feels your tight cunt muscles dancing rhythmically around his fingers in a purely animalistic fashion. Will you milk him dry as hard when he will be deep inside your cunt?

Clenching so hard around his member that it will push him over the edges? Welcoming and craving his seed deep inside your magnificent womb, making him a father as he hopes so dearly?

He lets his imagination run wild, drawing you riding him mercilessly on his large bed in his mind, so much you would leave him pantless and heart in a terrible frenzy on the bed, his powerful muscles contracting so hard under a pleasure so intense he feels he could only grip your hips desperately to remain sane. Will you tug on the dog leash to strangle him a bit? Tease him until he loses his entire mind under the pressure and anticipation of pleasure? Manhandle him a bit, pushing him and shoving him around, forcing him on his knees, begging for a modicum of release...?

All those pleasures he never knew, he will taste them with you. Hand in hand.

He lets your juices roll all over his hand as the spasms shaking your cunny and thighs slowly subside. He takes them out and you let out a strangled “oof” in response, he raises his hand to observe your glistening release on his large blue hand, how it slightly glimmers under the light. He turns his head to observe your reaction at the undeniable proof of your pleasure only to find your head thrown back against his shoulder, panting harshly, eyes closed shut as the heat signals of your face slowly dim down.

He approaches his coated fingers to his face, taking a little sniff at them. Well... That isn’t like he ever smelled before... Not displeasing at all. It makes his mother waters slightly, eager to have it on his tongue.

He wraps his lips around them, lapping them clean consciously.

...

Incredible...

Is this what real sex tastes like?

He gulps it all down, licking his fingers thoroughly with a deep purr. To think he will taste so much more when he will lick your sweet pussy!

Without a second thought, he reopens your pussylips wide and slips his rock-hard cock between them to rub himself against your still-quivering pussy.

You yelp in surprise at the new sensation as he teases both your clit and your labia. He lets your sweet cunny coat his shaft with your nectar, wet humping you enthusiastically.

He can feel your panic. You were ‘okay’ with all of that as long as it was only his fingers. But now that you can feel his hard cock against your exposed pussy, it suddenly becomes to real and he has to hold you down, for you to not crawl away from him.

With time you will learn to love his cock and everything it can give you! But do not think you will escape it, Darling.

He twists and slaps your clit, earning choked reactions before restarting the torturous circle on your bundle of nerves as he, himself, reaches new highs.

It feels like a new first time for him! He feels like a bold audacious young man again, eager to learn and test every technique in the books. The youth’s ardor evidently. His heart beats fast in excitement as he explores both of your bodies in a completely new fashion. Simply rubbing his lengthy cock against your naked and exposed dripping pussy already feels better than any other sexual experience he ever had in his life!

Oh Ch’acah...

ChacahChacahCh’acahChacahCh’acahCh’acahChacahCh’acahChacahCh’acah... Where were you all his life?

Why were you not here to guide him during those decades of self-exploration? Why did he have to suffer through all those pesky relationships before meeting you?

But if it means meeting you again, he would live through all of them again! Without a second of hesitation.

All those disturbing and uncomfortable moments with his past ‘lovers’, all those instances when he felt like puking when he had to actively be in those relationships. All those days when he felt dirty and used by them and tried to scrub their memories off his skin in the shower...

He would relive each of them if it gave him the mere hope to meet you again.

You are worth every agonizing second he felt like tearing off his skin when he was in their embrace.

But today he has you.

You are in his arms at this very second, blessing his existence and allowing him to pleasure himself with your oh-so-reactive body.

This is what true sex feels like! Your two naked bodies in a sultry and obscene dance, moaning blissfully together as your sexes touch for the very first time.

But not the last... Far from that, he decides as he feels blood boiling in his veins to flee to his shaft, ready to spill his seed between your luscious thighs.

He cannot wait for the day he gets to penetrate you. You will learn the true meaning of love and devotion in his arms as he will drown you under tenderness and caresses.

He will be passionate and gentle or fast and rough, whatever you so desire he will give it to you!

And maybe you will humor him in return. Maybe you will agree to squeeze his throat until he sees lights and slap his face as you meanly ride his cock.

“Thrawn!” You call desperate as he accelerates his hips back and forth, instilling a merciless pace, keeping up with the swift rubbing of your clit.

You want him to continue, you want him to stop, you want him to come, you never want to see him again, you want to orgasm, you want to drown yourself in these waters!

And then, it happens

In a final shiver, you both reach your bliss at the same time. You scream his name as you uncontrollably squirt on his big cock and he spurts out his semen in his hand, silencing himself by pressing his mouth in the crook of your neck.

You both remain still for a minute, hearts in a frenzy and breathless in the steamy room.

He lets out a gasp of disbelief. You gave him so, so much!

He thought he knew what an orgasm was but truly he did not. He keeps the momentum going by keeping on grinding his soaked cock against your pulsating pussy. He can feel your squirt slick remnants rolling on his still hard blue flesh, every single drop drawing wet patterns on his shaft... So messy! So delicious!

He lets his chin rest on your shoulder as he opens his palm to show you his semen-coated hand. “Look.” He orders, “Look what you make me do.”

You gulp, averting your eyes to not see with a squeal. He seizes your chin with his other hand to force you to look, “This is because of you.” He insists, “You force me to act irrationally.”, “I am sorry.” You respond with a voice full of tears.

He purrs, satisfied. He lowers his hand to wipe it clean on your little pussy, coating and spreading his manly seed on your puffy pussylips, trailing your slit up and down, and pushing some of it inside. That simple thought set fire to his soul once more, he feels ready to start again.

“Do not be, Ch’eo (Y/n).” He nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, feeling satiated and satisfied as the dark voices in his mind go back to sleep

But you are evidently shaken, exhausted, and shocked. He gently kisses your cheek, his heart jumping in joy in his chest as he lowers the both of you back into the water

“It was fantastic, Ch’acah.” He lets you know, pressing you tight in his arms. He needs you to know how good you made him feel, like no person before you.

You do not respond. Are you afraid or shocked by the orgasms he forced upon you?

How cute

You will learn to love it in given times

“I will take care of you in every way, Ch’acah. You do not have to worry about a single thing.” He continues sickly sweet.

He covers your neck, shoulder and cheek with kisses, his hand cupping your other cheek to press your face to his eager lips. Now you need comfort, tenderness, and a lot of gentleness...

Now he will properly wash you.

@bluechiss @blueninjablade3 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @twilekchiss@pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

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