#mayhem fic

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

I know you wrote for Kappa/Euro. Hear me out.. could you write for Euro/Dead from lords of chaos? No one writes for jack kilmer and it drives me insane‼️😭

Pure Fucking Armaggedon

Summary: In the midst of a heavy night of partying with the Black Circle, you crave your boyfriend's attention but just like so often lately, he's very much not interested, leading you to meet your needs somewhere else…

Pairing: Dead x fem!Reader x Euronymous

Word Count: ~3.7k

Content Warnings: Trve Kvlt Smvt 18+!, Talk About Depression/Mental Illness, Talk About Self-Harm, Very Angsty, Hurt/Comfort...ish, Alcohol, Smoking, Cheating…But With A Twist, Fingering, Unprotected P In V, Creampie, Pet Names

A/N: Hi, anonnie! Thank you very much for this ask <3 Before everybody jumps into my inbox about Jack Kilmer: Please don’t, okay? He’s not tickling my brain like Rory does and I’d hate to let y’all down by having requests sitting in my inbox collecting dust 🖤 However, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having a lot of fun writing this chaos!

Massive thanks to @spookyorchid for endlessly entertaining my rambles and inspiring me!

Disclaimer: This is solely based on the characters depicted in Lords Of Chaos!

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @lifelessvessel @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess @shady-the-simp

Could you stomach it anymore

Could you stand to be a breath away

Can you feel the way your face distorts

Did you think that it could be this way

- Stomach It By Crywolf

Your upper lip twitched a little as your gaze darted right into your boyfriend's chestnut-coloured eyes. In a rather stark contrast to yours, Pelle's expression was indifferent whilst he stared back at you, face smeared with a now gray amalgamation of once black and white corpse paint.

"Sorry…" He muttered, his voice lacking the depth and sympathy to really sell his point.

"No…it's, it's okay, really. It makes no sense to pressure yourself when you're not in the mood, no." You shrugged your shoulders at him, very much meaning what you said whilst you still felt that massive rock of repeated disappointment settling down in your stomach.

"I'm gonna go grab another beer then…can I get you something?" Pelle shook his head lightly.

"No, but thanks. I think I should just go to sleep now." The Swede with the long blonde hair allowed himself to slump deeper down into the old, worn out sofa, crossing his arms in front of his chest and with that not just verbally but also physically blocking you out.

"Nighty then…" You mumbled, turning away from your boyfriend to hide just how hard you fought to keep your composure.

Neither the heavy leather jacket, the edgy metal studs and spikes all over nor your trusty Darkthrone shirt hugging your torso were able to shield you from the emotional hurt raging inside of you. It's been months since Pelle last touched or so much as kissed you on the mouth. You knew just fine that something wasn't alright with him, that he was going through an episode again and the last thing you intended on doing was putting any blame for that on him but fuck was it challenging you this time. It didn't go past you how the I love you's had become more and more scarce, how he turned his back to you at night whilst you stared at the ceiling hoping for the oncoming episode to wash over him in a few, swift weeks but his current black hole of depression was unlike anything before. You hardly recognised your boyfriend anymore and felt like nothing but an accessory to the whole band persona he'd put up to cover up how much he was actually hurting on the inside.

To not come off as a soft, little crybaby to everybody else, you stifled your breath and wiped the emerging gush of tears from your lower lash line as fast as you could before making your way out to the densely crowded yard again. Empty bottles of beer lined the way whilst partially smoked-up cigarettes laid scattered all over, the heavy smell of a raging bonfire filled the crisp night breeze. Whilst almost violently looking to the ground to avoid anybody seeing you being about to burst into tears, you rushed to one of the cooling boxes to grab a beer or preferably something stronger. A sense of recklessness washed through you as you dug a deeply green, still halfway full glass bottle from the cooler. Jägermeister would serve you just fine right now.

Armed with the strong booze, you went right back into the house, hiding yourself away from all the action to simply get drunk in peace and solitude.

"Ugh…" Your whole body quivered as the herbal liquor shot down your throat, drenching your mouth in its bitter taste.

Right after the sensation eased up a little, you chased the first swig with a second, deeper one, the alcohol burning its way through your stomach before you'd even reached the corner of the house that could be described as a guest room to slump down on an array of dusty mattresses. With the intense warmth of heavy liquor washing through your body, you curled yourself up, shoving an old pillow underneath your head and before you really realized it, vagrant, quiet tears trickled from the corners of your eyes, pooling at the tear duct to eventually swap over the bridge of your nose. If you were honest with yourself, you felt sick of it, sick of being ignored and pushed away but at the same time you just couldn't bring yourself to point the finger at Per. He simply didn't choose this way of being and feeling yet it felt like he wasn't even trying anymore…which, again, would just be another symptom. You sighed in defeat before treating yourself to another numbing mouthful of booze.

Allowing the tears to just run down your face at their very own pace, you simply wanted to get drunk as fast as possible but even that wouldn't be granted to you, a gentle knock on the slightly ajar door pulling you from your thoughts.

"Huh?" You muttered, sitting up straight again and wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

"Hey…are you okay?" The familiar voice belonging to Øystein asked.

His head peaked through the open door, a messy bunch of black hair framing his face in wavy strands.

"Saw you rushing through the yard and thought checking up on you wouldn't hurt…" He slid his lean statue through the small opening, stepping towards you before crouching down to meet your gaze.

"See? That's part of the problem…you, you care and Pelle just…he just sits there." The words blubbered out of you in an uncontrolled rush accompanied by a new surge of hot tears.

"Hey now…", Euronymous quickly sat down, tucking the frizzy hair behind his ears, "What's going on, hm?"

"I'm so sick of this shit, Øystein… I can't help him, I can't fix him and he just pushes me away time and time again. I'm so done with this bullshit." It practically gushed out of your mouth in a poorly choked-back wail.

"There's a whole horde of people out there, Euro, yet I feel so terribly fucking lonely all the time. Everybody's cheering for Mayhem and for Dead, going on about how fucking cool and true he is for what he's doing to himself on stage but you know what?", You tried to stifle your shaky breaths, "It's not cool. None of it. It's actually fucking terrifying…and it's me who's got to stitch him back to gether every damn time."

With every one of your words, Øystein's eyes widened a little more, partly in understanding about just how much his friend was dragging you through but also in plain sympathy for you.

"Come'ere, yeah? C'mon…if it helps you can squeeze me as hard as you want to, okay?" Euronymous spread both his arms, inviting you in for a tight hug.

Not wasting a second thought on it, you leaned in, wrapping your shaking hands around his shoulders to squeeze and press as tightly as you could.

"There you go…that's it, right there." Euronymous encouraged you, the palms of his broad hands resting at the back of your head to soothe you with gentle pets and strokes.

"I wish I could help you but none of us really gets through to him anymore…I'm so sorry." Øystein sighed into the curve of your neck, the tip of his nose almost touching the cold, black leather of your jacket.

"I don't even know what's going on with him anymore. Everything is just so terribly wrong and I don't know how much longer I can do this shit, Euro, I really don't." You sniffled, inevitably having the vastly different scent of Euronymous right in front of you sneaking up into your nostrils.

Unlike Pelle, he smelled like stale cigarette smoke, cheap aftershave and beer…maybe not exactly a crowd pleaser but you found comfort in it.

"It's okay. I don't judge you." He whispered to you in a soft tone and it threatened to break you apart from the inside.

"Thank you…", You croaked into his hair, your voice getting weaker with every letter, "I feel so shitty for thinking about it like that but…but I'm so goddamn tired. I-...I just wanna feel loved again."

"To remind you…there's a whole horde of people out there who love you." He tried to cheer you up but ultimately missed the point.

"Not…not like that. Ugh, I sound stupid…" You felt the need to take the words straight back and to just go with Øystein's attempt of calming you.

"No, you don't, seriously.", Euronymous led his fingers to get lost in your hair, fingertips softly stroking across your scalp down to the nape of your neck, "I can't imagine how you came up with enough energy to stay this long in the first place. We both know it's not his fault, neither is it yours or mine but we've all been watching you breaking away because of him. You're not smiling anymore, not screaming your lungs out at the gigs, you're barely even here anymore…he's eating you up."

"I can't just leave, Øystein…" You gradually loosened your death grip around his torso to lean back, your face wet with slowly subsiding tears.

"I know…all I'm saying is that it might be time to think about yourself a little more. It won't help anybody if you get lost in his chaos, too." Before you could raise your own hand to wipe the sleeve of your jacket across your face, Euronymous was already on it, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

Whilst taking a deep breath to steady yourself a bit more, the two of you just stared at each other for a moment. You followed how he slightly grinded his teeth together, jaws clenching, withholding something you couldn't quite decipher.

"Øystein?" You furrowed your brows a little, the feeling of something being violently off ebbing through your chest.

"I'm sorry…" That's all he offered to you before cupping your face with the full length of his palm and leaning in to press an anything but timid kiss to your trembling lips.

A part of you, the voice of reason within, practically screamed at you to pull away, to scurry back and to let this go down as nothing but an awkward, boozy, little slip-up, but you didn't move by just an inch as the pungent taste of smoked cigarettes and cheap beer swept into your mouth alongside Euronymous' daring tongue. You simply let it happen, allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth and intoxicate you with the dangerously addictive feeling of being wanted, desired by someone.

"Fuck…" You groaned into the nearly bruising kiss, hands reaching out to claw at his utterly worn out Venom shirt to pull him closer to you.

Catching the notion that he had dared to make the right move at the right time, Øystein's palm left your face, both hands roaming over your back down to your ass to simply scoop you into his lap, your legs wrapping themselves around the cold of his bullet-shell belt as the hem of your washed-out, gray denim skirt rode up generously over your fishnet-stocking covered thighs.

"I got you…just hold on to me." Euronymous muttered, trying to catch his breath a little whilst his fingers dug themselves into the curve of your behind, causing you to whine out as you arched your hips impossibly close towards his crotch.

The aching need to feel just something again practically pulsed through every nerve ending and every muscle, pulling you into his tight grasp and for your hands to slip under the soft fabric of his shirt, skin against skin leaving you to crave more. Whilst one of his hands left it's place cupping your ass to hurry down between your bodies, awkwardly fumbling with the buckle of his belt before almost violently pulling down the zipper, a short but heavy pang of guilt jolted through your ribcage, nearly causing you to flinch on the spot. Nothing about this situation at hand was right or somehow, in some crooked way, justifiable to you and yet you made not a single move to stop any of it from happening. You didn’t grasp for Øystein's hand as it hushed from his unzipped pants amidst your legs, the sound of your tights tearing and ripping thundering in your ears, right before curious fingertips brushed over thin lace panties, no. The only reaction it pulled from your body was a needy moan.

"Right there, yeah?" You heard the smirk in his tone without even needing to see it.

Nodding softly, you placed your mouth back onto his, teeth teasingly grazing over his bottom lip.

"Bet that feels even better, babe." At first you didn't know what struck you harder, the endearing pet name or Euronymous' fingers snaking past your slip, dipping right into your soaked folds to draw achingly slow circles around your entrance.

"Please…" You hummed into the kiss, your forehead leaning against his.

"Please, what?", He inquired, fingertips prodding and nudging against your cunt, "Want me to fill you up, no? Such a greedy little thing."

You choked back a whine as Øystein withdrew his hand from your slip to shove the fabric to the side, fingers freeing his rock-hard cock from the confines of his shorts right before thrusting into you with a precise rock of his hips against yours.

"Oh, fuck…" Your moan got lost in his mouth, the delicious feeling of being stretched out so harshly rippling through you.

"How long has it been, huh?" He pushed, drilling himself into you until it threatened to hurt.

"I dunno…four months, maybe five." You couldn't stop your eyes from fluttering shut, the burning heat of arousal and shame creeping into your face in equal parts.

"Yeesh, couldn't leave a girl like you untouched for that long." Euronymous huffed, his other hand steadying your posture with his palm flat against your back as he started rolling his hips, practically bouncing you on his cock.

With your entire body flush with the sensation of Øystein spearheading into you in a firm pace, the last bit of your coherent brain busy muffling and holding back desperate mewls and whimpers, you rendered completely oblivious to what was happening around you…unlike the black-haired guitarist. From the very corner of his eyes, Øystein's attention got pulled towards the semi-open door, the old, wooden floor in front of it creaking treacherously. Just by the way a well familiar pair of thoroughly worn out combat boots barely peaked across the lines of the door frame, he knew that the both of you had been caught right in the act but he didn't so much as even bother to stop from guiding you up and down his throbbing hard on.

"You at least got yourself off here and there, no?" You shook your head.

"Didn't feel right. I- I just hoped things would get back to normal…" You groaned, the sensation of Euronymous' cock stroking over that extra sensitive spot inside of you sending cold, little shivers down your spine.

"Oh, love, then I better make sure to give it to you better than Per ever could…lazy fucker." Øystein scoffed more to his friend and singer hiding next to the door frame than to you but you didn't take any notice of that, your senses way too busy with just keeping it together.

For a moment, Øystein felt actual and very real rage gushing through him. Anger towards his friend for being such an oblivious prick regarding the suffering and all-round neglect he was dragging you through. It was a terribly self-righteous emotion, that he knew for sure, however, he couldn't help himself but to let it fuel the way he rutted into you, burying himself as deep as possible inside of your wet pussy.

The rather morbid thing both of you failed to take notice of was what Dead was doing hidden away in the shadows of the hallway, the crushing humiliation not only going straight to his heart but to his awfully throbbing cock as well, the bitter-sweet masochistic rush leading him to palm himself through his trousers whilst biting down on his fist to not let just one singular sound escape from his twitching lips. The Swede was shamelessly jerking himself off to you getting railed by his closest friend.

"Gonna take good care of you, babe." Øystein groaned in a lust-riddled tone, both of his hands now closing down around your hips to hammer your form onto his cock with every jut and snap of his hips.

It had you bashfully nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, the cigarette smoke soaked leather of his jacked cold against your cheek, whilst you still clawed at his sides underneath his shirt.

Your fingers dug into his skin as you felt your walls starting to flutter and contract around Øystein's hard on, the first crushing jolts of your pent-up orgasm rippling through your body, senses being sent into blissful overdrive.

"Good girl…fuck, pulling me in so hard now, huh?" Euronymous' voice cracked and eventually faltered just like the rolls of his lap against yours.

"Issok…", He talked you through your release, shoving himself balls deep into your spasming cunt before flooding your insides with white-hot ropes of his seed, a guttural groan ripping itself free from the depths of his lungs, "Just let yourself go. I gotchu."

The earth-shattering sensation of all the pent-up sexual desperation mixed in with shame and crushing guilt washing through your system had you biting down on his leather-clad shoulder, a fresh surge of tears threatening to swap over your lower lash line at any second.

"Aw, shit." A sore croak from outside the room led both of you to turn your heads so suddenly that it nearly gave you whiplash.

"The fuck?!" You shrieked out, practically jumping from Øystein's lap whilst he was equally busy with tucking himself back in and getting off the mattress.

"I got this!" Euronymous tried to calm you, awkwardly stumbling away from you before tearing the door open and vanishing into the dark hallway.

For a split second your overworked synapses tried to get a vague grasp on what was going down. Feet were hammering down stairs, noisy commotion erupted from inside the house before the sound of shattering glass and incomprehensible screaming and shouting filled the yard.

"Oh fuck no…" You huffed under your breath, wobbly legs nearly giving out as you tried to pull yourself from the mattress.

As soon as you stood upright again, you felt Øystein's load oozing out of you, soaking the flimsy fabric of your slip with every step you took. You dreaded the scenario that was unfolding outside because the yelling didn't seem to die down but much rather escalate further.

"You fucking traitor!" Pelle's raspy voice cut through the night air, hitting you as soon as you slid out the front door.

"Fucking traitor?!", Øystein spat right back whilst your eyes scanned the scenery anxiously, "You're the spineless loser, Per!"

"You fucked my girlfriend, Øystein!" Dead yelled and with his words you noticed Metallion and Jan Axel staring right at you, nothing but drunk confusion washing over their faces.

"And you pathetic fuck got off to it!" Euronymous had to duck down to dodge an empty beer bottle being sent his way.

"You what?!" You directed the question right at your boyfriend before you noticed a tell-tale damp and soaked-through spot right around his zipper.

"Yes, please tell her how you stood outside the room jerking off to your girl breaking down in front of me, Per!" Your bewildered stare rushed towards Øystein now.

"Huh? You…you saw him or what now?!?" The guitarist shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" Jan Axel tried to intervene but both Per and Øystein shushed him almost simultaneously.

"You shut the fuck up!" Pelle sneered, looking like he was about ready to throw one of the plenty empty bottles of beer after his drummer too.

"No.", You huffed, wrapping your leather jacket around your torso to shield you from the creeping cold, "He actually got a point, because…what the hell?!"

"Pumpkin, I can explain, I promise." Per raised his hands in a soothing manner but you didn't feel like having any of it.

"Don't you dare sweet-talk me now, Pelle! You've been pushing me away for months but…you get off to, well, this?" You indirectly confirmed all that had been happening between Øystein and you.

"No. Just no. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck this shit. I'm not even remotely drunk enough to deal with this shitshow right now." To undoubtedly cement your point, you took a few swift steps toward Øystein who was looking at you with wide eyes as you fished for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, drawing one for yourself before deliberately putting it to your lips.

"Yes, I fucked Øystein.", You threw your hands into the air after lighting the cigarette, "Maybe I should've done that much sooner, who knows?"

The last sentence was solely aimed to hurt Per as much as he had hurt you.

"Fucking hell, I'm so sick of all this dysfunctional shit…", You just shook your head before heading back inside, "Better none of you disrupt the date I have with a piss-warm bottle of Jägermeister now or you fucking bet I'll cut your dick off!"

[vidavbooks]

The Calls - Euronymous x Reader

Story Masterlist

WARNING: This is based of Rory Culkins character of him

Last part, Next Part

————————————————————

Ever since the party Celia has been urging me to call him “Just do it!” She says over and over again. But it’s been months since then, “Celia the paper said months ago the lead singer killed himself he definitely does not have the time or energy for me at all and who knows the number probably doesn’t even work!”

She pushed herself off my bed and grinned at me. “Why are you giving me that look?” She smiled a little more “Because he opened a record shop close by and I may have stopped by to get the new number…and maybe talked about you…”

“You did what now?!?” I shot up from my bed and looked at her intensely. “Whatever be grateful you will be thanking me, numbers on your desk and I’m going out on my date bye!” Just like that the door slammed shut and it was just me and that paper on my desk.

I sighed and got up to grab the paper. I stared at the paper recognizing his handwriting from the night I met him. I slowly grabbed the phone and typed in the numbers taking a deep breath before hitting the call button. It rang and when I heard the ringing stop my heart did too.

“Helvet record shop.” It was that voice I knew. “Hello? If it’s one of you little shit prank callers satan will be under your bed toni-” “Hi…” There was a pause. “Who is this?” I took a breath “It’s Astrid, I met you the night of that one party out in Kråkstad.”

I hear him whisper off to someone to shut up. “You finally called huh? Took you long enough.” I sat on my bed and smiled a little, there’s the sarcasm. “Yeah well I heard about your band mate and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to bother so..I’m sorry about him by the way.”

“Oh..I mean yeah no it’s fine.” The silence filled the call. “How have you been? I heard you opened a record store.” I was messing with the phone wire to try and continue conversation. “I did, you should come down here sometime you know? There’s a cave thing under the store where we throw parties.”

My smile grew a little bigger as I nodded to myself. “I would like that, I can bring Celia and some other friends of hers.” There was a faint sound of metal music playing in the back from his store. I remember the song from the night I met him, when we were in his room drinking and listening to his band.

“That could work, how about tomorrow? Store closes at 9 so around 10ish?” “That works for me I’ll talk to Celia when she’s home and I won’t forget to bring some drinks.” I heard his chuckle and could hear the smile. “Okay then see you.” “See you.” The line disconnected.

My door barged open and Celia was smiling. My instant thought was right “So party tomorrow?” She said with a grin. “Stop listening to my calls!”

————————————————————

Authors Note: AHHH part 2 guysss I genuinely love writing this Im invested my own lore and I act so surprised as if I’m not the one writing it ANYWAYSSS see you in the next part🖤

[forgetful-nerd]

The best tmnt crossover fanfictions have this interaction I swear. These fanfics are feeding my soul.

[the-peak-tmnt]

Another amazing piece by @burgersaucee! Based on Raph & Casey’s sparring sessions in the Mutant Mayhem fanfic Reciprocity!

Their friendship is always one of my favorite parts of any TMNT. I’m so impatient for MM Casey’s introduction that I couldn’t wait!

Thanks again, Shay!

[subcultureblues]

Don't You Want Me (Baby?) Pt 2

———

Steve and Eddie are either hooking up or dating - and are about as bad at keeping a secret as they are dealing with their feelings. (Dustin POV)

Part 1 < / >

———

Dustin was criss cross on the couch the next day eating a rainbow of cereal and watching Saturday morning cartoons when he saw it.

“What’s that?” He said, taking the morning paper right out from under his mother’s nose.

“Dusty!” She chided, sitting up in her recliner. “I was just getting to my horoscope.”

“Sorry, mom.” He said distantly. He read over the ad again and his grew ear to ear. This was too perfect!

Eddie’s been too busy with his dumb girlfriend to hang out with them in forever.

Well, there might be no better way to reel him back in than a Creature from The Black Lagoon re-run. Ok, it was at the drive through a town over - but Eddie literally can’t say no! He loved classic horror (even after everything they’d seen in living color.)

Dustin kept the outer page and returned the rest.

“Thanks mom! Also, Cancer’s should keep an eye out for big opportunities on the horizon.” He yelled back over his shoulder as he ran over to the phone. He paused as listen to the line ring. “And let their kid go out with his friends tonight!”

“Now where does it say that…” His mom tutted, far too used to Dustin’s Dustining to be surprised by almost anything.

“Come on…” Dustin mumbled impatiently on the fifth or sixth ring.

“Wayne here.”

“Hi Mr. Munson! It’s Dustin Henderson, is Eddie there?”

“Eds, it’s for you.” Kind of surprising his uncle was up at this hour. Usually he was sleeping in to prepare for the next nightshift. Maybe he got the rare weekend off. Good for him.

“You’ve reached The Dark Lord Baelzabub’s office, can I take a message?”

“Eddie! Right! So!” Dustin ignored him, already shooting off at 60 miles an hour. “There’s this thing going on, it’s tonight - and I swear, your gonna be off the wall when you hear about it cause they never have good stuff on out here - “ Eddie cut him off.

“Woah, there. You said tonight? Cause no can do compadre.”

“But!” Dustin sputtered. “You’re not gonna wanna miss this Eddie I’m telling you.”

“Sorry, little man. Can we do uh, I could do tomorrow. Wait actually shit, not tomorrow.”

“No, we can’t - it’s only happening tonight, if you’ll just let me tell you what it - “

“Sorry, man. I’m not gonna make it. I’m uh, I’m -“ he sighed.

“Busy.” That fucking Judas…..

“Yeeeeah. Look Henderson, I’m sorry. I’ll catch the next one ok, man. I promise.“

“Right. Yeah.” Dustin wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t.

They didn’t stay on the line long. He sighed and glared at the phone. Fuck it, fuck Eddie - they were still going. And then next week at Hellfire when Eddie asked about they’re weekend they’ll tell him how awesome it was and how much fun they had without him. Then he’ll regret blowing Dustin off.

He picked up the phone again.

“Harrington residence.” Oh right, Steve’s alleged parents were in town.

“Uh, hi. It’s Dustin Henderson. Can I talk to Steve. Please.” He said, only just managing to remember his manners.

“Steve, honey, your little friends on the phone.” Mrs. Harrington said.

“Hey man, what’s up. Wait, I’m gonna stop you right now. No I can’t give you a ride.”

Dustin sputtered indignantly.

“What you just assume I only call you when I need a favor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You just called to say hi.” Steve corrected himself. Then he paused, clearly waiting.

“Yeah.” Dustin huffed. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steve repeated pleasantly.

“So uh, how’s uh, how the uh,” Dustin’s eyes darted around the room trying to latch onto something via image/word association. He made eye contact with the portrait of a calico tabby his mother had needle pointed into a throw pillow. “- your cat?”

“How’s your cat?” Steve shot back.

“Hey, woah, low blow!”

“So is this call a welfare check for my nonexistent cat or?”

“No! I, uh - your parents! They’re in town - “

“Dustin.”

“Well… - Look, ok so I thought wouldn’t Steve enjoy if we all went out tonight and - “

“And there it is. Look, I already got plans tonight: So...”

“You too?” Double Judas!

Dustin was running out of chauffeurs…

After a minute of huffing, he called Will. At least he seemed properly enthusiastic.

“One thing though. How are we supposed get all the way out there?”

“You’re gonna get Jonathan to drive us.” Dustin said confidently. Will however, hesitated.

“I’m not sure. I think he said he was going on a date with Nancy tonight.”

“Seriously?” Dustin huffed. “Jesus Christ. Well, you’re gonna convince him then.”

“I dunno.”

“Come on, Will. We’re counting on you here. All our licensed friends have betrayed and abandoned us. You gotta come through on this.” Will didn’t say anything. “Just pull the kidnapped by monsters card! Right? Say the creature feature will be therapeutic, or something!”

“Fine. I’ll ask.” Will sighed.

Will could be convincing when he needed to be. Thing is, he didn’t even really have to try. It was those damned puppy dog eyes. That’s what got Dustin, Mike, and Will in the back seat of Jonathan’s Lincoln.

They invited Lucas but he couldn’t make it after coming down with a bad case of relatives-in-town. It turned out for the best considering Nancy was occupying the passenger seat. Looking beleaguered.

Jonathan found a spot with a decent view and put the vehicle in park. He looked over to his girlfriend with a forced optimism.

“See? Not so bad.”

Nancy smiled tightly, looking at the adolescents crammed into the back. Mike made a face at her, and because it was genetically hardwired into them both, she returned it.

“Uh huh. Romantic.” She said, turning around to watch the opening credits. Will had told Dustin they were on the rocks. He might even feel a little bit guilty for intruding on date night but they were short on options here.

“Can we get snacks?” Mike asked Jonathan.

“Uh, sure. We can go over there. Did your uh, parents give you money for snacks?” Jonathan said.

Dustin and Mike shook their heads.

“Oh uh…” Jonathan fumbled with his wallet, shifting around in the coin pouch. Will very quietly looked at his shoes. Mike seemed to notice because had opened his mouth like he was about to say something to him. But then after a pause, turned back to the front.

“Actually, Jonathan got us slushies last time.” Mike said loudly.

“And he gave us money for the arcade the other week.” Dustin said, picking up quickly.

“Yeah, it’s not his turn to pay.” Mike said.

Will’s seemed to relax a little, his shoulders becoming not so tightly hunched.

“Oh. Ok.” Jonathan said, obviously somewhat relieved himself.

“It’s your turn.” Mike said, kicking that back of Nancy’s chair.

“Excuse me?” She said, turning to glare at him.

“It’s your turn to pay for the snacks. Come on, you have a job.”

“I’m not your babysitter.” She rolled her eyes. She decisively turned her back to them again.

“We should have gone with Eddie.” Mike whispered.

“Yeah well he’s, busy.” Dustin whispered back, making air quote finger bunnies. “Besides, that guy barely has money for gas. Steve wouldn’t let us starve though.”

Mike huffed, rolling his eyes at the mere mention of the guy.

Dustin settled back into his seat, looking out the window at a couple passing their car on the way back from the concession stand. He could smell the popcorn in their bucket.

Wait a minute. Is that -

No fucking way. Speak of the devil, I guess…

Dustin peered across the rows and yup, that was Eddie’s van. Hard to mistake that piece of junk for anything else that passed for road legal.

“That fucking bastard!” Dustin whispered.

‘Busy.’ Right. Busy going out to see a movie - without Dustin!

And also the rest of the party.

“Hey where are you going?” Mike said, but Dustin was already out of the car.

Mike and Will scrambled to follow him.

“Wait, where are you guys- “ Jonathan’s reaction time was a bit slow.

“They’re fine.” Nancy said.

“Ok just don’t be gone too long.” Jonathan said, ineffectually.

“Where are we going?” Mike said.

“Look.” Dustin gestured at the van, positively aggrevied.

Dustin stomped over. He could see through the window from there. Nobody was even in the front. He ditched them to come see a movie he couldn’t be bother to actually watch. Now that really grinded his gears. It was with righteous fury he banged his fist against the side of the van.

“Watch this.” He whispered. Then he dropped his voice a few octaves and with an Oscar worthy Hopper Impersonation said, “This is the police. We know what you’ve been up to.”

Mike had to bury a snicker behind his hands.

Dustin cracked a satisfied smile when he heard a yelp and the metal sounds of someone banging around in the back.

“Hey man, I know my rights - “ Eddie cracked the back door, sticking his head out. His eyes grew very wide. “Oh you can not be fucking serious….?”

Dustin couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh man, your face!” All threes boys, even Will, were snickering. At least until they heard -

“Dustin?!” From behind Eddie came an unmistakably shrill voice, positively scandalized.

Eddie grimaced. He turned his head slowly to look back over his shoulder.

“Um. Yep. Dustin. And company.”

“What the - Is that Steve?” Mike said, rather scandalized himself.

Begrudgingly, Eddie let the door swing open, revealing Steve in the back of the van sitting on a mattress and a pile of blankets.

“What? Since when do you two hang out - !“ Mike sputtered, throwing his hands up like this was a most unforeseen betrayal.

Mike fully bought into Eddie’s hype. Which makes sense. Eddie was cool as hell. But much as Dustin’s tried to set him straight, Steve dated Mike’s sister. Those two forever were destined to be adversaries as far as he was concerned.

Steve kind of just thought Mike was a shithead.

Sure if you ask Mike, he considered Steve like ‘terminally uncool’, and that was a direct quote. Way too uncool to be friends with Eddie Munson of all people.

Dustin’s been trying to push this friendship for almost a year at this point, to absolutely no avail.

So. Actually Mike kinda had a point there.

“Yeah, since when do you two hang out -“

“We don’t!” Steve said quickly.

“- without us.” Dustin frowned.

“What are you guys doing all the way out here? Away from Hawkins. Like just, so far away from Hawkins.” Eddie said, smiling uncomfortably wide. His eyes were shifting warily between the party and Steve, like he was watching the world’s most invisible ping pong tournament.

“It’s not that far.” Steve muttered. Eddie almost looked guilty the way he was chewing on his lip.

And Steve looked, well… honestly Steve looked caught red handed. For what? Dustin had no fucking idea.

Dustin narrowed his eyes. Steve was bright red, his hair was a mess (highly suspect), he was wearing his favorite polo but it was all untucked and disheveled. He was blinking up at them, mouth open like he was struggling to decide what exactly he’d say next.

“I don’t believe it…” Dustin said. He sniffed the air, a bloodhound on the trail. “You two were…”. The older boy’s eyes grew wide. “Smoking weed!”

Eddie deflated, dropping head. “You caught us.” He said, monotone. He pressed a hand roughly to the side of his face, leaning his elbow on his thigh and looking up at them with his one visible eye. “We secreted away to smoke some fresh schedule 1. Please don’t tell Mrs. Reagan.”

Steve did a little angry scoff. Eddie lifted his head just enough to peer through his bangs and see the pissy look Steve was giving him. Eddie threw up his palms, with a wide eyed and beleaguered flinch. Clearly telegraphing a defensive, what?

“Since when do you smoke weed.” Mike asked. Because obviously Steve wasn’t cool enough for that either.

“I peer pressured him into it.” Eddie stage whispered, wiggling his fingers in villainous glee.

Steve rolled his eyes. Dustin was like 95% sure that was total bullshit. Because he was almost 100% sure Steve already smoked some. Dustin’s been in Jonathan’s car before, of course he’s gonna know what weed smells like. He’ll catch a whiff of it on Steve every now and again, especially these last few weeks.

These guys still try to hide stuff from them like they’re little kids.

But also, Eddie’s clearly just trying to keep the mood light considering how flustered Steve looks about getting caught with the stuff.

“Remember kids, just say no. Unless your bad influence has as high quality stuff as I do in which case -“

Steve kicked out his foot knocking Eddie in the thigh.

“Say - no thank you.” He finished passive aggressively, as if Steve should’ve had more faith he would stick the landing. “Just. How’d you guys even get out here anyway?”

“Jonathan and Nancy drove us.”

“Nancy’s here?” Steve sat up quickly, straightening to look past all their heads.

Eddie huffed out a laugh. He grinned at Steve with his canines, slowly shaking his head. As if the van didn’t smell bad enough, he took out a pack of smokes.

“What?” Steve huffed. Eddie leaned against the wall of the van, one shoe dangling out brushing the ground.

“I didn’t say anything.” Eddie’s words were garbled between the cigarette he was lighting.

Dustin took a step back, looking at Mike and Will. They too, seemed to pick up on the overall bazaar energy these two were giving off.

Honestly Dustin ‘plan’ had been to march over here, make Eddie feel bad for blowing them off, then maybe asking if they could hang out with him for the rest of the movie. Probably guilt him into buying them snacks.

Dustin wasn’t happy about being ditched, but he’d wanted to come see this movie with Eddie. He could be mad at the guy later.

Now though, he was thinking Nancy and Jonathan’s weird couple energy would be preferable to this, whatever this is.

“Riiiiiiiight.” Dustin jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re gonna - we’re going.”

They made it maybe 5 steps, but Eddie was ever insitant he have the last word.

“Hey shitheads. Don’t mention Harrington here, if you can help it.” He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, using the hand to cup his mouth away from Steve. He stage-whispered, “He doesn’t want Miss Priss to know he’s been experimenting with - the devil’s lettuce.” He added a lot of drama to that last bit, like he was telling a spooky ghost story. Not talking about like, pot.

“Eddie.” Steve said. Eddie ignored him.

“You guys run along now. Pay attention yeah, this one’s a classic.” He gestured vaguely behind him with his cigarette. “It’ll be on the quiz. And I expect your report on my desk Monday morning.”

They said their goodbyes again, and wandered off. When they got back to the Lincoln, Jonathan had his arm around Nancy and she was leaning her head against his chest.

Dustin took a brief second to ponder over what the hell Nancy and Jonathan’s deal even was these days…

“Hey guys.” He said, neck bending to look over his shoulder at an awkward angle so as not to jostle his girlfriend. “That Eddie’s van?”

“Uh-huh.” Will said.

“You should tell him to pull up. Or something.”

“You are not doing that right now.” Nancy muttered. “The kids are here.”

“What? I wasn’t -“ Jonathan protested. It wasn’t very convincing.

“Nah he’s uh,” Dustin wasn’t gonna call Steve out, not if he seemed actually upset that he’d been ‘caught’ doing drugs. “Eddie’s - he’s… on a date.” He said. Will nodded, because he also tended to catch on pretty quick. Even Mike shrugged in placid agreement.

“Huh.” Jonathan said, landing somewhere between surprised, impressed, and all together apathetic. “Good for him, I guess.”

Friends don’t lie, sure. Except sometimes. When friends lie for their friends.

Wait a minute. Dustin squinted at the back of Jonathan’s head. Does Jonathan buy drugs from Eddie often? It was a long shot, but maybe Eddie and Jonathan have secret smoke sessions too.

“Do you know who Eddie’s girlfriend is?” Dustin tried.

“Hmmm? Girlfriend?” Jonathan said distractedly, eyes on the screen. “Uh, no, no I don’t think I’ve met her.”

Dustin huffed, frustrated, sinking back into his seat once again. Feeling thwarted.

By the time the movie was finished and they were lining up with the other cars towards the exit, the shitbox van was nowhere to be seen.

So imagine Dustin’s surprise when he gets a call around 10 am and Eddie’s on the line asking if he wants to come by and hang out.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been telling you I’d help you out on this one shot you’re trying to run for weeks now.”

“I thought you were busy today?” Dustin inquired. Hesitant. As if just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him.

“Nope. No, uh, not anymore. Those plans got,” Eddie cleared his throat, “scrapped. Don’t worry about it. Are you coming over or not?”

“I’ll be there in thirty!” Dustin said. He slammed the phone down and sprinted to his room to get gather his notes.

Part 1

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[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[matchstique]

Two little pieces inspired by @the-peak-tmnt ‘s mutant mayhem fanfic “RECIPROCITY” . Issoo gooooddddd. It makes me feel FEELINGS

[lesbianardoo]

raphael my autism and sensory processing disorder queen i love you

raph vs water... hm

alternate version because a lot of people on twitter said it reminded them of reciprocity! @the-peak-tmnt

[rustingcat]

My drawing for the fic 'Living for the hope of it all' by @depression-vampire .

Decided to try out a new style to fic this lovely fic, and I'm pretty pleased with the results! @supergirlmayhem

[izzystizzys]

“…I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand”, Fox says, for what must be the dozenth time that hour. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes in an incessant drum of hurt, and his head aches with every breath like someone’s taken a rusty fork to the inside of his skull and raked his brain out. Fox’ eyes are beginning to burn the way they start doing around hour 80 of a shift, and he has to suppress the brief urge to check over his shoulder. Not even Stabby could come up with a ploy this contrived to make him sleep. Probably.

In front of him, General Grievous coughs awkwardly, long spindly durasteel limbs shivering with its force. “Certainly”, he vocalizes, in that deep, watery cadence. “For your glorious triumphs in battle, your awe-inspiring victory over me in close combat, and your undeniable warrior spirit, I accept you as my consort. I have proven my skills through the ritual capture, and thus, by Kaleesh custom, we are now wed, Commander Fox. I will honor you as my war-bride, and visit vengeance upon your enemies. I swear it to you.”

Expectantly, Grievous tilts his faceplate to the side, and Fox only just catches the suppression of the manic giggle that wants to escape him. Yeah, probably not Stabby - maybe a dying fever dream? Has the infected gash from that skirmish on the lower levels five rotations ago finally decided to end him? If so, it’s not fast enough for Fox’ tastes.

Here’s how it happened: Fox has no kriffing clue. All he knows is one moment an emergency alert tore him from precious Scream Closet time this morning, he went to rescue the Chancellor’s dumb ass again, and whoop, here he is on General Grievous’ ship with the war-criminal himself declaring them happily married. And eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy.

Why, Fox thinks, desperately, does this always have to happen to me?!

Chancellor’s still kidnapped, by the way. Fox has other priorities for the time being.

“I swear to aim my weapons in your service”, Grievous continues, when it becomes exceedingly clear Fox is not going to break out of his shocked stupor anytime soon. “I swear to aim true and strike with murderous intent, I swear to uphold the sacred bonds of our clans in the name of our union, I swear to raise a strong, bloodthirsty brood of warriors with-“

“Wait”, Fox interrupts, once his brain has caught up past the astromech dial-up sound it seems to be playing on repeat. “Uphold clan bonds? You murder your way through my brothers like a rabid nexu on spice on the regular!”

Grievous’ faceplate, which should be for all intents and purposes totally expressionless, does something that reminds Fox strangely of contrition. It has him gaping and shivering in discomfort, in any case. “A fact I regret, but acknowledge lies in my past before the fateful crossing of our paths. I am a warrior at soul, you must understand, my worthy mate.” Durasteel faceplates don’t turn soft. They don’t. And coughs don’t sound loving. They simply do not. “But I uphold the bonds of these sacred vows under Kaleesh law, that I swear to you, my beloved.”

“All I did was grapple you to the ground”, Fox says, mourningly. “Cody has kicked you in the head dozens of times and you’ve never tried to marry him.”

“He is not you, and his battle lacks the lustful vitality and love of violence of yours”, Grievous declares, and Fox really cannot tell whether the sound that erupts from him is a lovelorn sigh or a hacking death-gurgle. This cannot be his life.

Just then, a droid conveniently enters, putting a pause to all Fox’ sufferings. He’ll need to tell Thorn to research Kaleesh divorce proceedings. Or, better yet - he needs to blow up this whole karking ship including himself and destroy all evidence of this ever happening.

“Generals Kenobi and Skywalker awaiting in custody, Sir”, says the droid, nervously. “They are here to rescue Chancellor Palpatine, but we cut them off just out of the hangar bay.”

Internally, Fox rolls his eyes so hard it hurts his brain. “The Jedi can wait”, Grievous hacks out, and for once Fox agrees with him. Let the two dick around onboard, there’s bigger issues at hand.

“But Sir”, says the droid, all twitchy with an anxiety Fox eternally wonders who the kriff programmed into the damn things, “what if they try to escape and -“

A deep, growling noise erupts from deep within Grievous’ massive metal chest, amplifying Fox’ pounding headache by a thousandfold. “I have no time for this”, he snarls at the cowering droid. “Remove yourself from my and mine beloved’s sight.”

“Roger Roger”, the B2 squeaks, hesitantly, before adding on - “The Chancellor-“

Harrumphing petulantly, Grievous stomps one massive, clawed foot and makes what feels like the whole viewdeck shake. “I will twist his head off his body like a rotten fruit”, he declares. “That will get those pesky Jedi off my ship faster, and then we can continue saying our vows.” He pauses, thoughtfully, and then hooded eyes ringed by what must surely be rotten flesh fix on Fox inexorably. “It will be my wedding gift to you, beloved, an offering of peace to your brothers.”

Fox opens his mouth to protest, but quickly snaps it shut again when his husband already turns tail and storms off.

Huh. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t all bad.

[rainbow-rebellion]

I was lucky enough to get paired with the incredibly talented @missluthorwillseeyounow for @supergirlmayhem - though to be honest it was both a blessing and a curse... because the story is so good, I had an impossible time choosing which idea to use for my art! 😄

I just recently learned how to make gifs and am enjoying it quite a bit, so I decided to try something a little different for this art piece.

(Though I do have a few key scenes in my head that I would still love to draw and will absolutely be coming back to those at some point, hopefully soon)

I know @missluthorwillseeyounow worked very hard on this incredible Matrix AU, so please go check it out. I hope you will all enjoy it as much as I did!

—-

Special thanks to the Mayhem team for putting this lovely event together, and to @msdanvers for helping me get started on my gif making journey 💗

[cingulata]

420 references in Muppets Mayhem

[vidavbooks]

Life of the fucking party - Euronymous x Reader

WARNING: This is based off the Rory Culkin character of him, not the real man.

Story Masterlist

Next Part

————————————————————

Depression. One of the most draining yet confusing things in the world. My roommates have been concerned but they always just brush it off, who cares right? I was staring at my ceiling when i heard the door open and my friend Celia clear her throat.

“Honey…you’ve been in here for 3 days. I know you have your own bathroom or whatever but have you consumed food or something?” I gestured over to my bag of chips next to me. “Honey no, a real meal.” I shook my head no as she sighed and sat next to me.

“Well there’s a party tonight and you’re coming with me.” “No I’m not” She scoffs and stands up then walks into my bathroom without saying a thing. I slowly sit up as she comes back with a cup of water. “If you do not get the hell up, shower, put on your best fucking outfit and come to this damn party I am going to pour this all over you.”

I sighed, she didn’t get it. Showers were so draining to get up and go try not to just crumble. Getting ready is so tiring and parties? I hate them so much, she thinks a lot of bodies and yelling will make me feel better? She doesn’t know me at all. But I won’t hear the end of it if I don’t so I will just give in.

“Okay whatever I’m getting up” I brushed her off and heard her squeal as I closed the bathroom door. After my shower she laid some dress on my bed and wrote a note that said “Get ready and wear this, I’m getting my hair done right now be ready by 8.” I roll my eyes as I pick up this outfit, whatever.

——————————————

We are in the car and there’s 5 more girls I don’t even recognize all crammed in their loudly gushing over this band that’s hosting this party. I’ve heard them and was dragged by Celia to go to their concert. We pull up and everyone rushes out of the car running up to the band members and flirting.

I walk inside to grab a drink as people are breaking things and screaming. I start feeling my heart beat faster being overwhelmed with everything. I grab the vodka bottle off the counter and I open many doors trying to find an empty room that didn’t have anyone.

I walked into an empty dark room with all of these guitars and pictures. I sit down and calm down my breath and open the vodka. I take a sip as I look up to see these vinyls on the shelf. Mayhem, that’s the name. As I stand up to look at them the door barges open.

I look at him as I smile gently, he has some greasepaint on his face and long dark black hair. “Who the hell are you?” He looks me up and down as I brush my hair back with my fingers. “I-I’m sorry i shouldn’t be in here there’s just so much going on and I don’t really..” He sighed and looked down.

“It’s whatever just don’t fuck with anything” His friends were yelling his name “ONE SECOND FUCK FACE!” I chuckled a little as he looked back at me and I put on a straight face clearing my throat.

He grabs the vodka out of my hand while closing the door and sits on the bed as I stare at him. “Are you just going to stare at me or what?” I stuttered and shook my head no as I sat next to him on the bed. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Astrid, and you?” “Euronymus” I look around as the room fills with an awkward silence. “What kind of music do you like?” I looked down at my hands and fiddled with them and started to speak as he cut me off.

“Look at me when you talk” My heart felt like it skipped a beat, he just had this aura that made him scary yet attractive. I nodded as I looked up at him, “I like metal…” He handed me the bottle and I took a sip. “Yeah well I invented black Norwegian metal, fucking invented it” I smiled a bit as he stood up to grab a vinyl.

“Listen to this shit it’s fucking beautiful” He put the record on the player and started banging his head. I started chuckling and bobbing my head along to it. He looked up at me and smiled as he kept rocking his head and grabbed me to stand up. He grabbed my hand and put it in a devil horns position.

I smiled as he made me ‘rock out’ “Come on let loose!” I chuckled as I started following his movements. We continued this until the song ended. “Yeah! That shit is real not some poser bullshit. What did you think?” I smiled at him as I nodded, “It was pretty good, my friend Celia who brought me here had me go to your guys concert a bit ago.”

He walked closer and smirked, “Yeah? What did you think of it?” My breath hitched as he came a little closer “I-I liked it it was good just not all the people pushing and-” He grabbed my waist a bit as he looked at me “Mhm?”

I gulped a little bit as his face got closer, “Fuck it” I grabbed his cheek and forced his face closer as he leaned in, he backs me up against the wall and starts kissing down my neck. I put my hands through his hair and groaned a little bit but we got interrupted by Celia calling my name.

“God damn it, we have a ride and when she leaves we all leave..” He nods and grabs my waist. “A shame to see you leave but I’ll see you again, I know I will.” I smile as he kisses me again then backs away. “Here.” He walks over to his desk and writes his number on a paper then shoves it in my hand.

“Call me whenever you can.” I nod as I kiss his cheek once more and I leave the room. I run out to the car and cram in next to Celia, “Looks like you had a good night.” She said as she pointed to my hickey “Shut up” I chuckle a little as I look out of the window and he gives me a gentle wave goodbye.

————————————————————

Authors Note: HEYYY!!! sorry i like fell off the face of the earth but! i made it up by making this a nice long story maybe a part 2 if we get enough support. tell me what you guys think i love y’all!

[pussyeater8000]

For the tmnt fans that need to hear this 👍

[the-peak-tmnt]

I’ve been writing my Mutant Mayhem fanfic for a year now, and that whole time, I’ve been setting the stage for Raph to learn meditation. I’m so fucking psyched about this I might explode. I FEEL SO VINDICATED!!

[mischievous-mayhem-is-upon-you]

IT'S SPOOKY SEASON BITCHES